A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [125]
“Something wrong, Miss?”
“Oh, no, it looks lovely. Look, I have to nip out for a moment—could you put a plate over this and keep it warm for me? I’ll be back in about ten minutes. I have to make an urgent telephone call.”
“Right you are, Miss. We’ll put some fresh gravy on it as well—and I’ll make sure you get the same seat by the window.”
Maisie thanked the landlord and hurried out of the inn and along the street to the telephone kiosk. She hoped MacFarlane was in situ—she had heard along the grapevine that the detective had several lady friends and was often not to be found at his home. She dialed the number for Scotland Yard and was put through to MacFarlane’s department.
“He’s not here, Miss Dobbs, but I know where to find him.”
“Don’t tell me, The Cuillins of Skye.”
“Well, I shouldn’t really say, but—”
“It’s his favorite watering hole; I know that much about him. They have a telephone there—do you have the number, or do I have to waste time finding it out?”
“That’s all right, Miss—here it is.”
Maisie jotted down the number, thanked the policeman, and placed a call to the pub where MacFarlane spent many an hour after the working day—which was always long for the detective chief superintendent. After a wait of several moments while the landlord went off to find MacFarlane, she soon heard his voice booming in the background, instructing his drinking partners to put their hands in their hole-ridden pockets and get another round in.
“MacFarlane! And it had better be good.”
“Good evening, Robbie.”
“What have you got for me, lass?”
“Greville Liddicote’s murderer.”
MacFarlane and Stratton arrived by motor car before dawn the following morning. Maisie had made a special request for a private breakfast for three in the dining room before the other lodgers came down. The landlady had begun to complain, but was of a cheerier disposition when Maisie mentioned the fee she would pay for the trouble of providing for her colleagues.
“At least you don’t try to sneak men home with you of a night, that’s all I can say.”
MacFarlane asked Maisie to recount her findings that had led to their conversation the night before. “The lads had finished off a couple of rounds before I took my seat again after that telephone call from you!” added MacFarlane, before Maisie repeated the account for Stratton. The three remained in the room for some time, with MacFarlane and Stratton going back to their notes taken during the investigation, and once again consulting the pathologist’s report on Greville Liddicote’s postmortem.
“Do you have any doubt, Maisie?” asked Stratton.
“I sometimes think there’s always room for doubt. I had almost made up my mind in another direction.”
“You shouldn’t have been making up your mind either way, Maisie—you have another job to do.”
“And I’m doing it—I just happened to come across more than any of us bargained for.”
Stratton shook his head. “We thought we’d interviewed everyone, yet we missed your student Daniel and a couple of others. For goodness sake, why didn’t that Miss Hawthorne tell us that some of the students had gone off to London for a day or two?”
“In her defense, they sneaked off—they should have informed the office of their intentions; it’s a college rule, and they are not children but responsible adults. They’re supposed to register when they are in and out and when they are away from Cambridge, in case of emergencies.”
“They’re being brought here for further questioning—I don’t want to alert anyone over at the college before I’m ready.” MacFarlane sighed. “What time does the memorial service start?”
“After Sunday services, so around noon, with a procession leaving the college for the church—Dr. Roth thought it would be an appropriate honor to go to the service en masse, hand in hand, in memory of Liddicote’s dearest wish that the peoples of the world are never put asunder again.”
“Well, there’s going to be some asundering this afternoon.