A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [26]
Maisie was about to make a comment on the peace conference when she was distracted by Miss Linden’s entering the room, clearly in search of someone in particular. No one else seemed to have noticed the young woman, though Maisie sensed immediately that something was wrong. And at that moment she felt as if time itself stood still as she, too, took stock of the room—Matthias Roth expounding on the outcome of the conference; Alan Burnham nodding his head, poised to counter the argument. Delphine Lang was moving towards the window, and Francesca Thomas turned from her conversation with a teacher of world politics, Mr. Osbourne—who was discussing the recent Olympic Games in Los Angeles, where an Argentinian had won the marathon—to stare at Miss Linden. Then time righted itself as Greville Liddicote’s secretary moved towards Maisie, and motioned her to step aside.
“Would you come with me, please, Miss Dobbs? It’s urgent.”
“Of course.”
Maisie set down her cup and saucer, stepping away from Roth and Burnham, neither of whom seemed to take account of her departure.
“Is it Dr. Liddicote?” asked Maisie, as she kept pace with Rosemary Linden. Already she felt the weight of foreknowledge across her heart.
The young woman nodded but said nothing. Soon they came alongside Liddicote’s office. Linden took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and entered, turning the key again as Maisie stepped across the threshold.
It was clear to Maisie, even before she pressed the first two fingers of her right hand to his neck, where she should have felt the rhythm of Liddicote’s carotid artery, that he was dead.
Chapter Five
Having established that the young woman was in command of her emotions—as much as could be expected—Maisie instructed Miss Linden to return to her office and to continue as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. And if people asked, she should inform them that Dr. Liddicote had left the college for the day; she didn’t want a series of callers waiting on the settle in the corridor.
Maisie took the key and locked the door as Linden left the room. She checked Liddicote’s pulse once more, lifted his eyelids, and took note of the narrow threads of blood that had emerged from his mouth and nose. Pulling a clean handkerchief from her shoulder bag, she covered her fingers, picked up the telephone receiver, and asked Miss Linden for a line. She then dialed a number she had learned by heart.
“Detective Chief Superintendent MacFarlane, please. It’s Maisie Dobbs, and it’s urgent.”
The wait was short.
“Maisie, tell me the worst—if you say it’s urgent I know you’re not crying wolf!”
“Greville Liddicote has been murdered. I have secured the room where his body was discovered—his office—and thus far the only people who know are his secretary and myself. I have not questioned her, as I wanted to call you first.”
“That’s all we bloody need! Cause of death?”
“Liddicote’s neck has been broken. In my estimation, he’s been dead for less than an hour.”
“Silly question, but I have to ask—”
“No, it wasn’t an accident, Robbie, and it wasn’t natural causes. And more than that, I would say the murderer was a professional—few people can just break someone’s neck. This could be the work of an assassin.”
“I’ll have to inform Huntley, but expect me there by about half past five. I’ll bring Stratton—we could do with a former murder squad man on this one. We’ll alert the local constabulary, in our own good time—and don’t worry, when we arrive, we’ll go about it all very ‘softly-softly’ so as not to alarm the natives. I want that