A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [93]
“A half of cider would be lovely, thank you.”
As soon she was seated at a table with the two men, MacFarlane spoke first. “Been busy, Maisie?”
“Yes, I have been fairly busy. Not only teaching, but I’ve had a few trips back and forth to London.”
“Never thought I’d be looking forward to getting back myself, but I’m fed up to the gills with this place. I’m not one for your university types—bloody know-alls, every one of them, even the students, still wet behind the ears. Half of them can’t even speak the language properly.”
“They’re unfamiliar with the language of a police investigation, and perhaps a little nervous—after all, they are guests in this country, and now they’re being questioned as part of a murder inquiry.”
“I think you’ve got a point there,” said Stratton. “We’re trying to take that into account. They’re all very bright, actually.”
“Most have already attended university in their own country,” said Maisie. “Their work at the college represents additional academic endeavor intended to bolster their intellect and the number of opportunities that might come their way in the future. And of course, there is the small matter of spreading peace.”
“Who have you been seeing?” asked MacFarlane, ignoring her comments.
“Academic staff at other universities, actually. A lecturer who taught Robson Headley, and another who knew Liddicote when he taught at the university here.”
“Why Headley?”
“He’s been attending meetings of the Ortsgruppe with Delphine Lang. They are a courting couple, as you know; however, it is quite a big step for a British man to attend one of those meetings; I am sure he was accepted on the weight of his liaison with Lang.”
“Do you suspect him of anything?”
“First of all, I don’t believe the Ortsgruppe are as innocent as you and Huntley might think—and if they are at present, they won’t be for long. Second, both Headley and Lang have the ability and, I believe, the training, to kill a man instantly.”
“Maisie, have you ever tried to kill someone by breaking their neck? I mean, it really is a job.” Stratton seemed somewhat exasperated with her.
“Aye, lass, it would be a job for a big, strong man,” added MacFarlane.
“But not if a person were able to make an approach that was all but silent, and then move with speed and skill. And remember, Liddicote was likely hard of hearing.”
“Apart from anything else,” said Stratton, “they both have alibis.”
“Stratton, would you mind getting me a whiskey?” MacFarlane winced and held his beer up to the light as if to consider its purity, then set the glass down. “This beer is not agreeing with me at all.”
Stratton left the table and walked to the bar. MacFarlane turned to Maisie.
“You are keeping to your assigned task for the dark ones, aren’t you?”
“Is that what you call the Secret Service?” She smiled, then looked at Stratton waiting by the bar; he raised his hand to summon the landlord and Maisie turned back to MacFarlane. “As I’ve said before, the threads of investigation here are intertwined; however, I’m keeping to my end of things. Have you questioned Francesca Thomas?”
“The tall dark-haired woman, got a touch of the Greta Garbo about her?”
“I’m not sure that I would use that description,” said Maisie, “but I suppose she’s the only one in the college whom it would fit.”
“We’ve spoken to her, and it seems she was teaching around the time of Liddicote’s death, so we can rule her out.” MacFarlane glanced in Stratton’s direction. “I take it she’s of interest to you.”
“To some extent. She certainly seems to make frequent trips to London.”
“There you are, sir. I bought a malt, not a blended.” Stratton reached forward to place the tot glass of amber liquid in front of MacFarlane, who, in spite of his earlier claim, had made a good dent in his pint of beer.
“Good man, good man. Now then, will you join us for a spot of supper, Maisie? They do a very good fish-and-chips here.