Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [60]
‘So it could have been Friedlander who killed Harries and then moved his body?’
‘Seems likely, sir,’ said Baker. ‘And the sooner we set out then…’
‘…the quicker we can catch up with him,’ I finished. I got up and we crossed to the door. Just as we were about to open it there was a knock and I remembered Hopkinson. I had no time for him now and thought quickly. Perhaps he could tell us more about Friedlander’s supposed plans before we set out after the elusive Doctor.
* * *
THE ACCOUNT OF JOHN HOPKINSON (9)
Despite my apprehensions, Stratford did not appear to want to see me on a matter of any great importance. Indeed, he seemed more interested in appropriating the services of Herr Kreiner on an expedition into the grounds in search of the good Dr Friedlander.
Kreiner for his part seemed nonplussed. But there was no mistaking the excitement that seemed to link those twin custodians of the law, Stratford and Baker, in its embrace. I shrugged dismissively as the front door closed behind them and left them to their business.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much, my dear. I’ve just about given up all hope of finding out what’s going on since the inspector got his claws in.’ Wallace’s voice greeted me in the hall, escaping from the open door of the drawing room. I smiled in agreement and went in.
Susan and Elizabeth were also there, and I drew up a vacant chair beside them.
‘Even so, it worries me,’ said Susan, and Elizabeth agreed.
‘Yes, me too, George. I’d like to be able –’ She broke off as the door opened to admit Simpson.
‘Have you finished with the coffee, ma’am?’ he asked Elizabeth, ignoring my hand poised over a clean cup.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied absently. I relinquished my hope of coffee and allowed the butler to remove the tray. It seemed that he had still not forgiven me for catching him doing something useful. Simpson smiled at me benignly and turned back to Elizabeth Wallace.
‘What shall I do about dinner, ma’am?’ he asked her seriously.
‘Dinner?’ demanded George. ‘What do you mean, what shall you do?’
‘Well, sir,’ began Simpson, seemingly prepared to outline in minuscule detail the problems and possibilities of the culinary strategy.
Elizabeth checked him in time: ‘We’ll have whatever you and Beryl can manage between you, thank you, Simpson.’
The butler raised an eyebrow. ‘Very good; and for how many will it be?’
While Elizabeth described at length the problems involved in obtaining any information from either Baker or Stratford, I watched George. He seemed preoccupied with something on the carpet. He eventually traced it to Simpson’s feet and I too noticed that his shoes were wet through, dripping on to the floor and soaking into the pile of the carpet.
‘You been doing the gardening as well, Simpson?’ asked George, his tone only just hinting at admiration for the butler’s depths of versatility.
‘Sorry, sir?’ Simpson followed George’s gaze. ‘Oh, no, sir; I was outside for a little while earlier on.’
‘Whatever for?’ asked Susan, not unreasonably.
‘Yes, it’s not exactly warm.’ I remembered Baker covering his well-insulated form with an overcoat.
‘We’re short of herbs.’ This apparently explained everything. ‘I went into the kitchen garden to find some thyme.’
‘You’re not attempting to serve a hot dinner, are you?’ Elizabeth was horrified.
‘No, but –’
‘Yes, well never mind the blasted herbs,’ George interrupted irritated at the fuss, ‘just get on with the dinner.’
‘Very well, sir.’
Simpson made good his escape. The farce was continuing it seemed, but it was about to tip into the tragedy it echoed.
* * *
THE REPORT OF INSPECTOR IAN STRATFORD (9)
Leaving Banquo Manor was as I imagine walking into the Arctic wastes would be. The snow covered everything around us, hiding differences, making unevenness even. It seemed to glow of its own accord and I had to narrow my eyes into slits if I wanted to see anything comfortably. The trees lining the drive reached up skeletal hands in supplication to the blank sky. Each bare branch held its own layer and