The Confession - Charles Todd [50]
The butler was late middle-aged, his hair graying. “They are still there, sir. We didn’t feel it was right to get rid of them. We’d hoped young Willet would come for them one day. Of course the war has been over for two years. Still and all, we thought it best.”
“Yes, quite right, Thompson. Can you see to it? And the Inspector would like to speak to the staff as well. Those who remember young Willet.”
“Indeed, sir. If you’ll come this way, Inspector?”
Rutledge thanked Laughton and was about to follow Thompson to the door when he was stopped.
“I say, you don’t believe Willet is in any way involved in this business, whatever it may be?”
To tell the truth would forewarn Thompson and the staff.
Rutledge fell back on standard police formula. “At this stage of the inquiry, I’m not at liberty to say more. I will tell you that there is no danger of Benjamin Willet being taken into custody at any time.”
Laughton accepted that at face value.
“Good. Good. I’d hate to think he’d been in any sort of trouble. Good night, then. I wish you luck.”
Thompson shut the door and ushered Rutledge to another under the main stairs, where a short flight led down into the kitchen and the servants’ hall.
“We’ll begin with the staff, if you don’t mind, sir. They happen to be available at the moment.”
Rutledge could now see that the servants were just clearing away the dinner served in the family dining room upstairs and preparing to eat their own meal.
Thompson explained who this visitor was and why he had come.
Rutledge thanked him, and added, “Did any of you correspond with Willet on a regular basis?”
The woman in the black dress of a housekeeper said, “We all took turns writing to him and to the others who went away. And he’d answer us. Very interesting letters about France and the war and whatever news he might have. When he came home, he mentioned that he wished to try something new, and if it didn’t work out, he’d like to know he was still welcome here. But that’s the last we’ve heard. Is he all right? What has young Willet got to do with Scotland Yard?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he told them once more. “Do you know what it was that he wished to try? And was he expecting to remain in London?”
“I do remember he was staying with a friend,” one of the housemaids answered shyly. “I thought perhaps it was someone he’d met in the Army.”
“It was nice stationery,” the cook added. “We commented on that. Very thick, very expensive.”
“A house in Chelsea,” the other housemaid added. “He said there was no room in the house in Chelsea for his boxes, and would Mr. Thompson here keep them safe until he could send for them. I thought perhaps he might have been taken on as a valet by one of the officers he’d served under.”
Beyond that, they had no more information to offer him.
Thompson thanked them for their cooperation and conducted Rutledge to the servants’ stairs. He followed the butler up several flights to the floor where the staff slept. Halfway down the passage a separate staircase led up to a closed door.
Thompson took out a ring of keys and unlocked it.
There were electric lights in the attic, illuminating the rafters and the detritus of generations who had shared the same house. Trunks and boxes, cast-off furniture, outgrown toys cluttered the floor. Two long shelves on either side of the attic housed a collection of oil lamps, candlesticks, and an array of hat boxes.
Thompson led him down the room to an open space under the eaves where several boxes had been stored, well bound with heavy string and marked with the name WILLET in large letters.
“There you are, sir. I thought they might still be here. I doubt anyone has touched them since young Willet left.”
“I’d like to open them,” Rutledge said. “Can we drag them out into the middle of the floor?”
“Yes, sir. But you will be careful, will you not, Inspector? He may still wish to claim them.”
Willet would