Blackstone and the Great War (10 page)

‘No?'

‘No. Fortesque and Soames were on duty in the fire trench, but Hatfield and I were in the reserve trench.' Maude took another sip of his drink. ‘But to continue – the next stage in your mental process was to ask yourself
why
we were in the command dugout last night, and you reached the inevitable conclusion that we knew you were due to arrive, and were there to get your measure.'

‘And is it a false conclusion?'

‘Not at all. That's
precisely
why we were there.'

‘You'll have to tell me more,' Blackstone said.

‘I won't
have to
tell you anything,' Maude shot back at him, with a sudden flash of anger. ‘You should not think, Inspector Blackstone, that because I have a healthy respect for your obvious intelligence, that is enough to make me consider you anything like my equal.'

On the pitch, Soames took a spirited swipe at the ball, and sent it hurtling towards the boundary.

‘Well done, Roger!' Maude called out. He turned his attention back to Blackstone. ‘I
will
tell you why we were there, Mr Blackstone – but only because I feel inclined to,' he said, in a much softer tone than the one he had used earlier. ‘Roger Soames has an uncle who, purely for his own amusement, works in New Scotland Yard. Roger's uncle might, I suppose, even be called a colleague of yours – although, of course, he's much higher up the ladder than you are.'

‘Assistant Commissioner Soames,' Blackstone said.

‘The very man,' Maude agreed. ‘At any rate, we thought it might be interesting to ask Roger's Uncle Arthur all about you.'

Blackstone said nothing.

‘Aren't you curious to learn what he told us?' Maude asked.

‘Why should I be interested in what a dilettante assistant commissioner has to say about me?' Blackstone wondered.

‘Dilettante!' Maude repeated, with obvious delight. ‘That's a big word for a humble policeman like yourself.'

‘Yes, isn't it?' Blackstone agreed. ‘For a humble policeman, I probably know enough big words to keep you amused for hours. “Marmalade” – that's another one. But I'm still not particularly interested in AC Soames' opinion of me.'

‘I think I'll tell you what he said, anyway,' Maude replied, sounding a little disappointed. ‘He said you have a reputation for being something of an agitator – possibly even one with Bolshevik leanings.'

‘I have no interest in politics,' Blackstone said.

‘Perhaps not, at least in specific terms,' Maude agreed easily. ‘But your record shows that you do seem to take a great deal of pleasure in pulling down your betters from their pedestals.'

‘If a man's guilty of a crime, I don't care what his background is,' Blackstone said stonily.

‘That's probably true,' Maude conceded. ‘But you do
prefer
it if he's high-born, don't you?'

‘No, I don't,' Blackstone said – though he realized he did not sound entirely convincing, even to himself.

‘At any rate, we reached the conclusion that, given your prejudices, there was a greater chance you'd suspect an officer than there was that you'd suspect an enlisted man. Were we right?'

‘You're right, but you're also wrong,' Blackstone told him. ‘I came here with a completely open mind, but the more I learn, the more I'm inclined to think that Lieutenant Fortesque was killed by an officer.'

‘Well, there you are, then,' Maude replied. ‘Suppose I gave you my word – as an officer and a gentleman – that Charlie Fortesque was not murdered by any officer in this regiment. Would you believe me?'

‘No – but that wouldn't be based on any particular prejudice against you. The reason I'd refuse to accept your word is that unless you'd actually seen the murder yourself, you'd have no basis for giving it.'

‘Ah, now you're being tactful,' Maude said, with some amusement. ‘And that really doesn't sit well with you, you know.'

‘All right,' Blackstone said. ‘I wouldn't believe you because I think there's something that's much more important to you than your word as a gentleman – something even more important than seeing that your friend gets the justice he deserves.'

‘And what might that be?' Maude asked interestedly.

‘Preserving the status quo,' Blackstone said. ‘If you thought, for example, that your mate Roger Soames had killed Lieutenant Fortesque, you wouldn't tell me about it, because that would mean admitting to one of the lower orders that a gentleman is capable of such a horrendous crime. Far better, from your point of view, to let Fortesque's murder go unavenged.'

‘What a cynical view you do seem to have of us,' Maude said. ‘I could take great offence at that, you know.'

‘Yes, you could,' Blackstone agreed. ‘But it wouldn't do you any good – and I might quite enjoy it.'

There was a loud cry of ‘Howzat!' in the background, and Blackstone turned to see Lieutenant Soames flinging his bat down furiously on the ground.

‘Well bowled, sir!' Maude shouted.

He held out his glass, and his servant took it from him. He clapped briefly, then held out his hand again, and retrieved the pink gin.

‘Well, that's our team all out, but I suppose we can't complain – we've had a good run,' he said to Blackstone.

One of the enlisted fielders was already retrieving the bat from where Soames had flung it, while Soames himself – with Hatfield, his batting partner – walked slowly away from the wicket.

‘Roger's just spotted you,' Maude drawled. ‘Now we should see some fireworks.'

Blackstone examined the two men as they approached. Soames was large and beefy – a natural for the rougher sports in which brawn, rather than brain, was at a premium.

Hatfield was taller and slimmer, and carried himself without either the intellectual assurance of Maude or the physical assurance of Soames.

He was the weakest link in the chain – the runt of the litter – Blackstone quickly decided.

Soames scowled at Blackstone, then turned to Maude.

‘What's that man doing here?' he demanded.

Instead of answering directly, Maude turned to watch the batsmen from the opposing team walking on to the pitch.

‘You knocked up a good score, Roger,' he said, after a few moments, ‘but that may not necessarily be to our advantage. The other side are the underdogs now, and that might just give them the push they need to best us.' He swivelled to face Blackstone. ‘What do you think, Inspector?'

‘I'd never underrate an underdog,' Blackstone said.

‘I asked you what this man was doing here, William,' Lieutenant Soames said impatiently.

‘Mr Blackstone?' Maude replied, as if fielding a question he'd never expected to be asked. ‘Oh, he's here because he suspects one – or all – of us of killing Charlie Fortesque.'

‘He does what!' Soames demanded, outraged.

‘I have got that right, haven't I, Mr Blackstone?' Maude asked. ‘You
do
suspect us, don't you?'

‘There are certainly some questions I'd like to ask you,' Blackstone responded.

‘Now look here, my man, I've had just about enough of your damned impertinence!' Soames said.

‘Quiet, Roger,' Maude said. ‘You may not be interested in hearing what questions Mr Blackstone wishes to ask but, for my part, I find the whole matter quite intriguing.' He turned to Blackstone again. ‘You may speak now,'

‘You can't imagine how grateful I am for your permission,' Blackstone said. ‘Why don't we start by you telling me what the argument was about?'

‘Argument!' Soames said to Maude. ‘I really don't know what the devil he's talking about.'

‘The day before Fortesque was murdered, three officers – I assume you three – went to see him in his dugout. Fortesque told you that he was going to make a clean breast of things, and one of you told him that that would ruin you all.'

‘Never happened!' Soames said dismissively.

‘I take it you got this information from that sniffling little weed who served as Charlie's servant,' Maude said.

‘Doesn't matter where I got it from,' Blackstone told him. ‘We all know that's what did actually occur.'

‘Let's assume for a moment that you're right,' Maude said, with the smile back on his lips. ‘What do
you
think that conversation he overheard could possibly have been about?'

‘My best guess is that you'd all been involved in something illegal, and that Fortesque was about to confess to it,' Blackstone admitted.

‘We might have been embezzling the mess funds, for example?' Maude suggested.

‘That's one possibility,' Blackstone agreed.

‘Now why would we want to do that?' Maude asked. ‘You look like a man who will have studied his history, so you must surely know that our ancestors stole such unimaginable amounts from their starving peasantry that our prosperity is assured until the end of time.'

‘I knew a lord when I was soldiering in India—' Blackstone began.

‘Knew him, did you?' Soames scoffed. ‘Great friend of yours, was he? Used to wash your socks together?'

‘I knew
of
him,' Blackstone corrected himself. ‘He ran a string of polo ponies and, when he was sure someone was watching, he lit his cigars with Indian bank notes. But the money didn't come from his family, as yours does. It came from the brothels that he owned – brothels which employed girls as young as twelve.'

‘I'm surprised, once you learned how he was “exploiting” the poor niggers, that you let him get away with it,' Soames said mockingly.

‘I didn't,' Blackstone told him.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

Then Maude laughed and said, ‘That really is a
most
amusing little anecdote, Inspector Blackstone, but you shouldn't let it lead you into believing that we all need to run brothels in order to live in the style to which we've quite rightly become accustomed.'

‘No?' Blackstone asked.

‘No,' Maude said. ‘Soames' family, for example, owns half of Berkshire. Isn't that right, Roger?'

‘Wouldn't say it was quite half,' Soames replied.

‘While my own people control considerable tracts of the wilds of Yorkshire – a place I've never visited in the past and have no intention of visiting in the future,' Maude continued. ‘And as for Hatfield here – well, it's true that his grandfather earned his money in
trade
, but he made
so
very much from it that we're more than willing to forgive him.'

Maude was treating this whole encounter as a game, while Soames regarded it as an assault on everything he held dear, Blackstone thought. But Hatfield was neither amused nor enraged – merely uncomfortable.

‘So just what
was
it that Fortesque could have done which might have ruined you?' he asked the three lieutenants.

‘Nothing at all,' Maude said calmly. ‘Charlie Fortesque's servant – who ranks on the evolutionary scale slightly below pond scum – heard what was merely amusing banter between friends, and got completely the wrong idea. I'd be more than willing to tell you what the joke was, if I could remember it – but it was so inconsequential that it's gone completely out of my mind.'

‘You're lying, of course,' Blackstone said.

‘Damn your impudence!' Soames exploded. ‘Fifty years ago – civilian or no civilian – I could have had you horsewhipped for saying that.'

‘Not fifty years ago, Roger – much closer to a hundred,' Maude said, still amused. ‘But you're quite right, there was certainly a time when you could have had Mr Blackstone horsewhipped – and if you had, I, for one, would gladly have paid money to see it.'

He had gone
almost
as far as he could with this particular interrogation, Blackstone decided, but he still had one last shot to fire.

He turned to face the weakest link in the chain.

‘You've said absolutely nothing, so far, Lieutenant Hatfield,' he pointed out. ‘I wonder why that is?'

Hatfield opened his mouth wide, but the only words which came out were, ‘I  . . . I  . . .'

‘Benjamin prefers, quite rightly, to let the senior members of our little group do the talking,' Maude said.

‘And the senior members of the group would be you and Lieutenant Soames, would they?' Blackstone asked.

‘Oh yes,' Maude agreed. ‘By several centuries, at least.'

There was a loud cry of ‘Howzat' from the field.

‘The innings has only just started, and the opposition is already one wicket down,' Maude said. ‘It would appear that, in this case at least, the underdog is being much less successful than he might have hoped.' He paused for a moment. ‘You will bear that in mind, won't you, Mr Blackstone?'

‘If the underdog
always
won, he wouldn't be the underdog any more,' Blackstone countered. ‘But the fact that he's still
called
the underdog indicates that next time he just might come through.'

‘I have no idea what the damn fellow's talking about,' Soames said, to no one in particular.

‘No, you wouldn't have,' Blackstone agreed. ‘But you understand what I'm saying, don't you, Lieutenant Maude?'

‘Indeed I do,' Maude said. ‘In fact, I think it can safely be said that, as a result of this brief meeting, we each understand the other.'

The new batsman was walking on to the field to a smattering of half-hearted applause.

Blackstone turned to go, then swivelled round on his heel.

‘When you do want to talk to me, Lieutenant Hatfield, I shouldn't be hard to find,' he said.

And then, as the bowler vanquished the new batsman with his first ball, he turned again, and walked away.

EIGHT