of interests, and—”
“It’s a web, Detective Chief Superintendent. A web. The death of Liddicote could be inextricably linked to whatever else is going on here, and frankly, I’ve not even got my feet under the table yet—though I’ve already learned that the pacifism-promoting College of St. Francis is far from peaceful.”
“Your brief from Huntley was loose—I’ll be honest, I think they’ve got only a wee shadow of a clue that something’s amiss here, which is why they wanted someone like you to come in and rake over the coals to see if their suspicions were on target. On our part, as we said at first, there were suspicions based upon an influx of aliens entering the country bound for this college—and the two came together.”
“And what about the mutiny?” Maisie threw in the comment to see if MacFarlane knew about the reputation attached to Liddicote’s book.
“What mutiny? What are you talking about, lass?”
“Liddicote’s children’s book, the one published in 1916, was withdrawn from circulation—as we know—but were you aware that there was talk that it was implicated in a mutiny on the Western Front, later that year?”
“There were no mutinies on the Western Front.” MacFarlane stared at Maisie.
As Stratton cleared his throat and looked away, Maisie remembered that he had been with the military police in the war. Ah, he knows , she thought, and pressed her point. “I have heard it said that there was not just one but several occasions when men downed the tools of war and walked off the job.”
“The boys on the other side might have walked off—there was a fair bit of mutiny in the German trenches in 1917 and on towards the end; they were starving, most of them—but our boys never mutinied, not the soldiers of the Crown and her colonies.”
“I think, Detective Chief—”
“And I think there’s a piece of paper with your signature on it, vowing that you will keep the secrets of the Crown. So, continue with your work, find out if there is anything going on here that is not in the best interests of His Majesty’s government.”
Maisie stared at MacFarlane. “Of course.”
He sighed. “Now then, time for you to go back to your lodgings. It’s been a long day for you and you’ve a big job on your hands. Stratton and I will pay a visit to Dr. Roth this evening. Anything else we can do for you?”
“I’d like two of those files, please.” She stood up, went to the desk, and lifted two folders from the pile left by Rosemary Linden. She passed them to MacFarlane to view the names. “Here’s a card I found on Liddicote’s desk.” She unclipped the card she’d found earlier. “I think it’s his solicitor, and I didn’t want it to get lost. Perhaps tomorrow I could see Dr. Roth’s personal file for my business here; I appreciate you’ll need it this evening.”
It was only as she left the room that she remembered that she had walked to the college in the morning, but she had no intention of going back in to ask for a lift back to her lodging house. Her briefcase was quite heavy now as she walked along the corridor, at the end of which she stopped to thank the night watchman as he opened the heavy door for her to leave. She had intended to draw MacFarlane’s attention to the photographs she had taken from Liddicote’s office; she knew she should have informed him of their existence. But his harsh response to her final question had surprised her. She could not do the job for Huntley if she were effectively banned from seeking the person who had murdered the founder of the college she was investigating.
Tonight she would read through the files she had taken—those of Francesca Thomas and Delphine Lang. One thing had surprised her—or had it? Perhaps it had not taken her aback as much as she might have expected; but all the same, it was interesting to note that the file pertaining to Miss Rosemary Linden was not among those left for the detectives to mull
“It’s a web, Detective Chief Superintendent. A web. The death of Liddicote could be inextricably linked to whatever else is going on here, and frankly, I’ve not even got my feet under the table yet—though I’ve already learned that the pacifism-promoting College of St. Francis is far from peaceful.”
“Your brief from Huntley was loose—I’ll be honest, I think they’ve got only a wee shadow of a clue that something’s amiss here, which is why they wanted someone like you to come in and rake over the coals to see if their suspicions were on target. On our part, as we said at first, there were suspicions based upon an influx of aliens entering the country bound for this college—and the two came together.”
“And what about the mutiny?” Maisie threw in the comment to see if MacFarlane knew about the reputation attached to Liddicote’s book.
“What mutiny? What are you talking about, lass?”
“Liddicote’s children’s book, the one published in 1916, was withdrawn from circulation—as we know—but were you aware that there was talk that it was implicated in a mutiny on the Western Front, later that year?”
“There were no mutinies on the Western Front.” MacFarlane stared at Maisie.
As Stratton cleared his throat and looked away, Maisie remembered that he had been with the military police in the war. Ah, he knows , she thought, and pressed her point. “I have heard it said that there was not just one but several occasions when men downed the tools of war and walked off the job.”
“The boys on the other side might have walked off—there was a fair bit of mutiny in the German trenches in 1917 and on towards the end; they were starving, most of them—but our boys never mutinied, not the soldiers of the Crown and her colonies.”
“I think, Detective Chief—”
“And I think there’s a piece of paper with your signature on it, vowing that you will keep the secrets of the Crown. So, continue with your work, find out if there is anything going on here that is not in the best interests of His Majesty’s government.”
Maisie stared at MacFarlane. “Of course.”
He sighed. “Now then, time for you to go back to your lodgings. It’s been a long day for you and you’ve a big job on your hands. Stratton and I will pay a visit to Dr. Roth this evening. Anything else we can do for you?”
“I’d like two of those files, please.” She stood up, went to the desk, and lifted two folders from the pile left by Rosemary Linden. She passed them to MacFarlane to view the names. “Here’s a card I found on Liddicote’s desk.” She unclipped the card she’d found earlier. “I think it’s his solicitor, and I didn’t want it to get lost. Perhaps tomorrow I could see Dr. Roth’s personal file for my business here; I appreciate you’ll need it this evening.”
It was only as she left the room that she remembered that she had walked to the college in the morning, but she had no intention of going back in to ask for a lift back to her lodging house. Her briefcase was quite heavy now as she walked along the corridor, at the end of which she stopped to thank the night watchman as he opened the heavy door for her to leave. She had intended to draw MacFarlane’s attention to the photographs she had taken from Liddicote’s office; she knew she should have informed him of their existence. But his harsh response to her final question had surprised her. She could not do the job for Huntley if she were effectively banned from seeking the person who had murdered the founder of the college she was investigating.
Tonight she would read through the files she had taken—those of Francesca Thomas and Delphine Lang. One thing had surprised her—or had it? Perhaps it had not taken her aback as much as she might have expected; but all the same, it was interesting to note that the file pertaining to Miss Rosemary Linden was not among those left for the detectives to mull
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