Armistice by Nick Stafford Page A

nodded.
    â€œOver a gambling debt?”
    Major James nodded.
    â€œBut he didn’t witness the crime and nor did anyone else?”
    Major James nodded.
    â€œThe man making the allegation claimed that the gambling debt arose from a game of cards?”
    Major James nodded.
    â€œBut the accused man denied that any such game ever took place?”
    Major James nodded.
    â€œAnd the pledges, or IOUs, were never found?”
    Major James nodded.
    She guessed: “The accused made it clear to all concerned that the allegations shouldn’t be repeated.”
    Major James nodded. That meant he had been warned off by Anthony Dore?
    â€œThe accused was Anthony Dore,” she said.
    Something in Major James balked at confirming this. He neither nodded nor shook his head. She tried a different question.
    â€œThe accuser was Jonathan Priest?”
    Major James began to move crab-like to the door. “Your time is up, I’m afraid. I’m sorry about your fiancé,” he said. “Being the last to die is especially poignant—”
    â€œYes,” she interrupted, “you didn’t tell me that he was killed after the war ended.”
    â€œIt wasn’t after, as such. It was contiguous.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œThe war didn’t stop dead on eleven a.m.”
    â€œNo,” she bristled, “for Dan it stopped ‘dead’ a few moments after, while men were stopping fighting and deciding not to kill each other anymore. That much is true, isn’t it? That Dan was killed while other men were acting as if it was all over?”
    â€œIt is extremely difficult to end a war. Especially when not everyone wants to. And for men in the midst of battle, it’s impossible to know the overall picture. They can only deal with what’s in front of them. It’s very hard to trust that if one stops fighting the enemy will do the same.” He was becoming strident. “To make any kind of accusation stick you require a witness or physical evidence. Anybody who doesn’t have these should tread very carefully, very carefully indeed, and think more than twice before repeating any allegation that a particular crime has been committed.”
    â€œI think that you are thinking something in error,” she said. “I haven’t misled you but you have assumed that you know the identity of the person who described Dan’s death as a crime. It was Anthony Dore. He wrote to me that Dan’s death was a crime.”
    Major James was speechless for a moment. His eyes flicked to and fro.
    â€œCaptain Dore wrote that to you?” He looked aghast.
    â€œYes,” she confirmed.
    â€œAnthony Dore wrote to you?”
    â€œOffering his condolences.” It struck Philomena that it was significant that Major James didn’t think that it was at all appropriate for Anthony Dore to write to her. Which told her what? That Major James thought that Anthony Dore had been in some way impertinent to write to her, or brazen, perhaps, or just plain wrong.
    â€œYou don’t think that it is quite the thing for Anthony Dore to have done, do you? The letter is the reason I thought that Dan and Anthony Dore were friends. Here it is.”
    She handed it over without waiting for an answer and watched Major James read it. Outwardly he gave very little away.
    â€œI really have to get on,” he said, handing the letter back. “I’ve told you all I can.”
    Philomena wondered if he cared. She liked to think that he did.
    After that second meeting with Major James she knew that she would have to meet Anthony Dore and decide about him for herself. But as soon as Dore knew she was Daniel Case’s fiancée then any chance she had of extracting the truth from him would be gone. His guard would come up. And he must have a guard after what he’d been accused of. Instead she decided to seek Jonathan out to tell him that Major James had confirmed