Hardcastle's Frustration by Graham Ison

Mr Hardcastle?’ asked the coroner.
    â€˜No objections, sir,’ said Hardcastle, and sat down.
    â€˜I so order that the body be released,’ said the coroner.
    The solicitor gathered up his papers and left the court.
    â€˜Catch up with that solicitor, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle, ‘find out who briefed him to attend, and ask him to let us know the date of the funeral.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ acknowledged Marriott, and when, minutes later, he was joined by Hardcastle on the pavement outside the court, he said, ‘He was briefed by Harold Parker, Ronald’s brother, sir, and he’ll let us know when the funeral is to take place.’
    â€˜Good,’ said Hardcastle, and hailing a cab said to the driver, ‘Scotland Yard, cabbie.’ He turned to Marriott. ‘Tell ’em Cannon Row and half the time you’ll finish up at Cannon Street in the City.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Marriott wearily.

SEVEN
    D etective Sergeant Wood was indeed a resourceful officer, and skilled at keeping a discreet observation. He arrived in Caversham Road, Kingston, at seven o’clock on the Saturday morning and conducted a preliminary survey of the street. Having concluded that it was not the easiest of areas in which to remain inconspicuous, he decided that a fixed observation post would be the only way in which he could safely keep a watch on Stroud’s property.
    He made his way to the nearby Kingston police station to enquire what, if anything, was known about the occupants of the houses immediately opposite Stroud’s dwelling.
    The constable on duty ran a hand round his chin. ‘We know the man living at that one, Sergeant,’ he said, pointing a pencil at one of the addresses in Wood’s pocket book.
    â€˜D’you mean he’s a villain?’ asked Wood.
    â€˜Oh no, he’s a respectable gent, Skip. A retired army officer by the name of Darke, Major Joseph Darke.’
    It was eight o’clock by the time that Wood knocked at Major Darke’s house. An elderly man came to the door, but before he could say anything, Wood produced his warrant card.
    â€˜Good morning, sir, I’m a police officer. Am I right in thinking that you are Major Darke?’
    â€˜That’s correct,’ said Darke.
    â€˜In that case, I wonder if you could assist me, sir.’
    â€˜Well, of course, Officer. You’d better come in.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir.’ Wood removed the cloth cap he was wearing and followed the man into the hall.
    â€˜Is there some trouble, Officer?’ Major Darke asked, once he had closed his front door.
    â€˜Not as far as you’re concerned, sir.’ Wood stuffed his cap into one of the pockets of the old raincoat he was wearing. ‘Perhaps I’d better introduce myself: I’m Detective Sergeant Wood of the Whitehall Division.’
    â€˜Whitehall, eh? You’re a long way from home, Sergeant. What’s this all about?’
    â€˜A matter of national security, sir,’ said Wood. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate that I’m not at liberty to say any more than that.’
    â€˜Ah, to do with the war effort, eh?’
    â€˜In a manner of speaking, sir. We have received information of a vital nature that requires me to keep a watch on one of the houses opposite. But I’m afraid I can’t reveal which one. Neither can I tell you any more about it.’ Wood was very good at making up stories to cover his enquiries.
    â€˜No, of course not, Sergeant. I quite understand. I was in the Boer War, you know, but unfortunately the chaps at the War House told me that I was too old for this one. I do know a bit about national security and I worked in intelligence in South Africa, sniffing out the Boer commandos, don’t you know.’ Darke fingered a striped necktie that Wood, had he been familiar with such things, would have recognized as the regimental tie of the East Surrey Regiment.