ago.’
Frobisher burst out laughing. ‘Given that it’s an Irish regiment, Mr Hardcastle, there must be a hundred Seamus Rileys in the Riffs, but I’ll see what I can do for you. Have you any idea where he lived before he enlisted?’
‘I’m afraid not, Colonel. All I can tell you is that he was a delivery man at a dairy in Greenwich before joining the army, and he claimed that his mother and father were both dead.’
‘I see. Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you that it might take some time. The regimental records are kept in Dublin and, as I suggested, it won’t be easy to track down this particular Seamus Riley. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.’
‘There was one other thing, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle. ‘The dairyman who employed Riley said that Riley claimed to have a brother who won the Victoria Cross while serving with the RFC, but was later shot down by the Red Baron.’
‘Ah, Manfred von Richtofen, the scourge of the Royal Flying Corps,’ said Frobisher. ‘That’ll be easy to check, but I have to say that I’ve not heard of a Riley who got the VC.’
At nine o’clock the following morning, Catto knocked on Hardcastle’s open door and hovered.
‘Don’t stand there like you’re waiting for a tram, Catto. For God’s sake come in.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Catto moved closer to Hardcastle’s desk.
‘Well?’ barked the DDI.
‘It’s about Sarah Cotton, sir.’
‘Well, of course it is, Catto. Get on with it.’
‘Yes, sir. I followed her as directed—’
‘Just cut to the chase, Catto.’ Hardcastle took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at the luckless DC.
Catto took a deep breath. ‘She hung about on the forecourt of Victoria station until ten o’clock, sir, but she didn’t pick up any tricks. One or two swaddies approached her, but she sent them packing. She seems to be a bit choosy for a tom.’ Sensing that the DDI was about to utter a word of criticism, Catto hurried on. ‘Then she took a taxi, sir, and I followed in another cab. She let herself into a house in Cadogan Place with her own key.’
‘Did she, indeed?’ Hardcastle re-lit his pipe, and sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘And did she go in by the front door, or down the area steps into the servants’ hall?’
‘In the front door, sir,’ replied Catto, failing to understand why Hardcastle had posed the question.
‘And presumably you’ve checked the voters’ register to see who lives there.’
Catto knew that would be the DDI’s next question. ‘Yes, sir. It’s a Lady Sarah Millard and Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Millard. He’s shown as an absentee voter, sir. I suppose he’s at the Front.’
‘All right, lad. Ask Sergeant Marriott to see me. And well done.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’ Catto grinned at this rare word of praise and hurried back to the detectives’ office, delighted his ordeal was over.
‘There’s more to Sarah Cotton than meets the eye,’ said Hardcastle when Marriott entered. ‘From what Catto’s found out it looks as though she ain’t Sarah Cotton at all, but Lady Sarah Millard.’ And he went on to relate what Catto had discovered.
‘But surely a titled lady wouldn’t be hawking her mutton round Victoria, sir.’ Marriott was astounded at the possibility.
‘Nothing would surprise me these days, Marriott. It’s this damned war,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Fetch Wood and Wilmot in here. I’ve a job for them, seeing as how it’s Wednesday.’
‘You wanted us, sir?’ DS Wood and DC Wilmot stood in front of Hardcastle’s desk.
‘Yes. First of all, I want Ruby Hoskins brought in here as soon as possible. Once you’ve done that you can stand by for further orders.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Wood who, as a sergeant, was the senior of the two.
At seven o’clock, Wood showed Ruby Hoskins into Hardcastle’s office.
‘You want me to catch whoever murdered Annie Kelly, don’t you, Ruby?’ said Hardcastle as the young
Frobisher burst out laughing. ‘Given that it’s an Irish regiment, Mr Hardcastle, there must be a hundred Seamus Rileys in the Riffs, but I’ll see what I can do for you. Have you any idea where he lived before he enlisted?’
‘I’m afraid not, Colonel. All I can tell you is that he was a delivery man at a dairy in Greenwich before joining the army, and he claimed that his mother and father were both dead.’
‘I see. Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you that it might take some time. The regimental records are kept in Dublin and, as I suggested, it won’t be easy to track down this particular Seamus Riley. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.’
‘There was one other thing, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle. ‘The dairyman who employed Riley said that Riley claimed to have a brother who won the Victoria Cross while serving with the RFC, but was later shot down by the Red Baron.’
‘Ah, Manfred von Richtofen, the scourge of the Royal Flying Corps,’ said Frobisher. ‘That’ll be easy to check, but I have to say that I’ve not heard of a Riley who got the VC.’
At nine o’clock the following morning, Catto knocked on Hardcastle’s open door and hovered.
‘Don’t stand there like you’re waiting for a tram, Catto. For God’s sake come in.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Catto moved closer to Hardcastle’s desk.
‘Well?’ barked the DDI.
‘It’s about Sarah Cotton, sir.’
‘Well, of course it is, Catto. Get on with it.’
‘Yes, sir. I followed her as directed—’
‘Just cut to the chase, Catto.’ Hardcastle took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at the luckless DC.
Catto took a deep breath. ‘She hung about on the forecourt of Victoria station until ten o’clock, sir, but she didn’t pick up any tricks. One or two swaddies approached her, but she sent them packing. She seems to be a bit choosy for a tom.’ Sensing that the DDI was about to utter a word of criticism, Catto hurried on. ‘Then she took a taxi, sir, and I followed in another cab. She let herself into a house in Cadogan Place with her own key.’
‘Did she, indeed?’ Hardcastle re-lit his pipe, and sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘And did she go in by the front door, or down the area steps into the servants’ hall?’
‘In the front door, sir,’ replied Catto, failing to understand why Hardcastle had posed the question.
‘And presumably you’ve checked the voters’ register to see who lives there.’
Catto knew that would be the DDI’s next question. ‘Yes, sir. It’s a Lady Sarah Millard and Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Millard. He’s shown as an absentee voter, sir. I suppose he’s at the Front.’
‘All right, lad. Ask Sergeant Marriott to see me. And well done.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’ Catto grinned at this rare word of praise and hurried back to the detectives’ office, delighted his ordeal was over.
‘There’s more to Sarah Cotton than meets the eye,’ said Hardcastle when Marriott entered. ‘From what Catto’s found out it looks as though she ain’t Sarah Cotton at all, but Lady Sarah Millard.’ And he went on to relate what Catto had discovered.
‘But surely a titled lady wouldn’t be hawking her mutton round Victoria, sir.’ Marriott was astounded at the possibility.
‘Nothing would surprise me these days, Marriott. It’s this damned war,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Fetch Wood and Wilmot in here. I’ve a job for them, seeing as how it’s Wednesday.’
‘You wanted us, sir?’ DS Wood and DC Wilmot stood in front of Hardcastle’s desk.
‘Yes. First of all, I want Ruby Hoskins brought in here as soon as possible. Once you’ve done that you can stand by for further orders.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Wood who, as a sergeant, was the senior of the two.
At seven o’clock, Wood showed Ruby Hoskins into Hardcastle’s office.
‘You want me to catch whoever murdered Annie Kelly, don’t you, Ruby?’ said Hardcastle as the young
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