Hardcastle's Traitors by Graham Ison Page A

brigade of the RFA. In fact, the brigade was in rest. They weren’t playing football with Fritz like they did in 1914, but there was, by all accounts, a small celebration among the officers; as much as there could be in a theatre of operations. However, after a while Colonel Powell noticed that Tindall wasn’t there. He made a few enquiries as to the officer’s whereabouts, but he hadn’t been seen since midday on Christmas Eve.’
    â€˜Is it possible that he’d been wounded and evacuated, sir?’ queried Marriott.
    â€˜Seems a bit of rum do, losing an officer,’ commented Hardcastle quietly.
    â€˜It happens, Inspector,’ said Frobisher. ‘But to answer your question, Sergeant Marriott, Tindall had been seen alive and well after the last action in which the brigade had been involved and, indeed, after they’d been pulled back. Just to make sure, enquiries were made with the regimental aid post and the casualty clearing station. There was no trace of him anywhere. The matter was reported to Colonel Cunningham’s office – Cunningham’s the provost marshal of the BEF – and Tindall was officially reported as absent without leave.’
    â€˜Is there any chance he might’ve made it back to this country, Colonel?’ asked Hardcastle.
    â€˜The brigade was down near Neuve Chapelle …’ Frobisher stood up and crossed to a wall map. ‘It’s a good seventy miles from there to Boulogne,’ he said, roughly tracing the route with a forefinger. ‘Assuming he managed to get there and talk his way on to a troopship, it’s a possibility. I doubt he’d’ve had much luck trying to get passage in a civilian craft. What few there are, are coastal fishing vessels.’
    â€˜So, he could still be in France, sir,’ suggested Marriott.
    Frobisher resumed his seat behind his desk. ‘The short answer to that, Sergeant Marriott, is that he could be anywhere.’
    â€˜If we find him in London, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle, ‘we’ll let you have him back. Provided he don’t have an appointment with John Ellis.’
    â€˜Who?’ asked Frobisher, mystified, as he so often was, by one of Hardcastle’s enigmatic remarks.
    â€˜He’s the official hangman,’ said Hardcastle.
    â€˜D’you think that Tindall’s our man, sir?’ asked Marriott, when he and the DDI were back at the police station.
    â€˜I’m not so sure,’ said Hardcastle pensively, a statement that surprised Marriott in view of what the DDI had said to Colonel Frobisher. ‘But if Tindall is in this country, then young Villiers could be in danger.’
    â€˜There’s not much we can do about that, sir.’
    â€˜Oh, but there is, Marriott. We’ll have another word with Villiers.’
    â€˜Now, sir?’
    â€˜No. I think we’ll call on him a bit later. Fetch Catto in here.’
    â€˜You wanted me, sir?’ said Catto, displaying his usual measure of apprehension.
    â€˜You did an observation on Prince of Wales Drive on Monday, Catto, when you tracked down Captain Villiers.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ Catto was certain that the DDI was about to find some fault with the way in which that observation had been conducted or that he was about to query the expenses that he and Watkins had incurred.
    â€˜Good. Well, you’re about to do it again. I want to be certain that Captain Haydn Villiers is there before Sergeant Marriott and me go traipsing all the way out there to speak to him. Start about six this evening.’
    â€˜But how can I be sure he’s there without knocking on the door, sir?’ asked Catto, fearing that once again he was to be faced with an impossible task.
    â€˜Then, Catto, you knock on the bloody door. I’d’ve thought that was obvious. Use your common sense, but don’t show out. You are supposed to be a detective, after all.’
    â€˜Yes,