Hollow Crown by David Roberts Page B

from beside her bed. It was wrong of me, I know, but I thought, if it did contain the papers we were talking
about, I could return them to their rightful owner without a fuss.’ He was sweating and he felt like a murderer under the Inspector’s gaze. ‘It was idiotic of me. I see that
now,’ he babbled.
    ‘And did the handbag or small attaché case contain the letters?’
    ‘It was locked. I hid it . . . I hid it in the chimney meaning to examine it later.’
    ‘Well, I think the best thing we can do is to retrieve it and open it, don’t you, Lord Edward?’
    The Inspector examined the rather sooty bag which now lay on the table at the foot of Edward’s bed. ‘I really don’t see much point in testing this for
fingerprints after being covered in soot,’ the policeman said, examining the case closely. ‘Presumably there must be a key to the case?’
    ‘I haven’t seen it,’ Edward said, still feeling like a schoolboy found out in some prank, ‘else I would have used it.’
    ‘It’s just a toy lock. Sergeant, pass me your penknife, will you?’
    ‘Sir,’ said the Sergeant, who was even more taciturn than the Inspector, handing over a stout penknife.
    The Inspector selected the spike designed – but, as far as Edward knew, never used – for taking stones from horses’ hooves and wiggled it in the tiny lock. After a few moments
it sprung open and the Inspector opened the bag. It was quite empty. Lampfrey looked at it in silence for a minute and then felt in the lining and passed his hand along the bottom of the bag.
    ‘Nothing here,’ the Inspector said with some disappointment. ‘Do I have your word of honour that you have not opened this bag, Lord Edward?’
    ‘You have my word, Inspector.’
    ‘Hmm, ah well. Someone was there before you.’
    ‘Or perhaps Mrs Harkness had hidden whatever was in the bag somewhere safer, before she went to bed.’
    ‘You didn’t notice the bag when you had your late-night interview with Mrs Harkness?’
    ‘No. I’m sure I would have done had it been where I found it this morning, on the floor beside her bed. It must have been in a cupboard or somewhere.’
    Edward was now uneasy again. He thought he knew what had happened. Dannie must somehow have entered Molly’s room during the night – he had told her himself she had taken something to
make her sleep – searched her room, found the bag and removed the papers. He did not dare think that she might have harmed the sleeping woman. It was bad enough to think that she had used him
to gain entrance to Molly’s room. And what did she plan to do with the letters? Return them to Mrs Simpson? He hoped so. After all, as far as he knew, if she owed anyone loyalty it was Lord
Weaver. Hadn’t he heard she had been his mistress? God, what a mess. He must speak to Dannie before she was interviewed by the police.
    As the Inspector departed – taking the bag with him – he said, ‘Oh, one thing more, Mr Scannon does not seem to know if Mrs Harkness had any living relatives.’
    ‘I never heard her speak of any. She must have a lawyer who could tell us.’
    ‘I suppose so. I’m going to London tomorrow to go through her flat. There may be official letters there with a lawyer’s adddress.’
    ‘The owner of the flats will have dealt with her solicitors presumably.’
    ‘Yes, and if the letters Mrs Harkness stole are not here, then the next place to look is in the poor woman’s flat even though she told you she always took them with her. She just
might have thought Haling Castle was not a good place to take such dangerous documents.’
    The Inspector hesitated and then said, surprisingly, ‘I was wondering if you would like to accompany me. You seem to be the nearest to a close friend she had – unless we look toward
royalty – and no doubt you would like to find these letters, or whatever they are, before they get into the wrong hands.’
    ‘Thank you, Inspector, that is very thoughtful of you. I would