concentrating on those people who owned the larger country houses. Roger made a note, but felt no surprise or emotion of any kind until Lampard said: ‘Finally Martin Transom, Yew House, Delaware.’
‘Transom!’ exclaimed Roger.
‘A director of Dreem,’ said Lampard, dryly. ‘Didn’t you know he lived there?’
‘I did not,’ said Roger.
Lampard made no comment, and rang off. Roger pondered the best way of getting information from the Dreem directors and their business with Gabriel Potter.
He concentrated on getting background details about the directors themselves. He found that only McFallen had any social pretensions. He was a happily married man, childless, who entertained on a big scale. Transom was also happily married but he had two children, one a daughter named Garielle. Widdison was a bachelor, Hauteby a widower.
Roger thought: Garielle Transom means something. He could get no information from the Yard, and telephoned the Daily Echo. That national daily’s social editor, a mournful man who could get little space for social items, was only too ready to talk.
‘Garielle Transom?’ he echoed. ‘Yes, debutante in 1939. Nice looking girl. Father’s got pots of money, one of the Dreem people, you know. Garielle lit out of the family just after the war began and joined one of the women’s services, ATS I think. No, wait a minute –’ the rustling of papers sounded over the telephone. ‘The WAAF. Had a bit of a fandangle with her family about it, and apparently didn’t tell them what she was doing. They made a hue-and-cry about her, and discovered her eventually in RAF blue. That was when newspapers were papers, not War sheets. Eh . . . Oh, yes, reunion all right. All a happy family again. I suppose I can’t ask you why you want to know?’
‘Later,’ said Roger firmly. ‘Many thanks.’ He rang off. Almost at once he called the Echo again and asked for a photograph of Garielle Transom and her family, and McFallen’s as well.
He collected the photographs, and found that the social editor had been jaundiced; Garielle Transom was not simply pretty; she had something exceptional in the way of looks.
‘Sergeant from Guildford called,’ Eddie Day said when Roger returned. ‘Says he’ll call again.’
The sergeant had a report on Harrington. He worked in a small rubber factory at Kingston, and the factory’s work was extremely hush-hush, for it manufactured new fittings for a secret aircraft. Harrington was the owner of the company. Before the war it had been unknown, but Government contracts had made it a flourishing concern. Harrington was industrious, and apparently dedicated to his job. He spent most of his evenings at home, but occasionally had a visitor, always the same attractive young woman. Harrington’s neighbours hinted that they did not approve of a bachelor having a young woman at his flat. The girl, who was in the WAAF, always left about ten o’clock.
‘In the WAAF,’ mused Roger, when he received the report. He thought of Garielle Transom, and decided that he was at the dangerous game of jumping to conclusions. But he was restless.
Potter had been at his office all day, and Lampard reported from Guildford that at Delaware Mrs Prendergast had stayed in her room, while Claude was gradually improving.
He telephoned Janet, said he was going to see Harrington at Kingston, but should be back by eight. Janet said she hoped he would be, because the kitten missed him badly. Chuckling, Roger went downstairs and drove to Kingston, finding Hill Mansions after some little trouble, in a road turning off Kingston Hill.
He went up to the first floor and rang the bell.
A girl in WAAF uniform answered his ring. It was Garielle Transom. Roger recognized her at once as the original of the photograph from the Echo.
10: Garielle
Good evening,’ said Garielle Transom.
‘Is Mr Harrington in, please?’ Roger asked, trying to hide his surprise.
‘Not at the moment, but he
‘Transom!’ exclaimed Roger.
‘A director of Dreem,’ said Lampard, dryly. ‘Didn’t you know he lived there?’
‘I did not,’ said Roger.
Lampard made no comment, and rang off. Roger pondered the best way of getting information from the Dreem directors and their business with Gabriel Potter.
He concentrated on getting background details about the directors themselves. He found that only McFallen had any social pretensions. He was a happily married man, childless, who entertained on a big scale. Transom was also happily married but he had two children, one a daughter named Garielle. Widdison was a bachelor, Hauteby a widower.
Roger thought: Garielle Transom means something. He could get no information from the Yard, and telephoned the Daily Echo. That national daily’s social editor, a mournful man who could get little space for social items, was only too ready to talk.
‘Garielle Transom?’ he echoed. ‘Yes, debutante in 1939. Nice looking girl. Father’s got pots of money, one of the Dreem people, you know. Garielle lit out of the family just after the war began and joined one of the women’s services, ATS I think. No, wait a minute –’ the rustling of papers sounded over the telephone. ‘The WAAF. Had a bit of a fandangle with her family about it, and apparently didn’t tell them what she was doing. They made a hue-and-cry about her, and discovered her eventually in RAF blue. That was when newspapers were papers, not War sheets. Eh . . . Oh, yes, reunion all right. All a happy family again. I suppose I can’t ask you why you want to know?’
‘Later,’ said Roger firmly. ‘Many thanks.’ He rang off. Almost at once he called the Echo again and asked for a photograph of Garielle Transom and her family, and McFallen’s as well.
He collected the photographs, and found that the social editor had been jaundiced; Garielle Transom was not simply pretty; she had something exceptional in the way of looks.
‘Sergeant from Guildford called,’ Eddie Day said when Roger returned. ‘Says he’ll call again.’
The sergeant had a report on Harrington. He worked in a small rubber factory at Kingston, and the factory’s work was extremely hush-hush, for it manufactured new fittings for a secret aircraft. Harrington was the owner of the company. Before the war it had been unknown, but Government contracts had made it a flourishing concern. Harrington was industrious, and apparently dedicated to his job. He spent most of his evenings at home, but occasionally had a visitor, always the same attractive young woman. Harrington’s neighbours hinted that they did not approve of a bachelor having a young woman at his flat. The girl, who was in the WAAF, always left about ten o’clock.
‘In the WAAF,’ mused Roger, when he received the report. He thought of Garielle Transom, and decided that he was at the dangerous game of jumping to conclusions. But he was restless.
Potter had been at his office all day, and Lampard reported from Guildford that at Delaware Mrs Prendergast had stayed in her room, while Claude was gradually improving.
He telephoned Janet, said he was going to see Harrington at Kingston, but should be back by eight. Janet said she hoped he would be, because the kitten missed him badly. Chuckling, Roger went downstairs and drove to Kingston, finding Hill Mansions after some little trouble, in a road turning off Kingston Hill.
He went up to the first floor and rang the bell.
A girl in WAAF uniform answered his ring. It was Garielle Transom. Roger recognized her at once as the original of the photograph from the Echo.
10: Garielle
Good evening,’ said Garielle Transom.
‘Is Mr Harrington in, please?’ Roger asked, trying to hide his surprise.
‘Not at the moment, but he
Similar Books
![[Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org)](https://fs.ageofbook.com/489590/thumbs/152x264/cornick-nicola-the-last-rake-in-londonbookosorg.jpg)
