Trouble Brewing by Dolores Gordon-Smith

gun to shoot myself.’
    Jack and Meredith exchanged worried glances. ‘Why do you want to shoot yourself?’ asked Jack cautiously.
    Jaggard waved his hands expansively. ‘Or him. Can’t shoot her. Not my . . . my . . . But she isn’t any longer, is she? He’s back, you know. Why didn’t the swine stay dead?’
    â€˜Who?’ demanded Smith. ‘Mark Helston?’
    â€˜Mark?’ He squinted at them truculently. ‘Talk sense. Mark’s gone. He won’t come back. He killed Valdez, didn’t he? Didn’t think he would. Not Mark. Shouldn’t have done that. Oh, God.’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘Leave me alone, will you?’
    They quietly left.
    â€˜We’ve got to get him out of there before he causes a scene,’ said Jack. He strode into the lobby to find the porter.
    â€˜Mr Jaggard, Major?’ said ex-Sergeant Sutton. ‘He’s staying here tonight. If both you gentlemen could help, I’m sure we could help Mr Jaggard up to his room. We don’t want him making a fuss in front of the other members. Mr Jaggard wouldn’t like that at all. He’d be mortified once he realized what he’d done.’
    Confronted with their joint force, Jaggard allowed himself to be persuaded up to his room, where he lay, fully clothed and incapable, on the bed.
    â€˜I don’t know how long he’s been drinking,’ said Sergeant Sutton, ‘but they shouldn’t have served him, poor sod, begging your pardon, sir.’
    Jaggard opened one eye. ‘Where’s that bloody gun?’
    â€˜Never mind about that now, old man,’ said Jack soothingly. ‘You can’t do it tonight. It’s far too late.’
    Jaggard’s face crumpled. ‘Too late. Oh, God, I feel sick.’
    Jaggard was sick. It was some time, some rudimentary housework and much talk before they could leave, but, as Sergeant Sutton comfortingly said as they walked down the stairs, ‘He’ll be all right now, gentlemen. I’ll keep an eye on him. I should report this to the Secretary, though.’
    Jack felt in his wallet and drew out a pound note. ‘This is for your help, Sergeant. We couldn’t have managed without you. Unless you feel you absolutely must, I can’t see there’s any need to bother the Secretary about it. I don’t want to inconvenience Mr Jaggard more than is absolutely necessary.’
    â€˜Right you are, sir,’ said the sergeant, pocketing the money. ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ He grinned to himself. ‘But I wouldn’t like to have his head tomorrow.’
    Bill Rackham, entering his office considerably before nine o’clock the next morning, was surprised to find Jack waiting for him. ‘Hello, old man. What’s up? I’m up to my eyeballs today. I’ve got to be at the Old Bailey to give evidence in the Leigh Abbey case, so I can’t spare you much time.’
    â€˜This won’t take long, I hope. I knew you were tied up today which is why I’m here at this unearthly hour. Who, in the Valdez-Helston business, is connected with Jaggard and called Larry? He’s obviously got right up Jaggard’s nose. I think I know the answer, but I want to make sure.’
    Bill frowned. Walking to the desk he opened the drawer and picked out the file. ‘It doesn’t ring any bells. Here we are. Gregory Jaggard . . . Nothing there. Patricia Jaggard . . . There’s a Laurence, if that’s any help. He could be called Larry, I suppose. He was Patricia Jaggard’s first husband. He was killed at Third Ypres.’
    Jack nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. I’ll have to go into this, Bill, but it looks as if the army might have made a mistake. Jaggard was at the club last night, very much the worse for wear. If I understood him correctly, Laurence Tyrell arrived in London yesterday.’
    Bill gaped at Jack. ‘What? Are