anyway.â
âWhy did they dash round to Buckinghamâs house like a couple of electric rabbits when the gate goes up?â
âTo get hold of the will? Heâs the executor.â
âThatâs what he says . Tearing round like that â it looks suspicious. And now it turns out there isnât a will, and he isnât the executor! Very fishy. Did he just cook up the story as some kind of explanation? And why? What were they bothered about? Possibly they wanted to get their hands on something â incriminating material â the dead man was a criminal himself, remember. Donât ever forget that. Everything about his private life was against the law. There may have been letters â we may get wind of others like him â a whole network of perverts. They may have suppressed all kinds of evidence. Have you thought of that?â
Murray hadnât.
âThe dead man was a photographer, wasnât he. Maybe some of the pictures he took werenât just portraits and ballet. The prints we looked through were harmless enough, but that doesnât prove anything. That one in his bedroom, for instance. Now why would a flaming pervert have a photo like that in his bedroom?â
Murray felt he was going red. âIt was just a portrait,â he said. âYouâre not suggestingââ
âIâm not suggesting anything. But there is something I donât quite like about it all. A queerâs shot dead. His walletâs stolen, only it isnât. The Milners rush round to his house. No signs of disturbance, but no sign of a will either. Photographs missing â and an address book. That says blackmail to me â bearing in mind his private life. Nothing else stolen, so far as we know, although there were plenty of valuables. And what about Milner just happening to meet him by accident? I think he was keeping something back. What was all that about?â
Murray shook his head. âDâyou think he was trying to cast suspicion on someone else? After all, what was he doing wandering about at that time â more or less the time of the murder?â
Plumer nodded. âWe need to find out more about that lot. Whereâs the list then?â
Murray brought it out, unfolded it and spread it on the low table in front of them. âIâll check their backgrounds, sir. The name Alan Wentworth strikes a chord. I think he was mixed up in that trial where some commie was up for murder; got off on appeal earlier this year. You remember the case. Iâll have a word with a chap I know in Special Branch. I have a feeling the name was Wentworth â bit of a fellow traveller before the war. But there canât be anything suspicious about him now. Sheâs put down here he works for the BBC.â
âAll these long-haired, arty Hampstead types, donât trust any of âem. The BBCâs full of pinks and pansies. Keep away from Special Branch too, we donât want them poking their noses in.â
âYes, sir.â He hesitated. âTheyâve no reason to, though, have they?â
âIâm just saying, on principle.â As they went down the list, Plumer seemed disappointed that the Milnersâ guest list wasnât more exciting. âItâs not politics weâre interested in, itâs blackmail,â he said. âWith a man of this kind, thatâs what you always want to look out for.â
âBut â if youâre suggesting the stiff was being blackmailed, shouldnât he have been the killer, not the victim?â
âPerhaps that was the intention. Perhaps someone turned the tables on him. Blackmailers are a nasty breed, very nasty.â
After a further round of bitter, they emerged into the chilly night. Scarves of mist gathered along the trees.
As they drove away Plumer repeated: âBetween ourselves, weâve got a problem. The chief isnât keen on having us upset a lot of
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