India Black and the Gentleman Thief (20 page)

Vincent had stumped downstairs in a new pair of trousers run up by one of the girls, and eaten a massive breakfast. The marchioness had demanded her breakfast in bed, and I watched despairingly as Fergus heaped a tray with toast, boiled eggs, several rashers of bacon, porridge, deviled kidneys and a small beefsteak. At this rate, the coffers of Lotus House would be empty soon.

French arrived and he and Vincent and I climbed into the hansom French had left waiting at the curb. The ride to the War Office took some time as the streets were choked with omnibuses, cabs and carriages as the populace of the Big Smoke headed off to work. After a good half hour we were set down at the entrance and Vincent immediately sauntered off to prowl around the edges of the building, hoping to find a few common soldiers to share a smoke and a gossip.

French and I stopped first at the records office. The same six myopic clerks were bent over their desks, shuffling documents with alacrity. Six heads looked up at our entrance. French beckoned to the fellow who’d answered our previous enquiries.

“Good morning, Major. How may I be of service?” he asked.

French produced a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket. “I have here a letter from the prime minister, authorizing me and Miss Black to make a full investigation of the late Colonel Mayhew’s death. I should like to see the colonel’s service record, please.”

The clerk read through the letter slowly. He inspected the seal at the bottom of the letter and rubbed a thumb over the wafer of sealing wax. He contrived to appear casual, though I doubt he was accustomed to reviewing correspondence from the prime minister. The clerk handed the letter back to French.

“It will be just a moment, sir,” he said, and scurried off to dig through a filing cabinet.

“Still flaunting that bogus letter?” I asked.

“On the contrary, this letter is real. I asked the prime minister to provide it when I saw him yesterday.”

The clerk returned with a thin folder of heavy paper stock. The flap was secured by a string looped through a metal tab attached to the folder.

“You shall have to sign for it, sir. There’s a room next door where you may review it. When you’re finished, please return it to me.”

The room to which we were directed was windowless and completely utilitarian, containing only a scarred oak desk, two chairs and a gaslight on the wall that flickered annoyingly. French hefted the folder as we sat down.

“There’s not much here.”

“Good. I can think of nothing more dull than reading someone’s service record.”

For the next several minutes we occupied ourselves turning over the thin sheets of paper in Colonel Mayhew’s file, reviewing the meticulous notes and copperplate writing of a generation of army clerks. It was riveting stuff. There were details of the colonel’s postings beginning from the date he’d graduated from Sandhurst, which had been approximately concurrent with the time Noah had commenced building the ark. There were itemized descriptions of the provisions issued to the colonel during his career, including the fascinating information that he’d once been trusted with a box of quill pens with steel nibs. He’d advanced steadily, but slowly, up the ranks, and his entire career had been spent making sure that our brave lads had salt beef and cartridges when they needed them. A model of rectitude, Colonel Mayhew. He’d never put a foot wrong in his army career.

“What a tedious life the man had,” I observed. “Trundling about from one drab army depot to another, all over Scotland, England and Wales. No wonder he turned to theft.”

French turned over the last sheet. “I didn’t expect to find anything here, but we needed to be thorough and go through his record. Let’s return this file and pay a visit to Mayhew’s second in command.”

Captain Welch was not pleased to see us, which was understandable given that his desk had disappeared under a mountain of paperwork, and several clerks and a few junior officers hovered anxiously in the background waiting for his signature. His pale blue eyes were red with exhaustion. His expression of exasperation turned sour when he saw us, but he composed himself and said he was very pleased to see the major and nodded briefly in my direction.

“You look very busy, Captain,” French said. “I take it Colonel Mayhew’s replacement has not been named yet?”

“He has been, sir. But he’s not due to arrive until tomorrow.”

“I’ve no doubt he’ll find everything to his satisfaction. You seem to have things well in hand.”

Captain Welch spared a small, gratified smile. “I do my duty, sir.”

“That is all any of us can do. I have my own duty, and I am sorry to tell you that I shall need a few minutes of your time.” French unfolded Dizzy’s letter and held it out to Welch.

The captain’s pink cheeks grew darker as he read. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t understand. I thought you said that Scotland Yard was looking into the colonel’s death.”

“Inspector Allen was, but the investigation has uncovered some unpleasant facts about the colonel’s activities.”

Welch’s forehead wrinkled. “Unpleasant facts?”

French lowered his voice. “A large number of Martini-Henry rifles and a sizeable quantity of ammunition have been stolen from British armouries.”

“Good God!” Welch spluttered. He looked nervously at the chaps milling about the office and barked an order at them. “Come back in an hour’s time.”

I say, I’m going to have to send my tarts over to the War Office and let these military chaps instill a bit of discipline in them. I’d have given up a night’s earnings to have my bints display the unquestioning compliance of the poor sods who’d been waiting for Welch and now marched out without a word of complaint.

Welch swiped a hand across his forehead, removing the beads of sweat that had accumulated there. “I confess you have me at a disadvantage, Major. I’ve heard nothing of these thefts. Why haven’t I been notified by my superiors?”

French can be deuced tactful when he wants to be (that is to say, he can be tactful with everyone but yours truly) and he was courtesy itself as he explained how the thefts had come to light and how we had been deputed to get to the bottom of the whole sorry mess.

“When we spoke to you on the morning after the colonel’s murder, you told us that you had not noticed any sort of change in the colonel’s demeanour recently.”

“I had not. He seemed much the same as usual to me.”

“You’re quite certain of that?”

Welch put a hand to his face and stroked his chin, his eyes on the wall behind us while he thought the matter over. “Well,” he said, “It may not mean much, but there was something.”

“Yes?”

He hesitated. “I feel ridiculous mentioning this. It was only a small thing.”

“Go on.”

“The colonel did seem a bit secretive about something, almost furtive. It wasn’t much, really. I just walked into the office once or twice and he put whatever he was reading into the drawer and shut it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. There might have been money problems, or perhaps an issue with the family.” Welch glanced obliquely at me. “The colonel, er, might well have been involved with a woman.”

“I can see that you did not feel comfortable confronting him about his behaviour.”

“Good Lord, no. I shouldn’t have dreamed of intruding into the man’s personal life. And I had no reason at all to think that his actions were related to his duties.”

“Quite.” French changed tack. “Did he appear to have come into money recently? Did he gamble or indulge himself with whisky or cigars?” French was careful, I noted, to exclude whores from that list of vices.

“He always seemed an upright gentleman to me, save for the incidents I just described to you.” Welch mopped his brow again. “Can you tell me how the guns were stolen? We have procedures, you see, and they’re rigorous. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

“It appears that Colonel Mayhew complied with the procedures. He had the authority to sign any orders transferring the weapons, and that is what he did. What was irregular was the destination of the weapons. They were removed from the armouries and delivered to a private company, which was nothing more than a front for criminals.”

“Captain,” I said, “you told us that you handled the colonel’s correspondence and draughted orders for his signature.”

Welch bristled. His face flushed a rich crimson. “I hope you’re not implying that I assisted the colonel in these thefts. I am appalled at the suggestion.”

“My dear fellow, she is suggesting nothing of the sort.” French poured a bit of oil on troubled waters. “We are merely pursuing an investigation, and it is necessary to ask some unpleasant questions.”

Much as it chaps me to have to cater to the sensitivities of others, I assumed an emollient manner. “You are obviously a very busy man, Captain. I was simply trying to ascertain whether the colonel had asked you to prepare an order authorizing the delivery of weapons to this private company. You might have noticed such instructions among the dozens of orders you must see each day.”

Welch drew himself up to his full height, which was not impressive. His voice was firm, however. “Certainly I would have noticed. That is such an egregious breach of policy that it would have leapt out at me.”

“The colonel had the final authority to sign off on all transfers of munitions? Was his signature subject to review by a superior?” French asked.

“Indeed it would be.” Welch grinned humourlessly at French. “This is the army, after all. Of course the colonel’s superiors in the department could have looked at any of the correspondence from this office, but they would not have done so as a matter of routine. The department is audited annually, and any questionable issues would be resolved at that time.”

“When was the last audit?”

“Nearly a year ago.”

“A review would have turned up nothing,” I said. “I can hardly imagine that Mayhew left a copy of these suspicious orders lying about for anyone to find.”

French asked to look at the colonel’s desk, and the long-suffering Captain Welch stood aside while French pawed through the contents. French established himself in the chair just vacated by the captain and took his time going through the drawers. Welch paced fitfully during this procedure, and I gazed out the window and indulged in some serious rumination. At last, French was satisfied that he’d examined every nook and cranny. I tilted my head and he shook his and I knew he hadn’t found a thing of interest.

“We need a sample of the colonel’s handwriting,” I said. “Can you provide us one, Captain Welch?”

The beleaguered fellow rooted around until he produced a piece of paper that he deemed appropriate for us to remove from the office. It was a scrawled note from the colonel to the captain, reminding him that the garrison at Shorncliffe was running low on tinned sardines and asking if the captain would take care of the matter immediately. I thanked him prettily and we strode out into the fresh air. Vincent was waiting for us on the pavement.

“Any joy?” he asked.

I looked round for a cab. “The captain thought the colonel was furtive.”

“Does that mean the colonel was worried ’bout something?”

“No, it means the colonel was acting as if he had something to hide.”

“Oh.” Vincent chewed his lip.

“What is it?”

“I ’ad a word wif a guard—”

“How did you manage that?”

“’E was off duty, ’avin’ a smoke round back.” Vincent waved a hand impatiently. “Anyway, I was tellin’ you wot this bloke tole me and ’e says the colonel had worked ’imself into a lather of late. Somethin’ was worryin’ the colonel dreadful-like.”

“That doesn’t jibe with what Captain Welch had to say,” French mused.

“Do we believe an officer of the army or a chap who stands in a sentry box and has a smoke with Vincent?” I asked.

“’Ere, now. There’s no cause for that,” said Vincent.

“I didn’t mean to be impolite. I’ve had a lot of experience with military gents, and they’re just as likely to lie as the average costermonger. My money’s on the guard. Something about Welch rubbed me the wrong way.”

“What?” asked French.

“He only remembered the colonel’s shifty ways when you pressed him. He didn’t mention that the first time we talked to him. And he also said that he draughted all the colonel’s correspondence and so forth. You saw the amount of paper on the captain’s desk. The colonel must have been just as busy.”

“You appear to be trying to make a point and taking a deuced long time to do it.”

“My point is this: Do you think the colonel signed every bit of paper that left that office? I’d wager that the captain signed a few orders himself, only he didn’t sign his own name. He signed Mayhew’s.”

“You think Welch may be involved?”

“It might explain why Mayhew was killed. He might have stumbled onto Welch’s perfidy and was trying to collect the evidence to nab the captain. That could be the reason Mayhew sent the bill of lading to Lotus House for safekeeping.”

“Surely Welch wouldn’t have been so careless as to leave the bill lying about for Colonel Mayhew to find.”

“Probably not, but if the colonel was suspicious he might have gone through Welch’s desk or his case and found the bill.”