Authors: David Roberts
‘You don’t know my dad. He reads a lot of detective stories and thrillers – Rex Stout’s his favourite. He gave me one to read and I said, “Dad, this is rubbish. I can’t think why you bother with such stuff.” He asked me if Mr Lyall had any enemies. I said, “Not unless you mean Mr Westmacott.”’
‘Mr Westmacott and Mr Lyall were enemies?’ Edward interrupted the flow.
‘Not enemies, exactly,’ she said hastily. ‘I just remember hearing them one evening going hammer and tongs. I was passing the door to Mr Lyall’s office and I couldn’t avoid hearing. Mr Westmacott was shouting – so unlike him. He was a perfect gentleman. I had never heard him raise his voice before.’
‘Did you happen to hear what they were quarrelling about?’
‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘Mr Lyall was asking him to lower his voice and Mr Westmacott said, “Why should I? What you are telling me to do is wrong . . . quite wrong and I won’t stand for it.” Then Miss Hawkins came and I went back to my desk.’
‘When was this, Jane?’
‘About a month ago. No, six weeks. I remember because it was the only time I ever heard raised voices in the office.’
‘You have been most helpful. Now, I want you to promise me that you won’t talk about what we have discussed even to your father and mother.’ Though I know that’s asking too much, he added silently.
‘Oh, I won’t, I promise you. When Mr Lyall interviewed me for my job he said he wanted to impress on me that the work I was doing was top secret and that I was to discuss it with no one, and of course I don’t,’ she added virtuously.
‘Oh, that reminds me, Jane. You remember when we first talked, before we knew Mr Westmacott had been killed?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Edward tried to sound casual. ‘You said returned files would sometimes lie in Miss Hawkins’s in-tray until she had time to put them away. Do you remember ever seeing the Bawdsey Manor file in her tray?’
‘Bawdsey Manor? Now why does that ring a bell? It can’t have been because I saw the file in Miss Hawkins’s in-tray because the files – at least on the outside – don’t have a name on them. They’re just marked Secret in red.’
‘But you saw it at some point?’ Edward said, trying not to sound over-eager.
‘Yes, I know! In Mr Westmacott’s office! I saw it lying open on his desk, the day before he disappeared. I saw a letter or a report marked Bawdsey Manor.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Yes, because when he disappeared and Miss Hawkins was checking to see if there were any files missing, I said, “Have you got the Bawdsey Manor file?” And she bit my head off. She said there was no such file. I said I had seen it on Mr Westmacott’s desk but she told me I was a silly girl and I wasn’t to tell fibs.’
‘So you didn’t tell Chief Inspector Pride?’
‘No, why should I? He never asked. I didn’t think it was important and Miss Hawkins said I had made a mistake. Anyway, what is Bawdsey Manor? Is it important?’
Edward thought Lyall must have been mad to employ such an empty-headed gossip but perhaps he reckoned she would do her work and not understand the significance of the documents she was typing. But supposing she had been got at by someone and made an innocent dupe?
‘It might be important,’ he said thoughtfully and then, pulling himself together, added, ‘Now this really is secret, Jane. You have to promise me on your word of honour that you won’t mention what you have told me – especially the name Bawdsey Manor – to anyone, and I mean anyone. Do you understand? Not to your parents, not to Mervyn, not to anyone.’
Miss Hawkins, when Edward asked her about Jane’s story of overhearing a quarrel between Lyall and Westmacott, was predictably dismissive.
‘I believe Mr Lyall had questioned the basis on which he – Mr Westmacott – had worked out certain figures. You see, the arms merchants we considered friendly were asked to make their own reports on what deals had been struck and so on. Mr Lyall was beginning to feel that this was not adequate. For instance, Sir Vida Chandra had provided us with a list of arms deals he had been involved in during 1935. Mr Lyall was convinced the department was being hoodwinked and that many deals were not being reported and the records of those that were, were incomplete.’
‘Incomplete?’
‘Sir Vida would inform us he had sold so many anti-tank weapons to a French arms dealer and we would be reasonably certain that the dealer was just the middle man and that the weapons were really destined for Germany. Mr Lyall thought Sir Robert Vansittart might have to ask Parliament for new powers to make arms dealers co-operate with us. I am sure Sir Robert himself can inform you more fully.’
‘Thank you, Miss Hawkins, that is most useful.’ Edward was unpersuaded by her fluent account of the disagreement between the two men. He did not doubt that Vansittart would confirm these issues were under discussion but if Jane was right – and she did not appear to be the type of girl to invent an overheard conversation – Miss Hawkins’s account could not explain why Westmacott would have used the words, ‘Why should I? What you are telling me to do is wrong.’
To pursue her on this point would, he was sure, be counterproductive. Much better for her to think her answer had satisfied him. She would, he hoped, be more relaxed when she answered some other questions he wanted to put to her.
‘You remember the ring Mr Lyall wore?’
‘The signet ring with the dolphin design?’
‘Yes. Was it a family crest or anything like that?’
‘Oh no, I don’t think so. I believe it was a present from his wife. He always wore it.’
‘The odd thing is that this was discovered close to where Mr Westmacott was found hanging.’
He passed her the powder compact. ‘Open it.’
Miss Hawkins did so, her fingers fumbling at the catch. When she saw the dolphin design inside, she went quite white and dropped the compact. Edward picked it up.
‘What is this?’ she asked, her voice strangulated by emotion. ‘Are you trying to trap me in some way, Lord Edward?’
‘Not at all but you must admit it seems odd to find Mr Lyall’s wife’s compact near Westmacott’s body. It would seem to implicate him, would it not?’
‘Chief Inspector Pride never mentioned this when he interviewed me.’
‘He did not know I had found it,’ he answered truthfully. ‘Have you seen this before?’
‘I may have,’ she said at last. ‘I remember at the Christmas party – the year before last – she and I were both powdering our noses in the cloakroom. I may have seen it then.’
‘You have a good memory, Miss Hawkins.’ She was lying, he was sure of it. ‘But you could not say how the compact got where it did?’
‘No, I cannot but Desmond Lyall was not a . . . not a murderer, if that’s what you are trying to tell me.’
‘I’m not trying to tell you anything,’ he replied mildly.
‘Have you got any more questions for me? I have a great deal of work to do and we are very short-staffed.’
‘I quite understand, Miss Hawkins, and I won’t keep you for very much longer. Miss Williams said you very kindly gave her time off the afternoon Mr Lyall was killed.’
‘I happened to know from what she told me that her young man was going back to his base – apparently he’s in the RAF.’
‘Apparently in the RAF? You don’t believe her?’
‘You must have noticed that she never stops talking about her private affairs, Lord Edward. I got the feeling he might be leading her on or he might be . . .’
‘Not what he pretended?’
‘Yes. I suggested they went to Kew. It’s a favourite place of mine and I thought she might get to know a bit more about him.‘
‘He gave her an engagement ring.’
‘Yes,’ she said shortly.
‘I can’t help finding it odd that a girl like Jane should be employed in a department like this. As you say, she is a gossip. Surely it would not do if she were to talk about the work that goes on here?’
‘She is a gossip but, to be frank, I don’t think she understands what we do here. She’s not stupid but she is little more than a typist. She is not involved in anything else. In any case, Mr Lyall knew her father and wanted to help the girl.’
‘Do you think she said anything to her young man about the work the department does? She might have been tempted to show off?’
‘No, I don’t. She knows what we do here is secret but I agree she has a wagging tongue. I’ll talk to Mr Caddick about it when he takes over properly next week.’
‘Still, I suppose you could say that the department does not in fact deal with secrets which, if they got out, would damage the country’s defence. Am I right?’
Miss Hawkins visibly relaxed. ‘No, indeed. There are things in the files . . . information about rearmament and about arms deals which might embarrass Sir Robert and the government if it got into the press but nothing vital.’
‘So neither Mr Lyall nor you had access to very secret documents?’
‘I don’t, certainly, but Mr Lyall has . . . had files in the cabinet in his room which are Most Secret. I suppose he would also have seen certain documents from other departments which would be top secret – at heads of department meetings, for instance.’
‘I remember you said you did not have keys to the cabinet in Mr Lyall’s office?’
‘No.’
‘What happened to Mr Lyall’s keys when you found him dead?’
Miss Hawkins went pale and Edward wondered if he was being too brutal.
‘The police took them,’ she said shortly.
‘How do you explain that Jane says she saw a file about Bawdsey Manor on Mr Westmacott’s desk the day before he disappeared?’
Miss Hawkins blanched. ‘Bawdsey . . . ? She must have been mistaken. We don’t have any such file.’
Edward looked at her and she met his eye. He decided it was better to leave things as they were.
‘Thank you, Miss Hawkins. You have been most helpful and I apologize if I may have seemed to be asking you too many questions but I know you are as anxious as the rest of us to get to the bottom of these two deaths. And you effectively run the department, do you not?’
‘Certainly not, Lord Edward. Mr Lyall ran the department and, from Monday, Mr Caddick does. I am merely an administrative secretary.’
He thought he might manage to leave the Foreign Office without seeing Vansittart but, as luck would have it, he bumped into him on the stairs.
‘Were you looking for me?’ Sir Robert said, putting his arm round Edward’s shoulders.
‘I was going to . . .’
‘Well, come up to my office. I’ve got ten minutes before my next appointment. Much rather talk to you than go through my red boxes.’
Unwillingly, Edward found himself following the great man into his room. Vansittart’s secretary tried to buttonhole him as he strode through the outer office but he waved her away, saying, ‘I must have ten minutes with Lord Edward. The world crisis can go hang itself. I want to hear about that ghastly business in Guernica. You seem to have a knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
He was obviously pleased with himself and Edward dared to say, ‘You sound cheerful, sir. Can I take it your negotiations are going well?’
Vansittart looked at him shrewdly. ‘Is it as obvious as all that? Yes, I am beginning to think it may, after all, be possible to avoid war if we stand up to Hitler. In a month, if I’m any judge, we’ll have a new PM. SB is set to resign and Chamberlain is a good man. Not as good as his brother, perhaps, God rest him, but a good man. I remember Austen saying to me once – this was years ago, before Hitler came on the scene – “Concession provokes not gratitude but some new demand which, but for the concession, they would not have ventured to put forward.” He was the best Prime Minister we never had but his brother is good: modern, hardworking – SB is so lazy! – firm but reasonable. I’m optimistic.’
He suddenly recalled that Edward was not in fact on his staff and added hastily, ‘I need hardly say, that’s not for repetition. If Dawson thinks I’m optimistic, he’ll just about elect Herr Hitler Prime Minister. I sometimes think the leaders in
The Times
are written by Ribbentrop, not Dawson. But enough of that. Tell me about Spain. I haven’t got the time now to hear the full story. You’re to come to dinner and tell me in detail but it was a terrible warning of what the bomber can do and will do to civilian targets.’
‘There is no doubt that Guernica was destroyed by the Luftwaffe. I saw the swastikas on the wings of the Heinkels as they flew over. It was cold-blooded murder, Sir Robert. Not content with razing the town to the ground they dropped incendiaries to burn what remained and machine-gunned women and children as they fled the fires.’
‘And this is what war is going to be like! We’ve made every sort of protest but there is nothing we can do. Franco has won the civil war. It may take a year for this to be clear to everyone but I’m sure it’s true. If we use our air force to combat the Luftwaffe in Spain, where will it be when we need it to defend our own country? Though perhaps we never will. I pray not, anyway. We’re just not ready for war.’
Edward was not totally convinced but this wasn’t the time to argue with the Permanent Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs. He got up, hoping to make his escape without having to report on his progress – or lack of it – investigating Westmacott’s death and working out how Lyall’s murder tied up with it. He was mistaken.
‘Westmacott?’ Vansittart inquired, raising his eyebrows. ‘I’ve put Caddick in to sort out that department. He’s a good man but I’d feel better if I knew the cancer had been cut out of it by you.’
‘I’m optimistic, to use your word, Sir Robert. Give me another week.’ He wasn’t quite sure why he was suddenly confident that he could ‘crack the case’ but he was. He had that odd feeling he had had once or twice before. Aristotle called it
anagnorisis
– the moment of discovery that forms the thin blue line between knowledge and ignorance.
‘Good man!’ Vansittart said, eyeing him with surprise and some respect.
Edward shivered when he went out into the street. Whether because of the promise he had so rashly made or because of the chill wind, he did not know. Then, looking up at the Cenotaph, he remembered Vansittart’s easy optimism. It was that which had made him shiver, he decided.