Seventy-Seven Clocks(36)

‘. . . it becomes totally unstable,’ concluded the technician, somewhat unnecessarily.

‘That’s state property,’ said Land, examining the damage.

‘What would a device designed to house such a chemical reaction look like, do you reckon?’ asked May. ‘How big would it have to be?’

‘Not large at all, just so long as the drying area for the liquid was maximized sufficiently. Here.’ He produced a pad from his pocket and began to draw. ‘Working from a reconstruction incorporating the slivers of metal we found in William Whitstable’s stomach, we get something like this. The liquid is contained in a section here . . .’

‘I wondered why one piece was silvered,’ mused Bryant. ‘It was part of the liquid chamber.’

‘A preset clockwork mechanism releases it into a flat drying chamber that might work from, say, the heat of the body. As soon as it’s dry, the device is armed and lethal.’ The technician held up the finished drawing to reveal a metal chamber the size and shape of a pocket watch.

‘Just the sort of thing that a smart Edwardian gentleman would carry upon his person,’ said Bryant. ‘Thanks for the demonstration.’ He tapped May on the shoulder with the back of his hand. ‘Come on, you. We’ve an appointment to keep.’

By eight-thirty P.M. the concourse at Victoria Station had only a light groundswell of homebound commuters passing between the trains and ticket windows.

Bryant stood at the barrier watching the arriving passengers. ‘You realize if she’s anything like the rest of the family, she’ll be wearing a crinoline and bustle.’ He looked across at May, who was checking his watch.

‘That must be her.’

Bryant followed his partner’s pointing finger. Bella Whitstable was broad and stocky, a woman who looked like she spent her time beekeeping or repairing dry-stone walls. She came at them with a purposeful gait and sensible shoes. The practicality of her winter jacket was lightened with a spring of lapis lazuli, and gold earrings balanced the severity of her haircut. Her handshake was firm and dry, her manner direct.

‘I don’t want you to mollycoddle me,’ she informed the detectives. ‘It’s no secret that we didn’t get along, William, Peter, and I, but of course it horrifies me that they met such terrible ends.’

‘So you know about Peter,’ said May, surprised.

‘It would have been hard to avoid items like this,’ replied Bella, holding up a copy of the Evening Standard.

DEATH RIDDLE OF SAVOY SHAVE

Dead man was brother of

Tube explosion victim

The press were well and truly on their tails now. As Peter Whitstable’s identity had yet to be divulged, May wondered how they had managed to link the two deaths so quickly. The official statement for the Hampstead Tube bombing suggested that a technical fault had occurred in one of the carriages. The subterfuge had been necessary to prevent the public from worrying that the IRA was renewing its Christmas attacks on the city.

‘I’m sorry you had to find out in such a manner,’ said May, taking her bag. ‘There was no way we could contact you in time.’

‘I quite understand,’ said Bella, with considerable coolness. ‘It will take me a while to fully appreciate what has happened.’ ‘Under the circumstances I wouldn’t advise staying at the house.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t, but that’s where I’d like to be. I have family belongings there. I’m not fond of London, and intend to spend as little time here as possible.’

They made their way to a waiting squad car. ‘You can ask me anything you like,’ said Bella, seating herself. ‘I have just returned from a city where sudden death is part of everyday life. I won’t get sniffly on you.’

‘You say you didn’t get along with your brothers?’ Bryant reminded her.

‘The feuds between us all seem so trivial now. I couldn’t bear all that living in the past. It seemed so unhealthy. William didn’t approve of my finding a partner so soon after our mother died, and put an end to the relationship. I never forgave him for that. There were other things—certain financial arrangements that caused problems. It’s hard to be specific. You’ll have to give me some time to think.’

‘We will need details of the beneficiaries to the wills. I suppose Peter told you that their lawyer, Max Jacob, is also dead.’

‘Yes, it seems so extraordinary. I wonder if any of us are safe. I wish I could throw some light on all of this, but I simply don’t know where to begin.’

‘There is the question of the funeral,’ said Bryant gently. ‘Although perhaps you’d like to discuss this later . . .’