She nodded and sat forward in her chair, understanding that her interview had, at last, got under way. She spoke up with confidence. ‘I’d have located his headquarters and raided it.’
‘Easily said – but if he refused to reveal its whereabouts? And I have to tell you – he did refuse. Rather forcefully. Hard man under that foppish exterior.’
‘I would have assumed so. But there were other indications. The flowers were freshly bought and the florist whose wrapper was still around them might have something to tell. But, for speed, I’d have consulted the one reliable witness we already had at the scene. The witness who would have led us straight to his base of operations. I’d have just followed the dog, sir. Let it lead me to its home, which would most probably have been a shortish distance away – I’m guessing somewhere north of the park, along the Bayswater Road. Then I’d have mounted a raid.’
‘Good. Good.’ He nodded. ‘Proudfoot – and the dog – got there in the end.’
‘And the little girl and her brother?’
‘Are safely lodged with the aunt they’d set out to find in London. She lives out east in one of those streets between Petticoat Lane and Spitalfields … they’d never have found her under their own steam. The poor woman! She’d no idea they even existed, so it must have been quite a shock when the NSPCC knocked on her door. But she rallied round quite admirably, they report, and took them in. And what a Dickensian scene I imagine that to have been! They were runaways from a particularly distressing situation in their home village. Brave little pair. They’ll come through.’ Something in her expression made him add: ‘And yes, I shall be checking on their well-being.’
He slid a file across his desk at her. She’d passed the first two of his four tests. Physically: perfect. Under nine stone, less than five foot seven and attractive. Intellectually: astute. But what sort of a strategist was she? He needed a girl who could think for herself, and fast. He’d decided which fence to put her at.
‘And now we come to it … the reason I summoned you here. Your first case, Wentworth. Disturbing, urgent and of national importance. I want you to acquaint yourself with the contents of this file, which must not leave my office. When you’ve read it—’
She interrupted him. ‘Sir, excuse me but I’m meant to go on Park patrol in half an hour.’
Joe wasn’t pleased to be distracted by routine. ‘Park patrol? Forget it. Don’t concern yourself with regulations. Consider yourself removed from whatever were your daily duties. I’ll have a word with your commanding officer. Tell me – to whom do you report?’
‘To Inspector Margery Stewart, sir.’
‘Ah! There’s a piece of luck. The Honourable Margery, eh? A distant cousin of mine. I’ll square it with her. Leave all the boring operational stuff to me. Now – this file …’
The telephone rang and he snatched up the earpiece at once.
‘Speaking. Ah, yes. The matter is in hand. In fact I have her here in the room with me right now.’ Sandilands glanced across the desk at Lily, who was politely scrambling to her feet to leave the room. He flapped a hand to indicate that she should remain seated. ‘No. I won’t be pushed on this. You interrupt my interview. Yes, yes … entirely suitable. And I’m sure I can say ready and able … Not fully briefed yet, of course.’ He paused to flash a placatory smile at Lily. ‘Understood … I’ll work to that.’
He replaced the earpiece, deep in thought, then exclaimed, made a pantomime of shaking the fatigue from his head, and picked up the phone again. When the switchboard answered, he asked, ‘Can you reconnect me please with that last number? It was extension 371.’
‘You’ve got Sandilands back. I forgot to say – don’t try to get me here at my desk until at least tea time. I shall be out at the scene.’ A burble of protest at the other end was audible even to Lily and set Joe frowning. ‘It’s my back yard. My concern. My responsibility. You’ll just have to await further instructions.’
His broadside delivered, he hung up, grinned at Lily and picked up his conversation where he’d left off. ‘When you’ve read it – and assuming the telephone doesn’t ring in the meantime to announce that the Home Secretary has decided to accept the resignation I put on his desk first thing this morning – we’ll proceed to St George’s hospital with a notebook and a bunch or two of flowers. Now—’
‘Hang on a minute! You’ve turned over two pages at once there. Your resignation? Blimey! Sir!’ Astonishment stripped away the veneer of cool accent, revealing something more earthy and emotional below. ‘You’re never giving up. Over this business of the admiral? Go on with you. You shouldn’t do that, sir.’