"Right you are, I'll do it now."

"Good. And if you haven't done so already, telephone Mr. Carter at Chelstone Manor-tell him you're calling for me-and ask if any of the staff who knew Sandra have any idea where she might be. I didn't ask before, because I know she lost touch, and of course I think there's only one or two who knew her left working there-the domestic staff don't seem to be staying on as long as they used to once upon a time."

"Will do, Miss. When will I hear from you again?"

"Tomorrow morning. Before I go, how's Doreen?"

"Aching back, aching feet, aching head, fed up, bored, and wanting the baby to be born. Last weeks are always like that, according to the womenfolk."

"Look after her, Billy-no need to stay later than you have to at the office."

"I'll telephone Caldwell now."

"And I'm off to find MacFarlane and Stratton."

"Rather you than me."

Chapter Sixteen.

Ah, Miss Dobbs, glad I've caught you." Miss Hawthorne puffed into the office where Maisie was standing alongside the bank of pigeonholes, most of them bulging with papers from students as well as mail from outside the college. "Yes, your students seem a keen lot, don't they? Looks like they've all been timely with their homework. Anyway, I digress-Dr. Roth said to send you along to his office if you came into the college today. He wants to talk to you."

"Me?"

"Yes, something about the debate, I think. Mind you, the only things anyone seems to be talking about at the moment are the debate and Dr. Liddicote's death. Not a lot of joy there, eh?"

"I'll go along to his office now."

"Right you are. That's one thing I can tick off my list of things to remember."

Maisie could see the cleaners had been at work while the students were absent. Fragrant lavender polish had brought the oak floors and wainscoting along the corridors to a looking-gla.s.s shine, and she was careful not to slip as she made her way straight to Matthias Roth's office. She knocked, and entered when she heard his booming voice call out, "Come!"

"Dr. Roth. Miss Hawthorne said you wanted to speak to me."

"Yes, indeed, do sit down."

As he held out his hand to indicate that she should be seated, he removed his round spectacles and tapped his teeth with them, then, as was his habit, flicked back hair that had fallen forward and almost obscured his vision. Maisie realized that, apart from an intense regard for Liddicote-though they had crossed swords when it came to the debate-she had not garnered a sense of the man, other than observing his youthful mannerisms: the flicking back of an overlong lock of hair, and the way he walked along the corridors with a heel-to-toe bounce to his step.

"Miss Dobbs." He paused, as if to frame his words with care. "Miss Dobbs, I have been looking through staff files over the past few days." He put on his spectacles again.

"Are you dissatisfied with my work?"

"No, not at all, not at all. Quite the contrary. Your students have come along well, and you are a popular teacher. You have taken part in extracurricular activities and have become part of our community here in a short time." He rubbed his chin. "Miss Dobbs, I realize you are acquainted with the two detectives through your former work, and that you telephoned them immediately Dr. Liddicote's body was discovered. I have since read through your file, and I have to inquire as to whether you are here at the college in your professional capacity-you were the princ.i.p.al in a successful inquiry agency." Another pause. "Are you working with the police to get to the bottom of Greville Liddicote's death?"

Maisie shook her head. "No." Technically it was the truth. She had been told that she had her own brief, and that MacFarlane was in charge of the murder investigation. "I know the chief superintendent, but I am not working for him with regard to his inquiries here."

"I see. But you're interested in Greville Liddicote, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." Maisie did not need to feign an honest interest in her subject. "What he did in building this college, bringing his dream to fruition, is inspiring. I have read some of his work, specifically his children's books, so the whole story is quite compelling-a man who is cast out of Cambridge University, given the controversial nature of his work, which may or may not have caused men to mutiny on the Western Front. The 'peace' college he has envisioned grows with the help of parents of men who went to war but who later read his book and were persuaded to lay down arms." She sighed. "If nothing else, Greville Liddicote could sell an idea; however, he drew back from support of the debate, which one would think represents a certain pinnacle of achievement-not to mention acceptance by the university establishment when they extended an invitation for a young college to present a team at an annual debate that always draws the attention of the press." She looked at Roth, her line of questioning clearly unsettling him. "Why do you think he was against the idea, Dr. Roth? And, more to the point, why have you maintained that he supported it as much as you-and please do not deny my a.s.sertion; I was outside the door of his office and heard the argument."

"He was wrong to want to decline the invitation."

"Why?"

"Because the debate will be the making of the college. We wouldn't be the first college to gladly relinquish our independence when asked to join the university-and inclusion in the debate, as well as other collaborations, promises a move in the right direction. Greville allowed his fears to overwhelm him."

"What fears?" Maisie was leaning forward now, her body relaxed just enough to suggest empathy for Roth's position.

"The subject matter is controversial, because it raises the question as to whether Germany's n.a.z.i Party should receive our support when it comes to power-as it surely will. On the one hand, the university's colleges can better weather the storms that might come from supporting such a motion, if that is the outcome of the debate. On the other, Greville was concerned about the effect the debate might have on our very diverse student community. We all get along very well, but he thought it would drive a wedge between the cultures represented here. If you are familiar with Herr Hitler's book, Mein Kampf Mein Kampf, you will know that he has a particularly vociferous position when it comes to what he describes as 'the Jewish peril.' Greville was concerned that the debate might be offensive to our students who are Jewish."

"Those fears seem grounded to me, Dr. Roth," said Maisie.

"But we must not draw back, especially if our team is on the side of peace, of reconciliation, of going forward with an olive branch."

Maisie sat back in the chair again, wondering how to couch her words. "You have Robson Headley on the team, and-"

"Miss Dobbs, you are a junior member of staff, and if you have not realized this already, I will tell you. The college depends upon the support of those who believe in our mission here, especially in terms of moneys with which to build for the future. We have to prepare for challenges to our curriculum. Many of our students, though graduates in their own countries, are still young and impressionable-they have come here, or been sent by parents, in the belief that they will play a part in maintaining what is a fragile peace, much like a stone thrown into the lake sends out ripples, only we hope those ripples become waves." He cleared his throat, removed the spectacles a second time, and cleaned the lenses with his handkerchief, replacing the spectacles as he continued. "Robson Headley expressed a desire to be part of the team, and will lead our students in their debates. I concede that he may be the indulged son of a wealthy man, but his father is a man who has in turn indulged us and never questioned how his money is spent in this college, urging only that we continue our work."

Maisie bit her lip. Did Roth know of Headley's connection to the Ortsgruppe? If she told him, he might deduce not only that she was making inquiries, but that they were quite separate from the police investigation led by MacFarlane. Should she ask about Delphine Lang? She was not sure how to proceed and retain the integrity of her work, but she knew she had to take the conversation further.

"Are you aware that Mr. Headley is involved romantically with Miss Lang?"

Roth raised an eyebrow. "I am. However, they seem to have conducted their liaison away from the college premises, so I am not concerned unduly. I might if it comes to a sticky end, as these things often do."

"Are you concerned that Headley might put some pressure on you to reinstate Miss Lang's contract, so that his son is not upset by her departure?"

Roth smiled and shook his head. "Not at all, Miss Dobbs. In confidence-and I must insist that you keep this knowledge under your hat-Miss Lang is leaving the college because Mr. Dunstan Headley did not not want her contract renewed. It is the only time he has ever stepped forward with a request, which was put to Greville before he died. Of course, he agreed." want her contract renewed. It is the only time he has ever stepped forward with a request, which was put to Greville before he died. Of course, he agreed."

"Do you know the reason for his request?"

"He did not like her. Personally, I believe he did not care for the fact that she is Austrian by birth, but I am sure you understand the implications of my observation; it could render my own position here somewhat tenuous, though I believe I have enjoyed a cordial relationship with Mr. Headley thus far. Miss Lang has been very upset, and I can understand why."

Maisie nodded. She came back to another subject, one that continued to nip at her heels since she began the investigation. "Dr. Roth, we've talked about Dr. Liddicote's book inciting men to mutiny in France, and I wondered if you'd had any more ... recollections. I have become interested in his work, and when I speak to others about it-I know a few booksellers, for example-there are always mutterings about a mutiny."

Roth sighed. "I will tell you this, and then let that be the end of it." He sc.r.a.ped his chair back across the polished wood floor, stood up, and began to pace, his arms folded across his chest. As he spoke, he looked up occasionally to meet Maisie's eyes with his own. "Greville Liddicote's book caused a ma.s.sive mutiny-however, it was not limited to the British line. As you may know, in places, the distance between the German and British front lines was mere yards. There was often some sort of fraternization across the lines, though when battle commenced it was terrible, terrible. But there was a knowledge that we were all in it at the behest of our betters, so sometimes a word went back and forth, a 'Guten Morgen' or a 'Mornin', all.' The book was read by soldiers, and even those who could not read knew the story. Then a copy of the book made its way across, and one day someone attached a note saying that it was about time the fathers went home to their children. Of course, many young men did not have children, but it was as if they suddenly envisioned the children they might have if the war were over. So the few soldiers who walked away from the war were just the beginning; it turned into a mutiny on both sides, and at once that few yards of no-man's-land became a great distance as troops drew back. I was one of those soldiers, Miss Dobbs, though my wound saved me from the fate of execution. In truth, very few were executed, on either side-there were too many to lose-but Dunstan Headley's son lost his life. So, we were all joined, you see, by this event, which was initiated by one very brave man with a pen and paper. Such men do not come along very often, Miss Dobbs, and they are the true heroes. Greville Liddicote was my hero." He stopped in front of her. "Your government and my government will never admit this happened. It will be held secret, and if revealed, it will be long after you and I are gone from this world. So, it would be as well if what I have said remains between us, held within the walls of this room."

Maisie promised discretion on her part, but she had another question. "Dunstan Headley is a remarkable man, to have managed to forgive Dr. Liddicote for the story that effectively killed his son-don't you think?"

Roth shrugged. "I'm not sure that he ever really forgave him. I think he has had to work hard at rising above his grief to contribute in such a way. And he knew, I am sure, that Dr. Liddicote struggled with his responsibility."

"Are you saying he disliked Dr. Liddicote?"

"Oh, I am sure that in the deep recesses of his soul he hated him."

They were both silent for a moment. Then Maisie spoke again. "And you don't think Robson Headley might be a risk, given that he is something of a headstrong young man?"

Roth smiled and shook his head. "Miss Dobbs, I really cannot see-"

"He is a n.a.z.i, Dr. Roth. Robson Headley and Delphine Lang are members of a group that supports the National Socialist Party in Germany. That may seem rather innocuous at the present time, but I believe-"

"And how do you know this?" Roth's cheeks were now flushed with color.

"I happened to overhear them talking."

He regained his composure and appeared to brush off the news. "Well, it will make for an interesting debate, I am sure. Now, if you will excuse me, Miss Dobbs. I would imagine you are using your free time this week to plan your tutorials for the coming weeks. I expect to join one of your cla.s.ses next week."

"Thank you, Dr. Roth. I look forward to it."

"And remember, Miss Dobbs, I have asked you not to reveal any aspect of our conversation to anyone. Even your friends at Scotland Yard."

Walking back to her lodgings, Maisie found she could hardly remain focused on one element of her work, without another coming to the fore. She wanted to talk to Billy, so she waited by the telephone kiosk while an elderly man shouted into the receiver at whoever it was he had called. Instead of pressing in more coins to extend the call and then pressing b.u.t.ton A, the man shoved the coins home and then thumped the b.u.t.ton, followed by a clout to the side of the coin box, as if an a.s.sault on the inner workings of telephony would yield more minutes for his money. Eventually he ended the call, whereupon he replaced the receiver, took out his handkerchief, and gave his nose a good blow before leaving the kiosk.

"All yours," he said to Maisie, as he held the door open for her to enter.

She kept the door ajar with her foot to allow fresh air to circulate, pulled her own handkerchief from her shoulder bag, and wiped the receiver from top to bottom. It was still sticky from the man's heated grasp. She dialed the number and waited, pressing b.u.t.ton A as soon as the telephone was answered on the other end.

"Miss?"

"Billy, so glad I've caught you-but you're at the office late."

"I thought you'd be on the dog and bone to me soon, and I wanted to be here. I'll leave soon enough. I don't like to be too late, on account of Doreen being so close to her time."

"Yes, you should get home as soon as we've finished. Not long now before you'll be in that house in Eltham."

"Can't wait, to tell you the truth. Anyway, I've spoken to Caldwell."

"How was he?"

"Not bad, bit of an edge to him, but he softened up when he realized I was calling because we needed help, and that there might be a case in it for him-he's still on the lookout to make his mark."

"Ah, so he isn't as busy as he'd like to be."

"And I think you were right, he wants to be as well known and regarded as Stratton."

"Well, I reckon Stratton might be having second thoughts about his move. In any case, what did he say?"

"He's going to sniff around, but he said something interesting before he even started. Apparently, this bloke who Reg has been doing that work for, the one whose office Sandra broke into, has been kept under surveillance by the watchful eye of the CID for a while-the fraud boys and the flying squad up until now. But word's gone around at the Yard, mainly because he's got a finger in so many pies, all cooked up by these supposedly clean businesses of his."

"Why are they keeping an eye on him?"

"Because he's been moving in on other manors, and there's been some-what did Caldwell call it? Something official-sounding, like 'villain on villain aggravation.' "

"I see, but that doesn't explain what Sandra might have found out about him, except that he might have been trying to make a point with Reg, and it went wrong when Eric was killed. Or perhaps it went right."

"There's a bit more than that to it all. Apparently, his mother is Spanish, name of Mendoza, which accounts for the fact that he had a touch of the Rudolph Valentino about him when he was younger. He's got family over there in Spain. I've been talking to a few people, and there's word on the street that he's putting the screws on his runners to do more business, and he's asking more for protection, that sort of thing. They say he's sending money over there, for something or another."

"Have you told Caldwell?"

"I've told him everything I know, and in return, he's got people out looking for our Sandra."

"Do you know how he's doing it?"

"Well, he's got informers, friends, if you like, among the ladies of the night, and-"

"Oh, I don't think Sandra would-"

"You don't know what someone might do who was desperate, Miss. Especially a young woman who can't feel anything anymore. But that's not it. It's a case of scratching each other's backs-they look out for someone wanted by the police, or they hear of something, and then they get left alone for a while, no moving on or that sort of thing. And I've been asking around the hostels, but nothing yet."

"Oh, dear."

"Caldwell listened to everything I had to say, Miss. He said that there's no smoke without a fire, and that he'll look into matters at Reg Martin's garage and have a word with Reg himself. To be honest, Miss, I saw Reg and he don't half look pale, not the man he was. He told me that, if he could, he would pack it in and go back to working on coaches and carts, but there was no business in it now, what with the number of motors on the road and everyone saying there won't be any horses left in London in ten years' time."

"I wish she'd just get in touch with us. I wish she would come out of hiding."

"On another matter, Miss."

"What's that, Billy?"

"That secretary woman at the Compton Corporation telephoned-Miss Robinson; she said to tell you that you should come over to pick up some mail that's been sent from Canada for you. She said you're expected."

"That's a funny way of putting it." Maisie sighed. "Oh well, I'll drop by on Friday. I can't leave Cambridge until the debate is over."

"The what?"

"Debate. It's part of a series of debates with the Cambridge colleges that the College of St. Francis has been asked to join. Our team will be on the spot tomorrow. Then I'll come down on Friday."

"Right you are, Miss. I'll keep in touch. Don't mind me telling you, I wouldn't be surprised if our family weren't bigger by one sooner rather than later."

"Oh, I hoped the baby would wait until you were in the new house."

"I doubt if it will wait when it comes-after all, it's our fourth."

Maisie heard the words catch as Billy spoke. Their third child had been Lizzie, now buried in the local churchyard.

"Take care of Doreen, Billy. I'll be in touch."

As Maisie left the telephone kiosk, a black motor car drew up alongside her, the door swung open, and Stratton stepped out.

"You were looking for us?"

"Oh, yes. I'm glad you stopped."

Maisie seated herself in the back, next to MacFarlane. Stratton pulled down a seat opposite them and tapped on the window for the driver to continue on.