Elizabeth Speller - The Return of Captain John Emmett

Ralph Liley. He, almost more than anyone else, would seem to be responsible for Hart's predicament. If Lieutenant Liley was stil alive, that would virtualy confirm that the nexus of deaths, including John's, did not have Hart at its centre.

He was getting cold so he walked fairly briskly along the Bayswater Road. The Hyde Park Hotel loomed up behind the mottled plane trees and on impulse he turned in past the doorman. He asked to use the telephone and the concierge made the connection for him. Of course it was a ridiculous time to try to catch Charles at his club but he left a message with the porter, simply saying that he had a lot to tel him and that he planned to go to Birmingham the folowing morning. He felt slightly melodramatic as he ended, saying that he expected to return on the same day.

On the spur of the moment he decided to jump on a bus to Victoria. From there he crossed the river. Although Brabourne's account had hardly mentioned Byers, Laurence had been bothered by something in the way Byers told his own story. Now he had an excuse to speak to him again, even if a pretty feeble one.

It took him forty minutes to reach the lock works. The watchman came out.

'You looking for the major?'

'No, Mr Byers.'

'Not here, sir. Won't be until later.'

'How much later?' Not that he could hover in the yard to ambush him.

'Search me.'

Very briefly he considered leaving a note, asking Byers to contact him, but he was sure that he wouldn't do so. He might be able to prevail upon Calogreedy to speak to Byers again, but the reason for his visit was pretty tenuous. It had been a ridiculously impulsive detour and he knew it was largely because he had too much time on his hands.

He set off for home. The street outside the works was empty. He was approaching the bridge when, as he turned to cross the road, he almost colided with a man on a bicycle coming round the corner. He stumbled back over the kerb. The man half stopped and half fel off. As he picked up his cap from the road and straightened himself up, the cyclist apologised.

'Sorry, sir. Not usualy anyone about. I should of looked. You al right?'

It was Byers. Slowly his expression changed. 'Mr Bartram.'

Laurence's reason for being there suddenly seemed even flimsier.

'I had some news.' He felt a fool as he said it. 'You might like to know the man you told me about—Tresham Brabourne, who defended Lieutenant Hart—he's alive and wel.'

It sounded ridiculously thin. Why should Byers care? Byers stared at him, gripping the handlebars tightly.

'So not everyone's under a fatal curse,' Laurence said, trying to sound light-hearted.

Only a slight tension of his jaw showed that Byers had heard but he didn't move on. He looked more uneasy than relieved at this information. One foot remained on the pedal, the other pressed down on the road surface as if he was about to push off and cycle away.

'Did he say anything?' Byers asked eventualy, stil wary.

'Wel, more or less what you said. A bad business.'

'About me?'

Laurence thought back. 'Nothing in particular. I mean, apart from you, because you'd been with him before, he didn't even know the name of anyone in the firing squad.'

Byers looked as if he was engaged in one of his famous computations of figures. When he finaly spoke, his voice was flat. 'Just before, when they were tying him up, Tucker leans towards me and hands me his pocket knife. He nods towards Hart and for a minute I think he's teling me to cut his throat but he just says, "Cut off his pips, son." I didn't get it at first and Tucker gives me a push. I look to the officer, that's your friend, the captain. But he doesn't seem to see what's going on. I stumble out towards the man. Half afraid someone's going to give the order to fire while I'm out there. Then I'm standing in front of him—the officer we're going to shoot

—and I'm not looking at him and I think I says something like, "I'm sorry," very quiet so that Tucker can't hear, and I reach forward and sawed the pip off one shoulder and then he turns so I can get the other one. And I'm looking for the other badges when Emmett suddenly wakes up and shouts, "Byers, what the hel do you think you're doing, get back in position," so I do. I scarper back, clutching these pathetic bits of stuff in my hand. And when I get back, Tucker's there with his hand out and I just put them in his palm. I felt bad about it after because I thought it was a proper order, but later I heard that they didn't take the rank off a condemned man.'

He caught Laurence's eyes briefly.

'It was just another little game of Tucker's. Probably he sold them for a mint.' His shoulders slumped. 'I'm sorry. I am. I didn't know any better.'

Laurence wanted to reach out and touch Byers' nearest arm, stiff on the handlebar. But even before he could tel him that he had nothing to be sorry for, Byers was moving off, pedaling away without looking back.

Laurence got home feeling cold and dispirited. He had a glass of brandy to warm himself, then managed to settle to his own work. He wrote until evening before assembling his notes. As he tidied up, he gathered up his recent letters. He glanced down to Eleanor's, lying on top. Her handwriting was as determined as her character. Suddenly, he tipped out the odds and ends that Mary had given him. On top was the note about the birdwatching. His eyes went to the bottom and then to the letter. He was almost certain that the comments about somebody dislikeable in the guise of a bird were in Eleanor Bolitho's handwriting, as he had guessed. Eleanor had obviously been seeing John long after the war and had a close friendship with him. But she had chosen to lie about it to Laurence. Could the N be Nicholas Bolitho?

Did Wiliam know that they'd both gone to Holmwood? He picked up the scrap and put it and Brabourne's photograph in his walet.

When he'd left Brabourne the day before, he was reeling with al the new information but as he slotted each element into place he realised there were crucial questions he might have asked. Now he also wondered: why hadn't Brabourne mentioned Byers' actions?

Chapter Twenty-six

Fresham Brabourne seemed keen to see Laurence again, although he made it clear that his time was limited. He suggested Laurence find his way up to the office he'd visited last time. Although the door was ajar, Laurence knocked. The floor was covered in open newspapers and Brabourne was kneeling in the middle.

'I'm checking your Byers bombshel, about his cousin,' he said. 'Turns out Mulins was looking into it. Curiouser and curiouser. There has to be a connection. A story.' He looked excited.

'There were two things I wanted to check myself,' Laurence said. 'Why on earth did John Emmett ask for a copy of your photograph?' He took it out of his pocket.

'He didn't. Nobody saw me use the camera. More than my life was worth.'

'But you gave it to him?'

'No. God, no. Hardly. Last thing I'd want him to know about.'

'Wel, somebody gave it to him,' said Laurence. 'Are you sure this is yours?' He handed it to him. 'Could anyone else have been taking pictures that day?'

'Very unlikely,' said Brabourne, examining the picture. 'No, this is mine. Was mine. Look—my monogram on the back. I stil have that stamp. P is my first name, Peregrine. Not very surprisingly, I opted to use one of my other names—Tresham. It was that or my third name, Everard, which wasn't a great improvement on Peregrine.' He looked down at the photograph in his hand. 'But God knows where the negative is.'

'When did you last see the picture? Do you have any sense of when it was lost?'

'No. I mean, no, it wasn't lost. It was hardly something I gazed at every day but it was with my things until I met Colonel Lambert Ward. I set up an interview with him a couple of years ago. Do you remember the Darling Committee? Suggesting reforms for courts martial?'