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Alasdair headed straight for the bathroom when he arrived home. The first few days of filming a new project always seemed to leave him sweating and in a state he’d describe as frankly disgusting. Before he could face putting a call through to Geraldine, he’d need a shower. Not that she’d be able to see—or smell—the condition he was in, but a man had his standards to maintain and to be clean in this context was like wearing the correct undergarments for an historical film. No-one in the audience would be able to spot if you had 1950’s underpants on, but the actor would know and—according to the costume department—the way one moved oneself would be different. He thought of poor Fiona and her discomfort with her bodice and was grateful he didn’t have to endure such an instrument of torture.

He’d just come down the stairs, clean and refreshed, when the telephone rang.

“Mr Hamilton? Mrs Richards here.”

“Lovely to hear from you. And it’s Alasdair, please.”

She chuckled. “Old habits die hard. I have a surname for the Alexandra who no longer attends our meetings. Munsey. I don’t have a note if she’s a Miss or a Mrs, although I don’t think she wore a wedding ring so go with Miss. I wrote to her—and to the other Alexandra, who’s called Chilcott, just in case—as soon as I put the phone down from speaking to you, so we’ll await a response.”

“Many thanks.” Alasdair started to make notes. “Now, I may be reading too much into your tone of voice, but it sounds as though you might have more to tell me?”

“I do indeed. I confess I didn’t leave matters there, because that struck me as being most remiss. You’re a busy man and anything I can do to help chivvy this up—without sticking my oar in too far—seems only right. So, rather than put the letters in the post, I decided to take them round myself this afternoon, to the two places I’d addressed them to. On the off chance I might see one of the women concerned. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t. I admire your taking the initiative.” Especially if it had paid dividends.

“That’s a relief. Anyway, don’t get too excited, because I didn’t manage to see either lady, although I did make some progress. Alexandra Chilcott’s mother was weeding their front garden when I called, so I gave a precis of our conversation, which ended with her saying she’d pass the letter on but as far as she knew, her daughter hadn’t cut off ties with anyone. Mothers don’t know everything, of course.”

“Quite so.” Apart from Alasdair’s mother, who had known about his romantic preferences possibly before he did. “Did you happen as well to meet Miss Munsey’s mother? And that’s not easy to say: I’m so pleased I don’t have it in my current script.”

Mrs Richards giggled. “Quite a tongue twister. No, when I went to her digs in Finsbury Park I didn’t come across her mother, but did turn up something more intriguing. I can quite see how you and Mr Bowe find investigation so enthralling. I felt like Miss Climpson and, like her, being a lady of more mature years than your good self, I can get away with asking questions that a younger man couldn’t.”

“I bet you were just as efficient as Miss Climpson.” Dorothy L Sayers had got it spot on in her depiction of the underrated usefulness of older women. “What did you discover?”

“Initially that the landlady made a lovely cup of tea, had a light touch with a rock cake and was probably lonely and therefore appreciative of someone to chat to. That’s relevant, because I think it made it easier for her to be frank with me.” Mrs Richards took a deep breath. “Alexandra gave notice and moved out weeks ago. She left no forwarding address other than a place where she could pick up her mail. By the time that emerged, Mrs Carson—the landlady—had my letter in her hand and promised she’d forward it. I couldn’t exactly snatch it back and say I’d go there myself in order to have a nose about.”

“A wise decision. Especially as we have a young chap helping us on the case and that’s exactly the kind of thing he would be very good at busying himself with.” Assuming they had all the necessary the details. “You didn’t by some wonderful chance get hold of this forwarding address?”

“I’m proud to say that I did. I’d already told Mrs Carson how I was connected to Alexandra through your fan club, which also helped establish a rapport between us, as she loves your films and often chatted to her ex-tenant about them. I mentioned the times I’d sent a letter on club business and said I’d have more to send so if I could have Alexandra’s address, that would save the landlady work. She looked at the envelope I’d given and said she recalled my handwriting, describing it as elegant, so knew I was telling the truth therefore was happy to oblige. The forwarding address appears to belong to a shop in Stoke Newington. Ives and Co in Church Street. Mrs Carson thought they may be a tobacconist.”

“Thank you. This is certainly becoming reminiscent of a pre-war crime novel. If we send our colleague along, will he run into Lord Peter Wimsey?”

“Or your pals Coppersmith and Stewart? It is intriguing. There’s more, though and it’s a touch delicate. Mrs Carson harboured a suspicion that Alexandra might be pregnant.”

“Aha.” That might well explain why she’d been hiding herself away from her friends, rather like—who was it? Sarah or Elizabeth? —in the bible. “What evidence did she have for this suspicion?”

“Alexandra putting on weight around the waistline, although that’s hardly definitive. She had apparently been sick a couple of times in the morning, which sounds more like it. Also, when she moved out she had a large, heavy trunk and was about to bring it downstairs. Mrs Carson, not wishing to risk harm to any baby, but not wanting to air her belief, forbade her simply on the grounds of weight. Alexandra didn’t kick up a fuss, despite being a modern young woman, most independent, which makes it sounds as though she too was being extra careful. And then—I quote—a nice young man in overalls came to the door with a van parked outside. He was clearly helping her move so he hauled the thing down the stairs. All of it circumstantial evidence, I suppose, but suggestive.”

Suggestive indeed. Although Alexandra might have developed had a dodgy back, or something equally unconnected to being with child. It would however explain her making herself scarce, if she wanted, say, to start a new life, with a husband, a wedding ring and an upcoming first anniversary, the last of which would be fake as could the first two. Nobody would know any different in a strange area. “Your Mrs Carson sounds a mine of information.”

“She was, although she reiterated that the pregnancy part wasn’t proven. I said that if it was true, it raised the question of whether Alexandra could already have gone into a nursing home, but Mrs Carson didn’t think a baby could be due quite yet. Although she could be in for observation, of course. My sister got hauled in six weeks before her due date because her blood pressure was sky-high. Sorry, I’m digressing.”

“No need to apologise. We bachelors don’t necessarily know this kind of detail, so we’d be at risk of jumping to the wrong conclusion. Thank you for reporting everything back so promptly.”

“Not a problem. If you need anything else, let me know.”

“I will certainly do so.” After Alasdair ended the call with the usual pleasantries, Morgan appeared in the hallway, asking if he was ready for his omelette. “Give me ten minutes, if you could. I’ve just finished with one formidable lady and have another to tackle. Once that’s done, I’ll be needing refreshment.”

“I wish you the best of British luck, sir.” With the nearest he’d likely get to a sly grin, Morgan retreated to his pantry.

Alasdair went through another set of pleasantries after getting through to Geraldine, although she was quick to cut them short with a, “Are you calling to discuss those peculiar people you and Toby told us about?”

“Only at one remove. You’ll be delighted to know that their claims were made up, for a mixture of reasons including wanting to impress each other and, we suspect, needing to feel of use. Their real intent was for us to locate a missing friend, and they think we’ll be able to because she was a member of our appreciation societies.” For some reason, it didn’t feel right to use the term “fan clubs” with Geraldine. “To cut a long story short, we subsequently ended up with a link to a possible planned disruption of the coronation. We’ve reported it to the police, but I seem to recall you mentioning your cousin was involved in the planning for the event.”

“And you wondered if he should know about it as well? Probably very wise. I’m not entirely sure what he does—except go on about a lot of rather tedious detail about the nuts and bolts of things—but he could always pass the information on to the right person. Would you like to meet him?”

“Please. If he wouldn’t think it odd for two actors to be buttonholing him with what’s, frankly, not a lot of concrete information.”

“I think he’d rather you did if there’s any chance of disruption, as you so tactfully put it. Forewarned is forearmed and while I have every admiration for our police, they can’t have eyes and ears everywhere. And we’re running short of time to forestall any unwanted actions.”

“Exactly. Would you like to know more before you speak to him?”

“Not now. After the event…literally…then you and Bruce—that’s his name—can regale me with the story. Let me put a call through to him now, if you’ll be so kind as to give me your number. Will you be at home for the rest of the evening?”

“I will. Although could you please ask him to give me half an hour to get myself fed or I’ll be incapable of rational thought.”

“I will do. You need to stoke the brain up to deal with such matters. Oh, and before you go, let me thank you for contacting me once more regarding one of your cases. It’s so nice to feel useful.”

“My pleasure.”

Once settled with his omelette, which was a triumph of the egg cooking art, Alasdair planned what he’d tell Bruce. It wouldn’t be like addressing Matthew Firestone, whom he knew well and who’d automatically have a sympathetic ear, although surely one could assume that Geraldine would give some background to her cousin, outlining why the two actors had glowing credentials in the amateur detection field. Perhaps Bruce would already know of his cousin’s involvement in their most recent case and be prepared to trust what he was told.

Which would be what, exactly?

Maybe it would be wise to avoid all mention of the Monday Evening Association , apart from in the vaguest way where it touched on how he and Toby had become involved in this business in the first place. Best, perhaps, also to avoid mentioning anything suspicious about Alexandra’s disappearance, given that they now had a possible, entirely prosaic explanation for it. He’d concentrate merely on the Herbert and Chapman stuff.

You, sir, are an absolute dolt, missing the obvious .

It wasn’t unusual for Alasdair or Toby to have a sudden clarity of thought during an investigation: an idea that was so blindingly apparent that it seemed ridiculous they’d not considered it before. This time, it was the question of what Lloyd’s role in the business. Lloyd, whom Toby—always a good judge of character—had disliked, who was cousin to Chapman and who was allowed free use of the firm’s premises for his club. Was he a sympathiser to their beliefs? Did he know about the plans regarding disrupting such a notable occasion, whatever those plans might be? Most importantly, should his name be mentioned to the authorities, given that Alasdair’s suspicion was based on nothing more than a family connection?

The omelette was a mere memory on the lips and Alasdair was well settled in his chair with Smallbone Deceased , in an effort to clear his head by concentrating on the delightful Henry Bohun, when the telephone rang. With a call down the hallway of, “I can answer it, Morgan!” Alasdair picked up the instrument, to be greeted by a deep, pleasing voice, much as he imagined Bohun might speak.

“Mr Hamilton? Bruce Martin here. Geraldine’s cousin.”

“Call me Alasdair, please, and many thanks for ringing me. Did your cousin explain what this is about?”

“Only in as much as it touches on your amateur sleuthing. I hope the word amateur isn’t an insult—Geraldine is most impressed with your abilities, and those of Mr Bowe. She says that what you have to tell me is important.”

“We believe it is, although I’m afraid it’s going to sound awfully thin. Let me start with something concrete, which is that we’ve already reported what we know to our contact within the police force.”

“Glad to hear it. What did he say?”

“I don’t know.” Alasdair felt even more of a dolt. “We’ve some else working with us and he was discharging that duty today. I’ve not heard his report yet.”

“I see.” What Bruce saw wasn’t clear and his tones had become less encouraging. Working as a team meant the workload was shared but it did have its disadvantages in terms of not being abreast of everything, and Alasdair felt that now. “I believe my cousin has helped you in a previous case. She says you’re both much more intelligent than you come across on screen. Which I also hope you don’t find an insult,” Bruce added, in what sounded like a hurried afterthought.

“I’ll take it in spirit intended.” And with a carefully adopted air of generosity. “To cut to the important bits. In the last fortnight we’ve been approached by a group of friends who are ostensibly worried about a missing acquaintance and wanted to see if we could help locate her, because she’s a fan of ours. That’s how it started, anyway. As we peeled back the layers of the story, a coronation connection came up. Part of a conversation this missing woman overheard at work about people planning some kind of disruption to the event.”

“Do you think that these two elements are linked?” Bruce sounded more serious. “That she’s been taken off and dealt with in some way for hearing what she shouldn’t? Or gone into hiding?”

“Possibly, although we’ve made a lot of progress on her side of the story and have an unrelated, highly plausible explanation for why she may have hidden herself. That could be a cover, of course. As you know, where people are concerned, motivation can be complex.”

“Quite. How did she overhear this planning happening?”

“As a result of a picking up a telephone at her then employers, a firm of solicitors come investigators, name of Herbert and Chapman .”

“That bunch?” Bruce’s tone of voice suggested a raised eyebrow. “They have their fingers in some unsavoury pies. The defendants they represent are not ones my cousin Geraldine would choose were she in their shoes and neither would I.”

“If that was all they got up to, it wouldn’t be so worrying. We know, from another reliable source, that the two principals were involved with the British Union of Fascists and still bear the same sympathies.”

“Ah. I knew Chapman had knocked about with Mosley pre-war and sometimes acted as one of the Blackshirts but I didn’t know it about the other one. It doesn’t surprise me that they still believe in their cause. Those unpleasant leopards rarely change their spots.”

“We’ve heard from this other source that they’ve also been sounding off about Queen Salote and their dislike of her and that another employee accidentally came across Chapman and person unknown discussing an upcoming act of violence. Whether the two are linked and whether they hate Queen Salote because of the colour of her skin or some other reason, we don’t know. We felt that all these elements potentially meld together to make something nasty. Admittedly, they may have no connection and the statements overheard were nothing more than hot air or related to something else. I said this stuff was awfully thin.”

“Less thin than you believe to be the case, Alasdair. The identity of the firm alone adds considerable girth to it.” Bruce sniffed. “Who’s your police contact? I feel the need of liaison.”

“Matthew Firestone. He’s a superintendent at Scotland Yard. Although whether he’ll deal with the matter himself or pass it on to some other agency, I wouldn’t know.”

“Leave that with me. I simply want to make sure we’re working together and not tripping over each other’s feet. Anything else for me to get my teeth into?”

Time to draw a bow at a venture. “I have some other names of people who are vaguely connected to this business, in that they are members of a fortnightly club that meets at the Herbert and Chapman offices. I was going to list them in case their names ring any bells.”

“What sort of club is this?” Bruce suddenly sounded on the alert.

“A cross between a support group for misfits and one for lonely hearts, or that’s the impression we get.” That seemed a bit harsh, but avoided a long explanation. “Run by a cousin of Billy Chapman, name of Lloyd Conway.”

“Oh yes? Small chap, a bit full of himself?”

“I’ve never met him, although Toby Bowe has and I think the description would fit. Toby didn’t like him.”

“If it’s the chap I’m thinking of, I’m not surprised. I can rely on your discretion?”

“Absolutely. Although I can’t promise I won’t be sharing what I hear from you with our police contact, nor with Toby. Or indeed with Jonny Stewart, who’s part of the missing person investigation.”

“Did I mishear that, Alasdair? Jonny rather than Jonty?”

“Yes. The great-nephew of the great man. He’s taking the role of police liaison this time, hence my vagueness earlier as he’s not yet told me what transpired.”

“You’re forgiven. I had the pleasure of working with Messrs Coppersmith and Stewart during the last unpleasantness and the latter mentioned he had family members following in his footsteps including the nephew who’s a judge. We digress, though.” Bruce didn’t sound bothered at the digression. “Lloyd Conway got himself into trouble during the war by making outrageous claims about what he—and other people—could do. Bizarre powers.”

So, this behaviour was nothing new? “That fits in with this club he runs. Supposed to be, on the surface anyway, a group of people with odd abilities, although we’ve discovered that three of the members are merely pretending, for reasons of their own.”

“None of this surprises me. When Conway first appeared on the radar, he was thought to be either eccentric or mentally unwell but he was holding down a perfectly good, perfectly effective role contributing to the war effort, so the powers that be decided he was probably harmless. He’d been trapped in a bombed building, early in the Blitz, so it was thought he had a touch of shell shock.”

“That would explain a lot.”

“Yes. I thought the same. I never met him at the time, but when I was told about the case it stuck in my mind because there are Conways in our family, although no relation to this chap. After the war, I happened to meet him and he tried to persuade me that I had some extraordinary ability that I could put to use for the greater good. I don’t, apart from a useful brain and the knack of analysing things and making connections and I’d hardly call that extraordinary.”

“Lloyd did the same thing to Toby, who had a similar answer for him, only his real skills were to do with flying.” Alasdair, feeling his eyebrow begin to rise, forestalled it. No point in overusing one of his greatest assets with nobody to see it. “Lloyd seemed convinced he was right.”

“Perhaps he’s been saying that to his cousin, Chapman. Maybe the latter believes he truly possesses some unique ability and it feeds his visions of grandeur.”

Visions of grandeur . Hadn’t the same expression been used about Lloyd?

“Perhaps Toby could butter up this chap Lloyd,” Bruce continued, “to see if he knows anything about what his cousin’s up to.”

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure he could summon up the courage.” Alasdair chuckled. “Let me pass those other names I have in front of you, given how successful we’ve been so far. Group members Moira Matthews, then two chaps called Richard and Jeff, for whom I have no surnames.”

“They don’t ring a bell, but I’ll jot them all down even if they appear to signify nothing at present. One can never be sure as to what will be meaningful in the long run.”

Whatever Bruce’s role in the event preparations, he appeared to be more than simply a logistics man. No surprise, if he’d been working Jonty and Orlando during the war doing something that probably required a lot of brain. Had they inadvertently found—or, to be accurate, had Geraldine steered them towards—the very person they needed on the inside?

“Excellent. Add to your list Alexandra Cummings, who may go by the name Munsey. Or vice versa. The aforementioned woman who did the overhearing when she worked at Herbert and Chapman .”

“Added. Anyone else?”

Alasdair was about to say there wasn’t, when a name popped into his head. “Charles Carstone, the late actor. Believed to be one of Herbert and Chapman’s clients at the time of his death.”

“Ah. He was making a film with Landseer, I believe, when he fell under a tube train? I saw the story in the paper.” The light way in which Bruce spoke implied he knew a lot more than he was willing to divulge at present.

“Yes. Strictly in confidence, he may have been dreading an upcoming pair of divorce cases in which he was threatened with being named as co-respondent. Carstone is—Carstone was—a devout catholic, believe it or not, as was his wife, so he went to get advice in case the balloon went up.”

“He went to the right place for avoiding scandal. Old hands at that game. Quite likely old pals of his, too.”

“Really?” That would explain a lot.

“In so much as Carstone was well in with Mosley pre-war, so it’s entirely possible he ran into one or both of that pair. This was before he was on his way to becoming a successful actor, at which point he dropped all such associations like a hot potato. None of this is common knowledge.”

“No.” It had even escaped the notice of Dennis’s son and therefore Morgan. Interesting that it had also evaded the beady eye of Sir Ian, who’d have dropped Carstone like a hot potato had he known. Not views of which Sir Ian approved, although if Carstone had gone to him to plead the error of his ways, stating how his previous beliefs had been stupid and how he’d soon learned enough to cast them off, the head of Landseer might well have forgiven him. Such a change of heart could have been manipulated by the publicity department into a story of redemption. “Carstone must have been desperate to risk re-opening the relationship with Herbert and Chapman if word could get back to the studio that they were fascists.”

“I heard he was in deep despair. The biggest chance of his career and the likelihood it would all fizzle out with the divorces business.” How did Bruce know these things? Time to probe him.

“Where does all this information come from? Sorry to have to ask, but we’ve learned not to take anything on face value, even if the source comes with a sound recommendation.”

“Such as Geraldine’s?” Bruce chuckled. “You’re quite right to question my credentials. I can’t give you any details, for reasons which will become obvious to a bright chap like you, but during the war, one of the jobs I had involved keeping an eye on British fascists and I’ve had to do some since. Is that enough to persuade you?”

“It’ll have to be,” Alasdair said with good grace. “Now, is there anything else we can do to help with this possible threat of sabotage? I know we’re only actors but it’s surprising how often that seems to help. Either because folk are so familiar with us they address us almost as friends, or because we come across as a pair of silly asses whom it can’t possibly hurt to gossip with.”

“I’ve no doubt about your credentials and that any silly ass persona is all a clever act. But—and I’m sure your police contact will say the same to Jonny—please don’t press this any further. We’ll do what needs to be done.”

How vexatious. “I understand. We’ll still have to press on with the issue of the missing woman until we’re sure we have the correct explanation, but we’ll be concentrating on following the address trail and trying our best not to stick our noses in where we shouldn’t.” Alasdair made the promise through gritted teeth and with his metaphorical fingers crossed. If, for example, Alexandra volunteered some information about her ex-employers, the conversation couldn’t simply be shut down.

“That would be appreciated.”

“Hold on a minute. Earlier in this conversation, you suggested that Toby talk to Lloyd about his cousin. Does that still apply?”

“Ah.” Bruce sighed. “On calm consideration, perhaps not. I don’t want to have to face the wrath of your fans—not least my cousin—should anything happen to you.” With which he made his goodbyes, leaving Alasdair to wonder exactly why this business was expected to be so dangerous.

And why Bruce had changed his mind about probing Lloyd.