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Thursday evening, as Alasdair awaited the arrival of his light of love, he basked in the wonderful aromas wafting from the kitchen, where Morgan was producing something miraculous involving the slow cooking of an obscure cut of beef. Once Morgan was sure it could be left, he’d be leaving for his club and Alasdair, Toby and their fellow investigator could serve themselves at leisure while they discussed their news.

Morgan had not been gone more than five minutes when Toby knocked at the front door and he and Alasdair hadn’t been more than two minutes in a clinch when the knocker sounded again.

“I bet that’s Jonny,” Toby said, swiftly straightening his hair.

“Then his timing is to be deplored.” Alasdair grinned, as he went to open the door. “Jonny. How goes it?”

“Very well, up to a point.” Jonny’s nostrils quivered. “That smells glorious. Whatever it is, I need its reviving powers.”

“That bad? Let’s get you a small glass of something and you can tell all.” Alasdair closed the door and ushered them into the living room, where a decanter of sherry awaited.

“Thank you,” Jonny said, as he accepted a glass, “and thank you for inviting me here, rather than doing this over the telephone. Roger is working all hours God sends at present, and I’m feeling at a bit of a loose end. It’s frustrating, as well, to sit on one’s hands when I want to get out and properly question people about things. The denizens of Herbert and Chapman , for a start.”

“Is that why you need reviving?” Toby asked. “A case of investigator’s irritation?”

“More a case of policeman’s tongue-lashing. Matthew wasn’t best pleased when I rang him earlier,” Jonny said, settling himself in his chair. “I had no idea you’d both called him before I did, so I got through to a rather grumpy individual. He says we should co-ordinate in future and only bring one set of news.”

“Sorry about that.” Alasdair made his best apologetic gesture before taking his seat. “He was fine with me, but he’s probably got a point.”

“I wondered why he sounded a tad exasperated when I called him,” Toby said. “I thought it was pressure of work. You must have caught him first, Alasdair, if he was all sweetness and light with you.”

Alasdair grimaced. “ Mea culpa . In the circumstances, we should let Jonny go first with his briefing, on the understanding that we’ll neither of us be grumpy with him, but eternally grateful for his help.”

“Much obliged.” Jonny grinned, raised his glass, took a sip and continued. “Earlier today, I discharged my duty regarding the Stoke Newington tobacconist, so you have the story hot off the press. I’m lucky to have an employer who admires Lord Peter Wimsey—as well as admiring the aged great uncle—meaning he wasn’t averse to allowing me an hour or so for amateur ‘teccing, especially after I explained I was working alongside the men who helped pin down the Grey Assassin . I also dropped a hint that the commission involved acting in the national interest and promised I’d tell him all about it when in a position to do so. I hope that was all right?”

“If it means he might give you more time off if necessary, then it’s more than all right,” Toby said. “The ‘when in a position to do so’ can be extended for a jolly long time if need be, especially if friend Bruce puts a moratorium on all news even after the event.”

“Yes, spoilsport that he is. I’d thought if those circumstances prevailed I might simply say we’d kept the queen safe and leave it at that. Anyhow, as we’d speculated, it was a female shop assistant and so I piled on all the charm I could manage. I didn’t need to use any of the ploys we’d mulled over, because once I gave the name Stewart, Enid—said lady—asked if I was related to Jonty. She’d apparently seen your film last night and knew it was based on real people. She’d seen an item in a screen magazine regarding your latest venture, which featured a photograph of the aged relative in his younger days and she thought I bore a resemblance to him.”

“That’s handy. Straight into her good books, I hope,” Alasdair said.

“Indeed. I assured her I was indeed related to himself and gave her some background on both the aged relative and the pair of you. That worked like a charm, although I did have a dodgy moment when she told me she believed that every word of your film was based on true events.” Jonny rolled his eyes, in a manner reminiscent not of Jonty Stewart but of the latter’s partner, Orlando Coppersmith. “Especially when she asked if Dr Coppersmith had gone on to marry the character that Fiona plays.”

“Ouch.” Toby winced. “What did you tell her?”

“I decided to put on a deadly serious face and tell Enid—in strictest confidence, because it was a heartbreaking story that Coppersmith didn’t want spread—that the lady concerned, for whom the false name Margaret had been used in the film, died tragically young of tuberculosis. Dr C, distraught, had vowed never to take another sweetheart.” Jonny placed his hand on his breast. “Gentlemen, I not only brought Enid to tears, I earned myself a cup of tea and a slice of excellent fruit cake. Over which she asked if I was on a case, like you and Toby often are. I assured her I was, one that involved locating Alexandra, at which the floodgates of information opened. It turns out that she never picks up her own post, not after for the first time. Ever since it’s been done by a chap, who—the first time he arrived—came with a letter of authority written in Miss Munsey’s fair hand.”

“Isn’t your friend Enid suspicious?” Toby asked. “How does she know that letter wasn’t forged?”

“Because Alexandra had forewarned her that her brother would be coming in future. My lovely purveyor of tea, cake and gossip said that this chap came with quite a sob story. His sister Alexandra was with child, which is why she didn’t want to carry on getting her mail in person. All her family had disowned her—except him—and she dared not show her face in the family home, and so on and so forth. Enid says Alexandra was very pleasant the one time she spoke to her and hadn’t seemed ashamed of her condition, but the young woman was wearing a large, floaty type of cloak so could have been hiding a considerable bump. Enid put that all more delicately than I have, of course.”

“Hang on,” Alasdair said. “Something about this doesn’t add up. Why do I think Alexandra’s an only child?”

“Because Jeff told us that,” Toby replied. “He said something like it being the reason why she’d found the Monday evening group such a help.”

Jonny nodded. “Exactly what I thought. Not that I told Enid I knew that. I simply asked her for a description of said chap, which she was happy to provide and which means the letter collector isn’t Lloyd, unless he’s managed to cover up that large hairy mole on his cheek and lost a dozen years. The supposed brother is my age, although taller, darker and possessed of no distinguishing features. So that rules out Jeff and Richard, too, except if Enid is short sighted or useless at guessing ages and I don’t believe she’s either.”

“You honestly thought it might be one of that pair?” Toby asked.

“Given what we’ve heard these last few weeks, nothing would surprise me. If, say, Richard had inveigled himself with Alexandra, would he let Jeff know? And the fact that Enid said this chap is called Nicholas means nothing. If he’s a false brother he could be using a false name.”

“You could be right about the name irrespective of him being too old for Richard or Jeff. I also reckon you’re spot on about Richard not telling Jeff in the event that he and Alexandra were involved with each other, because Moira says he carries an unextinguished torch for her. Much to Moira’s annoyance. As complicated a situation as one of our plots.” Alasdair sniffed. “if this Nicholas is younger, who could he be? We seem to be the only younger men associated with this case.”

“Apart from the chap Alexandra was seen arguing with,” Toby reminded him. “I suppose she might be living with her bloke out of wedlock and telling all the world he’s her brother, for appearances’ sake. Oh, and what about the young man who came to get her trunk when she moved from Finsbury Park? He’s a second, unless he’s the aforementioned arguer.”

“There’s a third,” Jonny said, with a hint of triumph. “Somebody we’ve had information from, albeit at third hand. Dennis’s son.”

“Of course,” Alasdair said, a touch grudgingly, annoyed at not having remembered him. Any evidence that this chap is…no, I’m being silly. There must be, given your smug expression, Jonny.”

“My pal Enid was telling me all about him. She seems to like chatting to her favoured customers, among whom I now include myself. I bought some of her most expensive cigars for my father before leaving.”

Alasdair grinned. Handsome young men both, no doubt—Jonny and Nicholas—although he wouldn’t judge Enid for that. Why not enjoy that aspect of her work?

Jonny pressed on. “She was saying that you couldn’t judge people by appearances, because she’d never have guessed that Nicolas’s father would have been in the business of keeping a public house. It may be coincidence, but there again…”

“How vexatious that Morgan’s not here,” Toby said. “If he’s anything like North, he wouldn’t want to be contacted at his club or wherever he’s enjoying his evening off.”

“Quite,” Alasdair replied. “It’ll have to wait for his return, because he works damn hard and his free time is sacrosanct as far as I’m concerned. I’m more than happy to leave a note for him, however. I can appraise him of the developments, partly so that he doesn’t put his foot in it with Dennis, but also in case he can see a way to wheedle a name out of his old pal. Jonny, does Nicolas come to the tobacconist at a regular time or day to collect the post?”

“Great minds think alike, Alasdair, because that’s what I asked Enid. Yes, he’s apparently regular as clockwork twice a week. Half past twelve on a Wednesday and roughly a quarter past five in the afternoon on Saturdays. I wondered if the former coincided with his work lunch hour and the latter was on his way home from seeing the Arsenal.”

“Oh yes, we’re back in Highbury territory, aren’t we? I wonder if anyone else finds the coincidence of the Herbert and Chapman name ironic.”

“Anyone with an ounce of sense would, Toby,” Alasdair said. “Although the Gunners can’t be at home every Saturday so Nicholas can’t always be on the way home post-match.”

“No, but he might be waiting to listen to the football scores on Sports Report before he heads out, and that would mean he lives locally.”

“In which case, Nicholas might support Sheffield United or any other team. You’re getting carried away with yourself, young Toby and diving down alleyways.” Alasdair slapped his thighs then rose. “And we should be getting ourselves some dinner, to power up the old brain cells.”

The next few minutes were spent serving up the casserole and accompaniments, then taking them through to the dining room where a bottle of a decent red wine had been coming up to a nice temperature for drinking.

Once they’d started to do some justice to a meal that deserved proper attention, Toby said, “You rebuked me for going off on a tangent of deductions, but all three of us are getting slack. Nicholas could be Alexandra’s brother, you know and the pub stuff is either the truth—we don’t know that her parents don’t keep a hostelry—or it’s a coincidence, or another cock and bull tale.”

“What about her telling the others she was an only child?” Jonny asked.

“Another lie, told to gain sympathy. ‘Oh, I’ve been so lonely all my life, and you’re all such a help.’” Toby uttered the last part in an unconvincing falsetto. “There are so many tall stories woven into this case that I’m finding it hard to believe anything at first sight. And, irrespective of what the lovely Enid said—do send us an invitation to the wedding, by the way and we’ll make sure we console Roger—Alexandra could be being kept against her will.”

Jonny nodded slowly. “I did like Enid—she’s married, by the way, so I can’t plight my troth with her—but I think it possible for her to be taken in by the lies of a charming young man. If that had happened, it would mean the collection of Alexandra’s mail, and presumably the filtering of same, is part of the method by which she’s being kept under control.”

Alasdair looked up sharply from where he’d been loading his fork. “Do you really believe she is?”

Jonny shrugged. “I don’t think so, but it’s proper diligence to consider all possibilities. I’m sure there’s also an element, it pains me to confess, of wanting a more satisfying—for us— solution to this mystery than ‘girl gets in the family way and has to hide her interesting condition’.”

“I might have a more satisfying solution,” Toby said. “Or at least another reason for Alexandra wanting to move away from her old digs, which her previous employers would have had on record. It’s all from my visit earlier today to see Fred. He was the rather sardonic keeper of the door at Clanfield House, if you recall, Jonny.”

“I remember him well. How did you manage to get on his good side?”

“Simply by employing honesty, a touch of flattery and an appeal to his better nature. We’re now as pally as you and Enid, although we’re not having the banns read. Hold on, let me finish this.” He cleared his plate, pushed it away and then launched into an account of what he’d discovered.

Alasdair listened, increasingly impressed, at the information produced. The fact of a chap called James Salt working at Herbert and Chapman and his connection to the Blackshirts was no great surprise, although evidence of an R Archer being at the company’s offices on the day that Carstone died was very welcome. “Why does Lloyd visit of an evening?” he asked, when Toby reached that part of his account.

“No idea, and neither does Fred. Buff up his cousin’s ego—and his own at the same time—with this powers nonsense?” Toby shrugged. “There’s more on Alexandra, though. She told Fred, before she left, that she wouldn’t have wanted to be with her soon-to-be-no-longer employers come June, which may be a coronation reference. Especially as she made a remark about things blowing up in their faces, which might be a veiled reference to an explosive device. She also said that she’d been asked by her boss to do something that she thought was above board and had ended up involved in matters she wouldn’t have touched with a barge pole if she’d known beforehand. My theory is that she was used to lure Carstone to Chancery Lane station platform. The woman that some witnesses say he was talking to on the platform. Which is one of the reasons, maybe the primary reason, why she left the firm.”

“That all calls for port and cheese.” Alasdair went to fetch the items concerned while the other two insisted on clearing the table and doing the washing up.

Once they were all back at the table, Jonny resumed the discussion with, “Why hasn’t Alexandra told the police about either the overheard plot or the actor’s dubious accident? Is she as feckless as Jeff and the rest of them appear to be?”

“I can add to that. Over lunch today, Moira gave me a fuller explanation of why they sat on their hands,” Alasdair said, with a twitch of his eyebrow he hoped would suggest he wasn’t entirely convinced they’d picked all the layers off that particular onion. “All tied up with their individual self-esteem and the fact that Lloyd had been laughed at by the authorities during the war. They didn’t want to be in the same boat, especially Jeff, who had a rough time of it with his ex-wife belittling him. If Alexandra felt the same and was worried that the police would find out about the Monday Evening Association with its peculiar claims and dubious leader and laugh her to scorn.”

“There may be an element of that,” Toby said, “but I’ve another suggestion. What if she was blackmailed, in effect. Perhaps after Carstone’s death she got a warning from Salt or Chapman along the lines of, ‘Don’t come forward for the inquest. In fact, keep shtum, because if you say what you saw at the station, we’ll not only deny it, we’ll tell the police how you were involved in Carstone’s death. You lured him to the station on the promise of an assignation—we can prove that you’re obsessed with film stars because of these fan clubs you’ve joined—and then when you’d got him nice and close to the edge of the platform, you tripped him up and over the edge. When we couldn’t save him, we covered for you.’ How about that?”

“They could have brought in her membership of Lloyd’s club, too, as an example of her liking for flights of fancy,” Alasdair pointed out.

“I’m not disagreeing,” Jonny said, in tones which indicated he was about to do just that, “but how could they hope to make that a viable threat? What motive could they pretend that Alexandra had for killing Carstone when, as you say, she was devoted to film stars?”

Alasdair had been mulling over the theory, increasingly persuaded by it. “What you referred to as her interesting condition. They say, ‘We’ll tell the police that it was Carstone who got you up the duff and then refused to do the honourable thing because he didn’t want to rock his own marital boat. That’s why you’ve gone into hiding.’ And so forth. That might have been enough to have scared her into silence and to have made her leave the firm.”

“Good thinking, Alasdair. I’d like to develop the idea further,” Toby said. “Which came first, Carstone’s accident or Alexandra overhearing the phone call about the coronation? If it was the latter, could they have deliberately got her entwined in the Carstone case so they could hold that over her? Safer than bumping her off or making threats, perhaps.”

“I feel the need of a written timeline, clarifying what Alexandra stopped doing and when, related to other things.” Jonny chuckled. “The sort of thing Orlando might like, with dates on one axis, events on the other and seven or eight different coloured pencils to differentiate between the strands.”

“You and Roger can produce one yourselves,” Alasdair said, with a snort. “Don’t forget that one thing happening after another doesn’t imply cause and effect between them.”

“No,” Toby said, “but it could eliminate the reverse. For example, if I steal Alasdair’s biscuit after he hits me, the assault can’t have been occasioned by the robbery.”

“The robbery could have been in revenge for the slap, though,” Jonny pointed out. “Same sequence of events, different cause and effect.”

“Which could also apply to what happened to Carstone. He falls under the train but it’s due to Salt’s actions, rather than his slipping causing Salt to attempt a rescue. After which, Alexandra’s conscience causes her to quit her post.” Toby drew a notebook from his pocket. “I spent a bit of time just before I came here going back through the reports of the inquest. Nothing—apart from Salt and Archer’s testimony—would definitely preclude this new scenario being true. Even Carstone deliberately moving too close to the platform edge for comfort, which had been interpreted as his being in a hurry to get aboard, might have been him trying to get away from those two.”

“Why should they want Carstone dead, though?” Alasdair asked.