She felt her chance of helping Lancelot slipping away. ‘Inspector, can I ask if Lancelot has said anything that explains what happened?’
DCI Seldon grunted again. ‘He still refuses to say anything other than the statement he gave at the scene, which I read out to you on the night of the murder.’
‘Look, just ignoring the colonel for a moment, what possible reason would Lancelot have for stealing his mother’s jewels?’ She blushed. ‘Or for being your notorious jewel thief?’
‘Young Lord Fenwick-Langham had got in with a bad set, I have been told. Maybe his habits were costing more than his doting parents gave him?’
To Eleanor the detective’s tone seemed scornful. ‘Inspector, I don’t believe this investigation is entirely about justice. I suspect something may be clouding your judgement about the accused.’ Oh, Ellie, what are you doing?
DCI Seldon’s neck reddened. Before he could reply, a uniformed officer bowled into the room and strode over to DCI Seldon, then jerked to a halt on seeing Eleanor. ‘Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t realise you weren’t alone.’
‘What is it?’ DCI Seldon’s voice was as cool as his glare. The officer whispered something in his ear. ‘Right, get the car.’ DCI Seldon waved his hand.
Eleanor waited until they were alone again. ‘A development in the case?’
‘Lady Swift, as you are acutely aware, you are too involved in this case for me to discuss any details with you.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Can I ask one question?’
DCI Seldon rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Which is?’
‘When you searched the study immediately after arresting Lancelot, did you find Lady Fenwick-Langham’s jewels?’
He shook his head and reached for his hat and coat.
Eleanor decided to chance her arm even further. ‘And do you still believe the thief had an accomplice?’
DCI Seldon looked her in the eye. ‘Lady Swift. I am officially warning you to stay out of the investigation. And please ensure that Mr Clifford does too. I won’t remind you again that this is a police matter, one where we will act upon evidence and facts in line with the law. And as you are also a suspect…’ He let the sentence hang. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, duty and justice call.’ He placed his bowler squarely on his head.
His footsteps reverberated down the hall, the walls echoing as he barked, ‘Brice! Give Lady Swift five minutes with the accused. Don’t leave them alone. And no more than five minutes. Now, where’s my blasted car, for Pete’s sake?’
Nine
‘Come with me, please, Lady Swift.’ Sergeant Brice hovered in the doorway.
Eleanor followed him to the end of the long corridor where a formidable steel door blocked their path. He slid open the narrow hatch and called out, ‘Sergeant Brice with a visitor for cell thirteen, Langham-Fenwick.’
As the door rumbled open, Eleanor snorted. They could at least get Lancelot’s surname right!
‘Sergeant Brice, sir.’ A fresh-faced officer in a perfectly turned-out uniform saluted.
‘This is the police, not the army, Lowe,’ the sergeant muttered.
‘Constable Lowe?’ Eleanor peered over Brice’s shoulder.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Swift.’ Lowe yanked off his cap and smoothed his hair. ‘I’ve been promoted to a full-time position, now Sergeant Brice is no longer a constable.’ His chest threatened to pop the buttons from his jacket as it swelled with pride.
Eleanor smiled at the eager young man. ‘Congratulations!’
Brice rolled his eyes. ‘Lowe, I am escorting Lady Swift to the prisoner, not to Sunday school for a natter. Door!’
The young constable jumped into action and slammed the door shut, making Eleanor’s ears ring. ‘This way.’
Their footsteps clattered down the corridor. The public rarely visited this part of the station and it had missed the refurbishment of the front; the half-height orange paint that ran the length of the corridor was faded and scuffed, the floor tiles chipped and dirty. They passed a row of empty cells with iron bed frames and paper-thin mattresses with a decidedly thin and itchy-looking blanket bundled on the top of each. Eleanor shivered.
Stopping outside the second to last cell, Brice pulled out a ring of keys. ‘Five minutes. That was the DCI’s order.’
Lancelot lay sideways on the bed, repeatedly throwing an apple into the air, his legs stretched out, feet against the wall.
‘Visitor for you,’ the sergeant called as he locked the door noisily behind Eleanor.
Lancelot’s head turned languidly. ‘Sherlock!’ He jumped up, his rumpled shirt hanging out of his creased trousers. ‘Good show, old girl. How the bally heck did you persuade Seldon to let you in?’
Eleanor smiled. ‘It’s a secret.’ She peered at his face. ‘How are you bearing up?’
Lancelot laughed. ‘You sound just like Mater. Why the dramatics?’
‘How about because you’re in prison? Well, in a police cell, accused of theft and…’ She glanced at Brice leaning against the wall outside and whispered, ‘Murder!’
A shadow crossed his face and he slumped back down on the mattress. He held out the apple. ‘Hungry? Not much to offer in the hospitality stakes, I’m afraid.’
‘Lancelot, listen—’
‘What happened to Goggles? I rather liked him.’
She sighed in exasperation. Goggles was the pet name she had given him when they first met and he was clad in his motorcyclist gear. ‘Goggles, then. This is bad. Really bad. You’re in a proper heap of trouble. We both are, dash it!’
He frowned. ‘Wait up, how are you in trouble?’
‘Because the inspector has a nasty suspicion.’ She checked if Brice was listening. He seemed to be far too busy shining his shoes on the back of his trousers. ‘That I might be your accomplice.’
‘What!’ Lancelot sat straighter and rubbed his forehead. ‘That imbecile, how dare he! Next time I meet him, I shall punch his bally lights out!’
She groaned. ‘Please don’t, you… you dullard. Can’t you understand that assaulting a police officer really isn’t going to help?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose not. But, honestly, what a wretched cheek accusing you. I tell you that man is so-oo tiresome. I guarantee he’s no fun at parties.’ He glanced sideways at her with a look she couldn’t decipher. ‘Sherlock?’
‘What?’
‘Why did you come?’
She stared straight ahead at the wall. ‘You know perfectly well why.’
‘To… clear your name?’
‘You impossible oaf! No, to try and clear yours. Oh, you are too much.’
‘No, you are too much. Too… special. And sitting here with you, in these delightful, elegant surroundings is enough to make it all worth it.’ He tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
‘Goggles, this is a bit awkward.’
‘I know. We’ve got a peeping tom and’ – he whispered in her ear, his soft stubble brushing her cheek – ‘he’s disguised as a policeman, the fiend!’
Eleanor smiled, but then her face clouded over. ‘Lancelot, what can you tell me about what really happened?’