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a policeman brought an equally miraculous effect. They gave their statements and received in return
Halfpenny s address, information on his employment, a picture of what he looked like on the mortuary
slab, details of the contents of his pockets and why the policemen thought he d been killed.
Cowes Road wasn t the smartest part of West Brompton, a street which was clinging on to
respectability, or so reckoned the younger constable, whose sister was a maid there. Halfpenny appeared to
work as a travelling salesman, but one of the classier varieties, dealing with items of silverware and often
journeying to the continent. The picture they displayed of a sad-looking corpse left no doubt that it was the
man Jonty and Orlando had seen, and forced a shudder through the pair. Not so much intimations of
mortality but the cold, clinical way in which the shell of the man was depicted. This item was the only one
which hadn t emerged from the use of the magic words  Helena Stewart , the policemen having been
specifically instructed to double-check these two weren t wasting Inspector Redknapp s valuable time with
a case of mistaken identity.
Halfpenny s pockets had contained the usual ragbag of items which might have emerged from the
turning out of any man s clothes. Except Orlando s, of course he was neat to the point of absurdity, rarely
carrying more than his wallet, a clean handkerchief and some keys. Jonty seemed to lug around half a
drawer s worth of oddments, several of which were edible.
The policemen said they d found the dead man s wallet, which contained his business card and had
led to them putting a name to him. Handkerchiefs, a pen-knife, a notepad with a page torn out, a small
propelling pencil and a bill for stationery which had Halfpenny s address on it. Nothing remarkable or
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Charlie Cochrane
terribly helpful, except for a postcard from a lady at the firm he worked for, who d come to identify the
body.
 Was he married? It seemed the obvious question, although this time Orlando didn t get out his own
notepad and pencil to take down the answer. He felt odd without the comfort of what had become an
essential item in his sleuthing toolkit.
 Didn t appear to be. His address is a flat in a house split into apartments and he seems to have lived
there alone. Highly thought of within his company, though they were very upset to hear the news. The
older policeman spoke in a measured way.  I suppose there s family somewhere we hope to be able to
trace them as soon as we can.
Jonty nodded.  They ll need to know, of course. Terrible business, murder.
 I hate it. The younger constable piped up.  Don t we lose enough young men doing their duty in the
services?
Orlando was puzzled at the incongruous observation and would have liked to pursue it, but the older
policeman hushed his colleague.  Now don t get started on that. This will turn out to be the usual thing, sir.
A woman who s been a bit free with her affections and a jealous husband who s determined to put an end
to it one way or another. Or someone short of money who stood to make a bit of a gain with this chap out
of the way. It s rarely a total stranger or some young hooligan doing the killing, no matter what certain of
the newspapers say. He shuffled his papers together.  Thank you for your time, gentlemen. You ve been
very objective and sensible witnesses, not something I can say for everyone we have to deal with. He
turned to Jonty.  And would it be too forward of me to extend my regards to your mother?
When they were well clear of the little office where they d been interviewed and en route to some
much-needed refreshment Orlando could wait no longer, for fear he d burst.  What is it about your
mother that she inspires such devotion by name alone? Is all of London in awe of her?
 No. Well, possibly yes, but not in this case. There was a policeman, about a year ago, who was shot
by some young brigand who d got his hands on a pistol and shouldn t have been trusted with anything
more than a balloon. Luckily the officer didn t die, but he wasn t able to carry on with his work. Had a wife
and children, to boot.
 And? His lover s habit of leaving stories halfway through drove Orlando to distraction.
 And Mama got to work with her usual mixture of kindness and common sense. Found the man a job
in an office, set up a little trust fund for the children to be educated or be apprenticed, has the wife round to
tea once a month and they talk hats.
 Hats?
 The woman used to be a milliner. She still does some special commissions for Mama s friends,
which satisfies all round. Jonty eyed the crowds, as if to locate one of the woman s creations.  Hence the
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Lessons in Trust
regard by the police Mama didn t settle for condescending charity. Nobody wants to be beholden or go
cap in hand for funds, you know.
 I know. Orlando recalled the time after his father s death when the Coppersmiths had been
continually short of money and his mother had refused all offers of help as they were beneath her dignity. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]