JACK OF DIAMONDS

CHAP 4 - PT 1 (ARE SEETHING FOR CONTENTION...)

i

Nigel Bannister looked up from the picture he was drawing, watching the hallway closely; he could still hear the echo of the door slamming downstairs. He had the lights dimmed somewhat, thinking there was no need having all the lights on, not with everyone at the fair. It was the major reason he’d volunteered to stay behind and answer whatever calls might come in—knowing there’d be none because of the fair. It gave him a chance to study the police procedurals he’d neglected for far too long. He wasn’t planning on spending the rest of his career in the middle of Devon. He had his mind set on London. The only way he’d be noticed was if he were to make a name for himself, and the only way for him to do that, was to understand the newest breakthroughs in law enforcement. But he was easily distracted and soon found himself drawing another picture--a face in the crowd as he liked to call it.

“Had enough of it, eh Charlie?” he asked, hiding a grin as Constable Murphy limped to a chair and sat down, pushing his shoes off and voicing a heavy sigh. “Been on your feet all night chasing down criminals, have you Charlie?”

Nigel didn’t even look up from the picture he was drawing.

“I’d beg for new shoes if it weren’t for this bloody hemorrhoid I’m sitting on,” Charlie said with a quick wince as he shifted his weight on the chair.

“Oh Jesus, Charlie, thanks for putting that thought into my head,” Nigel said, throwing the sketchbook on the desk and leaning back in his chair. He began laughing.

“Honest, Nigel, I’m telling you, it’s the size of a bloody marble. I’m only telling you in case I bleed out on account of it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t die from a hemorrhoid.”

“Bloody hell, you can’t!” Charlie protested as the phone rang.

“All night,” Nigel said, looking at Charlie. “All night long, and not a single call. You show up, and what? The phone rings,” he said, reaching across the desk to pick it up.

“Bannister, Devon Constabulary, Chumley Grove? How can I help?”

As he listened, his face suddenly became serious; he sat up straight in his chair and flipped the page in he sketchbook, making notes. He didn’t say much, but he was nodding his head as he wrote, finally speaking up.

“Do you know what was taken?”

He nodded.

“And you say he scaled the walls? He didn't use a rope? But he had one wrapped about his waist? With a hook? A triple hook? I see,” and he began doodling different types of hooks he knew of; an avid fisherman before the war, he had a basic understanding of what would work.

“You said you saw him dashing across the yard? So how did he arrive? I mean, if you say he took a horse? Did someone drive him and drop him off? He was on a wagon? Do you think you might know who owns such a wagon? I mean did you recognize it? It might help us find the man. No? Too bad. And what time did you say that was? Around nine o’clock. Yes, of course, it would’ve been too dark.”

He looked at the clock on the wall.

“It’s shortly after eleven, now. About how long ago did he leave? Did you see him leave? Of course I remember! You say he took a horse. Do you happen to know which way he went? I’m sorry. No madam, I assure you, I wasn’t implying that you don’t know your east from your west—nor your left from your right. It’s just that, if I know in which direction he was going, I might find evidence of some sort. Well, his shoe size for one thing. They do remarkable things with science these days. Like what? Well, they can determine a man’s weight—approximate it—and his height. What would you say his height was? Six foot? And hair? He was wearing a mask? What type of mask? A ball mask? Theatrical? A cloth mask? You mean like a hankie? No. A head scarf then? Like Zorro? Surely you’ve seen the new cinema in Okehampton? So like Zorro then?”

“What is it? Someone let the cows out?” Charlie laughed, searching out a small bottle of whiskey inside his tunic. When he found it, he uncorked the bottle and took a short swallow, fighting the burn. He looked at the page of notes Nigel was writing, but was unable to read it, so sat back and took another drink. He looked at Nigel again, waiting for him to hang up the phone.

But he continued with his questions.

“And would the Lord of Bedloe—I’m sorry? The Baron of Geurnsey? Third Earl of Aylebury? How can a man be a Baron and an Earl at the same time? No madam, I wasn’t trying to be facetious. It was just curiosity. Not morbid. I wasn’t saying I have a morbid curiosity…Yes...I’ll just stop talking for the moment. Thank you. And I’ll call the doctor right away.”

Charlie was doing all he could not to laugh.

“Morbid curiosity? My God, man! That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say to a woman. Have you seen her? Is that it? Do you know who she is?”

“There’s been a robbery at Bedloe Manor. D’you know it?” Nigel asked.

“I got that part, Nige. I don’t have to read, or take examines to sort that out. But it’s posh, that is,” Charlie said with a slow, low whistle. “Baron Guernsey’s a big man about these parts. His Grandfather was one of them what built this town up from the tiny village it was. He brought the railroad in. Everyone knows that. But his daughter? He has two of them—Jenny and Maggie—which one was that? And a son. He lost his first born at Ypres.”

“You seem to know a lot about the family?”

He stood up.

“She said for me to bring the doctor. Her husband was attacked by this intruder, and he beat him pretty bad. She’s afraid he’ll die; but they all say that, don’t they?” he said as he picked up the phone again, waiting for the operator to come on the line.

“I heard they were talking about an automated system where you could simply enter a number on some sort of device, and your call goes through on its own.”

“What sort of device?”

He shrugged.

“Ruth, be a darling,” he said, “and put a call in to Doc Evers. Ask him to meet me at Bedloe Manor. Have him call me first. Why not just wait for you to put the call through? Yes. Yes, I suppose I could do that,” he said, sorting through the papers on his desk with the phone cradle against his shoulder.

He opened a drawer and took out his service revolver. He checked it and put it in the holster hanging on the coat rack behind him. He stood up, one hand holding the handset of the phone, the other trying to slip an arm into the sleeve of his coat; he switched the phone to his other hand and pulled the coat tight.

“Doctor Evers? Yes. Nigel Bannister—Constable Bannister. Yes. There’s been a break-in at one of the manor houses; I’m afraid someone’s been hurt. Bedloe Manor. Do you know it? Of course you do. Shall I meet you there, or will you come here first? Why? Well, I don’t know. I can’t say I know what the proper procedure is. What? No. I have a motorcycle. I can be there in twenty minutes. Thank you. Of course,” he said, placing the phone back on the hook.

“So you’re off?” Charlie said.

“She said he stole a violin, and a horse. Who steals a horse?”

“Yes, I heard that. What do you want me to do?”

“Not much you can do until the morning, Charlie. Maybe we can phone Okehampton and ask for help?”

“Of course,” Charlie smiled. “You be careful out there. There’s not much light, and, well, with this rain we've had for the last few days, the roads are going to be bad.”

“I’ll be fine, Charlie. Can’t be any worse than last week’s rain. Or the week before that, for that matter.”