The Consequences of Fear by Jacqueline Winspear (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📗

tapped a corner of the paper with the red crayon. “We have to take into account thatenemy agents are likely operating in London and other places.”

“Well, look at that bloke who had the flat downstairs, right under our office here.”

“I know.”

“I thought he was a nice chap, then all of a sudden he’s been copped by the authorities and is in the Tower of London!” He looked at Maisie. “Wonder what happened to him.”

“He’s probably dead, Billy.”

“Dead?”

“Yes. In a time of war, that’s what happens to a traitor of whatever stripe.”

Billy turned his attention back to the case map. “So . . . so this man could have been a traitor?”

Maisie was thoughtful. “It’s a possibility—something for us to bear in mind, because he could have been.”

“Only in his case, someone couldn’t wait for him to meet the hangman.”

“Or the guillotine.”

“Blimey.”

Maisie sighed, took one more look at the case map and stood up. “Let’s put the case map away, Billy.”

“Where are we going? You’ve got the look that’s telling me to get my cap on.”

“We’re off to see Freddie Hackett’s father—before he’s had a few.”

 

There was no answer when Maisie knocked on the door of the squalid house where Arthur Hackett now lived alone.

“Let’s have a look in the Coach and Horses, just down the street,” she suggested.

Walking together along the street, they parted to avoid a large pile of rubble. “Funny how you get used to it, isn’t it?”said Billy. “You sort of look down and expect to see a bit of brick or sand here and there, or a house half demolished. It’snot a shock anymore.”

“When I first saw a street after a bombing, I thought it looked like a row of dolls’ houses with the sides ripped off. The curtains were hanging down and you’d see a bed half in and half out of the room, or the pictures still hanging on the wall.”

“I tell you, miss, I thought I’d seen the worst in the last war—and what I saw was about as terrible as you could imagine.Soldiers torn to pieces or blown up so nothing’s left of them. But we were men in uniform. Now we’re seeing ordinary peoplelying there with no limbs, or dead, or with terrible wounds—it’ll stay with every one of us, what we’ve seen.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, stopping outside the pub.

“Hang on, miss—let me go in and have a quick look. This is what I’d call a drinking pub, a bit ‘spit and sawdust’ if you askme—it’s not one ladies would generally frequent, even in the snug.”

As he opened the pub door, Maisie caught a strong waft of smoke and beer fumes.

“He’s not in there,” said Billy, returning within a minute. “But the landlord said he’d been in, and when he saw him, he wasa bit more flush than usual; bought his own drinks for a change.”

“I wonder whether he went home and we missed him—could he have taken a different route, do you think?”

“There’s another pub up the road, a bit closer to the water.” He pointed along the street. “It’s not far to walk—and in fact,miss, it’s closer to where Freddie thought he saw that man knife the other bloke. You know, we could kill two birds with onestone—while we’re there we could have another gander at the scene of the crime, as our mate Caldwell would say.”

Maisie was about to agree, when a man stumbling along the pavement in the distance caught her eye. “I think that’s Hackett.Come on.”

“Blimey, I reckon you’re right, miss.”

“Mr. Hackett!” Maisie called out. “Mr. Hackett—are you all right?”

Hackett squinted as they approached, then held up a fist and shook it at Maisie. “You! You’re the interfering cow who tookaway my wife and children. You—”

“Steady, mate.” Billy stepped forward, a barrier between Hackett and Maisie. “The lady was only trying to be of assistance.Now then, wind your neck in.”

“And what will you do, you bleedin’ long tall drink of water?”

“Come on, mate—we’ll see you home.”

Hackett seemed to waver on the street, but allowed Billy to take his upper arm and lead him toward the decaying back-to-backhouses.

“If I wasn’t ill, I’d give you a right-hander and you’d be gone,” slurred Hackett, his eyes almost closed. “This is what she’sdone to me, that woman there.”

“I reckon you’ve done it to yourself, sir.” Billy continued to steer the drunken man along the road. “Now then, pick up yourfeet or you’ll never get home.”

Maisie remained on Hackett’s other side, occasionally reaching out to help him keep his balance by supporting his elbow. Theysoon arrived back at the house, whereupon Hackett pushed his hand through the letterbox to draw out a length of string witha key on the end. “See what I’ve had to do? No one at home when I get there anymore, so now I’m like a nipper coming homefrom school early, and have to get in this way.”

“You could keep the key on you,” said Billy.

Inside, Hackett began to calm down. “No need to come up. Much obliged to you, sir.” He turned to Maisie. “Even if your wifetook my family away—nasty piece of work she is.”

“I’m not Mr. Beale’s wife, Mr. Hackett.” She paused. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d be better if you two would bugger off now.”

“We’ll come upstairs and make sure you’re settled,” said Maisie. Without waiting for an answer, she nodded to Billy, and theywalked up the stairs behind Hackett. She watched his every step.

She also watched the way he opened the door at the top of the landing and how he made his way into the kitchen. It was ashe reached the kitchen table that she grabbed Billy by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back. In a flash Hackett hadgrabbed a carving knife from the table and was lashing out at Billy.

“All right—we’re leaving,” said Maisie. “But if you move with that thing, you will be sorry—and you’ll also be behind barsfor a very, very long time.”

Hackett laughed as he stumbled against the table, then shouted, “Sod off—both