Free Bedford Square by Anne Perry Page B

morning,” he said stiffly. “I’m Sergeant Tellman of the Bow Street police station.” He held out his card as proof of it.
    The steward looked at it without touching it, as if it had been unclean.
    “Indeed,” he said expressionlessly.
    Tellman gritted his teeth. “We are looking for a man who is pretending to be a retired army officer, of distinguished service, in order to defraud people out of considerable sums of money.”
    The steward’s face darkened with disapproval. Tellmanhad his attention at least. “I hope you catch him!” he said vehemently.
    “Doing everything we can,” Tellman replied with feeling. “This man is tall, broad-shouldered, very upright, military looking in his bearing. Dresses well.”
    The steward frowned. “That describes a few that I can think of. Can you tell me anything else about him? I know all our members, of course, but sometimes gentlemen bring in guests.”
    “So far as we know, he’s clean shaven,” Tellman went on. “Although of course that can change. Fairish hair, thinning a bit, gray at the temples. Aquiline features. Blue eyes.”
    “Can’t say as I’ve seen him.”
    “I followed a man here just this moment.”
    The steward’s face cleared.
    “Oh! That’s General Balantyne. Known him for years.” His expression suggested something close to amusement.
    “Are you certain?” Tellman persisted. “This devil uses other people’s names pretty freely. Was General … Balantyne? Yes … did General Balantyne seem his usual self to you?”
    “Well … hard to say.” The steward hesitated.
    Tellman had a stroke of genius. “You see, sir,” he said confidentially, leaning forward a little, “I think this bounder may be using General Balantyne’s name … running up bills, even borrowing money …”
    The steward’s face blanched. “I must warn the General!”
    “No! No sir. That would not be a good idea … just yet.” Tellman swallowed hard. “He would be extremely angry. He might unintentionally warn this man, and we need to catch him before he does the same thing to someone else. If you would be so good as to tell me a little about the real General, then I can make sure that the other places he frequents are not taken in by the impostor.”
    “Oh.” The steward nodded his understanding. “Yes, I see. Well, he belongs to one or two services clubs, I believe. And White’s, although I don’t think he goes there so often as here.” This last was added with pride, a slight straightening of the shoulders.
    “Not a very social sort of man?” Tellman suggested.
    “Well … always very civil, but not … not overfriendly, if you get my meaning, sir.”
    “Yes, I do.” Tellman thought of Balantyne’s rigid back, his rapid stride along Oxford Street, speaking to no one.
    “Does he gamble at all, do you know?”
    “I believe not, sir. Nor drink very much either.”
    “Does he go to the theater, or the music hall?”
    “I don’t think so, sir.” The steward shook his head. “Never heard him refer to it. But I think he has been to the opera quite often, and to the symphony.”
    Tellman grunted. “And museums, no doubt,” he said sarcastically.
    “Yes sir, I believe so.”
    “Rather solitary sort of occupations. Doesn’t he have any friends?”
    “He’s always very agreeable,” the steward said thoughtfully. “Never heard anyone speak ill of him. But he doesn’t sit around talking a lot, doesn’t … gossip, if you know what I mean. Doesn’t gamble, you see.”
    “No sports interests?”
    “Not that I ever heard of.” He sounded surprised as he said it, as if it had not occurred to him before.
    “Pretty careful with money?” Tellman concluded.
    “Not extravagant,” the steward conceded. “But not mean either. Reads a lot, and I overheard him once say he liked to sketch. Of course he’s traveled a lot—India, Africa, China too, so I heard.”
    “Yes. But always to do with war.”
    “Soldier’s life,” the steward said a