Free Corridors of Death by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page A

wondered if Cronin would ensure that the Yard got to know about Jenkins and Lady Clark and concluded that he wouldn’t. He would be too terrified of being spotted as the source and having his access to future scandal jeopardized. Did this come under the heading of urgent information of the kind Milton would need immediately? He thought so. The negative report on Alf Shaw could wait until the evening, but he’d better get a message about Jenkins through to Milton by the channels they had set up on their way to the tube the previous night.
    He couldn’t get away without a chat with one of Sanders’s staff, so it was almost 1.00 – time for him to be off to the Cardinal – when he finally found an empty room with a telephone. He dialled the number he had been given and asked for Mrs Milton.

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    Tuesday Afternoon
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    12
    Milton had grabbed a hasty lunch in a pub frequented by civil servants from neighbouring offices. He found himself compulsively eavesdropping on their chat about work and people – especially once he had overheard several disparaging references to Sir Nicholas. He had time for quiet reflection only on his walk back to the Yard, and during that time he concluded that the postcard was probably a hoax. After all, the Yard received dozens of anonymous missives every day accusing anyone of anything. It would be credulous to believe this one. Still, he would have to go through the motions with Lady Clark and Martin Jenkins, though he would have to go very carefully. They would have every right to lodge an official complaint if they were interrogated closely on their private lives on the strength of an unsubstantiated allegation. Milton knew Jenkins’s reputation as a hard man, and Lady Clark would have the protection of her new status as grief-stricken widow.
    It was ten to two when he reached his office. Romford was waiting with details of new appointments he had made and confirmation of double- and treble-checked alibis; the list of possible murderers from IGGY still remained at eight. He had a message asking Milton to ring his wife urgently at a Soho restaurant. Knowing that when Ann said urgent she meant urgent Milton told Romford to hold Archibald Stafford for a few minutes and rang the restaurant. Fortunately the staff knew Ann well. She did most of her business entertaining there. She was on within a minute.
    ‘Darling, your young man has been on to me already. He rang just before one. I liked him. He identified himself as Deep Throat.’
    ‘What did he say?’ asked Milton eagerly.
    Just “Tell Jim the word is that Jenkins and Lady C. have been having it off.” ’
    Milton thanked Ann profusely and rang off. Since he couldn’t admit to a source, he wouldn’t be able to use this information directly, but it would certainly make him easier in his mind while taking the necessary risks with the errant pair. He sighed. He didn’t really enjoy playing the heavy policeman, especially when it involved prying into intimate relationships. Still, he wasn’t being paid to have finer feelings. He would harden his heart before he saw Lady Clark at six. Now he had better focus on Archibald Stafford and his imminent departure from the Plastics Conversion Company.
    Stafford was every envious little person’s idea of a prosperous man. From his hand-made shoes to his elegant hair he was spotless, faultlessly groomed and sweet-smelling – Colour-Supplement Man made flesh. He carried a hand-tooled leather executive case with brass trimmings and Milton made a private bet with himself that his car boasted a television set and a cocktail cabinet. He tried not to dislike him.
    It wasn’t too hard. The first few routine minutes showed Stafford to be quite simply a nice man. Milton thought that he probably dressed like a prat because he thought it necessary to impress. There wasn’t any difficulty in getting the story of the government grant out of him. It was just a matter of well-placed questions about his