CHAPTER 13
The Proper Charley
Mrs. Hetty Sims, a part-time parlourmaid at the Turrets, had taken off her apron, wrapped her head in a scarf and scuttled up the back drive to a call box just as soon as she was able to escape without being noticed. There was a policeman outside the Tomb, Sergeant Easterbrook with his Inspector were still in the house and an official van waited in the courtyard to collect a burden for the mortuary.
Her voice came clearly over the line to Nascott in his Fleet Street office, sly as a whisper, cautious as a hunting cat.
“It’s an old scandal—seventy years old, they say—but I thought you ought to know. Any use?… Harry, are you still with me? I say, is it any use to you?”
“Maybe. Was that all they found?”
“My God, isn’t it enough? What more do you want? Harry
