‘Thank you, Clara. Well done. Commander Sandilands. And this is my assistant, Constable Wentworth. We did indeed receive your messages. Glad to hear your pa is doing better. Anything more to report?’
‘Same as ever. “Lucid intervals” is what the doctor says he’s having. Good sign, they think. But his brain’s swollen, or something … can brains swell, sir? Anyhow, they don’t want him using it for a bit. He needs to be asleep most of the time. I think they’re giving him something to keep him under. Not natural to be unconscious all this time, is it?’
‘Has he spoken? Does he remember what happened to him?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. It’s all down here in my notebook. Constable Mills copied it in his own hand to present to the super.’ She offered up her notepad. ‘Shall I read it out? It’s in shorthand. Not very good shorthand, but I can read it back all right. I’m taking a secretarial training. It’s all here with dates and times. He came to the first time yesterday when Ma was with him and started muttering. Family stuff you wouldn’t want to be bothered with. Said he was sorry for the trouble. Now — this morning with just me here, he asked: “Is she okay — the girl? Did they shoot her too?” He was out of his skin with worry. Twitching with it. Memory coming back … I said as no, she was all right and not to fret …’
‘Just the right thing to say, Clara, and quite true. Carry on.’
‘He said who’d done it. Irish. He went on about Fenians. I couldn’t spell the words he used even in shorthand, but I had a go. Those two blokes, sir, he said they’d shot the admiral and the policeman and the butler but he didn’t know what they’d done to the lady passenger.’ She consulted her notes and went on more hesitantly: ‘And then he said … um … maybe he was rambling a bit … he said: had they got the third man?’
‘Look again, Clara. Are you sure he said “man”?’
‘Yes. And third. As though there were three villains. But it only mentioned two in the papers. So I thought he must be confused. I asked him, “Dad, who else was shooting?” “Dunno, Clara,” he says. And then he says: “Bigger gun — Browning.” Dad would know about guns. “Who was it shooting, Dad?” I asked him again. ‘‘Burlington Bertie from Bow,” he says. Then he laughs and starts singing the song. Rambling a bit, I thought. Next he grunts out a few more words that don’t make much sense but I took ’em down straight … just as he said. Then Dad coughs and sinks from sight again. What shall I do now?’
‘More of the same, Clara. That’s excellent work! Look, stay on watch, will you? I’ll go and telephone for the con-stable’s replacement. You might like to stir him up a bit in a few minutes. Give him time to straighten his collar. He’ll want to look a bit sharper when the super comes roaring in. Just one more thing …’ He took his own notebook and a pencil from his pocket and passed them to Lily. ‘The constable is an adept at shorthand too,’ he said genially. ‘Just get your heads together, will you, and work out word for word that bit about the third gunman. It’s important.’
Lily scribbled as Clara showed and read out her shorthand. Suddenly she exclaimed and raised her pencil from the page, staring at the words she’d just written down.