There was no one in the small office temporarily allotted to the Chief Inspector, but he saw that Harbottle had been there before him, for a pile of papers had been laid on the desk. He sat down, pushed the papers to one side, and drew the telephone towards him.
He was speedily connected with his immediate superior, Superintendent Hinckley, and was greeted by him with asperity, and a total lack of formality, the Superintendent saying, with awful sarcasm, that it was nice to hear his voice, and adding that there was nothing he liked better than to be kept hanging about at Headquarters, particularly when he happened to have a date. To which the Chief Inspector replied suitably, not omitting to animadvert upon persons who sat all day with their feet on their desks. After which interchange of civilities, the Superintendent laughed, and said: “Well, how's it going, Stanley?”
“I've seen worse. What have you got for me?”
“Nothing that's likely to interest you, I'm afraid. Seems quite straightforward. Born in 1914, in Nottinghamshire. Only son of the Reverend James Arthur Lindale. Father still living, mother died in 1933; two sisters, one married, the other single. Educated at Stillingborough College. Joined his uncle's firm of Lindale & Crewe, stockbrokers, in 1933. Became a member of the Stock Exchange, 1935. Called up in 1939, and served with the R.A. until 1946, when he was demobilised—do you want his military record? He served all over the place, and picked up a D.S.O. Ended up as a Major, with the Army of Occupation, in Germany.”
“No, I don't think that's likely to be of much use. What's he been doing since he was demobilised?”
“He went back to the Stock Exchange for nearly five years. Lived in bachelor chambers, in Jermyn Street. There's nothing known about him, barring the bare facts I've given you. Hasn't even had his driving licence endorsed. He left the Stock Exchange at the end of 1950. That's all I've got for you.”
“I'm bound to say it isn't promising,” said Hemingway. “What about his wife?”
“He hasn't got one.”
“Yes, he has!” Hemingway said impatiently. “And a baby! I told you so, and what's more I asked you to look into her record too!”
“I know you did, but I haven't got anything here about her.”