Hardcastle's Traitors by Graham Ison Page A

leaving now, Elsie. Perhaps you’d show them out.’
    â€˜Yes, ma’am.’ Elsie bobbed a brief curtsy and waited.
    â€˜I hope you catch your murderer, Inspector.’ Hannah Villiers smiled, but the smile was directed at Marriott rather than Hardcastle.
    â€˜I will, madam,’ said Hardcastle. ‘You may rest assured of that.’

FOUR
    A t two o’clock that same afternoon a constable appeared in Hardcastle’s office.
    â€˜There’s a Captain Villiers downstairs, sir. He says as how you want to see him.’
    â€˜Yes, I do. Show him up, lad, and on your way out tell Sergeant Marriott to come in.’
    Haydn Villiers, a man in his early twenties with a neatly trimmed moustache, was immaculate in every respect. His service dress was well-tailored and his Sam Browne and riding boots were polished to perfection. His tunic bore three stars on each cuff, the ribbon of the Military Cross and grenade badges on the collar. His squarely placed cap displayed the distinctive cannon insignia of the Royal Artillery.
    â€˜Inspector Hardcastle? I’m Haydn Villiers,’ the youthful gunner said smoothly, and saluted: a courtesy rather than an obligation.
    â€˜Please take a seat, Captain Villiers. This is Detective Sergeant Marriott.’
    Villiers nodded briefly in Marriott’s direction. ‘My mother told me that you wanted to speak to me. Something about my father’s car?’ He placed his cap on the edge of Hardcastle’s desk, and took out a gold cigarette case. ‘D’you mind?’ he enquired, holding a cigarette in the air.
    â€˜Not at all,’ said Hardcastle, reaching for his pipe. ‘I have spoken to your father and he told me that you have permission to use his car, Captain Villiers. Is that correct?’
    â€˜Yes, but I don’t see what this has to do with me, Inspector.’
    â€˜I presume your mother told you about the murder I’m investigating,’ said Hardcastle, having eventually got his pipe alight to his satisfaction. ‘A murder that we believe your father’s Haxe-Doulton was involved in.’
    â€˜She did, but I still don’t see what that has to do with me.’ Despite repeating that disclaimer, Villiers appeared to be a little anxious, as though unsure where Hardcastle’s line of questioning was leading.
    â€˜Let’s get down to brass tacks, then, Captain. Have you used your father’s car at any time since coming home on Christmas Eve?’
    â€˜No, I haven’t. I admit I’ve used it in the past, but only with the guv’nor’s permission. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been to see him this time round.’
    â€˜But he told us that he received a letter from you only two days ago. And that led him to believe you were still in France.’
    â€˜It’s probably the one I wrote to him a fortnight ago,’ said Villiers. ‘The army postal service is a bit hit and miss. It can sometimes take days if not weeks to get the troops mail moving across the Channel. And vice versa,’ he added.
    â€˜Is there a particular reason why you haven’t visited him on this occasion?’ enquired Hardcastle.
    â€˜I’m afraid that he and I don’t always see eye to eye,’ said Villiers. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, my father is a bully.’
    Haydn Villiers’s mother had mentioned that Sinclair Villiers enjoyed being in control, and it was probably that that caused his son to be disinclined to visit his father.
    â€˜Where were you on New Year’s Eve, Captain Villiers?’ demanded Hardcastle, getting straight to the point.
    â€˜With respect, I don’t see that that’s any of your business, Inspector.’ From the way he replied, the young officer was clearly irritated at what he saw as an unwarranted intrusion into his private life.
    â€˜I would remind you that I’m investigating a particularly brutal murder,