‘I find it difficult to understand myself, Cosmo,’ Adam said eventually. He remained half-puzzled about his own motivations in making his enquiries. Was he driven to these investigations by boredom? He had not been aware of late of any particular feelings of ennui. He had found a genuine sense of purpose in his photography and in his plans to record the disappearing architecture of the city. However, there was no doubt that even the capture of the most artistic image of a half-timbered building in the city was not as exciting as the pursuit of a murderer. As he spoke, he felt his determination to find the truth about Creech grow. ‘Somehow I feel half-responsible for the man’s death. That if he had not spoken to me at the Marco Polo, he would be alive still.’
‘I cannot see how the two events can be connected.’
‘No more can I — but the feeling remains.’ Adam was hauling himself onto firmer ground, reaching more confidently for justifications for his actions over the last weeks. ‘And I dislike mysteries. There is mystery surrounding this man’s death. And now a new mystery with the seeming disappearance of this enquiry agent Jinkinson.’
‘The truth is, my dear chap, that you have too little to occupy your time.’ Jardine had found a rag and was wiping his paint-stained fingers. ‘All those months with nothing to do but tote your camera round town and take sun-pictures of ancient buildings. And then along comes this villain, Creech-Sinclair, and gets himself killed. Little wonder that you seized upon the opportunity for a little excitement.’
‘Perhaps you are right, Cosmo.’ Adam smiled at his friend.
‘I am right. Depend upon it.’ Jardine threw the rag into a corner of his studio. ‘But I gain no satisfaction from being so. With the blackmailer dead, my search for a rich art-lover must continue.’
The following evening, Adam was ushered into a wood-panelled room deep in the hidden recesses of the Houses of Parliament where Lewis Garland was waiting for him. The walls of the room were covered with paintings of politicians from the last century and the MP was gazing intently at a full-length portrait of Pitt the Elder. He looked as if he was memorising the face in case he met the long-dead prime minister in the streets and needed to recognise him. He turned as Adam approached him and pointed up at Pitt.
‘There was a man with whom to reckon, eh, Mr Carver? I should have relished facing him across the floor of the House. A worthy opponent. Worthier than some of those in government today.’
Garland was a tall and vigorous man in his late fifties. He was languid in his speech and movements and yet carried with him an air of barely suppressed energy. His moustache was as abundant as Quint had said it was. Despite Garland’s years, his hair was also so black that Adam was certain he must be dyeing it. It was blacker than nature ever intended the hair of men in their fifties to be.
‘You wrote in the note you sent me that you wished to talk about a gentleman named Samuel Creech. I understand that Mr Creech has been found dead. Murdered.’
‘He was indeed. But you knew him.’
‘As you say, I knew him. But I am not entirely clear how you and Creech are connected.’
As concisely as he could, Adam described the meeting with Creech at the Marco Polo, the curious conversation between them, the journey out to Herne Hill and the discovery of the body. He said nothing of the notebook or of the names within it. Garland listened impassively. When the story was finished, he gave a chilly smile before making any comment.
‘A strange encounter indeed, Mr Carver. I do not know how it is that you have discovered that Creech and I were acquainted, although it is no particular secret. I knew Sam Creech for many years. Since we were both boys. And God knows that is a long time ago.’
‘Have you seen him in recent months?’
Garland looked up at Pitt the Elder once again.
‘An interesting face, is it not? Strong features but a look of melancholy, would you not say? Around the eyes?’
Adam agreed that there was a suggestion of melancholy in the portrait.
‘What is it exactly that you want to know, Mr Carver?’ the MP asked.
‘I want to know why Creech was killed. There is also a gentleman named Jinkinson who had something to do with Creech and who has now disappeared. I want to know what connection this man had with Creech and where he has gone.’
Garland walked away from Pitt the Elder and waved his hand dismissively.
‘Sam Creech’s death is no doubt a great tragedy. But you should leave the investigation of it to the police. They are the experts in murder, are they not? As for this other man — Jinkinson, did you say his name is? — he might be anywhere. London, as I’m sure you have noticed, is a large city. It is a place in which it is only too easy to disappear. People do so every day.’
Adam had already decided he would not allow himself to be browbeaten by the older man. He was determined to stand his ground in this encounter.
‘Nonetheless, I cannot help feeling — perhaps foolishly — that Creech died because he was in contact with me. An d that Jinkinson’s disappearance is linked to my visit to his offices. I want to know the answers to my questions. I want to know more about Creech. Perhaps I will then be able to discover why he was killed.’
‘We should be careful in deciding what it is we want, Mr Carver. Perhaps you know the story of Colonel Pierpont?’
‘I have never heard of the gentleman,’ Adam said stiffly. He was aware that Garland was, in some subtle way, laughing at him.
‘The colonel was a fellow member of my club in Pall Mall. The Marco Polo — I seem to recall that you are also a member. Anyway, several years ago, he developed a fear of crossing over to St James’s Square. Too much traffic for the poor man. He paid for a small island to be constructed in the middle of the street. Somewhere he could stand and look in all directions before venturing on the second half of the journey across the road. When it was built, Pierpont was delighted. He rushed out of the club to admire it. Alas, he was so excited, he failed to notice the cab travelling along the street. Pierpont never reached his island. The cab knocked him down and he expired the same day from his injuries.’
‘A sad story, but I fail to see its relevance to our conversation.’
‘Pierpont should have been more careful in choosing what he wanted. Had he not wanted his island so much, he would have been with us still.’
Garland looked at Adam and then gave a barely perceptible shrug of the shoulders.
‘Ask your questions, Mr Carver, if you must. I can see that you will not be satisfied until you have done so. But I do not think I will be able to help you.’
‘Creech was a man who had no obvious source of income. And yet he lived in some style in Herne Hill. How did he do so, do you suppose?’
‘London is full of men with no obvious source of income. They are called gentlemen.’
‘But where did he get his income?’ Adam persisted.
‘I do not know. I do happen to know that Creech stayed at the Langham when he first came to town last year. What does that suggest to you?’
‘That money was little object to him.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But why was money suddenly no object to him? He was a man who had spent most of his career drudging in foreign climes for a meagre salary. Did he receive an inheritance? Was there money in the family that finally came to him?’
‘Money can come from a thousand different sources.’ Garland paused and seemed to be considering whether or not to say anything more. After a moment, he continued. ‘If you wish to know the truth, Mr Carver, then most of Sam Creech’s money probably came from blackmail. He was a blackmailer.’