‘There was the other gentleman. Not so… ’ His hands sketched Mr Salmond’s rotund stomach, then he blushed and made a bob of embarrassed apology at the Under Secretary. ‘I do not see… I did not see him to the face and it was night, so the Schatten – darknesses… No, shadows. The shadows stop me seeing him. He was leaving Herr Coates’s chambers I think. I come from my rooms and I see him, a little below me on the turn of the stair but I did not hear him pass my door.’
‘And when was this, Mr Dettmer?’
The German spread his hands wide. ‘I do not know. A week, ten days, perhaps? A working day, not a Sunday. A dark man, I think. He moved as though he was not old.’
That left Luc and James. Luc gave clear, unemotional evidence that must have left the Inquest with the clear impression that Mrs Kentish was known to his lordship, that she had been over-awed by her lodger’s government employment so had immediately turned to someone she saw in higher authority than the constable to report the death.
‘And was Mr Coates personally known to you, Lord Radcliffe?’
‘By name and sight. We did not mix socially. My brother knew him a little.’
‘Mr Franklin?’
James came to the makeshift witness stand and was sworn. ‘I occasionally encountered him at Grey’s Coffee House. It is convenient to me for the occasional supper and, I believe, was also handy for Coates. We have exchanged views on items in the newspapers, races, that sort of thing. I cannot recall who introduced us, I am afraid. I have no idea what might have caused him any worry or distress. We were not on such terms that he would have confided in me.’
‘Thank you, Mr Franklin. My lord.’ The Coroner turned to the jury and summed up before they all trooped off to another room to deliberate.
We only had about twenty minutes to wait. The foreman, red-faced, brawny and confident, took to his feet when addressed. ‘Yes, Doctor Lattimer, sir, we’re all in agreement that the poor gentleman took his own life by hanging himself when he wasn’t in his right senses. And we come to the conclusion that he couldn’t have been in his right mind acos of there not being any proper reason for him to do such a thing.’
‘In that case, thank you, gentlemen. I find that George Coates took his own life by hanging while the balance of his mind was disturbed. This court is dismissed.’
We reconvened over lunch and the murder boards. I don’t think I’d ever be able to face a chicken leg again without thinking about Coates, but they were convenient for eating while we wandered about peering at the lists already pinned up and throwing out facts and ideas to add. In fact, rather too good – I managed to stab the sheet headed Fellow Lodgers with mine when I suddenly recalled what it was that had stirred in the back of my mind while Dettmer was giving evidence.
‘Angerstein!’
Lucian, James and Garrick stared at me as though I’d just shouted, ‘Excelsior!’
‘It was niggling at me while Dettmer was giving evidence. Angerstein. He was a Swedish industrial spy in the middle of the last century, I think. Snooped about Europe, especially around iron and steel works, got thrown out of some British ones, I’m sure. I read about him because his notebooks are an important source of historical observation generally.’
‘I’ve heard of him, I think.’ Luc frowned in concentration. ‘But are you suggesting that Dettmer is attempting to steal the secrets of British pianoforte makers? Because if so, I have to tell you, that they are good, but not good enough for murder.’
‘No, of course not.’ I unpinned the grease-stained list and rewrote it. ‘But that would be excellent cover. Who knows enough about it to catch you out? And George worked for a government department. Dettmer moves in immediately after he receives enough money from somewhere to enable him to afford a better apartment. What if he is the blackmailer and was pressuring George to pass him inside information from the Home Office?’
‘What kind of information?’ James asked. ‘The Home Office doesn’t deal with trade. That’s Board of Trade and anyway, it isn’t something that government interferes with – they are more about taxes and import and export. Manufacturers just get on with it.’
I threw my chicken bone onto a plate and grabbed a slice of pie and to hell with the carbs. ‘So what does the Home Office do then?’ I demanded.
‘Petitions to the monarch,’ Luc said, checking points off on his fingers.
‘Time-consuming,’ I muttered sarkily.
He ignored me. ‘Warrants, commissions, royal prerogative – advising the King on all those. Agriculture, fisheries. Law and order, public safety.’
‘Prisons?’
‘No.’
‘Control of aliens,’ James added. ‘The secret service.’
‘You see? Spies and aliens, I said so.’
‘Colonial business?’ Garrick queried.
‘Not any more, that’s the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, these days.’
‘Never mind the colonies,’ I said. ‘Spies and the secret service – what I’ve been saying all along. We’ve two foreign nationals in the picture – Dettmer and the dubious Comte de Hautmont.’
‘If anyone was in a position to investigate French émigrés, it would be the Home Office,’ James pointed out with infuriating reasonableness.