Hardcastle's Traitors Read Free Page A

hands clasped together in the manner of the obsequious, mid-fifties, shopkeeper he was.
    â€˜I’m Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle of the Whitehall Division. Are you the owner of this establishment, Mr Partridge?’
    â€˜That I am, sir, and any time I can fix you up with a suit, just say the word. At a discount, of course. I’ve a very good selection.’ Partridge made a sweeping motion with a hand, as if to encompass his entire stock.
    â€˜I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Hardcastle, gazing round at the racks of suits, overcoats and other items of apparel that comprised a gentleman’s outfitter’s stock-in-trade. ‘I understand you have some information that might assist me.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know if I’ve got anything to tell you that might be of any use, sir. Me and Gladys had toasted the New Year on the stroke of twelve and then we chatted for a bit. It must’ve been about ten past midnight when we decided to turn in. I checked the curtains to make sure they were covering the window, seeing as how the maroons had gone off from the fire station in Greycoat Place about half an hour before. But I knew we had time to spare before those wretched Blimps came right over London. It’s always the same, you see, sir. They set off the warning far too early. The curtains were all right, though; being in the trade, so to speak, I can lay my hands on a good quality twill.’
    â€˜But what did you see, Mr Partridge?’ prompted Hardcastle somewhat tetchily, fearing that the outfitter was on the point of embarking on a lengthy monologue about air raids and curtains.
    â€˜Well, like I was saying, I happened to look out of the window and I saw these two men – rough-looking blokes they was – come out of Reuben’s shop and jump into a motor car. Then they drove off like the hounds of hell were on their tail. I was pretty sure something had happened, so I opened the window and yelled “Police”, and the officer on the beat came running.’
    â€˜Do you know what sort of car it was, Mr Partridge?’ asked Marriott.
    â€˜I don’t know much about cars.’ Partridge paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘But I think the one I saw is called a tourer. It was an open car, but it had a hood that was up; one of those canvas things. Oh, and it had them white tyres.’
    â€˜White tyres?’ queried Marriott, looking up from his pocketbook.
    â€˜Yes, like they have on American cars. You know the sort of thing: painted white round the sides.’
    â€˜D’you think it
was
an American car?’ asked Hardcastle.
    â€˜I don’t know, sir. I was watching the two men rather than the car.’
    â€˜Motor cars have a number on them. Did you happen to see it?’ asked Marriott.
    â€˜No, I’m sorry, sir. I never thought of that.’
    â€˜What did these men look like?’
    â€˜I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at them, what with the street lights being out because of the war. But like I said, they seemed to be rough-looking characters, and they were only wearing jackets and trousers as far as I could see. No overcoats.’ Again Partridge paused. ‘On the other hand, I think one of ’em had one of them reefer jackets on. And they had something round the bottom half of their faces, a scarf possibly. Oh, and they both had cloth caps on, pulled well down over their eyes.’
    â€˜Had you heard anything before you saw these men running away?’ asked Hardcastle. ‘The sound of someone breaking in, for instance? Or voices?’
    â€˜No. As I said, the wife and me had been having a drink and chatting just before I crossed to check on the curtains, and that the windows were closed on account of the air raid.’
    Hardcastle failed to see the logic of that, but made no comment in case Partridge returned to the subject of air raids and curtains again. ‘Thank