The Age of Treachery by Gavin Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

groomed for political power in the new Germany, it made sense that Calthrop was in communication with him. But Forrester was aware that neither of them had appeared to know each other the night before, either before going in to High Table, during the dinner itself, or afterwards in the Lodge. In fact, he was certain they hadn’t even spoken. Had he failed to notice them speaking? Or had they avoided alerting anyone to the fact that they were acquainted? It was odd.
And irrelevant
, he told himself. The facts of what had happened the night before were all too obvious, however much he wanted it to be otherwise. His friend had killed the academic rival who had stolen his wife.
    Before either Calthrop or Dorfmann could notice him he had slipped into the passageway leading to Old Scotland Yard and made his way down to the Embankment. The stone of the balustrade was clammy under his hand as he looked out through the fog; invisible barges hooted mournfully from the river. Clark had taken another man’s life and ruined his own. Bloody idiot! A train whistled as it passed over Hungerford Bridge. Forrester knew he ought to be heading back to Oxford. Reluctantly, he began to walk towards the nearest Underground station.

5
FENCING MATCH
    There was a note from Margaret Clark waiting for him in his rooms, asking him to telephone her. Involuntarily he found himself holding the note close to his face, breathing in the scent, and then damned himself for his weakness, screwed up the page and dropped it in the wastebasket. Then he went down to the Porter’s Lodge, called her and agreed to meet by Magdalen Bridge in half an hour.
    It was dark by the time he got to the river and she was already waiting for him, wearing a pale mackintosh and headscarf, pacing up and down, her breath producing little clouds in the cold. Harassed, distraught, without make-up, she was still effortlessly capable of making his heart stand still. She wasted no time on preliminaries as they walked down to the towpath beside the black water.
    “They’ve taken him in for questioning,” she said. Forrester’s heart sank: he realised he’d been assuming all along that Clark had managed to get away.
    “Where did they find him?”
    She seemed surprised. “Why, here, of course. At home.”
    “He didn’t try to leave the country?”
    “Of course not. Why should he?”
    Forrester paused to consider this, but before he could speak she had taken his hands. She had never taken his hands before. Hers were pleasingly cold, the flesh soft; he could feel the delicate bones beneath. “You know, don’t you?” she said. “About David and me. He told you, didn’t he?”
    “Yes.”
    “You must promise me you won’t tell the police.” Forrester stared at her. She went on quickly. “It would look so bad. As if he had a motive.”
    “He did have a motive,” said Forrester.
    “Yes, but there’s no reason for the police to know that. They might jump to the wrong conclusion.”
    Forrester’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe he did it,” he said.
    She looked at him, astonished. “Of course he didn’t. Can you imagine Gordon stabbing someone?”
    Forrester could imagine it perfectly well. “The murder happened in his rooms,” he said. “Lyall fell out of
his
window. We all saw the body.”
    “He didn’t kill him,” said Margaret Clark firmly.
    “How can you be certain?”
    “Because when David was killed, Gordon was at home with me.”
    Forrester blinked. “That’s what you’ve told the police?”
    “It’s the truth.”
    “Do the police accept that?”
    “They might not if they knew about David and me,” she said. “That’s why you mustn’t tell them.”
    They were passing a hotel now, and its lights flickered on the dark water. Forrester stared at them, almost hypnotised, and it was several minutes before he spoke. “You’re asking me to withhold evidence.”
    “But it’s evidence Gordon gave you himself. You wouldn’t know unless he’d