Read Online Half a Crown by Jo Walton - Free Book Online Page A

Alan’s name might mean something to the loutish officer, but he didn’t twitch. “Is that right?” he asked, making a note. “How do you spell that?”
    I told him, and he wrote it down. Then he looked up again. “So whose side were you on when the fighting started?”
    “Neither. I was just trying to get away.”
    “And which side do you find more sympathetic? The singer, or Mr. Normanby?”
    “I had no sympathies!” I insisted.
    “You went with the British Power group when you fought in the cell,” he said, looking down at his notes.
    “That’s just because—,” I started, but I couldn’t have told that cold cruel man about the barley sugar. “I have no sympathies,” I repeated, but I saw that he noted down
BP
next to my name.
    “Let’s take you back, then,” he said, getting out of his chair.
    “When will I be released?” I asked, coming cautiously to my feet.
    “When we’re good and ready.”
    “With what am I being charged?”
    “Nothing, just yet. We can hold you for twenty-eight days on suspicion. We could charge you with plenty, though, if we like. Riot, incitement to riot, conspiracy to incite riot, terrorism, communism, anarchism.” He stepped a little closer, and I backed away, feeling the wall of the cell behind me. His hard eyes were green, and his eyelashes so pale it almost seemed as if he had none. “I wouldn’t be soeager to be charged if I were you, Miss Royston. The Watch are very interested in finding out who caused this riot.”
    “I do hope they are,” I said, deciding that it was now or never for playing my ace. “Chief Inspector Carmichael of the Watch is my uncle. He’s probably wondering where I am. I expect he’ll want to hear how I’ve been treated.”

6
     
    When Carmichael got back to the Watch buildings, the rain was coming down in stair rods. He ran up the steps towards his own door, which the guard helpfully opened for him as he came close. When the building was being designed he had deliberately asked for the rows of doors, dwarfed as they were by the huge pillars. In the Yard there was no way in or out except under the watchful eye of the sergeant on desk duty. Here, each department had their own exit and entrance, and although there were always guards on duty under the portico, keeping an eye on who came and went, Carmichael felt that the psychological effect was different. “Lovely weather for ducks,” the guard said, and Carmichael favored him with a thin smile.
    As he came down the hallway from the stairs, Carmichael removed his hat and skimmed it towards the heavy Victorian hat stand. It landed, as it did two times out of three, neatly on the top peg.
    Miss Duthie was hovering outside his office. Normally she sat at a little desk in the capacious hallway, filtering his visitors, out of earshot when the door was closed and near at hand when he wanted her to make tea. Now she was pacing across the hallway. She looked very relieved when she saw him. “There’s a rather strange thing, sir,” she said. “They telephoned from Paddington, and spoke to me, andthen to Mr. Ogilvie, and he wanted to go over there to deal with it but I said he ought to
wait,
as you’d be back so soon.”
    “Who telephoned?” Carmichael asked, beginning to take off his wet overcoat. Miss Duthie had no authority to give orders to Ogilvie, she wasn’t in the chain of command. “Is this urgent? I’d love a cup of tea.”
    “I think it
is
urgent.” Miss Duthie’s brow was crumpled with distress. “The Paddington police telephoned. They said they had Elvira, that she’d been caught in that horrible riot.”
    “Good God!” Carmichael froze, one arm in and one out of his overcoat. “You did absolutely right stopping Ogilvie, Miss Duthie, thank you.”
    “I did think that as it was a
personal
matter, I might exercise my judgment,” she said, looking much happier.
    “Quite right,” Carmichael said, shrugging his coat back on. “How did Elvira come to be—No, you