The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(50)

But before they had time to become truly chilled, a young man in a RAF uniform appeared at the doorway, his eyes wary. A Polish pilot flying with the RAF, on his cap was the Polish National Eagle in place of the British badge.

“Captain ?ak?” Maggie asked, standing. “Captain Jakub ?ak?”

“Yes,” the man admitted in heavily accented English. “But my friends call me Kuba.” He was as tall as Maggie, and his brilliantined black hair was combed back with a straight part. Hmm, he does look a bit like Tyrone Power.

“Captain ?ak,” Maggie said, preferring to keep things formal. “I’m Miss Hope and this is Agent Standish of MI-Five. We’re here to talk to you about Gladys Chorley. Please, let’s all sit down.”

“Am I under arrest?” ?ak joked, sitting and taking off his cap.

“No,” Mark answered. “But we’re interested in finding out everything you know about Gladys Chorley.”

“Have you seen her?” ?ak’s dark eyes darted from one to the other. “How is she?”



Maggie shifted in her chair. “I’m afraid she’s still in a coma.”

“Is there anything new from the doctors?” he asked, voice eager.

“The doctor hopes she will recover and wake up,” Maggie responded, “but as of now, there’s no change in her condition.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“How do you know Miss Chorley?” Maggie asked. “One of the nurses said you’re her boyfriend, and the visitors’ log shows you’ve visited seven times since she was admitted.”

“Not her boyfriend,” he clarified. “Just a friend. I trained with her brother—he died in the Battle of Britain. I promised him if anything happened to him I’d keep an eye on her. So I’d travel to London to see her when I had leave.”

“Did she say what she was doing here in London?”

“Gladys was with the ATS. But she never spoke much about what she did. Claimed it was mostly typing and filing—you know, boring office work. She spent some time in Scotland, a month here and there. Last time I saw her, before—well—she’d recently gotten back from one of her trips. She told me she was in town for a few days, and then she was due to go on another.”

“When was that? The last time you spoke with her?”

“Sometime at the end of January. We had drinks at the Criterion in Piccadilly Circus.”

“How did you learn she was in hospital?”

“Gladys’s sister called me. She told me Gladys had been in an accident.”

“Where were you on the night of March twenty?” Maggie asked.

His face creased with concern. “I was here, on base.”

“And on the night of March twenty-seventh? And March twenty-ninth?”

His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “Here. On base.”



“You don’t mind if we verify those nights with your commanding officer?” Mark asked.

“No.” ?ak swallowed. “No, of course not.”

“Do you know where Miss Chorley was living when she was in London?” asked Maggie.

“She was staying at a women’s residence hotel in Marylebone,” ?ak replied. “I’d walk her to her door after we’d been out, and sometimes we’d talk in the lobby. But they didn’t let men up, of course.”

“Do you remember the name of the residence hotel?”

He closed his eyes, thinking. Then, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember the address? Or anything nearby?”

“I’m sorry—I’m not familiar with London. It was near the Baker Street station, that much I know. A side street. Quiet and dark.”

“Did she have any enemies whom you know of?” Mark asked. “A jealous ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

“No!” ?ak exclaimed. “Gladys was a good girl. Hardworking. Didn’t know too many people in London. Preferred to go to the cinema or a concert rather than any fancy parties.”

“How would you describe her?”

?ak thought for a moment. “Strong, intelligent, athletic. Pretty. But stubborn. Very stubborn—just like her brother. A thoroughly modern girl. When we went out, I had the feeling that while she felt terrible about the war, she was glad for a chance to leave Scotland. She wanted to see more of the world.”

“Is there anything you remember about the hotel?” Maggie asked.

“She stayed in a few, a different one each time. I remember they were all near Regent’s Park and Baker Street, if it helps.”

“It does.”



“Thank you.” Mark handed ?ak one of his cards. “If you remember anything else—no matter how unimportant it may seem—please call.”

“I will,” ?ak vowed, eyes serious. “I will.”

After they checked out ?ak’s story with his commanding officer and it proved true, Maggie and Mark walked back to the Tube station. As they entered the train car, Mark sighed. “Another dead end.”

“Maybe. But I’m glad to know the poor girl has someone visiting her. I wonder, if on some level, she knows. I do hope so.” She chewed her lip, considering. “Mark, I have an idea.”