Authors: Barbara Cleverly
‘No one, sir?’ She was looking at him in astonishment. ‘Not even a little family having breakfast?’
‘What? As a matter of fact, if I must dot the i’s and cross the t’s, yes, there
was
a family in residence. A perfectly innocent family – man, wife and five children apparently in various stages of readiness for the day, taking an early breakfast. No lodgers kept. The father’s a porter at Smithfield meat market. Husky sort of bloke. He made objection to Bacchus’s invasion and ranted on about Englishmen, homes and castles. Sent Bacchus off, tail between his legs.’ Joe couldn’t hide his satisfaction. ‘The men made further inquiries in the street and hung about observing for an hour then gave it up as a bad job and came back to HQ. Another false trail, I’m afraid.’
‘Did you see Honeysett? Was he of any help?’
‘Yes. He tried his best. But his female employee gave away little about herself. Did her job well. Went home at the end of the day. She never socialized with the rest of the staff. We checked on her three referees. Princess Ratziatinsky – conveniently or sinisterly, depending on your point of view – was one of them. Conspiracy are we suspecting? She was the only one who gave a telephone number so, naturally, it was to her that Honeysett approached initially. Satisfied by all he heard from that establishment and being unable to make swift contact with the others – one was a lady at present travelling in Europe and the other a military gentleman posted to the North West Frontier province a year ago …’
‘False, sir?’
‘I don’t doubt it. Honeysett was devastated. Angry to have been taken for a ride. There was no intention on the steward’s part to deceive, of course. He told us what he knew. But what he knew was a load of codswallop. No such girl ever at that address. And where have we heard this sorry tale before? Bells ringing, are they? So there we are. Again. Now – I’ve spoken to the princess. You made a good impression. And tell me, did she come up with anything that interested you?’
The girl seemed amused. Worse than that, she was grinning at him. She took off her hat and began to fan herself with it. Her straw-coloured hair stuck out round her face and he realized that she was, in fact, a bit breathless but shining with excitement. His mother’s cat, the ghastly old tiger-striped killer – what was his name? Tippoo – came to mind. Electrified by triumph. Hair on end, Lily had come to tell him she’d killed a rat and he might expect to put his foot on the squishy corpse the moment he stepped outside.
‘Oh yes, she did, sir! She gave me the name of the woman who tried to poison the prince and told me where she was living. I went straight round there – oh, I know, disobeying orders, and I expect you’ll be angry with me, but it was on my way back …’
‘Get on, constable!’
‘Well, she made fools of Bacchus and his Keystone Kops, but I’ve got her, sir!’
Joe looked anxiously at the door. ‘Got her? Lord! You’ve not left a body down at reception, Wentworth? What on earth have you done?’
‘Oh, nothing like that! No fisticuffs. But I did some detecting. I know what she looks like, I know who she is and I can guess
where
she is but I can’t for the life of me work out
why
this woman would want the prince dead. Or Admiral Lord Dedham or Churchill or Lloyd George. Perhaps you’ll be able to tell me?’
‘Wentworth, start at the beginning. You got there …’
Joe listened patiently to Lily’s account, making occasional notes of names and other details that caught his attention.
‘And you’d describe the princess’s manner as – helpful – on the whole?’
‘On the whole, sir. And on the surface. No more than that. I wouldn’t trust her as far as the garden gate.’
‘Aha! Let’s think of her as “Princess Rat”! Go on, Wentworth.’
‘She doesn’t like us much. She has strong views on the political situation and, though grateful to this country for the shelter she’s receiving, doesn’t scruple to voice her criticisms. But she would never, I think, condone the assassination of the prince or cover for any would-be assassin. Her community of refugees has too much to lose. It would be a suicidal idiot who stove a hole in the lifeboat he was travelling in. And she has much loyalty to the notion of
kingship
, which seems in that company to trump nationality. Or even friendship.’ Lily paused for a moment and then added: ‘She’s a politician. She weighed her options and in the end she decided to give her up. Your Morrigan. But on her terms. Not ours. Oh, no, not ours.’
‘In what way did she “give her up”?’
‘She handed me the name of a woman who might well have been at the ball as a guest but was, in fact, working in the kitchens. No surprises! It’s the girl I saw smearing the prince’s plate. She’s Anna Petrovna, and she’s related to the princess. She was living just a short distance away, but in a much less grand district. In fact just across the road from the address Bacchus raided. She was watching his antics from behind the net curtain of her upstairs front. I thought I’d just check on it on my way back here … I hadn’t at that time realized I too was being deliberately sent off on a wild goose chase. These Russian women are making monkeys of us, sir.’
‘It’s how they pass their time, Wentworth. I wish they’d take up needlepoint but they find espionage more stimulating. So, you’re reporting that Miss Petrovna is gadding about London, free as the wind. You haven’t got her at all, any more than Bacchus had. Or Hopkirk. A stroll across the allotments and the whole of the West End is at her feet.’
‘No, sir! I know exactly where she is. I must have been within a few yards of her this morning. She was listening to what I was saying through a keyhole for all I know.’ Lily shivered.
‘Keyhole? Whose keyhole?’ he asked with suspicion. And then with sudden alarm: ‘Oh, my God! She was there? Within a few feet of you? What makes you think so?’
‘The coffee cups. A tray arrived moments after I did. It was laid for four. The maid who brought it was surprised to see me and asked if she should bring another cup. Which would have made it five. One too many. She was hurried out of the room. There had been four women there when I arrived, not the three who greeted me. Anna must have skipped out when I rang the doorbell. The coffee cups had no significance for me at that moment but it hit me later. The princess was pleased and relieved to be able to get me off the premises by sending me along to Hogsmire Lane. The gesture made her appear cooperative to the police but she was giving nothing away as she knew perfectly well that the address had already been abandoned. She – and possibly the whole of the Russian establishment – is sheltering this woman. You’re going to find that a hard nut to crack, I think.’
‘Wentworth, we are not unaware of this. The princess and her entourage have been the subject of close surveillance ever since she moved to London. She knows it, of course. Clandestine manoeuvring is meat and drink to her. She’s at the heart of a network that has tentacles covering the world and she works tirelessly for her own kind: émigré Russian aristocrats. She has a finger in every ambassadorial pie from here to Hong Kong and back again the other way.’
‘I’ve just remembered – they were about to set off for lunch at the embassy. They could have taken Anna along with them and …’
‘And left her there. On what is technically foreign territory. If she stays holed up in the embassy, we can’t touch her. They could spirit her out of the country in a bag in no time. But I think she was pulling the wool over your eyes. Which embassy, for a start? Did she say? That part of town is an international diplomatic enclave. You can’t throw a stone without knocking off an ambassador’s silk hat. And with the political situation as it is at the moment in that benighted country Miss Petrovna would be the very last person the present Russian mob would want to see come grinning round the door. We’re not contemplating the usual diplomatic protocol – these are bloodletting rogues and scoundrels we have to deal with. No idea how to behave on a world stage. They might approach our government and ask to have her removed.’ Joe sighed. ‘With the usual vociferous complaints about Scotland Yard intimidation and mismanagement. Whatever happens, I think we could be looking at diplomatic involvement. The quickest way to wreck a career. Damn!’
‘Sorry, sir. If I’d caught on straight away I could have rung you from the princess’s house …’ Her voice trailed away and she hung her head, waiting for a rebuke.
He smiled. ‘… and requested a snatch squad? “Come quickly! She’s hiding in the butler’s pantry!” I can’t quite see how that would have worked.’
‘No. They’d never have got past Foxton, sir.’
‘Well, cheer up. You’ve done wonders. I’m very pleased, Miss Wentworth.’ He sat back, eyeing her with satisfaction. ‘Would you like to hear me ruin someone’s lunch?’ He picked up the telephone and asked for a London number. ‘Have I got Bacchus? James! Listen. You may wish to reschedule your surveillance in the light of certain information which comes to hand. Your girl was watching your storming of forty-two, Hogsmire Lane from her outpost in the upstairs front room of number sixty-seven … yes, I said sixty-seven … which was her actual address. No … not there any longer. Clean pair of heels over the allotments at the rear… She’s taken shelter with her countrymen. She was playing cards with the Princess Ratziatinsky when Wentworth called this morning. Yes. Wentworth has been entrusted with the girl’s details … things like real name, character, possible motive, that sort of thing … By all means. I’m sure she’ll be glad to update your information.’
Joe held the earpiece at an exaggerated distance from his ear and grimaced. ‘That’s got him going. He’ll burst a blood vessel trying to keep up now. I wouldn’t want to be one of his chaps.’
‘And you’ve just killed off any chance of my ever gaining Bacchus’s confidence, sir,’ she murmured.
‘No harm done. That was dead in the water anyway. You’re never going to be soulmates. In any case, I doubt the chap has a soul.’
‘Poor Bacchus! No mother and now no soul? I can begin to feel sorry for him.’
‘Waste of time. I’ll try to keep you off his back. Best I can offer.’
He watched as the girl shrugged and conceded a bleak smile. He thought he’d try for a warmer one. He’d been a bit hard on her, perhaps. ‘And now … reward for a jolly good morning’s work! I’m going to say a few words that may produce a reaction. Are you ready?’ He gave her the benefit of his most seductive tone. ‘What about roast beef … Yorkshire pudding … horseradish sauce … apple charlotte …’
He sat back, alarmed, as the girl went off like a pistol, jumping to her feet and laughing. ‘Gawd, sir! You know how to make a girl wet her knickers! … Oh, Lord! Oh!’
Her face turned crimson at her indiscretion. She put a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror, burbled something and started for the door.
Joe leapt up, dashed over and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Steady on! Don’t bolt! I’m not insulted. I’ve heard worse in the trenches.’
‘Sorry, sir. It’s just a common saying … where I come from it means nothing, not a …’
‘Shh. Don’t go and spoil it. I’ve never had a compliment of the kind before. I’m rather relishing it. The nearest I’ve come to such a pinnacle of approval is from Amalthea Jameson who declared once, in a fit of heightened emotion – occasioned by a bunch of violets, I remember – that I certainly knew how to make a lady’s heart flutter. I think I prefer the earthier tribute! But look – before you lose complete control of your tongue and any other dicky bits of your anatomy, why don’t we get someone to drive us to Simpson’s-in-the-Strand? Lunch goes on there until supper time. And their gravy is wonderful. They make it with red wine, you know.’
Joe burbled on, calm and amused, until he felt her muscles begin to relax again. He released her arm. Though still avoiding his eye, Lily managed to get her voice in gear. ‘I’d like that, sir. And perhaps while we’re about it, you can tell me about Anna Petrovna’s
motive
. I don’t think I mentioned one?’
She was putting on her gloves when the phone rang.
In his urgent quest for roast beef and suitable accompaniments, he very nearly ignored it. Grumpily he picked up the earpiece and announced himself. He looked questioningly at Lily.
‘A package, you say? For Miss Lily Wentworth, care of this office? How big is this package? Three feet by two? That big? And heavy? I say – have you checked it for … Of course. Can’t be too careful these days. Then get two strapping fellers to haul it upstairs, will you? Use the lift. I’m just off to lunch but I can wait a few more minutes, I suppose. Tell them to get a move on, will you?’
The commander waited until the two uniformed coppers left before he approached the brown-paper wrappings of the carefully boxed parcel with a penknife. He first examined the label. ‘They made no mistake, Wentworth. It is indeed addressed to you care of my office. Were you expecting anything of this nature? Bagatelle board from Hamleys? Travelling guillotine? The missing
Mona Lisa
?’
She shook her head, perplexed. He clicked out the blade of his knife and began to strip away the wrapper.
After five minutes of combined effort, they stood speechless, absorbing the contents.
Sandilands was the first to regain his voice. ‘Congratulations, constable! You seem to have made a very favourable impression. A most gracious gesture – I’m sure even you will agree.’