Dancers in Mourning (19 page)

‘I told you I didn't open the thing,' he said, his voice squeaky with passion. ‘If I had it wouldn't be any affair of yours, Mercer, so keep out of this. I know how you all feel about me and I don't care, I tell you, I don't care. But I'll make you all pay for it in the end. This is a warning. I may hold my tongue for a day or two until my rally's over, but after that you can look out, all of you – and I mean that.'

He remained glaring at them, a weak, spiteful, but in the circumstances extremely comic figure. Yet no one, Mr Campion was interested to note, seemed in the least amused by him.

Konrad hesitated. He was beside himself with fury and, although aware that his exit-line had been spoken, yet could not tear himself away from the stage.

‘You've always hated me,' he repeated feebly, and added with inspirational triteness, ‘now you're darned well going to be sorry.'

He turned and went out, slamming the door behind him.

Sock listened.

‘Uncle Vanya has fallen downstairs,' he remarked pleasantly if inaccurately. But there was no smile on his lips and his eyes were solemn.

Mercer turned back to the piano.

‘Now all this muck can go to that ghastly woman,' he said, laughing as he shovelled the odds and ends back into the bag again.

Sutane glanced at him and then at Sock and finally eyed Campion speculatively. The hall door slammed, a phenomenon in itself since in summer it was always kept open. Linda flushed.

‘We can't let him go like this,' she said. ‘He's a visitor here. Besides, it's so incredibly silly.'

She hurried out of the room and Sutane stood looking down at the toes of his shoes and whistling idly. Presently he took two or three little dancing steps, keeping his feet within an inch or two of their original position. The occupation appeared to absorb him. Mercer watched and Sock put his arm round Eve, who did not appear to notice or resent the familiarity. Nobody spoke.

Hughes came in, still pink and very much on his dignity.

‘Mr Konrad has just gone off in his car, sir, but he appears to have left his bicycle, the silver-plated one. It's in the cloakroom.'

‘Who the hell cares?' said Sock briefly, while Sutane turned on the servant the full force of his personality behind the outburst.

‘It doesn't matter,' he said. ‘Don't stand there goggling. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter in the least. Go away.'

Hughes looked aghast. He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and went out, closing the door softly but firmly behind him. Sutane began to whistle again. The atmosphere of the room had become oppressive. Eve threw off Sock's arm and, leaning across the piano top, began to play with the bag. With her sombre eyes and vivid, unhappy face she looked like an incarnation of the brooding spirit of the gathering.

‘He's done that so that he can come down again and pick it up,' she said thoughtfully. ‘Gutless little tick, isn't he?' No one answered her, but her voice broke the spell of silence.

‘I shall take Finny up to town tonight,' Sutane remarked, looking up. ‘Henry needs guidance. Tell her to get her hat on, will you, Sock? Then I must go. What's the matter. Linda?'

The girl had come in quietly, but her expression had betrayed her.

‘Hughes is going,' she said blankly. ‘He waylaid me in the hall. He seems to think that things are too difficult and he's going tonight. He says he's ill. What did you say to him?'

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing.' Sutane was exasperated. ‘My God, these people ought to be on the stage. Still, it doesn't matter, does it? The maids can carry on.'

She stood watching him helplessly and he turned to the door.

‘I must go. Dinner when we come back, then. Finny's coming up with me. I may bring Dick Poyser back tonight and I want Campion and Uncle William to stay here if they will. I don't think there's anything else. I'm rather glad Hughes is going. He doesn't really suit us.'

His last words were delivered over his shoulder as he went out. Linda turned away and Campion, who had developed a keen understanding where she was concerned, realised some of the sense of despair which descends upon a housewife when the mainstay of her staff deserts her in a time of upheaval. An idea occurred to him.

‘I've got a man,' he said. ‘Not a very polished soul, I'm afraid, but he'd do anything you told him and he'd tide you over the next day or so until you can get someone suitable. Shall I get him down?'

Her relief was so heartfelt that he was seized by momentary misgivings. Magersfontein Lugg was not everybody's idea of the perfect butler, and in his impulse to be of service to her Campion had not stopped to visualise that lush personality in the Sutane household. However, it was done. Linda had seized the suggestion.

‘I'll go and fetch him,' he said gallantly.

‘Oh, no, don't you go. Jimmy said you weren't to. Can't you phone him?' Her anxiety made her appeal unexpectedly vehement and he smiled at her.

‘I don't think so. Lugg's a good chap, but it's a major operation to shift him. Rather like transporting an elephant. We'll be back tonight.'

He hurried out of the room before she could speak again and dropped in on Uncle William, who was still napping, the empty decanter at his side.

‘Keep an eye on the ladies? Certainly, my boy,' he said, blinking rosily. ‘Must have overslept. I'm gettin' old. Terrible thought. You seem pleased with yourself.' He stretched out his plump toes like a cat and hiccuped discreetly. ‘What d'you want me to do? Only got to command.'

Campion considered ‘If you have a chance, talk to Eve,' he said. ‘Find out where she's been all her life, what she's interested in and what her ambitions are. If she cares to talk about her childhood encourage it.'

‘Eve, eh?' Uncle William's bright blue eyes were interested.

‘A sulky little miss if ever I saw one. Don't understand these new young women. Too much below the surface for my taste.'

He got up.

‘Don't like women who sit about brooding,' he said. ‘Never did. Still, I'll do what I can. Anything in particular you'd like to know?'

‘No. But nineteen-twenty is the crucial year.'

‘The child was hardly born!' Uncle William objected.

‘I know. But she may be able to tell you about the family,' said Mr Campion, and as he went out to find the Lagonda he thought it very significant that the only thing that Benny Konrad should have taken from Chloe Pye's handbag, since he himself had examined it early that morning, should have been a cheap silver wrist-watch with a broken strap. The watch had interested him when he had looked at it because of the inscription on the inside of the case:

C.
FROM
J.
ALWAYS
1920.

E
X
-I
NSPECTOR
B
LEST
set his glass on Mr Campion's desk and reached for a cigarette from the silver box beside it. The study in the Bottle Street flat was warm and quiet. Outside the blue dusk was beginning to fall over the city and from Piccadilly the quiet snoring of the traffic came soothingly up to them.

The ex-Inspector was a large sandy man with raw red ears and boundless good nature lurking shyly behind a defensive bluster. At the moment his pride was in the process of slow recovery.

‘I don't mind working with you or even for you,' he said. ‘I didn't care for him going over my head. That's all. He's a queer sort of chap, isn't he? I don't really like him. Too “I'm-so-busy-get-out-of-my-light”. If he's overworked, why doesn't he take a job his own size? I've got no time for blokes who are too busy to live. I was going round to see him when you phoned me. What's he done now? Run over one of his own actresses? Reading between the lines, it sounded like suicide to me. What was her trouble? Love again? Why these women keep killing themselves for love I don't know. Have you ever noticed the only men who ever kill themselves for love are farm labourers? It's a fact. You watch the newspapers. It's having such a long time to brood, I suppose. Well, here's to you.'

He took up his glass again and Mr Campion, venturing to assume their reconciliation complete, came gently to the matter in hand.

‘So it was a charwoman?' he began. ‘What variety? Pail, brush, flat cap and curl-papers, or just somebody's nice old aunt in her shopping second-best?'

‘The last, I'm afraid.' Blest was despondent. ‘The kids at the messenger office remember that the flowers were brought in by an old woman. When I pressed them they said she might have been a char, but whether she had on a brown raincoat or a black artificial fur they do not know. One kid says he remembers a large safety-pin showing, but more he can't say. The chap in the desk can't remember anything at all. Not very helpful, is it? That's about all I've done, and there's been more work in it than you'd think. I had to find the right office first.'

He surveyed his feet without affection.

‘Mr Campion,' he said suddenly, ‘I don't want you to be offended, but I've had an idea. Do you think there's a chance this fellow Sutane is having us on a string? I mean, it's not going to turn into a publicity stunt on us, is it? You're sure there is something up?'

Campion sat looking in front of him, his lean face unusually grave. In his mind's eye he saw Chloe Pye lying by the side of the lane, the dreadful irregularity of the line of her head and the tear across her breast, and he remembered her sitting on Sock's knee, her haggard face alight with a vivacity which must in youth have been so very charming.

‘Oh, lord, yes, there's something up,' he said. ‘Don't worry about that.'

‘Something serious?' Blest cocked a curious eye at him and he pulled himself up guiltily.

‘Sutane
is
being persecuted,' he said. ‘There
is
a campaign going on against him. I've told you about the uninvited party. That was genuine. There are other things, too. Some I don't follow at all. But from a first look round I think the cause of the trouble is fairly evident. There's a small-part man in the show called Benny Konrad. He's the fellow you want.'

‘Konrad? I've seen him. Really! Well, now, I shouldn't be surprised.' Blest wagged his head and looked worldly. ‘Very likely. He's a dancer, too, of sorts, isn't he? Now you come to mention it, this is the type of thing they get up to, those little chaps. Petty. Got a mean streak in 'em. Anything to go on?'

‘Not much. What I have I'll give you.' Mr Campion was speaking cautiously. ‘I know he's insanely jealous of Sutane. He was going to take the leading part tonight, and when he was disappointed he practically wept. Then yesterday evening he was seen down the end of the lane that leads from the house. He swore he hadn't been there with quite unnecessary vehemence. That was just after the party, you see, and I happened to notice that just after dinner he went upstairs and came down wearing a key chain. This evening I drove out on to the lower road on my trip up here and I found what I thought I should. There's an A.A. phone-box on the road about a hundred yards from the mouth of the lane. He must have sneaked out to phone, not wishing to use the one in the house. It's not much, I know; but it's a little lead. He's got an accomplice.'

The ex-Inspector frowned. ‘It could be,' he agreed. ‘It's a foothold, anyway. What's his idea? Just spite or has he got any plan?'

Mr Campion studied his finger nails.

‘I've got an unpleasant mind,' he said, ‘but it occurs to me that if Sutane had a nervous breakdown Konrad is his understudy. If a man's overworked there's nothing like a spot of persecution to send him over the edge. This fellow may feel he's being kept under by Sutane.'

‘Huh!' Blest sounded pleased. ‘That's a help, I won't deny it,' he said. ‘I'll get hold of the brightest kid from the bureau and take him round to have a look at this fellow's char – or not?'

‘Yes, do, only be careful. Don't start the hare running. I don't think you'll find it as simple as that either. Konrad lives in a service flat at Marble Arch.'

Mr Campion was in his most diffident mood. He had no wish to teach his grandmother to suck eggs and all, but said so in as many words.

‘I fancy he has a friend, you know,' he went on at last.

‘Some earnest soul about his own age, or a little older, who burns to see the lad succeed. This is probably his handwriting.'

Blest took the invitation card that Councillor Baines had so thoughtfully preserved and his red face brightened.

‘Full of ideas, aren't you?' he said appreciatively. ‘Got his address?'

Campion shook his head.

‘No. I don't even know if he exists. But if Konrad is responsible for these little attacks on Sutane – and I think he must be, you know — then he obviously has an accomplice, if only to write these invitations.'

He paused and went on consideringly.

‘The man I have in mind is youngish, over-interested in Konrad's career, and a silly hysterical type generally. The city's full of them. It may take you a bit of time to find the man you want, but Konrad is a man who goes in for fans. I should look up the secretary of this Speedo Club he sponsors.'

The ex-Inspector rose. His enthusiasm had revived.

‘That's about it,' he said, tucking the card into his wallet. ‘I'm grateful to you, I admit it. This accomplice is taking shape before my eyes. We'll get him, although the chances are Sutane won't prosecute. These private clients never do.'

He sighed for the great days of his professional career and looked about for his hat.

‘If I can get a tie-up between the accomplice and the char, then between Konrad and the accomplice, we're sitting pretty,' he remarked.

Campion leant across the desk. His eyes were narrowed and he seemed absorbed in the blotting paper beneath his hand. Looking at him, the ex-Inspector considered privately that he looked less of an ass than he had ever seen him. There was an unusual purposefulness in his bent shoulders and in the poise of his lowered head.