Mask of the Verdoy (37 page)

‘Well, from what we’ve got so far, it seems that the maid’s in the kitchen, doing her Ladyship’s ironing, when she hears the doorbell. She goes to answer the door but there’s no one there. She looks down on the mat and there’s a parcel, done up in brown paper and string, addressed to Lady Euphemia. No stamp, no address—obviously delivered by hand. She checks the corridor, but there’s not a soul around. So, thinking nothing of it, she picks up the parcel and puts it on the table with the rest of the post for her Ladyship to collect when she comes home. As she wanders back to the kitchen she hears the sound of a car engine racing away, happens to look out the window and sees …’ Bristow paused to refer to his notebook, ‘… a dark-coloured Austin 7, travelling at speed away from the apartment block.’

Pearson exchanged a glance with Harley. ‘Is she sure it was an Austin 7?’

‘Seems to be,’ said Bristow. ‘Is that significant? After all, it’s a popular make.’

‘It might be,’ said Harley. ‘Go on though.’

‘Right, well, Lady Euphemia returns home around midday. Comes in, has a spot of lunch and then starts to open the post. When she gets to our parcel, the first thing she notices is that stuck to the lid of the box, under the brown paper, is a card addressed to “Daubeney’s Brat”. So straight away she knows something’s up; and that’s bloody good
luck as it happens, because she’s now on her guard and so proceeds to open the box with caution. She teases the lid off and inside is a stick of ruddy dynamite!’

‘Any trigger mechanism on the lid? Timer? Ignition device?’ asked Harley.

‘No—just the dynamite on a little satin pillow. So it looks like it’s more of a warning, rather than an actual attempt to blow her up. Although, that said, the sapper from the Royal Engineers that came to deal with it said it looked highly unstable in his opinion; said he could see crystals on the paper where the nitro-glycerine had sweated out. Reckoned it could have gone up at any moment. His officer had him take it away for an immediate controlled explosion—out there, on the rec’. I bet that had all the curtains twitching. Expect we’ll get a few complaints in the morning.’

‘Did anyone get a photograph of the dynamite, before they blew it?’

‘No, the Army pulled rank, I’m afraid—matter of public safety. You can understand their point, I suppose. But if it’s the stamp on the wrapper that you’re after, George, then I did a quick sketch of it in my notepad … there you go.’ He flicked to the page in his pad and showed it to Harley and Pearson. ‘We’ve got your photograph on file of the one you found after the blast at Spitalfields. I will check when I get back to the office, but it looks the same to me—double-headed imperial Russian eagle. What d’you think?’

‘Yeah, it’s the same. That was smart thinking, Danny… You say the sapper reckoned it was unstable?’

‘Some of the worst he’d seen, apparently.’

‘What makes dynamite unstable, then?’ asked Pearson.

‘Age …’ said Harley, ‘… the way it’s been stored … extremes of temperature. After all, your stick of dynamite is just a sausage of sawdust soaked in nitro-glycerine, wrapped in paper with a blasting cap stuck on the end. Over time the nitro can just leak back out. The sappers stationed with us used to turn the boxes regularly to try to discourage it from happening.’

‘Well,’ said Bristow, returning his notepad to the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘If that dynamite had travelled all the way from Russia, then it’s a fair bet that it’s been exposed to some extreme conditions.’

‘And maybe that also explains why an old pro like Kosevich managed to blow himself up.’

‘The door, Harley!’ said Pearson, excitedly.

Harley span around to regard the doorway, but he couldn’t see what Pearson might be referring to.

‘Sorry, Albert?’

‘At Spitalfields, just before the blast—don’t you remember? The chauffeur, Kosevich, got out of the car and slammed the door shut. That’s when it went up.’

‘Christ! They were lucky here today, if that’s all it took,’ said Bristow. ‘Maybe it wasn’t just a warning? Maybe this was a serious attempt at assassination.’

‘Or maybe whoever’s handling the dynamite doesn’t realize what state it’s in,’ said Harley. ‘After all, as a method of eliminating someone it’s pretty hit and miss, ain’t it? Just sticking it in a box and hoping it gets shaken about enough … Plus, someone had to carry the bloody thing here in the first place. Nah—I think chances are it was just a warning; they just haven’t cottoned on to how unstable the stuff is. What about the box—anything unusual about it?’

‘Not really. No markings—just a plain, brown cardboard box. Unfortunately it went up in the controlled explosion—they didn’t want to risk handling the dynamite, I’m afraid. But we kept the calling card, of course. One of my DCs has taken it back to log it as evidence. Not much to go on there either, though: two words, typed, uppercase—“DAUBENEY’S BRAT”. Obviously we’ll be comparing the characteristics of the typeface and print indent with the Wild Cat letters sent to
The Oracle
, to see if there’s a match. I’ll get word to you if there is.’

‘Right—thanks, Danny. Anything else of note?’

‘No, I think that’s it.’

Bristow looked over to the sleek Art Deco clock on the mantelpiece from which a patinated bronze Diana aimed her miniature bow in the direction of Maida Vale Tube station.

‘Blimey! Is that the time? It was good to meet you again, George; but if it’s alright with you, I’ll leave it in your hands now. I’ve got to be back at the Yard for three—some emergency briefing the Commissioner wants me at.’

‘Really?’ said Harley, looking knowingly at Pearson. ‘Well then, perhaps we’ll be bumping into each other again sooner than you think then, Danny.’

‘Hmm … looks like you know something I don’t. And I expect there’ll be a bit of roughhouse involved, if you’ve got anything to do with it. Oh well …’

Bristow now grabbed his gabardine from the back of a particularly elegant Ruhlmann armchair. He rubbed his hand across the soft, chestnut-coloured leather.

‘Just look at this place—how the other half live, eh? God! If Mrs. Bristow ever laid eyes on this I’d never hear the end of it. You seen the kitchen? Fully electric, in there—cooker included. I can’t keep up
with it all myself—it’s like something out of H.G. Wells, what with all the knobs and fandangles. Don’t for the life of me know how that little slip of a maid manages to cope with it all.’

‘It’s progress, Danny—nothing to be scared of,’ said Harley, smiling at the confused look on Bristow’s face.

‘Well, that’s all well and good until you come home to find your missus has been electrocuted by a shepherd’s pie! Right, I’m off … it was good to meet you Pearson. Look after yourself, George!’

‘The SIS?’ asked Pearson, once Bristow had gone.

‘Can’t talk about it, I’m afraid, Albert,’ said Harley, shaking his head.

‘Yes, well—that answers a few questions I had rattling around. You’re a dark horse, George Harley—there’s no denying that … So, anyway, what do you reckon, then? If Kosevich was responsible for the previous bombings, who do you think sent this particular stick of dynamite?’

‘Shush! Not ’ere Albert—we’ll talk later. Let’s have a little word with the maid, shall we? D’you reckon that was Pembroke’s Austin 7 she saw earlier?’

‘Well, there’s got to be tens of thousands of Baby Austins in London, hasn’t there? It’s one of the most popular cars going. Besides, I thought the theory now was that Kosevich blew himself up? Surely Pembroke wasn’t involved—he is a vicar, after all.’

‘That don’t butter no muffins with me, Pearson, you should know that by now. But anyway, let’s not talk about it here. Come on—let’s go and see little Violet.’

They found the maid busy at the kitchen sink, filling the kettle.

‘Hello, Violet,’ said Harley, removing his hat. ‘You remember us, don’t you? We called the other day.’

‘Of course I do! You’re the gentlemen from the police—Mr. Harley and Mr. Pearson. I wrote it down at the time; so as I got it right when I told her Ladyship.’

‘Well, you’re looking like you’ve recovered a bit, after the shock.’

‘Yes, I’m feeling a bit better now, thanks. I thought you might like a cup of tea?’

‘You come and sit down—I’m sure Pearson can do that.’

‘Oh no, I couldn’t let you—’

‘Nonsense! Come on, come and sit here. I bet you’ve been up since the crack of dawn. Go on, Albert—help the lady out there.’

Pearson gave Harley a quick disgruntled look and then relieved Violet of the kettle.

‘There, now. That’s better, ain’t it?’ said Harley taking a seat next to the young woman at the kitchen table. ‘I bet it’s all been a bit of a palaver, ain’t it?’

‘Oh, Mr. Harley, you don’t know the ’alf of it! I’ve been beside meself all day. I just can’t get it out of my head. To think how I nearly killed that wonderful lady—and her one of the nobility, an’ all!’

‘What do you mean, how
you
nearly killed her?’

‘Well, who brought the bomb in? Who stuck it on the occasional table, right here, in the middle of this lovely home? …’ The tears were returning now, and Violet conjured her slightly damp handkerchief from the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Mum’s always saying I don’t pay enough attention. I should’ve known there was summit wrong; I mean—who just leaves a parcel on the doorstep, and runs off?’

‘Now you listen up, Violet—you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. D’you understand? You get those silly thoughts right out of your head this instant! After all, you were just doing your duty, right? I mean—how’s it gonna look if Lady Euphemia comes home and finds her post just lying about on the deck in the corridor for anyone to help themselves to, eh?’

‘D’you really think that, Mr. Harley? That I done nothing wrong?’

‘’Course I do—I wouldn’t be saying it otherwise, would I? And it’s George, by the way, remember? The way I see it, Violet, you were in just as much danger as Lady Euphemia … more so, really, seeing as you took the bloody thing in.’

‘Cor, lummy! I never thought about it like that … and what about her Ladyship?’ said Violet, wiping her little red cheeks dry. ‘D’you think she’ll see it the same way? I dunno what I’d do if I lost this job, really I don’t.’

‘I’m sure she’ll see it exactly as I do. In fact, I’ll make sure she does.’

Violet allowed herself a little smile.

‘Oh, you’re ever so kind, Mr. Har … 
George
, I mean.’

‘There we are—that’s what we wanna see! That’s definitely a face for smiles, if ever I saw one.’

But now Violet’s brow wrinkled in contemplation.

‘Gawd—I did, didn’t I? I nearly died! … See, when I picked the parcel up I gave it a little shake, just to see if I could guess what was inside. Oooh, it makes me weak at the knees just to think on it! I mean—what would Mum ’ave said? After losing her sister in the Silvertown explosion during the war; then for me to go and get meself blown up an’ all—she’d have killed me, she would!’

‘Right—that’s enough of that now! No more morbid thoughts … Look, maybe you should give Pearson a hand; I think he’s having a few problems. It’ll take your mind off things.’

‘It’s this electric stove,’ said Pearson, staring at the controls on the oven. ‘I’ve never used one before. How do you light the hob?’

‘Oh no, Mr. Pearson!’ said Violet, immediately forgetting about her recent brush with death and rushing out of her seat to grab the
polished chrome kettle from the stove. ‘You mustn’t put it on there—you’ll melt the feet! That was two pound ten, from Selfridges, that was!’

‘Don’t mind him, Violet,’ said Harley, enjoying the look of confusion on Pearson’s face. ‘He’s recently had a bash on the bonce—it’s obviously done some damage.’

‘Well, how am I supposed to boil the water for the tea, then?’

‘It’s an electric kettle, Pearson, you plug it in,’ said Harley with a chuckle.

‘Well, I don’t know, do I? I’m all at sea in the kitchen, to tell you the truth. Mrs. P deals with all that kind of thing in our house.’

‘Yeah, I can see that. Come and sit down, leave it to the professional.’ Harley broke out the cigarettes. ‘Do you smoke, Violet?’

‘Ooh, I mustn’t—not on duty; well, not when her Ladyship is home, anyway.’

‘Go on—I’m sure she’ll understand, in the circumstances.’

‘Do you think? Alright, don’t mind if I do—ta very much!’

She lit the cigarette and blew a plume of smoke towards the ceiling in an affected manner. ‘Mum don’t like me doing it, really,’ she said, breezy now as she continued to prepare the tea. ‘But I sing in the choir at the weekend, see, and they say it’s good for the throat, don’t they? Besides, Marlene Dietrich smokes, don’t she? I love Marlene, she’s so
statuesque
, ain’t she? I read that in the
Movie Classics
the other day. It’s her to a “T”, don’t you think?
Statuesque
.’

‘She is that,’ said Harley, smiling at Pearson.

Violet paused for a moment in her chattering to fill the small milk jug from a bottle out of the fridge and place the rest of the tea things on the table.

‘Tell me something, Violet …’

‘Yes, Mr. Harley?’

‘The car you saw driving off, after the parcel had been left—was it definitely an Austin 7?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure of it. Uncle Brian’s got one, you see—he takes us all out on a Sunday, if the weather’s nice. We went all the way down to East Malling last year—hopping for the week. Lovely, it was. Although the bedding in the digs was a bit lively, if you know what I mean. Dad said that we went down there hopping and came back jumping! He’s a proper card he is, my Dad.’

‘I’m sure he is,’ said Harley. ‘But what about the colour? Do you remember what colour this Austin 7 was?’

‘No, I can’t rightly say. I think it was a dark one though.’

‘Dark blue? Or red, maybe?’

‘I dunno … It might have been red—but I’m afraid I couldn’t say for sure … Do you think it was really them—in that car? These anarchists that have been in the paper? Why would they want to blow up the mistress, Mr. Harley?’

‘We don’t know who’s responsible at the moment. But we’re aiming to find out, Violet, don’t you worry about that.’

‘It gives me the willies just to think about it,’ she said, pouring the boiling water into the teapot which she then placed on the table with a cosy over it.