The Deadly Mystery of the Missing Diamonds (A Dizzy Heights Mystery)

by T E Kinsey

  ‘What might work?’

  ‘Dressed as a filly. The both of us.’ He turned towards the table by the wall, where everyone else was helping themselves to beer. ‘I say, you chaps, know anywhere we can get a pantomime horse costume?’

  The Alphabets looked blank.

  ‘There’s a couple of places in the West End would sort you out,’ called Skins from the stage. ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ said Ernie. ‘It’s perfect.’

  ‘What’s perfect about it?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘D’you think it’s easy or difficult to dance in a pantomime horse costume?’

  ‘Rather tricky, I should imagine.’

  ‘So if Alfie and I come out dressed as a horse, no one’s expectations are going to be especially high. With me at the back just sort of shuffling about and trying to keep up, Alfie can Charleston at the front and the place will go bonkers. A horse doing the Charleston. It doesn’t matter if we muff it up – we’ll get points from the judges for the sheer hilarity of it. It’s our way to win.’

  There were murmurs of approval from the Alphabets, who raised their beer glasses in tribute to the best idea of the evening.

  ‘That’s certainly a . . . novel approach,’ said Ellie as everyone else returned to their conversations.

  Alfie came over with a glass of beer for Ernie.

  ‘That’s very much my game, d’you see?’ said Ernie once Alfie had returned to the throng. ‘Novel solutions.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘I’m an engineer. I design all sorts of weird and wonderful machines.’

  ‘How fascinating,’ said Ellie. ‘Anything I might have heard of?’

  Ernie laughed. ‘Shouldn’t think so. Industrial things mostly. We’re building machines at the moment to make parts for other machines. If we could work out a way of having them operate themselves, we could have the machines make the machines, and free the factory workers from their chains.’

  ‘What would they do then?’

  ‘The workers? There, as they say, is the rub. What would they do, indeed? Still, it’s a long way off, so no need to worry yet.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘I suppose I do, really. Not got anything to compare it with, though, to be honest. Might be happier doing something else, but I’ve never done anything else. Straight from school to university to the offices of Cashmore Engineering Limited. Family firm, d’you see? Groomed for succession and all that.’

  ‘Not even the army?’

  ‘No. Wanted to, but Pater forbad it. We were making parts for the machines in the munitions factories and he was able to persuade the local military service tribunal that I was doing essential war work in the design office. I suppose I was in a way, but I always regretted not properly doing my bit.’

  ‘But you were doing your bit.’

  ‘Difficult to persuade myself of that at the time,’ he said. ‘And even harder to persuade people on the street. Had to make sure I never went out without my little brass “On War Service” badge pinned prominently on my lapel, or there’d be hell to pay.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ she said. ‘No one likes a coward.’

  ‘That they don’t. And they were never slow to accuse an able-bodied young man of just that if they saw him out of uniform. Can’t blame them, I suppose. Families losing sons, fathers, brothers, uncles left and right, and there’s old muggins swanning about with nothing more than ink-stained fingers to attest to his efforts.’

  ‘You were well out of it,’ Ellie said.

  ‘I know that now. I say, I’m sorry, was I being horribly crass? Did you lose someone?’

  ‘No, no, don’t worry, but I saw what war could do. I was in France. I was a nurse.’

  ‘Good lord,’ he said with some admiration. ‘Well, I never. I thought nurses were all harridans. All the ones I’ve ever met have been. Spent some time in the hospital in ’19. Spanish flu.’

  ‘They sent all the pretty young ones to the Front,’ she said with a smile. ‘We were good for morale.’

  Ernie laughed. ‘I bet you were.’ There was purposeful movement around the beer table. ‘Hello. Looks like we’re under starter’s orders again. These breaks are getting shorter and shorter.’

  ‘We’d better get back to it, then.’

  ‘No need for you to put yourself through it,’ he said. ‘I’m rather taken with this pantomime horse idea – I think it might save me from having to get all this right. If you’d rather sit with your husband and his pals I’ll quite understand.’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Ernie,’ she said, ‘I rather enjoy dancing. I’ll join you if I may.’

  Chapter Nine

  Dunn spent most of Thursday doing odd jobs for Mrs Cordell. He changed a light bulb in the parlour, fixed a broken cupboard door in the kitchen, and replaced a washer in the cistern on the outside toilet. He was taking a break in the kitchen and drinking yet another cup of tea, while Mrs Cordell fussed about with the old biscuit tin that served as a first aid box.

  ‘You’ve cut your hand, love,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I should never have had you doing all those little jobs. I could have got a man in.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs C,’ he said. ‘It’s only a little scratch and I’m more than happy to help. You know that.’

  ‘You’re very kind. But you need those hands. A musician can’t earn his livin’ with damaged hands.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs C. Really.’ He held up his right hand and waggled his fingers. ‘See? It’s my plucking hand. I only need the fingers to work.’

  ‘Well, we’ll still get some iodine on it and a nice sticking plaster. Don’t want it getting infected – cuts on the hand like that can turn nasty.’

  Dunn gave himself over to Mrs Cordell’s motherly ministrations with a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs C.’

  ‘Are you in for your tea this evening?’ she said as she attached the plaster. ‘Oh, no, it’s Thursday, isn’t it? You’ll be off to see your pals in Bloomsbury, won’t you.’

  ‘I will. Ellie insists.’

  ‘She’s a nice girl, that Mrs Maloney. I never knew no Americans before, but if they’re all like her it must be a lovely country.’

  ‘I think they’ve got their fair share of rotters just like us, but Ellie is a wonderful woman.’

  ‘You’ve got a bit of a soft spot for her, ain’t you?’

  ‘Of course. But not how you mean. She’s not the one for me, but I’ve spent my whole life looking for someone who makes me feel how she makes Skins feel.’

  Mrs Cordell touched his cheek. ‘You’ll find someone, my love. I know you will.’

  He smiled. ‘They’ve got a lot to live up to.’

  ‘In the meantime, though, I need you to take a look at the mangle. It don’t turn like it used to.’

  ‘We none of us do,’ he said, standing up. ‘But it probably just needs a bit of a tweak and a touch of grease.’

  ‘Don’t we all,’ she said with a wink.

  Dunn laughed and picked up his toolbox.

  When Mrs Dalrymple opened the door for Dunn, the Maloney children were engaged in a noisy and energetic game whose principal objective seemed to be to hurtle around the house as fast as they could run while caroming off as many items of furniture as possible.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse the bairns,’ she said. ‘In my day, weans were to be seen and not heard, but times have changed, I suppose.’

  ‘In my day, kids were shoved out on the street after breakfast and not seen again till bedtime. I like this modern way. It’s nice to have a big house to run around in.’

  She smiled and let him through to the drawing room, where Ellie was playing the piano while Skins busied himself with the children’s building blocks. Mrs Dalrymple left just as Catherine and Edward exploded into the room.

  Dunn watched for a few minutes in fascination as tiny children thudded into chairs, an occasional table, and the bookcase. A china figurine – a ballerina – tumbled from the table
to the floor, but landed on the soft rug, undamaged. With Catherine taking the lead, they headed for the door.

  Edward had reached that magical point in childhood where he was somehow moving faster than his legs could run, and he sprawled head first across the floor and into the impressively complex building-block construction his father had been working on. Bricks flew everywhere, but with no more than an ‘Oof!’ and a ‘Sorry, Daddy’, he was up and gone, following his little sister out of the room and up the stairs.

  Ellie hadn’t missed a beat.

  ‘Is there a scoring system?’ said Dunn.

  ‘As far as I can make out, some credit seems to be given for knocking things over without breaking them,’ said Skins. ‘But I don’t think there’s a formal points system yet.’

  ‘They seem to be having a lot of fun.’

  Ellie came to the end of her piece. ‘Did they break that stupid dancing girl?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Skins with a grin.

  ‘We’re going to have to put it somewhere else. It keeps falling on the damn rug.’

  ‘You want them to break it?’ said Dunn.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ she said. ‘It’s hideous.’

  ‘You could just chuck it out,’ he suggested.

  ‘It was a gift from my aunt,’ she said. ‘Not the aunt I like – another aunt. I’ve never liked it – or her – but somehow I can’t just throw it away. But if it were to break accidentally . . .’

  ‘I’m sure I could bump into the table if you want something to happen to it.’

  ‘Clumsy guest . . .’ she mused. ‘That might work, but I think she’ll still be annoyed. She adores the children, though – if they shattered it into a million tiny pieces she’d just smile indulgently and tell me it’s just one of those things.’

  ‘And then buy us a new one,’ said Skins.

  ‘We’ll have mastered the technique of accidentally breaking it by then. She’d give up eventually.’

  Edward reappeared at the door. He had a serious expression and was clearly concentrating hard on remembering something.

  ‘Nanny says,’ he began. ‘Nanny says . . . something about . . . Oh, I know. Does Mr Dunn want to read a story? Who’s Mr Dunn?’

  ‘That’s Barty,’ said Ellie.

  ‘But Barty’s name is Barty.’

  ‘It is, but his other name is Dunn, just like your other name is Maloney.’

  ‘So am I Mr Maloney?’

  ‘Not yet. You’re Master Maloney for now. But one day.’

  ‘And will Mr Maloney read a story?’ said Edward.

  ‘Mr Dunn, dear.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Will Mr Dunn read a story?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘Mr Dunn?’ said Edward earnestly.

  ‘Yes, Master Maloney?’ said Dunn.

  ‘Would you like to read me and Stinky Catherine a story?’

  ‘I’m pretty certain Nanny didn’t ask you to say that, dear,’ said Ellie.

  ‘She would of have if her nose worked properly.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Dunn. ‘Do you remember where we got to last time?’

  ‘The evil Teddy Bear King had locked Bunny Rabbit and Rag Doll in the tower and the children were coming to the rescue,’ said Edward proudly.

  ‘Then we’d better see how they get on,’ said Dunn. ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’

  Ellie took Edward’s hand and led him back upstairs.

  ‘I always thought that teddy was a bit shifty, you know,’ said Skins. ‘Scotch while you wait for them to have their bath?’

  Having forced a New World menu on her reluctant cook the last time Barty came round, Ellie had relented and allowed Mrs Ponton to cook something of her own choosing. She had opted for ‘a nice roast leg of lamb’, which Skins – who had discovered a love of wine as the years wore on and his budget had increasingly allowed it – had paired with a red wine from the northern Rhône.

  ‘It’s an impertinent little vintage,’ he said as he poured Dunn a glass, ‘and I think you’ll enjoy the way its youthful fruitiness complements the robust flavours of a well-roasted leg of mutton.’

  ‘Lamb, dear,’ said Ellie. ‘Don’t let Mrs Ponton hear you calling it mutton.’

  ‘And don’t let me hear you talking such a load of old tosh again, either,’ said Dunn. ‘Coming the wine expert like that. I’ve seen you drinking plonk out of a tin cup in that village in France. It was one step up from vinegar and you were smacking your lips like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.’

  ‘I had to do something nice to keep the farmer sweet – if he’d seen the way you were looking at his daughter he’d have shot the pair of us.’

  ‘That’s as may be, son, but if I hear “impertinent little vintage” or “youthful fruitiness” again, we can’t be friends.’

  ‘Fair do’s. Tastes lovely, though, doesn’t it.’

  ‘It does. And it goes nicely with the mutton.’

  Ellie tutted. ‘It’s not Alfie or Ernie.’

  The two musicians looked at each other and frowned.

  ‘Either that’s a sharp change of direction or you’ve taken to naming Skins’s wine bottles. Or the sheep,’ said Dunn.

  ‘It’s lamb, and it was a change of direction. I thought I might head off the wartime reminiscences before they got going if I talked about the club.’

  ‘Ah, Tipsy Harry’s,’ said Skins. ‘Twilight rest home for the posh and bewildered. So it’s not Alfie or Ernie, then.’

  ‘It is not,’ said Ellie.

  ‘What did you learn from your little tête-à-têtes with the brain trust, then?’ asked Dunn.

  ‘I learned that Alfie is charming and sensitive, and that Ernie is an engineer.’

  ‘And that rules them out?’

  ‘Not in itself,’ said Ellie. ‘But neither of them is your man. Alfie served in – hang on, it’ll come to me – Gallipoli, Egypt, and France with the . . . Essex Regiment. He was there the whole time. No desertion.’

  ‘So he says,’ said Skins. ‘I could claim I was on the beach at Margate all last week – doesn’t make it so.’

  ‘True. But it gives us something to tell Superintendent Sunderland. Something he can ask the War Office about. He’s given us a story we can check. And he’s adorable. Dumb as a barrel of beets, but so sweet with it.’

  ‘Not sure being adorable is a defence allowed in law,’ said Dunn, ‘but I agree that he seems too easy-going to be nasty, and too dim to get away with nicking a bag of diamonds. And certainly no puzzle-solver. He’d never work out how to find the Lost Treasure of 1805.’

  ‘He doesn’t come across as a coward, either. I got the feeling he quite liked the army. He didn’t seem to have noticed the horror and the carnage – he just remembers being surrounded by pals. I think a deserter might have a bit more to say about the horrors of war.’

  ‘Too stupid to know how awful it was, you reckon?’ said Skins.

  ‘Maybe. Unless he’s a terrific actor, like I said the other day. But he’d have to be really terrific, like why-isn’t-this-guy-on-the-stage terrific.’

  ‘And Ernie?’ said Dunn. ‘What rules him out?’

  ‘He’s an engineer,’ she said. ‘His father wangled some sort of “war work” exemption for him.’

  ‘So he says,’ said Skins.

  ‘Sure,’ said Ellie with a tiny hint of exasperation. ‘But like I said, it’s something Sunderland can check. It shouldn’t be hard for him to track down records for Cashmore Engineering Limited with all his resources. He’s got the War Office behind him, after all.’

  ‘What’s he like?’ asked Dunn. ‘As a bloke.’

  ‘Nice enough. Funny how your impression of someone changes when you find out what they do for a living. I thought he was just another rich nincompoop, but then he told me he’s an engineer and suddenly I saw him in a different light. He doesn’t like cowards.’

  ‘He mentioned cowards?’

  ‘Or maybe I did. Either way, he
didn’t express any sympathy for them. And he was at pains to tell me all about his little brass badge.’

  ‘I remember those,’ said Skins. ‘Like a regimental badge, with a crown on top and everything. They said something like “On War Service” round the outside. Do you remember we saw that bloke in Lambeth that time, Bart? There was a bunch of old dears clustered round him, giving him what for.’

  ‘Blimey, yes,’ said Dunn. ‘“My Johnny’s up the Front and you’re swannin’ about buyin’ flowers for your fancy piece . . .” One of them was bashing him with her umbrella and he was scrabbling in his pocket trying to get his little badge out. “I’m on war work, you mad old bat,” he kept saying.’

  ‘That was it,’ said Skins. ‘It could get quite nasty once conscription started. If you wasn’t in uniform everyone wanted to know why.’

  ‘An easy lie to get caught in, though,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Assuming he really is Ernie Cashmore,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Edwin,’ said Skins. ‘But he’s right. The real Edwin Cashmore might have been on war work, but we’ve only got this bloke’s word for it that that’s who he really is.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Ellie. ‘But it’s a start.’

  ‘So who’s left?’ said Dunn.

  ‘Well, that’s A and E,’ she said, ‘so I guess we’ve got B, C, and D to go.’

  ‘We’ve already spoken to Danny,’ said Skins. ‘Remember?’

  ‘You’re right, sorry. Another nice guy.’

  ‘They’re all going to be “nice guys” around you, love.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Dunn. ‘There’s not many women in their world, are there? Then along comes a gorgeous American bird – they’re all going to turn on the charm, aren’t they?’

  ‘You make me sound like a turkey.’

  ‘You can be a chickadee or a bald eagle if you prefer, but it won’t change the fact that they’re all desperate to impress you.’

  ‘I guess,’ she said. ‘What did you make of Danny?’

  Dunn frowned. ‘Like we said the other night at the Coach and Horses – coward.’

  ‘When did we say that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Skins. ‘When did anyone say that?’