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

by T E Kinsey

  With tea finally served, and biscuits distributed, Sunderland returned to his desk and sat down behind it.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what can I do for you three? Do you have news?’

  ‘Of sorts,’ said Ellie. ‘We’ve been chatting to the Alphabet Gang. I’m not sure we can be too sure of very much of what we’ve learned, but we have some things for you to look into.’

  ‘That is good news,’ said Sunderland. ‘Good news indeed.’ He picked up his notebook and flipped to a new page, then dipped a pen in the inkwell and waited, smiling.

  ‘Well,’ began Ellie, opening her own pocket notebook. ‘There’s Alfie. Real name Cornelius Rawson . . .’

  Skins looked surprised.

  ‘I asked the nice Cuthbert on the front desk,’ she continued. ‘It turns out he’s a lovely fellow, deep down. He was just doing his job when he tried to turf me out on to the street. Very obliging, as it turns out. Well, he was after I slipped him a few shillings. Anyway, Alfie claims to have served in the First Battalion of the Essex Regiment. He was in Gallipoli, Egypt, then France, he said. Somehow he managed to get through the whole thing having never risen above the rank of first lieutenant, so that must be quite rare.’

  ‘Almost unheard of,’ said Skins. ‘They were handing out field promotions to officers like they’d won a load in the church raffle and didn’t know what to do with them.’

  ‘He is an idiot, though,’ said Dunn. ‘It’s not too surprising.’

  ‘I thought being an idiot was one of the main requirements for an officer. I mean—’

  Ellie cut him off. ‘So that should make him fairly easy to check. Then there’s Bertie. Real name James Albert. He was an officer in the Royal Tank Regiment.’ She described him briefly and went on to outline Skins’s reasons for thinking he was the genuine article, along with Puddle’s counterargument.

  ‘You’ve got other members of the band involved?’ said Sunderland.

  ‘We thought it best,’ she said. ‘They’re all keen to help. Then there’s Charlie. Real name Robert Chandler. We’ve not managed to corner him properly yet, but Alfie says he comes from money. Educated at Eton and Oxford, he thinks.’

  ‘That’s a start. War record?’

  ‘Not yet. But Alfie did say he’s a bit snooty. Looks down on the others, he said.’

  ‘So you think he’s the real thing?’

  ‘Well, if I were a farm labourer trying to pretend to be an officer and a gentleman, I’d be inclined to try to fit in as best I could,’ Ellie said. ‘Wouldn’t you? I’d not set myself apart.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Skins, ‘why not go the whole hog? Why not try to out-snoot all the other snooties with your supercharged snootiness?’

  ‘I’ll get someone to look in the War Office records for a Robert Chandler and see what we can find,’ said Sunderland.

  ‘Danny,’ said Ellie. ‘Real name Dudley Daniels. I’ve got a funny feeling about him. He’s a nice enough fellow, but he’s a bit cagey about his war record.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I talked about my own time in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry—’

  ‘Ah, you were a Fanny,’ said Sunderland. ‘Good for you. I had no idea.’

  Ellie glared at Skins, but he was innocently inspecting the ceiling.

  ‘But when I asked him about his own service,’ she continued, ‘he point-blank refused to answer. Said he doesn’t talk about it.’

  ‘A lot of chaps don’t,’ said Sunderland.

  ‘He wouldn’t talk to us about it, either,’ said Dunn. ‘But he did tell us he runs an art gallery.’

  ‘Does he, indeed? Did you get the name?’

  ‘’Fraid not. He mentioned that he specializes in the avant-garde, though. Claims to be a leading expert on Dadaism.’

  ‘Oh, that’s helpful. I shouldn’t imagine there are many of those. I wonder if Grant knew anything about art. It would be a great way to hide. And to explain his money – put a few fake art sales through the books to cover up the diamond sales.’

  ‘Never thought of that,’ said Dunn.

  ‘You’d be surprised what the underworld sorts get up to.’

  ‘And then there’s Ernie. Real name Edwin Cashmore. He claims to be the scion of Cashmore Engineering and spent the war making machinery for the munitions factories.’

  ‘Another easy one,’ said Sunderland. ‘You’ve done really rather well. Thank you. Is that all of them?’

  ‘That’s all the Alphabet Gang, yes,’ said Ellie.

  ‘There’s Millie,’ said Skins.

  ‘Millie?’ said Sunderland.

  ‘Millie Mitchell. Dance teacher. Charlie’s bird.’

  ‘She’s not terribly likely to be an army deserter called Arthur Grant, is she?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Skins. ‘She’s too tall for starters. Taller than all the blokes.’

  ‘Actually, that’s a point – how tall are these chaps?’

  ‘Five foot seven,’ said Skins and Dunn together.

  ‘Every one of them,’ added Dunn.

  ‘Typical,’ said Sunderland. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘That’s everything,’ said Ellie. ‘Well, apart from the hidden treasure.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I asked a Cuthbert about it. He was very cagey. Everyone is. But he did say I wasn’t the first to ask.’

  ‘And who was?’

  ‘Every single member of the Alphabet Gang.’

  The three men laughed.

  ‘I suppose you’d have opened with that if it had been one of them in particular,’ said Sunderland. ‘Still, it’s good to know it’s something they’re thinking about. Adds a little weight to the whole thing.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Ellie. ‘I was hoping he’d say, “Oh, yes, madam. Young Mr So-and-so has been asking about that, too.” Ah, well.’

  Sunderland smiled as he made a few last notes on his sheet of paper, and slid it carefully into one of the many files piled up on his desk. ‘I’m absolutely delighted with your efforts. Thank you so very much. This is all very useful.’

  ‘You’re quite welcome,’ said Skins. ‘Have you heard anything further about . . . you know, about Blanche?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t. Remind me who’s leading the investigation?’

  ‘Inspector Lavender,’ said Dunn.

  Sunderland groaned. ‘Oh lord.’

  ‘Is that bad?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘I should say so. The man’s an idiot.’

  It was raining again on Tuesday afternoon as Skins and Dunn wheeled the instrument cart through the streets of Soho towards Mayfair.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ said Skins.

  ‘What have I done now?’

  ‘You said the next time you suggested we push this thing to the club in the rain, I was to tell you you’re an idiot. Well, you’re an idiot.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think you might be right,’ said Dunn. ‘I honestly thought it was going to clear up before we could find a cab. And they get so bolshy about the gear. “I don’t know about that, mate. That ain’t never gonna fit in ’ere. What d’ya want all that tat for anyway? What is it? You nicked it?” I thought the rain would ease off and we’d have a lovely walk in the sunshine.’

  The most direct route would have taken them along Shaftesbury Avenue and Piccadilly, but with London’s traffic getting heavier by the day, they preferred to take the backstreets through Soho. The problem, of course, was that the backstreets were narrower and, in their own way, no less busy. They bustled with life as butchers, bakers, and at least one actual candlestick-maker plied their trade. Horse-drawn carts competed for road space with motor vans while handcarts zipped between them.

  There was a clap of thunder.

  ‘That’ll be the rain easing off then,’ said Skins.

  ‘I never said I was a meteorologist.’

  ‘A butcher?’

  ‘A what? Oh, a meat-eorologist. Nice one. Can we get anything out of a hefty doctor specializing in downstairs?’


  ‘A meaty urologist?’ said Skins. ‘Bit of a stretch, mate. But there might be something in “-ologists”. I’ll have a think.’

  The traffic ahead had slowed to a standstill. Skins looked round. The narrow road behind them was completely jammed, too.

  ‘Up on the pavement?’ said Dunn.

  Skins checked. ‘Chocka, mate. We’re stuck.’

  Dunn leaned forward to let the rain run off the brim of his hat. ‘What’s the hold-up?’

  Wearily, Skins clambered up on to the cart. ‘I don’t know why it’s always me who has to look.’

  ‘You’re small and nimble.’

  ‘Looks like a brewer’s dray down the end of the street lost its load. Barrels everywhere.’

  A portly man attempted to use the heavily laden sack truck he was pushing to shove Dunn out of his way.

  ‘Steady on, mate,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Get out of the bleedin’ way, then, why don’tcha?’ said the portly porter.

  ‘And where do you imagine I’m going to go?’

  ‘Out of my bleedin’ way, that’s where. I’ve got to deliver this lot. I’ve got a livin’ to make.’

  ‘We’ve all got a living to make. There’s been an accident at the end of the street. We’re all stuck till they’ve got it cleared up.’

  ‘Why don’t you get down there and help ’em, then? I’ve got to deliver this lot.’

  ‘Why don’t you—’

  ‘Everything all right down there, Barty?’ said Skins from his vantage point atop the cart.

  ‘This gentleman is just explaining that he’s got to deliver that lot and that he has a living to make,’ said Dunn.

  ‘We’ve all got a living to make.’

  ‘I told him that, but apparently his is more important. He wonders if we might go and help clear up so that he can more easily go about his business.’

  ‘Did you tell him to get stuffed?’

  ‘I was about to, but you interrupted.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

  ‘No, it’s all right, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Right pair of bleedin’ comedians, you two,’ said the porter.

  ‘Recognition at last,’ said Dunn. He doffed his hat, allowing more of the rain collecting in the brim to tip on to the man’s boots.

  The porter scowled and started trying to push his way towards the pavement.

  ‘I say. Steady on, old chap,’ said a lazy, upper-class drawl.

  ‘Get out of it,’ said the porter. ‘You want a smack in the chops?’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, you silly little man,’ said the drawl.

  Dunn was struggling to see who the owner of the drawl was. He sounded familiar. ‘Is that Charlie from the club?’

  Skins gave him a thumbs up. ‘Oi-oi, Charlie. Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘Skins?’ said Charlie. ‘What the devil are you doing up there?’

  ‘Keeping an eye on things. Barty’s down below.’

  Charlie looked round the porter. ‘Mr Dunn, too. How wonderful to see you both.’

  ‘You gonna get out of my bleedin’ way?’ said the porter. ‘Or am I gonna ’ave to give you a smack in the chops after all?’

  ‘This fellow seems to have a thing about smacking people in the chops. Is it something we should be concerned about?’ said Charlie.

  ‘He’s all talk as far as we can make out,’ said Skins. ‘Take no notice.’

  ‘I’ll show you who’s all talk,’ said the porter.

  He took his hands from the handles of the truck and put them up in a boxer’s stance. Charlie cocked his head and frowned. The porter took a swing but Charlie saw it coming and dodged aside. He saw the next one and dodged that, too. And the next.

  ‘Oi, Jack Dempsey,’ said Skins. ‘Give it a rest, mate. You’re never going to hit him. Just push your trolley over there and leave us alone before you get hurt.’

  ‘And which one of you’s gonna ’urt me?’ he growled.

  Skins shrugged. ‘There’s three of us, you idiot, we’d all join in. Seriously, mate – hop it.’

  The porter muttered something none of them could quite hear. It sounded as though it might be another threat, but after a moment he dropped his guard and took hold of his hand truck once more. He managed to push it past Charlie and further towards the side of the road.

  Skins climbed down and shook Charlie’s hand. ‘Nice to see you. You on your way to the club?’

  ‘I am, as a matter of fact, yes. Got one or two matters to address before this evening’s lesson. And you? I assumed from the pile of gubbins on your handcart there that you’d be heading in the same direction, but one never knows – you might have an afternoon . . . “gig”, do you call them?’

  ‘No, we thought we’d get there early,’ said Dunn. He indicated the crush. ‘That was the plan, anyway.’

  ‘“No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force”,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Does it not?’

  ‘Not according to some German fellow, at least. Von Something. But then they all are, aren’t they?’

  ‘They do seem to be.’

  Charlie looked up as though to indicate the rain. ‘Look, I’m awfully sorry and all that, but I really do need to see a man about an alpaca. I hate to leave you chaps standing here in the rain, and on any other day I’d be happy to help you with your traps, but I do rather need to press on.’

  ‘You go ahead,’ said Skins. ‘We’ll see you later.’

  ‘Look for me in the bar,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll stand you a warming toddy.’

  By the time they reached the club, Skins and Dunn were drenched, but Cuthbert at the porter’s desk had been briefed.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We’ve laid out dry clothes for you in the small committee room. Cuthbert will show you the way.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Skins.

  ‘Would Cuthbert be able to take our instruments to the ballroom for us?’ asked Dunn. ‘We’ve left them in the hall by the back door.’

  ‘I think Cuthbert is busy,’ said the porter. ‘But I can ask Cuthbert to do it for you. Or perhaps Cuthbert. Leave it with me.’

  Dunn shook his head and they followed the appointed Cuthbert to the small committee room.

  ‘Is he taking the mike?’ he said as they walked along.

  ‘I used to think so,’ said the young Cuthbert, ‘but all the older ones do it. After a while I started to reckon it actually makes sense to them. I’m not sure some of them even notice what they’re saying. They know which of us they’re talking about and it doesn’t occur to them that they’re using the same name every time.’

  ‘So what’s your real name, then?’

  ‘I’d honestly be more comfortable to remain as Cuthbert, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Fair enough. Is Mr Chandler here?’

  ‘Charlie, sir? In the bar. He asked if you’d meet him there when you’d dried off a bit.’

  They changed quickly – putting on the correct trousers – and returned through the increasingly familiar corridors to the club bar. They found the customary mix of young and old, active and dozing, chatting and reading. They also found a scene they previously thought had been a one-off. In the corner, in the company of Charlie and a man they presumed from their last encounter to be known as Whiffy, were two alpacas.

  Skins then noticed a club member he’d seen before. He was sitting on his own, so Skins approached and said, ‘What’s going on over there?’

  The man looked up from his copy of The Times. ‘They’re alpacas.’

  ‘I know,’ said Skins. ‘There was one in here the other week. But now there seem to be two.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. See what you mean. I think Whiffy is selling them to Charlie. Brought a load over from South America. Been over there mining. Or raising cattle. I forget which. Was going to put them out to graze on the country estate in Norfolk, but the gaffer says no, apparently. “I’m not having those fore
ign beasts on my land,” says Pa, so Whiffy has to get rid. Charlie’s taking them off his hands. Wanted to inspect a couple before he sealed the deal.’

  Skins leaped aside to avoid the croquet ball that was hurtling towards a hoop held up by two beer mugs under a nearby table. ‘And they decided to do that here?’

  ‘Commercial hubs, the gentlemen’s clubs,’ said the member. ‘All sorts of business being done in rooms like this all over London at this very moment.’ He folded his newspaper. ‘You’re those musician Johnnies, aren’t you?’

  Dunn had joined them. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Seen you at the Friday night dances. You’re really rather good, you know. Wish I were musical. Had piano lessons as a boy. Complete duffer.’

  ‘We’re glad you enjoy what we do,’ said Dunn. ‘It’s good to be appreciated.’

  ‘Rather. I say, we could do with more chaps like you in the club. Liven the place up a bit to have some actual real-life jazz musicians about the place. You thought about joining? I’d be happy to nominate you.’

  ‘Not sure I can afford the subs,’ said Dunn. ‘He might, though.’ He nodded towards Skins.

  ‘It’s a tempting offer,’ said Skins. ‘Let me think about it.’

  ‘Certainly, certainly,’ said the club member. ‘Didn’t mean to embarrass you. But if you ever fancy it, just say the word. Place needs shaking up a bit and you seem like the chaps to do it.’

  Skins smiled. ‘Right you are.’

  Charlie, his livestock transaction evidently completed, looked around the room. He saw Skins and Dunn, and sauntered over.

  ‘You made it,’ he said. ‘Sorry about dashing off like that and leaving you in the rain. Let me get you that drink I promised you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Skins. ‘And don’t worry about leaving us behind. It’s not like you lied to us, after all. You really did come to see a man about an alpaca.’

  Charlie laughed. ‘I really did. Charming creatures, aren’t they?’

  ‘Charming,’ said Dunn. ‘You might want to get a Cuthbert in to clear up after that one, though.’ He nodded towards a boyish group who had gathered round the alpacas, but who were now leaping out of the way to avoid being splashed.

  ‘Not my problem yet,’ laughed Charlie. ‘They’re not mine till I hand over the cash – Whiffy was very insistent on that – so he can deal with it.’