by Jack Murray
‘Yes, one other thing. There was an old guy, in his sixties or older. Came regularly. Always asked for her.’
‘Do you have his name?
The Italian confirmed what Hammett suspected anyway. He laughed dismissively, ‘No, but these men give a different name anyway.’
‘Sure,’ said Hammett nodding.
But the Italian wasn’t finished. ‘One other thing about him you should know.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He’s English.’
17
It was later in the evening when Algy returned to Bellavista. He wasn’t, it must be said, looking his usual dapper self. The tie was loosened; the evidence of the heat of the day, or more specifically, the Hall, was all too evident in the tell-tale stains underneath his arms. His face badly needed a shave. He ran a hand through hair that had not seen a comb for a few days also.
All things being said, there was a distinct lack of pippedness about Kit’s cousin that only a day spent on the wrong side of the law can set off. The sight of Kit and his fiancée, as well as Aunt Agatha, a favourite target for his repartee, did serve to pick the young man up and the smile returned to his features when he saw his cousin in the library.
‘Kit, my word, old man you’re a sight for sore eyes.’
Kit smiled and looked Algy up and down as they shook hands, ‘Same might be said for you.’
It was not in Algy’s nature to take offence at much of anything and this was greeted with loud laughter. He held his arms out wide and regarded his unkempt appearance with something approaching embarrassment and good humour.
‘You’re not wrong there,’ replied Algy before spying the disapproval on Aunt Agatha’s face. ‘My favourite aunt,’ he exclaimed.
‘Your only aunt,’ sniffed Agatha.
Algy strode over to Agatha and planted a kiss on her cheek, ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Moments later he noticed Mary. She was everything Kit had described her as being and a bit more besides. The blue eyes were clear and sparkled with an electricity that would have been intense had they not also radiated such obvious delight at the world around her. Algy glanced at Kit and noted the amused look on his cousin’s face as if he had anticipated the impact Mary would have. Every time.
‘Lady Mary,’ said Algy, bowing theatrically, ‘I am your servant for life.’
Her laugh felt like a splash of fresh water on a hot summer’s day. She held out her hand and Algy kissed it like a knight errant, with a flourish saved from caricature only by its evident sincerity.
‘Dear God,’ said Alastair shaking his head in horror, ‘The boy’s a fool.’
Algy glanced at his father affectionately, ‘So what have I missed?’ There was a moment’s embarrassed silence. Despite appearances, Algy was not a fool and he immediately gauged the situation. He nodded slowly, ‘I guess pops has told you?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Kit. ‘Can you tell us what’s happening? You’ve been to the police station.’
‘Hall of Justice,’ corrected Alastair.
‘The Hall,’ added Agatha in an American accent. This caused amazement on the face of Alastair and amusement on the faces of Mary and Kit.
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ exclaimed Alastair. Agatha merely shrugged and held up the book she had been reading before Algy’s arrival by way of explanation.
Algy sat on the other side of Mary and ran his hand through his already unruly hair. ‘I won’t tell you the whole story; it’s a mess. Dain was arrested two days ago but not charged. She was held last night in a police cell. Initially we didn’t take it seriously and we were somewhat, shall we say, scathing in our approach to answering questions. Of course, I don’t know what it’s like in England, but over here that’s like waving a red rag at a bull. Next thing we knew they’re telling us that Dain has to stay in the cell for the night and that they’re getting a warrant for her arrest.’
‘But why?’ pressed Kit.
Algy exhaled and pressed both his palms against his face for a moment. ‘Look, the thing about Dain is that she’s changed her name. I didn’t know this until she was arrested. She’s never talked about her past and I haven’t asked her. I love her; she loves me. That was enough. But her refusal to talk about her past, or at least her real name, means that the cops won’t discount her from the investigation. I said to her just tell them, but she refuses.’
Kit looked at Algy. His face betrayed the question that was now on everyone’s mind. Algy looked at Kit and said, ‘Look, I know this could mean a number of things like, she’s been married before, or may even be still married. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
This seemed to satisfy Kit, but he noticed Alastair, sitting facing him, rolling his eyes. He also saw an exchange of looks between him and Agatha. This confirmed his suspicion that the two of them had cooked up the plan involving Natalie.
Kit asked Algy, ‘But is she still in jail?’
‘No, Saul saw to that. It took a long time to track him down; otherwise, she’d have been out of the Hall with our cop friends getting a flea in their ear. He was staying up at Pebble Beach. We managed to track him down on the fifteenth hole. Anyway, he was at the police station within a couple of hours and he sprung her an hour or two later. I’ve been down at the Hall since they took her in.’
‘We’d noticed,’ said Alastair staring pointedly at his son. ‘And is Miss Collins joining us for dinner tonight?’
Algy shook his head. ‘No, she’s too shook up.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ said Mary. ‘A warm bath and an early night would be my prescription.’
Algy laughed, ‘That’s exactly what she’s doing. You’d make a swell nurse, Mary.’
‘She did once’ said Kit, looking at his fiancée.
‘I remember,’ smiled his cousin. ‘I’m glad you found her in the end.’
Outside in the corridor the telephone was ringing. They heard Ella-Mae answer the phone. Moments later she entered the room like a breeze in summer. She looked directly at Alastair. Kit’s uncle looked irritably back at his housekeeper but rose anyway, as ordered, apparently.
‘Excuse me, important business I’m sure, otherwise my housekeeper would never have dreamed of interrupting such an important family get together.’ He glared at Ella-Mae on his way past. She ignored him.
‘So, am I to take it that you still plan to proceed with the wedding, Algernon?’ This was Aunt Agatha at her sternest.
‘Of course, two days from now Dain Collins will be my wife. There’s no force on earth will stop this happening,’ replied Algy staunchly. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I think we can all agree on one thing, I need a bath.’
Kit and Mary laughed. Agatha raised her eyebrows and frowned. Algy passed his father on the way out of the room. Alastair sat down and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I must leave you for an hour. Something’s cropped up. Don’t worry,’ he reassured them when he saw the concerned looks on Kit’s and Mary’s faces, ‘It’s a small matter. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, I recommend a walk in the garden, Mary. You might even find a handsome young man to accompany you. The views, you may have noticed, are rather wonderful.’
‘I shall do so, Uncle Alastair,’ said Mary with a smile. She rose from her seat as did Kit and Alastair. She pecked her soon-to-be uncle on the cheek causing a blissful flush to the cheeks of the older man. She held out her arm to Kit, who gallantly took it and led her out through the French doors into the garden.
When they’d left, Agatha looked at Alastair, ‘Do you want me to come?’
‘No, best if you stay and keep your ears and eyes to the grindstone, so to speak. We don’t want to tip our hand.’
That was quite enough mixed metaphors for anyone, so Agatha merely nodded and watched Alastair exit the room from one door and her nephew and Mary from the garden doors. She rose immediately from her seat and went to the door Alastair had left by. She opened it enough to peek outside. She just managed to see Alastair place a hat on his
head and leave through the front door. Another check to see that the entrance hall was clear, and she was out of the library and climbing the stairs more rapidly than any septuagenarian had a right to. Reaching her bedroom, she found Natalie.
‘Ah, good. I was hoping I’d find you here.’
Natalie had unpacked the luggage and placed Agatha’s clothes on the bed for hanging in the wardrobes. She was holding a wedding gift in her hand. Agatha looked at the bright blue paper wrapping with some distaste.
‘What on earth?’
Natalie shrugged, ‘Lady Mary did not know either.’
‘Must be Christopher’s. No matter,’ responded Agatha. ‘Right, onto business. The young man has returned home. Now, I’m about to ask you do something which, God forgive me, you may not like. You do not have to do this.’
‘I’m happy to help, Madame.’
‘That’s the spirit. My nephew has gone to his room to take a bath. I think this is a wonderful opportunity for you to get lost, so to speak. His bedroom is the last on the right.’
Natalie smiled, curtsied for reasons that surpassed either her or Agatha’s understanding, and headed out of the room. As she left, Agatha gave her a brisk nod and said, ‘Thank you. You shall be well-rewarded.’
‘Merci, Madame.’
The corridor was empty. Natalie darted along to the last room as instructed by Agatha. A light knock at the door, just enough to ensure no court in the land could accuse her of breaking in, then…
She opened the door.
The room was empty. Then the realisation hit her: Algy was in the bathroom. In fact, she could hear noise from another room. Thinking quickly, she opened the door again and looked out into the corridor.
It was empty.
Across the corridor she could hear the sound of a bath filling up. Natalie Doutreligne was a young woman made of stern stuff. The prospect of seeing a man in a state of undress was neither new nor frightening. And she was being very well paid for what was, on the face of it, a task that had very much been her hobby since the age of eighteen. Ten years, and the random endowments of mother nature, had turned her from an amateur hobbyist into a highly skilled practitioner of affaires de coeur.
Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the bathroom.
Standing in front of her, in all his glory, albeit with the serendipitous good luck of a modesty-covering towel he had just lifted to dry his hands, was all six feet and one hundred and eighty pounds of Algernon Aston.
There was a shocked moment of silence. Well three moments, actually, as both sized each another up and decided that what they saw was very much to their liking. Algy looked at the beautiful young woman in the maid’s costume that was in no way ever meant to fit her. The black-brown hair, the olive skin and the dark quick-sand eyes were all perused, assimilated and committed to memory with an efficiency and a certitude that only the stronger sex can manage.
For Natalie, Algy’s white skin, which was not necessarily his most appealing feature nor a particular preference of the young Frenchwoman, was stretched tautly over a well-muscled body, which most certainly was.
And he was rich, apparently.
In those split seconds Natalie realised that this task could actually be considerably more enjoyable than the first few weeks had given her to suppose. Her early attempts at attracting the attention of the old lady’s other nephew had fallen sadly, short.
Natalie reacted first, courtesy of greater training in these delicate situations. She immediately averted her eyes and uttered, ‘Je m’excuse, monsieur.’
Hearing the French accent was, perhaps, the last piece of excitement that Algy needed at that moment. Out of the corner of her eye Natalie could see that Algy was, quite literally in the horns of a dilemma. Thinking quickly, she put her hand to her forehead, palm facing outward, and pretended to faint. She fell backward, hoping for the best.
Algernon Carlos Aston was the son of a gentleman. As such, he needed no second invitation to come to the rescue of a young damsel whose purity and modesty had been so traumatised by the sight of a partially clothed man. In fact, reaching to save the young lady meant his exposure was now complete, a consequence of the towel, he had previously gripped for dear life, falling to his feet as he prevented said damsel from hitting the floor, with a thud.
At such moments, in the very lowest forms of theatrical entertainment, the actors in the scene will be greeted by the inconvenient arrival of someone new. Real life was about to prove every bit as farcical for young Algy. Ella-Mae arrived, as noiselessly as ever, just in time to see a sight she had not seen in around twenty-seven years: the unclothed appearance of her master’s son.
‘This isn’t how it seems, Ella-Mae,’ said Algy cradling the groaning young French woman.
Sadly, the evidence that everything was exactly as it seemed was, to Ella-Mae’s startled eyes, considerable although not, paradoxically, incompatible with the impression that young Algy had certainly grown up a fine figure of a man.
-
Kit and Mary walked hand in hand towards the end of the garden. It was late afternoon, and the sky was a livid blue, cloudless, empty of anything except a single bird swooping and climbing with abandon. Across the bay, yachts skimmed and twisted and fluttered like butterflies unable to decide which leaf to land on.
‘Uncle Alastair and Aunt Christina used to sit here,’ said Kit pointing at the wooden bench which overlooked the bay from the end of the garden.
‘I can see why. It’s so peaceful.’
‘Yes,’ said Kit sitting down. He looked at Mary, ‘Not wishing to break into your sense of wonderment of the view, but what do you think of Algy?’
Mary grinned, ‘I like him. He’s seems to me every bit as honest, guileless and big-hearted as you suggested.’
Kit nodded in agreement. This was as good a summary as any.
‘Did you see Uncle Alastair and Aunt Agatha? The looks?’ asked Mary.
‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ agreed Kit. ‘Yes, they’re cooking up something alright.’ Kit was silent for a moment before adding, ‘I think I understand their concerns better now.’
Mary frowned a little, which both attracted Kit and worried him in equal measure.
‘I don’t think we should be rushing to judge her, Kit. She may have good reasons for not discussing her past. I can think of a few. It certainly doesn’t mean she’s some sort of fallen woman. Not that I can believe we are even considering such ideas in 1920.’
Kit looked at Mary. Her tone had not been harsh. Instead she was clearly torn between a natural feeling of sisterhood and the adverse evidence. Kit felt emboldened to continue.
‘True, I want to believe she’s the one for Algy, notwithstanding his past record in these matters. But it’s still an issue. It can’t be ignored. It wouldn’t be fair on Algy. I think you accept this also but, as ever, I love that you want to support her too.’
Mary’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Kit and then she looked out towards the bay. He saw a smile gradually appear on her lips and she turned to him again.
‘I seem to remember a young man who had not one but three names, none of them his. I still fell in love with him before I found out who he was. I believe he also entertained similar feelings towards a young lady who, it transpired, was being less than honest about her name.’
‘The folly of youth,’ laughed Kit. ‘Now, can we return to your strikingly open-minded views on the topic of fallen women.’
‘You’ll find my views very open-minded, Lord Aston,’ smiled Mary, putting her arms around his neck.
18
Outside the apartment of Dain Collins were two men Hammett recognised. One was a Pinkerton operative, a new guy whose name he couldn’t remember. The other was the kid, Will Cookson. The new guy was clearly a little bit smarter than either he or Cowan as he was sitting well out of sight of the kid. For the moment, one watcher was unaware he was being watched.
Hammett parked one block up from the apartment and walke
d towards the new operative. He was sitting on a park bench, wearing sunglasses and holding a walking stick in front of him. Hammett knelt down behind the bench and said, ‘It’s me, don’t turn around. You see the kid over by the tree?’
The Pinkerton man nodded curtly.
‘That’s William Cookson. He’s a thug connected to those watching the Collins woman. Keep an eye on him. He’s dangerous; might have been the one that popped Cowan.’
Another curt nod. Garrulous, thought Hammett.
A few moments later a taxicab drew up outside the apartment building. Hammett tensed, unsure if he should get to his car or wait and risk attracting the attention of their friend in the ill-fitting suit or stay and see what happened. Inside the cab was a man. It was difficult to see his face and he was wearing a hat. He did not look young. Then Dain Collins appeared in the lobby of the building. She rushed out the door and climbed into the cab. It sped around the corner, stopping just long enough to pick up William Cookson. Then they were gone.
Both Pinkerton men gave vent to an impressive array of swearing that caused one old woman walking her dog to look venomously at both of them. They apologised. Hammett ordered the other operative to stay in position. Meanwhile he returned to his car and set off for the Hall of Justice. Inside the car he punched the steering wheel in frustration. Amateur. Geauque would blow a gasket. And he would be right to, also. Amateur night.
After a short journey, Hammett arrived at the Hall and made his way up to the detective bureau where Mulroney’s office was located. He entered without knocking.
‘Come in,’ said Mulroney sardonically.
‘I’ve just seen Dain Collins leave in a taxi with an old man. What happened?’
‘Saul Finkelstein happened,’ explained Mulroney. He stubbed out his cigar which had long since gone cold and looked at the private eye. ‘What do you know?’
Hammett told him about the car picking up Dain Collins as well as William Cookson. He also told Mulroney about the connection with Lehane’s near Redwood City. Mulroney whistled when he heard the name.
