Henry said, “Is Price a member of the Blue Parrot?”
“Now, that’s funny, isn’t it?” said Emmy. She sipped her drink thoughtfully. “It didn’t strike me at the time. I mean, Barbara and I naturally welcomed old Pricey, and Barbara was just buying drinks and insisted on including him. And then the barman asked her if she’d sign him in, so he can’t have been a member. And yet how could he possibly have known we were there?”
“That’s one of the things I intend to find out very shortly,” said Henry. “Well, go on. What happened then?”
“Well, we had a drink and talked a bit. Then I said I ought to get home, and Barbara said she was damned if she was going to wait any longer for Vere. She offered me a lift home, but Pricey said he’d take me, as it was on his way.”
“From Mayfair to Edgware?”
“I never thought of that. Anyhow, I got into Pricey’s car, and off we went, heading west. Almost at once he began to explain that he was, in fact, on his way to a party in Jimmy Baggot’s house in Chiswick. He said that he hadn’t mentioned it earlier because he wasn’t keen on Barbara coming along, but he said he knew Jimmy rather especially wanted to see me, and—well—to cut it short, I said I’d go with him. I was feeling pretty battered after all that had happened, and I did think you were spending the night in the country.”
“I suppose it never occurred to you that you might be in danger.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Even after all my warnings?”
“Well, it was just a series of odd coincidences. First meeting Vere in the pub, and then Pricey turning up…”
“Very odd,” said Henry grimly. Then he smiled. “I begin to understand why you had such a reputation for innocence in the Air Force. I hadn’t noticed it before. I suppose on the whole it’s better than sharp-nosed suspicion, which is what I suffer from.”
“Don’t talk to me about being innocent,” said Emmy. She got up and lit a cigarette. “I’m getting to the difficult part now.”
“I know you are. Let’s have it.”
“Jimmy’s party was ghastly. Really horrible. Braying Oxford accents and smooth men on the make and screeching women calling each other darling and everybody half-tight—you know what I mean. The only person who seemed stone-cold sober was Jimmy himself. It was almost as though he’d been expecting to see me, waiting for me. He brought me a drink, and then said that he had a surprise for me, an old friend had turned up unexpectedly. He took me into a sort of study at the back of the house away from the din, and who should be there but Annie!”
“That is a surprise,” said Henry. “That completes the gathering of the vultures.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Never mind. What did Annie say?”
“Well, you know her. She didn’t waste any time on polite preliminaries. She told me she’d been in touch with Vere and that she knew that you’d been to Dymfield and found Beau. She also told me that she’d known all along that—that he was there, and that was why she’d tried to dissuade me from doing the book, even to the point of trying to frighten me by that silly suggestion that Beau might be alive. I said to her what I’d said to Vere—that I couldn’t see it made much difference whether Beau shot himself in an air-raid shelter or deliberately crashed a Typhoon. And then it started.”
Emmy paused, and took a deep breath. “You see, Henry, I left the Operations Room that afternoon. I wasn’t deliberately concealing it—I’d have told Lofty—but, well, I didn’t feel like mentioning it. Annie was also on duty at Dymfield, and it appears she knew I’d been out of the Operations Room for more than an hour. Apparently she’d been looking for me, on some technical thing, and when she couldn’t find me, she rang the Guardroom. The guard told her I’d gone past on my bicycle, heading for dispersal. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it seems that Pricey saw me cycling back to the Operations Room when he was on his own way back for dinner. Annie went off and fished poor little Pricey out of the party and made him confirm it. He was wretched and desperately apologetic, but he kept saying that he’d have to tell the truth if he were asked, and so he would, of course.”
“Even if you were out on the airfield,” said Henry, “it doesn’t prove that you saw Beau.”
“But I did. I wouldn’t deny it. In any case, Annie pointed out to me that there was solid proof of it.”
Henry sat up. “Proof? What proof?”
Instead of answering, Emmy got up and went over to the desk drawer. Again, she pulled out the photograph of the tennis team, and threw it over to Henry.
“There,” she said. “That’s the proof. I told Annie last week that I had this photograph with Beau’s signature on it. Tonight she pointed out to me that it had been passed for autographing from Lofty to her to Beau. She had signed it on the afternoon of October 13th, and it was in her pocket when she set out for duty that evening. She met Beau leaving the Operations Block—he’d just been saying good-bye to me at the Operations Room door, actually—and she gave him the photograph to sign and pass on to me. So you see, since I now have it…”
Henry looked down at the rectangle of paper, and at the young faces smiling out from it. All of them were now familiar to him. Annie, tall and gawky in those days; Lofty, smooth-faced and handsome; Emmy, as he remembered her from their first meeting; and Beau, black-haired Beau, with his burn-scarred face and lopsided grin. No, Beau was not familiar.
“I should have thrown it away years ago,” said Emmy. “But I didn’t—out of sheer sentimentality, I suppose. And now I’m stuck with it.”
“Don’t waste time on regretting what you might have done and didn’t,” said Henry. “Get on with the story. What happened next?”
“A Dymfield reunion,” said Emmy. She smiled, a little bitterly. “In Jimmy’s study. Annie and Pricey and Jimmy—and Sammy Smith was there, too, with his wife. I gather he hangs around Jimmy whenever he can these days. Anyhow, he was tight so he doesn’t really count. The general idea was that I was in an awkward spot, and that my old pals were rallying around to help me. What they really meant was that for various reasons none of them wanted the old scandal revivified, and they knew enough to make things pretty hot for me if I didn’t cooperate.”
“In what?”
“In getting you to suppress the fact that the body you found was Beau’s. I’m supposed to persuade you to pronounce that identification has not been possible and that the man must have been an air-raid victim.” Emmy passed a hand over her brow. “I don’t know what to do, Henry. I know that my being involved is going to make everything frightful for you. I wish to God I’d never gone to that awful reunion.”
“I told you to stop regretting things,” said Henry. “It doesn’t help. For a start, I may as well tell you that the identification is now official, and the matter is out of my hands.”
Emmy slumped into a chair. “That’s a relief,” she said. “I told them, of course, that I couldn’t do anything to hold up the ordinary legal procedures, and that was that. The party broke up after that. Annie and Pricey and the Smiths went home. Jimmy came out with me, and eventually we found a taxi—and here I am.” She ran a hand through her short, dark hair. “Goodness, I’m tired. Well, we shall just have to face the music of an old scandal; but, honestly, Henry, don’t you think they’re all making a ridiculous fuss? Who cares now about what happened to Beau Guest?”
Henry went over to Emmy and sat down on the floor at her feet. “Emmy, darling,” he said, “I’m afraid things are rather more serious than you think. Your dear friends—or one of them—is very dangerous. Have you forgotten what happened to Lofty?”
“Nothing’s been proved about Lofty yet,” said Emmy. “In any case Lofty led twenty colorful years of life after he left Dymfield. If he really was murdered, surely it was because of some much more recent trouble. You keep on about my being in danger, but just take this evening. Any of them could have murdered me if they’d wanted to, and all they did was to wine and dine me, and send me home i
n a cab. So…”
“Emmy,” said Henry, “I’m afraid you’ve got to face an unpleasant fact. You are being threatened with something much more subtle than physical violence.” He took her hand. “Now listen to me, darling. You know that I trust you and believe in you absolutely. Now, you’ve got to tell me the exact truth about everything that happened that night at Dymfield. How and where you saw him, and got the photograph. Because, you see, Beau didn’t commit suicide.”
Instinctively Emmy cried, “I always knew he didn’t!”
“What do you mean?”
“He was in such good spirits. He was looking forward to the flip… But if he didn’t, then…”
“Yes,” said Henry, “he was killed, either deliberately or by accident. You were presumably the last person to see him alive—except the killer. And your dear friends have made good and sure of the evidence against you. If I’m not very much mistaken, there was a tape recorder in James Baggot’s study. You walked right into the parlor, love. I shall now make you a cup of good strong coffee, and you will tell me the end of your story.”
“Move over, Blandish.”
“Oh, Annie! Is it four o’clock already?”
“Almost. I’ll take over.”
“I can stay on a bit longer. There’s nothing doing.”
“Orders, Section Officer Blandish. We can’t have you off duty at six, can we? I imagine you will want to be controlling Snowdrop Three-two? So you’d better have an hour or so off, and some tea.”
“Okay. Thanks, Annie. It’s all yours. Nothing exciting. A couple of patrols, but not ours. I’m just listening out.”
“There was a swarm of bombers on the table just now heading southeast.”
“Yes. They’re all away now. Wonder who’s getting it today? The Pas de Calais, I suppose. Poor devils.”
“Well, we won’t be here to see the bomber boys back. Sammy can have that pleasure.”
“Excuse me, ma’am—Miss Blandish…”
“Yes, Corporal? What is it?”
“Someone on the phone for you, ma’am.”
“Oh, thanks. Who is it, do you know?”
“He didn’t say, ma’am. It sounded like the Chief Controller, ma’am.”
“Beau. You shouldn’t ring me when I’m on duty.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. But Corporal Dale recognized your voice.”
“Hell, if I can’t ring my own Operations Room and speak to one of my own officers…”
“Oh, don’t be silly. You know what people are saying…”
“As far as I’m concerned, they can all go and…”
“Beau!”
“Sorry. But it makes me flaming mad. You’re the only friend I’ve got in this benighted place. If we were having a scorching love affair, it would be different…”
“If we were, we’d be terribly discreet, and nobody would have an inkling. Anyhow, what does it matter, if you’ve applied for posting…”
“That’s why I rang you. I’ve got that photograph for you. I’ve even signed it.”
“Oh, good. Will you have time to bring it along here?”
“No. You’ll have to come and get it.”
“But—you know I can’t. I’m on duty…”
“Annie’s on watch with you. You’re surely entitled to an hour off.”
“Yes, but you know very well we aren’t supposed to leave the…”
“Section Officer Blandish, you are going to get on your bicycle and come over here forthwith. If anyone tries to stop you, say that those are my orders.”
“But…”
“Blandish!”
“Oh, all right. Where are you phoning from?”
“The Guardroom. I’ll see you in the usual place in ten minutes.”
“But…”
“And wear your mac. It’s beginning to rain.”
“So you met him,” said Henry. “Where was ‘the usual place’?”
“The disused air-raid shelter, of course.”
“It was, was it? That makes everything much easier.”
“Does it really?”
“Of course it doesn’t. I was being heavily ironic. You often met him there, did you?”
“Yes. Quite often. Oh, I know it sounds terrible,” said Emmy. “Sordid and dreadful. It wasn’t. Please believe me. We only wanted to talk; he used to tell me all about Barbara, and how difficult she was, and ask my advice. He really did love her, you see. And we used to laugh about things and—that’s all. But we couldn’t meet openly, him being the Chief Controller and me very junior. It wouldn’t have done. In the summer we used to go for long walks together, leaving the station separately and meeting out in the country. It was while we were walking on the airfield one day that we came across the shelters. They hadn’t been used since the dive bombing in 1940. So we made that one our rendezvous for the winter. Beau even kept a bottle of whisky there, so that we could have a drink…”
“Innocent little Emmy,” said Henry.
“You don’t believe me,” said Emmy.
“I do,” said Henry seriously. “I know you, and I know that you have a wonderfully sure and quite irrational instinct for judging people. I’m beginning to like this man Guest, but I also know that you were both as stupid and vulnerable as innocent people always are. Darling, I believe you. But who else does?”
“All the Dymfield people,” Emmy began indignantly. Then she stopped.
“Yes,” said Henry. “A fine loyal bunch of pals they’ve turned out to be. Did any of them know about this secret meeting place?”
“Oh, no. At least, I hope not.”
“Well,” said Henry, “go on. What happened next?”
“Very little. I rode over on my bicycle, and went to the air-raid shelter. It was raining quite hard by then, and I was very cold and regretting that I’d ever come. Beau was there. He gave me the photograph. He seemed quite different from the way he’d been earlier—I mean, he was in high spirits, not a bit nervous or depressed…”
“Ah, Blandish. Good girl. Come in out of the rain. I won’t offer you a drink, because you’re on duty. Well, here’s your picture.”
“Thank you, Beau.”
“Don’t thank me, old thing. A pleasure. Now, you’re not to worry about this flip. It’s going to be all right. Don’t be alarmed if I’m not madly communicative over the radio telephone—I’ll have quite a bit to cope with up there. Then, tomorrow, Scotland and fishing. And after that, fresh woods and pastures new. Aha. You thought I was going to say ‘fresh fields,’ didn’t you? You can’t catch me like that, you horrid little pedant.”
“Beau, you’re not—you haven’t been drinking, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t. Don’t worry. And now, much as I love you, I’m going to return you to your duties. I have to see a man about a dog… Well, this is it, Blandish. Come and kiss me.”
“No…”
“Coward. You little coward, Blandish. What can it matter, just this once? After all, you’ll never see me again… There—that’s better. I’ve been wanting to do that for some time. Think of me now and then, won’t you? Oh, God, you’re not going to cry, are you?”
“No, of course I’m not.”
“Good. Well, off with you. Good-bye, Emmy.”
“Good-bye, Beau.”
“And that’s all,” said Emmy. “I swear it. I got on my bicycle and rode back to the Operations Room. I don’t remember seeing Pricey, but apparently he saw me. I went back on duty, and the rest you know.” Emmy was silent for several moments. Then she said, “I do seem to have made a bloody mess of things. I’m so sorry, darling.”
“He didn’t say who he was going to meet?”
“No. He just said ‘a man about a dog’—which might mean anything.”
For a little time Henry was silent. Then he said, “I begin to see a pattern, quite a definite pattern.” He looked at his watch. “It’s now half-past three,” he said, “and time for bed. Tomorrow, first thing, I intend to for
estall the opposition. You see, darling, we’ve got very little time. With you as the—the star witness, I couldn’t possibly stay on the case myself. If I can’t clear it up tomorrow or the next day, I’ll have to hand it over to someone else.”
“So what happens tomorrow?”
“First of all,” said Henry, “a second Dymfield reunion party.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HENRY TOOK EMMY with him to Scotland Yard the following morning. As they drove through the Chelsea traffic, he said suddenly, “I hope to God I don’t bungle this.”
“Of course you won’t.”
Henry changed gears with a touch of gloom. “It’s all very well for you to say that,” he said. “As though this were the last chapter of a murder mystery, where the brilliant detective reveals all and unmasks the criminal.”
“Well, isn’t it?”
“I’m only human,” said Henry. “I don’t know if I can pull it off. There may be something I’ve overlooked…”
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going to happen.”
“Even if I knew, I’d rather that you didn’t. It’ll be much easier for you to play it that way.”
At the entrance to the Yard, Henry and Emmy parted company. Henry went to his office, while Emmy was shown into a large, bleak room furnished only with chairs and a big, plain table. There was a murmur of conversation coming from inside the room, but it ceased abruptly as the uniformed Sergeant opened the door and ushered Emmy in.
At the far end of the room, three chairs had been drawn together into a conspiratorial cluster, and on them sat Vere Prendergast, Sammy Smith, and James Baggot. Their three heads were close together, and there was a distinct element of guilt in the way they drew apart as they saw Emmy.
“Good morning,” said Emmy.
Baggot was the first to pull himself together. He came over to Emmy, hands outstretched. “My dear Emmy,” he said, “what joy to see you. You can tell us what all this is about.”
Johnny Under Ground Page 20
