“Well?” Sir Hubert thundered. Her uncle may have been calm, but the peer had built up a significant head of steam.
“What the devil are you doing to catch this... this... this thief who is a menace to every decent man in this city?”
CHAPTER SIX
Caro looked out at the fog filled landscape. It was blurred and indistinct, made more so by the speed of the train as it chuffed towards the centre of the city.
Her eyes itched and ached through lack of sleep. When she blinked, her lids were heavy, yet she knew it was important to be here today. She felt it in her bones, an instinct she couldn’t describe to herself, let alone to the rest of her family, so she called on Margaret and convinced her friend she had an urgent need to do more Christmas shopping.
Margaret sat beside her with today’s paper in hand reading about the robbery that had taken the shine off the Gilfroy’s Christmas gala. Caro had already seen the story and it was surprisingly accurate – for The Argus. Even so, it didn’t quite capture what it was like to be there in person.
Uncle Walter had reacted not a jot to Sir Hubert’s angry invective. He continued to chew the stem of his pipe and look around the room.
When Sir Hubert’s storm of anger abated, Walter calmly asked a maid who hovered outside the door to prepare a new room for the master and mistress before he addressed the butler beside her, telling him to send one of the footmen down to the Yard.
With quiet authority, Walter ordered everyone from the room, but as she had passed, Caro felt his hand on her arm, so she stayed.
“Your thoughts?”
The question had surprised her. Walter Addison was a Detective Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard and he was asking her?
The surprise must have been evident on her face because he went on to explain. “Remember we spoke about the difference between seeing and observing? Now is the time to find how much you’ve learned. You were at the crime scene at the jewellery store at the Barrington Arcade. Tell me, what do you see now?”
Caro drew a deep breath and looked about once more. Uncle Walter withdrew his tobacco pouch from his dressing robe pocket and began to pack his pipe as she spoke.
“The room is in disarray and the safe is open. The picture which would have hidden the safe is on the floor and the frame is broken. Sir Hubert would need to give an itemised account, but I suspect more than just Catherine The Great’s diamonds are missing because there are empty jewellery trays scattered on the floor between the safe and the window, and...”
She turned to where the curtain flapped as if calling for attention and felt the cold wind on her face.
“...the window is broken.”
“Now tell me what you recall of the jewellery store robbery,” said Walter, returning the pouch to his pocket.
Caro thought hard, frowning as she tried to bring those details to mind.
“The workshop was neat a... and the jeweller said the safe was locked as usual when he came in. Nothing out of place. And only one piece of jewellery was missing.”
Walter nodded. “Conclusion?”
“This crime,” she said, glancing back across the disarray in the Gilfroy’s bedroom, “may not have been committed by The Phantom.”
The pipe went back into Uncle Walter’s mouth and he patted his chest, dipping his hand into his dressing robe breast pocket to pull out a box of matches. He lit his pipe and curls of blue smoke rose and were tugged away by the cold air swirling about the room.
“So what happens now?” she asked as the silence in the master bedroom stretched out.
“Well, unlike detective stories, the search for evidence is slow and painstaking. The boys will be around at first light to search for clues both in this room and in the grounds.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get some sleep, of course. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
The train carriage lurched. The view from the windows went black as it entered the Underground and slowed for its approach into the station.
“We’re not really going shopping, are we?”
Caro looked up to find Margaret folding the newspaper and putting it on the empty seat beside her. Her expression was a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
“Not entirely,” she confessed. “I’m going to see The Dark Duke and I needed someone to come with me. I was intending to ask after lunch if you would accompany me.”
Margaret folded her arms the same way she had folded the newspaper, slow and careful. Caro found herself holding her breath, waiting for her friend’s verdict.
“Before I make a decision, would you mind telling me why?”
***
The door closed behind them, shutting out the December wind and rain. It was eerily quiet in the Palladian.
“Please tell me Tobias Black knows we’re coming.”
Margaret’s voice echoed through the empty foyer which, in a few hours time, would be teeming with patrons. Caro decided not to reply; Margaret’s long-suffering sigh told her she had worked out the answer for herself.
“You don’t think he’s the—”
“Shhhh! Of course I don’t,” Caro continued, little above a whisper. “Well, maybe... I don’t know. All I know is it takes some pretty sneaky tricks to break into a jewellery store without leaving a clue.”
“But from what you told me of the Gilfroys, the bedroom was virtually ransacked.”
“But The Dark Duke was at the Gilfroy’s party. I just want to talk to him about his magic and see if I can – I don’t know, get some sense of what he’s really like.”
“Someone should knock some sense into you,” Margaret grumbled.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
“Oh no. Hare-brained this may be, but I’m not letting you go in alone.”
Caro reached for Margaret’s hands and squeezed them.
“You’re the very best friend a girl could have.”
The look Margaret gave her suggested that, at this moment, the compliment would not be reciprocated.
Caro approached the doors to the auditorium. They were heavy, much heavier than she’d imagined, and she could only open them wide enough to slip through sideways. The venue was in near darkness but for the footlights illuminating the stage floor.
Bang!
The sound of a door slamming somewhere off stage made Margaret jump. Caro’s heart pounded in her chest but she gathered her courage and walked down the left hand aisle. As she approached, there were more sounds from backstage – banging, hammering, the scrape of something heavy being moved across the floor.
There were voices here too, but muffled and indistinct.
She looked to Margaret who kept her reticule close to her side.
“Don’t look at me,” she told Caro, shaking her head. “This was your idea.”
Caro positioned herself at the bottom of the ten steps at the side of the stage that would take her up to the platform.
“Hello!” she called and was pleased to find her voice didn’t waver. The noise behind the thick claret-coloured curtain stopped for a moment and then continued unabated. With a quick glance back to Margaret, Caro started the climb.
The footlights were like little furnaces, they warmed her ankles as she passed.
“Hello?”
With more confidence than she felt, Caro moved to centre stage to where she imagined the curtain parting to be. Margaret, having followed her up the stairs, remained on the wing.
There were more sounds behind the curtain. Caro grabbed a fistful of it and tugged.
First came the sound of a deep clang from behind her, then, as she turned, the light of a thousand suns pinned her to the heavy drape. She could barely see the auditorium seating and raised a hand to her brow to block the glare.
Blinded by the spot lamp, Caro blinked rapidly and slipped through the gap in the curtain with a couple of stumbling steps before she was encircled in strong arms and hauled up against a hard, muscular body.
> “Watch your step there. The first is a big one.”
Still blinded by the spot lamp, she recognised the voice nonetheless.
It was Tobias Black, the Dark Duke himself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Caro’s vision began to clear. She took a deep breath and detected the tang of neroli and rosemary as well as bitter coffee about the man who held her.
She remained in his arms and stumbled after him for a couple of steps before he released her. The theatre curtains had been drawn wide open during her confusion and the entire stage was in view – including the equally wide open trap door she had missed by inches.
And five pairs of eyes looked at her. Six, if she included Margaret, who stood to one side ashen-faced. Beyond the trap door, a box like an upright casket painted in red and white stripes stood next to the group of surprised stage hands.
Black addressed the men.
“Back to work, everyone. We have a final show to put on and rehearsal is in two hours.”
Black was not dressed as he was last night. He wore only a shirt of soft cotton – Caro’s fingers could still recall the feel of it – and a pair of black trousers over boots. But it was his eyes she remembered most of all.
She was deciding what colour to call them, grey... no, that seemed too pedestrian. Pewter, perhaps? Then the eyes changed colour like quicksilver.
“Do I know you?”
She found herself without a voice for the moment.
“From the winter ball at the Gilfroy residence,” he said in answer to his own question. “Am I correct?”
Caro found her words and they tumbled out one after the other.
“That is correct, Mr Black. It is important I speak to you on a matter of some importance.”
One of the crew coughed and another shuffled his feet. Black stepped forward. He placed a hand on Caro’s shoulder.
“Shall we have this conversation somewhere more private, ladies?”
He walked to the back of the stage and swept through a black curtain. Caro and Margaret followed. Caro had never seen the backstage of a theatre before. Thick ropes tied to large cleats kept suspended scenery aloft. On the floor around them were tea chests, papier mache rocks, and thin sheets of wood on which was painted blue-green cresting waves, their tips painted white. A discarded sign on its side read:
The Tempest
William Shakespeare
New Season in the New Year
She and Margaret were directed to a disorderly collection of chairs huddled together in one corner. He sat down and gestured to them to sit on two chairs opposite him.
“So, what is this matter of some importance?” Black asked once they had settled. Caro was sure she heard amusement in the question.
“It has to do with your magic tricks, and particularly the disappearing act with the box.”
His amusement bloomed into a fully fledged smile. “My brother magicians would excoriate me if I revealed the secrets of my tricks. But I think you’ve gathered how the disappearing man illusion works.”
“The trap door in the floor of the stage.”
Black spread his arms wide as though she had applauded, instead of merely guessing the secret.
“But that’s not what you came to talk to me about is it... Miss Addison.”
Caro gasped, or it might have been Margaret, she couldn’t tell. She felt the heat rise up her face.
“I don’t believe I told you my name.”
“I don’t believe you did either. Someone pointed out Detective Chief Inspector Walter Addison from Scotland Yard to me last night and you were talking to him. The family resemblance is quite strong. Daughter?”
“Niece.”
“Ah.”
There was silence again for a moment in which Caro started to lose her nerve. She flicked her eyes to Margaret. There was no sign of nervousness in her, apart from her purse clutched tight, the silk of which was creased where she had dug her nails in.
It was only for a moment or two but it seemed like an eternity before the magician’s expression changed as though he had been struck by a great revelation.
“You think I’m The Phantom!”
Instead of being indignant, the man seemed delighted and Caro wasn’t sure which of the two reactions might have annoyed her more.
“I think no such thing!”
Yes, well, that was a lie and she crossed her fingers when she said it. Worse, she could tell by the expression on his handsome face that he knew she was lying too. His next question was serious.
“Then ask me your question. What do you want to know?”
Something happened in that moment. Something unexplained. Caro felt a quickening, a strange elation. She had to gather her thoughts before speaking.
“How does someone disappear into thin air? Assuming they don’t have a box and a hole in the stage floor,” she asked.
“I told you the truth last night, Miss Addison. All magic is illusion and misdirection, nothing more. There is nothing supernatural about it. The art of magic is knowing your audience, and knowing the reaction you want from them – surprise, joy, fear, amusement – all of which are in the power of the mind.”
Tobias pulled a pack of playing cards from his pocket and searched for one in particular. He found it. It was the Jack of Hearts and – without the hocus pocus of wiggling fingers and magic words – the card bent and danced all on its own.
“I want you to believe you can make a card dance, so I make it dance for you... with a little help.”
He turned the card over and with a thumbnail flicked a tab made of the same backing as the playing card. Even up close the addition was difficult to see. Tobias placed the card on his lap and pulled out a deck of cards. He flicked the edge of the deck of cards towards them. Each time the Queen of Hearts stood out.
“I want you to think I can read your mind, but in reality...”
Tobias split the deck and showed them the Queen of Hearts and then the other half of the deck. The card that had been just before the Queen of Hearts was fully a third shorter than the rest of the cards. He put the pack together and flicked through the deck once more.
“I make you see what you want to see. I suspect The Phantom does the same.”
“You mean his crime scenes are illusions?” Margaret asked. Tobias gave her a smile and Caro wished oddly that its brightness shone on her too.
“I think so. From what I read in the newspapers... no sign of entry or departure?” he asked. Caro confirmed it with a nod. “That tells me he’s creating an illusion of invulnerability. But it is an illusion. A trick. He wants to force the attention of the police away from something else – in the same way a magician will use a gesture or an action to distract you.
“Find out what that is then you will find his sleight of hand and that will be his vulnerability.”
Tobias stood.
“Now, if I’ve sated your curiosity, I’ll take my leave of you. My crew and I have our last show this evening.”
Caro rose and Margaret did also. Tobias took Margaret’s hand and bowed over it then released it. Then he took Caro’s and held it. Then his eyes held hers for a moment and he dropped a kiss on the back of her hand.
“I’m so glad it was you who paid me a visit... instead of a representative of Scotland Yard.”
“Not at all, Mr Black,” she replied, her voice a little huskier than usual, “you have been more than gracious with your time.
“Call me Tobias.”
He was flirting with her! Caro kept the smile to herself as he escorted them both to the entrance of the theatre.
“Just one more question, Mr Black,” Caro asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know how someone might dispose of a suite of diamonds would you?”
***
Caro watched Margaret wait more-or-less patiently until the waitress at the Tudor Inn had left the pot of tea and warm cinnamon buns before speaking. The little tea house was in the perfect location to see the front entrance of the Palladian and th
e laneway that led to the stage door.
Caro had chosen their table specifically to ensure a good view of both. But now she girded herself. Her friend did not look happy.
“Have you quite finished making a fool of yourself?”
Caro poured tea for both of them and used the action to let the sting from the words fade. “It was a legitimate line of enquiry.”
“For a policeman, Caro – not a young woman dabbling in law at college until she can find herself a man to marry.”
“I’m not dabbling. I’m taking this seriously. The game’s afoot.”
Margaret raised her tea cup to her lips, making sure Caro saw the roll of her eyes. A good sip of tea later, her friend shook her head.
“Then exactly what have you deduced, Miss Holmes?”
“That Mister Tobias Black knows more than he’s telling us.”
“Caro—” The warning was clear in the way Margaret drew out her name.
“In fact, he told us exactly how he did it.”
“Weren’t there lectures on the burden of proof?” exclaimed Margaret, clearly appalled. “You can’t go around accusing some poor man of being the most notorious jewel thief in London.”
“I know that! That’s why we’re waiting. We need proof.”
Margaret set down her cup. It clattered harshly on the saucer. “I don’t need proof. I’m here on false pretences, remember? I only came with you because you were too afraid to talk to him by yourself. I still have some Christmas shopping to do. Leave the poor man alone and let your Uncle deal with criminals – what?”
Caro blinked rapidly to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. There, emerging from the laneway looking very furtive indeed was Tobias Black.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Caro dropped coins on the table to pay for her tea.
“Where are you going? We have to catch the 3:55 and we haven’t been down the High Street yet.”
The Thief of Hearts Page 4
