A Case of Blackmail in Belgravia (A Freddy Pilkington-Soames Adventure Book 1)

by Clara Benson

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘I put it behind the wardrobe,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Behind the wardrobe? That’s the first place they’ll look. You’d better give it to me.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘And you’ll throw it in the river for me, won’t you darling?’

  ‘I might if the police didn’t already know about it,’ said Freddy. ‘But it’s too late for that, I’m afraid. They do know about it, and if they never find it then you’ll all be under suspicion forever. It’s probably still got poison in it, and they’ll need it for evidence.’

  ‘Evidence of what?’ said Cynthia. ‘They still won’t know who put the poison in there. But if we get rid of it we can pretend the whole thing never happened. The police will never know, and we can all go on as we were before.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Freddy. ‘A man is dead. I know he was ghastly, but the police don’t care about that. They’re not just going to go away. They’ll keep on asking awkward questions until they find out who killed him, and at the moment I’m pretty certain they think it was you.’

  ‘But it wasn’t!’ exclaimed Cynthia, wide-eyed. ‘I promise you it wasn’t.’

  Freddy regarded his mother. In spite of his own misgivings and her idiotic behaviour, he found he believed her.

  ‘Then we need to let the police find out who really did do it,’ he said. ‘And they can’t do that without all the evidence.’

  ‘Oh, very well then,’ she said at last. ‘I suppose I’d better go and get it.’

  She turned and went upstairs, and returned a minute or two later with the article in question wrapped in a handkerchief.

  ‘I didn’t touch it,’ she said. ‘Finger-prints, you see.’

  ‘Then you showed some sense, at least,’ said Freddy. He held it in the handkerchief, being careful not to touch it himself, and examined it with interest. There was not much to see; it was a flask like any other, although clearly rather expensive.

  ‘Real silver,’ he said, observing the hall-mark.

  ‘Five pounds eighteen and six, it cost,’ said Cynthia in disgust. ‘Nancy sent Ann to Harrods for it. I don’t know what possessed her to spend so much. And she had his initials put on it, too.’

  ‘So I see,’ said Freddy, looking at the large N and M engraved with a flourish on the convex side of the flask. He gave it a little shake.

  ‘About a quarter full, I should say,’ he said. ‘How much brandy was in there to start with?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Cynthia. ‘Not terribly much, I imagine. The bottle was still nearly full after they’d finished decanting it. I don’t think Denis or Captain Atherton were particularly happy. I heard them muttering something together about its being a waste of good Cognac.’

  Freddy unscrewed the stopper, then approached his nose to the neck and sniffed gingerly.

  ‘Do be careful, darling,’ said Cynthia. ‘We don’t want you to drop dead too.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s possible to die from inhaling nicotine,’ said Freddy. ‘At least, I hope not.’

  ‘Can you smell anything?’ said Cynthia.

  ‘Only brandy. I won’t take a sip, though.’ He replaced the stopper and put the flask in his pocket, still wrapped in the handkerchief. ‘Now, all we have to do is think of a way to get it to the police.’

  ‘But how? We can’t simply hand it to them.’

  ‘No, the fact that you took it will look extremely suspicious. I’m certain they’re already looking for an excuse to arrest you. I shall have to think of something. Perhaps we can say he left it in the taxi.’

  ‘That’s no good,’ said Cynthia. ‘The police have already found it and searched it.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t search hard enough,’ said Freddy. ‘Now, listen. Is there anything you haven’t told me? I mean to say, you didn’t steal anything else, did you? I should hate to get you out of this fix, only for you to be arrested when they find out you took his cigarette-case and his watch, too.’

  ‘You talk as though I had a habit of scavenging from dead bodies,’ said Cynthia. ‘What on earth would I want with his cigarette-case? I have one of my own.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure there’s nothing else you haven’t mentioned?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Cynthia firmly.

  ‘Well, there’d better not be,’ said Freddy. ‘Because if I find out you’re hiding anything, I shall have no choice but to tell Father about what’s been going on.’

  ‘You’re an undutiful son,’ said Cynthia petulantly.

  ‘No, but look here—can’t you tell him yourself? I mean to say, he’s going to get an awful shock if the police do arrest you. Wouldn’t it be better to prepare him a little, perhaps?’

  ‘No!’ said Cynthia. ‘He wouldn’t be at all pleased. There’s no reason he should find out about any of this as long as we’re careful. He’s been nervous about all that sort of thing ever since the Gipsy’s Mile business, and he wasn’t any too happy when the police turned up the other day.’

  ‘I take it you haven’t told him about the blackmail, then?’

  ‘Goodness, no! He’d be terribly cross.’

  ‘You ought to, you know. If you don’t, you’re going to find yourself paying out even more money,’ said Freddy. ‘By the way—that’s another thing I wanted to speak to you about. I saw Weaver on Monday. Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Oh, Weaver!’ she said. ‘I’d completely forgotten about him. That beastly little man. I had a telephone-call from him the other day, to say that he wanted to speak to me about continuing the payments. He even had the cheek to demand I spread the word for him, and that I go to Caroline Terrace to pay him, to save him the trouble of coming to collect. Imagine that! He summoned me! It’s all most vexing—especially since I thought you were going to fix all that for me.’

  Freddy grimaced.

  ‘I did my best, but the evidence isn’t in the house,’ he said. ‘Weaver told me so.’

  ‘Bother,’ said Cynthia. ‘Can you find it?’

  ‘I’m doing what I can, but in the meantime I really think you ought to tell Father.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’ve kept it secret all this time. Think of what a waste of money it would be if I told him now.’

  Freddy had no reply to such an obstinate refusal to look at the facts logically.

  ‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘I’ve talked to Nancy, and she agrees it’s best not to say anything.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve talked to Nancy, have you?’ said Freddy. ‘What is it, a sort of blackmail victims’ trade union?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ she said. ‘We’re friends, that’s all. Friends talk to one another.’

  ‘What does she have to hide?’ said Freddy curiously. ‘I suppose you can’t tell me.’

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ said Cynthia. ‘Just a little matter of excessive high spirits. But she doesn’t want Mrs. Belcher to find out about it. Or Denis, for that matter.’

  ‘I believe you’re rather enjoying all this,’ said Freddy suddenly.

  ‘Of course I’m not enjoying it,’ said Cynthia. ‘But I refuse to take it too seriously, either. After all, nobody is really going to arrest any of us, are they? Our sort don’t get arrested. Why, we’re in the papers all the time. People want to know about our clothes, and our hair, and which parties we’ve been to, and which people we’ve spoken to. Nobody could possibly believe that any of us would murder someone. That’s not the sort of thing we do. It’s only common people who get arrested—you know, the sort who hit other people over the head and steal their money. We’re nothing like that, are we?’

  ‘I should agree with you if it weren’t for the fact that we both know at least two people who have been arrested for murder in the past,’ said Freddy. ‘If you’re relying on your family name and your reputation at the Clarion to save you, then you needn’t bother. The police are just as likely to suspect you as they are anyone else, and your importan
t connections won’t help you one bit if they decide you did it. They’ll hang you just as happily as they would the chap who hit the other chap over the head.’

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t say things like that,’ said Cynthia, wincing. ‘It all sounds terribly unpleasant.’

  ‘But it’s true, and the sooner you realize it the better. Now, listen: I shall do what I can to make sure the police never find out you took the flask, but you mustn’t say a word about it, or it’ll all have been for nothing.’

  ‘I shall be as silent as the grave,’ she promised.

  ‘Good. Now you have nothing to fear when they turn up here with a search warrant.’

  ‘They won’t do that, will they?’ she said in surprise.

  Freddy was about to reply when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Pilkington-Soames,’ said Inspector Entwistle, when Cynthia answered. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to search your house. I have here a warrant.’

  He stepped into the entrance-hall in the manner of one who was not about to be put off. Sergeant Bird and two other men followed, slightly more apologetically.

  ‘Goodness me!’ said Cynthia, taken aback. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re very welcome to look around, although I can’t think what you might be looking for.’

  ‘It’s the silver flask, isn’t it?’ said Freddy. ‘I told you they’d come and look for it. I only hope you haven’t shoved it behind the wardrobe, or something.’

  ‘Freddy!’ snapped Cynthia. ‘I don’t know where he gets his sense of humour from,’ she said, turning to the inspector. ‘It’s certainly not from me.’

  Entwistle smiled briefly, and started giving orders to the men. Freddy turned to Sergeant Bird.

  ‘Look here, sergeant,’ he said. ‘Are you quite sure the flask wasn’t in Ticky’s possession? What about the taxi?’

  ‘We searched the cab and it wasn’t there,’ said Bird.

  ‘It was a valuable thing, wasn’t it?’ said Freddy. ‘Silver. Something of a temptation to a taxi-driver, don’t you think?’

  ‘Are you suggesting he found it and kept it?’

  ‘Well, far be it from me to cast aspersions on the man’s character without any foundation for it, but it’s possible,’ said Freddy. He pretended to think. ‘I wonder, might I speak to him? I might be able to persuade him to confide in me, since I’m not a policeman.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Bird, after a moment’s reflection. ‘I reckon you’ll be wasting your time, though.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘This is the chap,’ he said. ‘He works around Holborn.’

  Freddy made a note.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘You’d be better off getting back to your own work,’ said Bird.

  ‘Oh, but this is much more interesting. And if something comes of it I shall have a scoop, and Mr. Bickerstaffe will shower me with praise and hold a dinner in my honour.’

  ‘Funny thing, this reporting business,’ said Bird.

  ‘Oh, it is,’ Freddy assured him. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’ he said to Cynthia, who was starting to fidget.

  ‘I think so, darling,’ she said. ‘You’d better go. I’ll speak to you later.’

  She opened the front door and ushered him out hurriedly, and he made his escape with the flask in his pocket.

  THE TAXI-DRIVER, a morose and taciturn man of fifty, was having a bite to eat at a slightly grubby establishment near Kingsway in between shifts, and glanced up without curiosity when a young man strolled in who appeared altogether too well looked-after to be frequenting that sort of place.

  ‘I’m looking for a Bert Evans,’ announced Freddy to the place at large.

  One or two voices directed him to the table in the corner, and he headed in the direction indicated.

  ‘Awfully sorry to bother you while you’re eating,’ he said, ‘but I’d like a word with you. You don’t mind if I sit?’ He did so without waiting for a reply, turned his head to right and left as though to be sure they could not be overheard, then leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘I’ve come to warn you that you may be in a spot of trouble.’

  ‘Trouble? What kind of trouble?’ said Bert, surprised.

  ‘I gather you had a visit from the police the other day,’ said Freddy.

  ‘What of it?’ said Bert.

  ‘I understand they were looking for something in particular. A silver flask.’

  ‘That’s what they said, and they looked and didn’t find it,’ said Bert. ‘I told them they wouldn’t.’

  ‘Did you? How did you know?’

  ‘’Cause the chap had it in ’is hand when he got out, didn’t he?’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Sure as I can be,’ said Bert.

  Freddy coughed delicately.

  ‘The thing is, I’m not sure the police believe you.’

  Bert squinted at him suspiciously.

  ‘What do you mean? And who are you to be telling me this?’

  Freddy produced his press card.

  ‘Pilkington-Soames of the Clarion,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, one of these reporter fellers, are you?’ said Bert, unimpressed.

  ‘Yes. I’m following the Maltravers case—the man who died, you know—and I’m afraid the police may be making rather a clumsy fist of it. I’m good pals with the sergeant who’s been assigned to the case—not a bad fellow, all told, but somewhat held back by his inspector, who’s a narrow-minded sort, and inclined to jump to conclusions. Now, I was speaking to the sergeant this morning, and he said it’s of vital importance that they find this flask, as they’re certain it contained the poison, but they’ve looked everywhere and haven’t found a trace of it. That’s when he mentioned you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. One doesn’t like to ruin a man’s dinner, but I think I ought to warn you that they suspect you of having filched the thing yourself.’

  ‘What?’ said Bert in alarm. ‘But I never. I’m an honest man, I am.’

  Freddy gave him a conspiratorial look.

  ‘Oh, we’re all honest up to a point,’ he said. ‘I mean to say, I’d never dream of breaking into someone’s house and stealing the Spode, but I shouldn’t like anyone to look too closely at my expense-account. And if I happened to find a ten shilling note lying on the ground, I can’t absolutely promise that I’d look for its owner. I expect you understand what I mean. Don’t people leave things lying around in your cab once in a while?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Bert. ‘But I always hand ’em in.’

  ‘What? Always?’ said Freddy. ‘Do you mean to say you’ve never kept the odd umbrella?’

  ‘Well—’ said Bert uncomfortably.

  ‘You see? And yet I’m quite sure you don’t consider yourself a thief.’

  ‘That’s ’cause I ain’t,’ said Bert, outraged. ‘I never took the flask.’

  ‘A pretty silver affair, it was,’ said Freddy, unperturbed. ‘It cost at least five pounds new, I understand. I don’t know how long they give you for that sort of thing these days. Six months, perhaps? I suppose you might get a sympathetic judge, but I shouldn’t like to rely on it.’

  ‘Here, now,’ said Bert, increasingly dismayed. ‘They can’t arrest me. They’ve no proof of anything.’

  ‘No, but they can make your life fairly difficult. I don’t suppose you relish the thought of the police hanging around the Public Carriage Office, asking awkward questions about your good character or otherwise.’

  ‘I’ve never had any trouble with the Office,’ said Bert. ‘And I don’t want any, either.’

  ‘Then perhaps you ought to make a clean breast of it,’ said Freddy. ‘Come, now, what did you do with it?’

  ‘Nothing, I tell you!’ exclaimed Bert. ‘The chap had it when he got into my cab, and he still had it when he got out as far as I know.’

  ‘As far as you know? Then you didn’t see him holding it
when he got out, as you said?’

  ‘I thought I did,’ said Bert. ‘But you’ve got me that muddled I don’t know what I saw now. All I know is that I didn’t take it.’

  ‘All right, then, if you didn’t take it, might he have left it in the taxi?’

  ‘But the police looked for it.’

  ‘There’s always the chance they missed it. They work in such a hurry that they can be a bit careless, you see. What if it’s still there?’

  ‘D’you think so?’ said Bert, with dawning hope.

  ‘Why don’t we go and have a look?’ said Freddy. ‘Let’s go now. They might turn up at any moment, and if they’re bent on arresting you then they won’t be interested in listening to you until you get to court, and you don’t want that.’

  Bert shoved a last forkful of food into his mouth and stood up.

  ‘We better had, then,’ he said. ‘Cab’s round the corner.’

  At the rank on Kingsway, a little cluster of boys gathered to watch the scene, and amused themselves with a series of impertinent comments at the sight of Bert, whose hind-quarters were the only thing visible, for his front half was inside the cab, rummaging about. At intervals, grimy old cushions and a variety of personal belongings were tossed out onto the pavement, eliciting many giggles and rude remarks. At last, Bert emerged and scratched his head.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  ‘Have you looked everywhere?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Short of taking the thing apart, yes, I have,’ said Bert.

  ‘I don’t suppose it got wedged on the running-board under the door,’ suggested Freddy.

  Bert shook his head.

  ‘No,’ continued Freddy, examining his hands. ‘It would be too ridiculous for it to be anywhere on the outside of the car. Although I have heard of things getting themselves trapped behind the spare wheel. It’s hardly worth looking, though. It certainly won’t be there.’

  Bert came around to the back of the car and peered down behind the spare wheel.

  ‘Oh!’ he said in surprise. ‘It’s here! I told you I didn’t take it.’