Design For Murder

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘Mr Wyatt!’ exclaimed the doctor, half rising to her feet. Wyatt put up a restraining hand.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed; this is only a supposition, Doctor Fraser.’

  Linder swung round.

  ‘It’s not the sort of supposition I care for!’ he snapped.

  ‘No?’ said Wyatt, with the merest lift of his eyebrows. ‘In that case, let’s just forget all about it. Unless you’d like me to mention the matter to Lathom.’

  ‘That’s up to you, Mr Wyatt,’ said Linder indifferently. ‘The fact remains that the perfume was stolen. If you care to pursue the matter further, I’m sure the doctor will be only too glad to help in any way.’

  He looked across at Doctor Fraser, who nodded her agreement.

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ smiled Wyatt, going over to the fireplace and flicking the ash from his cigarette.

  Then he turned and leaned against the mantelpiece as he asked:

  ‘By the way, Mr Linder, you don’t happen to know anyone named Royston, I suppose?’

  Linder repeated the name thoughtfully, then shook his head.

  ‘What about you, Doctor?’

  The doctor seemed to be equally positive.

  The front-door bell rang again, and Sally answered it, returning a few moments later. She went across to Wyatt and said in a low tone:

  ‘It’s Inspector Lathom. I put him in the dining-room.’

  ‘OK,’ replied Wyatt with a sigh of resignation. ‘Tell him I won’t be a minute.’

  Wyatt turned to find his callers already proposing to leave.

  He saw them to the door, and then went into the study, where Sally had turned on the electric fire, and was chatting with some effort to Inspector Lathom.

  Never very cheerful at the best of times, the Inspector’s features were more gloomy than ever. He had been none too keen on the idea of calling on Wyatt, but Perivale had insisted that the latest complication in the Rossiter affair needed the co-operative concentration of every available man.

  It did not take him long to enlighten Wyatt as to the reason for his visit. Another girl had disappeared. Her name was Marjorie Faber, and her father was head of a large firm of manufacturing chemists.

  Wyatt sat at his desk and jotted down one or two notes. He got the impression that Lathom was beginning to feel the strain of this case and had been under fire from his superiors, who were anxious to see results.

  ‘How did you know about this girl disappearing?’ Wyatt inquired.

  ‘Her father telephoned us about an hour ago, and Sir James and I saw him and he told us all he knew. The poor devil’s very upset – he practically worships his daughter.’

  ‘When did he last see her?’

  ‘Just before she went off to the Palais de Danse at Rammersford last night. Since then she’s completely vanished. She never went home, and this morning, by midday post, her father had a note from “Mr Rossiter” – exactly the same as Angus’. It just said: “Wait – Mr Rossiter”.’

  ‘H’m … looks pretty grim,’ mused Wyatt, scribbling a design on his blotter. ‘You say her father is well off?’

  ‘He’ll pay; no doubt about that, even if it takes his last penny. But we’ve got to find her, Mr Wyatt, if we have to put every man in the Force on the job and comb out every house in the country. If this goes on much longer, we shall be the laughing-stock of Europe.’

  The inspector’s face was drawn and there was a note of anxiety in his voice. Even Sally was inclined to feel a little sorry for him.

  ‘How much do you know about this girl?’ asked Wyatt.

  ‘Only what her father told us. She’s been expensively educated, but I got the impression that she’s inclined to be a bit flighty. Seems she went to the dance with a young man named Phil Dark. I managed to get him on the telephone, but he stuck to it that he had a bit of a tiff with the girl about half-way through the evening, and he went home by himself. He said he could prove all that, so I’m going to check up as soon as possible.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea what happened to Marjorie Faber after this fellow left her?’

  ‘That’s where we’re up against it. Of course, I haven’t had much time to look into it yet; I’ve got two men making inquiries at the Palais, but it isn’t easy to trace one girl in such a large crowd.’

  Wyatt sat back in his chair.

  ‘So now what?’ he asked.

  ‘Sir James wondered if you could come down to the Yard at once, Wyatt. He’s holding an urgent conference, and he wants to make a big push on the case right away … before Mr Faber gets a demand from “Mr Rossiter” if possible.’

  Wyatt looked across at Sally.

  ‘Can you amuse yourself for an hour?’ he asked.

  ‘Considering I’ve been amusing myself all day …’ she smiled. ‘Off you go, darling, and don’t be too late.’

  As they were going down in the lift, Wyatt said to Lathom in a casual tone:

  ‘By the way, Lathom, when you went to see Doctor Fraser a few days back, I suppose you didn’t get a chance to take a good look round her flat.’

  Lathom shook his head.

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, all I had time for was a quick peep into her bedroom. It was next door to the sitting-room the maid showed me into.’

  ‘What made you look in the bedroom?’

  ‘Well, in the first place, I didn’t know what it was; I simply opened the door to see, more out of curiosity than anything.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to notice a bottle of perfume on the dressing-table, I suppose?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ nodded Lathom. ‘I remember it had a vivid green label on it. I also noticed a comb, a hand mirror, a diamante clip, a pair of ear-rings and a powder bowl on the dressing-table, Mr Wyatt. I’ve got rather a knack of remembering these things. Why, is there anything wrong in that quarter?’

  ‘Nothing at all …’ murmured Wyatt blandly. ‘And I must say I envy you your powers of observation.’

  Sally went back to the lounge after switching off the electric fire in the dining-room, wondering how she could fill in the rest of the evening. There was a film at the Plaza she rather wanted to see, but she somehow didn’t feel like going by herself.

  She sat down at the piano and idly picked out a tune with one finger, reflecting that the flat suddenly seemed more empty than it had done for some time. On a sudden impulse she decided to go into the kitchen and try out a recipe she had just come across that afternoon in a new cookery book.

  She was just putting on an apron when the telephone rang, and on answering it she was delighted to hear the friendly voice of Janet Cape, an old colleague who had been on the office staff at the Yard before resigning to get married.

  ‘Why, Janet!’ exclaimed Sally. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I rang up the farm, and Fred gave me your number. Why ever didn’t you let me know before?’

  ‘It’s been such a rush, and Lionel is mixed up with a big case; we hardly get time to breathe. This is the first evening I’ve had free since we got here. Lionel’s gone off to the Yard again.’

  ‘Then why don’t you come over?’ replied Janet at once. ‘You can be here in half an hour.’

  Janet and her husband, a tea merchant, had a flat in Holland Park.

  Sally hesitated for a moment, then decided to accept. She might not get another opportunity of seeing Janet while she was in Town.

  When she had agreed, Janet added hurriedly:

  ‘Oh, I forgot … we’re going along to the Rammersford Palais after dinner. You’ll join us, of course. It’s only a small party.’

  ‘I haven’t an evening frock,’ began Sally doubtfully, but Janet waved this objection aside.

  ‘That doesn’t matter in the least. Nobody stands on ceremony at the Palais. They’re a lovely crowd there – and you’ll see Roy Antonio in person.’

  ‘You mean the man who croons on the wireless?’

  ‘Yes, he plays the trumpet, too.’

  ‘So
unds quite a character.’

  ‘He is. My cousin knew him when he was Georgie Royston from Clapham, only too glad to make ten bob a night at a village dance.’

  ‘Did you say Royston?’ queried Sally, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

  ‘That’s right – Georgie Royston. Of course, that’s kept very dark nowadays.’

  Janet chattered on merrily until Sally interrupted:

  ‘I must rush and change, darling – you can tell me all the news over dinner.’

  She replaced the receiver with a tiny sigh. Janet’s exuberance was sometimes a trifle overwhelming, particularly if you had not seen her for some time. Sally went to the bedroom and examined her somewhat limited wardrobe.

  Two hours later the party drove up to the Rammersford Palais. As they parked the cars Sally could hear the brassy blare of Frankie Wayne’s Wildcats, whose glossy pictures were displayed so effectively in the showcases in front of the dance hall.

  ‘That’s Roy Antonio,’ said Janet, as the first trumpet player came to the microphone to sing a vocal refrain. Sally looked at him closely as they danced past. He seemed to her to be a typical dance band boy: sunburnt complexion, neat little moustache, beady eyes and a flashing artificial grin. She thought it might be an idea to study him a little more closely, so at the end of the dance they found a table near the band and the men in the party went off to get some ices.

  After a little desultory conversation amongst themselves the band began the next number. Georgie Royston, alias Antonio, seemed to earn his money, for he either sang a vocal refrain or extracted strange and wonderful noises from his trumpet. He was obviously the band’s star performer. Sally was just deciding that it was almost impossible to judge a man’s character from the way he behaved when playing in a band when she suddenly caught sight of her husband talking to Sir James in a far corner of the room.

  With a brief apology to her companions, she skirted the crowded dance floor and made her way over to them. She was upon them before either had noticed her. When she touched her husband lightly on the arm, the look of amazement on his face when he swung round and saw her was, she felt, worth travelling much further than Rammersford to see.

  ‘Sally! What the devil are you doing here?’

  She laughed.

  ‘So this is where you great minds retire to hold your conferences, is it, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘By Jove, you gave us quite a start, Sally,’ said Sir James. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘And I certainly never dreamed I’d see you,’ said Sally. ‘What goes on?’

  ‘We’re down here with Lathom, trying to get an idea of the lie of the land. He’s busy checking up with one or two people who saw Marjorie Faber here last night.’

  ‘Isn’t he signalling to us – over yonder?’ asked Wyatt, indicating the gaunt figure of the inspector standing by a distant exit.

  ‘I’ll go,’ decided Perivale. ‘You stay here and just keep an eye on things in general.’

  As soon as he had gone, Wyatt turned to Sally.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here on your own, darling,’ he began, with a worried look. ‘There’s something fishy going on here and …’

  ‘I didn’t exactly come on my own,’ said Sally with some diffidence.

  ‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Wyatt, slightly taken aback. ‘Then who—’

  She drew him into a corner where they could not be overheard and spoke in a low and urgent tone.

  ‘Just after you left, Janet Cape ’phoned and told me she was coming here, with a party. She started talking about the band and suddenly came out with something terribly important. I simply had to come here so that I could try and check up on it.’

  ‘What is all this mystery?’ he demanded, somewhat puzzled.

  ‘Have you noticed that trumpet player in the band – the one who sings and all the girls gather round …?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Wyatt impatiently. ‘He’s Roy Antonio, supposed to be one of the highest paid musicians in the country … a very heavy gambler too, I believe …’

  ‘His name isn’t Antonio at all,’ interrupted Sally deliberately. ‘It’s Royston.’

  Wyatt caught his breath.

  ‘Are you sure of this?’

  ‘Absolutely. Janet’s cousin used to know him when he went by his real name. She can tell you all about him.’

  Wyatt stared thoughtfully across the crowded dance floor. The band finished a number and there was some applause.

  ‘Look,’ said Sally. ‘They’re just coming off the stand.’

  Wyatt followed her gaze as the band boys put down their instruments and came down the steps on to the floor. For once in a way the trumpet player seemed to have no time for his feminine admirers. A stocky little man in a neat grey lounge suit was waiting to speak to him. His back was to them and it was not until he swung half round in the course of an animated conversation that they recognized the familiar features of Sir Donald Angus.

  CHAPTER XI

  Exit Mr Luigi

  Wyatt took Sally by the elbow and piloted her to the nearest vacant table.

  ‘Stay here; I’ll be back,’ he promised, keeping his quarry in sight.

  He began moving around the floor, which was still very crowded, though it was only a small relief band playing at that moment. He suddenly felt a tug at his sleeve, and turned to find Sir James standing there.

  Perivale began telling him that he had just seen the manager of the Palais, who had promised his co-operation, then he broke off and gripped Wyatt’s arm.

  ‘Good lord! That’s Sir Donald Angus!’

  ‘That’s right, Sir James. I was just going over to him.’

  Perivale rubbed his chin, somewhat perplexed.

  ‘What on earth is he doing here?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a case of the wealthy man sampling the people’s pleasures … maybe!’ replied Wyatt humorously. At that moment Lathom came up to them, and addressed himself to his chief.

  ‘I don’t think there’s very much more we can do here, sir,’ he began briskly, then noticed that the other two were paying little attention. He followed their gaze and gave a low whistle.

  ‘Angus! What the devil’s he doing here?’

  ‘I was just on my way to ask him,’ replied Wyatt.

  ‘He’s talking to one of the band … now what could he possibly want with him?’

  ‘It’s a man named Roy Antonio,’ said Lathom shrewdly. ‘I’ve heard one or two things about him … I’ve a vague idea he’s got a police record … you don’t think he’s something to do with Marjorie Faber, do you, Wyatt?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he is,’ said Wyatt abruptly, rather to their surprise.

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Perivale curiously.

  ‘Because his name isn’t Roy Antonio at all – it’s Royston. And Royston is the man who had an appointment with Reed just before he was murdered.’

  Wyatt took the little black notebook from his pocket and showed them the entry.

  ‘Ten to one this fellow knows something about Marjorie Faber,’ decided Perivale briskly. ‘Get him up to the manager’s office, Lathom, as soon as he leaves Angus.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ nodded Lathom.

  They watched the two men still in close conversation for several minutes, always moving a little nearer and contriving to remain unobserved. Suddenly, they saw Angus swing on his heel and stride over to a small table under the balcony almost level with the platform. Royston gave a little shrug and moved across the floor to join a group of girls. Lathom went in that direction to await an opportune moment for conducting his man to the manager’s office.

  Wyatt and the Assistant Commissioner concentrated their attention on Angus, and as they drew nearer the table where he was just sitting down they could hear him quite plainly talking in an angry voice to a girl who sat with her back to them.

  ‘Nothing short of sheer, damnable impertinence!’ he was saying. ‘Why you should imagine that a man in my position
is going to tolerate …’

  He suddenly looked up and caught sight of Perivale, and his jaw dropped. The girl noticed his change of expression and turned round to see what caused it.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Beaumont,’ said Wyatt pleasantly.

  She replied to his greeting, but there was a sullen expression on her face.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Sir Donald,’ continued Wyatt. Angus scowled at him.

  ‘I hope you gentlemen will excuse us. I have just asked Miss Beaumont to dance.’ He rose and offered her his arm.

  ‘In that case,’ replied Wyatt evenly, ‘Sir James and I will sit down and wait till you’ve finished. We rather wanted to have a little chat with you.’

  ‘Now, look here, Wyatt,’ said Angus, the colour suffusing his thick neck, ‘if you’ll take my advice, you won’t interfere in matters that don’t concern you.’

  The girl laid a restraining hand upon her escort’s arm, but he shook it off impatiently.

  Wyatt was still smiling.

  ‘I haven’t the slightest wish to interfere in what doesn’t concern me, but I’m very interested in that young man you were just talking to. A Mr Antonio, isn’t he?’

  ‘Who the devil’s Antonio?’

  ‘You know quite well, Sir Donald,’ interposed Perivale. ‘He’s the fellow from the orchestra …’

  ‘Oh … I was just asking him if he had seen Miss Beaumont.’

  ‘Then he’s a friend of yours, Miss Beaumont?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ she replied, a shade too readily. ‘I just happen to know him by sight. He’s very popular here.’

  ‘Look here, Wyatt,’ broke in Angus again. ‘We don’t intend to stand here and be cross-questioned. Is there any reason why we shouldn’t come and dance at this place? For that matter, what law is there against my having a chat with one of the fellows in the band? It seems to me that you and Sir James should be able to employ your time more profitably than …’

  His voice trailed away as he was suddenly aware of Wyatt gazing intently at the lapels of his coat.

  ‘What the devil are you staring at?’ he demanded irritably.

  ‘I was just admiring your suit, Sir Donald,’ said Wyatt in a casual tone.