‘I’m pretty sure that man, McKay, knows something, sir.’
‘And that girl, what’s-her-name, Roy — Sharon Roy. She must have had a reason for asking about the colour of the hair. There’s something fishy there. Why should the dead woman have been carrying McKay’s name in her pocket if she didn’t know him? Did you ask London to check up on him?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘That may give us a line. If she was strangled in the Dome Pavilion it would have been easy to dump her body over the pier, eh?’
‘There’s something in that, sir,’ agreed Soames.
‘There’s a man calling himself Howard Gilbert in that concert party,’ Halliday went on. ‘Big chap, singer or something. I’ve seen him before somewhere. It was nothing to do with the stage — something unpleasant. Find out all you can about him, too.’
‘Do you think he’s in it, sir?’
Halliday made an impatient gesture.
‘I don’t know who’s in it. I don’t even know what ‘it’ is. All I know at present is that an unknown woman has been murdered and that some of these concert-party people may know something about it. Only may. We don’t know that they do.’
‘Maybe we’ll know more when we hear from London, sir.’
‘What we want, Soames, is the woman’s identity,’ said Halliday. ‘Once we know who she was, we’ll probably know why she was killed and that should give us a direct line to the killer.’
‘In the meanwhile, sir, I’ll find out all I can about this man, Gilbert.’
‘Yes, do that. Howard Gilbert?’ The Superintendent rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m quite sure that that wasn’t his name when I met him before.’
*
Tony and Vera sat at the only available table in a small cafe off the front. All the rest were full and they had been lucky to secure this table. Already there was a queue outside the place.
A waitress who appeared to be suffering with a permanent cold in the head approached their table.
‘Wotcher want?’ she demanded with a sniff.
‘We’d like some tea, please,’ said Tony pleasantly.
‘The set tea’s three and six,’ said the waitress and sniffed again.
‘I only want tea, nothing to eat,’ said Vera. She looked a little pale and weary.
‘Just a pot of tea for two,’ said Tony.
The waitress sniffed.
‘We only do the set tea,’ she said.
‘All right, we’ll have the set tea whatever-it-is,’ agreed Tony.
‘Salad, bread and butter, scones and jam,’ said the waitress. ‘Cakes is extra.’
‘That’s a full meal,’ said Tony.
‘You wait till you see it,’ said the waitress disparagingly and sniffed twice. ‘The salad’s only two leaves of lettuce, a round of cucumber, an’ ’alf a tomato. The rest of it yer could swaller in two mouthfuls.’
‘I wonder people don’t complain,’ said Tony.
‘Complain?’ echoed the waitress scornfully. ‘What’s the use o’ complainin’? It’s either that or nothin’.’
She departed with a louder sniff than usual.
‘It’s funny what people will put up with when they’re on holiday,’ remarked Tony.
‘You wanted to talk about Hargreaves,’ said Vera curtly. ‘What about him?’
‘Who is he?’ asked Tony.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Vera.
He looked at her in surprise.
‘You don’t know...’ he began and she interrupted him.
‘It sounds absurd, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘But it’s the truth. I never saw him before — yesterday afternoon,’
‘What did he come for? Look here, Vera,’ he added as she frowned. ‘I don’t want to pry into your private affairs but there’s something pretty queer going on and it may lead to trouble...’
‘I know. I wish I’d had nothing to do with it.’
‘With what? Hargreaves and the packet?’
‘How did you know about that?’ she asked quickly,
‘Never mind now,’ he answered. ‘I’ll tell you presently. How did you get mixed up in it?’
‘It was the day we left London — or rather the day before. We finished rehearsal in the morning and after a sandwich and a cup of coffee at a snack bar, I went home to pack...’
‘’Ere yer are,’ broke in the waitress with a smile, banging a tray in front of them. ‘They give yer a jug of ’ot water but I wouldn’t use it, if I was you.’
‘Why not?’ asked Tony.
‘You’ll see when you pour the tea,’ said the waitress.
‘Are you as candid as this to all the customers?’ he inquired, laughing.
‘Why not?’ She gave a prodigious sniff. ‘I’m leavin’ termorrer!’
She picked up the now empty tray and went away.
‘That girl was right,’ said Vera, pouring out the tea. ‘I think they must have just added hot water to an old pot.’
‘It’ll be wet and warm,’ said Tony.
‘I’m afraid it’s not even very warm,’ she said.
‘Tell me some more about Hargreaves,’ said Tony, as he took the cup she handed to him. ‘You went home after rehearsal to pack. What happened then?’
‘I’d just reached the front door,’ she said, ‘and I was getting the key out of my bag when somebody called my name. There was a man on the other side of the road and he started to cross over towards me.’
‘Did you know him?’
She shook her head.
‘No, he was a stranger. I was a little bit startled but he was very polite. He apologised for bothering me and said that he understood I was going to Westpool.’
‘How did he know?’ asked Tony. ‘Did he tell you?’
Again she shook her head.
‘No. He must have found out somehow. Anyway he asked me if I’d like to earn ten pounds...’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that. He went to great lengths to assure me that it was all above board and quite simple. All he wanted me to do was to deliver a small packet to a friend of his. It was very valuable, he said, and he didn’t want to trust it to the post.’
‘What on earth made him pick on you?’ asked Tony.
‘That’s exactly what I wanted to know,’ she answered. ‘He was quite frank about it. He admitted that there were certain people who were interested in the contents of the packet. He felt that they might suspect any ordinary messenger. But as I had a legitimate reason for coming to Westpool there was a good chance that they’d never catch on to me. It seemed quite plausible at the time. I was to deliver the packet to a Mr. Wilson Hargreaves who was going to call for it at the Dome.’
‘And that’s all?’
She nodded.
‘That’s all. I suppose I was silly to agree but I’d been out of work for a long time and — well, ten pounds is ten pounds when you’re practically broke and it seemed a very simple thing to do.’
‘You must have thought it rather queer,’ said Tony.
‘I did,’ she answered candidly, ‘but I needed that money. It was a godsend.’
He took a sip of lukewarm tea.
‘What was this man like? Would you recognise him?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I think so — I’m sure I would. He was very polite but there was something frightening about him — really frightening.’
‘Do you mean his appearance?’
‘Partly. He was thin with a little dark moustache and a scar running down the side of his face. He wore large dark glasses so you couldn’t see the expression of his eyes. It was almost as though he was wearing a mask.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘But it was his voice that was really horrible...’
‘His voice?’
‘Yes. It was steely and cold and quite emotionless. The kind of voice you’d expect a snake to have if it could talk. He reminded me of a snake.’
Tony gave her a cigarette and took one himself.
‘Sounds an attractive customer,’ h
e commented. ‘So you brought the packet down with you to Westpool and Hargreaves called for it?’
‘Yes. So that I would know he was the right person, he was to say: ‘Beautiful weather but the nights are treacherous’ and I was to reply: ‘You can always stay indoors after sunset’. It was all right up to there. But when I went to get the packet for him at my digs, it had gone.’
‘I wonder,’ said Tony thoughtfully, ‘if the same person took it who took mine — the one that was thrown into our compartment on the train?’
‘That gave me a shock,’ said Vera. ‘I couldn’t understand it. I’d got an identical packet in my suitcase...’
‘It’s pretty obvious there are two packets,’ said Tony. ‘It’s a mix-up. Somebody’s got both of ’em — and it isn’t Hargreaves or Beatal...’
‘I was warned about him — a big, fat man...’
‘Who warned you? The man who gave you the packet?’
She nodded.
‘He said he might try and pass himself off as Hargreaves. That’s why he arranged the password.’
Tony wrinkled his forehead.
‘Why are these people all fighting to get hold of this thing?’ he muttered almost to himself. ‘Two little packets. What the dickens is so valuable about them. Did Jill Manners know?’
‘Jill Manners?’ Vera looked at him questioningly.
‘That girl on the train,’ he answered. ‘I wish I could get hold of her...’
‘But she’s dead.’
‘She was very much alive last night,’ declared Tony.
‘Did you see her?’ Vera leaned forward curiously.
‘Sharon did,’ he answered. ‘She was in the Dome — searching our dressing rooms...’
‘For the packet?’ asked Vera quickly.
‘I suppose so. Her packet — the one she thought I’d got. Hargreaves, Beatal and a man called Renton were there too. They each thought the other had got the packet. But somebody else has got ’em — somebody we don’t as yet know anything about.’
8
Three people sat in Simon Beatal’s private sitting room at the Majestic Hotel on the front at Westpool. The waiter had just brought in a tray of drinks and when he had set it down and gone, the fat man picked up a glass of brandy.
‘Let us drink to our new alliance, gentlemen,’ he said.
Hargreaves and Renton raised their glasses. They drank.
‘And no double-crossing,’ grunted Renton warningly.
‘Naturally, sir, naturally,’ said Simon Beatal. ‘That need not be considered among gentlemen. Here’s to a fair bargain, sir, and profits for all of us.’
He took a sip of brandy and smacked his lips appreciatively.
‘Don’t go too fast,’ said Hargreaves. ‘We’ve got to get that packet before there’s any question of profits.’
‘I am aware of that, sir,’ said the fat man. ‘It should not be beyond the capacity of our combined intelligence.’
‘You make it sound like a walkover,’ said Renton.
‘No, sir. Nothing worth having can be acquired without effort.’
‘Nor by drivelling platitudes,’ snapped Renton irritably.
‘We want to know who walked into that girl’s lodgings and stole the packet,’ said Hargreaves. ‘The rest is easy.’
‘Is it, sir?’ said Beatal. He laughed. ‘I wonder.’
Hargreaves gave him a sharp glance. ‘What are you getting at now?’ he demanded.
‘Should we be any nearer our goal, sir?’
‘Of course we should. If we knew who’d taken the packet...’
‘We could get it,’ finished Renton. ‘You’re talking nonsense, Beatal.’
‘I never talk nonsense, sir. You have informed me that the packet carried by Jill Manners was a dummy, designed to hoodwink any person who, like myself, was interested. I confess I was completely taken in...’
‘Come to the point,’ interrupted Renton rudely.
‘The point, sir, is this. Are you quite sure that the packet entrusted to Miss Lee was not in the same category, sir?’
‘That’s ridiculous...’ said Hargreaves.
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘The whole idea was to focus attention on Jill Manners while the Lee girl remained completely unsuspected...’
‘You are too trusting, sir.’ Simon Beatal laughed. ‘A bad fault, if I may say so. These elaborate precautions taken by your associate... A little too elaborate, sir.’ He laughed again.
‘Cut out the trimmings and speak plainly,’ broke in Renton.
‘I will, sir. If your associate, Mr. Granger, wished to — double-cross, was the expression you used, sir, I believe? If Mr. Granger wished to double-cross you, these arrangements would provide him with a wonderful opportunity, sir.’
Hargreaves uttered a sudden exclamation.
‘Are you suggesting that Granger kept the real packet?’ he exclaimed.
‘I suggest it as a possibility, sir,’ answered Simon Beatal. ‘He had already double-crossed Jill Manners. Is there any reason why he should not have extended the plan to embrace yourselves? Ostensibly Miss Lee is to deliver the packet to you. Very unfortunately — but extremely opportunely — the packet is stolen before it can reach your hands.’
‘You mean it was Granger who stole it?’ said Hargreaves.
‘Come, come, sir,’ said Simon Beatal impatiently. ‘Do I have to explain in words of one syllable? He can swear that the packet was given to Miss Lee...’
Renton uttered an oath.
‘If I thought the swine had done that I’d...’
‘Be quiet,’ snapped Hargreaves. ‘We’ve no proof that Beatal’s right. Granger was in London — I know that for a fact — I was talking to him on the phone just before I went to the Dome to see the Lee girl
‘He rang you up, sir?’ Simon Beatal laughed. ‘Naturally. He would not have attended to the matter himself, of course.
His object would be to appear entirely innocent. An alibi, sir.’
‘But,’ objected Hargreaves, ‘he wouldn’t have known that she’d leave the packet in her lodgings...’
‘His emissary could, sir. You may depend upon it that if she hadn’t left it in her lodgings another way would have been found...’
‘I’m going straight up to London,’ snarled Renton. ‘If there’s any truth in the idea of yours...’
‘Don’t be too impetuous, sir,’ remonstrated Beatal. ‘Would it not be, shall I say, more diplomatic, to get Mr. Granger to come to Westpool?’
He looked from one to the other and there was a world of meaning in his small black, beady eyes.
‘Yes,’ said Hargreaves softly. ‘Yes, I think perhaps it would.’
Simon Beatal laughed.
*
Beryl Cameron came in the stage door that evening early. Her usually pleasant face wore a worried frown. As she came level with Andy’s dressing room he came out quickly.
‘Andy...’ she began but he interrupted her.
‘I canna stop now,’ he said hastily, ‘I’m just going through to the box office.’
He moved away but she went after him.
‘Surely it can wait for a minute,’ she said, ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘About the show?’
‘Can’t you think of anything except the show? There are other things in life...’
‘Not in mine,’ he declared.
‘But there could be. Oh, Andy, don’t you feel that you’re missing something?’
‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘That’s why I’m going round to the box office. They were three and sixpence short on the matinée return.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about money...’
‘But ye should. It’s the stuff that pays your wages.’
‘You’re not getting any younger, Andy. Haven’t you ever thought of settling down?’
‘I’m always too busy settling up...’
She laid her hand on his arm.
‘Wouldn’t you like a nice cosy little flat somewh
ere? With someone to look after you. Doesn’t it sound attractive?’
‘Aye,’ he replied, ‘but who’s going to pay the rent?’
‘I’ve always thought that marriage should be on a fifty-fifty basis,’ she said.
‘Expenses are so high that ye canna get out under sixty-forty,’ said Andy. ‘That’s what I’m getting here and the beggars are trying to do me out of three and sixpence!’
He hurried away. There were tears in Beryl’s eyes as she, stared after him. Sharon came in quickly and found her still standing there looking rather disconsolate.
‘What’s the matter, Beryl?’ she asked.
‘I’ve just practically proposed to Andy,’ answered Beryl tearfully, ‘and all he can say is that he’s three and sixpence short on the matinée return.’
‘Men,’ said Sharon disgustedly ‘They all ought to be tied in a bunch and drowned from the end of the pier!’
‘Sharon,’ Tony came out of his dressing room. ‘I say, I want to talk to you...’
She eyed him coldly.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got to change,’ she said and turned away.
He stared at her.
‘I — I,’ he stammered slightly. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘There’s nothing the matter,’ she replied. ‘But I object to people who break appointments.’
‘Oh, my lord!’ He suddenly remembered that he had arranged to meet her for tea this afternoon. ‘I say, I’m awfully sorry...’
‘There’s no need to apologise,’ she said. ‘If you prefer to take Vera out to tea instead of me, I don’t mind. I do object to waiting about, that’s all.’
‘I only took her to tea because I wanted to find out about Hargreaves,’ he explained.
‘You don’t have to make excuses,’ she said icily and went into her dressing room, shutting the door almost in his face. He went back to his own room and began slowly to change.
Andy came in after a few minutes and found him sitting rather dejectedly staring at the floor.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘Ye look as if ye’d had something that’s disagreed with ye.’
‘I have,’ retorted Tony. ‘Tea!’
Andy looked at him keenly.
‘Tea?’ he repeated.
The Crimson Ramblers Page 6
