The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4)

by Benson, Clara

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly. Something about how she was leaving because she had found better prospects somewhere else, and she was going after them. Then she wished me luck and all that and said she hoped we’d meet again some day. She left a week’s rent in advance, too, which I must say was only fair on her part, as I had to find someone else in a hurry. She wasn’t one to leave you in a hole, I’ll say that for her.’

  ‘She’d found better prospects and was going after them,’ repeated Angela thoughtfully. ‘Rather an odd way of putting it, don’t you think? Are you sure that’s what she said?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  ‘You don’t still have the note, I suppose?’

  ‘No,’ said Geraldine. ‘I threw it away.’

  ‘Have you any idea what she meant by “better prospects”’?

  Geraldine shrugged.

  ‘I thought she probably meant a new job that paid better,’ she said. ‘Oh,’ she went on suddenly. ‘I’ve just remembered. There was a man.’

  Angela looked up.

  ‘He came a day or two after she left, asking after her.’

  ‘Came where? To the club?’

  ‘To our digs. But I think he’d been asking at the club first and someone had given him our address.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’ said Angela.

  ‘I think he did,’ said Geraldine, ‘but I can’t remember what it was.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Very dark. Young, I think. Foreign-looking. He wanted to know where she’d gone, and he seemed pretty upset when I said I didn’t know. He said he’d been looking for her for ages—said he’d spent weeks asking around all the night-clubs, and was I sure? Well, of course, even if I had known where she’d gone I wouldn’t just have told him like that, but I really didn’t know where she was, so I said so. He said he needed to find her urgently, and if I heard from her to say that he’d been looking for her.’

  ‘Did he leave an address?’ said Angela, wondering who the young man could have been.

  ‘Yes, I think he did as a matter of fact,’ said Geraldine. ‘I can have a look for it if you like. My digs are just round the corner.’

  Angela assented and paid for the coffee, and they went out. Geraldine’s lodgings were in a dingy side-street not far from the Copernicus Club itself. They climbed a grimy staircase up several floors until they reached the attic.

  ‘This is it,’ said Geraldine, taking out a key. Angela followed her in and gazed about her, marvelling that anybody could live in such a small space. The room was tiny, and was furnished with nothing but a worn rug, two beds and a little chest of drawers. Someone had rigged up a rail between the drawers and the window as a kind of wardrobe, and it was draped with all manner of cheap shiny satin frocks, fripperies, stockings and boas. The place was a mess, strewn with articles of clothing, magazines, cigarette-packets and shoes. Angela noticed a little spirit-stove on the floor in the corner, next to which stood a cup of some unidentifiable liquid that had been allowed to go cold. There was a cigarette-end floating in the cup.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ said Geraldine. ‘I’m not exactly the tidiest of people.’ She went on with some humour, ‘Now you know why it took a while for me to notice that Lita had gone.’

  ‘Is all this yours?’

  ‘Most of it. I told the new girl she’d have to put up with it if she wanted to move in. She doesn’t seem to mind, although she’s a tidy one herself. Lita liked things neat and tidy, too.’

  ‘Did she leave anything?’ asked Angela.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Geraldine. She was rummaging among her things with a frown. ‘Now where on earth did I put it?’ she said.

  After some difficulty she finally unearthed a folded scrap of paper from the pocket of a skirt which had been kicked under the bed. Angela took it and read it. It bore the name ‘Lew,’ together with the address of a guest-house in Pentonville Road.

  ‘Do you mind if I give this to the police?’ she said.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Geraldine. ‘But don’t send them round here because I won’t tell them anything. Mr. Chang has put his foot down and I want to keep my job.’

  ‘Oh, is the club staying open, then?’ said Angela. ‘I heard that Mrs. Chang was given three months in prison after the latest raid.’

  Geraldine laughed shortly.

  ‘Yes, she was. I’ll bet she didn’t bank on that! But her son will keep running it and she’ll be back. They’re not too bad, those two, provided you don’t cross them.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ said Angela, taking out a card, ‘and thank you. You’ve been very helpful. You will tell me if you hear from this man again, won’t you? Here’s my address, or you can reach me through Alvie, if you prefer.’

  ‘I hope you find whoever did it,’ said Geraldine. ‘It’s not right, what happened to her.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Angela. ‘It’s not.’

  She left Geraldine standing thoughtfully among her jumbled possessions and returned to the street. William and Alvie were standing by the Bentley, laughing. William was holding something that Angela recognized immediately.

  ‘My coat!’ she exclaimed. ‘And my hat! Why, thank you, William.’

  ‘Thank Alvie,’ said William. ‘He fetched them.’

  Alvie waved away her thanks and opened the car door for her.

  ‘Back home now, ma’am?’ said William.

  Angela nodded and thanked Alvie once again, and they departed. As they drove through the busy streets, Angela thought about what she had learned from Geraldine. She was curious about the expression Lita had used in her goodbye note: what exactly had she meant by going after her prospects? It seemed an odd way of putting things if she were merely referring to a new job. And who was this Lew who had wanted to find her? Had he succeeded and then killed her? It was all most mysterious.

  ‘At any rate, I have some evidence to give to Inspector Jameson,’ she said to herself. ‘Now I suppose I must withdraw gracefully and let him and Sergeant Willis do their jobs without any more interference from me.’

  She felt a momentary twinge of regret, then shook it off and turned her attention to a prospective visit to the theatre that evening.

  SIXTEEN

  Inspector Jameson was most surprised when he heard about Angela’s experiences at the Copernicus Club, but his astonishment soon turned to keen interest when she told him about her conversation with the girl Geraldine.

  ‘So Lita de Marquez was her name,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Spanish, was she?’

  ‘Not according to her friend,’ said Angela. ‘Geraldine was certain she was English, and that her real name was something quite different.’

  ‘Still, though, it’s a start. And now we have a man in the picture, too. That is most interesting. We shall go to this hotel immediately and see what we can dig up about him. Now I suppose I ought to tell you off for interfering with the police in the execution of their duty, but of course I shan’t. It would have been much more difficult for us to get the information out of any of them, given the edict they received from on high, so I shall thank you instead.’

  ‘I gather Mrs. Chang is in prison at present. How is she?’

  ‘Most indignant, from what I hear. I think she had started to consider herself to be above the law, but you know the Home Office is getting much more strict about that sort of thing nowadays. I fear she may not find it so easy to continue her business in future. Anyway, thank you again for all your help, Mrs. Marchmont. We shall go and pay a visit to this guest-house today.’

  Angela hesitated.

  ‘Would it be too much to ask that you let me know what you find out? I must confess to a terrible curiosity about the whole thing.’

  ‘I shall if I can, certainly,’ said Jameson, ‘although it depends on what we discover. I mustn’t prejudice the case, you know.’

  ‘Of course, I quite understand,’ said Angela, and with that she had to be conte
nt.

  Fortunately for the relief of her curiosity, Inspector Jameson was able to inform her very soon of the results of his inquiry. He called her the very next day, but as might have been expected, he did not have much to report. The mysterious Lew had indeed stayed at the guest-house for several days, but had left the hotel a week or two earlier without mentioning where he was going. In fact, the staff had had difficulty in remembering him at all. This was not surprising: it was quite a large hotel, accustomed to receiving all manner of guests, from commercial travellers to foreign tourists, and Lew had not been one of their regular visitors, so nobody had paid much attention to him.

  ‘Did you look at the register?’ said Angela.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Jameson, but that was no go, as his signature was completely illegible. His surname might have begun with an M or an N, or even an H.

  ‘Do you think he might be the man you are looking for?’ said Angela.

  ‘Well, he’s the only man we’ve found so far who is known to have had a connection with her, apart from the people at the club, of course. That reminds me, we must make some discreet inquiries there. With Mrs. Chang out of the way at present, the staff may be more likely to talk. As for this other chap, I think we shall have to put an advertisement in the newspapers, asking for a man named Lew who was looking for a Lita de Marquez. The girl said Lita was English, you say? It’s a pity we can’t find out what her real name was.’

  ‘Perhaps this Lew will know,’ said Angela.

  ‘If we can find him,’ said the inspector with a sigh. ‘This case is rather slow-going at present, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I admire your doggedness,’ said Angela. ‘One always pictures the police swooping in on the suspect and arresting him immediately after the crime takes place, but it’s not like that at all, is it? It’s far more painstaking than the detective-novels would have us believe.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jameson, ‘it can be rather slow sometimes—very much a case of one step at a time—but there’s a great deal of satisfaction to be had in bringing a case to a successful conclusion, so I don’t mind it.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck,’ said Angela, and rang off, as she had a luncheon engagement with Marguerite Harrison. She had been a little surprised to hear from Marguerite, but all was soon explained when her friend swept in, full of plans for her forthcoming sculpture exhibition in Littlechurch. She was looking very dashing and Bohemian as usual, swathed in gorgeous layers of deep purple and indigo edged with silver, and with a pair of enormous silver earrings dangling from her ears. She had come, she said, with the intention of drumming up some interest in the exhibition from several important artistic personages in London.

  ‘Of course, Littlechurch is not exactly the centre of the art world, however much one might wish it were otherwise,’ she declared, ‘and so I thought written invitations wouldn’t be quite enough. I have come, therefore, to solicit their interest in prima persona, as it were. You are coming to the exhibition too, aren’t you, darling? You did promise, you know.’

  Angela gave her assurance, since there was clearly no getting out of it—and indeed, she had no particular objection provided that she could keep away from Cynthia and her notebook as much as possible.

  Marguerite had insisted on going to a little restaurant she knew on Charlotte Street, and so Angela summoned William—not without a certain mischievous curiosity to see what would happen. But William presented himself as respectfully as ever, wholly impassive and with no sign of consciousness that she could see. Angela was impressed despite herself. Marguerite, for her part, was as extravagantly friendly and flattering as always, and the three of them departed for Bloomsbury in the Bentley.

  In the restaurant, Marguerite greeted the waiter familiarly by name and insisted on being moved to a more favourable table.

  ‘I won’t stand for being pushed into a corner,’ she said to Angela. ‘We women so often are, you know—which is ridiculous, because most of the time we are the only thing worth looking at. I much prefer to be on view, don’t you?’

  She then spotted someone she knew, and hailed him in her loud, carrying voice, causing everyone in the place to turn and look at them. The man—who, it transpired, was Luigi, the proprietor—came across and greeted her fulsomely. They kissed each other on both cheeks, and she asked after his wife. He replied at length and with great feeling.

  ‘Poor Cara,’ said Marguerite in a lower voice when he had gone. ‘She was one of us, you know. Wonderfully talented—one of the most gifted girls at the Slade, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately, she was rather careless and got into a spot of trouble, and of course the man was long gone by the time she realized. But Luigi had been mooning after her for ages, and so she had to marry him in a hurry. Her parents were horrified at her marrying an Italian, but of course they don’t know why she did it. Now they have five children and she has no time to paint, the poor thing.’

  ‘Does Luigi know about the first child?’ said Angela, startled.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Marguerite, ‘but it’s probably best not to mention it. Is it too early for wine, do you think?’

  She eventually decided against the wine, and went back to peering thoughtfully at the menu.

  ‘How is Miles?’ asked Angela.

  ‘A little under the weather,’ said Marguerite. ‘Now, what do you say to oysters? They ought to be fresh at this time of year.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Angela, referring to Miles rather than the oysters.

  ‘Oh, he’ll be quite all right,’ said Marguerite. ‘He gets these queer fits once in a while, you know—gets a little depressed and uneasy, but he usually recovers quickly enough. He snapped at me this morning when I asked him if he wanted another egg. Quite out of character, darling, as you know, so I left him to it and came out early.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Angela, ‘do these fits normally happen when you have an exhibition coming up, by any chance?’

  She was teasing, but Marguerite opened her eyes wide and considered the suggestion seriously.

  ‘Do you know, I believe they do!’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought about it before, but I think you must be right. Poor Miles. Perhaps I am just a little difficult to live with at times.’ They laughed merrily, and Luigi came over to join in the joke and to take their order in person.

  When he had gone, Marguerite became more serious and said, ‘I wonder if Miles’s bad mood has anything to do with concern for Gil. They have been putting their heads together a lot recently. I have the feeling that Gil is worrying about the wedding.’

  ‘Why is that?’ said Angela.

  ‘Oh, just something he said when we saw him last,’ said Marguerite. ‘He said that he sometimes thought he wasn’t good enough for Lucy, and that she deserved someone who wouldn’t make such a mess of things as he did. He wasn’t very good at this marriage stunt, he said. He was half-joking but I think he meant it seriously. Of course, Miles laughed at him and said he was getting cold feet and not to worry, everything would be quite all right. They went off and had a heart-to-heart later, and he seemed better, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Lucy is a dear girl, and so capable, but I wonder if she doesn’t rather frighten Gil sometimes with her competence.’

  ‘Don’t you think the whole situation is rather odd?’ said Angela. ‘I mean, that Gil has been chivvied into this marriage by his mother and Lucy. Do you really think he would marry Lucy if left to himself.’

  Marguerite considered.

  ‘Why, I don’t know that he would, darling,’ she said finally. ‘To tell the truth, I’m not sure he would marry anyone at all if left to himself. He doesn’t seem the type to do anything without being pushed into it by somebody.’

  ‘But does he love Lucy? Does she love him?’

  Marguerite made an expansive gesture.

  ‘Who knows?’ she said. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Perhaps it does to them.’

  ‘Well, then, I think Lucy is fond of him, yes. But you must have
seen for yourself that she’s more of a motherly sort than a wife.’

  ‘Rather awkward, when his real mother is still alive and refusing to relinquish the reins, don’t you think?’ said Angela. ‘But from what I have seen, it is not Lady Alice and Lucy who stand between Gil and a happy life, but Blakeney Park itself. Without it, perhaps he wouldn’t feel the need to marry well.’

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s an awfully big responsibility,’ said Marguerite. ‘I should hate it myself.’

  They had their lunch and then rose to depart, not without ten minutes of ecstatic salutations to Luigi on Marguerite’s part. Then they returned to the car, as Marguerite wanted to be dropped in Gower Street. She swept off in a whirl of scarves and scent, blowing kisses affectionately, then Angela instructed William to return home.

  They arrived in Mount Street and William opened the car door for her.

  ‘Oh,’ said Angela suddenly. ‘Marguerite has forgotten something.’ She picked up the little package that lay on the seat next to her. ‘It appears to be for you, William,’ she said in some embarrassment. She handed it to him and was about to hurry discreetly away when she saw that he was holding it before him with an expression that was a mixture of puzzlement and dismay.

  ‘Did Mrs. Harrison leave this?’ he said finally.

  ‘So it seems,’ said Angela. Her curiosity overcame her. ‘What is it?’ she said.

  He glanced at her, then opened it. Inside was a little box containing a watch. It looked rather expensive.

  They stared at it in silence for a moment, then William turned a deep and furious red.

  ‘I won’t be kept, d’you hear?’ he said fiercely, then without another word he got back into the Bentley, slammed the door and drove away with a screech of tyres, leaving Angela staring after him in astonishment.

  SEVENTEEN

  Inspector Jameson and Sergeant Willis sat in the office formerly occupied by Mrs. Chang, but now, in her absence, employed by her son. Johnny Chang was regarding them with his usual polite but wary expression.