‘Have you any idea why they parted?’
‘There was talk at the time that she was jealous of another woman. But, as I remember, Seagrave didn’t seem to go straight from her to anyone else.’ He smiled. ‘So, to be honest, Mr Black, I don’t really know.’
‘Have you ever heard of a Diana Travers?’
He thought for a second. ‘Yes, I think I have. Isn’t she the sister of that poor lady Seagrave married — the one who was killed in the Bugatti?’
I nodded. ‘Frazer-Nash, not Bugatti. You’re thinking of Isadora Duncan.’
‘Ah yes, but I am right?’
‘Yes. But I really meant, did you hear of her years ago, around the period, say, that this dancer died?’
He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I did. Or maybe I’ve just forgotten. I have so many people on my books at any one time that I can’t keep track of everyone’s dalliances — even if I wanted to.’
Disappointed, I turned to my next question.
‘Tell me, Mr Trenchard, why did you eventually part company with Michael Seagrave? Was it only because his career was not progressing as well as you thought it might?’
He took a deep breath and looked from me to Tracy and back again. ‘Well, er, not quite, Mr Black. But I’m not sure I should say anything more really.’
Tracy came to my aid and said in her most wickedly persuasive manner, ‘Oh, Mr Trenchard, after I’ve persuaded my friend to come all the way from Devon just to see you.’
The little girl look of disappointment hand in hand with big girl glamour was a combination that even a hard headed agent could not resist.
With a rather wheezy sigh, he relented and went on, ‘Let me just leave it that Michael Seagrave sometimes seemed to carry his acting on into his private life. Or so two of the girls on my books complained at the time.’
I frowned at Tracy. She frowned back.
‘I don’t quite understand.’
He looked reluctant to enlighten me.
‘Let’s put it this way, an incident occurred which could have proved ugly, but luckily did not. But nevertheless, I felt it better to ask Mr Seagrave to find new representation. One has to be careful of one’s reputation in this business. I represent many very famous names, who would quickly become alarmed and, perhaps, fly the fold, if any unpleasant scandal ... You understand.’
Tracy smiled seductively. ‘But I thought, Mr Trenchard, scandals were what show business was all about.’
He chuckled. ‘Wild gossip, infidelities, who’s chasing whom, that frivolous level of scandal, maybe, Miss Spencer-King. But perhaps the word “scandal” is not quite the right description for my problem with Michael Seagrave.’
‘But the word “unpleasant” is,’ I chipped in.
He did not respond, but his expression told all.
‘You are really talking about Mr Seagrave’s sexual proclivities, aren’t you, Mr Trenchard? He liked acting out fantasies?’
He suddenly rose from behind his desk, grunting with the effort. ‘I fear I have said too much already, Mr Black. You must not ask me —’ Tracy and I rose as one.
‘All right, we won’t embarrass you further, Mr Trenchard,’ I said, rather reluctantly. ‘Many thanks, however, for seeing us at all and at such short notice.’
He saw us to the door.
‘I hope, Mr Black, that whatever this case is on which you are working, my name will never be quoted.’
‘I give you my word on that.’
He extended a large and puffy hand.
‘Well, goodbye. And as Miss Spencer-King told me over lunch that you were a brilliant pilot, happy landings.’
His grip was theatrical in its intensity.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered, as Tracy kissed him on the cheek.
Once Bebe Daniels had seen us off the premises and we were back on Wardour Street, Tracy turned to me.
‘I don’t suppose even the Spanish Inquisition would be able to get from him the names of those girls who complained about Seagrave, do you?’
‘No,’ I rejoined. ‘But we may not need them.’
‘How so?’
‘I don’t suppose Seagrave suddenly stopped acting out his private fantasies when he left show business.’
‘You mean —?’
I nodded and climbed into her SS. ‘That’s right. I think it’s high time I took another dancing lesson.’
Seven
As luck would have it, I didn’t actually need a sleeper back to Devon, as Tracy had prophesied. For when we had got back to her aunt’s place in Chelsea, we discovered, to our surprise, the owner still in situ, lace handkerchief to nose, complaining that she’d had to cancel her attendance at the Temperance Rally, due to a sudden attack of what she claimed was influenza — ‘Timed and sent by the Devil, Mr Black, you can be sure of that.’
Tracy was not quite as certain, as she said as she drove me to Paddington Station.
‘I should never have told Aunt Agatha you had come up to London. I think she timed and sent her own influenza to stop her niece going to the Devil in her absence.’
Be that as it may, the next morning duly found me round at Adrian Feather’s dancing school and asking for my usual Miss Phipps.
‘She is, unfortunately, not vith us today, Mr Conway,’ Feather said in his Conrad Veidt accent. ‘Perhaps this morning, you might like to try Miss Randan. You met her the first day you came, I believe.’ He clapped his hands.
I remembered her, a willowy blonde with flour-bag make-up.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘she’s rather tall, isn’t she? I mean, not the same height as my fiancée.’
As I spoke, in answer to his clap, the blonde appeared by the radiogram, and somehow she seemed a good deal older than I remembered her. Feather beckoned her forward.
‘Veil, you’re no longer a novice now, Mr Conway. Perhaps it’s time to spend an hour or so with a different partner. After all, in life —’
I felt embarrassed for Miss Randan, as I went on. ‘But maybe I should leave it until Miss Phipps is back. When do you expect her in?’
He hesitated. ‘Veil, ve are not quite sure at this moment. You see ...’
As he floundered, the blonde cut in.
‘She’s disappeared. I’m ever so worried.’
Feather tried to stop her, but she went on, ‘Daphne has told me about you. She thought you were ever so nice. Her friend, like. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother you.’
Feather put his arm around her shoulder to try to propel her away. ‘Now, now, Miss Randan, don’t bother our students with our little vorries. Especially as there may be no reason to vorry at all.’
But Miss Randan shrugged him off.
‘You don’t know where Daphne might have gone, do you, Mr Conway?’
‘That’s more zan enough, Miss Randan,’ Feather barked and reminded me of the times I’d watched Herr Hitler on Gaumont-British Newsreels.
‘No, let her speak,’ I said firmly. ‘She’s right. I am enough of a friend of Miss Phipps to be concerned if she has disappeared.’
Exasperated, Feather snorted and quickly left the room. I took Miss Randan’s hand and led her to the gilt chairs that lined the dance floor. We sat down.
‘Now tell me all about it, Miss Randan. When exactly did Miss Phipps disappear?’
‘I suppose, on Sunday,’ she replied, now in a voice so quiet I could hardly her it. Suddenly I realised why she looked older than I had remembered her. It wasn’t age in her face. It was worry with a capital W.
‘Neither of us had anything to do that day, so we were going to take the steamer to Dartmouth together. You know, a nice day out.’
‘What happened?’ I asked anxiously, getting more and more concerned by the second.
‘Well, I turned up at her place. You know, over the dress shop, Couldn’t get any reply. That is, until her landlady came to the door. She was very cross and said she hadn’t seen Daphne since the previous afternoon. And she said, if Daphne stayed out just one more night, she would thro
w her out, lock, stock and barrel.’
‘And as far as you know, she hasn’t been seen there since?’
She shook her head sadly. ‘No, Mr Conway. And she didn’t turn up here for work yesterday, either. Not all day. Nor this morning. Oh, I’m ever so worried, Mr Conway. What on earth do you think can have happened?’
I couldn’t tell her. ‘Don’t get too upset yet, Miss Randan —’
‘Dolly,’ she interrupted. ‘Call me Dolly.’
‘All right, Dolly. Miss Phipps may yet appear, hale and hearty and wondering what all the fuss is about.’
She did not look convinced. ‘It’s not like Daphne to just vanish without a word, it isn’t. I know she’s a bit madcap at times, but she’s got her head screwed on all right. Besides, she wouldn’t risk losing her job here. Not yet, anyway.’
She averted her eyes, as if she felt she had said something she shouldn’t.
‘What do you mean, “not yet”? Had Daphne got expectations of some kind, then?’
She looked nervously around the room.
‘I don’t know anything about that, really. No, it’s just that ...’ Her voice tailed away.
I took her hand. ‘What, Dolly?’
‘Well, maybe I’m wrong to tell you this, because Daphne told me in the strictest confidence. Made me swear to die.’
‘Told you what?’
‘That she’d be coming into a bit of money soon. Didn’t say from whom, or how, or anything. Just that she’d be more than all right pretty soon. Fact, she said she’d already got a hundred quid of it.’ She leaned nearer to me. ‘Showed it to me, she did, in her handbag. Big white notes, lots of them, almost like folded newspapers.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last week. Can’t remember the day exactly. Tuesday, Wednesday, something like that.’
‘Are you sure she didn’t give you some hint where the money was coming from?’
‘No. Not a dicky bird. Just winked and said there was more where that came from.’
I looked her in the eyes.
‘Where do you think it was all coming from?’
She turned away. ‘I don’t know. Really I don’t.’ Then she added quietly, ‘Unless it was from that man she was going out with.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Wouldn’t tell me his name. Just said he was well off and that she rather fancied him.’
‘Did you ever see him?’
‘No. I saw his motor-car though once. Long, low, red thing, looked ever so expensive.’
‘Was it an Alvis?’
She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say, really. I don’t know one motor-car from another. Except a Ford Eight, that is. My dad’s got a Ford Eight, otherwise I wouldn’t even know that.’
Suddenly, footsteps resounded across the sprung dance floor and Adrian was back. Dolly instantly got up and moved down the line of chairs.
‘I’m zorry to interrupt, Mr Conway, but, as you may imagine, I cannot let Miss Phipps’ disgraceful dereliction of duty totally interrupt our day. Perhaps you vould like to carry on your conversation over a lesson with Miss Randan, ozerwize I must ask you —’
I got up myself, noticing Dolly’s shake of the head out of the corner of my eye.
‘No, I think I’ll leave it for today, Mr Feather. I’m sorry to take up yours and Miss Randan’s time.’
I looked across at her. ‘If you would let me know if you hear from Miss Phipps, I’d be very grateful. And I will do likewise, of course.’
‘Have we got your telephone number, Mr Conway?’
Hell’s bells, I shouldn’t have said that.
‘Er, no, you haven’t. Tell you what, I’ll call in again later. And maybe, again tomorrow.’
I went over to Dolly and pressed her hand. ‘Now, please don’t worry too much. I’ll make a few enquiries around and see if I can turn up anything.’
‘But why should you worry, Mr Conway ...’ she began, but I cut her off.
‘Didn’t you say Miss Phipps regarded me as a friend? So what are friends for?’ I smiled encouragement and then left, escorted all the way to the door by a now even more severe-looking Mr Feather. I suddenly felt like asking him whether he taught the goose-step at his academy, but resisted the temptation. After all, amongst the thousand things for which Herr Hitler claims fame, I don’t think you’ll find a sense of humour.
*
Daphne Phipps’ landlady proved to be almost as humourless as Feather, né Gottenberg.
‘Only give you five minutes, Mr Black. No more,’ she had said, after I had introduced myself. ‘I’m washing my hands of that Miss Phipps. Tomorrow I’ll be letting her rooms out to someone who won’t alley-cat around to all hours like she did.’
She took me up to what was obviously her sitting-room. Neat and tidy, clean as a pin and smelling of the obviously new Rexine-covered three-piece suite. We both sat down and squeaked on the smooth, cold surface.
‘Well, what d’yer want, Mr Black? Out with it,’ she snapped, wiping her thick fingers in the folds of her apron.
‘I’m worried about Miss Phipps, Mrs ...?’
‘Lovelock, Mrs Lovelock.’ She sniffed self-righteously and patted her tight perm. ‘And I wouldn’t worry about girls like her. They never come to no harm, they don’t, more’s the pity. Just cause trouble for other people, that’s all.’
‘I think you may be wrong, Mrs Lovelock. You see, I have reason to believe that Miss Phipps hasn’t disappeared of her own accord.’
She frowned. ‘What d’yer mean? She’s been kidnapped or something?’
Cackling, she added, ‘Cor blimey, why would anybody want to kidnap her?’
I did not elaborate and not just because I was only allowed five minutes.
‘Well, I’m not sure what’s happened to her, but I am certainly concerned.’
‘Hurry up, then, what do you want to know? I haven’t got all day.’
‘You don’t happen to know where Miss Phipps went on Saturday evening, do you?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I gave up asking her long ago, where she was off to. Only got surly answers and “Just out, nowhere in particular.’”
‘Did you see anyone call for her — in a car, perhaps?’
‘No, can’t say I did. I don’t spy on my tenants, Mr Black.’
I forced a smile. ‘No, of course not. So you have no idea where she might have gone?’
‘No, I told you that. I heard the door go around eight, I suppose it was. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since.’
I tried another tack. ‘Ever seen a red Alvis come to pick her up?’
‘Red what?’ she scowled.
‘Alvis. It’s a long, low, sports car.’
She laughed. ‘Not on your life. The only car I’ve ever seen come round for her is a battered old Trojan. And I only know its name because I read it on its radiator.’
‘Did it come often?’
‘Often enough.’ She pursed her thin cracked lips. ‘But come to think of it, I haven’t seen it around quite so much lately. P’raps she was starting to give him the brush off.’
‘Him? Who’s that?’
‘A shiftless-looking chap. Probably hasn’t got a bean to bless himself with. Surprised he’s got a car at all, I am.’
‘Do you know anything about him?’
She screwed up her eyes at me. ‘Why do you want to know, Mr Black? Think he might have something to do with our Miss Phipps’ disappearance? I’ll tell you now, she isn’t the type to go off with the likes of him. She’s not so attracted by the sound of wedding bells as the tinkle of cash registers. Get my meaning?’ She chuckled the dirtiest chuckle I’ve heard outside a pilots’ mess.
‘All the same, do you happen to know his name?’
‘Henry somebody, it is. Heard her call him Henry one day, when they were about to go out.’
‘That’s all you know, his Christian name?’
She patted her perm once more, as if it stimulated what passed for her brain.
‘With a local company? It would have to be, really, wouldn’t it?’
‘It is. I remember now, she said he was at the Drake Theatre. Said the name like it was some posh place like the Theatre Royal in Plymouth, instead of the flea-pit it really is.’
I refrained from informing her that the Drake was owned and run by an old mate of mine from my acting days, Tubby Trouncer. And whilst the theatre was certainly on the small side, it boasted one of the better repertory companies around in the South-West.
‘I think I’ll pop round there,’ I smiled. ‘There can’t be that many Henrys in any one company.’
‘Well,’ she laughed, ‘you’re not going to find no Henry Irvings there, that’s for sure.’ She consulted the Bakelite clock on the mantle shelf, then got up. I took the hint and joined her.
‘I’ll be going then, Mrs Lovelock. Now if you hear from Miss Phipps at all, could you do me a great favour and contact me?’
I tore a sheet from my Lett’s diary and wrote down both my Black Eye and home telephone numbers and handed it to her.
She sniffed. ‘All right. Since you ask —’
‘I’ll pay for the calls, don’t worry. Oh, and there’s one other thing.’
Stifling a yawn, she asked, ‘And what can that be, Mr Black?’
‘You don’t happen to know Miss Phipps’ parents’ address, do you? I know they live in the Plymouth area somewhere.’
She went across to an oak sideboard, picked up an address book and started flipping through the indented pages.
‘Now, that I can help you with. I always insist all my tenants give me the address of their next of kin. You never know in this life, you see, Mr Black, do you?’
I had to agree with her. You never know in this life, it would seem. Never. Just as well, maybe.
*
I left it until eight before I turned up outside the well-kept, but modest, terraced house near the Plymouth Devonport docks. I wanted to be sure at least one of her parents was back from work to greet the moustached Mr Conway.
Daphne’s mother answered the door — smaller and frailer than I was expecting, but with her daughter’s gritty look of determination in her eyes. I explained that I was a student at the dancing academy and was just enquiring when Daphne would be back at work.
Black Eye (A Johnny Black Mystery) Page 10
