‘What is all this, Babs?’ I exploded.
‘Our latest consignment from Hong Kong,’ she stammered. ‘Jokes, puzzles, magic gardens, drumming teddy bears, celluloid George Formbys playing the ukulele —’
I stopped her there.
‘Look, Babs, I don’t care if they’re Bakelite Baldwins playing the bugle or tinplate Mussolinis doing the tango, what the hell are they doing in my office?’
Her eyelids would have fluttered, but they were now too wet.
‘I told the delivery boy to stack them all in the last office on the left on this floor.’
‘But my office is on the right. As you come in, anyway.’
‘I know, Johnny, I know. I should have supervised him, but just then the phone rang and I had to answer it. It was Mr Ling, saying he was coming in after all and he expected all the invoices typed and I hadn’t nearly finished them and so I panicked and sat down at my desk and forgot all about the ...’
She couldn’t go on for the sobs. I put my arm around her shoulder.
‘All right, Babs. Not your fault delivery boys don’t always know their lefts from their rights.’
She looked blearily up at me.
‘You’re not cross, Johnny?’
‘No, not if you can help me clear my office in ten minutes flat.’
She almost collapsed with relief. ‘Oh, you’re an angel, Johnny.’
‘Not yet,’ I smiled, giving my door an extra shove, so that I could get in without tearing all the buttons off my sports jacket.
‘Now, let’s get down to shifting all these across the corridor.’
All went well, until Mr Ling turned up around half-way through the exercise. I think, had I known Chinese, in the next few minutes I would have heard every swearword in their ancient language. And the noise was not so much deafening as piercing. For Mr Ling’s voice seemed to go up an octave with every extra decibel of sound and it speaks volumes for my, and Babs’, eardrums that they’re still intact today.
It was in the middle of this oriental cacophony, as luck would have it, that a packing case split, depositing celluloid George Formbys all over my floor. At this very point in time, Black Eye was privileged to have a visitor. Not any old visitor, either. But my one and only claim to an income. Miss Diana Travers.
*
‘I must apologize, Mr Black,’ she smiled.
It was quarter of an hour later, when my office had returned to its barren normality and my client was perched on the one and only guest chair.
‘What on earth have you got to apologize for, Miss Travers?’
She took out her usual black Sobranie and inserted it in her holder. I offered her a light with a still shaking hand.
‘Two things really. The unfortunate business of the toy and not giving you some warning of my visit. But I happened to be in Torquay, so ...’
She was referring to her accidental step onto one of the George Formbys. Her heel had broken off his ukulele.
‘Forget the toy, Miss Travers. I’ve already given Mr Ling one and threepence, which will more than cover the cost — and that’s retail.’
‘Add it to your expenses, Mr Black,’ she exhaled towards me.
‘No, I wouldn’t dream of it. As to your second point, do always feel free to visit me at any time,’ I smirked. ‘But normally, I entertain clients away from this place for reasons that, I think, you may realise.’
She waved an elegant hand. ‘Don’t make apologies for your office, Mr Black. I’m well aware that your Black Eye agency is still in its infancy. One day, I’m sure, you will be so successful that you’ll have plush offices in every city in the land. You’ll be the British Pinkerton.’
I’ll swear I blushed. ‘I feel like the prize British idiot right now, Miss Travers.’
She leaned forward and I detected a waft of some exotic perfume through the cigarette smoke.
‘Now, bring me right up to date. A little bird tells me you might have gone ... quite far afield in your enquiries this week.’
I wondered who had said what to whom and why.
‘Yes,’ I confessed. ‘I did go up to London on Monday.’ I quickly added, ‘But I managed to get a free ride up there and I’ll pay for the return journey myself.’
‘Why should you?’ she cut in. ‘The visit was made for me, wasn’t it?’ I hedged. ‘Only partly. I went to see Tracy too. We had lunch.’ She sat back and crossed her silk-clad legs.
‘Oh, you and Tracy, are you ...?’
‘Just good friends,’ I grinned. ‘We’ve known each other quite a while.’
‘Very beautiful, Tracy,’ she mused. ‘Like my sister ...’ She recovered and went on. ‘Anyway, Mr Black, bring me up to date and tell me what you discovered on your five-hundred-mile trip. I’m all agog.’
So I told her.
‘And that’s all?’ she queried as I finished. ‘Just that Michael Seagrave seems to have carried a little of his acting over into his ...’ she cleared her throat, ‘... personal life?’
‘Well, it was a bit more than that, Miss Travers. Mr Trenchard did state that, through his fantasies, an incident had occurred that could have raised quite a scandal.’
‘So you said, Mr Black, so you said.’
She ran her tongue over her lower lip and the red lipstick glistened like blood. ‘I’m sure Mr Trenchard was wise in giving Michael up.’
I noticed her very natural use of just his Christian name. In fact, it fitted my next question perfectly. I got up from behind my desk, went over to the window and turned around. Back-lit as I now was, I knew she would have more difficulty in reading my expression.
‘Miss Travers, may I ask you a personal question?’
She recrossed her legs. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me what else you have done since we last spoke? I’m sure there’s more than just London.’
‘There is. But first, I would like to clear up a little matter that’s been worrying me.’
She took the cigarette from her holder and stubbed it out in the ashtray I had personally whittled from the top of an old Gypsy six-cylinder.
‘If it’s money, Mr Black —’ she began, but I cut in.
‘No, it’s not money.’
‘Then what’s your problem?’
‘Maybe there’s not a problem, Miss Travers. I just want you to assure me there isn’t.’
She fiddled for another Sobranie, as I went on. ‘I would like to know why you haven’t told me you knew Michael Seagrave a good bit before your sister met him?’
I saw her hand tremble slightly, as it tried to insert the cigarette into the end of the holder.
‘Oh, that,’ she sighed, and I was pretty certain her relief was feigned. ‘I didn’t tell you because it might be misleading — distract you from your main task.’
‘And what’s that, Miss Travers? Discovering whether your sister was actually murdered or that Michael Seagrave is the murderer?’
This time she lit her own cigarette. I didn’t want to leave the window to do it for her. Unfortunately, it gave her more time to consider her response.
‘I resent your tone, Mr Black. I’m employing you to discover the truth and nothing but the truth. If, at the end of your enquiries, you consider that Michael Seagrave did not kill my sister, then so be it. But that won’t stop me from continuing to hold my own opinions or entertain my own suspicions.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Now, would you be so kind as to tell me how you found out about my previous ... dealings with our suspect?’ She smiled coldly. ‘I take it you haven’t exonerated our dear Michael yet and he is still a suspect in your book?’
‘Oh, no. The more I dig, the more I feel Mr Seagrave may well be guilty of causing your sister’s death, as you will hear in a moment. But in answer to your first question, I learned about your previous dealings with him from an old acting chum of mine in London.’
I moved a little further into the room, the better to note her reaction.
‘He told me that his f
riends were very surprised that Michael Seagrave married your sister rather than you.’
Unfortunately, she rose from her chair and turned away from me.
‘That’s rubbish, Mr Black. Michael and I were never much more than acquaintances. These friends of a friend of yours can’t have known either me or Michael very well.’ She spun around. ‘What are their names, by the way?’
‘Turner. Jack and Jessie Turner.’
She laughed. ‘Ah, the Turners. I remember them. He used to ape Jack Buchanan and she, Jessie Matthews. Pity neither of them had any talent, though.’
She came towards me. ‘Or good memories, for that matter. I assure you, Michael and I never ever entertained any notion of marriage. The whole idea is ludicrous. That’s why I didn’t think it of any importance to tell you. We were acquainted, yes, but anything else —’
She dismissed the concept with a sweeping gesture.
I came back to my desk.
‘So you do not believe it could have any bearing on this case at all?’
She returned to her own chair and elegantly arranged herself in it.
‘I assure you, it doesn’t. Now hadn’t you better get back to the point of my coming here? After all, it saves you coming all the way up to Ashburton for your mid-week report.’
I smiled. ‘All right, Miss Travers. Now you may think I’m being a little alarmist from what I’m about to tell you, but ...’
*
I mused about Diana Travers all the way home in the La Salle. For my latest revelations about Daphne Phipps and her disappearance had effected a considerable change in my client’s whole demeanour. From being a rather brittle, distinctly cool and apparently revengeful young woman, she had assumed a far softer image, her smiles becoming more of sympathy than scorn and her words losing their cold and sometimes cutting edge. Indeed, her very appearance seemed to change with her mood and I saw her as an attractive human being, rather than a beautiful weekly retainer. I liked to think it wasn’t all an act to fool me.
Just before she left, she had turned to me and said, ‘Are you sure, Mr Black, that you want to continue with this case?’
‘Why on earth would I not?’
She put a hand on my arm. ‘Because if your suspicions about poor Miss Phipps’ disappearance are correct, we are up against a very dangerous man.’
‘He is still Michael Seagrave,’ I countered, hoping she would take my meaning without further elaboration.
She did and smiled. ‘But the man I knew a few years back hadn’t got his eye on a fortune. Money can change people, you know, change them drastically, dramatically ... tragically.’
‘Don’t worry, Miss Travers. I can look after myself. If I couldn’t, I would hardly have chosen my line of business.’
‘It’s not like flying.’
‘No, I’ve learned that already. It would seem there is more turbulence on the ground than you will ever find in the sky. Anyway, it’s not me you should be concerned about. If Seagrave did murder your sister and now, maybe, Daphne Phipps, then you might be in more danger. So, please, leave all the risks to me and keep out of his company. If he calls round, get your maid to say you are out. Just don’t mix with him at all. Promise me?’
She took my hand. ‘I promise, Mr Black. Now you promise to be careful yourself.’
‘It’s my second name,’ I grinned. ‘And by the way, my first name is John, but everyone calls me Johnny.’
‘I know, Johnny. And don’t forget, I have a first name too.’
‘All right, Diana. I’ll report again the instant I have any more news.’ And that’s how we left it. Her change of attitude helped enormously, somehow. I guess because I now felt I wasn’t just working for pounds, shillings and pence, but for a real live lady who had a giant-size problem to solve.
I was looking forward to a quiet evening in the cottage, where I could work out my next moves in peace, or as much peace as Groucho permitted me. So, as I neared journey’s end, I was a little put out to see the unmistakable shape of a Frazer-Nash parked up my drive. I just prayed Bobby Briggs had not discovered that his wife really was having an affair with some errand-boy or other.
I pulled off the road and parked behind the Nash. As I did so, the bulldog figure of the scrapyard dealer legged it awkwardly out of his motor. If ever a man needed a car with a door, it was Briggs.
‘I was just about to go,’ he grunted. Thought you were out gallivanting for the evening.’
I shook his hand. ‘My current case has curtailed my gallivanting, as you call it, by around ninety-nine per cent, damn it.’
‘Won’t do you no harm, Johnny. Keep you out of trouble.’
I laughed, ‘I think, right now, carousing and cavorting might be infinitely safer options, old chap. However, to what do I owe ...?’
He pointed to the sports car.
‘To that, Johnny, to that. Thought I ought to pop over and tell you right away.’
I perked up my rather tired ears.
‘Tell me what? Have you discovered something in the car?’
He shook his head. ‘No, nothing like that. Don’t suppose I will, neither.’
‘So?’
‘So a man called round at the yard this afternoon. Never seen him before. He wandered around a few of the cars on the dump, but I can always tell when a caller is not really going to put his hand in his pocket.’
‘So what was he really after? Buying the Frazer-Nash?’
He chuckled. ‘No, not on your life. He was an ordinary sort of fellow. Plain as all get out that he didn’t have Nash kind of money. No, after ten minutes or so, he sauntered up to me, nonchalant like and asked me about my car.’
‘What was he after?’
‘He pretended at first that he was just impressed with it, like. Then ended up with saying I must get people asking lots of questions about it. I said, not really. But he kept on and wanted to know whether I’d had any people interested in it recently, enquiring about it and all that. It was then I twigged what he was after. And remembering what you’d told me about Seagrave, I played it very close to my chest and said there hadn’t been no one. I don’t know whether he really believed me or not, but he left soon after that. So I decided then and there, I’d better drop by and let you know about it this evening. So here I am.’
I took him indoors and poured him the last of my Scotch. Amidst Groucho’s ‘Drop ’em’s’ and ‘Hello, babys’, I elicited more information about his intriguing scrapyard visitor.
‘About medium height, he was. Sort of sandy hair, I think.’ He gulped his drink as if it were Dawes lemonade.
‘What do you mean, I think? It was either sandy or it wasn’t, surely.’
‘I couldn’t see it all. He was wearing a leather helmet thing. Came on a motorcycle, see. An Indian, I think it was.’
‘So other than his motorcycle helmet —?’
‘Didn’t look like no motorcycle helmet I’ve seen,’ Briggs interrupted. ‘And his goggles looked a bit funny too. Still, you’ll be wanting to know if he had any distinguishing features, won’t you?’
‘Guess so.’
‘Well, he had a gingerish moustache, for a start. Then, let me see ... yes, he talked a bit lop-sided like that actor fellow.’
I did one of my ‘famous actor’ imitations.
‘Like him?’ I grinned.
‘Yes. Just like him. Now what’s his name again?’
‘Massey. Raymond Massey. Was in Shape of Things to Come.’
Briggs frowned, then went on, ‘Yer, well ... and then he had — I noticed it as he was putting on his gauntlets before he rode away — one finger that was a bit funny. Little finger, right hand, as I remember. Looked like most of the tip was missing, as if he’d had an accident.’
‘That’s really good, Bobby. Thanks. Sherlock Holmes couldn’t have described him better.’
You could have knocked me down with a feather when Briggs actually blushed.
‘Oh, well, it was nothing, Johnny. Just thought th
e information might come in useful, that’s all.’ His eyes brightened. ‘Do you think it will?’
I sipped some more of my gin, which I had only poured to keep Briggs company. For gin is certainly not my tipple and thus will never be my ruin.
‘Could well be. Then again, I suppose it might just be a genuine enquiry from a sports car nut. After all, Frazer-Nashes are a pretty rare breed, to say the least.’
‘Didn’t strike me that way, Johnny. I don’t think he was no nut. He didn’t want to know about the car. Just about who might have been asking questions about it.’ He downed the last of his Scotch. ‘Anyway, it’s obvious you don’t seem to recognise my description of him.’
‘No, I don’t, more’s the pity. I haven’t met anyone on this case yet who is sandy haired, with a ginger moustache and who talks lop-sided astride an Indian’s saddle.’
Briggs guffawed. ‘Now, come on, Johnny, take me seriously. I really reckon this guy has got something to do with this case of yours, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘Sounds a bit like it.’
‘You don’t sound cock-a-hoop.’
Smiling, I proffered him the gin bottle, as the Scotch was, alas, no more.
‘Been a funny day,’ I said. ‘Sorry and all that. I reckon I’m just hoping there won’t be any more damned peopled involved in this case than I’ve got already.’ I winked. ‘Can’t keep track of what I’ve got, d’you see?’
He laughed. ‘Sorry already you took up sleuthing, Johnny?’
It was just then that Groucho took it into his head to shout suddenly, ‘Stick ’em up’. I never thought I’d see the day when the scrapyard dealer got near to fainting with fright. But it just shows how wrong you can be.
Nine
By next morning, I had decided to drop in once more on the rehearsals at the Drake Theatre in the hope of catching Henry Swindon. I had no real plan in my mind, save to check whether he had come across anybody with a ginger moustache and a lop-sided way of talking — or long shot, had seen such a character with Daphne Phipps. For Briggs’ introduction of the motor-cyclist with a head full of questions about Seagrave’s old Frazer-Nash worried me. Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t rest easy until I had, as the constabulary would say, eliminated him from my enquiries.
Black Eye (A Johnny Black Mystery) Page 12
