A Case of Murder in Mayfair (A Freddy Pilkington-Soames Adventure Book 2)

by Clara Benson

  He stopped suddenly and stared at the paper in front of him, for the thought that had eluded him yesterday at the Abingdon had just come back to him. Now, that was odd. Why was it significant? Did it have a bearing on the murder? Might that be what had happened in this case? He shook his head. No; it was a stupid idea—absurd, in fact. He put the thought out of his mind and walked on, trying to concentrate on Robert Kenrick’s alibi. But the idea would not be quashed; it kept intruding itself into his head and demanding to be taken seriously, so he stopped again and considered it carefully.

  ‘It couldn’t be possible, could it?’ he murmured to himself. ‘It would have been far too risky, surely.’

  He set himself to think, and as he did so he remembered something Adorable Ada had said too, and which he had disregarded at the time. But why had he thought of it? Was it connected to his first idea? He thought he saw how it might be. He raised his eyebrows and whistled under his breath. The theory was far-fetched enough, but he was beginning to have a glimmer of an idea as to how Dorothy might have died.

  ‘I wonder if it could have worked,’ he said to himself. ‘And how can I find out?’

  On Saturday Freddy was wanted at the paper in the morning, and so had no time to think about his idea. As he came out of the Clarion building, he saw the unwelcome sight of Corky Beckwith coming along the street towards him. It was too late to avoid him, so Freddy accepted his fate with resignation. Corky was as full of himself as ever.

  ‘I take it you’ve seen the news,’ he said. ‘They’ve charged Kibble with the murder of Dorothy Dacres.’

  ‘So I see,’ said Freddy.

  ‘I must say, it’s all turned out rather well for me,’ went on Corky. ‘You know it was I who found them, don’t you?’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’ said Freddy. ‘The police never mentioned it.’

  ‘Didn’t they? Perhaps they were too embarrassed at having failed to catch the fugitives themselves. If you ask me, they’ve put on a poor show altogether in this case. I mean to say, who was it who did all the detective-work in the first place? Had it not been for me, they’d never have known Kibble had anything to do with the matter, and a dangerous criminal would still be at large. Of course, you helped a little,’ he added generously. ‘But I suppose you were too tired to continue the search after our adventure. I was determined to pursue the story to the bitter end, however, and track him down. I do believe I’ve run up expenses of fifty pounds just on train fares in the past week, but one had to follow up any lead that came in, however tenuous. If you’ll believe it, I spent a day and a half on a mountain-side in Wales, after we received reports that Kibble had disguised himself as a shepherd and taken to living in a wooden hut with a herd of sheep. Dreadfully uncivilized country it is, too,’ he said with a shudder. ‘And the Welsh! They’re short and belligerent to a man, and barely speak a word of English—or at least, not the sort of English you or I would understand. I thought I should never get out alive.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine they wouldn’t appreciate your unique talents,’ said Freddy. ‘And how’s the cocaine situation in the hill-farms of Wales, might I ask? The air’s positively thick with the stuff, I expect.’

  ‘That’s another of your jokes, of course,’ said Corky. ‘I couldn’t tell you the answer, because I got out as soon as I could and hurried back to London, as I was worried I might have missed the Kibbles. Then the Herald received a tip-off that they’d been seen in Dover, so I headed there post-haste and was just in time to see the arrest.’

  ‘Then it wasn’t you who found them at all,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Well, yes, the police got there first, but I was the first reporter to arrive on the scene. It all amounts to the same thing for my purposes. Nobody cares about the police arresting somebody—it looks far better in print to say I tracked them down myself.’

  ‘I see,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Still, a job well done, don’t you think? The two of them have been locked up, and our citizens can sleep soundly in their beds once again.’

  ‘I’d like to believe it,’ said Freddy. ‘But I don’t think Basil murdered anyone.’

  ‘Oh, but you saw for yourself what a violent man he is. Why, he was perfectly prepared to shoot us both without a second thought. Just think what a dreadful calamity that would have been! Can you imagine how the world would have mourned my loss?’

  ‘It wouldn’t have mourned you for a second, fathead. You might have got a paragraph on page ten on a slack news day.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’m the star man at the Herald these days. They’re very appreciative of my work in exposing this plague of illicit drugs that is sweeping the country.’

  Freddy regarded him thoughtfully.

  ‘Sometimes I’m almost convinced that you really believe what you say,’ he said. ‘You really are the most revolting hypocrite, aren’t you?’

  ‘No more than anybody else in this business, including you,’ said Corky, wholly unperturbed. ‘We’ve all heard about some of the things you and your titled pals get up to. Why, that story of what you, Bagley and Viscount Delamere did the night you broke into the London Zoo was going the rounds of Fleet Street for months. You ought to count yourself lucky you weren’t arrested. If you had been, it wouldn’t have gone well for you, since that sort of thing is very much frowned upon by the man in the street.’

  ‘At least I don’t pretend to be better than I am,’ said Freddy, after only the briefest of pauses. ‘I’ve never published screeds of pontificating tripe about the horrors of cocaine, shortly before planting a load of the stuff on someone else just to get a good story. It was you who put the dope in Dorothy’s room, wasn’t it? The cocaine the police found on her dressing-table was of a lower quality than the stuff they got from Basil—and besides, he denied he’d had anything to do with it. And he was telling the truth, because you planted it, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t plant it,’ said Corky airily. ‘I left it there accidentally, if you must know.’

  ‘What?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Well, it’s the sort of thing that might have happened to anyone. I was in her room, minding my own business—’

  ‘You mean searching through her things?’

  ‘Perhaps I might have glanced into one or two drawers, yes, but that wasn’t the main reason I went in. It’s hard work being a waiter, you know, and I was tired, as I’d been up early that day, and feeling in need of a pick-me-up, so as soon as I got the chance I slipped in to do the business in private, since I didn’t have enough to share. I hadn’t been there more than a minute or two when I heard a noise from outside and got the most awful fright. I’d forgotten about the other terrace, and hadn’t thought to look and see whether anyone was on it.’

  ‘At what time was this?’ said Freddy suddenly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Corky. ‘Just after eleven, perhaps.’

  ‘You mean after I’d told you not to go rifling through any more drawers?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Corky impatiently. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘And what exactly did you hear?’

  ‘I don’t know. A sort of scraping sound. The noise of someone moving around, you know.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Nobody, as it happens. I went across to the terrace door and just peeped out through the curtains, but I couldn’t see anyone. And then I tried the door but it was locked, so I realized I must have been mistaken. At any rate, I knew I was wanted back at work, so I went back into the living-room. It was only later I remembered I’d left my little box of tricks on the dressing-table, but I never got the opportunity to go back and retrieve it. Why are you so interested in this anyway?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because everyone now thinks Dorothy Dacres took dope thanks to you,’ said Freddy.

  ‘That was unintentional—and in any case, all’s well that ends well, don’t you agree? The stor
y wouldn’t have been nearly so neat if the coke hadn’t been found in Dacres’ room. Basil was the guilty one anyway, and all I did was help prove that.’

  ‘But you didn’t know he had anything to do with cocaine that night at the party.’

  ‘No,’ conceded Corky. ‘But I knew someone did, and I was hoping to flush them out.’

  ‘What drivel you do talk,’ said Freddy. ‘Look here, the police really ought to know about this. If the stuff wasn’t Dorothy’s then there’s nothing to connect her to Basil Kibble, and no reason for him to have killed her.’

  ‘Of course he killed her,’ said Corky. ‘He’s a dangerous man.’

  ‘Dangerous or not, he had no motive, and you can’t just go and pin the blame on him like that.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to walk into a police station and gaily admit the stuff was mine, then you’re very much mistaken,’ said Corky. ‘What do you take me for?’

  ‘I have a list somewhere,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Well, put the thought out of your mind. I have no intention of coming clean, and if you squeal on me I shall simply deny it. There’s no proof it was mine, and if you go around shouting about it everyone will just think you’re trying to do in a rival reporter.’ Freddy opened his mouth to protest, and Corky went on in an avuncular manner, ‘Freddy, Freddy, there’s no need to worry your head about it. Some little things are not meant to be interfered with. It will all come out in the wash, you’ll see. Now, I really must be going. There’s been a nasty motor accident on Oxford Street and I don’t want to miss the dead bodies. You will look out for my piece, won’t you?’

  And so saying, he went off with a cheery wink and a wave, leaving Freddy standing deep in thought.

  If what Corky had said was true, then it was starting to look as though Freddy’s idea might not be as far-fetched as he had believed. What he really needed was to get back into Dorothy Dacres’ suite at the Abingdon and have a good scout around. Or, on second thoughts, perhaps it would make more sense to call Scotland Yard and turn the matter over to them. Inspector Entwistle already considered him an interferer—and after all, catching murderers was the job of the police, not newspaper reporters. Perhaps he would telephone them and see what they thought of his idea. Accordingly, Freddy went back to the Clarion’s offices and made the call. Inspector Entwistle and Sergeant Bird were out, he was informed by a polite woman, but he was welcome to leave a message if he liked. Freddy gave a brief explanation of his theory. It sounded silly even as he said it, and the woman seemed surprised, but said she would tell the inspector as soon as he returned.

  Jolliffe was sitting at his desk, and addressed him with a conspiratorial air when he put the telephone down.

  ‘How are you getting on with the Dacres case?’ he said. ‘I see they’ve arrested Basil and Birdie. Now, there’s a scandal. Who would have thought it? I mean to say, I shouldn’t have thought they needed the money.’

  ‘These people live from one job to the next,’ said Freddy. ‘And I don’t think the Kibbles are quite the big thing they were a few years ago. Perhaps they were a little down on their luck. Besides, it seems that Birdie is addicted to the stuff, and it’s an expensive habit, so I dare say that’s how they got into it in the first place.’

  ‘And it looks as though it led to murder,’ said Jolliffe. ‘Funny—if you’d asked me, I’d have guessed the motive was something to do with money, not drugs.’

  ‘There’s no saying it wasn’t,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m not convinced that Basil Kibble did it.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Tell me your idea about the money.’

  ‘Well, I don’t exactly know,’ said Jolliffe, considering. ‘It’s just that the presence of Dorothy Dacres prevented one or two people from doing very well for themselves—or should I say, rather, the presence of Henry Aston, since I understand he was pushing for her to be given a contract that would guarantee her the lead rôle in Aston-Penk’s next three pictures.’ He leaned forward. ‘Keep it on the q.t, but I hear that far from being philosophical about giving Dorothy the part of Helen Harper, Eugene Penk was actually tearing his hair out over it.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Yes. You might think all these film types were rolling in it, but as a matter of fact Penk is a bit short of the ready. The money he put into Aston-Penk was all borrowed, you see, and the banks have been starting to ask for a return. The company is Penk’s baby, and for all his talking-up of Henry Aston, he regrets having gone into business with him, because he keeps trying to interfere with the artistic side of things.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard something about that,’ said Freddy.

  ‘The banks were pressing hard, and it was starting to look as though Penk would have to ask Aston for more money—which would have given Aston even more power. Penk wanted the money, but didn’t want the conditions attached to it.’

  ‘Those conditions being Dorothy Dacres.’

  ‘Exactly. But as luck would have it, Sir Aldridge agreed to step in with some funds.’

  ‘That happened after Dorothy died, didn’t it?’ said Freddy, thinking.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jolliffe.

  ‘And I expect old Feathers hadn’t been keen on having an American play the lead in For Every Yesterday?’

  ‘He certainly wanted to present the film as an English production, at any rate,’ said Jolliffe.

  ‘Another reason to put Dorothy out of the way,’ said Freddy. ‘Henry Aston wanted her but Sir Aldridge didn’t. Why was Aston so wild about her, anyway? Were they having an affair?’

  ‘I don’t think so—at least, not as far as I know—but he did have a kind of obsession with her. She knew it, of course, and took advantage of it.’

  ‘I wonder why she and Penk never divorced,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean to say, they’d kept the marriage a secret for years anyway. Why not end it without a fuss?’

  ‘She knew which side her bread was buttered on, I imagine,’ said Jolliffe. ‘As long as they were still married she knew she retained some influence in Hollywood. She wasn’t getting any younger, you know, and as long as she stayed on good terms with Penk, there was always the hope that he would help her find parts.’

  ‘I wonder whether she wasn’t playing dog in the manger,’ said Freddy. ‘I saw them all yesterday, and Dorothy’s sister and Penk were looking pretty cosy together. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if Dorothy suspected something of that sort and held it over their heads out of spite.’

  ‘If you say so. I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Whatever the case, Dorothy’s death must have come as something of a relief to Penk,’ said Freddy.

  ‘I gather he has an alibi, though,’ said Jolliffe significantly.

  ‘He does at the moment,’ said Freddy. ‘But as it happens, I’ve had a little idea about how to break it.’

  ‘You think he did it, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I should very much like to find out. I can believe in his guilt far more than Basil’s.’

  ‘If Penk did do it, then that will put paid to the film altogether,’ observed Jolliffe. ‘And after all the fuss that’s been made over it.’

  ‘True, but that can’t be helped. I know everyone thinks Dorothy wasn’t right for the part, but there are politer ways of turning a woman down than by throwing her off a building.’

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ said Jolliffe.

  ‘Perhaps someone else will make the film,’ said Freddy. ‘Sir Aldridge, for example. After all, it’s an English play, and it might turn out better without the interference of the Americans.’

  ‘Very loud, Americans,’ said Jolliffe. ‘But rather handy at golf.’

  He went back to his work, and Freddy wondered what to do next. He was impatient to hear from Scotland Yard, to find out what they thought of his theory, but it seemed they were in no hurry to return his call. At last
the telephone rang, and he snatched up the receiver. It was Gussie.

  ‘Come along to the Abingdon if you want an exclusive,’ she said. ‘They’ve decided to go ahead with the picture after all, and I’m to be Helen Harper. I’m having to pinch myself, as I can’t quite believe it’s real.’

  Freddy offered his congratulations, and she giggled delightedly.

  ‘Thank you. It’s been an odd couple of weeks, to say the least, but I hope things will go smoothly now. We’re in the top floor suite and Seymour is taking photos, so do come along, won’t you?’

  ‘All right,’ said Freddy. ‘I’ll see you in half an hour, but you’d better tell Seymour to keep his hands to himself.’

  ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hit you again,’ said Gussie.

  ‘I was talking about you, not me,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sorry about the other day,’ she said. ‘Terribly bad form, wasn’t it? But you forgive us, don’t you? He does love me so, and I’m simply crazy about him.’

  Freddy assured her that he had not taken offence, and she giggled again and hung up.

  This was the opportunity Freddy had been waiting for. He instructed Jolliffe to tell the police where he had gone if they called, and left the office.

  When Freddy arrived at the top floor suite of the Abingdon—the penthouse which had once been that of Dorothy Dacres—he found the place full of people and in a state of confusion. The first thing he saw was Seymour Cosgrove, who was striding about, arranging pieces of photographic equipment and snapping at anyone who got in his way. Gussie and Robert Kenrick were sitting on a sofa in close conversation, while Kenneth Neale, looking uncomfortable in a smart suit, submitted to the ministrations of his wife, who was attempting to tame his sparse hair with a comb.