by Lynda Wilcox
The previously silent man in the corner got up and reseated himself in the chair recently vacated by Eleanor.
He scratched at his chin where a small scar marred his otherwise boyish good looks. He was thirty-five years old, but could pass for ten years younger. Blount, who’d worked with him before, liked him but found him a slippery customer, an opinion he reserved for anyone who dealt with state secrets. It paid to be evasive if one worked in espionage, but it made them tricky bastards to deal with from an ordinary copper’s point of view.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Major Peter Armitage, “though I wouldn’t like to think so.”
“In this job you have to think so, and what we’d like don’t come into it. It must be the same in your line of work.” He held up a hand as the other man appeared ready to interrupt. “I know, I know, you probably aren’t allowed to say, but you chaps in Military Intelligence have to go by reason and logic as much as we do. Besides, except at the start, guessing don’t come into it, either. Facts and proof is what we’re after. Without them, we ain’t got a case.” He eyed the younger man, sourly. “The thing is, Armitage, is this your case or ours?”
“If I knew that, Chief Inspector, I’d tell you. It seems likely that it’s ours. Eisenbach was in the country to see members of His Majesty’s government.”
“But someone got to him first?”
Armitage shrugged. “It would appear so. On the other hand, his murder may have nothing to do with his visit. It might be a personal affair.”
“A bit unlikely, though, don’t you think? And one hell of a coincidence, too, of course.”
“Yes, that I’ll grant you. Still, coincidences do happen in our line of work, as you’re aware.”
Blount growled. Only last year he’d had a high-profile case and nearly arrested the wrong man on what turned out to be a similarity of names. The fact that two men — both called Sidney Holland, both travelling salesmen, but only one of them a jewel thief — should have travelled to Brighton on the same train still irked him. That a sergeant with his wits about him had spotted his superior’s error before too much damage had been done, irked him even more.
He shook himself, giving an impression of a large wet dog trying to dry its fur, and nodded at the other man.
“Oh, agreed. However, it’s beginning to look as if Eisenbach ingested that poison before he arrived at the Rudolph. That puts us back to his family and staff.”
“And the staff at the Ritz, of course.”
“Oh? But surely —”
“Come, Blount, don’t be so naive, man. Even the staff at a place as upper crust and exclusive as the Ritz can be bought. That’s always assuming that whoever was responsible didn’t wangle his way into a job there, just for that purpose, and hasn’t scarpered now that it’s done.”
“Hmm.” Blount rifled through the papers in the open folder. “We aren’t quite as incompetent as you imply, Armitage. That thought had occurred to us and we’ve had men at the Ritz looking into all that. No one has left the hotel’s employ since Eisenbach’s death, and we’re checking through all the references supplied by every member of staff they’ve taken on since the end of November, but it’s a long job. A lot of the referees are away or abroad right now. We’ll keep at it. What about you?”
Armitage shrugged. “Oh, we’re doing the usual stuff like you, spending the man hours double checking the credentials of everyone that came into the country since Christmas.
“The trouble there is that they might have landed anywhere. Come ashore in a small boat in the dead of night and no one any the wiser. It’s the curse of living on an island.”
He took a cigarette case from his pocket and offered the contents to the policeman who waved it away.
“Are you suggesting a hired assassin, brought in just to do the job?” asked Blount.
Armitage screwed up his face.
“I might, if Eisenbach had been shot, or stabbed.” He lit his cigarette and wafted away a cloud of smoke. “But poison...well, I’m not so sure. Dammit!”
He slapped his palms against his thighs, stood, and walked to the fireplace where he glowered into the coals, disconsolately flicking cigarette ash onto them. He turned around and faced the Chief Inspector.
“And you didn’t find anything on him or in his rooms at the Ritz.”
“Oh, there was plenty in his rooms, just not the thing I was told to look for. I suppose it’s vital is it?
“Absolutely.” He threw his cigarette butt into the fire and resumed his seat. “It’s the loss of that item that convinces me that this is our case.”
“You’re sure it is lost?”
“It has certainly disappeared if you haven’t been able to lay your hands on it.”
“Well, now, I’ve told you what I’ve done.” Blount started to tick things off on his pudgy fingers. “We’ve interviewed the Eisenbachs and all of Eisenbach senior’s staff. Nothing wrong there, as far as I can tell, though I can’t say I cared for the valet fellow, though that’s just me.
“We’ve interviewed the doctor who was at the Rudolph that night.” Blount’s face twisted into a wry smile. “To say he was scandalised at the suggestion he had gone through the dead man’s pockets is putting it mildly. As I told you, I reckon he’s in the clear.
“I’ve also spoken to Lady Ann Carstairs. I thought we might be on to something there, what with her having met the family in New York and being the one who invited them to the Rudolph, but...” He raised his hands, then wiped them around his face. “Can’t say as I got any joy with that lady, either, and you’ve just seen and heard what Lady Eleanor had to say. Always assuming you believe her that is.”
“Yes, I think that I do, you know.”
Blount, who had a sharp ear, gave him a piercing glance.
“So, what’s bothering you?”
Armitage ran a fingernail over his lower lip. “Oh, just the feeling you get sometimes. Like a sixth sense.”
“Uh huh. We call them hunches.”
“No, not quite like that. I just have the strangest feeling that I know our recent visitor from somewhere.”
“Is she in your line of work?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, even if it were so.” He shook his head. “I’m sure, though, that I’ve met that remarkably self-possessed and intelligent young lady at some point in my life.”
Blount hid a smile. “Yes, you’re not likely to forget. She’s certainly attractive enough to remember, though she didn’t give away much, did she? Telling me that Eisenbach was a good dancer! Bah! What use is that in trying to find his killer?”
“Not a lot, I daresay. It must have been one hell of a dance for her and a right facer to have a man dying in your arms. She didn’t drop him, though, you’ll notice. She didn’t stand back and let him fall. Many another woman, caught in that almost embarrassing situation, would have.
“Oh, I’ll grant you she has the breeding. They don’t call it class for nothing, you know and I rather think Lady Eleanor Bakewell has it in spades.”
Armitage leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk, his eyes shining.
“Ah, but that’s just it. That’s where the sixth sense I was talking about comes in. That wasn’t the name I knew her by, I’ll swear it wasn’t.” He sat back. “ I suppose she’s the real thing, is she?”
Blount tilted his head, considering. “She checks out, if that’s what you mean? The name and the address appear correct and above board.”
“Hmm. Well, I doubt that she’s your culprit, but I’m going to keep a close eye on the young woman who calls herself Lady Eleanor Bakewell. I’m convinced she knows more than she’s told us. Even if she isn't aware of that herself yet.”
Chapter 10
Eleanor returned to Bellevue Mansions with her head in a whirl. The man from Military Intelligence may not have known who she was, but she had certainly recognised him.
There had been those intense few days, back in the summer of 1918, in the fores
ts of the Ardennes. Moving only at night, and lying up during the day, taking it in turns to sleep, it had been a dangerous, terrifying mission. Made more so when they had consummated their mutual attraction almost within sight of a German outpost. In the midst of the death, the carnage, the horror that surrounded them, it had been a reaffirmation of life and all that was good about it.
She neither denied nor regretted the incident, though she hadn’t thought of it for a long time and sighed at the memory as she helped herself to a cocktail while Tilly hung up her coat and put away her hat.
“You’ll never guess who was at Scotland Yard, Tilly. This case gets more mysterious by the moment.”
“Who was that, my lady?”
“Peter Armitage. Major Peter Armitage. You remember him?”
“Blimey, yes. I’m not likely to forget him. What did he want?”
Eleanor sipped her drink. What indeed. What had Major Armitage to do with the murder of Eisenbach?
“I’ve no idea. He sat in the corner and said not a word. Chief Inspector Blount didn’t even introduce him.”
“Espionage again, then.” Tilly sounded disgusted. “I thought we’d done with that.”
“We have.”
She spoke with a certainty she did not feel. Peter Armitage’s very presence at Scotland Yard meant there was more to Eisenbach’s death than met the eye.
There had been that question about an envelope. Blount, and presumably Armitage, had assumed that the American had passed something to her. Was that why she’d been called to the Yard? Yet no envelope had changed hands, and the only thing Eisenbach had given her was an experience she never wanted to repeat.
The Chief Inspector had also suggested that he wanted to talk to her about Ann, but had failed to do so. Most curious.
“Tilly, did you go to the Ritz this morning?”
“No, my lady, I’ve been doing housework. I thought I’d go this afternoon. That’s when Mam’selle Leclerc is more likely to have free time.”
“All right, after lunch then, and I’ll pay a call on Ann Carstairs at the same time.”
When Eleanor reached her friend’s house in Berkeley Square she found her barely awake.
“It’s nearly two o’clock in the afternoon,” she protested.
“Yes,” Ann said, “but I didn’t get in until nearly four and, unlike you, I need my beauty sleep.”
They sat in the dining room, at a table in the bow window overlooking the Square, while Ann toyed with a slice of toast and offered her guest coffee — a rich, dark and bitter brew that was not to Eleanor’s taste.
“God, I feel rough.” Ann ran a hand over her brow before gulping her coffee.
She did not look at her best. Dark bags lay beneath her eyes and her complexion was sallow, almost grey.
“I’m not surprised. What on earth were you doing out until that hour?”
“Partying as usual. It’s my job.”
“Surely you don’t have to attend every party you organise?”
Ann shrugged. “I have done until now, but you’re right. I’m going to have to call a halt to it. I’m not as young as I was.”
“Nonsense.” Eleanor laughed. “You’re twenty-four, the same age as me. That’s not old. Anyway, whose party was it?
“Oh, that dreadful man, Horace Gilbert.”
“Not sure I know him.” Eleanor searched her memory. “Perhaps that’s just as well.”
“Think yourself lucky, and stay well away if anyone attempts to introduce you. The man’s a groper.” She rose from the table and led her visitor into a spacious drawing room where she flopped onto a chintz-covered sofa. “Take a pew, dear, and tell me why you’re here. It’s always lovely to see you, but you have a determined look in your eye that shines out clearly even in my befuddled sleep-deprived state.”
“Oh dear, am I that obvious?”
“Only to me. Spill the beans, old girl.”
“All right.” Eleanor sat in a wing back armchair and gathered her thoughts. “Have you heard anything from Chief Inspector Blount lately?”
“What? The Scotland Yard chappie?”
“Yes. Him.”
“Not since the last time I saw you. Why?”
“Because he called me in to his office this morning and asked a powerful lot of questions. How well did you really know Eisenbach, Ann? Is there anything about him, or the family, that I should know?”
“Only that he was filthy rich, darling.” She caught the tightening of Eleanor’s jaw and held up a hand. “Sorry. All right, to be serious, like I told you, I’m not well acquainted with any of them. I had a few dates with Howard while I was in New York, but I was hoping to find an investor, someone with plenty of money, who would help me set up a US branch of my business and offer financial assistance. Unfortunately, Howard was only interested in cars and bored my ears off with his own plans for buying an automobile factory.”
This didn’t bode well for Eleanor’s outing with the young man the next day. She bit back a sigh.
“What about Carolyne?”
“Uh uh.” Ann shook her head. “Has little or no money of her own, though her father gives...um...gave her a generous allowance. She comes into more on the occasion of her twenty-fifth birthday, or so she once told me. It’s some sort of trust fund, but I don’t know the details.”
Eleanor nodded. “Do either of them take drugs, do you know?”
“No, I don’t, though I never saw any sign of it. Carolyne is too bright eyed and bushy tailed and her complexion is too fresh for her to be into that game.”
“She wasn’t looking too good yesterday, but that’s to be expected under the circumstances. I just wondered if there was some other reason. Anyway...” She changed tack. “Has the Chief Inspector asked if Mr Eisenbach gave you an envelope?”
Ann and Eleanor had been friends since the middle of the war, though Ann had no idea of the espionage work that the other had engaged in during that time, and Eleanor intended keeping it that way. It was probably safer for both of them, she reasoned, though it meant keeping to herself a lot of what she had learned from Blount.
“Oh, yes. It was one of his first questions, but I soon disabused him of the idea. He asked you the same thing, then?”
“Yes, and I gave him the same answer you did.”
“Then I wonder what he was driving at? It’s all very worrying and my business is beginning to suffer as a result of it.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows rose, as much at the callousness of the words as the brutal truth behind them. “Surely, not.”
“Oh, it is. My bookings are definitely down and I think they’ll stay that way until this murder is cleared up. People can be so fickle, and fussy, too.”
“They can’t blame you or your parties for Eisenbach’s death.” Eleanor was appalled at the lack of sense displayed by some people, yet Ann’s words rang horribly true.
“No, but they will. The more stupid amongst them, certainly.” She uncurled herself from the sofa and crossed to the mantel above the fireplace. Lifting down a chased silver cigarette box she offered it to Eleanor, then lit both of them with a long spill she poked into the fire. “What about you? Have you made any enquiries?”
“Well, I went to see Carolyne and Howard yesterday, just as a matter of courtesy, really. I can’t see that either of them killed their father, but the poison must have got into him somehow.
“On the way here, I called in at the pharmacy and asked the chemist a few questions. I reckon the poison was belladonna, although the Chief Inspector was very cagey when I asked him about it.”
“Huh, he would be.” Ann resumed her seat. “Belladonna, that’s deadly nightshade, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and it could have been administered several hours before Mr Eisenbach’s death, depending on the dosage used.”
“So, it probably wasn’t done at my wretched party, then?”
“No, which may be the reason you haven’t seen Chief Inspector Blount again.”
That though
t had only just occurred to Eleanor, but it made a lot of sense. The post mortem would have revealed the amount of poison Eisenbach had been given, and the how and the when it was administered deduced from that.
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“It does put the crime back onto Mr Eisenbach’s entourage, or someone getting at him at the Ritz.”
“Ye...es.” Ann sounded doubtful.
“I don’t suppose you ever met his secretary or his valet, did you?”
“Of course not. I don’t normally fraternise with the staff, you know.” She smiled archly. “I met his butler at the house in New York once, but that’s all.”
“Unfortunately, he doesn’t appear to have travelled with them.”
“You know, depending on the provisions of Eisenbach’s will, his death will make both Howard and Carolyne very, very wealthy. That might be motive enough.”
“Yes, that had occurred to me, especially if Carolyne only has an allowance, no matter how generous it might be. Do you know how old she is?”
“Twenty-one.” The reply came promptly. “They held a big bash for her last year when I was there. Eisenbach threw ridiculous amounts of money at it, but it wasn’t that good a do. I would have organised something far better, believe me.”
Eleanor ignored the boast. Ann knew her job and was good at it, and there were worse ways to earn a living, but life was about more than parties, in Eleanor’s estimation.
“And Howard?” she asked. “Does he have an allowance, too?”
Ann threw her arms wide. “I don’t know, but he is over twenty-five — he’s twenty-seven, I believe — so if he had a similar trust fund then he’s probably already got the money. Besides, although I didn’t see him do much work when I was over there, nominally at least, he’s supposed to be in charge of the company’s New York office. I assume he gets a salary for that.”
Eleanor plucked at her lower lip. She had no way to discover the contents of Eisenbach’s will, and it was far too impertinent a question to ask of Howard directly. Besides, why would Peter Armitage be interested in a grubby little murder committed for such venal reasons? There had to be more to it than that.
