Another Woman's Shoes

by Francis Durbridge

‘Fiddlesticks! Who was Larry Boardman? Where does he fit into this?’

  Mike sighed impatiently. ‘I’d explain if I could, but my theory’s only just beginning to take shape. I’ll tell all once I understand it myself. Be patient, darling, the case may split wide open sooner than we had dared to hope. Corina’s the next on the list, once I’ve got rid of Staines, and then we’re going to St Matthew’s Hospital for a chat with Luigi Saltoni.’

  She tidied up the tea-things and about five minutes later heard Staines leave.

  When Mike came in the room again she asked, ‘Did you fire those three questions at him?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You might almost have rehearsed him in the answers. But all the same,’ Mike added vehemently, ‘that old bird is hiding something or I’m the village idiot! He even pretends he didn’t hear any shooting last night; says he was in his bath!’

  ‘People do have baths at the oddest hours. Maybe he sings in his and so drowned the noise. What did he want to see you for?’

  ‘Everyone in the area was questioned by the police this morning. He seemed to want to clear himself with me, to convince me he had nothing to do with the affair.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘He hasn’t started telling the truth yet!’ Mike snapped. ‘I tackled him about Bannister, but he just looked blank. He also says he received no visitors last night, so I didn’t think it necessary to tell him why we were in the neighbourhood at two-thirty in the morning.’

  ‘So what’s the next move?’

  ‘I’m due at Corina’s. Are you going to take another crack at Irene Long, darling?’

  Linda nodded. ‘I thought I would. She can’t possibly be having a “coffee break” all day long. Watch your step with the glamour boy, won’t you?’

  ‘I will. See you at the hospital around five. And tell Mrs Potter to stick around in case Jo tries to call us.’

  Charles Corina’s suite of rooms in South Audley Street was an eye-opener. Mike’s first impression was that he had strayed into a room in one of Ludwig II’s castles in Bavaria. On a beautifully polished parquet floor of intricate design lay a few costly rugs; dim etchings of market squares and Rathaus buildings belonging to long-bombed European cities hung on the cream walls; and a fine collection of delicate china – Mike recognised Delft, Dresden and Spode, amongst others – lined the shelves of a period dresser. Tooled leather books in several languages denoted the man’s wide range of interests. But there were also, scattered amongst the objets d’art, several statues and small silver trophies of a distinctly equestrian nature, and above the escritoire hung a photograph of Corina in polo kit mounted on a fine white horse. Across the open fireplace hung two fencing foils. The two sides of the man’s personality, the intellectual and the physical, were on view for the perceptive observer. The man he had to deal with was no ordinary night-club manager or lounge lizard, Mike reminded himself.

  Corina offered drinks, which Mike declined.

  ‘You know why I wanted to see you, of course?’ Corina began, raising his brandy glass and drinking his guest’s health with a stiff little Continental bow. His accent, Mike noted again, was very slight and an undoubted part of his stock of charm. Mike decided to let his host make the running.

  ‘No, Corina, I haven’t the slightest idea.’

  ‘Come, come, my dear fellow – I should have thought it was obvious to a man of your perspicacity.’

  ‘You flatter me.’

  Corina smiled. ‘You received my note?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve made me a little angry by your actions.’

  ‘What actions?’

  ‘Why did you set your watch-dogs on La Pergola? I detest being spied upon.’

  ‘Watch-dogs? You mean Miss Peters?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘That was none of my affair, Corina. I only met the girl for the first time last night.’

  ‘I gleaned that from your wife,’ Corina answered with a complacent smile.

  ‘And I don’t know how you found out Miss Peters’s connection with Scotland Yard.’

  ‘She draws her salary there.’

  ‘Are you sure? Even if she does, I doubt if it’s a very princely one. Be that as it may, I myself am not and never have been attached to the police.’

  ‘Then why this snooping round my province?’

  ‘I thought I made that quite plain last night, or rather my wife did. I’m looking for a man named Bannister.’

  ‘I assure you there is no such person of that name in—’

  ‘And I would also appreciate a little information on Nadia Tarrant’s connection with your club.’

  Corina was really annoyed now. ‘If you and your friend Superintendent Goldway really imagine I would allow a woman like that inside an élite club—’

  ‘Then you do admit to knowing her?’

  Corina parried superbly. ‘I have not been vouchsafed that dubious pleasure.’ Like all foreigners who have taken immense pains to master the English language his vocabulary was studded with words no ordinary Englishman would consider using. ‘I am, however, capable of reading English, or what passes for it in the common Press. Nadia Tarrant was the faded music-hall performer in the Weldon case, I seem to recall.’

  ‘Yes, she was. I use the past tense with care. She was found drowned in a river near Farnham yesterday.’

  Mike had set the trap with care. The details of the killing had not yet been released. Only the murderer and a handful of police investigators knew that she had been strangled in some woods.

  Corina passed the test with ease. ‘More fool she. She should have stayed away from the water.’

  Mike drew a deep breath. ‘I’d still like to know,’ he went on, ‘what she was doing at your club in the company of Irene Long?’

  Corina sighed. ‘This is going to be duller than I had thought. Perhaps you did not hear me. I repeat, no circumstances on earth would force me to tolerate a common creature like that in my establishment.’

  ‘All right, have it your way: no Bannister, no Tarrant – but what about a youth named Luigi Saltoni? You know him?’

  ‘No, I don’t know him. Who or what is Saltoni?’

  ‘He’s also part of the Weldon case,’ Mike replied evasively.

  ‘Is that to be your only topic of conversation?’

  ‘For the time being, yes. The Weldon case and La Pergola night-club.’

  ‘I assure you, Mr Baxter, there is no connection.’

  ‘I think there is. Saltoni definitely said he saw Irene Long, whom you’ll admit is a club member, entering your very exclusive “establishment” with Nadia Tarrant.’

  ‘Then Saltoni is a liar.’

  ‘That remains to be proven. Look, Corina, if your conscience is clear then there’s no earthly reason why you should obstruct me in my efforts to save an innocent man from hanging – unless it’s the bad publicity you’re afraid of, when word gets around about dubious characters seen at La Pergola. If that’s the case I promise to do what I can to keep La Pergola’s name out of it.’

  Corina’s tone was icy. ‘Thank you, but I prefer to handle my own public relations. I’m quite capable of protecting the good name of my club without your heavy-handed assistance.’

  ‘I should weigh those words, if I were you. I offered my help, but if you refuse to co-operate I may go over to the offensive.’

  ‘I doubt if you can do me much harm,’ Corina snapped contemptuously.

  ‘No? I have many friends in Fleet Street, Mr Corina.’

  Corina turned his back and poured himself another drink. When he faced Mike he was in complete control of himself.

  ‘You know, Baxter, what irritates me about this whole silly rigmarole more than anything else is your continued insinuation that the behaviour and actions of a criminal can be laid at my door.’ He waved a hand round the room at his collection of priceles
s objets d’art. ‘Is that really how you judge me?’

  Mike got up and walked casually to the fireplace. He fingered the fencing foils. ‘Skill on the dance floor and a taste for ceramics, Corina, do not rule out a talent for more active pastimes, it would appear. Suppose you quit stalling and tell me just how you learnt that Jo Peters was attached to the Yard?’

  ‘Someone breathed it in my ear. I have a wide circle of friends. It is one of the pleasures of being in the entertainment business.’

  ‘Did this friend have a name?’

  ‘Even if I could remember I would not be so naïve as to tell you. I did not even believe it at first. In fact, it was not until I received official confirmation from the police themselves—’

  Mike was startled. ‘The police?’

  ‘Yes. It was a small matter of the loss of a ring by one of our club members. The insurance firm reported it to Scotland Yard and Inspector Rodgers came to make a routine inquiry.’

  ‘And I suppose Inspector Rodgers blandly told you that Scotland Yard had planted Miss Peters in your midst?’

  ‘You don’t appear to listen very carefully, Baxter. I said no such thing. Rodgers was far too absorbed in playing his self-appointed role of cautious investigator to do more than look dumb – his usual expression. – when I challenged him over Jo. But officers of the law make poor actors. I obtained the confirmation I needed for what had already been whispered in my ear.’

  They eyed one another with undisguised dislike, and Mike reached for his hat, mentally shrugging his shoulders. The smoothness of the man’s verbal technique rivalled his snake-like grace on the dance floor. Only at one point during their fencing did Mike feel he had struck home: with his hint of unfavourable publicity for Corina’s club. He decided on his Parthian shot.

  ‘I’ve tried playing it nicely, Corina. I can play it rough too. If you continue to obstruct me I’ll break your night-club into twenty different pieces. The only customers you’ll have inside La Pergola will be newspapermen and probing police officers. Do I make myself clear? Furthermore, I promise you that if anything happens, or has happened, to Jo Peters you’ll find me with a heavy crowbar right in front of that neon sign of yours.’

  Corina had visibly recoiled at the intensity of Mike’s vehemence. Making a gallant effort to recover the situation he held open the door and bowed slightly as Mike swept past. ‘Whatever happens to Miss Peters,’ he said, ‘is of no possible concern to me. I am simply not interested in the young lady.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m getting at, Corina!’ Mike ground out savagely. ‘She was interested in you.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Someone has certainly rubbed you up the wrong way,’ said Linda with a half-anxious, half-joking glance at her husband as they walked down the wide flight of steps from St Matthew’s Hospital. ‘Was Corina very rude or has Saltoni upset you?’

  ‘The answer is “yes” to both questions. Corina made my blood boil but told me nothing of any value. He seemed to think I’m responsible for having his club watched.’

  ‘Did you tackle him about Jo’s disappearance?’

  ‘Yes. He pretended to be surprised, and then plain indifferent. I didn’t believe him. He’s a tough customer behind all that suave charm.’

  ‘And Saltoni?’ Linda asked, glancing over her shoulder at the hospital they had just left; she had arrived too late to accompany Mike into the Italian’s room.

  Mike swore expressively. ‘The little skunk’s clammed up!’

  ‘Oh no! You don’t mean he’s withdrawing his statement about Nadia Tarrant being in bed with him that night?’

  ‘I do. Now you know why I’m furious. Someone’s been at him and scared him into changing his mind.’

  ‘But that’s impossible! He’s not been allowed any visitors, surely?’

  ‘That’s true, so far as it goes. No one but the police and the hospital staff have been allowed into his room.’

  ‘Then how on earth could he have been contacted?’

  Linda led the way to their hired car and slipped behind the wheel.

  Mike got in beside her and said, ‘It can’t have been too difficult. A telephone message, a note slipped under a plate of food, or even a bit of skilful bribery of one of the hospital staff – one of the stretcher-bearers, perhaps, or a cleaner. No violence would be needed, just a message threatening him with worse than a beating-up if he failed to retract his statement. I was a fool not to have foreseen the possibility.’

  ‘Bang goes our one and only ally,’ said Linda thoughtfully. ‘The elusive Mr Bannister, if that’s the man behind this murky business, seems always one jump ahead of us, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He certainly seems well informed about what’s going on.’

  Mike lit a cigarette. ‘How did you get on with Irene Long, by the way? Or hasn’t she finished her morning coffee break yet?’

  Linda sighed gloomily. ‘She put on the big act about being terribly busy. Short of running round the store like a lost hound I couldn’t very well pin her down. I did manage to throw a few names at her, such as Staines and Corina, but apart from turning bright pink when I mentioned Victor Sanders she sidestepped the lot.’

  ‘That fits, anyway,’ said Mike enigmatically. He glanced at the dashboard of the car in which they sat. ‘Can you drive this thing?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. A trained chauffeuse was part of the hire contract! Is there anywhere you wished to go, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Miss. Tottenham Court Road.’

  She was about to release the clutch when she hesitated. ‘There’s Inspector Rodgers going into the hospital.’ She pointed.

  Mike swung open his door, stood up, and called across the parking area to the Inspector.

  He turned, gave a friendly nod, and came over to the car, greeting them both politely but in a preoccupied manner.

  ‘You’ve been to see Saltoni?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mike answered. ‘I was in there for a few minutes.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He seems to be suffering from temporary amnesia,’ was Mike’s dry comment. ‘Can’t remember what he told us yesterday afternoon.’

  Rodgers muttered an imprecation. ‘You mean he’s trying to go back on what he said about the Tarrant woman?’

  ‘Not trying to – he’s gone.’

  ‘Blast!’ Rodgers muttered. ‘How the devil do you suppose this happened?’

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid it’s rather obvious. Someone must have scared him to death – or rather, to silence and loss of memory.’

  Rodgers nodded gloomily. ‘I’ve been too tied up to be able to get down before. I haven’t seen him since I brought him in, unconscious, late last night. I left strict instructions that no one was to be allowed into his room.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he’s been got at. There’s always someone who has to bring a patient his food or make his bed. Maybe a ward cleaner, or a nurse; and I noticed there’s a telephone in his room.’

  ‘I left orders that no calls were to be accepted. So it can’t be that. No letters or messages were to be delivered, either. Someone’s bungled. Believe you me, there’s going to be a very thorough check here, from the Head Matron and the Chief Surgeon downwards.’ He touched his hat and turned to go.

  ‘Is there any news of Jo Peters?’ Linda called out.

  Rodgers turned. ‘No, there isn’t, I’m afraid. Goldway mentioned that she hadn’t reported to him today. By the way, Baxter, did you know she was attached to Scotland Yard – that she was watching La Pergola?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did, Inspector.’

  Rodgers made a grimace of annoyance. ‘Well, it was news to me. It’s a pity the Superintendent didn’t mention her before. It always helps for the right hand to know what the left hand is doing.’

  ‘She wasn’t actually working on the Weldon case, you know.’

  Rodgers sniffed. ‘That makes a nice change, anyway. Just about everyone else seems to be in on it.’

 
Mike and Linda exchanged an embarrassed look; evidently the news about Saltoni had put Rodgers in a foul mood.

  Mike took out his cigarette-case and offered it to the Inspector, saying, ‘You mentioned just now that you didn’t know Jo was working for the Yard. Didn’t Charles Corina mention her to you?’

  ‘Corina? The fellow who runs La Pergola?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. Why? Surely he didn’t know about the Peters girl as well?’ Rodgers asked.

  ‘As a matter of fact he did. And he insists that he asked you whether she was working for the Yard.’

  ‘Well, well! And what am I supposed to have said in this highly interesting conversation?’

  ‘Apparently you were non-committal,’ Mike replied.

  Rodgers gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I’ll bet I was. What an imagination that character’s got!’

  He turned and strode with large, purposeful steps towards the hospital.

  Linda watched his broad back and shivered. ‘I’m rather glad I’m not at the receiving end of one of the Inspector’s cross-examinations. I feel almost sorry for Saltoni. Rodgers is a pretty tough old brute, isn’t he?’

  ‘His line of business tends to bring him into contact with little else than equally tough old brutes. Occupational hazard, the trick-cyclists call it. Now then, miss, if you’ve got nothing better to do, would you care to drive this expensive wagon towards the library off Tottenham Court Road?’

  ‘Certainly, sir!’ Linda grinned and switched on the ignition. ‘Being merely the chauffeuse, I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why we’re going there?’

  ‘It happens to be the place where Saltoni first met Nadia Tarrant.’

  ‘What’s so startling about that?’

  ‘It strikes me as being an odd place for a couple like that to run across one another.’

  Linda looked puzzled. ‘I don’t get it. She was probably changing her latest lurid novelette and—’

  ‘It isn’t that sort of library. No novelettes allowed inside the door. Chiefly large, dry, dusty tomes full of facts and no fiction. Nadia Tarrant, from what I can judge of her, was hardly the type of woman to go there unless she had a specific purpose. I want to find out what it was.’