“I see.” Mr. Campion concentrated on his other shoe.
“You’re out of touch,” Lugg explained magnanimously, “but you’ll pick it up.”
“Yes, I hope so. Carry on.”
“I am carrying on. You keep your mind on what I’m telling you, ’cos it’s difficult, some of it. Now, this ’ere Lady Carados, wot’s in the next room, she lives in the square, on the side wot’s still standing.”
“The other three sides are not so hot, I suppose?” Campion could not forgo the question, for he had a sudden picture of the graceful houses with their slender windows and arched porticos, which used to stand like guardsmen round the delicate green of one of the city’s finest gardens.
“Most of the other three sides is cooler now than wot they was,” said Lugg succinctly. “But a part of the ’ouse where ’is nibs, ’er Ladyship’s son, used to live, that’s all right, and that’s wot we’re coming to.”
Johnny Carados’s house and only part of it all right. In his mind’s eye Campion saw again the Carados mansion, which George Quellett had redecorated in his Bakst period. It seemed impossible that it should not still exist. It was the Music Room he remembered best; it had been at the top of the building, so probably it had gone, and its Indian red hangings, its gilt and its green, all reduced to a mass of blackened spars.
All the same, it had been worth doing, even for so short a life. It had been from that room that Johnny had conducted his remarkable activities. Of course, as a man with such a background and with such a fortune, Carados had had every opportunity to give his genius full rein, but he had never wasted those opportunities; he had been a great patron. It was Johnny who had financed the Czesca Ballet, Johnny who established the Museum of Wine, Johnny who had put the Pastel Society on its feet, who had given Zolly his first half-dozen concerts in London, and who had rebuilt the Sicilian Hall.
Moreover, he had always fostered his own art, and was, incongruously, one of the leading amateur fliers of the age. Campion remembered him as an inspiring figure with the power to draw brains round him, and who had had, despite his youth and his money, very little trace of the dilettante in his make-up. He had held his friends, too. Peter Onyer and his wife Gwenda had lived with him. Campion remembered, Peter managing his financial affairs and Gwenda acting as her husband’s secretary. There had been other members of the household also—that queer little fish, Ricky Silva, who had existed solely to do the flowers, as far as anyone knew, and the plump cheerful girl who was the social secretary, whose name Campion had forgotten; not to mention the silent Captain Gold, who ruled the servants and did the housekeeping. It had been an odd, interesting outfit, the members all of an age and all highly intelligent. Together they had formed one of the most closely knit of all the little gangs which had characterized the social life of pre-war London.
Carados had lived his own life in his own magnificent fashion. Evangeline Snow, the revue star, had never married him, but she was always there amongst them, and Johnny was faithful to her as far as anyone knew.
The brilliant picture of the past faded into the dust and rubble of the present, and Mr. Campion blinked. The war must have split them up, of course, he reflected. He thought he remembered hearing something about Johnny getting himself into the R.A.F. at an age which at the time had appeared fantastic; his record as an amateur had stood him in good stead, and it had been arranged. The move must have taken him clean away from his old surroundings and now, most of the house itself had gone.
Campion turned to Lugg. “Where is Carados now?”
“’Is Lordship? At ’is ’ome, I ’ope. They’ve got the two lower floors and the basement going. He was just due there when we got the stiff away.”
His large white face was growing more and more lugubrious. “We’ve got ourselves in a mess and no mistake,” he said. “The girl coming in so unlikely, not to mention you—that’s torn it. I was going to manage it all quiet, you see.”
“I don’t, quite,” said Mr. Campion frankly, “not yet. Go on from where you were sitting in your pigsty.”
Lugg was hurt. “It’s not only a pigsty,” he said, “it’s a whole depot. A.R.P., you know, ’eroes of the Blitzes. It’s right in the middle of the square where the grass used to be. That’s where I picked up ’er Ladyship. All through the Blitz she ran a voluntary canteen there, a real old sport, she is. Not a nerve in ’er body. Me an ’er always ’ave got on very polite. So when she got ’erself in this spot of trouble it was natural she should turn to me. Also, she knew I was still working for you in me spare time, and p’raps that ’ad something to do with it. You’ve got a reputation, you know, and I’ve come in for a bit of it.”
He paused and regarded his employer defiantly. Campion’s expression was not helpful. Lugg sighed.
“When she come to me I ’elped ’er,” he said. “I felt it was my duty, and I ’elped ’er.”
“Yes, well, let’s hope you haven’t helped the nerveless Marchioness to jug,” observed Mr. Campion pleasantly. “You say you don’t know who the dead woman is; has your distinguished confederate any idea?”
“No. She don’t know neither. That’s wot’s made ’er so wild, if you ask me.”
Mr. Campion put on his coat. “Do you know how the woman died?”
“Oh, that’s all right, don’t worry about that. It’s nothing fishy.” Lugg was unexpectedly confident. “That’s O.K. I’ve taken care of that. You know me by this time, I wouldn’t mix myself up with nothing dangerous.”
Campion regarded his old friend with respectful astonishment.
“I don’t know how carefree the old country has gone in my absence,” he said, “but you seem to be considerably more casual with your corpses than is the fashion elsewhere. Are you telling me you’ve got a doctor’s certificate for that body? What are you doing? Just throwing a small funeral from my flat?”
“No, cock. No. Not yet.”
Lugg was uncomfortable, and again the unusual gleam of alarm showed for an instant in his small eyes. “We ain’t ’ad a doctor yet, as a matter of fact. But I was goin’ to, of course. It was suicide, if you want to know—straight suicide. Bottle of muck by ’er side, and everything.”
Campion remained unimpressed, and Lugg went on earnestly:
“We ’ad to move ’er, you see, because she was in ’is bed. It didn’t look the article, especially with ’im due any minute for the wedding. That’s going to be the day after tomorrow.”
Mr. Campion sat down slowly on a chair which was fortunately behind him.
“Whose bed?” he enquired.
“‘Is Nibs’.”
“Carados’s?”
“Yus. I’m tellin’ you.”
“Whose wedding?”
“’Is, of course. Don’t you see no papers where you come from?” Lugg’s voice was becoming appealing. “There’s been pictures of them both in all of them; ’im in his uniform with ’is ribbons up, and ’er looking about fourteen and all very nice. I’m going to ‘and round at the reception,” he added shyly, “if I get out of this.”
Mr. Campion struggled to adjust his mind to the facts so startlingly presented. One complete incongruity in the story stuck out and he commented on it casually. He was very fond of Evangeline, he said, but he could not believe she could look fourteen. The Heavy Rescue stalwart appeared puzzled.
“’Er name’s Susan,” he said, adding brightly, “oh, I get you, cock, it’s not the same girl. No, he ain’t marrying Miss Snow, he’s got one of my ambulance drivers, Admiral’s daughter. The bloke wot got himself in the papers by sinking the Prince Otto. You’ve seen ’er, she’s in the next room. That’s the trouble, or some of it,” he added gloomily.
“How did she get into it?”
“By a ruddy mistake,” said Lugg with feeling. “Nothing’s gorn right with this thing from the first. I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s going to be unlucky. I ’ope it’s goin’ to be a lesson to us all. No, well, you see, it was ’er time orf from duty this afternoon
. She ’asn’t got a deputy now as things ’ave been quiet for a bit. When she’s away I mind the ambulance. To tell you the truth, things is so quiet I’m pretty well alone at the depot most afternoons.”
Mr. Campion began to understand.
“You brought the body here in an ambulance.” he said. “In fact, Lady Carados made a confidant of you because you were the one man who could get hold of a vehicle without being questioned. That’s a relief, the woman isn’t quite mad after all.”
Lugg looked hurt. “She confided in me because she knew she could trust me,” he said. “But I’m not saying the ambulance might not ’ave ’elped. You can’t trust a taxi to ’old ’is tongue, and no one’s got a car running these days. It was a very good idea of ’ers, and it would ’ave worked, too, if the girl ’ad not come into the square just as we were slipping out of it.”
“She followed you, did she?”
“Yus, she did.” Lugg was torn between admiration and exasperation. “She’s a conscientious little beggar—some of these kids are; and when she saw ’er ambulance being drove orf by a woman (I was in the back, you see, with the corp), she thought the vehicle was being pinched, and I suppose she ’opped in a taxi and followed it. Anyway, she came barging in the door right on top of us, and when she saw wot we’d got, she was frightened. We was just tryin’ to argue a little reason into ’er, when you come in.”
Mr. Campion made no comment. He glanced at his watch noting that he had twenty minutes before he need start for the station. The situation was so macabre, the possibilities so unpleasant, the characters so illustrious, and the explanations so humanly silly that it left him speechless.
Lugg was watching him under heavy white lids. No voices sounded from the sitting-room, and there was silence in the flat.
Lugg stirred uncomfortably. “It wasn’t ’alf so barmy when we started out,” he said. “Left to ourselves, me and the old lady might have brought it orf and not a soul been the wiser. Now that the girl’s in it—not to mention you—it’s not going to be so easy.”
Mr. Campion eyed his old companion steadily.
“And there are the others,” he said. “All the hundreds of others who are bound to hear the story in confidence. My dear good chap, you don’t imagine that you can keep a thing like this quiet? Just think . . .”
He broke off and sat listening. Someone was coming up the stairs; light, purposeful footsteps advanced upon them steadily; on and on they came, nearer and nearer, neither hurrying nor hesitating, but coming ever closer to the door.
CHAPTER TWO
THE KNOCKING WAS gentle at first, almost timid, but the quiet sound echoed round the flat like thunder or the noise of guns. In the sitting-room the urgent whispering ceased abruptly, and Campion caught an echo of the thrill of fear which went through those others who heard it. Beside him, Lugg was standing stiffly. He was frowning, and the veins on his forehead stood out clearly under the skin. No one moved, and the knocking came again. It was more resolute this time; still nobody answered.
From outside the faint rumblings of the traffic floated up to the silent flat. These were homely, ordinary noises, hootings, the squeal of brakes, and the cries of paper-sellers shouting the news. But they were far off, belonging to another world.
Within the flat there was silence. The four who lived were as quiet as the one who lay so stiffly on the bed.
The third bout of knocking was violent. The summons was angry and the bell rang shrilly like an alarm, while the knocker shook the panels of the door. Immediately afterwards, as there was no response from within, the lock rattled savagely and there was an ominous noise as someone put a shoulder to the wood.
At this new sound Mr. Campion raised his head and glanced sharply at his companion.
“I’m afraid that means business,” he murmured. “Wait a moment,” he called amid the noise, “what’s up? What’s the excitement?”
He pulled the door open but did not step back, so that the visitor’s face suddenly appeared within a foot of his own.
The very young lieutenant of the United States Army who stood on the doorstep appeared to be as astonished by Campion as his host was to see him. He fell back a pace, but there was no suggestion of retreat in his square shoulders and serious pink face.
“I’m very sorry,” he said gently, “but I think Mrs. Shering is here, isn’t she? I’d very much like to see her, please.”
He conveyed patience and studious politeness, but also the confident determination of a tank. Campion regarded him dubiously.
“I don’t quite know,” he said at last, “unless . . . ? Tell me, what is she like?”
The boy’s face flushed a deeper crimson, and his pleasant grey eyes grew angrier.
“She came in here about fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “I want to see her at once, please.”
It was a very small hall, and he was a very large youngster. Mr. Campion showed no signs of moving and some sort of impasse appeared imminent when the sitting-room door burst open and the girl who had screamed came running out towards them. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and she was very pale.
“Oh, Don,” she said desperately, looking past Campion. “Oh, Don, take me away.”
He went over to her as though there were no one else in the world, much less in the room. It was a peculiarly youthful movement and Mr. Campion experienced considerable sympathy for him.
“Susan, my dear, who is this?”
Lady Carados did not come out into the overcrowded lobby and did not appear to raise her voice, yet the effect of her personality was by no means lessened by the fact that she spoke from half-way across the sitting-room. She dominated the group immediately, and Mr. Campion began to understand a little more of the present extraordinary situation. He realized that here was a woman who never from babyhood had expected any consideration whatever to stand in the way of her desires. It was not that she was particularly ruthless, but simply that things to inconvenience her had not been allowed to occur. She was frightened now, but he guessed that she was finding the experience invigorating.
“I think everybody had better come in here,” she said. “Now, Susan, who is this?”
Young Mrs. Shering took a firm hold of herself, and Campion who was watching her closely decided that his first impression of her had done her less than justice. He was astonished to find that she had been married; she looked not only younger than he had thought, but even more lovely. She stood up to the older woman very well, and it occurred to him that Lady Carados was her prospective mother-in-law, so that in view of the revealing expression on the face of the youngster at her side the position must be very difficult for her, quite apart from the alarming secret in the next room.
It was a considerable kettle of fish all round, he thought, and he eyed her curiously to see if she betrayed any answering feeling for the boy. At the moment her face told him nothing; she was schooled and impassive, her young mouth guarded and her eyes shadowed.
“Why, of course,” she said. “Darling, let me present Lieutenant Don Evers. Don, this is Lady Carados.”
It was naturally done, but all the same it was not quite an ordinary social introduction. Both pairs of eyes were wary, and the woman took in everything the boy’s face had to tell her. He was not disguising much, and she had plenty to read. His bewilderment kept him silent and she was the first to speak.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” she said, and waited for him to explain.
“Don’s been waiting downstairs for me,” Susan cut in quickly. “When I saw my ambulance we were together, you see. We’d been out to lunch and he was bringing me back to the depot. I changed into my uniform there. But when we turned into the square I was a minute or two late and I considered myself technically on duty, so when I saw the ambulance being stolen, I followed it.”
“Yes, that’s so,” said Evers, in his slow, deliberate way. He was still very doubtful of the position, but he was keeping his end up gallantly. “That’s so,” he repeated.
“When Sue saw her ambulance flash by with a strange civilian at the wheel she felt it was her responsibility; so I sent our taxi after it—we were in a taxi when we saw the ambulance.”
Lady Carados was ignoring the girl, but she kept her eyes fixed on the young soldier.
“Did you see anyone leave the ambulance here?” she enquired abruptly.
Again it was the girl who answered.
“We saw it turn in to the cul-de-sac, but we were held up for a minute or so by the lights on the corner. When we saw it again it was standing outside here, empty. I would come up here alone, but Don insisted on waiting for me. It wasn’t until I got into the flat that I saw . . .”
“That you saw us all, Susan,” said the elder woman firmly.
The two looked at one another, and again it occurred to the watching Campion that young Mrs. Shering possessed unusual determination. Either that, or she was at the end of her tether. All the same, it was she who first gave up the silent battle. She turned to the boy again and repeated her first abrupt request.
“Don, take me away from here.”
“Sure,” he said, closing in on her and taking her arm, adding apologetically as he glanced round the company, “I’m afraid I don’t quite get what’s going on around here yet, you know.”
Mr. Campion could have shaken his hand, and very nearly did so absent-mindedly in the warmth of his fellow-feeling. But meanwhile Lady Carados was pursuing her own line.
“Do you know,” she said, with a flicker of her early charm, “I don’t think I want either of you to leave here at the moment.”
“But I must,” the girl insisted, “I must. I’m on duty, for one thing, and for another, I can’t stay here a moment with . . .” She broke off helplessly.
“What exactly is this?” said Evers.
Lady Carados ignored him. “My dear,” she said, putting her hand upon Susan’s arm. “I’m so sorry, but you must wait here—both of you until Johnny comes. I’ve ’phoned my son, Mr. Campion,” she went on, turning to him. “As soon as Mrs. Shering arrived so unexpectedly, and then you came in, I realized that I’d done a very silly, dangerous thing. So while you were dressing I telephoned my son’s house. Fortunately he’d just got in, and he’s coming round at once. I’m afraid I’ve been rather foolish, but I did what I thought best in an intolerable situation.”
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