The Cairo Brief

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  “Don’t try to escape, Miss Denby. The door is locked and even if you do manage to get out, you won’t get far.” He brandished the gun to emphasize his point.

  Poppy swallowed hard and moved across to the passenger seat, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

  Fox closed the door behind him and turned to Poppy, the gun still trained on her. “I’m sorry, Miss Denby, for all these theatrics but it is imperative that I speak to you. Delilah told me the police are looking for me to get a writing sample. I knew immediately it was to do with the two notes I wrote.”

  “So, it was you who wrote the notes!”

  “Yes, it was all part of a silly game. And now the police seem to think that it’s to do with James’ murder! Oh my! That’s the last thing that it is! And I need you to tell them that!”

  A man and a dog walked past the car. Poppy was sorely tempted to call out to him for help – but the gun in Fox Flinton’s hand put paid to that.

  “You want me to tell them that you’ve got nothing to do with a murder and yet here you are threatening to kill me?”

  “Good heavens, no!”

  “And yet you have a gun...”

  “Well yes, but that is only because I didn’t think you’d speak to me without it. You seem to have the wrong end of the stick. And it’s partially my fault, I understand that, but –”

  “If you just wanted to speak to me, why didn’t you simply come to the office?”

  “I did! But you’d left already. Your receptionist told me you were heading out this way before going to the museum later. I told her it was imperative that I spoke to you, that I had some crucial evidence to help with your story. So she told me that you were going to this nursing home. I said I could meet you here and then give you a lift to the museum afterwards.”

  “Well, that was jolly good of her,” said Poppy caustically, making a note to speak to Mavis about not disclosing her whereabouts to folk. However, in Mavis’ favour, she had not mentioned Fox Flinton as a possible suspect in all of this. She had discounted him because of the footman’s comment that Mr Flinton always wore a boater.

  And there was the boater on the back seat.

  “Why are you wearing a fedora, Mr Flinton?” she asked.

  Fox raised his eyebrows. “What a strange question, Miss Denby.”

  Not half as strange as holding a lady at gunpoint. “If you wrote the note, then you are the man who has been following me – first at the maze at Winterton, then at the boat house in Henley-on-Thames, then at the British Museum, then at my house last night. Do you deny it?”

  “I do not, no. Although it wasn’t me at the British Museum… nor was it technically me at the boat house. However, why my headgear should be of any concern is rather puzzling. I would have thought you would want to know why I did it all.”

  “Well I do, of course. But I also want to know about the hat. The footman at Winterton told me you only ever wear a boater, and I’ve only seen you in a boater.”

  He grinned, wryly, and despite herself Poppy couldn’t help thinking that he was a devilishly handsome man. “Ah, well, that’s all part of the image. When I’m out and about as Fox Flinton, actor extraordinaire, I wear my boater. It’s like my trademark. But when I want a bit of anonymity I wear a fedora – like half the men in London.”

  “But you didn’t hand your fedora in to the footman. Why’s that?”

  Fox shrugged. “I wanted to retain a little mystery.”

  “Why did you need to do that?”

  Fox sighed and took his hat off, tossing it onto the back seat. “It was all part of the game. Let me explain.”

  “Please do,” said Poppy tartly.

  Fox raised a sardonic eyebrow and cleared his throat. “When Delilah told me you were going to be at the Winterton weekend, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to create a bit of mystery. I’ve heard all about you, Miss Denby, and everyone knows you have a nose for murder.”

  There was that phrase again, the one the footman had used: a nose for murder. And hadn’t he said he had overheard Fox saying that very thing to Mr Grimes the butler?

  She mentioned this to Fox. Fox nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. You see, I was trying to create a bit of a buzz about the weekend, to make sure there would be extensive press coverage. You see, me and Minny –”

  “Minny?”

  “Madame Minette. Minifred Hughes. The medium. I know you know who she is; the boy told me you’d been around earlier. And that you’d been asking about the painting...”

  “The forged Renoir, you mean.”

  Fox cleared his throat again. “Well, yes, that. But that too is not what it appears on the surface. I’ll explain about that later. For now, I want to tell you why I had nothing to do with James’ murder so you can back me up when we go to the police.”

  “Assuming I believe you.”

  “I’m sure you will if you give me an honest hearing.”

  Poppy looked down at the gun still trained at her and swallowed hard. “Go on.”

  Fox nodded earnestly. “Thank you. You see, I’m not getting the roles I used to and so to earn a little extra I’ve started helping Minny out in her business. In fact, I’m looking at ways of expanding it. A weekend with the auction of the death mask of an Egyptian queen, attended by the world’s foremost mystery writer and an up-and-coming sleuth like you seemed to me the perfect opportunity to get a bit of publicity. But first I had to get you interested.”

  “Well, you certainly achieved that. But why did you remove Conan Doyle from the picture if he was so important?”

  Fox shrugged. “Just having his name attached to the weekend was enough. But his wife needed to be removed in order for Minny to take her place. I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get Cousin James to have Madame Minette as the medium from the beginning. But he felt that the ‘big name’ Conan Doyles would attract more press interest.”

  “And he was right,” observed Poppy, remembering that that was one of the main reasons she and Rollo had decided to go.

  “Ursula, however, was more inclined to listen, particularly when I told her that I could get some dirt on some of the attendees and create a bit more excitement.”

  Poppy raised her eyebrows. “Ursula was in on it? I thought she was a true believer. I thought it was James who had set up Madame Minette to target Howard Carter, Albert Carnaby, and me.”

  “No, that was Ursula. James just wanted rid of the mask. He genuinely seemed to believe there was a curse attached to it. Ursula wanted to ensure they got the best price for it. She was always the one who worried about money. James was like a child in that sense; he didn’t seem to know or care how much things cost. He just wanted to possess beautiful and mysterious things.”

  Poppy nodded. Yes, she’d gathered that. “So, you fed Lady Jean Conan Doyle something to make her ill.”

  “That was Ursula too. I must say I think she overdid it a bit. I just suggested some prune juice or something, but Ursula used the strong stuff.”

  “The strong stuff?”

  “A little arsenic. Just enough to make her sick, nothing more. In small, single doses it’s not lethal.” Fox laughed. “Ironically, she got the idea from one of Conan Doyle’s stories. So with Lady Jean out of the picture we were able to bring in Minny. And a jolly good job she did too, I thought. The only thing that didn’t work, as planned, was that you were angry about your brother rather than moved that he’d tried to contact you. From what Delilah had told me, unlike Rollo Rolandson, you were open to the idea that spirits might be real, and you were still desperately sad that your brother had died. She also said you were excited that the Conan Doyles were there as your brother had been a Sherlock Holmes enthusiast.”

  “How on earth did she know that?”

  “She said you’d told her. At Oscar’s one night?”

  Suddenly Poppy remembered the conversation she’d had with her friend at the jazz club; and that she’d told her about her brother’s magazines! Good golly
, how could she have forgotten? A glass of champagne too many…? “Why on earth did she tell you? Did she know you were in on the séance?”

  “No, no, of course not. It was just chit-chat. She didn’t realize that I would use it against you. You hadn’t said it was top secret or anything, had you?”

  Poppy had to admit that she had not.

  “But it didn’t go to plan. We had expected a different reaction at the séance, a bit more like Albert Carnaby’s. People who have lost someone are usually more susceptible to this sort of thing.”

  “Then you obviously don’t know me very well, Mr Flinton.”

  Fox grimaced. “No, I’m afraid we misjudged you. But we didn’t realize that at the time, which is why I decided to give it another go. I was up early on Saturday and saw you heading over to the maze. So I followed you, hoping to give you a little fright. I wanted you to think your brother was trying to speak to you. I had hoped you might think I was his ghost. I did the same at your house last night. Look, I’m dreadfully sorry, I realize it wasn’t a nice thing to do, but I didn’t think you’d take it the way you did. I thought you’d just want to try to speak to him again, and that you’d then give some publicity to our séances. We need to get the business on a stronger footing you see, for the sake of the boy...”

  “Your son.”

  “How did you know?”

  Poppy smiled wryly. “He looks just like you.”

  Fox grinned. “He doesn’t know yet that I’m his father. I didn’t until just recently. But Minny and I are going to tell him. Once we’re married.”

  “You’re getting married?”

  “We are. Finally, after all these years.”

  “Well… congratulations.” Poppy didn’t know what else to say. She eyed the gun again. What a bizarre conversation. “Look Fox, now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, would you mind putting that gun away? I won’t run, I promise.”

  Fox shrugged in apology. “I’m sorry Poppy – may I call you Poppy? – but I need you to hear the rest of what I’ve got to tell you, and no offence, I don’t have any reason to trust you.”

  Poppy shrugged in reply. “Fair enough. All right, so it was you at the maze, the boat house, and Aunt Dot’s house, but –”

  “Oh no, not the boat house. That wasn’t me; it was Grimes. He told me about it afterwards. He said he saw the two of you sneaking off to do a bit of canoodling. He thought I might want to know. You see, he’s fiercely loyal to Ursula. He was in on the whole séance switcheroo. He’s just as keen as my cousin to save the family from penury – his job depends on it, after all. He knew we were trying to get a bit of information on you, so he followed you. He had to go into town that day anyway.”

  Poppy grimaced. Her instincts had been right – Grimes was in on it. “But why would he take the cartridge into the police?”

  Fox looked at her curiously. “The cartridge?”

  “From the shooting.”

  “Oh that. No, he didn’t take the cartridge in. That would have pointed old Bill’s finger directly at us.”

  “But surely the finger was already pointing. The boy would have told the police that Grimes gave him the note.”

  Fox sighed. “Well yes, that has backfired a bit too. Not that well-thought through, I’m afraid. We did offer the lad and his father a good pay-off to keep quiet and not tell the police about it. But they never quite realized that that also extended to your photographer friend. I believe the lad mentioned it to him.”

  “He did. And the police have got the note. I gave it to them. One of the staff at Winterton passed it onto me – another thing that wasn’t well thought through,” she said sarcastically.

  Fox lowered his chin to his chest, chagrined. “No. We didn’t think the lad would leave the note just lying around like that.”

  Not exactly the criminal mastermind, thought Poppy. “Tell me Fox, what exactly did you, Ursula, and Grimes hope to achieve by the shooting charade?”

  “Oh, that was Ursula’s idea as well. She thought switched cartridges and an accidental shooting might add to the whole ‘curse of the pharaoh’ thing we were trying to set up. More fodder for the press.”

  Poppy was incredulous. “You mean she actually meant for someone to get shot?”

  “Good grief no! She was going to discharge the gun, then notice that buckshot had been used. She was going to suggest loudly and mysteriously – in the earshot of all you journalists – that something fishy was afoot. That someone could very easily have been killed, that perhaps the pharaoh’s curse... etcetera, etcetera. But then the stupid boy went and shot himself in the foot instead. Scuppered all our plans.”

  Poppy’s mind was racing. It was a lot to take in, but despite its stupidity, Fox’s confession was making sense. “And the Renoir? How did that fit into it all? You said you would tell me.”

  “And I will. That was also Ursula’s idea. You see, Yachts on the Seine was one of her private collection. She hadn’t wanted James to know that she owned it in case he tried to flog it to finance his foreign travels. When Renoir died last year, the price went up. That’s when she thought she’d auction it. She used an agent so it was listed as a ‘private collector’. I don’t think Carnaby knew it was hers. Anyway, I’d kept it for her for a while before that – to keep it out of James’ sight – and while I did, I did a spot of painting. It’s a hobby of mine, you see.”

  “You’re very good.”

  “Thank you. Unfortunately, never been able to make much money from it. However, last week when Ursula came around to speak to me and Minny about our plans for the séance, she saw my copy of it. She suggested we try to switch it at the auction house – and then sell off the real one privately, elsewhere. You know, sort of on the black market. Apparently there are people who do that sort of thing.”

  “Apparently. So you agreed?”

  “Well, to be honest, I didn’t think we’d get away with it. For people like Minny and Ursula who don’t know anything about painting, they think it’s identical. But it’s not. And I’m sure an expert would be able to spot the difference. But Minny and Ursula wouldn’t be deterred and hence went ahead with the charade at the séance, putting pressure on Albert Carnaby to withdraw it from auction to give us time to replace the original with the fake. I let them. But I would not have let them go through with the real switch. I swear to you.”

  Swear it to a judge. “Why are you telling me all this, Fox? You are implicating yourself in some shady goings on.”

  “Shady, yes, but a far cry from murder. And I need you to convince the police of that. You’ve cleared innocent people before, Poppy. I hope you’ll do the same for me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because it’s who you are. Delilah told me that too. You never stop until you get the truth, all of it. And if the police arrest me for James’ murder, the real killer might get away.”

  “And who is the real killer, Fox? Do you know?”

  Fox shook his head. He looked miserable. “I don’t. I was just as shocked as you were when James collapsed. And even more so when the news came out that it was poison. I have no idea who would do that, or why.” He looked at her imploringly. “Do you?”

  Poppy looked across the road at the care home, then at her watch. It was half-past six. She would not have time to interview Walter Jensford and get back in time for the auction. Not using public transport. Unless…

  “Fox, you said earlier that you could give me a lift back to the museum. Does that offer still stand?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Good, then I’ll take you up on it. And I’ll do my best to straighten things out with the police. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you finally put away that gun. You’ve told me what you need to tell me. I’m not going to run away. You don’t really need it any more, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. It’s done its job.” He slipped the weapon into his coat pocket. “I borrowed it
from the prop department at the theatre.”

  Poppy’s mouth dropped open. “You mean it isn’t real?”

  “Good heavens, no. Do you really think I’d hold a lady up at gunpoint?” He flashed his most dashing smile.

  CHAPTER 29

  Poppy and Fox were ushered into the waiting room of the Shepherd’s Bush Nursing Home by a disapproving matron who tapped her watch and pursed her lips. Poppy apologized for the lateness of the visit but hoped Mr Jensford would still be able to receive her. The matron left and then returned a few minutes later to say that Poppy – and only Poppy – could have half an hour with Mr Jensford. The gentleman would just have to wait.

  Fox gave his most charming thespian smile – which had melted many a female heart over the years – and said he’d be happy to wait if the lovely lady would get him a cup of tea. The matron’s heart was not melted.

  The matron led Poppy past a sitting room where the residents were playing cards, chatting, or just nodding off in their chairs. One elderly lady tinkled on the piano – “Great is Thy Faithfulness”, if Poppy was not mistaken – a good old Methodist hymn.

  The matron knocked on a door and entered. Poppy followed. On one side of the room there was a bed and a dressing table with a wash bowl, jug, and chamber pot. On the other, a desk, piled high with newspapers and files, on either side of a typewriter. In one of two armchairs, set into a window alcove, was an emaciated elderly man, his skin too loose for his frame. His bald head perched on the end of a skinny neck reminded Poppy of a turkey. On one arm of his chair was an ashtray and on the other the Monday morning edition of The Daily Globe.

  “I’ll be back in half an hour,” the matron said. “Don’t tire yourself out, Mr Jensford.”

  Mr Jensford grinned, revealing a sparsely toothed mouth. “I’d rather be tired out by an interesting young lady than by those boring old codgers downstairs.”