A Royal Affair

by Allison Montclair

  “It seemed likely,” said Iris. “In any case, if it had been inland, you would have taken the car instead. What about the dockside door? Did you see anyone go in or out?”

  “I was getting to that. About ten minutes before the two of you came out, a chap comes through that door, throws something into the Thames, and limps off to the west. I lost sight of him.”

  “Probably tossed the knife. He had a limp?”

  “He had. Something wrong with his right leg, but I couldn’t see what. I was focusing on his face.”

  “Did you get a good look?” asked Iris.

  “Good enough,” said Sally, holding up a pair of opera glasses. “Should I go to the Yard and volunteer to pore over mug books?”

  “How would you explain your presence in a boat at that location?” asked Iris.

  “Innocent fishing expedition?”

  “Dressed in a suit? With neither pole nor tackle box?”

  “Incompetent neophyte fisherman? No, I don’t think I could sell that easily. What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t have one yet,” said Iris. “The original plan didn’t allow for the blackmailer getting killed and relieved of the letters before we got there. We’re back to—well, I was going to say square one, but there’s a new game being played now. There’s still the other part of the original plan, but I won’t know the results of that until Monday.”

  “So, if you didn’t get the letters, what happened to the money?”

  Iris nodded towards the Hamleys bag sitting on Gwen’s lap.

  “Really?” said Sally, his eyebrows arching. “There’s five thousand pounds in there?”

  “Yes. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of tipping us into the Thames and sailing off into the sunset.”

  “No,” said Sally. “But you could tell them the blackmailer grabbed the money and ran, then we could split it three ways.”

  “No,” croaked Gwen. “Moral compass. Still functioning.”

  “And she’s back,” said Iris. “How are you feeling, darling?”

  Gwen held out her hand. Iris placed the flask in it.

  “I say,” said Sally as she tilted it back. “Go easy. That’s hard to get.”

  “It’s terrible,” said Gwen, replacing the cap. “What is it?”

  “Canadian.”

  “We never should have colonised the place,” she said. She was still trembling.

  Iris put an arm around her and pulled her close. “You’ve had a shock,” she said. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Like hell I will,” said Gwen. “How could the two of you be so calm? Rational? You were making jokes, for God’s sake!”

  “Not my first body,” said Iris.

  “And I’ve completely lost count,” said Sally. “Not that I’ve gotten used to the sight. Still remember the first quite vividly. I plan to work it into a play some day, if I can stop screaming long enough to write the scene. But I didn’t even get to see this one.”

  “Why did he go in first?” asked Gwen, her voice still on the edge of hysteria. “He was supposed to come in after us. What was he doing there?”

  “Maybe he was checking out the location early to make sure it was clear,” suggested Iris. “Only it wasn’t.”

  “Could the killer have been someone there just randomly?” asked Gwen. “A tramp?”

  “I don’t believe that, and neither do you,” said Iris. “Someone has raised the stakes considerably.”

  “But why? Because of money?”

  “There are people who will kill for much less than five thousand pounds,” offered Sally. “I can’t give you the going rate, but one hears things.”

  “But it is more likely something to do with the princess,” said Iris. “Either someone else is attempting to blackmail her—or someone’s trying to protect her.”

  “He’s doing a thorough job, if that’s the case,” said Gwen. “I wonder how far he’ll go.”

  “Meaning?”

  “What if he decides to eliminate everyone who knows about this?”

  “He doesn’t know about us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “But what about Princess Alice’s people? Vivienne Ducognon, for example? If she knew anything, she might be in danger.”

  “Then we’d better find her and warn her,” said Iris. “Another item for the list. But I think we’d better find out more about Mr. Magoulias first.”

  “Magoulias?” asked Sally. “Who is that?”

  “Our new dead friend,” said Iris. “Nikolas Magoulias. Anything about that name?”

  “Nothing,” said Sally. “Greek, obviously, which means we’re back to the Thrilling Adventures of Sir Gerald Talbot. Going to talk to your boss again?”

  “Emphatically not,” said Iris. “But if we trace the history of Mr. Magoulias, that might provide more for the provenance of these mythical letters.”

  “What about the murder, Iris?” asked Gwen.

  “Let the police figure it out.”

  “But we have information. And there’s a killer on the loose.”

  Iris and Sally looked at her. She was no longer trembling. Instead, she was staring over Sally’s shoulder at the warehouse as it disappeared from view as the boat turned past the isle.

  “The last time I saw that look in your eyes was when you plunged us into investigating Tillie La Salle’s murder,” said Iris. “That nearly got you killed, remember?”

  “It was only a month ago,” said Gwen. “Do you think I’d forget something like that? What is your point?”

  “This time, we should let the police do their job. If we get involved—”

  “We’re already involved.”

  “Not in a murder investigation.”

  “It’s part and parcel of what we’ve been working on,” said Gwen. “If we still intend to intercept those letters, then we have to find the man who has them.”

  “I think we’ve missed our chance,” said Iris.

  “We’ve missed one chance,” said Gwen. “We don’t know that it’s the only one. And what if the police get to those letters first? What happens?”

  “They leak them to the press,” said Sally.

  “Whose side are you on?” asked Iris, turning on him angrily.

  “Yours. Meaning both of you, of course.”

  “And when we disagree?”

  “Then I will wait patiently for you to agree again,” he said. “And then do your bidding, for I am your humble servant.”

  “You’re being theatrical again,” said Iris.

  “Thank you, Sally,” said Gwen. “For that, and for everything.”

  They rounded the Isle of Dogs without further discussion. When the stairs to Wapping High Street came into sight, Sally eased up on the throttle and guided the boat to the bank below them.

  “I’m letting you off here,” he said, helping Gwen onto the shore. “I have to return the boat before the owner notices it’s gone missing.”

  “I thought you borrowed it,” said Iris as she stepped out, unassisted.

  “It’s a loose concept,” he said. “I also have to return the motorcycle I borrowed. And the auto I borrowed. What wonderful, oblivious friends have I! I’ll call you if I need bail.”

  “We have it,” said Gwen, holding up the Hamleys bag.

  “That should be enough for a much larger crime spree,” said Sally as he shoved off. “Here I go. Good night, ladies.”

  He waved and vanished around the bend.

  “There’s a pub at the top of the stairs,” offered Iris.

  “I know,” said Gwen. “Not tonight. Let’s get back to The Right Sort and figure things out.”

  They climbed the steps, then turned onto Wapping High Street.

  “Call boxes,” said Gwen, pointing out a pair on the corner.

  “Yes, I see them,” said Iris.

  She stepped inside, inserted a coin, and dialed.

  “’Allo, please?” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Ees police, please? Ees dead man in vareho
use. Brunsveek Street, Blackvall Yard. No, no geev name. Bye!”

  She hung up.

  “What accent was that supposed to be?” asked Gwen.

  “No idea,” said Iris. “And they won’t know what it was, either.”

  “Appalling,” said Gwen. “We’ve become appalling people, Iris. When did that happen?”

  * * *

  It was past six when they finally got back to their building. Gwen unlocked the front door, and they trudged up the steps to their office. Gwen collapsed into her chair.

  “Pass me the telephone,” she said. “I should let them know I’m going to be home late.”

  “Here you are,” said Iris. “And you had better give me the money. I’ll put it in the strongbox until we need it again. When you’re done calling home, we should have Oona and Catherine check in with Mrs. Fisher.”

  “What should we tell her?”

  “That the mission was unsuccessful, and that the money is safe,” said Iris. “And that someone was murdered, but we didn’t do it.”

  She bent down and slid open the panel concealing the strongbox, then unlocked it.

  “Poor empty sod,” she said to it. “Mummy’s about to feed you like you’ve never been fed before.”

  She transferred the money from the bag to the strongbox.

  “Hello, Percival?” said Gwen as the butler answered. “It’s Mrs. Bainbridge. I’m dining out with Miss Sparks tonight. Is your young lord and cowpoke home from the range?”

  “He is, Mrs. Bainbridge,” said Percival. “Unless I am mistaken, that is him stampeding towards the telephone now. Shall I put him on?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Gwen.

  She held back the receiver from her ear.

  “Hello, Mummy,” said Little Ronnie.

  “You’re not shouting,” said Gwen proudly. “Well done. How was Tommy’s birthday party?”

  “It was wonderful! We played Pin the Tail on the Donkey and cowboys and Indians and there was cake with real frosting and lemonade.”

  “Did he like the present you gave him?”

  “He loved it and he said I could come over and play with him tomorrow afternoon so may I please, Mummy?”

  “Well,” began Gwen.

  Then she saw the man at the door pointing a gun at her. He put a finger to his lips, then motioned for her to hang up the telephone.

  “Yes, that would be fine,” said Gwen. “Mummy has to go now, darling. There’s someone here.”

  “Someone here?” asked Iris, popping up from behind her desk as Gwen hung up the telephone. “Oh! Someone here with a gun. Hello, how may we help you? Are you looking for a wife? We have several gun-lovers amongst our female clientele.”

  “Shut it,” said the man, coming into the office and closing the door behind him. “I came for the money.”

  He was tall and thin, wearing a brown raincoat over a brown three-piece suit despite the fact that it was a hot, sunny day. He was gray at the temples, and had a thin mustache that did little to improve a sallow, weaselly face.

  “Money?” repeated Iris, a puzzled look on her face. “This is a marriage bureau. We don’t keep cash on the premises. Why, whatever we have, we deposit on Fridays, which was yesterday. If you’d like to have better luck, may I suggest you come back next Thursday afternoon? I believe we have an open time slot for robbery available.”

  “Five thousand pounds,” said the man. “A little kiss from Lily to Violet.”

  “That was given in exchange for a packet of letters,” said Gwen. “I’m afraid you’re too late.”

  “I don’t think so,” said the man.

  He transferred the gun to his left hand, then reached inside his raincoat and pulled out a thick manila envelope.

  “I’ve still got the letters,” he said. “So you must still got the money.”

  “So you’re the one who killed the chap in the warehouse?” asked Iris.

  The man rapidly blinked twice.

  “He’s dead, then? The little Greek fellow?” he asked.

  “You shouldn’t be surprised after how you left him,” said Iris.

  “I didn’t know he bought it,” said the man. “I never was in there. I was watching for you from the other side. I saw him go in. Then a couple of minutes later, I see another fellow come out the dockside door, limping past my hidey-hole.”

  “Limping?” asked Gwen.

  “I didn’t know what was going on, but I didn’t like it. Then I see the two of you go in, and I decided to sit tight and see what was going on. Then I hear sirens, and that was enough for me.”

  “And yet you came here,” said Gwen.

  “You’ve got the money here, don’t you?”

  “My point is, how did you know where we were? You didn’t follow us here.”

  “I recognised you,” said the man, smirking slightly. “You two were all over the papers last month. Even saw you on the newsreel. So, it didn’t take much to figure out you’d come here.”

  “Enterprising fellow,” commented Iris. “Well, if you’re here to make a deal, put the gun away and we’ll talk business.”

  “I don’t think so,” said the man. “The coppers are involved now. I feel a distinct lack of trust from your side.”

  “And yet you’re here,” said Gwen. “How do we know those letters are the genuine article?”

  “That’s your problem,” said the man.

  “We aren’t paying for an envelope,” said Gwen. “You let us examine the letters, and we’ll decide whether they’re worth paying for.”

  He hesitated.

  “Nope, not convinced,” said Iris. “Take your counterfeit correspondence and scurry back to your burrow.”

  He stepped up to Gwen’s desk and put the muzzle of the gun to her forehead. She looked him in the eyes unflinchingly.

  “Where’s the money?” he asked.

  “In a strongbox,” Iris said immediately.

  “In here?”

  “Yes,” said Iris. “Under my desk. Put that gun away, please.”

  “Open it,” he said. “Nothing funny or your partner gets it.”

  “Iris, don’t,” said Gwen.

  “It’s only money, Gwen,” said Iris. “You’re worth far more than five thousand pounds to me.”

  She bent down to open the strongbox. The man watched her closely.

  “Wait,” he said when he heard it open. “Hands up slowly so I can see them. Now move away from the desk.”

  Iris obeyed, keeping her hands in the air.

  “Turn around,” he ordered when she was in the clear. “Put your hands on the blotter.”

  She did. He stepped behind her, pressing the gun to her back, then patted her down thoroughly. Too thoroughly.

  “You can’t do that!” protested Gwen.

  “Let me know if you find anything interesting,” said Iris.

  “You’re safe,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her into the corner of the room. “Now stay there. Keep those hands up.”

  “I thought you wanted me to get you your money,” Iris said.

  “You’re the dangerous one,” he said, moving behind her desk and squatting down to reach into the strongbox. “I don’t want you pulling anything on me. You’re the one with the knife.”

  “And I’m the one with the gun,” said Gwen. “Please don’t move. I’m rather a good shot, not that I need to be from this close.”

  He glanced over at her. She was still sitting behind her desk, but now held a silver-plated revolver in her right hand.

  “Your turn for hands in the air,” she ordered. “Good. Now place your gun on the desk and sit on that chair.”

  He placed the gun on Iris’s desk, then sat. Then his eyes widened.

  “That’s a toy!” he said, lunging for his weapon.

  “This isn’t,” said Iris, moving quickly.

  She plunged her hand down on top of his, grabbing the gun with her left. He screamed in pain.

  A dart pinned his hand to the de
sk.

  “Well, I suppose it is a toy,” she said, stepping back and covering him. “But it’s a dangerous one, all the same.”

  “You bloody stupid—”

  “Not another word!” she snapped, raising the gun. “You’ve broken into our office, threatened us with a weapon, and manhandled us. I would be entirely within my rights to shoot you on the spot. Now sit.”

  “I can’t,” he whined. “My hand’s too far—”

  She reached forwards and yanked the dart out. He howled in pain, then heaved himself at her. She stepped back and swung the butt of the gun into his temple. He dropped like a stone, sprawling across the desk.

  “And that was a little kiss from Lily to Violet,” she said, breathing rapidly.

  “Oh God. Is he dead?” asked Gwen.

  Iris felt for his pulse.

  “No, worse luck,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  “Me?”

  “Second shock of the day,” said Iris. “I’m concerned for the state of your nerves.”

  “I have something powdery at home that Dr. Milford gave me for this sort of thing,” said Gwen faintly. “Well, not this exact sort of thing. I doubt that they make powders specifically for the finding of bloody bodies and the repelling of armed attackers.”

  “Can you squeeze by him?” asked Iris.

  “I don’t know that I want to,” said Gwen, looking at the space between the desks.

  The man’s body overhung the edge of Iris’s desk. His arms dangled over the front, one hand dripping blood from the puncture she had put through it.

  “I probably should climb over the top,” said Gwen.

  “I don’t know if the desk can take that weight,” said Iris.

  “Now you’re being mean!” protested Gwen. “I’m not that heavy.”

  “All I’m saying is that the legs that are not The Forsyte Saga may not be prepared for you. Come out between the desks. I’ll cover him in case he wakes.”

  Gwen stood and sidled carefully out, holding her breath as she arched her body away from the man. She finally exhaled when she reached Iris, then frowned.

  “What?” asked Iris.

  “I left my bag under the desk,” said Gwen. “Would you be so kind as to cover me again?”

  “Unbelievable,” muttered Iris.