A Royal Affair

by Allison Montclair

  “Well, I can’t just leave it there, can I?” complained Gwen as she edged her way back.

  She picked up her bag, then looked at Iris.

  “Do you want yours while I’m here?” she asked.

  “Might as well,” said Iris.

  “See, this is me being helpful,” said Gwen, reaching around the man’s legs to grab it. “Who knows what useful weaponry you have in here?”

  She began the return journey. Halfway across, the man groaned. Gwen made a quick sideways leap to the front of the office.

  “Much better,” she said, handing Iris her handbag. “What do we do with him now?”

  “I’m trying to come up with a plan,” said Iris. “We need to secure him first.”

  “I’m afraid I have no handcuffs on me,” said Gwen.

  “Not even toy ones? Never mind. Go down to Mr. MacPherson’s office and see what you can find. Rope, cord, electrical wire—anything of that nature. And see if there’s a first-aid kit. This man is bleeding all over our nice, clean office.”

  “How can I get into his office? It’s Saturday. It will be locked.”

  Iris reached into her bag and pulled out a keyring. She sorted through it.

  “This one,” she said, handing it to Gwen.

  “You’re not supposed to have that,” said Gwen.

  “I know. Now, go!”

  Gwen practically fled the office. Iris felt the pulse of their attacker one more time, then sat down heavily on the guest chair, resting the gun on her lap.

  “We’re going to find out who you are,” she said to him. “After that—we’ll see.”

  Gwen was back in minutes, her arms laden.

  “Rope,” she said, tossing a length of it onto her desk. “First-aid kit. Cleaning supplies. And the keys to the office of Cooper and Lyons, Chartered Public Accountants. We might need a place to stash him temporarily.”

  “Good thinking,” said Iris.

  “What’s the best order? Treat his wound, then tie him up, or the reverse?”

  “Bandage, then bondage,” declared Iris, getting back to her feet. “You be the nurse. I’ll keep the gun to his head.”

  Gwen took the first-aid kit, then circled around Iris to stay out of the line of fire. Iris stepped forwards, gun at the ready.

  “I do hope he had his tetanus vaccination,” said Iris. “I can’t vouch for the cleanliness of that dart.”

  “We should call the police,” said Gwen as she dabbed both sides of his hand with Merthiolate.

  “Not yet,” said Iris.

  “But we have the letters,” said Gwen. “And maybe he could help them catch the killer.”

  “You don’t think he’s the killer?”

  “Not in the least,” said Gwen, pressing cotton to the wounds and applying pressure. “There, that’s stemmed the bleeding. No, he was taken aback to hear ‘the little Greek fellow’ was dead. I was watching him very closely, and I think that was a genuine reaction.”

  “Well, I trust your ability to read people,” said Iris.

  “And he wasn’t limping,” added Gwen. “Nor were there any telltale slashes on his pants leg.”

  “Even better,” said Iris. “But I don’t want to go to the police yet. Things are still out of control. There are too many sides involved now. Including ours.”

  “Yes, that makes three different mysterious men at the scene of the proposed exchange,” said Gwen, wrapping the man’s hand in gauze. “At least three. We don’t know for certain that the limping man killed Magoulias.”

  “True,” agreed Iris. “Look, we have still some leads to follow. We haven’t even looked at the letters yet, or compared them with the exemplars. Remember that the happiness of the future queen of England is at stake. We have to guarantee that first. We will bring in the police when we can wrap everything up with a nice, big, red bow.”

  “All right,” said Gwen.

  She looked at the results of her handiwork.

  “That should hold for now,” she said. “Sir, just because I’ve been holding your hand, do not think that you can take further advantage of me.”

  She let it go. It swung limply against the front of the desk.

  “What shall we do with him?” she asked.

  “I have an idea,” said Iris, picking up the telephone.

  She dialed a number and waited. A man’s voice answered after the first ring.

  “It’s Sparks,” she said. “I need a largish favour.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Gwen approached Cecil with a dust rag.

  “Hello, darling,” she said to the desk. “I’m going to clean you up. Be brave. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  She wiped the dust off thoroughly, then patted the desk affectionately.

  “You’ll hold me without making any rude comments, won’t you?” she cooed.

  Then she sat on the newly cleaned surface, crossed her legs decorously, and sighed with content.

  “You’re insane,” said their captive from the floor, where he lay trussed up.

  “It’s been said before,” agreed Gwen, “and by people with more professional experience in that area than you have. And frankly, I’ve had a very long and trying day, the kind that would drive anyone to distraction, much less someone with such a tenuous grip on sanity as myself. So, here we are—you, the mystery assailant, tied up, lying on the floor, and me, the crazy lady, sitting on a desk. With your Mauser. Which is loaded. I checked.”

  She picked it up from the desk where she had placed it.

  “So perhaps,” she said, her voice rising to a shout, “given our relative positions, you might want to reconsider calling me names!”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths until the pounding of her heart slowed to a normal pace. Then she opened her eyes, looked down at the man, placed the gun on her lap, and smiled.

  He struggled for a moment against the ropes securing his hands and feet, then gave up. Gwen watched with interest.

  “I wouldn’t do that anymore,” she advised him. “It might reopen the wounds on your hand. You made such a mess in our office, and we don’t want you bleeding all over this one, as it isn’t technically ours yet.”

  She patted the desk again.

  “But it will be soon, won’t it, Cecil?” she whispered.

  “You demented—”

  She grabbed the gun from her lap and pointed it at him, her grip rock steady.

  “I’m glad that you’re in such a talkative mood,” she said. “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

  * * *

  “Hello, Archie,” said Iris as she opened the rear door to the building. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t’ve missed this for the world,” said Archie as he came in.

  He was back to full-on Archie apparel, wearing a charcoal gray suit with broad chalky stripes and a wide, garish purple tie. Behind him came two other members of the spiv fraternity.

  “You know the lads?” asked Archie, jerking his thumb at them.

  “I do.”

  “Then forget ’em,” said Archie. “We don’t need anyone knowing anyone tonight. Where’s the guest of honour?”

  “Upstairs. Follow me.”

  She took them through the basement to the stairs, lighting their way with her torch. She turned it off when they reached the hallway by the front entrance.

  “I’m afraid we’re on the top storey,” she said as she began the ascent.

  “Bloody ’ell,” said one of the lads, looking up. “We ’ave to drag ’im down all these stairs?”

  “He’s conscious,” said Iris. “He can walk down on his own.”

  “Any reason we can’t just toss ’im from the landing?”

  “I need him alive,” said Iris.

  “For ’ow long?” asked Archie.

  “For the rest of his natural life, I hope,” said Iris. “But at least through Tuesday, if that isn’t too inconvenient.”

  “There’s nothing convenient about any of this,�
� said Archie. “You know this is going to cost you.”

  “What’s the price for holding a prisoner?” asked Iris.

  “Depends on ’ow well we feed ’im,” said Archie.

  “Bread and water would be fine,” said Iris.

  “You know ’ow much bread is going for right now?”

  “Tell me the rate.”

  Archie glanced at the others, then back at Iris.

  “Since you’re a friend of Archie, you get a discount,” he said. “Twenty-five quid.”

  “Twenty-five?”

  “Per diem,” continued Archie. “Covers guards and food.”

  “Oh, and he’ll need some medical attention,” said Iris.

  “For what?”

  “I may have stabbed him a little.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Only a little,” she said. “Look, what if I throw in his gun? It’s a Mauser automatic, in excellent condition.”

  “Guns we got,” said Archie. “A Mauser, eh? This bloke’s a Jerry?”

  “He sounded English, but I didn’t find any identification on him.”

  “Frisked him good, did you?” said one of the lads with a smirk. “Wouldn’t mind getting caught by you meself.”

  Archie stopped and turned to face him.

  “I expect you to show some manners in the presence of a lady,” he said quietly.

  “I was only—” began the spiv. Then he saw Archie’s eyes and thought better of it. “My apologies, Miss Sparks,” he said, raising his trilby.

  “Accepted,” Iris said quickly. “Here we are.”

  “‘Cooper and Lyons,’” read Archie. “And ’oo are they?”

  “Accountants, long gone to their final accounting, or so I’ve heard. Ready?”

  “Masks, lads,” said Archie.

  They removed their hats and pulled on black woolen ski masks. Iris tapped on the door. A second later, Gwen opened it, starting as she saw the menacing-looking trio behind her partner.

  “Nothing but scary things today,” she said brightly. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I wasn’t expecting you to be like this, but quite right. Won’t you come in?”

  She had the Mauser in her hand. Archie pointed to it, and she immediately handed it to him.

  “The safety is on,” she said. “I didn’t tell him that, of course.”

  The man she referred to now had a handkerchief stuffed into his mouth. He looked up at the masked gang, but didn’t flinch.

  “Oh, ’e’s a tough one, all right,” said Archie. “Nice job with the knots, Sparks.”

  “That was me,” said Gwen. “Between the first aid and the ropes, my Girl Guide training has proved exceptionally invaluable tonight.”

  “Did he tell you anything useful?” asked Iris.

  “He said quite a few things,” replied Gwen. “But nothing I can repeat in front of company.”

  “We could work ’im over, if you like,” offered Archie.

  “Is that extra?” asked Iris.

  “No, we throw that in for free.”

  “Have you discussed rates already?” asked Gwen.

  “Twenty-five pounds a day,” said Iris.

  “That sounds quite reasonable,” said Gwen, opening her bag. “This will cover four days in advance. Probably more than we’ll require, but let’s do that to be safe.” She handed them the notes she and Iris had received in payment from Lady Matheson. Easy come, easy go, she thought, casting a quick, regretful glance at Cecil.

  “You carry that much with you all the time?” asked Archie.

  “Today was a most unusual day,” said Iris. “We were prepared for any number of contingencies.”

  “Right,” said Archie. “Get ’im to ’is feet, then take the ropes off ’is ankles.”

  The other two hauled the man upright and freed his legs.

  “Wait a mo,” said Archie.

  He took another ski mask from his coat, then pulled it over the man’s face.

  “Oh dear,” he said. “I’ve put it on backwards. You won’t be able to see a bloody thing, will you?”

  The man didn’t move. Archie placed his palm under the man’s chin. “Will you?” he repeated, moving the man’s head back and forth.

  The man finally shook his head on his own.

  “Good,” said Archie, removing his mask and putting his hat back on. “Well, this ’as been entertaining, but we’d better escort our new friend away from the premises. We’ll be in touch when we get where we’re going.”

  “We don’t want to know where that is,” said Iris.

  “No, you don’t,” said Archie. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  The two spivs walked the prisoner out of the office.

  “Oh, and we’ll need the rope back when you’re done with it,” Gwen called after them. “It’s borrowed!”

  Archie turned to Iris.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’s not ’ow I ’oped to be spending a Saturday night with you,” he said. “But it’ll do.”

  “I believe I owe you a kiss,” said Iris, stepping towards him.

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Not when we’ve just done business together,” he said. “It cheapens it. Do it when the circumstances are proper romantic, all right?”

  “As soon as possible,” said Iris.

  He put two fingers to his hat brim, nodded at Gwen, then left.

  “I think I’m beginning to warm up to your gangster,” said Gwen.

  “He’s an acquired taste, to be sure,” said Iris. “I guess we had better start scrubbing the scene of our latest crime.”

  “Goodbye, sweet Cecil,” said Gwen, giving the desk a wave as they exited the office.

  “You won’t be talking to that desk like that all the time when we take possession, will you?” asked Iris. “It’s unnerving.”

  “I shall maintain a businesslike sense of decorum,” said Gwen.

  “Good.”

  “But only during business hours. Come five o’clock, our passion will know no bounds.”

  “Then I shall make a point of leaving at five minutes of five every day. You really should let me fix you up, by the way. With an actual human being.”

  They went into The Right Sort, then stopped. There was a small puddle of blood on the floor in front of Iris’s desk, and more on top where she had first skewered her quarry like a butterfly for her collection.

  Gwen picked up the bucket. “I’ll fetch some water,” she said, grabbing the key for the lavatory.

  Iris approached her desk and scanned it, thinking. Then she took the blotter and bent it in half, the bloody side in.

  Gwen came back, water sloshing in the bucket, to see Iris inspecting the hole the dart had made in the desk.

  “Not too much seeped through,” she reported. “I never knew what a good blotter this was. I’ll have to find another one like it in case of future bloodletting. I’ll drop this one in a dustbin somewhere far away from here after we leave.”

  “We should call Mrs. Fisher,” said Gwen. “It’s getting late. She’ll be wondering.”

  “She’s probably typing up the list of Land Girl alibi witnesses as we speak,” said Iris.

  She picked up the telephone and dialed. Mrs. Fisher answered immediately.

  “Mrs. Fisher, Oona Travis reporting,” said Iris.

  “Good evening, Miss Travis,” replied Mrs. Fisher. “I have been awaiting your call. On tenterhooks, I should add. I’m dying to know what happened.”

  Someone beat you to it, thought Iris.

  “I’m afraid our rendezvous didn’t go as planned,” she began.

  “Difficulty locating it?”

  “No, we found the place. Someone was already there. And someone else had killed him.”

  Gwen could hear a tinny shriek of dismay as Iris yanked the handset away from her ear, wincing in pain.

  “I’m sorry, that cannot have been what you were expecting,” Iris said. “Imagine how we felt.”

  “But, but,”
stammered Mrs. Fisher. “Oh my God. I thought—” She took a breath. “Are the two of you all right?”

  “We are, thank you.”

  “And are the police involved?” Mrs. Fisher continued, her voice quavering. “Do they know about you? About—about us?

  “The police are involved, but we were long gone by the time they got there. Nobody saw us leave. Nobody knows about your involvement.”

  “What about—was there a cabbie?”

  “We went to a cab stand several streets from here, and he left after dropping us off. He won’t know our names, and it’s doubtful that he could connect us to the murder.”

  “Murder,” whispered Mrs. Fisher. “So it was murder.”

  “Yes, it was murder, Mrs. Fisher. There’s no other word for it.”

  “And the letters?”

  “We didn’t find any.”

  “You searched him? You searched the, uh, body?”

  “Thoroughly.”

  “That can’t have been—my God, I can’t even imagine what that was like.”

  “It wasn’t pleasant, but it’s what we were hired to do, wasn’t it?”

  “Not that.”

  “All right, not corpse-searching specifically, but that was well within the requirements of the job.”

  “What do we do now? This wasn’t how things were supposed to go at all.”

  “What you and Lady M do now is nothing. We intend to lie low and not risk drawing any further attention.”

  “And the money?”

  “It’s safe. We’ll return it, less some expenses, when it can be done without fear of … well, without fear.”

  “It all seemed so simple,” said Mrs. Fisher, still in shock. “I’ll tell Lady Matheson immediately.”

  “Yes, please tell her everything. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Goodbye.” She hung up.

  “That was handled nicely,” said Gwen from the floor, where she was mopping up the blood. “You didn’t quite lie to her. You simply didn’t tell her the aftermath. What now?”

  “We have the letters,” said Iris. She yawned abruptly. “Long day,” she said. “Look at me, completely played out on a Saturday night, and it’s barely eight thirty.”

  “Understandable,” said Gwen. “Being held at gunpoint is momentarily stimulating, but it never lasts, does it?”

  “Speaking of which, may I see that six-shooter of yours?”