“Poor dope,” Manx said. “If you’re right.”
“Poor dope. Oh, yes,” Alleyn said. “Poor dope.”
Nigel Bathgate murmured: “Nobody else could have done it.”
Lord Pastern glared at him but said nothing.
“Nobody,” Fox said.
“But you’ll never get a conviction, Alleyn.”
“That,” Alleyn said, “may be. It won’t ruin our lives if we don’t.”
“How young,” Lord Pastern demanded suddenly, “does a fellar have to be to get into detection?”
“If you’ll excuse me, Alleyn,” Edward Manx said hurriedly, “I think I’ll be off.”
“Where are you goin’, Ned?”
“To see Lisle, Cousin George. We lunched,” he explained, “at cross-purposes. I thought she meant she knew it was you. I thought she meant the letter was the one Fée got from Harmony. But I see now: she thought it was me.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“It doesn’t matter. Good-bye.”
“Hi, wait a minute. I’ll come with you.” They went out into the deserted sunlight, Lord Pastern locking the door behind him.
“I’ll be off too, Alleyn,” said Nigel as they stood watching the two figures, one lean and loose-jointed, the other stocky and dapper, walk briskly away up Materfamilias Lane. “Unless — what are you going to do?”
“Have you got the warrant, Fox?”
“Yes, Mr. Alleyn.”
“Come on, then.”
“The Judges’ Rules,” Fox said, “may be enlightened but there are times when they give you the pip. I suppose you don’t agree with that, Mr. Alleyn.”
“They keep you and me in our place, Br’er Fox, and I fancy that’s a good thing.”
“If we could confront him,” Fox burst out. “If we could break him down.”
“Under pressure he might make a hysterical confession. It might not be true. That would appear to be the idea behind the Judges’ Rules.”
Fox muttered unprintably.
Nigel Bathgate said: “Where are we heading?”
“We’ll call on him,” Alleyn grunted. “And with any luck we’ll find he already has a visitor. Caesar Bonn of the Metronome.”
“How d’you know?”
“Information received,” said Fox. “He made an arrangement over the telephone.”
“And so, what do you do about it?”
“We pull Bellairs in, Mr. Bathgate, for receiving and distributing drugs.”
“Fox,” said Alleyn, “thinks there’s a case against him. Through the customers.”
“Once he’s inside,” Fox speculated dismally, “he may talk. In spite of the Usual Caution. Judges’ Rules!”
“He’s a glutton for limelight,” Alleyn said unexpectedly.
“So what?” Nigel demanded.
“Nothing. I don’t know. He may break out somewhere. Here we go.”
It was rather dark in the tunnel-like passage that led to Breezy’s flat. Nobody was about but a plain-clothes man on duty at the far end: a black figure against a mean window. Walking silently on the heavy carpet, they came up to him. He made a movement of his head, murmured something that ended with the phrase, “hammer and tongs.”
“Good,” Alleyn said and nodded. The man stealthily opened the door into Breezy’s flat.
They moved into an entrance lobby where they found a second man with a notebook pressed against the wall and a pencil poised over it. The four silent men almost filled the cramped lobby.
In the living-room beyond, Caesar Bonn was quarrelling with Breezy Bellairs.
“Publicity!” Caesar was saying. “But of what a character! No, no! I am sorry. I regret this with all my heart. For me as for you it is a disaster.”
“Listen, Caesar, you’re all wrong. My public won’t let me down. They’d want to see me.” The voice rose steeply. “They love me,” Breezy cried out, and after a pause: “You bloody swine, they love me.”
“I must go.”
“All right. You’ll see. I’ll ring Carmarelli. Carmarelli’s been trying to get me for years. Or the Lotus Tree. They’ll be fighting for me. And your bloody clientele’ll follow me. They’ll eat us. I’ll ring Stein. There’s not a restaurateur in town — ”
“One moment.” Caesar was closer to the door. “To spare you discomfiture I feel I must warn you. Already I have discussed this matter with these gentlemen. An informal meeting. We are all agreed. It will not be possible for you to appear at any first-class restaurant or club.”
They heard a falsetto whining. Caesar’s voice intervened. “Believe me,” he said, “when I say I mean this kindly. After all, we are old friends. Take my advice. Retire. You can afford to do so, no doubt.” He gave a nervous giggle. Breezy had whispered. Evidently they were close together on the other side of the door. “No, no!” Caesar said loudly. “I can do nothing about it. Nothing! Nothing!”
Breezy screamed out abruptly: “I’ll ruin you!” and the pencil skidded across the plain-clothes officer’s notebook.
“You have ruined yourself,” Caesar gabbled. “You will keep silence. Understand me: there must be complete silence. For you there is no more spot light. You are finished. Keep off!” There was a scuffle, and a stifled ejaculation. Something thudded heavily against the door and slid down its surface. “There, now!” Caesar panted. He sounded scandalized and breathlessly triumphant. Unexpectedly, after a brief pause, he went on in a reflective voice: “No, truly, you are too stupid. This decides me. I am resolved. I inform the police of your activities. You will make a foolish appearance in court. Everyone will laugh a little and forget you. You will go to gaol or perhaps to a clinic. If you are of good behaviour you may, in a year or so, be permitted to conduct a little band.”
“Christ! Tell them, then! Tell them!” Beyond the door Breezy stumbled to his feet. His voice broke into falsetto. “But it’s me that’ll tell the tale, me! If I go to the dock, by God, I’ll wipe the grins off all your bloody faces. You haven’t heard anything yet. Try any funny business with ME! Finished! By God, I’ve only just started. You’re all going to hear how I slit up a bloody Dago’s heart for him.”
“This is it,” Alleyn said, and opened the door.
The End