‘There is one other matter, sir,’ persisted Cribb. ‘Woolston, the prisoner in Newgate. Stage-illusionist. Drove a sword through his assistant’s leg, if you recall the case.’
‘Dimly,’ answered Jowett without looking round.
‘He’s innocent, sir, if our theories are correct. The charges should be dropped. He was almost certainly destined for Philbeach House and the Paragon. I’ve no doubt that Mr Plunkett—’
‘I’ll look into the matter. Good-day, gentlemen.’
As they emerged into the balm of a soft October drizzle Thackeray was moved to express his gratitude to Cribb. ‘It was handsome of you, Sarge.’
‘What was?’
‘Speaking up for me like that. Immaculate detective-work and all that. I didn’t look upon it as anything special myself.’
‘Nor I,’ said Cribb. ‘But I’m damned if I’ll accept insults from the likes of Jowett.’
They entered Whitehall in silence and stepped out briskly, indistinguishable in their bowlers from the Civil Servants hurrying from the Admiralty to secure early lunches in the pubs around Charing Cross.
‘Do you really think it was suicide, Sarge?’ Thackeray asked eventually.
‘No,’ said Cribb. ‘Never said so either.’
‘But the Inspector did, and you didn’t take him up on it. He seemed to have made up his mind.’
‘His mind stops at suicide,’ said Cribb. ‘Murder’s unthinkable in his situation.’
‘Why should that be, Sarge?’
‘We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Constable, and there’s some pretty big specimens in it.’
‘Members of Parliament?’
‘Yes, and others. There were a couple of faces at the Paragon the other night I couldn’t place for the life of me. Heavily-built fellows with cropped hair and Prussian moustaches, sitting in a box feeding oysters to their doxies. I lost most of a night’s sleep trying to remember where I’d seen ’em. It came to me quite sudden this morning—the Director’s offices at the Yard.’
‘Good Lord!’
‘Now a murder’s going to bring all manner of unwanted publicity to the Paragon if the Press get a sniff of it. It wouldn’t do much for Jowett’s career if the names of Tuesday’s audience became known. Remember all that talk about discretion? So it’s probably best if Jowett continues to think of Lola’s death as suicide. If I mention murder, someone’s liable to panic. You and I might find ourselves back on the beat.’
‘It makes your blood run cold, Sarge.’
Two or three pints of half-and-half were found necessary at this juncture to revive the circulations of both detectives. ‘Do we go to Philbeach House as the Inspector suggested, Sarge?’ Thackeray asked, when he felt Cribb was ready to discuss the case again.
‘I’d have gone there anyway. I need to find out more about the Pinkus sisters and how the other guests regarded ’em. In fact, I want a picture of what really goes on at Philbeach House.’
‘But that’ll take days, Sarge, questioning all them guests.’
‘There’s a short cut,’ said Cribb. ‘If you remember, I received an invitation to return there on a social call.’
‘Mrs Body!’
‘No-one’s better placed to tell me what I need to know. There’s nothing else for it, Thackeray. I’m going to take up Mrs Body’s offer to inspect the box from the old Alhambra.’
‘Her private room? She’ll compromise you for sure. Don’t consider it, Sarge. Why, it’s moral suicide. The Yard hasn’t any right to expect that of you. I’m damned sure Inspector Jowett wouldn’t go.’
‘Jowett hasn’t had the invitation,’ said Cribb. ‘The Yard’s got nothing to do with it. This is my decision absolutely. If I tell the truth, I’m rather looking forward to it.’
This was the man Jowett had labelled a prude . . . Thackeray walked to the bar to order a double whisky.
CHAPTER
13
CRIBB’S INITIATIVE SUFFERED A temporary rebuff that afternoon at Philbeach House. The same battle-scarred manservant who had confronted the detectives on their first visit announced in a tone of finality that the Mistress was engaged. She was not to be disturbed. The visitor should return another afternoon. There the assignation would have foundered if Cribb had not thoughtfully placed his foot against the door. Did he have a visiting-card then? He had no card, but his C.I.D. identification was proof of respectability. Was this an official visit? No, sociaclass="underline" Mrs Body had invited him to call. In that case he might wait inside, but there was no certainty she would see him. She could not be disturbed on any account before tea-time.
So he was admitted to a small anteroom furnished with upright chairs, a table and a whatnot neatly stacked with theatrical periodicals. A large marble timepiece on the mantelshelf ticked with an emphasis quite disproportionate to the size of the room. He selected a chair with its back to the clock and thumbed the pages of The Bill of the Play for 1880. Just as the journals in doctors’ waiting-rooms were invariably filled with terrifying quack-medicine advertisements, so Mrs Body’s literature was lavishly illustrated with embracing actors and actresses. When Cribb came to an advertisement depicting corsets he snapped the book shut.
The servant could not be blamed for having failed to recognise Cribb when he arrived at Philbeach House. Not only was he without his unforgettable assistant (who was biting his nails to shreds at Paradise Street Police Station); he was dressed in an altogether more flamboyant style, purple cravat with matching handkerchief, checkered Norfolk jacket and trousers, all topped with a Glengarry cap. And a yellow rose in his lapel. He kept his hat and umbrella with him, as etiquette demanded.
Presently there was another caller. The servant shuffled to the door. A woman’s voice. Familiar. Cribb crossed to the door and listened. More footsteps and the swish of skirts barely gave him time to stand away when the door opened. She was ushered in without much grace and left there with Cribb.
‘How d’you do, Miss Blake.’
‘Sergeant! What a pleasant surprise.’ Her face, dampened by rain, glowed pink under her velvet bonnet. ‘Pleasure’s all mine, Miss. You’ve come to call on Albert, I dare say.’
‘That’s right. It’s a strange state of affairs when a lady calls on her young man, isn’t it? But you know the circumstances here. None of the guests are allowed out except the Smee brothers.’
‘The Undertakers?’
‘Yes. And they’re more staff than guests. So if I want to see Albert I have to call here myself. I’m allowed to converse with him in the drawing-room. Mrs Body is usually there as chaperon.’
‘Very proper, Miss. How’s Albert getting on?’
Ellen Blake’s eyes glistened. ‘He seems to be adjusting very well to the life here. He doesn’t complain at all.’
‘I believe it’s a regular life of luxury, Miss. He’s certain to enjoy it for a while, after his digs in Lambeth. He’ll tire of it though, soon as he’s fit enough to be back on the halls.’
‘I pray that you’re right in your opinion, Sergeant. There are things about this house, and some of the people in it, that make me fear for Albert. Why are you here? Has it anything to do with that tragic event at my father’s music hall?’
Cribb shrugged his shoulders. ‘Social call, Miss. Mrs Body invited me to come and see some of the architectural features.’ He winked. ‘She’ll be too busy for chaperoning.’
‘You were there the other night, weren’t you, Sergeant? You stayed on for the second house. Father told me. He doesn’t allow me to attend the benefit performances, but I have some notion of what goes on. The police are sure to put a stop to it all now, aren’t they?’