‘Seeing that you’ve been so friendly as to show me your boudoir here, Ma’am—’
‘That is my pleasure, Mr Cribb.’
Cribb coughed over his gin. ‘Quite so. I thought it right to warn you that certain complications could arise from something that happened at the Paragon music hall last Tuesday.’
‘The accident to Lola Pinkus?’
‘No accident, Ma’am. Murder, almost certainly. The manager there, Mr Plunkett, could find himself in a deal of trouble. In a statement he made to the police he mentioned a connexion with you—’
‘Outrageous! My reputation is beyond reproach.’
‘Nothing of an indelicate nature, Ma’am,’ Cribb hastened to add. ‘No-one would suggest anything of that sort. May I turn up the light a fraction? No, the connexion in question is purely of a business nature, Ma’am. I believe the artistes at Mr Plunkett’s midnight shows are conveyed to the Paragon from Philbeach House in a private omnibus.’
‘God forgive me, yes.’ Mrs Body picked up a large fan and fluttered it in a frenzied way. ‘It is the only time they leave the house. They have all agreed not to step outside these walls. They have every convenience here.’
‘What would happen if one disobeyed the rules, Ma’am?’
‘He would be asked to leave. But my guests are not foolish, Mr Cribb. They are here because they are unemployable. They would starve if they left.’
‘So they have no choice.’
Mrs Body called into the speaking-tube, ‘More gin, if you please. Send up the bottle.’
‘It sounds rather institutional, Ma’am—to an outsider, I mean.’
‘Not at all. The guests come here of their own volition. I am paid to see that they are well looked after and there are no complaints. They are given work by Mr Plunkett. I even permit visitors to come, if they are respectable. Ah, here’s the gin. Let me fill your glass.’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t have much knowledge of the benefit performances at the Paragon?’ said Cribb.
‘No knowledge at all, Mr Cribb, beyond what I overhear being rehearsed downstairs. Is there anything irregular in the shows?’
‘I’d rather not comment, Ma’am. You’ve never attended any of the performances, then?’
‘My duties keep me here, you see. George and Bertie, the Undertakers, escort the artistes to the Paragon. I really know nothing of what goes on there.’
‘You’ve nothing to fear then, Mrs Body. You can still help me, though. Tell me what sort of girl young Lola Pinkus was. Did she get along with the other guests? Was she a good mixer, would you say?’
Mrs Body giggled slightly. ‘Pardon my amusement, Mr Cribb. Lola’s achievements as a mixer are unparalleled in my experience.’
‘You mean that she . . .’
‘Flirted outrageously, Mr Cribb. One hesitates to speak uncharitably of the departed, but, frankly, all members of the opposite sex were like curtain-calls to Lola, every one a fresh delight. Sam Fagan, Bellotti, Professor Virgo, almost the entire orchestra of the Paragon. It led to some bitterness here, I assure you. She and her sister had promised Bellotti they would assist him in his barrel-dancing act. You may imagine the poor boy’s disappointment when Lola took up with the Professor instead.’
‘Ah,’ said Cribb. ‘He was jealous, then.’
‘It quite ruined Bellotti’s act. A man on barrels isn’t much of an attraction without a pretty assistant, is he? I believe they pelted him with champagne-corks at the Paragon.’
‘Did he argue with Virgo over the girls?’
‘No, no,’ said Mrs Body. ‘Bellotti knew that the Professor hadn’t taken the girls from him. How they wheedled their way into the sword-swallowing act I do not like to speculate, but the trick they made the Professor do was quite out of keeping with the rest of his act. He is an orthodox sword-swallower and fire-eater, not a conjurer. The poor man was thoroughly miserable about it, but Lola had some way of compelling him to co-operate, I’m sure of that.’
‘You’re sure it wasn’t Bella who persuaded him?’
Mrs Body shook her head emphatically. ‘Bella had no initiative whatsoever. She was entirely dominated by her sister. Oh, they had arguments enough, and bitter ones, too. Such language, Mr Cribb! But Lola always had the last word. There was just one occasion when she met her match and that was last Monday.’
‘How was that?’
‘Did you meet my new guests, Albert, the strong man, and his mother? They arrived on Sunday, bringing their bulldog with them. I do not usually encourage pets, but as Beaconsfield has trodden the boards like the rest of us and was a working member of the troupe, I made an exception. The lady is extremely attached to the animal, you understand, and she asked me whether it could recline at her feet under the table at dinner on Monday evening. I had no objection myself, because it looked a placid beast, but naturally I said that if any of my guests objected, Beaconsfield would have to leave the dining-room. I was thinking of Professor Virgo, a man of nervous sensibilities, you know.’
‘So I believe.’
‘Well I made sure Beaconsfield was installed under the table before I sounded the gong. All credit to that animal; it did not make a sound. I suppose it must have fallen asleep. The Professor took his seat—naturally Lola had reserved a place for herself next to him—and all went perfectly until we got to the final course, the fruit and meringues. Then Lola must have been afflicted by some muscular spasm, for her meringue jumped from her plate and rolled under the table. “Oh,” she said. “My meringue!” Professor Virgo—a gentleman through and through—ducked beneath the tablecloth to retrieve it. It all happened before any of us had time to think. We heard a yelp from the dog and an expression of surprise from the Professor, followed by a bump as he endeavoured to stand up. Man and dog were agitated beyond belief, Mr Cribb, and Lola was laughing like a child at the pantomime.’
‘Most regrettable.’
‘But Albert’s mother was more incommoded than anybody. She plainly believed Lola had cold-bloodedly set the meringue rolling in Beaconsfield’s direction. If people couldn’t bring a decently-behaved pet into a dining-room without some vicious girl shying meringues at it, she said, she intended to take her meals in her room in future and she advised everyone else to do the same. Whereupon Lola retorted that a dining-room was not the place for—pardon me, Mr Cribb—stinking animals. In that case, said Albert’s mother, Lola herself should leave the room, for Beaconsfield at least had a fortnightly bath. It was the only time I ever saw Lola lost for a reply. Somehow one knew that whatever she said would be bettered by Albert’s mother.’
‘A formidable lady,’ agreed Cribb. ‘I don’t think they use her to the best advantage at the Paragon, swinging her about in a balloon-basket. She’s a rare sight as Britannia, when Albert’s lifting his dumbbells.’
‘I have good news for you, Mr Cribb. She will soon be accompanying her son again in a new series of tableaux, arranged specially for the Paragon. His leg has improved beyond all expectation with the help of a whisky rub and he is already lifting again. He should certainly be fit for next Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday?’ queried Cribb.
Mrs Body placed her hand on Cribb’s knee. ‘My, Scotland Yard is slow this afternoon. The next benefit at the Paragon, you dilatory detective! You know all about that, surely?’
Cribb was open-mouthed. ‘Do you mean that they’re continuing with these exhibitions, Ma’am?’
She laughed aloud. ‘Well, they’d find it difficult to cancel Tuesday’s engagement, wouldn’t they?’
Cribb stood up. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Ma’am. A young woman murdered on the stage, and they’re callously planning the next performance! That’s a cool way of going on, in my view.’