‘Perhaps it seems like that to you, Mr Cribb, but really there is no choice. The show was arranged before Lola’s untimely death. My information is that the Paragon is to receive a visit from a most distinguished patron next Tuesday night. He cannot possibly be disappointed. It is, in effect, a command performance.’
Cribb paled. ‘My Lord! Not the . . .’
‘He is quite old enough to have a mind of his own, Mr Cribb. If he chooses to take an interest in the Paragon we must not disappoint him. That is why Albert has made such efforts to be fit. The honour, you see. What on earth are you doing, Mr Cribb?’
‘Climbing over the edge of your box, Ma’am. I can’t stay, I’m afraid. Urgent matters to attend to, by Heaven!’
‘Send me another bottle of gin,’ called Mrs Body plaintively into the speaking-tube, when Cribb’s footsteps had receded altogether.
CHAPTER
14
SATURDAY MORNING FOUND CRIBB and Thackeray seated in an omnibus bound for Kensington High Street. It was a joyless journey. The first fog of winter quite obscured the interesting activity along the pavements. The passengers could see only what passed within six feet of the window: the bobbing heads of cab-horses, flickering coach-lamps and brash advertisements for cocoa and safety matches on the sides of passing buses. Thackeray sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, feet idly manoeuvring a cigarette packet through the straw provided on the floor. He was shrewd enough to know when conversation with Cribb was inadvisable, so he let the sergeant’s monologue continue, making token responses at decent intervals.
‘I don’t ask for much, Thackeray. I’m not particular about the hours I work or the cases I’m put on, or the company I have to rub shoulders with. You’ve never found me a difficult man, have you? There’s malcontents enough in the Force, but I’ve never counted myself one of ’em, though I’ve had more cause for complaint than most. But an officer’s entitled to look to his superiors for support, ain’t he? Superiors, my hat! D’you know where I ran him to earth eventually, after I’d spent an hour and a half convincing Scotland Yard it was important enough to disturb him when he was off duty? Where d’you think?’
‘I don’t know, Sarge. His club?’
‘The Westminster Aquarium, goggling at a bloody fish-tank. “Ah,” he says to me, “I didn’t know you were an icthyologist, Sergeant.” You and I run around like lunatics trying to prevent a national catastrophe while Inspector Jowett studies the habits of gold-fish! “Most awfully sorry to invade your privacy,” says I, “but it’s a matter of over-riding importance that we stop the next show at the Paragon.” Then I tell him what I learned from Mrs Body, and what do you think he says when he’s heard it all? “Oh,” says he, still pressing his nose against the glass, “I know all about that. No need to agitate yourself, Sergeant. You get back to your questioning of chorus-girls and leave affairs of State to those that understand ’em.” I don’t believe he’s any intention of stopping that show, Thackeray.’
‘You’ve done your loyal duty, anyway, Sarge. Can’t do more than that, unless you can charge Plunkett with murder before Tuesday.’
‘Maybe I’m becoming a cynic,’ said Cribb, ‘but I’ve a feeling in my bones there ain’t any future in charging Mr Plunkett with anything. He’s one of the bigger fish that Jowett keeps his eye on. You and I are minnows, Constable. Ah, you can build a pretty strong case against Plunkett. As manager he had every opportunity of poisoning Lola Pinkus. No-one would question his appearing in the wings or touching the props. He knew the order of the acts perfectly, and Virgo’s routine. The poison was available on the premises. And the staging of the murder was damned professional, wasn’t it? Didn’t interfere in the least with the performance. He was one of the first on the scene afterwards, too.’
‘But why should he want to poison the girl, Sarge?’
‘Plunkett’s got plenty of money and plenty of things he’d rather keep to himself. Could be that Lola was trying to blackmail him. A man of his sort isn’t going to let a chit of a show-girl stand in his way. So he removes her from the scene in the neatest possible way. If we hadn’t been there he’d have put the whole thing down to heart failure and had the girl buried next day.’
‘Monstrous!’
‘That’s only theorising, of course. We’d need to be sure of the motive. But while we’re under orders to keep away from Plunkett we’re not likely to find one, are we?’
‘It makes you feel completely impotent, Sarge.’
For the first time that morning the gleam returned to Cribb’s eye. ‘Hadn’t affected me quite as bad as that, Constable. However, there’s a possibility in my mind, just a possibility. If the Law can’t approach Mr Plunkett, that don’t prevent a private agent from approaching him.’
‘Major Chick! That’s why we’re going to call on him, is it?’
‘That’s one reason, Thackeray. There’s several things I’d like to know from the Major. Besides, I’ve never seen a private investigator at home, have you?’
Major Chick’s address was a matter of two minutes’ walk from the bus-stop, a set of rooms on the first floor of a large house overlooking Holland Park. A housekeeper admitted them and escorted them upstairs, asking, ‘Was you expected?’ rather nervously before she tapped on Chick’s door. It was pulled briskly open.
‘Good Lord! Never thought I’d see the day when . . . Come in, gentlemen,’ said Major Chick. He was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat; the first time, Thackeray reflected, they had seen him out of disguise.
If the Major’s apparel lacked interest on this occasion, the novelty of his living-room made up for it. Entry was a matter of sidling round two sides of a vast table, at least nine feet square. It was completely covered by a map of London, with the Thames, blue-tinted and six inches broad in parts, sinuously disposed across the centre like a basking boa-constrictor. Chessmen ingeniously marked points of interest: a queen for the Palace, bishops for the Abbey and St Paul’s, a knight for the Horse Guards, a castle for the Tower; and (less happily) pawns for Scotland Yard and the various Divisional Headquarters. There were also up to a hundred champagne-corks, neatly trimmed for stability.
‘Music halls,’ answered the Major to the inquiry in Thackeray’s puckered brow.
‘Speaks volumes for your standard of living,’ commented Cribb, with undisguised envy.
The end of the room was occupied by the fireplace, an unbelievably tidy desk, square to the wall, and three chairs in rigid rank on the opposite side. Over the mantelpiece was a portrait of Her Majesty, flanked by the Union Jack and the colours (presumably) of the 8th Hussars.
‘Sleeping quarters through there,’ said the Major, indicating a door beside the desk, ‘and ablutions on the left. Not quite what I’ve been used to, but it suffices. I was working on my diary when you knocked. No Orderly Room Sergeant here, you see. The housekeeper cleans my bed-space daily and that’s all the batting I get. Kindly sit down there and tell me what your business is.’ He briskly rotated the revolving chair at his desk and sat with arms folded and legs crossed, facing his visitors.
‘You’re looking in very good fettle, sir, if I may say so,’ began Cribb. ‘I thought you might be laid up this morning, after Mrs Body’s hospitality.’
‘Not at all,’ said the Major. ‘Never had problems over liquor. Got a first-rate pick-me-up. Two-thirds brandy, one-third cayenne pepper. Strongly recommended.’
‘I’ll remember that. Good of you to receive us unexpected like this, even so. Major, you ain’t a man to mince words and nor am I. May I put some blunt questions to you?’
‘If you don’t object to blunt answers.’