Beaconsfield, panting rhythmically on his chair, almost appeared to nod.
‘I expect you’re referring to the incident with the meringue, Ma’am,’ ventured Cribb.
‘You heard about that? She was a Jezebel, Sergeant,’ continued Albert’s mother, inspired to more vituperative flights, ‘a mischief-maker and a trifler with men’s affections, too. Oh, I’ve a lot of sympathy for the poor wretch who took it upon himself to put an end to that young woman’s capers.’
Cribb got up to answer a tap on the door. Thackeray and Major Chick were there. From the state of their clothes the search had left nothing unturned.
‘We’ve been right through the house, Sarge. Basement to attic, including Mrs Body’s rooms.’
‘So I understand.’
‘And the outbuildings. We found no-one, Sarge. I’m sure she ain’t here.’
‘No evidence of recent digging in the garden, either, so far as I could make out in the blasted fog,’ said the Major, ruefully.
‘But I told you that she left here yesterday afternoon,’ insisted Albert’s mother. ‘If you would listen—’
She was interrupted by a loud ringing at the front door.
‘Answer that, Thackeray,’ ordered Cribb. He asked the Major to escort Albert’s mother back to the drawing-room.
The visitor was Plunkett, ashen-faced. He sank into a chair without removing his coat.
‘What can we do for you, sir?’ asked Cribb.
‘I must speak to Albert, the strong man—in private. It is a matter of the gravest urgency.’
‘The gravest urgency?’ Cribb tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets in the manner of a farmer assessing a pen of sheep. ‘What would that be, then—something pertaining to your daughter’s disappearance?’
‘It’s no concern of yours.’
Cribb shook his head slowly. ‘This time it is, sir. You can see Albert if you wish, but I’ll be present, and Constable Thackeray. I’ve reason to believe what’s happened to your daughter is closely connected with the case I’m conducting at present, into the death of Miss Lola Pinkus.’
Plunkett started at the name. ‘What? You believe that the murderer of that girl—’
‘I believe it so strongly, Mr Plunkett, that I demand to hear what you’ve got to say to Albert, and I don’t mind if you protest to my Inspector or the Chief Superintendent or the Director of Criminal Investigations himself. Charitable peep-shows may be out of the law’s reach, but killers of young women are not. Fetch Albert,’ he told Thackeray, ‘and keep all the others out, including the Major.’
Plunkett wheeled round in his chair as though to stop Thackeray, but found no words. Instead, he turned back to the table and slumped over it, his fingers clawing at his hair.
‘I won’t mince words,’ said Cribb. ‘I’ve little sympathy for you, Mr Plunkett. I went to a deal of trouble to learn about the methods you employ to stock your music hall with performers. In the end I got enough to paper the walls of the Paragon with charge-sheets. But, by God, those walls are protected, aren’t they? All I got for my trouble was a sizeable flea in my ear from Scotland Yard. But it’s a queer sort of world, ain’t it? You’re going to have my help in finding your daughter, whether you want it or not. Now that’s altruism, ain’t it? Better not waste any more time, then. It’s a letter you’ve got, is it?’
A murmur from Plunkett confirmed that it was.
Thackeray returned with Albert, clearly nervous at the prospect of a second interrogation. He and Plunkett exchanged nods.
‘Now, sir,’ said Cribb.
Plunkett swore violently, more at his own predicament than Cribb’s intransigence. Then he took a letter from his breast-pocket. ‘This came by the second post. You had better read it.’ After a pause, he added, ‘All of you.’
Albert spread the two sheets of writing-paper on the table so that their contents were clear to alclass="underline"
Friday
My dearest Papa,
By now you will know that after my visit to Albert this afternoon I did not reach home. The reason is that I have been abducted and am being held captive until arrangements can be made for my release. I want to assure you, Papa, that I am unharmed so far, and have been treated with civility. As proof, I am permitted to write this letter to you, sections of which I am allowed to say will be dictated for me to write in my own hand. A lock of my hair is to be included with the letter as further evidence of my identity.
My safe release rests with you. If you wish me returned unharmed, you must follow meticulously the instructions I give you.
You are to place five hundred pounds in used banknotes of any denomination in a leather valise. At a quarter to midnight tonight, after the house at the Paragon has dispersed, no doors are to be bolted. The valise is to be carried to the centre of the stage by Albert (this is at my suggestion, for I fear for your heart), who must gain leave from Philbeach House on some pretext. You are to arrange for a beam of limelight from the wings to illuminate the place where Albert is to leave the valise, but the rest of the hall must be in darkness, and no person other than Albert is to be in the building. When he has placed it in position he is to withdraw and return to Philbeach House. The money will be collected, taken away and counted, and if all is in order I shall be released within the hour, to meet you outside the Paragon at the main entrance. Any failure in carrying out these instructions, or any attempt to communicate with the police, or to try to follow the person who collects the money, will have consequences which must cause you lasting distress. I repeat that no-one but the courier (Albert) is to be inside the hall. The night-watchman is to be instructed to lock the doors at one o’clock, by which time, God willing, I shall be restored to you. Please do not fail me, Papa. I am mortally afraid.
Your ever-loving,
Ellen
‘You see now why I couldn’t tell you about the letter,’ said Plunkett. ‘Already I may have condemned my daughter to death. Oh, God, have I done that?’
‘I doubt it, sir,’ said Cribb. ‘No-one outside this house knows the Yard is here. We came on foot, you see, through the fog. The four of us in this room are the only living souls who know of this meeting.’
‘Well, what am I to do?’ Plunkett appealed.
‘What were you planning to do, sir?’
‘Precisely what they want. Heavens, my daughter’s worth five hundred to me! I was coming to tell Albert about his part in the proceedings.’
‘Well, Albert,’ said Cribb. ‘Are you game?’
The strong man’s chin tilted to its most intrepid angle. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help Ellen, Sergeant.’
‘Good man. Do you have this amount of money, Mr Plunkett?’
‘I’ve several hundred in the safe. After tonight’s performance I’ll have enough.’
‘Capital. I’ll provide the valise,’ said Cribb, ‘and then we’ll all have made a contribution. Oh, and one more thing, Albert. I’d like to borrow Beaconsfield. He’ll come to no harm, but we won’t alarm your mother, eh? Tell her you’re both required by Mr Plunkett for a secret rehearsal for next Tuesday.’
‘He’s not a very good guard-dog, Sergeant.’
‘He’ll do for my purposes,’ said Cribb.
CHAPTER
16
SEVERAL TIMES THAT EVENING, as they sat in the pit at the Paragon, Thackeray found himself speculating on the strategy of his sergeant. Was it really necessary to their investigation to spend three hours watching the entire bill, including every turn they had seen the previous Tuesday? It would go into the report, he supposed, as ‘The proceedings were kept under continuous observation’: justification enough for studying the chorus-line through opera glasses, but questionable as an explanation of Cribb’s lusty singing of the chorus of Slap Bang, Here we are Again.