Mary gave him that ring, Blackstone read. She said he had the heart of a lion.
Trixie had watched the whole thing, and now a smile came to her face. ‘I got it right, didn’t I?’ she asked. ‘It was him!’
‘Yes, it was,’ Meade agreed. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what happened, Trixie. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.’
‘Well, half past five is a very quiet time at the club,’ Trixie said. ‘You see, we get the gentlemen who like to visit us during their lunch hour, and we get the gentlemen who always come in the evening — either before or after dinner — but at that time of the afternoon. .’
‘I get the point,’ Meade said.
‘So since there’s not much business to be had, most of the girls are off-duty then. So there were only two of us there when Imre showed this particular gentleman into the parlour.’
‘Who’s Imre?’ Blackstone asked.
‘The doorman. Not that he’ll ever admit that’s what he is. He says that he’s Madam’s business manager, but you can take that with a pinch of salt, because he also says he’s a Hungerarian count.’
‘Do you mean Hungarian?’ Blackstone asked.
‘That’s right,’ Trixie agreed, as if, Hungarian or Hungerarian, it was all the same to her. ‘Anyway, Imre led the gentleman into the parlour. And do you know what he says then?’
‘No.’
‘He says to the inspector, “I’m sorry there’s not much choice, sir.” What a pig! As if me and Lucy weren’t enough choice for anybody!’
‘What did Inspector O’Brien say?’
‘He says that he’s not there to. . to. .’
‘To avail himself of the services that the house offered?’
‘That’s right, he’s not there for that, he’s just come to see Madam. Well, Imre tells him that Madam only ever sees very special clients who she’s known for a long time.’
‘What happened then?’
‘O’Brien keeps on saying it’s very important he sees her. And Imre keeps on saying he can’t and that if he wants to take one of us upstairs, he’s very welcome, but if he doesn’t, he has to leave. And let me tell you, when Imre orders somebody to leave, that’s just what they do, because he’s six feet four and built like a brick shithouse.’
‘So Inspector O’Brien left, did he?’ Meade asked, his disappointment very obvious.
‘No, he didn’t. That’s when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his detective shield. I don’t think he wanted to show it at all, you know — I think he’d just decided that if he didn’t, Imre would give him the five-second bounce and he’d end up lying in the street.’
‘What did Imre say when he saw the shield?’
‘He shrugs his shoulders, to show it doesn’t impress him. Well, he is a count, after all — though I can think of another word which sounds rather like “count” but would describe him much better, if you know what I mean.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Meade said.
And Blackstone was amused to note that the young sergeant had reddened slightly.
‘Anyway, Imre says it makes no difference whether O’Brien is a cop or not, because we pay our protection money directly to the local precinct captain. And that’s when this inspector suddenly loses his temper — but not for the reasons you might think.’
‘No?’
‘No. He isn’t exactly angry. He’s — what’s the word? — he’s outraged. He says it’s a disgrace that any policeman should take bribes from a whorehouse. But I don’t see what’s wrong with it myself. It’s the way it’s always been done.’
‘You see what a state we’re in?’ Meade asked Blackstone in a low whisper. ‘We’ve reached such a level of corruption that it doesn’t even seem like corruption any more.’
‘What was that?’ Trixie asked.
‘Nothing. Carry on with your story.’
‘Well, Imre starts to look worried, and he takes a step or two backwards, because now, if it comes to a fight, the inspector’s so full of rage that you can see Imre thinks he might just win.’
‘Did it come to a fight?’
‘No, the inspector forces himself to calm down — you could see him do it — and when he is calm, he becomes all crisp and official. He says there are two choices. Either Imre takes him to see Madam or else he’ll be arrested on the spot for keeping a disorderly house.’
‘And what did Imre do?’
‘What would you have done? He asks the inspector to wait there while he goes and sees if Madam is available. And the three of us — me, Lucy and the cop — are left alone in the parlour.’ The girl giggled again. ‘It was too funny for words.’
‘Funny? How?’
‘Well, you could tell that he wasn’t a regular at that kind of establishment, and he seems very uncomfortable being there at all. So me and Lucy try to make him feel more at home.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I pat my hand on the chaise lounge and ask him if he’d like to sit between us. He says, “No, thank you.” He’s very polite about it, but very firm. And then he just stands there, in the centre of room, fiddling with the rim of his hat and gazing up at the ceiling. Then he sees what’s painted on the ceiling, and he quickly looks down at the floor.’ Trixie chuckled throatily. ‘It’s a good job that Madam didn’t get any of them erotic carpets she was thinking of buying, ain’t it?’
‘Did Madam invite him into her apartment?’ asked Meade, who was growing redder by the minute.
Trixie shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Like I said, she’s very particular about who goes in there.’
‘So she came into the parlour instead?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She asks him what he wants, and when he tells her he just wants a private word, she leads him across to the far end of the room, where the escritoire is.’ Trixie paused. ‘That’s French for “writing desk”.’
‘I know,’ Meade said.
‘Anyway, they talk for about five minutes — only, it’s in a whisper, so we can’t hear. Then Madam opens the drawer of the escritoire, and takes out a sheet of paper. She writes something on it and hands it to the cop.’
‘And did that seem to satisfy him?’
Trixie frowned, as if there was only one activity that she was used to hearing the word ‘satisfy’ applied to.
‘How do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Did he seem pleased?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘And what did he do with the piece of paper?’
‘Folded it up and put it in his pocket.’
‘And then?’
‘And then he left — in a great hurry.’
‘Was that because he wanted to get away from the brothel as quickly as he could?’
Trixie frowned again. ‘I don’t think so. It was more of a case of him wanting to get to somewhere else quickly.’
‘What did Madam say to you when he’d gone?’
‘She smiled at us, in a funny sort of way. .’
‘What do you mean by “in a funny sort of way”?’
‘I don’t know,’ Trixie said perplexedly. ‘Like she’d found something funny, I suppose. And then she says, ‘It’s always nice to be of service to the police force, isn’t it, girls?’
‘And what do you think she meant?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Trixie paused for the briefest of instants. ‘Do I get the money now?’
Meade laid a ten-dollar bill on the table. ‘Regard that as a down payment,’ he said.
‘A what?’
‘A down payment. An advance. If your information checks out, there’ll be more.’
‘Funny way to do business,’ Trixie complained. ‘In my game, you make sure you have all the money in your hand before you so much as open your. .’ She paused again. ‘How much more will there be?
‘A hundred dollars,’ Meade promised.
Trixie beamed with pleasure.
‘Now that’s a better way to make a living than lying on your back with your eyes closed, pretending you’re reading Harper’s Bazaar.’