She smiled at him. “Smooth as velvet.”
“That’s me.”
“Sure, let’s have a drink in the hotel bar. Why not?”
The bar was large and crowded with tourists. She led the way to a corner booth out of sight from the door as Nick slid in next to her. “What’ll you have?”
“Whiskey and water.” She was attractive in the innocent manner of young Irish women, wearing virtually no makeup and with her brown hair falling loosely around her shoulders.
He ordered the same. When the drinks came she passed a thick envelope along the table to him. “There’s a ticket from Waterloo Station to Portsmouth, and another for the ferry across to the Isle of Wight, plus your retainer and a tape recording of instructions. That’s all you’ll need.”
“And why do you want this particular five-pound note?”
“No questions. You’re being well paid.”
He sipped his drink. “That I am. How soon do you need it?”
“What’s today — Tuesday? How about Friday night, same time, right here?”
“Fine.”
She stood up, leaving her drink unfinished, and headed for the restrooms. He sat there till she came out, walking quickly toward the front door while she slipped a pack of cigarettes from her purse.
He was leaving the casino a moment or two behind her when suddenly he heard her scream. A thin, pale man with a shaven head had accosted her and was spraying her with liquid from a bottle. Nick smelled the acrid odor of petrol and leaped forward. He knocked the still-unlit cigarette from her lips and pushed her down, then went after her attacker. But the bald man was too fast. He ran across Berkeley Square and Nick’s pursuit was blocked by a truck. A moment later the assailant had vanished into the evening crowd.
Nick went back and helped her to her feet. “You’d better remove that jacket,” he told her. “What in hell was that all about?”
“There was a similar incident in Kensington recently. A patron who’d lost a large amount of money sprayed petrol on a woman croupier and the roulette table, trying to set them on fire. This seems to be a copycat crime. Thanks for your quick action.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Just a bit shaken up. I have to get out of these clothes.”
A small crowd had gathered and he saw a bobby working his way toward them. “The police will need a statement from you.”
“Of course.” But she wasn’t waiting to be questioned. She moved to mingle with the departing customers as a police car arrived in Berkeley Square. “Forget the whole thing. The deal’s off.”
“Your money—”
She shook her head. “It may have been a warning. I can’t take a chance.”
“I’m the one who’ll be taking the chance. I’ll listen to your tape.”
Before she could reply, the bobby came between them. “Move along, sir,” he told Nick.
Back at his hotel, Nick opened the envelope and counted out the stack of hundred-pound notes. He examined the train and ferry tickets, then turned to the tape recording. He had no way of playing it, and this late at night there was little hope of finding a music shop or electronics store that was open near the hotel. Instead, he phoned Gloria back home and told her he might be returning sooner than expected.
Still, Nick figured he owed Mona Walsh something. He’d told her he’d listen to the tape, so in the morning he purchased an inexpensive tape recorder and took it back to his room, stopping on the way for a takeout breakfast. As he drank coffee and munched on a Bath bun, he heard her voice on the tape:
“Hello, Mr. Velvet. I’m so relieved you’ve agreed to help me. Enclosed with this tape you’ll find a round-trip train ticket between London’s Waterloo Station and Portsmouth, on the English Channel. Once you arrive there, proceed to the nearby ferry terminal and take the high-speed catamaran to the north coast of the Isle of Wight. Then a brief trip on an electric train takes you to Smallbrook Junction, where you’ll find the Isle of Wight Steam Railway. It’s run largely by volunteers and travels just five and a half miles through the countryside to Wootton. There are usually three or four passenger carriages pulled by a steam locomotive more than a century old. I want you to steal a five-pound note from the wallet of the engineer, a man named Vince Bundy. You must do it without injuring him, the conductor, or any of the passengers. The five-pound note I need has the serial number ED56788658, with the Queen’s picture on the front and Elizabeth Fry’s picture on the back. Deliver it to me at the time and place agreed upon.”
Nick wondered who Elizabeth Fry had been to rate having her portrait on the back of a five-pound note. Then he thought about the casino attacker, who might not have been a disgruntled gambler after all. Perhaps she was right and he’d been hired to send Mona Walsh a warning. If that was the case, he’d done his job. She was reluctant now about the task for which she’d hired him. But that didn’t mean he should pocket the advance and forget the whole thing. The least he could do was to use the tickets and take a ride on the Isle of Wight Steam Railway.
He caught the train at Waterloo Station, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be following him. The trip was less than ninety minutes by train to Portsmouth, and another half-hour by water and train to Smallbrook Junction. There he awaited the arrival of the steam locomotive on a platform that seemed to have no road or foot access. A man wearing a conductor’s cap was Nick’s only companion. “You visiting here?” he asked.
“Just touring. I’d heard about the steam railway and decided to come see it.”
“I’m Josh Lydon,” he said, extending his hand.
“Nicholas. Pleased to meet you. I see you work for the railway.”
Lydon, a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties wearing wire-rimmed glasses, smiled and shook his head. “I don’t work for them. Most of us are volunteers. It’s like having the world’s best miniature train to play with.”
As if on cue, the sound of a steam whistle cut through the air and the train itself appeared around the bend. It was indeed a miniature, looking even smaller than it was because the platform was at door level and Nick walked on without having to go up any steps. A few passengers left the train, including a woman with a shopping cart and a man with his dog. Josh Lydon was apparently relieving the other conductor. They exchanged a few words and as the train started Lydon moved through the cars, collecting tickets from a handful of passengers. “How long does the trip take?” Nick asked, making conversation.
“About twenty minutes, if there are no animals on the tracks. Then we turn around and come back.”
“Anything special I should see on the island?”
“You’re not far from Osborne House, outside of East Cowes. It was Queen Victoria’s favorite home, designed by her husband. She died there in nineteen-oh-one. Parts of it are open to the public.”
“Does this train go there?”
“No, you’ll have to change at Wootton.”
The steam whistle sounded a sudden warning. “Animal on the tracks?” Nick asked.
“Probably, or else Baden tooting at his lady friend. He does that sometimes.”
“You fellows know each other well?”
“Most of us work for a local printer when we’re not on the trains. They print the Daily Wight newspaper and do some work for the French across the channel.”
“Is Baden the engineer?”