chapter one
On a pleasant summer evening, a few minutes after eleven o’clock, a black and chromium Rolls-Royce turned into Curzon Street from Clarges Street and slid to a standstill by the narrow passage that leads to Shepherd Market.
Two young women in fox furs, loitering in the shadows, regarded the Rolls-Royce with professional interest and also, perhaps, with a feeling of bitterness and envy at such a display of wealth.
Except for the two young women and the Rolls-Royce, Curzon Street was deserted—one of those freak lulls that sometimes occur in the streets of the West End of London for no apparent reason.
The young women watched the slim, uniformed chauffeur leave the car, open the rear door and speak with the passenger whom they were unable to see. Then the chauffeur stepped back and looked a little helplessly up and down the street.
The chauffeur noticed them talking together and approached them.
The tall woman said, “Hello. Did you want me?”
She was secretly surprised to see how young he was now that she could examine his white, immature face. In spite of this immaturity, there was something about his eyes and the rigid way he held himself that made her uneasy.
The chauffeur looked at her, recognized her for what she was” and made an imperceptible movement of disgust. “Do you know where the Gilded Lily Club is?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation. His voice was soft and timbreless.
“Oh, God!” the woman exclaimed, angry in her disappointment. “Why don’t you ask a policeman instead of wasting my time? I thought you wanted me.”
“Ask me,” the blonde woman said, joining them. “I know.”
The chauffeur pulled at the cuff of his black gauntlet. He looked suspiciously from one to the other of the women.
“Well, where is it?” he said, impatiently.
The blonde woman smiled. Like her companion, now that she could see the chauffeur’s face, she felt an uneasy doubt about him. “It’s for members only,” she explained. “You’ll never get in. They’re ever so strict.”
“Never mind that,” the chauffeur returned, still jerking at the cuff of his gauntlet. “Just tell me where it is.”
The eyes of the blonde woman jeered at him. “You’ll never find it. Not if you look all night.” She glanced quickly at the tall woman and lowered her voice. “I’ll take you there if you make it worth my while.”
The blonde woman looked across at the Rolls-Royce. A little man in a long black coat, a black slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, his small hands encased in white buckskin gloves, had just got out of the car. Moonlight glittered on his highly polished shoes. He accepted the ebony, gold mounted walking stick the chauffeur banded to him, then he walked across the pavement. “So you know where this club is, my dear?” he said, pausing before the blonde woman.
She looked curiously at him. The broad brim of his hat hid the upper part of his face, but she could see his small mouth.
His lips were red and full and his chin pointed at her like an accusing finger.
She nodded. “I’ll take you there if you make it worth my while,” she said, then added, “You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?”
“What a clever little girl.” The full red lips smiled. “But you mustn’t waste my time. Take me to the club and I’ll give you a pound.”
“Make it two, darling,” she returned quickly. “I’ve had ever such a rotten night.”
He pulled off his glove. A large diamond flashed in the moonlight from a ring that he wore on his finger. “Do you know Rollo?” he said, lowering his voice and peering up at her face.
She stiffened and looked suspicious. “Suppose I do?”
“I would like to know something about him.” The hand and diamond disappeared inside his coat and came out again holding a thick roll of pound notes.
The blonde woman caught her breath. There must be over a hundred pounds in that roll, she decided.
“I would pay for information,” the little man said, looking furtively over his shoulder as if he feared his chauffeur’s disapproval. “That is if you know anything worthwhile.”
She too looked up and down the street. People were appearing again. Not far off she caught the glint of the steel buttons of a policeman making his lonely patrol.
“You’d better come back to my flat,” she said. “We can’t talk here.”
He shook his head. “We’ll go for a little ride,” he said and taking her arm he walked with her to the car.
The chauffeur opened the door and they got in.
The blonde woman gave an ecstatic sigh as she sank into the cushioned seat.
It was, she thought, like sitting on a cloud.
The little man, still holding the roll of notes in his left hand, reached with his right hand for a gold cigarette case which was fitted into a small walnut cabinet by his side.
“Have a cigarette,” he said, looking at her out of the corners of his eyes. He gave her a light from a contraption that glowed red when he touched a switch on the cabinet. Then, as she drew in a lungful of smoke, he said to the chauffeur, “Drive round, but don’t go far.”
“This is marvellous,” the blonde woman said, as the car slid away from the kerb. “I’d give anything for a car like this.”
The little man grunted. “There are other things to talk about,” he said. “You know Rollo?”
She flicked the cigarette, spilling ash on the pile carpet covering the floor of the car. “He doesn’t like being talked about. I’ve got to be careful.”
“It’s all a question of money, isn’t it?” he returned. “Here, perhaps you will have more confidence if you have this.”
He gave her ten one pound notes.
She slid them quickly into her purse, but her eyes never left the roll that remained in his hand. “Yes, I know him,” she said.
“He owns the Gilded Lily Club?”
She nodded.
“What is the club?”
She hesitated. “Well, you know, it’s just a night club. People go there to dance.” She studied the glowing end of her cigarette while she wondered what else she could say without committing herself. “There’s a good band,” she went on.
“It’s ever so expensive. Members only.” You can’t get in without being a member.” She glanced at him and looked away. “I know because I’ve tried. They don’t even allow members to bring guests.”
He sat huddled up by her side, motionless, his hands folded on the top of his stick. “Go on,” he said when she fell silent.
“Well, what else can I tell you?” Her arm squeezed against the bag with an unconscious protective movement. “You can get a meal there. The sub’s stiff. Rollo must make a lot of money out of it.” Her voice trailed away as her imagination failed her.
“You’ve told me nothing I could not have found out by ringing the club,” the little man said querulously. “I don’t give away money as easily as that. There’s more behind the club than what you’ve told me, What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said uneasily. “Mind you, I’ve heard things, People talk, but I wouldn’t like to get anyone into trouble.”
“You mean Rollo’s a receiver of stolen property and a trafficker in drugs, is that it?”
She sniffed. “Something like that.”
The little man did not seem to hear her. He touched a switch at his elbow and spoke into a minute microphone.
“Return.”
The Rolls-Royce slowed, stopped, reversed and manoeuvred its long length so that it faced the way it had come. Then in a few minutes it again stopped outside the narrow passage that leads to Shepherd Market.
“Take me to the club,” the little man said, getting out of the car.
As the blonde woman passed the chauffeur who was holding open the door she felt him give her a searching glance. She felt too, as she walked into the shadows with the little man, that the chauffeur was staring after her; not knowing why, she shivered.