Cynthia intervened. “I won’t have you two squabbling in my room. If you want to start a row you can go elsewhere.”
“Sorry,” I muttered reluctantly.
“I’ll be good,” added Trixie; “I won’t even call her a female fox. But you must admit it’s a scream. I can just see the headlines: ‘The Secret Life of a Naughty Nun’.”
Trixie threw the dice. “Two sixes. I start.”
“That’s just the sort of thing I’m not going to allow to happen,” I snarled. “The police are not going to be told.” I moved my piece. “Liverpool Street. I’ll buy that.” I laid down my money with determination and took the card.
Chummy threw her dice. “This is a Council of War, and I’m with you, old horse. The important thing is to protect Sister Monica Joan from the machinations of the Constabulary, what? Mum’s the word, I say. What ho! Not a syllable. Lips sealed.”
Cynthia shook the cup slowly and thoughtfully, and rattled the dice. “Well, someone’s going to find out, even if we don’t say anything. The police will search her room again; they are not fools, you know.”
“I’ve thought of that,” I said. “Perhaps we could take the jewels out of her room and hide them.”
“Don’t be a fool.” Trixie was always too sharp for my liking. “Then you’d be an accessory.”
“What’s that? I thought accessories were things like gloves and handbags.”
“Accessories are the law. You can be an accessory before the fact, or an accessory after the fact. It doesn’t matter if it’s before or after; either way you’d be in for it.” Trixie pushed the dice to her neighbour as she spoke.
Chummy shook the dice. “I’d say she’s got to the root of the matter. If the jewels were in your possession, the Robert Peelers would say you’d egged the old lady on. Bally awkward situation, and you’d be as sore as a gumboil. No. We’ve got to prove that she didn’t know what she was doing.” Chummy moved her piece, but decided not to buy.
Trixie jumped on it in a flash. “I’ll buy that. Come off it. That old girl’s as sharp as a razor. She’s got it all weighed up. No one suspects a nun, so she’s in the clear – that’s what she thinks.”
“I’m not so sure.” Cynthia moved her piece. “The Angel Islington. I’ll buy that. I like the blue properties. I think her mind is definitely disturbed.”
“Don’t give me that one,” Trixie snapped. “She’s as crafty as they come. Look how she manipulates everyone to get her own way. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Another visit from the police would do her good. I’ll put a house on each of my properties please, Bank.”
Chummy was Bank and sorted out the high finance. “Well, I can’t agree, old sport. I think another visit from the police would give her a stroke.”
“Of course it would.” I threw the dice so hard they overshot the board and landed on the floor. “The police will never know. I’ll see to that.”
Cynthia, who, as the room-owner, had the right to sit on the only chair, retrieved the dice. “I have a feeling it’s not as easy as that. You have to tell ‘the whole truth and nothing but the truth’.”
“That’s only in court,” I said, “and we’re not in court . . . yet. Park Lane – I’ll buy that.”
“You’re not thinking straight, idiot, I’ve already got Mayfair. It won’t do you any good. Anyway, if you end up in court giving evidence, you’ll have to tell the whole truth.”
I decided not to buy Park Lane and Trixie gleefully snapped it up.
“If you don’t, it’s called ‘obstructing the course of justice’. I’ve heard my cousin talk about that.”
It was Chummy’s throw. “I’ve heard of that one, too. It’s the same sort of thing as ‘withholding evidence’, which is a serious offence. I say, this pudding’s no end good. Is there any more, madam hostess?”
“No, but I’ve got some biscuits here in my wardrobe. Just let me move the chair and I’ll get them. How about a coffee?”
Trixie shook her head. “I’ve got a much better idea. My brother bought me a couple of bottles of sherry for Christmas; he thought I needed cheering up, stuck in a dreary hole like a convent. We’ll have them now. It will help the discussion. We’ve got to come to a sensible decision about this. Get your tooth mugs, girls.”
Trixie slid off the bed and Chummy remembered some chocolates and crystallised ginger left over from a previous occasion. I ran down the passage to get my tooth mug and some figs and dates, to which I was partial.
We settled down again around the Monopoly board, which had wobbled with all the movement on and off the bed. After some argument about whose piece was where, and which houses were on whose properties, we poured the sherry, took handfuls of food, and continued the game.
Trixie was clearly winning. She had houses on Park Lane and Mayfair, and the dice fell in her favour. Everyone seemed to stop there and had to pay rent. Groans all round. The sherry slid down nicely, assisted by all the sweet food. Chummy made a general point that had been in all of our minds.
“Where do you think, the old lady got all those sparklers from? I say, this sherry’s going down a treat. I always say sherry tastes so much better out of a tooth mug than one of those bally little glasses, what? Perhaps the dregs of toothpaste in the bottom of the mug give it that special flavour. I did a cordon bleu course, you know, but the teacher never mentioned that. If I ever go back there, I’ll recommend it. Hell’s bells! Go back five places – that puts me in jail!”
Trixie giggled. “We’ll get Sister Monica Joan in jail before the night’s out. Sorry! Sorry! Don’t take on so. Just stirring it up. Have another sherry!”
Cynthia filled my mug. “Yes, where did she get it from? There’s nowhere in Poplar that sells expensive jewellery.”
Trixie had the answer – inevitably. “I reckon she’s been going to Hatton Garden. It’s not far from here, only a short bus ride. A pious-looking old nun going around the shops and warehouses. Easy. No one would think to suspect her, the wicked old thing.”
“She’s not wicked,” I shouted. “Don’t you dare. She’s—”
“Now, now, you two. My turn and I collect £200 for passing Go. Come on, Bank. Wake up. I want my money.”
Chummy jerked herself upright. “I’m beginning to think the police have to be told because of this business of withholding the course.”
“The what?”
“The course of evidence, of course.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Yes I am. You’re not listening.”
Cynthia was carefully tucking her £200 down her bra. “I think you mean the course of justice.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No you didn’t. You said the course of evidence.”
“Well, same thing, and it’s an offence.”
“What is?”
“Holding the evidence, old bean. And it’s not allowed.”
“You mean withholding the evidence.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No you didn’t. You said holding it.”
“Look here, this is going round in circles. Anyway it’s my turn.” Trixie picked up a card from the pack. “So you reckon we’ve got to get the police in again?”
“Yes, because of obstructing, old thing.”
“No you don’t. You want to get the police in again because you fancy that policeman.”
“I don’t. Don’t you dare.” Chummy gulped down her sherry and went bright red.
“Yes you do. You’re sweet on him. I’ve seen you go all coy and giggly when he comes to the house.”
“You’re a regular shower. You’ve no right to come out with whoppers like that, you gumboil, you.”
Poor Chummy looked as if she were on the verge of tears, so Cynthia came to her rescue.