‘Certainly would. I’ve got him booked in at the Yard for tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp,’ said Joe. ‘He’s the blighter, according to Inspector Cottingham, who informed the press of last night’s occurrence. Audrey wouldn’t, perhaps, be aware that this gentleman is now working as a night porter at the Ritz?’
Armitage turned to Tilly with a broad smile. ‘That’s why he’s a Commander, miss!’ he said.
‘Tell me, Tilly,’ said Joe, ‘you mentioned your readings just now of the works of Dr Henry Havelock Ellis. I’m intrigued! His books are available legally only to the medical profession — and the odd policeman who has a professional need for clarification and enlightenment on a murky subject. I had a particularly distressing case two years ago where information of this nature was vital to my understanding of the crimes committed. I had the devil of a job to get my hands on the books. How come you managed it?’
He turned to see Tilly blushing. ‘Nothing underhand, I assure you, sir. I haven’t broken any law! My uncle, my father’s brother, died last year. He was a doctor and left an extensive library. I offered to catalogue it and prepare it for sale. It contained a collection of Dr Ellis’s works.’
‘Ah. Sexual Inversion? Erotic Rights of Women?’
‘Those, among others, featured in the collection, sir. I have to say, they have provided a useful theoretical framework to the practical aspects of my work. In my duties at the railway stations and public parks, I witness and, indeed, have to deal with displays of aberrant human behaviour which would be inexplicable without some guidance.’
Armitage grunted. ‘I could have written a book by the time I was fourteen! And all researched within ten yards of Queen Adelaide Court off the Mile End Road. Mind — we didn’t go in for any of that trans-what’s-it and inversion stuff you’re talking about!’
Joe smiled. ‘Those chapters’ll be reserved for the nobs, I expect,’ he said. If they’d been alone he would have reminded the sergeant of the additional research done in France. There was no doubt that having a woman aboard, however bright and effective she was, changed the atmosphere. He was immediately ashamed of the thought.
‘I’ll need time to sort through this lucky dip,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m going to close my eyes and ponder it. Look — let me know when we’re getting into town, will you, Bill, and you can drop me off at Hyde Park Corner. I’m going to my club and I can walk from there. And why don’t you continue up Park Lane and deliver Tilly safely home, then drive to the Yard and leave the car there? I can take a cab in the morning. And I’d like to see you both in my office at. . shall we say midday? You are both clear about what you have to do tomorrow?’
‘Yessir.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Joe pulled his hat down over his eyes and nodded off.
It was twilight when he stepped from the car and watched it draw away to the north. When it was out of sight he turned his back on Piccadilly and St James’s which would have led him to his club and started out in the opposite direction. After five minutes’ brisk walk down Knightsbridge he turned off to his left and entered a small square of neat Victorian houses, secluded from the road by banks of thick greenery. The lamps had just been lit and Joe walked quietly along, avoiding the pools of light they created. He reached the house he was looking for and paused in a patch of thick gloom on the pavement opposite, watching.
A casual observer would have assumed that a party of some kind was breaking up early. Taxis were drawing up, a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce purred away from the kerb. A couple, chattering excitedly, climbed into their parked Dodge and set off in fits and starts. A weeping lady being comforted by two escorts was handed, unseeing, into a taxi. Strange guest-list! Joe counted eight people. Some were in an emotional condition, distraught or openly in tears, some were exclaiming and gesticulating. Joe waited until the last motor car had pulled away then he crossed the road and walked quietly up the secluded drive and tugged at the bell-pull.
The door was opened at once by a maid in ribboned cap. Joe stepped inside and handed her his hat. ‘No need to announce me, Alice,’ he said, making for the drawing room.
A dimly lit and heavily curtained room greeted him. A fire was sinking in the hearth, discreet electric lamps illuminated a polished table, chairs had been carelessly abandoned. There was a lingering scent of cigar smoke on the air but no trace of food or drink. Head in hands, a dark-haired woman sat at the head of the table. Her low-cut, sleeveless dark red gown revealed a magnificent if unfashionable bosom and white shoulders. She raised her head, sighed, took off her earrings and unpinned her glossy black hair which fell to her shoulders. The simple gesture had the effect of changing her appearance from that of a tone-deaf duchess who’d just endured the whole of the Ring cycle to that of a tired girl in dressing-up clothes.
‘Mrs Freemantle! An exhausting evening?’
Joe’s question was greeted with a groan. ‘Not as exhausting as it’s going to get!’ she said with foreboding. ‘What’s this? A police raid? Not sure I can cope with a police raid just now, Commander. That was a particularly draining session. I gave my all.’
‘Sorry to hear that, Minerva. Seems to have invigorated your audience though. I passed them on my way in. Don’t worry! I skulked behind a laurel bush. No one noticed me. Wouldn’t want a police presence to put the punters off!’
‘Very considerate of you, I’m sure. And now, if you wouldn’t mind, show a little more consideration will you, love, and shove off! I’m knackered.’
Joe grinned and went to open a cupboard by the fireplace. He found a bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan and two glasses and poured out generous measures. He added a few drops of iced water from a pitcher on the table to one of the glasses and handed it to Mrs Freemantle. She sipped her drink delicately, her eyes on Joe over the top of her glass. He drank his whisky quickly and put the glass on the mantelpiece. In a proprietorial way he bent and poked at the fire, damping it down for the night, and carefully placed the fireguard in position. He walked around the room turning off the lights one by one and lastly flung back the heavy brocade curtains.
‘That’s enough for tonight, Maisie, love.’
He took her in his arms and stroked her hair. ‘Time you were upstairs in bed, safely in the arms of the law! We’ll talk in the morning.’
Joe poured a cup of tea from the six o’clock tray discreetly delivered to the door by Alice and went to hand it to Maisie. Bathed, shaved and dressed, he was already into his day and eager to get on but he was reluctant to leave without the comforting and intimate routine of exchange of gossip and friendly insult. He stirred her awake and waved the fragrant cup under her nose. As she shook herself into consciousness he remarked, ‘It’s April, Maisie. Damned nearly the end of April.’
‘So?’ she said, mystified.
‘Four years since we met in Simla!’
‘Good Lord! Only four years? You sure? Seems more like ten. Can’t say I’ve ever bothered with anniversaries. You’re too damned romantic. . can get quite annoying. Did the paper come?’
‘Here it is. Full of details of the royal birth. To the Duke and Duchess of York, a daughter. Little Lady Elizabeth. Fourth lady in the kingdom and all that. You’d think that with a general strike looming they could come up with something a bit more serious on the front pages.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. What’s more serious than new life? Makes a nice change to think about birth instead of death. . for me at any rate. Give it ’ere.’
‘Tell me about your evening, Maisie. Seemed pretty successful from where I was standing. Emotion swirling thickly around, you’d say!’
‘It was good. Better for some than others, of course. It always is. Never held a seance yet where all the punters got through. Just as well. The new bugs would often rather just watch and listen and not participate. They like to get my measure and hear the exchanges with the old hands. When they’re confident, they’ll try for a contact. There were three approaches last night. Out of eight guests around the table — that’s not bad.’