murder in oils 17

 

Chapter 17

 

“David, I need a pair of Helen’s shoes,” said Alexander.

“Take what you need, but don’t show me,” said David.

“Thank you,” said Alexander. “They will be put to good use; I can let you have them back tomorrow.”

“I don’t want them back. Just... don’t do demonstrations on my staircase when I’m looking.”

“I won’t,” said Alexander.  He made his way to David’s suite, to Helen’s dressing room, a glorified closet. He picked two pairs, slightly differently shaped, one gold kid with decorative cut-outs, and a slightly wider pair covered in diamante, with low heels. He took them down to his room, and knocked.

Gladys opened the door.

“I took all Miss Ida’s clothes from the housekeeper’s room, as well,” she said. “It’s three trunks full.”

“Campbell can put them in my car to make sure nobody messes with them,” said Alexander. “Try these shoes; David said you can keep them so long as he never sees them.”

“He knows I’m wearing them?” gasped Gladys.

“No, he knows I need them to make a pinch,” said Alexander.

Gladys tried them on.

“The gold ones fit slightly better, but the diamante ones have lower heels,” she said.

“It’s your feet; I can’t choose for you,” said Alexander.

“I’ll decide in time, sir,” said Gladys. “I do like the gold ones; not too gaudy. I can get used to heels.”

“Jolly good,” said Alexander. “Campbell can raid the kitchen for a tray for us a little early so we can be there in good time. You can’t rely on the comestibles at largely undergraduate parties. Sometimes they cook them themselves, with mixed results, and as this is a party where drugs are to be pushed, the food is secondary.”

 

Besides, eating in the studio meant that he would not have to encounter Gloria again.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander brought the car round to be as close to the balcony as possible. Campbell helped Gladys down the steps. The tall girl was every inch a fashionable flapper, from the gold kid slippers to the diamante headband holding feathers. She had made up carefully, and Alexander was delighted that her makeup was not overdone as some lower-class girls tended to do.

“You look just right,” he said approvingly. “Shall I carry you and your slippers to the car?”

“I’ll manage, sir, but I’d appreciate an arm,” said Gladys.

With Alexander one side and Campbell the other, Gladys negotiated the rather soggy grass to get into the car.

“You’ll take good care of her, Major?” asked Campbell, anxiously.

“Did you want to come as my chauffeur, and be another pair of eyes to keep a look out for her?” asked Alexander.

“Give me a jiffy to get into me Chewfferin’ kit,” said Campbell. “O’ course, I trusts you, sir, but if it was Miss Ida....”

“Then I’d want to be with her,” said Alexander. “I am glad the pair of you are together, it will make our family more harmonious.”

Gladys blushed.

“Mr. Campbell has not asked me to be his best girl,” she said.

“Well, take it that I’m askin’, as the Major don’t mind,” said Campbell.

“Then I’d be delighted, Andrew,” said Gladys.

Campbell grinned, and took himself off.  He did not take long; a man to whom a jiffy really was a short time. He had a typical chauffeur’s uniform, dark green riding trousers tucked into long black boots, a matching doublebreasted jacket with brass buttons in a neat curve each side down the front panel from the shoulders to the pair just a few inches apart at the botttom, and a peaked cap.

“Ooh Drew, you do look something special in that,” said Gladys, in admiration. “All wide shoulders and trim waist.”

“It does somethin’ for a chap,” admitted Campbell, preening.  He did look quite magnificent, thought Alexander, a boost to his own consequence, and fortunate that his dark green uniform matched his own car’s paintwork.

“I wuz sick o’ ruddy khakhi,” said Campbell. “Shall I drive, sir?”

“You can drive back,” said Alexander. “It frees me to drink more than I would normally like, to loosen tongues.  Be aware, if I can’t make the pinch and make a mess of it, we might be driving away under fire.”

“Jus’ like wiv the ’Un,” said Campbell, gloomily.

“Not likely, at least, to be machine guns,” said Alexander. “We leave that sort of thing to Americans.”

“Gawdstroof, yerse,” said Campbell. “I never run so bleedin’ fast as when that fucker in a Fokker chased me all the bleedin’ way acrorse the airfield. Them tripehounds had a stalling speed slower’n a maiden lady’s concealed fart!”

“I hope Gladys doesn’t mind your colourful vernacular, Campbell,” said Alexander, severely.

“Oh, she don’t understand enough to be offended,” said Campbell, cheerfully. “But Mr. Basil would teach Miss Ida what words meant, and then lambasted me for usin’ them.”

“I put up with your language, Andrew,” said Gladys, severely. “I might ignore it because I’m nicer brought up than to wince at it, but I don’t have to like it.”

“That told you,” said Alexander.

“Gawd, I reckon I’m going to be whipped,” said Campbell, mournfully.

“You may swear all you like when it’s only me, or Sergeant Harris and me, in the car,” said Alexander.

“Well, that’s a relief, anyhow,” said Campbell.

Alexander drove to the venue of the party he had found in Gloria’s diary, and got out to help Gladys out of the back.

He led her to the front door. A lofty-looking butler opened it.

“Have you an invitation?” he demanded.

“Private Porkins, as I live and breathe!” said Alexander.

“Major! Please, quietly... I told them I was a Mastersergeant,” said Porkins.

“Oh, you look the part,” said Alexander. “I’ll keep mum... but the lady and I would like you to look at our invitation...” a folding piece of paper passed to Porkins and into his pocket.

“Nice to see you, Major,” said Porkins.

“Don’t go throwing that about, either,” said Alexander.  “And if any police turn up, I strongly advise that you co-operate to the full.”

Porkins looked startled.

“Them sort of parties? I wager the old man don’t know.”

“His daughters might not, either,” said Alexander, grimly. “The chummy I’m after passes dodgy cigarettes free the first time, and ups the price steeply each time thereafter.”

“As much a bleedin’ poisoner as that Hun wot invented poison gas,” said Porkins.

“Fritz Harbor,” said Alexander. “His name will live in infamy. His wife committed suicide in protest of his invention, whilst he was demonstrating it.”

“Well, good luck, sir,” said Porkins.

 

“That was a piece of luck,” said Gladys.

“Luck, nothing,” said Alexander. “I recognised the name of the house. The party who lives here is very upright and would be appalled at this misuse of his abode, which I suspect is half the thrill to Jonathon Grantham. I recalled that Porkins had a position here, and figured that would give us an entrée.  That’s why we’re doing this in a flaming hurry, rather than having a bit more leisure to prepare.”

“Oh, I see, sir,” said Gladys.

“Mr. Armitage,” said Alexander. “You may not know me well enough to make free with my name, but not ‘sir,’” he admonished her.

“Yes, s... Mr. Armitage,” she said. “One is drilled rather.”

“Yes, to be a conditioned response,” said Alexander. “It’ll come.”

 

 

The ballroom was full of young people talking loudly enough to be an incessant hum above the sound of the band that was playing. A man Alexander recognised as Jonathon from Ida’s sketch appeared to be a compeer or similar, introducing the musical numbers, making a joke, and generally being the life and soul of the party. He was what Alexander described as ‘too good looking;’ his carefully arranged fashionable haircut was slightly and artistically curling and just untidy enough for women to want to straighten it. His moustache curled up to neatly waxed tips, neither too large nor so small that it did not qualify as a moustache, and his lips were delicately curved, but avoided being feminine by being set above a firm chin and under that full moustache. His winged eyebrows were positive, and his dark eyes were soulful. He had the sort of face which makes women look twice, and makes men want to plunge their fists into the centre of it.

“Excuse me, I know I’m a bit ignorant,” said Gladys, “But the band doesn’t seem very good to me.”

“It’s so far beyond ‘not very good’ as to be past praying for,” said Alexander. “I know the trombonist, too.  Benny ‘Pills’ Rickman, whom I last met when I was a bobby on the beat and he was pushing opium pills at street prostitutes.  I didn’t know he was out! He seems to have learned to play a trombone in jail... after a fashion.  He’s gone up in the world.”

Jonathon had seen newcomers and strolled over.

“Hello!” he said. “Are you two on Louise and Clarissa’s course?”

“No, I don’t know them, but I’m teaching through doing a Master’s at Cambridge, came down to do some research, and heard a rumour of a little light entertainment, so I gatecrashed along with my best student.”

It covered his age, which was noticeably more than that of the majority of those present. Gladys could pass as an undergraduate, especially with makeup.

“Oho, not such a stuffy professor as some,” said Jonathon.

“I’ll have you know that the first Chemistry courses taught were at Cambridge, and we believe in better living through chemistry,” said Alexander.

“Maybe I should move up to Cambridge for a while,” said Jonathon, with a flash of rather too white teeth in his smile.

“You provide a service, do you?” asked Alexander.

“For a price,” said Jonathon.

“What’s your price?” asked Alexander.

“Thirty bob for a single cigarette,” said Jonathon. “Or a fiver for a pack of four.”

“That’s damned steep,” said Alexander.

“It’s damned good stuff,” said Jonathon. “It’s not your raw stuff, you know.”

“Let me have one; I’ll see if it’s worth getting more,” said Alexander.

“Fine, drop it as a donation in the trombone player’s trombone case, and ask him for a cigarette,” said Jonathon.

Alexander gave a curt nod. That was clever – and gave Jonathon deniability.

“What about your... student?” asked Jonathon.

“Oh, she’s an ingénue,” said Alexander. “I haven’t introduced her to it yet. She’s a total innocent, the dear child.”

“Oho! You plan to make her please you for a second once you’ve given her the first?” said Jonathon.

“Well, wouldn’t you?” asked Alexander.

“No, my chemist is a woman and she could poison me if I even tried. It’s a damned nuisance at times, but she’s a genius,” said Jonathon. “Possessive, she is.  I could have had the most delectable little thing she introduced me to, a couple of years ago, but... ah, well.”

“Here, is she? To keep tabs on you?” asked Alexander.

A cunning look crossed Jonathon’s face.

“You do have a point,” he said.

Alexander went and dropped three ten-shilling notes into the trombone box. This was risky, if Rickman recognised him.

“Got a fag?” he asked.

Benny Rickman opened a box and flicked a cigarette forward without even looking at Alexander, who took it and moved away. Alexander palmed the cigarette, replacing it with a genuine cigarette, and sniffing it as he put the real one into his mouth. It smelled of opium, and he slid it into his pocket as he fetched out a lighter.

There were a lot of cushions around the edge of the room, and Alexander made his way across to them, reclining to smoke his cigarette. Gladys was dancing with a young man, and Jonathon was watching her closely.  Alexander let his eyes droop, watching Jonathon through his eyelashes. One cigarette should not do Gladys any harm, but Alexander preferred her not to have any. He let Jonathon sweep her into a dance, and made his way to the band, his progress faster than it appeared. He dropped three more ten-bob notes and asked for a cigarette, palmed it, lit up as he moved towards the windows.

“Hey! What are you trying to pull? That’s nothing but tobacco!” he yelled, in a loud voice.

Jonathon came over.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

“Th-thirty shillings for tobacco!” quavered Alexander, thrusting the real cigarette into Jonathon’s hand.

Jonathon cautiously inhaled, and an ugly look came over his face. He turned from Alexander towards the band.

Alexander nodded to Gladys, who went promptly to a window, opened it, and blew a shrill note on the police whistle she had in her tiny beaded bag.

Jonathon had pulled a gun on Benny ‘Pills’ Rickman, declaring that he had double-crossed him; but he swung round to point it at Gladys. Alexander dived across the floor to take his feet out from under him.

“Oh, my gawd! I knows ‘oo ‘e is, ‘e’s a bleedin’ copper!” yelled Benny. He pulled his own gun on Alexander.  Alexander took cover behind the dazed, up-ended Jonathon, whose tie Alexander kept a tight hold on, whilst kneeling on the wrist of the hand that held the little automatic. Benny fired wildly, and Alexander heard one bullet whine very close to his ear, as the company took refuge in shrieks and screams.

Several blue uniforms burst in through the ballroom’s French windows, and in through the door. Jonathon gave a convulsive wriggle and got his gun free. Alexander resigned himself to a wound at best, when Jonathon collapsed.

Gladys had hit him with the trombone.