Murder in oils 19

 

Chapter 19

 

“Isn’t it dangerous to push her like that, sir?” asked Gladys, who had been hovering within earshot.

“Like poking a bear with sticks,” said Alexander. “But while she’s livid with me, she’s not trying to set David off. Not that she tries to set him off, but it seems inevitable.”

“Mrs. Helen was gentle, let him make the decisions, and did what she wanted,” said Gladys. “I’m frightened, Mr. Armitage; I kind of feel as if there’s something simmering on the stove, but a little thing could make it up and boil over. And Andrew tells me not to worry, the major has it all under control, which  is just like a man, and not very helpful.”

“It’s part of the army training, Gladys, that the other ranks are trained to trust their officers, because they can’t always be told everything that’s going on. And it’s up to the officers to be worthy of that trust, which isn’t a given. You and Campbell know as much as anyone what’s going on, because I don’t believe in keeping vital subordinates in the dark. Your room – how easy is it to get out of, if she tries the gas trick again, or if her laboratory blows up because anger makes her careless?”

“I can go out of the window. Miss Ida used to climb out of her window until she discovered the access panels; but if I was trapped in my room, I couldn’t get to the bathroom where they are.”

“I’d be happier if you put together an overnight bag to sleep in the housekeeper’s room, which has an ensuite,” said Alexander. “And you can pack the rest of your kit and put in my car; I’ll be taking you to Ida hopefully tomorrow or the next day.”

“Thank you, sir. She can’t do nothing to your car, can she?”

“I doubt she knows enough, but you know what? I’m going to ask Campbell to check it regularly,” said Alexander.

He hurried off to do this, pretending not to see the voluptuously illustrated periodical which Campbell was perusing.

“Gladys raised the question that chummy might sabotage my car;  I’d be pleased if you made spot-checks on the brakes, steering, and looked for... unauthorised devices.”

“Gawdstroof!  I wouldn’t put it past the besom, if she knows ‘ow. I’ll run spot-checks, Major.”

“Thanks, Campbell.”

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander retired to the family room to read the newspapers. The Ottoman Empire having been dissolved, new institutions were being installed; Greece and Turkey were still banging away at each other, and the west was seeking a border agreement. In Bavaria, a new popular leader had arisen, a Herr Hitler, a ridiculous looking little man, but who seemed to sway crowds, and had his own army.

“I wouldn’t mind betting that fellow causes a bit of trouble in the future,” muttered Alexander.

“Who’s that?” asked Miss Truckle.

“This Hitler fellow in Bavaria,” said Alexander. “A natural orator.”

“Oh, it will come to nothing, I’m sure,” said Miss Truckle. “I read about him; so sadly nationalistic and trying to blame the Jews for everything; quite ridiculous. And he looks like Miss Christie’s Belgian detective, quite foolish-looking.”

“But Hercule Poirot has a brain in that egg-shaped head,” said Alexander, who was familiar with popular modern literature, even if only because his mother was a devotee of Agatha Christie, or Mary Westmacott, or whatever she was calling herself at the moment.”

“Hitler doesn’t look as if he has any brains at all,” said Miss Truckle. “Beetling brows and receding forehead under that awful haircut. And such an ugly moustache!”

“Well, hopefully you are right,” said Alexander. “We could do without Germany being stirred up to be martial again. But I think they are too poor to even consider it; France was harsh in her demands for reparations.”

“Oh, dear! Let us not think of war; for civilised countries to go to war again after the carnage of the world war is quite unthinkable!” said Miss Truckle.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander decided to telephone home, to speak to Ida.  His father answered the phone, and Alexander heard a faint click. It might be his mother answering at the same time, but it was more likely to be Gloria listening in.

“Hello, Pater,” said Alexander.

“How are things going, son?” asked Simon.

“Oh, you remember your little affair in Wadi Djebel? A bit like that,” said Alexander. His father had complained of an eavesdropper.

“I see; but you hope it will resolve itself?”

“Probably not, but things are going as well as may be expected, which if said by the medicos mean the patient is going to die, and if said by a policeman means I’m not allowed to tell you,” said Alexander. “May I speak to Ida?”

“Certainly; hold the line, I’ll let her know,” said Simon.

There was a pause long enough for Simon to be apprising Ida that the line was being eavesdropped on. It might not be on a party line, but any other telephone in the house might do so.

“Hello, darling,” said Ida. “I miss you.”

“I want to kiss you all up, my beloved,” said Alexander. “I want to kiss your dear little nose, and your beautiful eyes, and your blushing cheeks...”

“How do you know they are blushing?”

“I know you very well,” said Alexander. “And then I want to feather kisses all along the corners of your sweet mouth, and then devour and ravish it with my lips and tongue.”

“Alexander, the telephone is smoking from your passion!” laughed Ida, breathing heavily.

“Well, let it smoke, it’s old enough,” said Alexander. “Papa had it installed as soon as there was a line. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I want to kiss your shell-like ears and down your neck...” There was an exasperated click.  “Good. It’s going as well as can be expected and I hope to be back with you in a day or two; just waiting to pinch the courier.”

“Take care, Alex.”

“I will, love.”

 

 

The telephone rang just after Alexander rang off.

“Hello?” he answered it.

“This is Arthur Falconer Poulton,” said the voice on the other end. “May I speak to Inspector Armitage?”

“Good grief!  I mean, good morning, sir, this is me,” said Alexander, recognising the name of the Chief Constable of Oxfordshire. “I think this may be a party line, sir,” he said, hastily.

“Ah? Then I won’t go into details, but I wanted to thank you for the little business you helped out with last night. A very good bag indeed, I think we have them all.”

“Oh, I’m delighted I could be of use,” said Alexander. “I imagine you are in liaison with all other districts involved?”

“Yes, and I got the word.  Hope this will be all over soon.”

“Me too, sir,” said Alexander. “Thanks for letting me know you closed the case on all of them; that’s heartening.”

“Well, I won’t keep you.”

Alexander rang off, hoping that Gloria had not been listening, or that she had not correctly interpreted it. He went into the living room area.

“Good news,” he said. “I accidentally helped round up a gang of thieves last night when doing my experiments! Still, it’s how to get promotion, being in the right place at the right time, even if only by accident.”

“How did you do that?” asked Gloria.

“Oh, I saw suspicious activity, and called in a few bobbies to help make an arrest; turns out they’ve been working the district, a man takes a fainting woman to the door of a house, distracting the occupants, whilst their confederates strip the joint.”

It was, in fact, a case he had solved earlier that year, so the details were fresh in his mind, and he spoke about it easily.

Gloria was listening avidly.

“No closer to making an arrest here, then,” she said.

“I still like Keller for it,” said Alexander. “But he appears to have fled. I have people chasing him on the continent.”

“You’ll be lucky; he’s a slippery bastard,” said Gloria. “I need to make a phone call.”

She got up and went out abruptly. Alexander ran upstairs to David’s room, and picked up the receiver there, which was the master telephone, and pulling out the wire from its socket to break the connection. Plugging it back in, and with his handkerchief over the speaker, he did his best to imitate Jonathon’s plummy tones.

“Hellow?” he said.

“Jon! I’m sorry to call you...”

“It had better be important.” Alexander introduced the slight nasal whine Jonathon had displayed.

“That damned flatfoot thinks Keller killed Helen and Basil, and he has coppers out to nick him. You know he’ll squeal if he thinks himself seriously in danger.”

“Leave it to me, Gloria. You bungled that whole affair very badly.”

“It’s all bad luck, that Basil had contacted Scotland Yard already,” grumbled Gloria. “I wish I’d killed him long since.”

“Hindsight is no help,” said Alexander. “Now, get off the line, in case he listens in.”

“I love you,” said Gloria, and rang off. Alexander was ready, getting his fingers down on the cradle so he could ease down the handset without any suspicious ‘ding!’ to alert her.

He ran quickly downstairs again to be back in his seat as Gloria came in.

Miss Truckle opened her mouth.

“Well, I hope you got through, I was having trouble with talking to Ida earlier,” said Alexander.

Miss Truckle’s face suddenly cleared, and she glanced down at her knitting, counting out loud to hide the look of sudden, blazing hatred.

“I didn’t have any trouble with the ‘phone,” said Anna. “I phoned about a situation vacant, in Devon, near the seaside. I am hoping that David will give me a good reference.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Alexander, certain that David would give a glowing reference to any of this ‘Monstrous regiment of women’ if he could be sure that it would get rid of them.

                        

David walked in on this domestic scene.

“David!” Gloria cried. “I’ve been so worried! That horrid man, Armitage, wouldn’t tell me where you were, and I’ve been terrified they were trying to pin Helen’s death on you.”

“I didn’t feel your private affairs were any business of the menials,” said Alexander.

Gloria went scarlet.

“You know I’m almost a part of the family, Armitage,” she hissed. “Poor dear Helen relied on me totally! And of course, David knows he could not manage without me.”

“I am beginning to get more sanguine about trying,” said David.  “Ida sorted me out some paintings of Helen, so I can look at her sweet face without having yours in the corner as well.  Alex, do you know anyone who could paint Gloria out?”

“Ida’s actually very able,” said Alexander. “It would be easier to replace her face with Ida’s; in those drapy robes, it wouldn’t be at all apparent that Gloria....”

“Is running to fat,” said David.

“I was going to say, has a fuller figure,” said Alexander, mildly.

“Well, I could live with Ida in the picture,” said David.

“David, you are so unfair! I am not sure I can live without you!” cried Gloria.

“I don’t care. I’m having trouble living without Helen, and the last thing I need is someone who I now realise was the cause of me behaving so badly to my dear little sister, with you whispering poison all the time. I treated you as a second sister, and you betrayed that, and you know what? You can work to the end of the month, and I’ll pay you a month in lieu of notice because you get on my nerves,” said David.  “I forgot to take the medicine you gave me for my nerves this morning, in my excitement to go up to town to have the pictures mounted and framed, and you know what? I feel better for it already. Calm me down! It calmed me down to the point of being half asleep half the time.”

“Is it a bad time to ask for a reference?” put in Anna, timidly.

“Bad time? Hell, yes, it’s a terrible time, but I’ll give you a good reference just to get rid of you, too, with your vacuous platitudes, self-opinionated nursey-knows-bestery, and your horrible skin. It puts me off eating to see you at the table, and I want to be shut of the lot of you,” said David.

“David... you cannot mean to throw me out into the cold, hard, world,” said Gloria, her voice trembling.

“Why not?” said David. “You aren’t real family, and you’ve done your best to sully Helen’s memory by poking your tits at me and making cow-eyes. I don’t suppose Miss Truckle, who has at least the ability of silence and restfulness, will mind being housekeeper for a while, even if only as a stopgap. It’s not exactly as if I’m giving you your congé for the morning; it’s the twenty second, so you have a week to get yourself out of my house, and your stinky herbal messes too. And anything you don’t take with you, I’ll burn.”

“You will regret your actions, David,” said Gloria. “I hope you will look back with remorse.”

“It’s a foreign emotion to me,” said David. “Go into the servants’ hall; you can eat there, too.”

“I’ll take over in the kitchen, to give Gloria more time to get her things together,” said Miss Truckle, brightly. “I may not be as good at it as Ida, but I can manage good, plain cooking.” She muttered under her breath so that Alexander heard, “And I don’t put it past you to poison us all, my fine lady.”

Alexander had to admit that he did not put it past Gloria either.

There were high words in the kitchen, the sound of a slap, and then the sound of another, louder, and rather damp slap. Alexander strolled out.

Miss Truckle had the mark of a hand on her face, and Gloria was backing away from her, her hands to her face.  Miss Truckle had a salmon in her hand.

“Oh, splendid,” said Alexander. “A piscine solution.  We’d rather you didn’t cause problems with indifferent cooking, until you leave, Wandsworth. I suggest you stay to your room.”

“It’s you; you’ve set David against me!” cried Gloria.

“I doubt it; I don’t think he liked you to begin with and only put up with you for Helen’s sake,” said Alexander. “And I can see why; tact like a rhinocerous! Who is stupid enough to pester a bereaved man with the concept of remarriage when he is still deep in grieving!”

“David never really cared for her! He never showed her one iota of affection!” cried Gloria.

“You are unobservant, aren’t you?” said Alexander. “I’ve only been here a few days, and I can see that David virtually worshipped the ground Helen walked on. He just isn’t very demonstrative. And he doesn’t admire your rather lush looks.”

Gloria stared at him in horror, and rushed up the back stairs.

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Truckle.

“I hope you can cook,” said Alexander. “If you can, and if you bide your time, and make yourself quietly indispensible, you might just end up with security for life.”

“What are you up to, young man?” demanded Miss Truckle.

“No younger than  David,” said Alexander. “And I’m avoiding having him use moral blackmail on my Ida to come back and take care of him. I’m throwing you to the wolves, as you might say.”

Miss Truckle bristled.

“You cannot call Mr. Henderson a wolf!  He can be a little abrupt,  but....”

Alexander grinned.

 

Murder in oils 18 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 18

 

“I believe I may owe you my life, Gladys,” said Alexander shakily.

“I wasn’t going to let ‘im shoot you, Mr. Armitage: Miss Ida would of been that displeased,” said Gladys, her h’s slipping in agitation. It was enough of an understatement that Alexander wanted to laugh hysterically.

“Right, sunshine, keep yer ‘ands where I can see them,” said a large bobby.

“If you will reach into my breast pocket, you will find my credentials,” said Alexander. “And if you have an evidence bag, I have a couple of cigarettes from ‘Pills’ Rickman, otherwise known as the trombone player. He has them in fake packets to look like regular brands. I suspect there’s some kind of false lining to his trombone case. I don’t know how deep the rest of the band is in it.”

“Yessir, sorry, sir,” said the embarrassed bobby, handing back Alexander’s ID and cuffing Jonathon.

“Officer, you did exactly the right thing; identify the most dangerous looking customer and get yourself all over him,” said Alexander.

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded a stentorian voice.

“Gawd ‘elp us, it’s the old colonel,” said the bobby.

“God helps those who help themselves, or in other words, this is my show,” said Alexander. He got up and sauntered over to the dapper little man, and proffered his credentials.

“Sorry about the noise and mess, sir,” said Alexander. “My lads will be all cleared up in a brace of shakes, and your daughters should be no more the worse, if, as I surmise, this was their first, involuntary foray into the world of drugs.”

“Drugs? Drugs? How dare you, young man! My daughters know better than to take drugs!” blared the older man.

“Knowingly, yes, sir,” said Alexander. “We’ve been after this character for a while; his modus operandi is to prey on young girls who know little of the wickedness of the world, and offer them a cigarette in such a way that it would be rude to refuse.  And then, when they are in the throes of withdrawal from one, to offer another; for a price. They need understanding, love, and help to come to terms with the enormity of being used by a very smooth operator. Now we have the whole ring under our eye and can move in on them, and their courier bringing drugs from the continent, and can raid the cookhouse, we can stop this.  My apologies for using your house, sir, but with young girls at risk, it seemed wisest to tip Porkins the wink, and be in place.”

“Porkins? My butler? He said nothing to me.”

“Of course not; I told him to keep it quiet,” said Alexander.

“From me? His employer?”

“You weren’t his major during the war,” said Alexander. “I was.”

“Oh. Very well, that does make all the difference,” said the colonel.

“I knew you’d understand that, sir,” said Alexander. “Thank you for your co-operation.”

“I’d never have allowed my girls to have a party if I’d know drugs were to be a part of it,” grumbled the colonel.

“And I am sure they feel the same way, and will be glad that you are there for them, and not brought to the  point of having a heart-attack and being seriously ill like the young girl who alerted me and gave enough evidence for this raid to be possible,” said Alexander.

The older man was shocked.

“Heart attack! I... well, I will tell them about that,” he said. “Filthy stuff.”

“Exactly,” said Alexander.

 

The bobbies were under a local uniformed inspector.

“Robert Cartreff, sir,” the man introduced himself.

“Thank you so much for your help,” said Alexander. “I had bitten off more than I could chew. Do you mind if I send the young lady who loaned me the semblance of respectability off with my man to get a bite to eat, and a rest in a pub somewhere? I doubt the paperwork will be done in a hurry.”

“Oh, not a regular guest? Yes of course,” said Cartreff.

“Run along, Gladys, and find Campbell, and ask him to drive you to a respectable inn, and have something to eat, before you fall over your feet with exhaustion,” said Alexander.

“Yes, Mr. Armitage; thank you,” said Gladys. “I’m not sure I like the high life.”

“This isn’t, so don’t judge more regular shindigs on this nonsense,” said Alexander. He grinned to himself as Gladys surreptitiously slipped her shoes off to walk through the house.

“Note to self; buy Ida carpet slippers to change into, for when we go dancing,” he muttered to himself.

Questioning the guests took two more hours, and most were able to be released with a flea in their ear for being stupid enough to put themselves at such risk. Most were over twenty-one, so must be released on their own recognisances. The few minors would be taken home in a police car for a parental homily.

Alexander staggered outside to find that Campbell had returned, and Gladys was asleep in the back seat, wrapped in a voluminous rug.

“’Ome, major?” asked Campbell.

“No, we’d better go back to Foursquares,” said Alexander with a yawn.

“’Swotimeant,” said Campbell.

“Fine,” said Alexander, shuffling down in the seat for a doze.

The cold air of travelling woke him somewhat, but he managed to resist it, and came to as Campbell pulled up outside the ugly modern house.

“Gladys, you’d better change in my room and then Campbell can help you get back to your own room,” said Alexander. “The family are still up, so I shall put in an appearance.” He strolled out of the studio, once they had re-entered via the French windows, and into the living space.

“Where have you been?” demanded Gloria.

“Was it your business, Wandsworth?” asked Alexander. “My host knew I was to be out this evening, and that’s all that matters.”

“I need to know for how many I have to cater,” said Gloria.

“Well, I ate here,” said Alexander. “I just ate in my room, and sent Campbell to fetch me a tray. Then, I was busy. You don’t think that a police inspector has only one case at a time, do you?  I have to put in time on other cases occasionally, whilst I await results from Scotland Yard. I’m awaiting a phone call, David; it should come tomorrow, sometime.”

Alexander had phoned Harris after the finds in Gloria’s diary, to release Keller, who was to be under police surveillance, and to be picked up as soon as he returned from France, and had been searched very thoroughly. Keller would cough to his associates if under enough pressure; and then the discreet police cordon to stop Gloria from fleeing would move in and seize her, and secure her laboratory. Alexander hated the delay, but they must allow Keller to go to, and return from France as he was scheduled to do, one last big consignment before Christmas, to be available for seasonal parties.

Two more nights in this wretched house, and it should be all over.

 

Alexander slept the sleep of the exhausted, but was up betimes, and strolled into the village to breakfast at the bakery on hot sausage rolls and fresh coffee. He went to see Harris.

“He took off like he was under pursuit, like you said,” said Harris.

“He’s afraid of Gloria, and I’m not surprised,” said Alexander. “Anything in his rooms?”

“No, if I’d found any geegaws he nicked, I couldn’t really of let ‘im go,” said Harris. “The place stinks, though; and the fool woman who runs it says that it’s made up for by the profits from the perfumes.”

“He probably gets them on the cheap, but has the sense to pay customs duty,” said Alexander. “Still, it has to be more palatable than strong cheeses crawling with maggots. French  maggots in berets, striped shirts and with onions round their necks.”

“You need onions round your neck to ward off the smell o’ some o’ them cheeses,” said Harris, who was not a Francophile. “Cheer up, boss, soon be over.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” said Alexander. “I’m going to try to get rid of David up to town today, to avoid too bad a quarrel with Gloria; but the storm is brewing. I can’t lose her now, but if I tell David that she’s chummy, I’m afraid he would try to strangle her.”

“Can’t have that,” agreed Harris. “Shall I take a train to Dover so I can finger Keller coming off the boat train?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d be no end grateful,” said Alexander. “I want to go myself, but I know it’s inappropriate.”

“You’re in charge of watching chummy,” said Harris. “Right, I’ll get some sandwiches made up and be off.”

 

 

Alexander carried in the canvases Ida had sorted out, and managed to time it so he walked in the door as David came down the stairs.

“Oh, David!  I’ve got those pictures,” he said.

“Bring them through,” said David. Alexander smiled to himself; he had the knack, now, of handling David.

He laid out the paintings on the dining table. David brushed his fingers over the face of Helen as Sif.

“It is a good likeness,” he said. “At least, of Helen; she would not have liked me to grow facial hair beyond a neat moustache.”

“It’s a good likeness of you, despite the hair,” said Alexander. “There’s this one with Gloria, but as a maid; and a couple of Helen alone, here as by Alma-Tadema, and this one, more after the fashion of Gainsborough.”

“Do you think Ida would mind if I had all of them?” asked David. “Then, I could have an image of Helen, wherever I was.”

“I am sure she’d be delighted,” said Alexander. “She told me to remind you to have them remounted properly and appropriately framed.”

“By George!” said David. “I think I’ll go up to town right away to have them framed.  Am I in time for the train?”

“If you can get ready in five minutes and I drive you to the station,” said Alexander, consulting his watch. “I left the car out front.”

“What are we waiting for, then!” said David. “I’ve got money, I just need my hat and overcoat.”

Alexander re-wrapped the paintings in brown paper and placed the parcel on David’s lap as David got in the car.  He got him to the station as the down train pulled in, and saw him tenderly onto the train, ticket held between his teeth.  Then he stood back and watched the train pull away, and its smoke recede into the distance.

“Mr. Henderson’s in a powerful hurry,” said the Station Master.

“Yes, Miss Ida uncovered some paintings Mr. Basil had done of Helen Henderson, and Mr. Henderson wants to have them framed properly,” said Alexander. “He may not be good at showing his emotions, but he adored his wife.”

“Well, you’d know,” said the Station Master. “That Keller would have it that he was next door to a wife-beater.”

“Keller is a man with too many things on his own conscience to have any right to cast any stones at all,” said Alexander.

“Your sergeant let him go, and he went haring off  on the boat train to buy perfume,” said the Station Master.

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘give a man enough rope and he’ll hang himself?’” said Alexander.

“Oho! Going to catch him in the act?”

“That’s the general idea,” said Alexander. “Leaving him to mature his felonious little plans.”

“Ar, Gilbert and Sullivan, that is,” said the Station Master. “We done ‘Pirates o’ Penzance’ with the village amateur dramatics group, and I was the Pirate King.” He hitched his thumbs into his braces, rocked back onto his heels, and let blast with, “‘Oh, better for to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly....’”

Alexander listened to him sing the song through with some admiration. It required a bass voice of considerable power; and presumably calling off train destinations had helped. He obligingly added the lines of the chorus for the Pirate King, and an elderly lady from the Ayelsbury train was startled to be informed by the Station Master that ‘It is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king,’ with Alexander sycophantically adding ‘It is, hurrah for our pirate king, hurrah for our pirate king.’

“Pity you don’t live around here, sir, we could do with a nice light baritone,” said the Station Master.

“Well, as Miss Ida has agreed to be Mrs. Armitage, I might just be moving into the area,” said Alexander.

“I’m sure we’d be very pleased,” said the Station Master. “Name’s Fred Chaffinch.”

“Well met, Mr. Chaffinch,” said Alexander.

“But not by moonlight,” said Mr. Chaffinch, going into a paroxysm of mirth over his own Shakespearian sally.

 

oOoOo

 

“Where’s David?” demanded Gloria, when Alexander returned.

“He’s away from home,” said Alexander.

“But where?” persisted Gloria.

“You know, you’d better curb that nosy nature of yours, and rude way of asking the whereabouts of other folks,” said Alexander. “It’s what I am paid for to ask questions of that nature, in the solving of crimes, but not yours.  Mind you, I never did ask you where you were, on the afternoon that Helen Henderson and Basil Henderson were killed; do you mind telling me?”

“What if I do mind?”

“I start getting official and officious, because the ‘do you mind’ is polite flim-flam for ‘I am demanding an answer but with a veneer of civility to put the witness at ease,” said Alexander. “I never did get more than the official statement for the inquest.”

“Well, that will tell me where I was.”

“No, it tells me where you told Craiggie where you were. I suspect most people lied quite egregiously, or were at least a little bit free with the actuality. David changed his mind three times because he genuinely could not remember, which made a poor impression on the locals. I think some of them still think he did it. Ida was out with Miss Truckle but Miss Truckle managed to make it sound as if they were doing something illicit as she could not bring herself to admit that they were buying knicker elastic in the haberdashery. Campbell was up in town, Gregson declared he was doing winter chores in the garden, but I know for a fact from my sergeant that he was shagging a lady of less than perfect virtue. Foster was able to account for David’s movements having been helping him draw up plans and driving him to look at the site for which he was designing. Gladys had her day off, and also fibbed about where she was, as she was supposed to be undertaking some commission for you, but was too late out of the cinema to do so, so she said she missed the bus. So, you were out for a country walk, supposedly; want to tell me anything else?”

“I was out for a walk as I said.”

“In November?”

“Why not? A good walk is healthful, even in inclement weather, and the fresh air is good for the lungs.”

“Funny, you never strike me as a fresh air addict,” said Alexander, noting that she jumped slightly at the word, ‘addict.’ “I hope you have better shoes for country walking than those high-heeled mary-janes you habitually wear.”

“Yes, of course,” said Gloria.

“But you had come in the back door and changed back into house shoes, and went up by the back stair so you had not seen that Helen had fallen, and so it fell to Ida to find her.”

“Yes,” said Gloria.

“How good of you to clean them yourself, since Gladys said she had no shoes to clean.”

“I like to look after my own shoes; Gladys is lazy and feckless, and she went out last night.”

“Yes, I borrowed her services to see how Helen’s shoes behaved under various circumstances,” said Alexander. “Out of deference to David, she wasn’t wearing them in the house, of course.”

“You mean, it could have been an accident, if Helen’s heels slipped?”

“Oh! No, Helen was murdered. But David told me to do any tests I wanted,” said Alexander, which was true enough. He did not think it would have made any difference to Helen what shoes she was wearing when hit over the head so hard, but he was not about to tell Gloria what he had really been doing, and that Gladys was along to ‘add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.’

Mr. Chaffinch had infected him with Gilbert and Sullivan.

“I don’t think I can help you,” said Gloria, tonelessly. “May I go, sir?”

“Much better,” said Alexander. “Yes, Wandsworth, you may go.”

 

 

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.