Murder At the Flea Club

by Matthew Head

  The two of them half carried Audrey into the bedroom, while she half protested, and I waited in the living-room. The telephone rang in the little hall; I answered it, and it was Emmy.

  “Hoop, that Freddy person is down here. How is everything up there? Is Mary all right?”

  “Yes, she won. Does she always sit on people to give them injections?”

  “Frequently. It’s a technique she developed to take care of people I’m unable to hold down. What shall I do with this Freddy person?”

  “Engage him in conversation.”

  “We’re beyond that already. I can’t even get a word in edgewise.”

  “What’s he talking about?”

  “I can’t quite figure out. He brought that girl with him.”

  “Bibi. How’s she impress you?”

  “Very quiet and sweet. But I don’t think she’s safe with that young man.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean. An innocent young girl alone in the city with a young blade like that. He’s quite attractive and he looks unscrupulous to me.”

  “Well, he won’t do anything irremediable to Bibi with you there. Hold it, and I’ll be down.”

  I tapped at the bedroom door and told Dr. Finney that I was going down to her suite, because Freddy had arrived. “Wait a minute,” she said. The door opened, giving me a glimpse of Audrey stretched out on the bed in her slip and stockinged feet, with Marie Louise standing beside her, bathing her face with a cloth. Dr. Finney came out, closed the door behind her, and said, “What in the world did you do to that woman?”

  “I didn’t do a damn thing. I was perfectly nice to her. She was perfectly all right until I mentioned René and told her if she was smart she’d drop him right away. Then she went off like that.”

  “Hm. Well, go down and take care of Freddy till I get there. Oh—Duplin called back and gave me Mrs. Jones’s number. What’s the best way to get her here, do you think? Using Tony’s difficulties as bait, of course.”

  “How about getting your Monsieur Duplin in on it?”

  “My idea was to put it up to her that through us she might help Tony without any contact with the police and hence the newspapers, etcetera.”

  “I could call her on that score, I guess. Freddy certainly could.”

  “Well, see if you can manage it one way or another. The number’s in Emmy’s little book now. I’ll be down as soon as I’m sure it’s all right to leave Audrey.”

  When I opened the door to Dr. Finney’s suite, the sound of Freddy’s yapping came rushing out as if the room had been filling with it like water piled up behind the door. He was standing in the middle of the room, carrying on, flanked by an audience of two women in chairs. Little Emmy Collins was listening with an expression in which amazement, incredulity and consternation were discernible. The girl in the other chair was not at first familiar to me.

  “Hoop!” Freddy honked, stopping in the middle of a syllable and abandoning whatever he had been saying. “Dear fellow, good morning! I have simply fallen in love with your Miss Collins! If it weren’t for Bibi, I’d simply abduct her on the spot! Bibi dear, say hello to Hoop. Oh, dear, no English yet. Bibi, dis bonjour à Hoop.”

  “Allô, Hoo-pee.”

  “Not ticklish,” I said. ‘What in the name of Dior has happened to Bibi?”

  “Marvellous, isn’t it?” Freddy crowed. “Bibi, get up and show—oh, hell. Lève-toi et—how do you say it?—Bibi, get up and turn around for Hoop.” He said it all in gestures too, and Bibi got up and obliged.

  She was wearing a rakish black suit that Audrey wouldn’t have been ashamed to be seen in, at a pinch, and she was lifted up to an elegant new height by the heels of her smart patent-leather pumps. Her legs, which had been all right, looked ravishing, and her black hat had been somebody’s inspiration of the year. Beneath it her hair, the soft brilliant convincing yellow which a first expert bleach can achieve, was fashionably coiffed. Something had happened to her face. It was nothing but lipstick and powder and a little something for the eyebrows and lashes, but these were all just right for one another and just right for Bibi. Bibi had become a poule de luxe.

  “Of course it isn’t perfect yet,” Freddy explained happily. “We have not yet begun to fight. The suit could be better. But what can you do, overnight? We have an appointment with Balenciaga next week. I think she’s more Balenciaga material than Dior, don’t you? And I’m teaching her to walk. Walk for Hoopie, darling. Marchez, promenez, get along with you. That’s good.”

  Bibi stalked a few steps across the room and back, mannequin fashion, with fair skill. She came close to me, and smiled. The sweet meaningless little smile was still about ninety per cent the old Bibi, but it was changing, and she had learned a new phrase of English. “Is good,” she announced complacently. “You like?”

  “I crazy about,” I said. “Is wonderful. J’en suis fou. T’es merveilleuse.”

  “You buy me a drink?” suggested Bibi.

  “No, no!” Freddy said. “No more drinks.” Bibi pouted for us and then, smiling again, sat down and crossed her ankles nicely.

  “Freddy, she’s wonderful, but what I—”

  “Pygmalion,” Freddy interrupted. “I’m absolutely Pygmalion. I got to thinking to myself, ‘After all, Freddy,’ I thought, ‘you can’t just go on and on doing—’”

  “Wait a minute, Freddy, I’m trying to say that she’s wonderful, but I want to know about Tony right away.”

  “But that’s all part of it,” Freddy said, “and I couldn’t be less concerned. After all, I tried to protect Tony, and I was rejected, so if he needs my help now he can simply call for it, that’s all.” His voice was going shrill on him, but he brought it down again and said in a more controlled tone, “He can ask me for any help he wants and I’ll give it to him the way I would to any good friend. Isn’t that a reasonable attitude?”

  “Seems to me you’ve been doing a job on yourself as well as on Bibi.”

  The quickness and naturalness and pleasantness of his smile were surprising. I had seen a lot of Freddy during the past several months and I had seen his face animated by all the exaggerations of expression which accompanied his affectations of speech, but I had never noticed until that moment that if I had ever seen him smile at all, it had been some kind of mocking grimace, or a simper.

  “Indeed I have,” he said. “I’ve begun a complete overhaul. But complete, my dear.”

  “I,” I said, “will be damned.”

  “Yes, I know,” Freddy said. “Too fantastic. Of course it’s going to take time. But I can’t do everything at once, can I?”

  “Don’t strain yourself.”

  “You don’t think I can do it, do you? I can, though. I just got to thinking, ‘Look at yourself, Freddy,’ I said—by the way, I’m calling myself Gratzhaufer again— look at yourself, Freddy Gratzhaufer, just look at yourself objectively, and what do you see? What’s ahead?’ I said to myself. ‘Grab your bootstraps and pull hard, dear fellow, because why let things go on the way they’re going until you end up on the confessional divan? I mean, why pay a psychiatrist for it when you can do it yourself?’”

  “Freddy, I’ve got to sit down.”

  “Then let’s.”

  We did.

  Freddy went on, “Don’t you want to hear about it? Do you want me to tell you? Of course I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself, but I think being frank about everything is part of the cure, don’t you? Does any of this bore you, Miss Collins?”

  Emmy said, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but I’m fascinated.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you. Of course I’m not going to spend the rest of my life talking about myself. That’s part of the change. I said to myself, ‘Freddy,’ I said, ‘you talk about yourself too much, that’s one thing.’ But I think I ought to talk this out, don’t you? I mean I think I really should, I think I owe it to myself.”

  “Then do.”

&nbs
p; “You saw it all beginning, anyway, in that awful scene down there in The Flea Club cellar, with Mrs. Jones. I hope you know I’d had a little too much to drink.”

  “That’s not unusual,” I said. “No crack intended.”

  “That’s exactly one of the points, though,” Freddy said. “That’s one of the things I looked at in myself. So I’m having no more drinks. Absolutely none. But I certainly did have that night. And of course Hattie was just as drunk as an owl. Incidentally, I still think she’s an absolute bitch.”

  “Steady on.”

  “Well, I do, and I won’t be generous there. I mean, why hide it, if that’s what I think? But when she said that about Tony saying I just bothered the life out of him—well, I knew it was true, even if I had never admitted it to myself, and I suppose Tony really did say it to her. That was awfully hard to take, of course, that he should say it to her, but I suppose it was good, really, in the last analysis, because it broke something. Hoop, I got so drunk, then. I simply bawled, with Hattie right there in front of me, just after you left

  “That’s why I left.”

  “—but I wasn’t bawling over just that incident, I think I was bawling because there was already some kind of terrific release and I knew this was some kind of turning point, or something. But I said awful things to Hattie. Really awful things, even considering who I was saying them to. Then she called me the worst thing of all, and tried to throw her highball at me, but she missed. Anyway she missed my face, it went all over my shirt front and in my lap. Then she left and I sat there dripping and saying to myself, ‘Freddy, this is the low point of your life, the veritable nadir,’ I told myself, and I saw what a perfectly silly ass I was. And I said I was going to change. But all I wanted right then was to be dead—not for keeps, you understand, but just for the night, so I could begin over again in the morning, so I began to drink as fast as I could. I just barely remember Nicole coming down there and seeing the condition I was in. I imagine Hattie sent her. Then she left and the barman came down and took me out the back door and put me in a taxi. I don’t even remember Bibi coming down with the barman or getting into the taxi with me, but when it stopped in front of my place she was there, all right. My head was in her lap and I’d been sick all over the taxi floor.”

  Emmy looked at me in dismay, and Freddy said, “I’m sorry if I’m disgusting you, Miss Collins.”

  Emmy said bravely, “There are all varieties of spiritual experience and I’m sure some of the saints have had it in even more oblique forms than you did.”

  Freddy looked at her boggly-eyed, and so did I for that matter, and she said in a mousy little voice, “After all, it’s the depth of inner experience that counts, not the associated surface manifestations. So I don’t think Mr. Gratzhaufer’s story is disgusting at all. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

  “Miss Collins,” Freddy said respectfully, “where do you come from?”

  “She comes from Africa,” I said, “where she packs nutshells.”

  “I’m a missionary, Mr. Gratzhaufer. A good missionary is a much more resilient person than most people suspect. We have to be. Please go on.”

  “I don’t feel I have anything left to say, after what you said. When I woke up the next morning, though, there was Bibi lying alongside in all sweet innocence.” (This required all Miss Collins’s resilience, I knew, but Freddy carried on.) “She gave me a shower and made my breakfast and—there it was, that’s all. The funny thing is, she seems to have had a yen for me all the time, and I didn’t know it.” He turned to Bibi and said, “Dites à Madame si tu-m’aimes.” Bibi said obediently with a sweet smile to Miss Collins, “Oui, je l’aime,” and turning to me she added slyly, “Is very teekleesh.”

  “See?” said Freddy. “So I thought to myself, ‘Freddy, let’s create. Begin anew,’ I said to myself. ‘Create, dear fellow.’ And so here we are. Of course it’s only a beginning, but I think it’s rather promising, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I like the hair.”

  “Neither am I. In fact I think the over-all effect’s a little flashy. But Bibi wanted it that way. I’ve got to lead her. That’s part of the job. I’ll get things toned down eventually, but in the meanwhile I think it’s really an awfully good start. Why don’t you have lunch with us—all of you? Bibi simply must learn some table manners, among friends. What’s holding your Dr. Finney?”

  “I’ll go see.”

  “And what was this important thing she wanted to see me about?”

  Emmy said, “All she wanted to do was find out where you were at the time that—you know, Nicole. But you’ve already explained.”

  “Of course,” Freddy admitted, “I could be paying Bibi to be my alibi, couldn’t I? What I mean is, what’s to prevent my having knocked Nicole in the head and then paying Bibi to say we were together all morning? But we were, actually. She was cleaning me up, you know, and then all that afternoon we were out transforming her. But really, she’s too stupid to lie consistently, don’t you think? I wouldn’t take a chance like that. So I really think I have a very good alibi.”

  “Everyone seems to have the same kind of alibi, in this country,” Emmy sighed. “I’m going to call Mary and see what’s holding her.”

  She went out into the hall, and I took the opportunity to say to Freddy, “Are you really through with Tony? He might be in serious trouble, for all I know.”

  Freddy’s lips jerked a couple of times before he was able to say, “I’d go through fire for him. I’m just trying not to, that’s all.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EMMY CALLED ME to the telephone and I said to Dr. Finney, “What’s holding you up there? Freddy’s still here, and Bibi. Good has come out of evil again. They’re transformed, reformed, and regenerated. As Freddy would say, you missed it.”

  “Well, hold them. I want to talk to them.”

  “They’re already alibi-ed, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  “The obvious one?”

  “Yes. They were in the same place at the same time during the period in question. Freddy tries to imply that this is an understatement. Emmy, by the way, is getting quite Gallic. Took it all in her stride.”

  “I never worry about Emmy. Do you think Freddy could support his alibi?”

  “I do. Freddy’s concierge would probably remember what time they came in and what time they went out. It’s an expensive place and they’re careful about that. About opening the door, I mean.”

  “We’ll let Monsieur Duplin make a routine check but I guess that’s that. I’ve had quite a time up here.”

  “How’s Audrey?”

  “She’s just gone to sleep. Ever hear of sodium pentathol?”

  “It’s an anaesthetic. I had it once for an operation. It was wonderful. Pure bliss.”

  “It’s also one of the so-called truth serums, certain modifications of dosage and so on. Good relaxer and sedative, as it happens. That’s what I gave Audrey. She began getting so truthful I had to send Marie Louise out of the room. In fact she’s out of the hotel, that’s why I’m stuck here with the sleeping beauty. Marie Louise is meeting Luigi and bringing him back for lunch.”

  “It looks like a jolly party. Freddy and Bibi want all of us, too. Don’t leave me hanging like this. What was Audrey saying?”

  “Come up here and I’ll tell you. I don’t want to risk it on the telephone. Maybe Freddy and Bibi won’t mind entertaining Emmy until Marie Louise gets back. Did you get hold of Mrs. Jones?”

  “Oh, Lord, I forgot. Freddy was so—”

  “Well, do it now. Come up here and do it if you want to.”

  “Right up.”

  While Mrs. Jones’s phone was ringing I said to Dr. Finney, “This isn’t going to work, you know,” and when it was answered, I got just what I expected. A secretary asked my name. I gave it to her, and could almost see her checking it against her book. Then, “I’m sorry, but this is an unlisted number. You must have dialled it by mistake. Will you please hang up and
re-dial your number correctly?”

  “It’s not a mistake. I know I’m not on your list, but I have the number from a legitimate source. It’s Hooper Taliaferro, and if she doesn’t recognise that, tell her it’s about Tony Crew and it’s urgent.”

  “I’m sorry, but I am not allowed to accept your call.”

  “I’ll hang up and re-dial this number in three minutes. That’ll give you time to deliver the message, and if it doesn’t work, you don’t have to answer the telephone.”

  “I am sorry, I cannot deliver your message. Good-bye.”

  But when I called again in three minutes, Mrs. Jones answered the phone herself. “Oh, shut up, Harry,” she said to somebody, and then, to me, “Who are you, anyway? I don’t recognise your name. What is it about Tony? I hope I’m not going to have to have this number changed again. Do I know you?”

  “In a way. We’ve met half a dozen times at The Flea Club. I was there in the cellar with you and Freddy Fayerweather for a few minutes two nights ago. Only you had my name wrong. You were calling me Harper.”

  “Oh, I think I remember. I’m sorry, Harvey. Well, what about Tony?”

  “He’s in jail.”

  “No! Tony? Whatever for?”

  “Concerning Nicole.”

  “But that’s absurd. Where are you? What can I do? Oh, go away,” she said to somebody, Harry, I supposed, “let me alone, can’t you see I’m—”

  A man’s voice said, “I will take this call. Will you please tell me what your business is?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I am attorney for the party you have been speaking to.”

  “Get her to tell me that.”

  Mumble, mumble, mumble. Then Mrs. Jones, “It’s all right, Harper—Harvey—”

  “Hoop, but never mind.”