PAGE. This way, madam.
SIR JOHN. Pertinacious old girl. She’ll have another try.
ELSIE. She was horrible. . . . she thought. . . .
SIR JOHN. Jealous, that’s all. She always was as jealous as the devil. Hard up, now, too. She worked it to meet me tonight and it was a bit of a facer to find a pretty girl there already. Liked to have poisoned us both, she would, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try something of the sort if she got half a chance.
ELSIE. Please, Sir John. . . .
SIR JOHN. Now, now, my dear, dinner first, if you please, and then I’ll listen to anything you want to say. But dinner first. Come along. That’s the restaurant over there. . . . see how careful I am when young ladies dine with me. . . . generally I eat in my private suite, but tonight with you – the restaurant. I thought you’d rather.
STEPHEN SMITH. Boy. . . . you. . . . boy. . . . is Sir John Briggs here?
PAGE. All inquiries at the reception desk, please.
SMITH. Where is it? Oh, I see. . . . no, I don’t want a room. Is Sir John Briggs here?
1ST R.C.. Have you an appointment?
SMITH. No . . . no . . . but. . . . I . . . I must see him. . . . it’s important.
1ST R.C.. If you’ll give me your name, I will send it up as soon as possible. At present Sir John is at dinner.
SMITH. My name is Smith – Stephen Smith, of Smith Brothers, base metal dealers. He’ll know. It’s particularly important.
1ST R.C.. I’m afraid we can hardly disturb Sir John at dinner. If you care to write a note, I could send it in.
SMITH. Very well. Give him my card. I’ve written a word on it. I’ll wait.
1ST R.C.. Very good, sir. Page – take this to Sir John Briggs.
PAGE. Yessir.
SMITH. I’ll wait.
MRS. SMITH. Stephen.
SMITH. Kate . . . what are you doing here?
MRS. SMITH. Come away. Why are you here Steve? . . . I mean. . . . where have you been? They said at the office they didn’t know.
SMITH. Shut up. . . . don’t make a row. . . . people are looking.
MRS. SMITH. Come home.
SMITH. No. I’ve got to see Briggs. . . . I’ve got to.
MRS. SMITH. Don’t look like that.
SMITH. Like what?. . . . like the way you were looking at him that night at the Duncans.
MRS. SMITH. I wasn’t.
SMITH. I suppose you didn’t have lunch with him next day.
MRS. SMITH. Stephen. . . . don’t be silly. . . . it’s ridiculous to be jealous. I’ll cut him dead if you like next time I see him and then you’ll turn round and say I’ve ruined you.
SMITH. He’s done that already.
MRS. SMITH. Stephen!
SMITH. I got tipped off tonight . . . that’s why I’ve got to see him . . . I must know . . . Briggs has got hold of some inside information . . . a spy of his . . . it’ll bring down Metal Industries . . . his big rival . . . If they go, we go too . . . only he’ll make terms with them. We’re only a small concern and he’ll let us go bankrupt . . . smash for us. So now you know.
MRS. SMITH. Stephen . . . it isn’t true . . . it can’t be . . . you’re only frightening me.
SMITH. True enough my dear. Time to quit the sinking ship and get off with Johnny Briggs, isn’t it?
MRS. SMITH. You’ve been drinking . . . or you wouldn’t say such things . . . you can’t possibly believe there’s anything between Sir John . . . and . . . and me . . . I’ve only tried to be civil to him for your sake.
SMITH. That’s an old story. Remember Billy Jacks? I know him . . . years ago . . . met him in business. Same line . . . Mrs. Jacks began by trying to be civil to Johnny Briggs for Billy’s sake . . . next thing she was letting out all his business secrets – Billy ruined, and Mrs. Jacks Sir John’s mistress.
MRS. SMITH. Oh, how horrible.
SMITH. Not for long though . . . Johnny chucked her when he had got all he wanted from her, and Billy was fool enough to take her back . . . and they went abroad and she died and he did, too, I suppose, and that was that. Well, it’s not going to be like that this time. I’ll put a bullet through him first.
MRS. SMITH. Stephen . . . don’t say such things. Stephen . . . why have you got your hand in your pocket all the time?
SMITH. Don’t be a fool.
MRS. SMITH. Where’s your old service revolver . . . it wasn’t there last time I looked . . . you’ve got it . . . give it me . . . give it me at once.
SMITH. Shut up . . . you’re making people look.
MRS. SMITH. Give it me this instant . . . or I’ll make them do more than look.
SMITH. I tell you I haven’t got it.
MRS. SMITH. Why are you keeping your hand in your pocket?
SMITH. I cut it this afternoon . . . that’s all . . . if you had any sense you could see I hadn’t my service revolver . . . you can’t hide a service revolver . . . too big . . . if you want to know, I got rid of it . . . sold it in a pub this afternoon.
MRS. SMITH. Thank God . . . in a pub . . . why did you . . . let me see your hand.
SMITH. It’s nothing. There you are then . . . it’s all tied up. If you must know, it was a bit of a shock . . . what Johnny Briggs is doing I mean . . . I did take the revolver . . . I don’t know whether it was for him or for me . . . I went into a pub and a chap there offered to buy it . . . I thought I had better get rid of it.
MRS. SMITH. Thank God, you did.
SMITH. I got plastered and they threw me out . . . I cut my hand on a bit of broken glass . . . that’s all . . . I got as far as a doctor’s and he was very decent about it . . . he tied up my hand and let me sleep it off . . . that’s all.
MRS. SMITH. It’s a mercy it’s no worse . . . come home now.
SMITH. No. I must wait and see Briggs . . . nothing for you to get scared about, but I must see him . . . I must know what he’s up to . . . if I have to choke it out of him.
MRS. SMITH. You did really sell the revolver . . . you haven’t got it with you?
SMITH. Anyone but a fool could see that. You can’t put a service revolver in your pocket without it showing, can you?
MRS. SMITH. Well then. Stephen, come home . . . please.
SMITH. I tell you I must see him . . . I’ll wait till after dinner. Perhaps he’ll be in a better temper then. I sent him in a card . . . he hasn’t taken any notice . . . he’ll have to see me all the same.
MRS. SMITH. Come and sit down.
SMITH. Not there . . . here. I can watch the lift then . . . it’s express to his floor . . . he’ll take it and I’ll go up with him.
BOBBY OWEN. Hi, Boy! Boy! No, I don’t want a room. I want to see Mr. Lewis. He’s your house detective, isn’t he?
PAGE. He hurt himself tonight and he’s off duty.
BOBBY. Oh, that’s a bore . . . isn’t there someone in his place?
PAGE. The Reception Desk would know.
BOBBY. Oh, that’s all right . . . I don’t want a room, thank you. There’s my card.
1ST R.C.. Detective Inspector Owen, Wychshire County Police . . . I’ve heard our house dick talk about you . . . at the Yard together, weren’t you? Bobby Owen, he called you. He’s not here tonight, hurt his ankle and had to go to hospital.
BOBBY. That’s bad. You have Sir John Briggs here, haven’t you? He’s one of our big pots up Midwych way.
1ST R.C.. That’s right. Not going to pinch him, are you?
BOBBY. No such luck. The fact is, we’ve information . . . information received – one of our contacts – that there’s going to be a try to lift a big diamond Sir John has just bought the Blue John diamond. I wanted to tell your house detective to keep his eyes open and warn Sir John to be careful.
1ST R.C.. He has just put something in our safe . . . in a locked case. If that’s the diamond it’s all right.
BOBBY. While it’s there. But I suppose he’ll take it out again. Meanwhile he had better be warned. Unluckily we don’t know who it is . . . all we�
�ve heard is that it isn’t one of the regulars. An amateur who thinks he sees his way to an easy job, name said to be Dick Forman, described as tall, dark and young.
1ST R.C.. (whistles) There was a tall dark youngish chap here just now. I noticed him because he seemed excited and nervous. Talking to a girl . . . she called Mr. Fuller, and then Dick.
BOBBY. Did she though . . . sounds interesting.
1ST R.C.. The girl’s having dinner with Sir John . . . do you think it’s put up job with her as a decoy duck?
BOBBY. It could be like that.
1ST R.C.. I’ll bet it is . . . you know what Johnny Briggs is with girls . . . any good looking piece can get off with him . . . her job is to keep him busy and get a chance for the tall dark chap to grab the diamond . . . that’s the idea.
BOBBY. It might be that way.
1ST R.C.. What’ll you do? Pinch ’em both? For God’s sake keep it quiet. If there’s any scandal, the only thing the office thinks of is to sack everyone within a mile.
BOBBY. We’ll be careful. Anyhow, there are no grounds for taking action yet . . . have to wait . . . the initiative is always with the criminal. Hitler has taught everyone that much. I think I’ll stick around a bit till your relief man gets here. You’ve sent for him?
1ST R.C.. Oh yes.
BOBBY. Where is Sir John’s room?
1ST R.C.. It’s on nine.
BOBBY. I think I had better have a look around.
1ST R.C.. Right. Take No. 3 lift. It’s express to nine. Sir John insisted on it. I’ll show you. William! William!
LIFTMAN. Sir?
1ST R.C.. Take this gentleman up to nine. He has business up there.
LIFTMAN. Very good sir. Mind the step. We ’as to be a bit careful like . . . there’s some what ’as no business on nine what’s allers trying to get up along of wanting a word with Sir John about them stocks and shares of his.
BOBBY. So I’ve heard.
(Lift ascends)
(In Restaurant)
SIR JOHN. Waiter . . . confound the fellow . . . oh, there you are . . . never in the way when wanted . . . give me the bill, I’ll sign it. Hope you’ve enjoyed the dinner Miss White . . . what did you think of that ortolan in aspic?
ELSIE. I . . . I don’t remember.
SIR JOHN. Don’t remember . . . My God, I shall remember them for the rest of my life – a speciality here. Do you remember the river trout then? No. Or the mushroom and champagne sauce . . . or the caviar?
ELSIE. Was that the greasy black stuff?
SIR JOHN. My dear young woman . . . Oh, well, beauty sufficient to itself, no doubt.
ELSIE. Please don’t say things like that to me.
SIR JOHN. And don’t you start putting on your gloves . . . we’ve got to have our little business chat now.
ELSIE. I’ve been trying to all the time. You wouldn’t listen.
SIR JOHN. Never mix business and dinner . . . the two most serious things in life, but they don’t mix. Hn. Hn. Besides someone might have been listening. Confidential, you know – our talk, I mean.
ELSIE. I must go.
SIR JOHN. Oh no. Oh dear no. I’ve been watching you all the evening. You’re worth having. I can see that. And I’m going to have you, or smash you, you and all that is yours. Mind you, when I smash people, I do it thoroughly.
ELSIE. Like Billy Jacks – Mr. and Mrs. Billy Jacks.
SIR JOHN. What do you know about Billy Jacks?
ELSIE. I’ve heard about them.
SIR JOHN. Have you? Then you know I wiped them out . . . as you would wipe a crumb from your sleeve. Why, they’ve been done with so long I had quite forgotten them . . . quite. Thought everyone else had. They went abroad . . . vanished . . . died or something. That’s what happens to people who get in my way, my dear.
ELSIE. I . . . please let me go home.
SIR JOHN. My good girl, you are coming to my suite to talk business . . . business! Don’t be a little fool . . . you don’t suppose anything can happen to you in an hotel like this, do you? Everyone perfectly safe here, everyone.
ELSIE. Are they?
SIR JOHN. Of course. Perfectly safe. You’ve nothing to look scared about, not if you do what you’re told. I’m going to put a perfectly simple sound business proposition before you. That’s all.
ELSIE. You mean you want be to be your spy?
SIR JOHN. Not at all. Confidential agent. Quite different. So you needn’t look as if you would like to kill me. You know you’ve got to do what you’re told. No way out.
ELSIE. There is always one way out.
SIR JOHN. That’s our lift . . . express to nine. My suite’s on the top floor, out of people’s way. Dammit, there’s Kathleen again.
ELSIE. It’s Lady Weedon.
SIR JOHN. Shut up. She heard you.
ELSIE. I meant her to.
LADY WEEDON. Oh you’re going up? So am I. Your little friend too, John – I forget her name . . .?
SIR JOHN. Miss White and I have some business to talk over.
LADY WEEDON. I’m sure you have. He. He. Business, just a little late for business . . . not for all kinds of business perhaps, though I’m sure Miss – er – I can’t remember your little friend’s name . . . oh, dear, there’s my bag unfastened again.
SIR JOHN. Look here, Kathleen, try and be sensible . . . or do you want to make a scene? That won’t do you any good, or me, either.
LADY WEEDON. Oh, no, of course not . . . quite strangers now, aren’t we? Perhaps I ought to ask your little friend to introduce us. Just wait one moment . . . I can’t get this bag to fasten . . . it will keep coming undone . . . and there’s all my money in it I got from the bank today.
LIFTMAN. Beg pardon, sir, not this lift sir. This is express to nine only, reserved for guests on nine, sir. Next lift, sir, if you please.
SIR JOHN. Don’t let anyone else in here, my man.
LIFTMAN. No, sir.
LADY WEEDON. Oh, one minute . . . my frock’s caught.
SIR JOHN. Dammit, Kathleen, you’re doing it on purpose.
LADY WEEDON. Oh, no, John. Now don’t you go and make a scene . . . oh, look, there’s that tall, dark young man who was scowling at you all through dinner. He was so interested he upset the salad all over himself and the table, too . . . watching you and not what he was eating. Why, he is coming in here.
SIR JOHN. Here, you, liftman, what’s your name . . . keep the fellow out.
LIFTMAN. Next lift, sir, if you please . . . this is reserved for residents on floor nine.
DICK. That’s all right. I’m waiting for Miss White. I’m going to see her home.
SIR JOHN. You needn’t worry young man. I’ll send her home, in a taxi or my car perhaps.
DICK. I’ll wait all the same.
SIR JOHN. Do you know who I am? Who the devil do you think you are?
DICK. You’re Sir John Briggs. I’m Dick Fuller. Now we know each other. I’m waiting to see Miss White home. If you like to provide us with a car, that’s all right. I don’t mind.
SIR JOHN. Confound your insolence. I’ll . . . I’ll . . .
LADY WEEDON. Now, John, dear, you don’t want to make a scene, do you? Here’s someone else.
LIFTMAN. Beg pardon, sir, not this lift, sir, this is express to Nine, for residents only. Next lift going up on the left, sir.
SMITH. I want to see Sir John . . . you remember me, Sir John? . . . my name’s Smith. Stephen Smith.
SIR JOHN. No, sir, I don’t remember you, sir, and I don’t want to either . . . this is an outrage . . . Liftman . . .
SMITH. Rather I rang up the Financial News? I don’t want to interfere, but I’m desperate . . . my firm’s in the base metal line . . . which is it to be, Sir John? . . . a word with you to-night, or do I go to the Financial News?
SIR JOHN. Are you trying blackmail? Quite absurd. It wouldn’t make any difference to me or any one else whom you rang up. I’ll hear what you have to say if you like, but you’ll have to wait.
SMITH. All
right, I’ll wait.
LIFTMAN. Beg pardon, ma’am, not this lift, ma’am, this lift is express –
Mrs SMITH. My husband’s there . . . I’m with him.
SMITH. Katie, you wait down here.
Mrs SMITH. No. I’m coming with you.
SIR JOHN. You . . . Liftman . . . what’s your name? You’re deliberately letting these people crowd in . . . I shall complain to the management to-morrow . . . you’re letting people in in flat defiance of my orders . . . very well, I shall see you are discharged to-morrow – without a character, if I have to take it to the board of directors.
LIFTMAN. Beg pardon, sir, not my fault. I can’t ’elp it, so I can’t . . . I ain’t no bloomin’ chucker out . . . I can’t throw hotel guests out on their ear, can I?
SIR JOHN. Your delay was deliberate.
LIFTMAN. It weren’t my fault, it weren’t . . . I begs your pardon most humble, Sir John . . . I do indeed . . . I’ve often told ’em as ’ow this ’ere lift did ought to be marked private so as a gent like you, Sir John, could get what he did ought to ’ave.
SIR JOHN. Never mind sniffling . . . get on with it . . . good lord, here, you, sir, keep out . . . this is private.
CARTER. Keep your hair on old boy . . . no private lifts in an hotel . . . and anyway, this is pretty crowded even if there’s still room for a little ’un.
LIFTMAN. Beg pardon, sir, this lift is express to Nine.
CARTER. That’s O.K. by me. I’ve just registered – Charley Carter my name is. They’ve given me a room on Nine. My bag’s following. Start up, laddie, or there’ll be more of ’em crowding in, and we’re enough for comfort.
Sir John. (as lift ascends) Disgraceful . . . outrageous . . . never in all my experience . . . I shall take steps . . .
CARTER. What’s bit the old boy in the corner? Who is he anyway?
SIR JOHN. Dammit, sir, do you know who I am, sir?
CARTER. Well, I was just asking, wasn’t I?
LIFTMAN. Floor Nine – please mind the step.
LADY WEEDON. Oh, my pearls – the string’s broken.
Six Were Present: A Bobby Owen Mystery Page 25