The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery

by Daphne Coleridge

phone call from Lady Parry that morning. She really seemed to think Anna might have unearthed the reason why her wretched son was borrowing money. Fortunately the Furnivals had never seriously expected to catch their jewel thief.

  “Botheration!” she reiterated, scrambling to her feet. She tried to smooth the crumples out of her skirt, pulled up a pair of navy blue socks which had wrinkled around her ankles, and headed for the kitchen where Bill and Ben were engaged in a game of chess; a game she had taught them to play in the previous few days.

  “What’s the time?” she asked.

  “About two. Anna, how do I castle?”

  Anna surveyed the battlefield. “You can’t castle to get out of check.”

  “I did tell him!” said Bill, triumphantly.

  “Oh,” said Ben, evidently disappointed. He chewed at an already captured pawn whilst he thought. “Can I catch his bishop with my horse?”

  “Eh?” said Bill, who had evidently not reckoned on this eventuality.

  “It’s a knight, not a horse,” corrected Anna. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.”

  Ben accordingly removed the threatening piece and replaced it with his own, grinning hugely at his brother. “Yah boo sucks!”

  His twin scowled at him and then hunched over the board again in the hope of discovering a devastating rejoinder to this unexpected attack.

  “Ben, how do you fancy a spot of sleuthing?”

  Ben grunted. “Not the same chap as last time?”

  “No. Well, not quite. The house we followed him to. I feel morally obliged to sit and look at it for at least an hour or so in case something happens.”

  “D’you want to take the Jag?”

  “Not really. Either Warren or Philip might recognise it and then I’d feel a real fool. Couldn’t we rent a car?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m under twenty-one; they probably wouldn’t let me have one. But why don’t you go on Bill’s motorbike.” He grinned at his brother. The bike in question had been purchased cheaply from a friend a week before and had just about managed to carry the two of them as far as Anna’s house without seizing up altogether.

  “I’m not sure if I like that idea. I’d have to be really drunk to get on that thing with equanimity. Anyway, two people sitting on a bike outside a Chelsea house would look suspicious.”

  “Not if it had broken down and you were trying to mend it. By the time you get there you’ll probably have to anyway!”

  Anna glanced at Ben’s watch again. “I suppose by the time we’ve found a car rental firm and tried to bully them into letting you have a car we will have missed all the exciting events at the Gurney’s Chelsea residence. What about it Bill? It’ll only take a couple of hours to saIve my conscience.”

  “OK.”

  So Anna, in a baggy jumper, ill-fitting jeans and helmet borrowed from Ben, loitered within sight of the Gurney’s house for a couple of hours whilst Bill made a few genuinely useful adjustments to the decaying bike. Anna had taken a look at Bill’s watch when they arrived. It was just past three. Fifty minutes later a car drew up outside the house. The man who got out was portly, dark-haired and dapper.

  “That,” grumbled Anna, “is the man whose absence was supposed to allow the mice to play.”

  After a little more than ten minutes the front door opened and the elegant little figure of Elizabeth Gurney emerged. She seemed to be in a hurry. She kept her eyes cast down, one hand to her face, and scurried along the road before ringing on the door of another house and gaining admittance.

  “What was all that about?” enquired Bill from the pavement.

  “I’m not sure,” said Anna. “She looked upset. Husband returns home unexpectedly and finds wife in bed with lover?”

  “No sign of the lover.”

  “He’ll probably follow via the window!”

  Bill continued to tweak at various components of the bike with a spanner whilst Anna gave every appearance of having an avid interest in whatever it was that he was doing. At twenty-four minutes past four a taxi drew up outside the house that Elizabeth Gurney had entered. She hurried out, glanced about her nervously, and was driven away. Only minutes late another car drew up outside the Gurney’s house. It was a Mercedes.

  “This fellow I do know,” said Anna. “Even without seeing his moustache.”

  It was Warren Parry’s father. Anna watched him ring the bell and wait a few moments on the step. The door opened. He seemed to hesitate, but then disappeared into the house. After a little more than fifteen minutes he emerged. The door closed behind him and he walked over to his car without so much as a glance at the couple by the motorbike. He opened the car door and sat down, but then he took something, which looked to Anna like a small sponge, and stepped out again to wipe the windscreen. After completing this task, he made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat, strapped himself in, and drove off. Anna, pulling at Bill’s arm, checked on the time again. It was four-fifty.

  “We’ll stick it out until Philip gets home. I’m supposed to be turning up here as a guest at six. All Toby’s lot are coming here to drink Mr Gurney's sherry in his absence as soon as they’ve finished work. They will be surprised to see him.”

  Anna was the last to arrive at the house that evening. She looked quite unlike the scruffy girl who had ridden off on a motorbike with a scrawny red-haired youth only an hour and a half before. She wore a full-skirted dress, low-heeled black court shoes and a black mohair cardigan.

  “Hallo, hallo!” Philip greeted her cheerfully. “Do you have any control over your stepson? He wants to drag us off to some wine bar. Percy is demanding somewhere more civilized and Julia is backing him up.”

  “What is so uncivilized about a wine bar?” enquired Anna, joining the group in the sitting room.

  Percy groaned. “Oh, Anna! I was relying on you. Toby is notorious for his knack of picking out the night-club that is about to be raided, the restaurant which is about to wipe out its guests with salmonella, and the wine bar that is watering down its beverages.” He smiled his brilliant smile at her. He looked particularly dashing in a striped blazer which might have looked well at Henley Regatta, his shirt open at the neck, and his hair as recklessly dishevelled as ever. He had phoned Anna two nights before, but she had turned down his offer to take her out, assuring him at the same time that she was looking forward to seeing him on the Friday.

  “Are you casting aspersions on my talent for choosing original and off-beat places to take my friends?” said Toby.

  “Nasturtiums, dear boy, nasturtiums!” corrected Percy.

  “I’m happy to be adventurous,” said Warren. “But not in this suit! I’m going to riffle through your wardrobe, Philip.” Philip made a help-yourself gesture and Warren left the room.

  “These boys are so vain,” exclaimed Julia. “As soon as I got here Percy disappeared into the bathroom only to emerge eventually, like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Then Toby ran off to give himself a polish. All I did was wash my hands.”

  “Are Jane and Caroline coming?” asked Anna.

  “Duffy’s off with her family for the weekend,” said Philip. “Caroline’s playing truant too.”

  “Are you happy to come on my mystery tour?” Toby asked Anna.

  “I think so. I thought we were going to take advantage of Philip’s father’s absence and drain his wine cellar to the dregs?” Knowing already that his father had returned home unexpectedly, Anna took the opportunity of teasing Philip for this apparent change of plan.

  “Oh we are,” said the unruffled Philip. “In fact my mother obligingly took it into her head to go and stay with Susan. So we will go out and feed, and then come back here to get drunk! At least, you can get drunk. I’ll observe.”

  Evidently Harold Gurney was no longer there. Anna could hardly refer to the fact that she had seen him earlier, and simply hoped that the father would not embarrass the son by turning up in the middle of their revelries.

  Warren re-entered the room. He had changed his
shirt and borrowed a more casual jacket. “Well, are we ready?” he enquired.

  They were. Toby had his way and organised them all into taxis and took them to the wine bar which, it transpired, was run by an acquaintance of his. Anna found herself enjoying the evening. Everyone was in high spirits. She drank most of a complimentary bottle of Champagne and allowed Percy to whisper jokes to her – mainly at the expense of the proprietor who was being so nice to them. Toby sang songs to Julia and asked her to marry him three times, in a very loud voice. Unfortunately neither she nor anyone else knew if he was serious, so she took the prudent course and refused.

  In the end it was nearly eleven by the time they returned to Philip’s home. Anna claimed to be exhausted and declined the offer to join them, but not before Percy had extracted from her a promise that she would come to his flat for dinner on the Monday evening, alone this time. He told her that he would be home from work by six and that she could turn up when she liked.

  Anna felt rather delicate the next morning. She tried a cold bath, she tried black coffee, but she still felt delicate. She was just assessing the benefits of a brisk walk, possibly even a jog, when the phone rang.

  “Hallo, Anna,” said Toby’s voice. “Listen, something awful has happened. Somebody has murdered Harold Gurney! Philip found his body this morning.”

  “Good heavens!” exclaimed Anna. A second of blank horror was followed by the recollection that she had watched him arrive at his house