think he is arrogant and proud of his crimes. If I’m right, that might be his downfall.”
“What’s the place like?”
“It’s a flat, fourth floor. But I don’t want anything too subtle. I want the lock broken so that the door cannot be closed again. That’s why I said a crowbar. I want the lock forced quickly but left in a bit of a mess.”
“Won’t someone else in the flats notice if we leave the door hanging off its hinges? We don’t want them to call the police or we’ll get done!”
“I don’t want you two to come in. Once you’ve opened the door you can leave it to me. I don’t want you involved in this sort of thing while you’re still on probation. Anyway, the English are notorious for ignoring anything suspicious. But if someone does call the police, it won’t greatly matter, so long as I have time to get what I want first. The timing will be crucial.”
It was a sunny day, the finest they had yet had that spring. Anna put on a blue and white striped skirt and matching jacket and sat out in the garden, drinking chilled Chardonnay and beating Bill and Ben in consecutive games of chess. At four o’clock she started to search for a white card on which Brigadier Butterworth had once written two phone numbers. The twins soon joined in the hunt and the card was eventually tracked down disguised as a bookmark, innocently sitting between pages 186 and 187 of The Age of Elegance.
Anna had always been interested to know where Harris Butterworth lived and worked, and now she would find out. She rang the first number, which said “daytime” beside it, remembering, as she did so, that he had told her that she was only to use the number in emergencies. At other times, she should leave a message using the second number. Well, surely this was an emergency; or it would be if she didn’t reach him in time.
“Hallo!” snapped a gruff voice. It was not the Brigadier.
“Hallo, I’d like to speak to Harris Butterworth.”
There was a pause. “Who is speaking?”
“Viscountess Quartermain!” she said, not liking the tone of the voice.
“Ah, yes,” this seemed to mean something to the voice. “He is not here.”
“Can you tell me where I can reach him?”
“I’m afraid not. I can take a message.”
“It is rather urgent. How soon will you be able to give him the message?”
“Shall I tell him to contact you?”
“No. I want the message to get to him as soon as possible. I want him to meet me at six-fifteen precisely. I’ll give you the address.” She did so, wondering at the same time if she should emphasise the word “precisely”. But the Brigadier was a soldier; he would know the meaning of the word.
“Yes, I have that,” said the gruff voice.
“Good. Can you get the message to him in time?”
“I will do everything in my power to do so.”
“What chance is there of you failing?”
“I’d say there is a ninety-five percent chance that I'll succeed!”
“Good. That will have to do. Thank you, er...?”
She waited for the voice to give his name but he merely said, “Delighted to be of help to you, Lady Quartermain.”
“Well,” said Anna to Bill, once she had put the receiver down, “I would love to know who that was. I really must get the Brigadier to tell me what he does. It would be worth the expenditure of a bottle or two or very good wine to get him to confess; but he is so horribly discreet.”
A white Jaguar containing Lady Quartermain, the twins, and a crowbar was parked in Warwick Gardens at five-thirty on the Monday.
“This could all go dreadfully wrong!” Anna was saying. “He said he would be home by six. Since he is expecting a guest, he will probably be prompt. If he doesn’t show until six-fifteen I’ll have some explaining to do. Still, we’d better get on with it in case he is a bit too prompt. I have a horrid, unsteady feeling in my stomach. And I thought I wouldn’t mind this sort of thing. Come along, Bill.” The two of them got out of the car; Anna, smart in her blue and white stripes, a small blue canvas bag under one arm, and Bill in a new track-suit and very white track shoes, his tools in an equally new and unblemished sports bag. No one would have viewed them with suspicion.
An onlooker might, however, have viewed the couple with suspicion once they had reached the door to Percy Blyth’s flat. The red-haired youngster opened his sports bag and took out a vicious looking tool. This he placed at a point adjacent to the lock of the door, inserting the tip between door and frame. He then put his right foot on the wall to give himself purchase. What followed was a rather alarming sound compounded of splintering wood and a groan of exertion. This was terminated by the rather satisfying sound of something, somewhere giving. All sound ceased and the red-haired lad smiled triumphantly at his attractive companion in her cool, pretty clothes. She had what she wanted: an open door that could not be readily re-locked.
“Good lad!” she glanced around, but no alarmed faces appeared behind doors opened to a crack. “What’s the time?” He showed her his watch. “All right. Stay in the Jag until six-thirty. If there’s no sign of the silver Jaguar I told you about, and I haven’t come out, call the police! Oh, and give me that.” She took the crowbar and wiped it on her skirt. “Now no one can deny that it was me that broke in. Get out of here!” She went into the flat, pulling the door to a closed position behind her. The lad beat a hasty retreat.
Anna knew that she had about twenty minutes, maybe less. She looked about the immaculately tidy flat that she had so forcibly entered. Where should she start? The letter had been in a book. He had taken it from Toby and put it in a drawer. She went through to the room where she and Toby had stood whilst Percy finished his cooking in the kitchen. It was strange, being an intruder. She found she was walking with as soft a tread as she could and breathing heavily...how silly! She knew she would be interrupted. It was just a case of making sure that she got what she wanted first. Even if she didn’t, she might manage well enough, if she used her wits. The drawer in the sideboard was soon identified and the letter found. She was halfway home. Anna instinctively unfolded the letter and noted the signature: Evelyn. The letter began, “My sweetest Elizabeth”. She found her eyes wandering over the lines that the lover had written...“hope I can see you...almost more than I can stand...you are so alike, yet so different. You are so vibrant with joy and life, and when I ...” A man writing to his wife’s sister. His lover. What a shame that Toby had not read more of it when he found it so casually tucked into a book. What a cool devil Percy was!
Anna put the letter in the small blue bag and continued to search the drawer. She did not find anything else. A glance at the clock told her that she still had fifteen minutes, or less. She went through to the bedroom. There were the photographs she had seen. How strange that none of them showed anything of his life before university. She opened the wardrobe and immediately picked out the striped blazer. It certainly was a memorable blazer. The pockets, however, were empty. Anna stopped, suddenly alerted by a small sound. She stood like a statue but the sound was not repeated. Good heavens! She really was nervous.
The next place to be searched was a chest of drawers. All the jumpers neatly folded, his pyjamas nicely ironed, even his handkerchiefs ironed and folded. He would have made her such a nice wife! But she still hadn’t found any of Susan Furnival’s jewels. Perhaps they had all gone. Perhaps she had got her sums all wrong. No, she was sure she was right. Anna frowned and looked around the room. Then she got on her knees and looked under everything. After that she looked on top of everything. She even looked under the pillows. She tried the kitchen: the cutlery drawer, the larder, the little pot on the window sill. She tried the bathroom. How lovely and clean it was. What nice soft towels. Anna went back to the bedroom and sat on bed. There was a digital clock which told her it was 17:56. She automatically subtracted twelve and came to the conclusion she was not going to find what she wanted.
Anna walked over to the window, rather hoping that she would see Percy below.
She hated waiting. She stood there a moment admiring the view, but turned with a jump as she heard the front door being pushed open.
“What the devil...?”
Just as she was about to go and greet Percy, she caught sight of an object placed on the single shelf that ran along above Percy’s bed. It was a small silver trophy. The only other item on the shelf was a photograph of Percy in his cricket whites. Without pausing to read the inscription on the cup, she picked it up and turned it so that the contents would fall into the palm of her hand. She found herself holding an opal ring. This she put into her pocket. She then put her hand into her bag as if trying to find something. No sooner had she removed her hand than Percy Blyth, in grey flannels and an Arran sweater, entered the room.
“Anna! I was sneaking in expecting a burly great burglar to pounce on me!”
“Hallo, Percy.”
“Was the door like that when you got here?”
“No.”
“What!” He looked at her, searching her face to see if she was joking. What he observed inclined him to think she was serious. “Couldn’t you wait until I got here? I would have let you in without saddling myself with the expense of a new lock!”
“I fancied having at little look around in my own time.”
“Well, in the circumstances I can’t say that I’m exactly delighted to
The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery Page 22