‘I don’t know, Sarge. His club?’
‘The Westminster Aquarium, goggling at a bloody fish-tank. “Ah,” he says to me, “I didn’t know you were an icthyologist, Sergeant.” You and I run around like lunatics trying to prevent a national catastrophe while Inspector Jowett studies the habits of gold-fish! “Most awfully sorry to invade your privacy,” says I, “but it’s a matter of over-riding importance that we stop the next show at the Paragon.” Then I tell him what I learned from Mrs Body, and what do you think he says when he’s heard it all? “Oh,” says he, still pressing his nose against the glass, “I know all about that. No need to agitate yourself, Sergeant. You get back to your questioning of chorus-girls and leave affairs of State to those that understand ’em.” I don’t believe he’s any intention of stopping that show, Thackeray.’
‘You’ve done your loyal duty, anyway, Sarge. Can’t do more than that, unless you can charge Plunkett with murder before Tuesday.’
‘Maybe I’m becoming a cynic,’ said Cribb, ‘but I’ve a feeling in my bones there ain’t any future in charging Mr Plunkett with anything. He’s one of the bigger fish that Jowett keeps his eye on. You and I are minnows, Constable. Ah, you can build a pretty strong case against Plunkett. As manager he had every opportunity of poisoning Lola Pinkus. No-one would question his appearing in the wings or touching the props. He knew the order of the acts perfectly, and Virgo’s routine. The poison was available on the premises. And the staging of the murder was damned professional, wasn’t it? Didn’t interfere in the least with the performance. He was one of the first on the scene afterwards, too.’
‘But why should he want to poison the girl, Sarge?’
‘Plunkett’s got plenty of money and plenty of things he’d rather keep to himself. Could be that Lola was trying to blackmail him. A man of his sort isn’t going to let a chit of a show-girl stand in his way. So he removes her from the scene in the neatest possible way. If we hadn’t been there he’d have put the whole thing down to heart failure and had the girl buried next day.’
‘Monstrous!’
‘That’s only theorising, of course. We’d need to be sure of the motive. But while we’re under orders to keep away from Plunkett we’re not likely to find one, are we?’
‘It makes you feel completely impotent, Sarge.’
For the first time that morning the gleam returned to Cribb’s eye. ‘Hadn’t affected me quite as bad as that, Constable. However, there’s a possibility in my mind, just a possibility. If the Law can’t approach Mr Plunkett, that don’t prevent a private agent from approaching him.’
‘Major Chick! That’s why we’re going to call on him, is it?’
‘That’s one reason, Thackeray. There’s several things I’d like to know from the Major. Besides, I’ve never seen a private investigator at home, have you?’
Major Chick’s address was a matter of two minutes’ walk from the bus-stop, a set of rooms on the first floor of a large house overlooking Holland Park. A housekeeper admitted them and escorted them upstairs, asking, ‘Was you expected?’ rather nervously before she tapped on Chick’s door. It was pulled briskly open.
‘Good Lord! Never thought I’d see the day when . . . Come in, gentlemen,’ said Major Chick. He was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat; the first time, Thackeray reflected, they had seen him out of disguise.
If the Major’s apparel lacked interest on this occasion, the novelty of his living-room made up for it. Entry was a matter of sidling round two sides of a vast table, at least nine feet square. It was completely covered by a map of London, with the Thames, blue-tinted and six inches broad in parts, sinuously disposed across the centre like a basking boa-constrictor. Chessmen ingeniously marked points of interest: a queen for the Palace, bishops for the Abbey and St Paul’s, a knight for the Horse Guards, a castle for the Tower; and (less happily) pawns for Scotland Yard and the various Divisional Headquarters. There were also up to a hundred champagne-corks, neatly trimmed for stability.
‘Music halls,’ answered the Major to the inquiry in Thackeray’s puckered brow.
‘Speaks volumes for your standard of living,’ commented Cribb, with undisguised envy.
The end of the room was occupied by the fireplace, an unbelievably tidy desk, square to the wall, and three chairs in rigid rank on the opposite side. Over the mantelpiece was a portrait of Her Majesty, flanked by the Union Jack and the colours (presumably) of the 8th Hussars.
‘Sleeping quarters through there,’ said the Major, indicating a door beside the desk, ‘and ablutions on the left. Not quite what I’ve been used to, but it suffices. I was working on my diary when you knocked. No Orderly Room Sergeant here, you see. The housekeeper cleans my bed-space daily and that’s all the batting I get. Kindly sit down there and tell me what your business is.’ He briskly rotated the revolving chair at his desk and sat with arms folded and legs crossed, facing his visitors.
‘You’re looking in very good fettle, sir, if I may say so,’ began Cribb. ‘I thought you might be laid up this morning, after Mrs Body’s hospitality.’
‘Not at all,’ said the Major. ‘Never had problems over liquor. Got a first-rate pick-me-up. Two-thirds brandy, one-third cayenne pepper. Strongly recommended.’
‘I’ll remember that. Good of you to receive us unexpected like this, even so. Major, you ain’t a man to mince words and nor am I. May I put some blunt questions to you?’
‘If you don’t object to blunt answers.’
‘Very good. Since we met at the Grampian on the night of Albert’s accident, Thackeray and I have seen you on four other occasions. We were led to understand at the Grampian that it was the manager there, Mr Goodly, who had engaged your services. Was that correct?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You were there in a precautionary capacity, in addition to the usual police patrols?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you investigated the circumstances of Albert’s accident, and traced him to Philbeach House?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened after that, sir?’
‘I was given the sack. I told Goodly what was happening at Philbeach House from my observations there, but once the blighter knew there wasn’t likely to be another accident at the Grampian he didn’t need my services any more. I was demobilised quicker than a coolie with cholera.’
‘Yet you’re keeping up your interest in the case,’ said Cribb. ‘Has anyone else engaged you?’
‘No such luck,’ said the Major. ‘But if the Yard wants assistance, I’m open to offers.’
Cribb smiled. ‘Well if no-one’s paying you, where’s the profit in continuing with your inquiries?’
‘God, you’ve got a mercenary mind. Sergeant. Take a look in that corner behind you.’
Cribb glanced over his shoulder. Two piles of newspapers, painstakingly folded and stacked to a height of three or four feet, rested on a small table there.
‘The Times and The Morning Post,’ said the Major. ‘I’m a man of method, and when I planned to set myself up as a private investigator I went to see an old army colleague who had made something of a study of detective methods. “How do I start?” I said. “Study the personal columns every morning,” he told me. So I have, for eight months. And you’d be surprised at the knowledge I’ve acquired, Sergeant. I know every patent remedy for rheumatism there is. I can tell you when your old boys’ association are having their A.G.M. Interesting information, you understand, but it isn’t yielding dividends yet.’
‘You haven’t had many matters to investigate, sir?’
‘Two. The first was the whereabouts of the newspaper delivery boy the week he went down with mumps. The second was Mr Goodly’s assignment. Now do you understand my reluctance to give up the case? I’ve had enough of reading newspapers. I want some action. And by Jove, this case is providing it! When I set up my campaign headquarters here I wasn’t anticipating a murder inquiry.’
‘Well, we’ve got one now, sir, and a very urgent i
nquiry it’s become, as you’ll no doubt appreciate.’
‘Indeed I do! What’s going to happen next Tuesday night at the Paragon if there’s a murderer loose in the house? The consequences could be appalling! Dammit, Sergeant, I’m a commissioned officer . . . oath of loyalty and so forth. There was a time when I was determined to solve this case alone, but I know where my duty lies. I’m putting my resources at your disposal, gentlemen.’
‘That’s uncommon generous of you, Major,’ said Cribb, entering into the spirit of the offer. ‘Shall we discuss strategy at the table?’
Thackeray watched incredulously as the sergeant picked up a swagger-stick from the mantelpiece and approached the map of London in a business-like manner. Was he actually going to play soldiers with the Major? Maps and tactical discussions were about as relevant to Cribb’s methods of detection as a manual of etiquette.
The Major provided more illumination by lighting a paraffin-lamp suspended over the table. Thackeray took up a position at Woolwich, where the Thames reached its limit.
‘We shall need something to mark Philbeach House,’ said Cribb. ‘The stopper of that bottle on the shelf behind you, if you please, Thackeray.’
Major Chick held up a restraining hand. ‘A most appropriate emblem, Sergeant, but I don’t think Prussic Acid fumes would help our deliberations.’
‘Prussia . . . ?’ Thackeray peered at the label on the bottle. ‘That’s what it says, Sarge.’
‘There isn’t much left,’ said the Major, ‘but enough to blight three promising careers if we stayed here long enough with the stopper out.’
‘What do you keep it for?’ asked Cribb, as casually as if he were inquiring about a household pet.
The Major slapped his thigh and laughed uproariously. ‘You think that I . . . ? Good Lord, I wouldn’t keep the blasted bottle on my shelf if I had! No, Sergeant, I picked it up yesterday afternoon at Philbeach House. The late Mr Body was a bit of a scientist, you know. There’s a roomful of his paraphernalia there, optical instruments, electrical dynamos, magnets, photographic apparatus and several shelves loaded with chemicals. This bottle was among ’em.’
‘Available to any of the guests at Philbeach House?’ queried Cribb.
‘Readily available. The room wasn’t locked.’ The Major handed the bottle to Cribb. ‘Scrutinise it carefully, Sergeant. Do you notice the lines that have formed on the inside, showing the various levels of the acid as it was used? Do you see how clear the glass is between the last mark and the small amount remaining? Must be three inches at least. That indicates to me that the last person to take acid from that bottle took a deuced large amount. I think this may be important evidence. Don’t you agree?’
‘It’s a valuable find, Major,’ said Cribb, ‘and I’d like to express my gratitude to you for handing it over to the proper authorities in this way. We’ll get someone at the Yard to test your theories about the encrustment on the inside. You’ve a decent-sized overcoat pocket, there, Thackeray. See if you can get it inside, will you? Did you pick up any other evidence, Major?’
If the Major had, he was not saying so.
‘In that case, let’s plan our troop emplacements,’ continued Cribb, his object achieved. ‘We’ll use this halfpenny for Philbeach House. It seems to me that there are two points at which we should concentrate our forces.’ He tapped the halfpenny and one of the champagne corks. ‘Mrs Body’s establishment, and Mr Plunkett’s. Any comments, Major?’
‘Seems reasonable,’ said the Major, with a sniff.
‘Good. Now it’s sound strategy, I suggest, to dispose our forces according to the platoon strength. Wouldn’t you agree, Major?’
A nod from the Major.
‘So that the platoon with the greater number of personnel concentrates on the point on the map where the enemy are ranged in the greater strength.’ Cribb tapped the halfpenny again.
‘You and the constable go to Philbeach House. I take the Paragon,’ said the Major.
‘Thank you, sir. That’s a handsome offer,’ said Cribb, tucking the swagger-stick under his arm-pit. ‘We’re all in agreement, then. Any questions, gentlemen?’
‘Yes,’ said the Major. ‘What shall I say to Plunkett?’
Cribb locked his hands behind his back and patrolled his side of the table, about-turning each time he reached the corner. It seemed to Thackeray that he was enjoying himself. ‘It’s the devil of an assignment, I know, Major, but I think you’re the only man who can handle it. We need to discover whether there can possibly have been a reason for Plunkett murdering Miss Pinkus. Blackmail seems the likeliest motive, but we need facts. I suppose we can’t rule out passion either. Unrequited love—’
‘But you don’t think Plunkett did it himself?’ said the Major. ‘It’s obvious who murdered Miss Pinkus.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Mrs Body. Dammit, Sergeant, she had her husband’s bottle of acid to hand. She detested Lola Pinkus; the girl was making life impossible at Philbeach House. Didn’t you talk to Mrs Body? There were dreadful scenes. Open fights on occasions. Lola made trouble whenever she could, insulting the ladies and flirting with the men. She even set out to seduce poor old Virgo out of sheer malice—you know Mrs Body’s sweet on Virgo, don’t you?’
‘No,’ said Cribb. ‘I didn’t think Mrs B. was more partial to one man than any other.’
‘Ah, there’s a type she goes for,’ said the Major affirmatively. ‘She picks out the fellows with an obvious weakness, like an old lioness at the water-hole looking for a lame buffalo.’
Cribb shot a menacing look in Thackeray’s direction, almost daring him to infer anything from the Major’s remark. ‘I suppose you mean that her late husband couldn’t see without his spectacles and Professor Virgo has a stammer.’
‘Exactly,’ said Major Chick. ‘She wasn’t very interested in me when I tried the sentimental approach yesterday afternoon. Had to drink myself into a stupor before she’d even let me sit in her confounded box. It’s the runt of the litter that lady fancies, I can tell you.’
‘You were telling us why you suspect her,’ Cribb reminded him acidly. ‘You think she was jealous of Lola’s friendship with Professor Virgo.’
‘Lola did it out of spite, of course,’ said the Major. ‘She wasn’t a bit interested in Virgo. Young Bellotti was far more attractive to a girl like that, but, you know, she took an impish pleasure in jilting him for the older man. She was tormenting Bellotti and Mrs Body at the same time, you see. Hussy like that doesn’t get much sympathy from me when someone feeds poison to her.’
‘How did Mrs Body manage to administer the poison when she wasn’t even at the Paragon?’ said Cribb.
‘How do you know she wasn’t there, Sergeant? You’ve got her word for it, and that’s all. Everyone else was there, so there was nobody to provide an alibi for her at Philbeach House. I think she saw the others off in the bus and then took a cab to the theatre herself. She knew the order of the acts as well as Plunkett himself, so it was easy to judge the moment to transfer the acid to the tumbler. Poison’s a woman’s way, Sergeant.’
‘I could name you a dozen men who swung for using it, Major,’ said Cribb.
‘Well, that’s my opinion, blast it. Crime of passion. Why, you can’t deny that Virgo’s act was chosen for the murder. That’s significant, in my view. Like taking revenge at the moment of unfaithfulness. These theatrical wallahs are apt to arrange things with an eye to dramatic effect, you know. That’s their weakness.’
For a second, Cribb eyed the Major, standing over his map with the lamplight accentuating his features, like a tableau of Wellington on the eve of Waterloo. He passed no comment.
‘All right, Sergeant. In spite of all my theories, you still want me to question Plunkett,’ said the Major, in a resigned tone.
‘You’re quite a mind-reader, sir. Yes, it’s a plausible case you’ve made out against Mrs Body, and you may be sure Thackeray and I will put some strong questions to the lady. I still want to
know about Plunkett and his possible links with Miss Pinkus though. You’ll have to put your questions delicately, of course.’
‘I’ll do the best I can. Shall I say I’m from the Yard? He doesn’t know me, you see.’
‘Better not, sir,’ said Cribb hastily. ‘It’s never advisable to impersonate the police. I think you’ll find him quite talkative if you lead him to believe you’re acting in a legal capacity, trying to establish the beneficiaries of Miss Pinkus’s estate.’
‘Did she have one?’
‘I doubt it, sir, but money talks with Mr Plunkett. He’ll be ready to believe she left a fortune if you hint at it.’
‘You’re a shrewd old devil, Sergeant.’
‘Thank you, Major. It’s time we started though. May we rendezvous here again at two? Thank you. Thackeray, sound the advance, will you?’
CHAPTER
15
THACKERAY WAS DUMBFOUNDED. NOT by the deception Cribb had practised on Major Chick; it was obvious (to a man of Thackeray’s insight) that the elaborate charade in the Major’s rooms was staged solely to get the Major to the Paragon. No surprise at all that when the Major had marched away on his mission and been swallowed by the fog, Cribb suggested a glass of ale at the nearest pub. And really to be expected that Cribb should then announce he had no intention of spending the rest of the morning at Philbeach House. Nor did Thackeray turn a whisker when the sergeant plunged into a two hour analysis of the whole inquiry, event by event, culminating, several glasses later, in a review of the murder suspects. Cribb didn’t usually do such things, but the man was only human and probably wanted to try his theories on an intelligent ear. What finally shattered Thackeray’s composure was the climax of Cribb’s disquisition. As brisk and positive as a turnstile-man, the sergeant took the suspects one by one, examined them and allowed them to pass out of reckoning. One was left. Only one who could have murdered Lola Pinkus.
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