A Case of Blackmail in Belgravia (A Freddy Pilkington-Soames Adventure Book 1)

by Clara Benson

He set off down Caroline Terrace, wanting nothing more than to brush the dust of number 24 off his feet, for he felt almost grubby after his encounter with Weaver. But what was he to do now? His mother had sent him to try and find evidence that Ticky had been blackmailing her, but Weaver had as good as told him that it was not in the house. Then where was it? And how could Weaver be stopped, if indeed he really did intend to continue where his former employer had left off? And, of course, there was the minor question of how Ticky had died. Had he really been poisoned? It was looking increasingly likely.

  His last question was very soon answered when a motor-car drew up, and Inspector Entwistle and Sergeant Bird got out.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ said Freddy as they met. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed the burglary. The chap went off hours ago and didn’t stay for an encore.’

  ‘You’re a sharp one,’ said Entwistle. ‘I hope you’re not going to get under our feet again.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Freddy. ‘Just doing an honest day’s work, as always. Do you have any news on the Maltravers case?’

  ‘You talk to him, Bird,’ said the inspector. ‘And remember what I said.’

  He went off. Freddy watched him go.

  ‘What did he mean by that?’ he said. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He told me never to trust the press,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘I say, that’s rather unkind. Still, you won’t listen to him, will you? I don’t suppose you’ve found out what killed Ticky?’

  ‘Looks like it was poison,’ said Bird. ‘With any luck, we’ll know exactly which one by tomorrow.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Freddy in some trepidation. ‘Do you have anyone in particular in mind?’

  ‘Why, I don’t know. It appears the gentleman had spent the evening with some of his friends at Babcock’s, which is by way of being a fashionable restaurant among your lot.’

  ‘Yes, I know the place,’ said Freddy.

  ‘We don’t know exactly how the poison got into him, but it’s more than likely it was given to him over dinner.’

  ‘You mean by one of his friends?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Bird. ‘Perhaps by the person sitting next to him. As it happens, Mr. Maltravers was sitting next to a Mrs. Cynthia Pilkington-Soames. That’s your name, isn’t it, sir? Any relation?’

  ‘My mother,’ said Freddy promptly, since he had been expecting the question sooner or later. ‘Yes, I’ve spoken to her, and she mentioned something of the sort. She was terribly upset. Rather unfortunate, what? I had no idea she was one of the party when I saw you the other day. I expect your ears pricked up when you heard the name.’

  ‘You might say that,’ said Bird.

  ‘If you’re going to ask me whether she killed him, I shall tell you frankly that I have no idea, although I doubt it very much,’ said Freddy. ‘She’s quite ridiculous most of the time, but I’m fond of the old girl, and I can say pretty much for certain that she’s not generally in the habit of murdering people. At least, if she is, she’s never been caught at it yet.’

  ‘I see,’ said Bird.

  ‘Have you talked to her?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Not yet,’ said the sergeant cautiously. ‘The investigation is still in the early stages, but I dare say we’ll speak to her soon.’

  ‘Of course, it’s going to be dashed unpleasant for her, to have the police sniffing around the place. Her heart’s not strong, you see, and she’s terribly frail. Quite the little mouse, in fact. Are you going to be gentle with her? I mean, you don’t intend to drag her to the station in handcuffs and knock her about, or anything?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said the sergeant.

  Freddy resisted the temptation to say, ‘That’s a pity,’ and went on:

  ‘Do you remember what we said last week, sergeant? I promised to try and find out what I could, in return for information for my modest little news pieces. I don’t suppose you can tell me anything now?’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to tell me something first, sir?’ said Bird.

  ‘I would if I knew anything, but Mother has been sobbing all weekend and I haven’t been able to get a word out of her. She’s distraught about Ticky’s death—simply devastated. I expect they all are, in fact. Terrible end to a birthday party, what?’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Bird. ‘I understand they gave him a silver flask as a present. I don’t suppose you saw it yourself, did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. One of those affairs to keep whisky in for medicinal purposes, do you mean?’

  ‘It was brandy in this case,’ said the sergeant. ‘I wondered whether your mother might have mentioned to you what became of it.’

  ‘No. Why? Is it missing?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Not exactly. Or, at least, we’ve barely begun searching yet, so I expect it’ll turn up soon,’ said the sergeant vaguely, for he did not want Freddy to think it important.

  ‘Perhaps he left it at Babcock’s,’ said Freddy, although he was certain this was not the case. The most awful foreboding was stealing over him. ‘Listen, I must go. I shall tell you anything I find out, but in the meantime I expect there’ll be an inquest, what?’

  ‘I dare say,’ said Bird.

  Freddy bade him goodbye and hurried off, frowning. What had his mother said on Friday? Yes: he was sure she had mentioned that Ticky was drinking from a flask in the taxi on the way home, but the police had presumably not found it on his body, since they were looking for it. Did that mean they believed it had contained the poison? And where was the flask now? Freddy had a dreadful suspicion that his mother knew exactly where it was—nay, that she had herself abstracted it from Ticky’s pocket—and had purposely kept it from him. He had no idea where she was now, but he would have to speak to her again as soon as possible, since it rather looked as though she had complicated matters even further.

  ‘Drat the woman!’ he said to himself. ‘Why must she go and get herself into this sort of fix? And why must I be the one to get her out of it? And now there’s this Weaver fellow, who’s as good as told me to spread the word that business is continuing as usual. What have I to do with it? I’ve kept my nose clean—well, more or less—so I don’t see why I should have to get mixed up with blackmailers. I shall find Mother and give her a piece of my mind.’

  And having worked himself up into a fine grump, he set off back to Fleet Street.

  ‘NICOTINE?’ SAID INSPECTOR Entwistle. ‘That’s a new one on me.’

  ‘No doubt about it, though,’ said Dr. Ingleby. ‘There was enough in his body to have killed him twice over, had they wanted to. Very poisonous, nicotine. Just a few drops in his drink would have done it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he have noticed the taste?’

  ‘It depends,’ said Ingleby. ‘Didn’t you say they’d all drunk rather a lot that evening? He’d certainly eaten more than his fair share, to judge from what was left of his stomach contents, so it’s possible that his palate wasn’t in any fit state to taste very much at all. And now I must run, but it’s all in my report there. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like explaining.’

  He went out, leaving Entwistle to pore over the report at his leisure.

  ‘Nicotine, eh?’ said Sergeant Bird, who had arrived just in time to hear what the doctor had to say. ‘That’s easy enough to get hold of. Anyone might have a store of it at home. My old dad uses a nicotine solution on his roses. One of the party might have kept a little bottle of the stuff in his pocket, ready to put a few drops in Maltravers’ drink when the opportunity presented itself. Do you think it really was in the flask, sir? And where is the flask?’

  ‘Well, we’ve found no trace of it so far,’ said Entwistle. ‘Perhaps he dropped it in the taxi.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ said Bird, remembering his news. ‘That’s what I was coming to tell you: Johnson’s called to say he traced the driver this morning. He gave the cab a look-over, but it wasn’t there.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Entwistle. ‘What did the driver say?’r />
  The sergeant looked pleased with himself.

  ‘Funny you should ask, sir, but it seems that Maltravers wasn’t alone in that taxi.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No. There was a woman with him. The driver didn’t hear her full name, but he heard Maltravers calling her Cynthia. They got out at Eaton Terrace.’

  ‘Mrs. Pilkington-Soames, eh?’ said Entwistle. ‘Any funny business going on, do you suppose?’

  ‘Not of that sort, sir. Or at least, it doesn’t look like it. The taxi-driver said Maltravers seemed unwell, and she looked as though she was trying to keep as far away from him as possible. He noticed it in particular, he said, because he has a sister who’s the same way—can’t stand to be near people when they’re sick.’

  ‘Did either of them say anything of interest?’

  ‘Driver says Maltravers was very red in the face, and mentioned something about having eaten too much, so Mrs. Pilkington-Soames suggested he take a nip from his flask, which he did. Then they got out and Maltravers said he needed some fresh air, and that’s all the driver heard before he went off.’

  ‘Then she was the last person to see him alive, by the sound of it,’ said Entwistle. ‘I think we shall have to have a word with this Mrs. Pilkington-Soames. The disappearing flask is very suspicious.’

  ‘I’ve already tried her at home in Eaton Terrace, but no luck,’ said Bird.

  ‘No wonder that son of hers has been sniffing around. I’ll bet he knows far more than he’s letting on.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, though, he does seem to have his uses. He’s found a possible witness to the burglary at Maltravers’ house.’

  ‘Oh? Who’s that?’

  ‘No-one reliable, unfortunately. He’s a tramp who goes by the name of Ugly John and spends most of his days hanging around the New Court. He swears he saw a dark-skinned man loitering suspiciously on Bourne Street early on Monday morning.’

  ‘Did he, indeed?’ said Entwistle, unconvinced. ‘And I expect this Ugly John was as sober as a judge at the time, yes?’

  ‘I think that’s too much to hope for, sir,’ said Bird. ‘Still, it’s something.’

  ‘I doubt anything will come of it, since nothing was taken,’ said Entwistle. ‘Very well, then; we’d better start questioning these people who were at Babcock’s. Bird, you keep on trying Mrs. Pilkington-Soames, and you’d better go and speak to Lady Bendish and Mrs. Van Leeuwen too. I’ll take Mr. and Mrs. Beasley, and Captain Atherton.’

  ‘All right, sir,’ said Bird, trying to hide his disappointment, for he had been very keen to speak to the famous explorer, who was something of a hero of his.

  ‘We’ll meet back here later and compare notes,’ said Entwistle, who had also followed Atherton’s adventures with interest, and had no hesitation in exploiting his seniority in this manner.

  Bird nodded resignedly, and went off to do his duty.

  HAD THE TWO men been in a position to hear the conversation which had taken place between Captain Atherton and his manservant only the day before, they might have looked less favourably upon their hero. Atherton was sitting in his armchair at about two o’clock on Monday afternoon, reading his newspaper, when he felt a presence at his elbow.

  ‘Well?’ he said, without looking up from the shipping page. ‘Did you get them?’

  ‘Alas, no, sir,’ said Mahomet. ‘If they are in the house, then they are well hidden. I looked under everything and behind everything and inside everything, and there was nothing. I am convinced that they have been taken elsewhere.’

  ‘But they were in the house once,’ said Atherton. ‘I know they were, because the scoundrel showed me them—waved them in front of my face, in fact. I wonder where he put them.’

  ‘Perhaps he gave them to his man for safekeeping,’ said Mahomet.

  ‘Good Lord, I hope not. That would be the worst of all possible worlds. What if he gets ideas of his own?’

  ‘Then we must think of some solution,’ said Mahomet.

  LARRY BENDISH WAS not a man to stoop to burglary, but he was very worried about his mother, who had become withdrawn and silent since Friday. He was eager to do something to help her, but since she would not admit that she had any particular worries, there seemed nothing he could do even to comfort her. But he could not bear to do nothing, and so on Tuesday morning he found his steps turning in the direction of Caroline Terrace. Number 24 looked the same as any of the other houses on the street, and he stood outside it for a few minutes, staring irresolutely at the front door, as though by doing so all his problems would magically resolve themselves. At last, he approached and knocked, although he hardly knew what he would say if someone answered. To his relief, no-one did, and so he turned away, and bumped straight into Denis Beasley. They greeted one another in some embarrassment.

  ‘Nobody’s answering,’ said Larry, then, feeling as though he ought to explain what he was doing there, continued, ‘I—er—came with a message of condolence from my mother.’

  Denis Beasley might reasonably have asked Larry who he was intending to deliver the message to, since Ticky was known to have no family, but he did not, and merely muttered in agreement. The two men turned away from the house and walked together back up the road.

  ‘Has your mother heard from the police at all?’ said Denis. ‘I expect you know they think it’s murder?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Larry.

  ‘Dashed awkward business, don’t you think? I mean to say, presumably they suspect one of us of having done it. Naturally it was nothing to do with me, but still, it’s not exactly fun having the police prying into one’s private affairs.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ said Larry. ‘My mother hasn’t said much. I think she prefers not to think about that sort of thing.’

  Denis let out a humourless laugh.

  ‘I only wish I could do that,’ he said. ‘But I was never much good at ignoring uncomfortable truths. I should advise your mother to start looking facts in the face.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Larry, looking up suddenly.

  ‘Nothing, nothing. It’s been an odd few days and I suppose my thoughts have been running away with me. Here’s my car. Can I offer you a lift back?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Larry, who disliked Denis for reasons that he knew were not altogether rational. ‘I prefer to walk.’

  ‘I’ll tell Ann I saw you,’ said Denis, and drove off.

  ‘I SHALL MISS you dreadfully when you leave me,’ said Nancy Beasley to Ann Chadwick, who was hunting about for a stamp. ‘But we’ll keep your room for you here, just in case you ever need it.’

  ‘I don’t think I shall, but thank you all the same,’ said Ann. She smiled her serene, competent smile, and sat down to address the envelope.

  ‘Your Larry is such a nice boy,’ went on Nancy. ‘And you did it so neatly, too! Quite expertly, in fact.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Ann.

  ‘Why, the way you stole him from under Amelia’s nose, darling. Now, don’t deny it. It was as smart a job as ever I saw. He was all set to propose to her, I’m sure of it, but then you came along and looked at him sideways and he suddenly lost interest.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Ann, laughingly. ‘There was never anything between Larry and Amelia. She told me so herself.’

  ‘Of course she did,’ said Nancy. ‘The girl has no lack of pride, I’ll say that for her. She saw the game was up and made the best of it.’

  Ann shook her head, serious now.

  ‘It’s not true, you know, and I should feel simply awful if it were. They’ve known one another since they were children, and they’re good pals, that’s all. As a matter of fact, I shall always be grateful to Amelia for introducing us.’

  ‘I should have thought a girl with your brains might have made it her business to marry a richer man, but you haven’t done too badly, all told,’ said Nancy, and with that lost interest in the subject, as she was wont to do. She idly examined the rings on her fingers. �
�I wonder when the police will call,’ she said after a few moments.

  ‘Do you think they will?’

  ‘Oh, I should imagine so, don’t you? If Ticky was poisoned, then it must have been one of us. I wonder which? Probably Cynthia, I expect. She went off in a taxi with him, so she had plenty of opportunity. I only hope she’s buried the evidence somewhere.’

  ‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Ann. ‘You don’t really think she did it, do you?’

  ‘Well, if she did, then she’s done me the most tremendous favour. The man was a ghastly parasite, and I can’t think why someone didn’t do it earlier. I’d have done it myself if I’d had the nerve.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why was he a parasite?’

  ‘Why, he lived off us all, darling,’ said Nancy carelessly. ‘He found out our secrets and demanded money in return for his silence. And not only money,’ she added, as Ann exclaimed. ‘You don’t think he was invited to everything because he was liked, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ann. ‘Isn’t that why people usually receive invitations?’

  ‘Not in Ticky’s case. He was invited because everyone was afraid of him and what he might do if he was left out.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Ann. ‘Was he blackmailing you too?’

  ‘Of course he was,’ said Nancy. ‘I don’t know why I let him do it, since it’s not as though I’d done anything terrible. It’s all Constance Featherstone’s fault, of course. If it wasn’t so beastly important to be in with her, I shouldn’t have cared in the slightest, but to get in with her these days one also has to get in with Marjorie Belcher, and I may have done one or two things in the past that she wouldn’t approve of. There was one rather unfortunate episode with the police a few years ago, after I’d had just a little too much to drink. Luckily they let me off with a caution, but that sort of thing tends to make one persona non grata when it comes to sitting on the board of trustees of a dry charity. That might not be so bad in itself, but there was also a time, a few years ago, when I dabbled a little with cocaine. Nothing serious, you understand, and I wouldn’t touch the horrid stuff now, but at the time everyone was doing it so one felt one had to join in, and I’m afraid Ticky found out about that, too.’