The Affair of the Mutilated Mink

by James Anderson

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  PROLOGUE

  'You murdering fiend!'

  She hissed the words. Then she hurled the magazine to the floor and kicked it across the room.

  This made her feel a little better, and after a minute she calmed down. She retrieved the magazine and again stared at the face that smiled out at her. There was nothing in the features to indicate the ruthlessness lying behind them. Could she possibly be mistaken? It had all happened a long time ago. And they'd only met once. Nevertheless, she was almost certain—

  Almost. It wasn't enough. She had to be sure. And to be sure she had to see this face in the flesh - ideally study it at leisure, converse with its owner, lay little traps . . .

  Could she arrange to spend such a time in the company of her suspect - preferably staying under the same roof? It ought to be possible — if not socially, then professionally.

  She glanced at the second subject of the photo. What was the relationship between these two? A casual one? Or were they closer than that? Accomplices? Hunter and victim?

  She reread the caption beneath the picture. Then she put the magazine safely away. As she did so, her mind was working furiously.

  Chapter One

  'On Guard!'

  George Henry Aylwin Saunders, twelfth Earl of Burford, took up a fencing stance and thrust. The ferrule of his umbrella stopped one inch from his butler's waistcoat. 'Yield, villain!' the Earl exclaimed.

  'Certainly, my lord.' Merryweather, the butler, relieved his master of the umbrella and his overcoat. 'An enjoyable cinematographic entertainment, my lord.'

  'Tophole. Errol Flynn is terrific. You really ought to go and see it.'

  'Thank you, my lord, but I prefer to pass my leisure hours with an improving book.'

  'I can't honestly believe you need any improvement, Merry- weather.'

  'Thank you, my lord.' Merryweather vanished into the background.

  'You know, Daddy, you'll have to stop doing things like that to Merry. I'm sure he feels it's lowering to his dignity.'

  Lady Geraldine Saunders crossed the big oak-panelled hall and tucked her arm through her father's. She was petite, vivacious, red-haired, with a tip-tilted nose and deceptively innocent large hazel eyes.

  'Don't know what you mean, my dear. Never done anything like that before.'

  'Maybe, but last month you were calling him an ornery horse stealer and pretending to beat him to the draw, and before that threatening to squeal to the cops about his bootlegging operation in the cellar.'

  'Ah, that was during my cowboy and gangster periods. I've gone off those now.'

  'Well, can't you go off swashbucklers, too?'

  'No fear! Couldn't if I wanted to just now, anyway. The manager of the Bijou's booked the new Rex Ransom for next week - especially for me. Uncommon civil of him.'

  'He's just trying to keep you away from the Odeon.'

  They went into the drawing-room. Gerry flopped down on the sofa, while Lord Burford poured himself a whisky and soda.

  Gerry said, 'I honestly think the talkies have taken the place of guns in your affection.'

  'Oh, no. Basically my collection'll always come first. I admit my enthusiasm was dampened a bit after one of 'em was used to commit a murder. But it'll come back. In the meantime I'm very much enjoyin' having something else to do. And I must say, they're remarkably hospitable in these places. Manager meets you in the foyer, shows you to your seat. Pretty little gal brings free coffee in the interval. Amazin' how they can keep up such a service.'

  'They only do it for you, Daddy.'

  Lord Burford looked surprised. 'Really? You sure?'

  'Quite. You wouldn't know. As a rule, most of the other customers are in by the time you get there. But you happen to be a peer of the realm. And they don't get many. It must do wonders for the box office in a little place like Westchester - especially when you turn up in a chauffeur-driven Rolls in full evening dress.'

  'Bless my soul.' Lord Burford squared his shoulders. 'You think people still care about that sort of thing in the 1930s?'

  'Certainly they do.'

  'Well, that reporter chappie certainly seemed interested.'

  'Reporter?'

  'Yes. Young feller from the Westshire Advertiser, waiting for me when I came out. Said they wanted to do a piece about the county's newest film fan. Asked how it was I'd only recently started going to the movies. I explained no one had ever told me how good they'd got. I saw those jumpy old silent things when I was a boy and didn't think much of them. So I never bothered again—'

  'Until a few months ago you found yourself with a couple of hours to kill in London, noticed a cinema showing the latest Garbo, felt curious, went in — and were hooked. You told him all that?'

  ' 'Course. And he wanted to know all about the pictures I most enjoyed and my favourite stars. Most flatterin'.'

  'Well, make the most of it. I don't suppose you'll be going so often once Mummy gets home.'

  'Don't see why. Harmless enough hobby. Deuced cheaper than popping off to the Italian Riviera, too.'

  'She did want you to go with her.'

  'Don't like seaside resorts. Borin' places. Rather watch Errol Flynn or Rex Ransom any day.' He crossed to the massive fireplace and warmed his hands at the blazing fire.

  'Cold out?' Gerry asked.

  'Decidedly chilly.'

  'I was talking to old Josh earlier. He says we're in for what he calls a 'real shramming winter'.'

  'Well, I've never known him wrong about the weather in forty years. Suppose you'll be clearing off to warmer climes before the real winter hits us, will you?'

  'No, I'm not going away for a bit.' Gerry suddenly spoke absently.

  Her father looked at her closely. 'Oh, lor', don't say you're going off into another brown study. You still ditherin' between those two young fellows?'

  She nodded.

  'I wish you'd make up your mind and marry one of 'em.'

  'Marry? Who said anything about marrying?'

  Lord Burford frowned. 'But - but that's what it's all about, isn't it? This moonin' all over the house, kickin' things?'

  'Not at all. I simply can't decide which of them to become engaged to.'

  The Earl raised a hand to his brow in bewilderment. 'Look, forgive me if I'm dense, but doesn't one follow the other?'

  'Usually. But not always. Not the first time. Every girl should have one broken engagement these days. All my friends have.'

  'Now let me get this straight. You want to get engaged to one of these boys - Paul or . . .Hugh, is it? - solely in order to break it off again?'

  'Well, not solely. It's conceivable I might marry him. But that's not the main object of the exercise.'

  'Then I can't see what all the fuss is about. If you're not going to get hitched to him, what's it matter which one you choose?

  'Daddy, surely you wouldn't want me to get engaged to just anybody? This is serious. They've both proposed and I can't keep them waiting much longer. Do advise me.'

  'Certainly not! You'd im
mediately pick the other one and always hold it against me. No, you've got to choose for yourself. Who d'you like best?'

  'Oh, that's easy. Paul.'

  'Then what's the problem?'

  'Just this: I always feel happy with Paul. Relaxed. We get on fine. We can talk about anything. We're jolly good pals.'

  'But?'

  'But perhaps I get on a bit too well with him. He's not really exciting.'

  'In spite of careerin' all over the place climbing mountains, running for Britain in the Olympics and so on?'

  'In spite of that. Because I'm really not a part of that side of his life at all.'

  'But Hugh is excitin'?'

  'Mm. He fascinates me. But he frightens me rather, too. I'm always sort of on the edge of my seat, wondering what he'll say or do next. And he's thoroughly beastly to me sometimes. But he does make me think - about the only person I know who does. But usually he also makes me unsettled, disturbed or downright angry, too.'

  'Sounds thoroughly uncomfortable. He's the painter, isn't he?'

  'That's right.'

  'Make any money at it?'

  'Shouldn't think so; he lives pretty frugally. But he won't discuss it. Or anything about his background. I think he's a bit ashamed of his family, actually.'

  'Well, I don't think that's very nice.'

  'I'm sure there's a good reason for it.'

  'Sounds rather mysterious. Is that part of his appeal?'

  'Could be, I suppose. Paul is so open about his background.'

  'Yes, I remember, he told me. Rather amusin' actually. "Of course, sir," he said, "I've got no breeding at all; nouveau riche you'd call me, I daresay." I quite warmed to him.'

  'Yes, that's Paul all over. The nouveau riche thing is rubbish, of course; he went to Eton, after all, even though his grandfather did start life as a factory hand.'

  'Mill owner eventually, wasn't he?'

  'Iron foundry. Paul's mother was his only child. She and Paul's father were killed when Paul was a baby, and his grandfather brought him up. Then, when he died about ten years ago, he left Paul his entire fortune.'

  'Well, families like ours can do with a stiffenin' of tough working-class backbone every other generation. Stops us becomin' effete.'

  'Daddy, remember we're only talking about an engagement.'

  'Sorry. Must admit, though, that I'd rather you got engaged to a chap with a bit of money than a penniless artist. Not that you need it, but I fancy you might always have the uneasy feeling he'd married - er, got engaged to you for your money.'

  'I'm certain Hugh wouldn't do that.'

  'You've talked to your mother about this, I suppose.'

  'Definitely not. As far as Mummy's concerned they're just casual boyfriends, two of the crowd. If she knew I was thinking of becoming engaged to one of them she'd start vetting his background and finances for husband-suitability. And that would be too shaming. I'll tell her as soon as I make up my mind. OK?'

  'So long as you promise not to go running off to Gretna Green to get married or somethin'.'

  As if I would!'

  'You wouldn't be the first member of the family to try it. Remember your great grandfather Aylwin.'

  'I don't want to remember the old scoundrel. I want to think about Paul and Hugh. I've had a sort of idea that might help me decide. I thought I might have them both to stay for a bit.'

  'You've had 'em both to stay before. Didn't help much apparently.'

  'No, I mean have them at the same time. It occurred to me that if I could see them side by side over several days it would be easier to compare them. What do you think?'

  'That it would be highly embarrassin'.'

  'Yes, it would be if we had just the two of them. It would be pretty obviously a sort of audition. But if we were to throw a little house party, then—'

  'No!'

  'I don't mean straight away. After Christmas.'

  'No, Geraldine! Good gad, I thought after what happened last time you'd have had enough of house parties for the rest of your life. People getting bumped off all over the place, jewel robberies, detectives, spies, secret agents, me nearly being arrested. I never liked having crowds here - stuffin' the place with people, mostly perfect strangers to each other. Always leads to unpleasantness. Your mother and I've agreed: in future we have at most three or four guests at a time. Understood?'

  Chapter Two

  'Rex, baby, come right in.'

  Cyrus S. Haggermeir, head of the Haggermeir Pictures Corporation, strode beamingly across the expanse of deep carpet and gripped the hand of the bronzed, handsome man with the thick blonde hair, who had just been shown into his Hollywood office.

  Rex Ransom blinked in surprise at the warmth of his reception and allowed himself to be ensconced in an armchair. Haggermeir went to a cocktail cabinet. 'Scotch on the rocks, isn't it, Rex?'

  'That'll be fine, Mr Haggermeir.'

  'Cyrus, Rex, Cyrus. Surely we been buddies long enough now for you to call me by my first name?'

  'We have? Oh — I mean, yes, I guess we have.'

  Haggermeir handed Rex a glass, went behind his huge desk and sat down. He was a big man with a frankly homely face, like an unsuccessful prizefighter's. 'Why I sent for - asked you to stop by, Rex, is to discuss your next starring vehicle.'

  Rex breathed a sigh of relief - which did not escape Haggermeir's shrewd brown eyes. 'Sumpin' wrong?'

  'Oh, no. It's just that it's always good to know another one's being planned. I know the box office receipts of my last picture weren't too hot, and—'

  'That wasn't your fault. It was a lousy script. A complete change of setting is called for in your next picture. Recently you've played a Corsican pirate, a Spanish conquistador, and an Arabian prince - all with your hair dyed. Time you got back to an Anglo-Saxon type. You're gonna be an Englishman.'

  'I did Robin Hood six years ago, so—'

  'English Civil War. Cavaliers and Roundheads. You'll be playing a nobleman, the best swordsman at the court of King Charles, who tries to get the king to safety after the Battle of - of . . .' Haggermeir glanced down at a script lying on his desk. 'Er, one of them battles. But you're also in love with the daughter of a Roundhead boss, the one that's leading the search for Charles. In the end he finds you guarding him and orders you at sword- point to hand him over. You gotta choose between fighting and perhaps killing your girl's pa, or betraying your king.'

  'Certainly sounds like a strong storyline. Is that the script you have there?'

  'Yeah.' Haggermeir slid the sheaf of oddly yellowing typewritten papers across the desk.

  'The Kings Man,' Rex read aloud, 'a scenario by Arlington Gilbert.' He turned the pages. 'This looks awfully old.'

  'It's been hanging round the studio for years. We commissioned it from some English writer. It was back when we were trying to sign Douglas Fairbanks, and this was the bait.'

  'I see. But Douglas apparently didn't like it.'

  'Sure he did. But then he formed United Artists with Mary and Chaplin, and—'

  Rex's eyebrows shot skywards. 'We're talking about Fairbanks Senior?'

  'That's right.'

  'But UA must have been formed fifteen - twenty years ago.'

  'Nineteen nineteen.'

  'So - this is a silent movie script.'

  'Sure. But a mighty good one. And it'll adapt just fine for sound. Now, my idea is to make the picture on location — in England.'

  'Oh, swell. The exteriors will look far more realistic. What about the interiors, though? Going to rent some studios over there, or shoot them here?'

  'Neither.'

  'Neither?'

  'Nope. I mean to shoot the whole picture in genuine British settings: castles, stately homes and the like.'

  'Gee whiz. Is that feasible, technically?'

  'Oh, I guess the sound guys'll crab a bit, but I gotta hunch this is going to be the normal thing in a few years.'

  'I see. Have you got your stately homes and castles fixed up?'

>   'Not yet. But I got my eye on several joints. Here.' Haggermeir picked up a large and heavy book, which he passed to Rex. Rex opened it and saw that it consisted of photographs of old English country houses and castles, each accompanied by a page of descriptive text.

  Haggermeir said, 'We'll need several places, but the most important will be the one that serves as your home. Look at page four.'

  Rex turned the leaves until he came to several pictures of a lovely house set in tree-dotted parkland. It was built basically in the form of three sides of a rectangle, was three stories tall, but with two-storey extensions projecting from the east and west wings.

  He read aloud: 'Alderley, Westshire, home of the Earls of Burford since the late seventeenth century. Alderley houses valuable collections of stamps and first editions, together with the present Earl's famous collection of firearms. Commenced in 1670—'

  Haggermeir interrupted, 'It's got everything — including a ballroom, a big oak panelled hall with a grand staircase that'd be swell for a sword-fight, and a secret passage, which'd be just right for the king's hiding place.'

  'But what makes you think this Earl would let us shoot there? These English lords are kind of particular about their stately homes, I should imagine.'

  'That, Rexy, is where I'm counting on your help. Get a look at that.' Haggermeir took a small piece of paper from his drawer and pushed it across the desk. It was a newspaper clipping. 'As you probably know, the studio subscribes to press clipping agencies in most countries - which means that whenever our pictures or stars are mentioned in any paper, no matter how small, we get a clipping of it. That one was a real stroke of luck. It arrived just when I was gonna start making enquiries about old English houses, so I at once sent for all the dope on this Alderley dive. It's from a paper called the Westshire Advertiser.'