“If we agree to your suggestion, will you satisfy our quite unjustifiable curiosity?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not, providing you tell me just how bad this muddle is.”
“What do you say, Van Ryn?” De Richleau asked. “Shall we run the risk of spiking the Superintendent’s guns?”
“Why not?” the big American shrugged. “It’s not our job to bottle feed the police of this country.”
“Then let’s make our treaty.” The Duke looked fixedly at Mr. Aron. “Upon our part we will tell you what we know of this affair, and we will refrain from informing the police of your whereabouts until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Upon your part you agree to accept my hospitality till that time, to take the harmless sleeping draught which I shall give you, and surrender your apparel. Also you will tell us that which you know. Is it agreed?”
“And—er,” Mr. Aron wriggled his neck with a nervous movement in his collar, “anything which I may say as your host, or your guest, is to be forgotten tomorrow?”
“That is so.”
“Um—I’ll agree to that.”
Rex looked round. “You know, people just wouldn’t believe this if they saw it in a play.”
Mr. Aron again stooped his head to give his little jerky laugh into the palm of his hand. “Yes,” he agreed, “but I’d rather see it on the stage, all the same. I could come out then!
But seriously—if you wouldn’t mind telling me what happened.”
Briefly, and clearly, the Duke outlined the events which had taken place, as far as Van Ryn and he knew them, since they had first seen Simon Aron on the staircase of Errol House so much earlier in the evening.
The young Jew listened intently, his long, almost Chinese eyes narrowing from time to time, as he interrupted to ask a shrewd question until, point by point, he became as fully informed as the other two.
When this recital was finished, Aron nodded his head slowly. “A muddle, eh! A really nasty muddle—” he murmured as if to himself, then he suddenly sat up.
“All right—now I’ll tell you what I can. First of all about the Shoesmiths, I only knew them through Richard Eaton. He’s a friend of mine. As a matter of fact I’ve never seen Sir Gideon, I believe Lady Shoesmith only married him a few months ago—and I don’t know her very well. I’ve only met her once or twice at cocktail parties at Richard’s flat. The Aunt, Miss Eaton, I’ve never seen till tonight; so I can’t really tell you much about them. Sir Gideon is an accountant, I think, but Lady Shoesmith has plenty of money of her own. Old Eaton had any amount of money, and he left it all to her.”
“Who gets the lion’s share now?” Van Ryn inquired.
“Richard, I believe.”
“Has young Eaton any sort of a job?”
“Yes,” Aron nodded slowly, “he’s in the book business, runs a private press, you may know it—The Galleon Press, it’s called, and he runs the whole show on his own. Richard’s clever at types and bindings, he’s turned out some quite nice stuff.”
“I do know it,” the Duke volunteered, “their Menander was quite charming.”
“I wouldn’t judge there to be much money in that sort of lay-out,” said the practical American. “Seems to me nobody reads anything but detective fiction these days.”
Simon Aron shrugged. “Don’t know, still people with money about—who buy good stuff—look at the Nonesuch Press, and the Golden Cockerel, they must have made a packet.”
“Let’s return to the more interesting subject of your visit to Errol House this evening,” suggested the Duke.
“Well—I was coming to that. You see I promised to have dinner with my mother this evening, then afterwards I was going to meet Richard here for supper—as a matter of fact we had a little business that we wanted to talk over; then my mother put me off at the last moment, and so it occurred to me that I might go round to Errol House and have a chat with Sir Gideon before I met Richard. So I rang up after dinner, and was told that if I came round at once, Sir Gideon would see me—” he paused.
“And then?” prompted De Richleau.
“Then when I got there I walked upstairs and I found the door of the flat ajar—so I went in.” He paused again. “Then I saw the little grey-haired lady come down the corridor and she turned me out.”
A marked silence fell upon the three men at the table. Simon Aron’s eyes moved rapidly from one to the other of his guests. “Sounds a bit thin—doesn’t it?” he said with a wry smile, “I was afraid you’d think that!”
“On the contrary,” said the Duke quickly, “from what little I’ve seen of you, Mr. Aron, I would at least pay you the compliment of expecting you to tell a much more artistic story, if you wished to give us anything but the truth. I’m puzzled, that’s all.”
“Who answered the call?” asked Van Ryn.
“The butler, I should have thought,” replied Aron evenly.
De Richleau paused, his slim hand extended to secure another piece of hot toast from beneath the folded napkin. “But surely you must realize that they do not keep a butler in the flat.”
“I know,” Simon Aron nodded, “queer—isn’t it?”
“Who could it have been that you spoke to, then? Sir Gideon was out, he left at a little after seven to attend the dinner at the Park Lane Hotel, and it was nearly eleven before he returned.”
“How about young Eaton?” suggested Van Ryn.
“Ner!” Again Simon gave the curiously pronounced negative through half-open lips. “Ner—I talk to him on the telephone two or three times a week—it wasn’t Richard.”
“Just what gave you the idea it was the butler, anyway?” Rex asked.
“It was the way he spoke.”
“Can you recall what he said and what you said too?”
“Oh, yes, I asked—‘Is that Sir Gideon Shoesmith’s flat?’ and a man’s voice said, ‘Yes,’ then I said, ‘This is Simon Aron speaking, I’m a friend of Richard Eaton’s—I particularly wanted to have a word with Sir Gideon this evening. I wonder if I could come round now; I’m at my club in Piccadilly’— then there was a little pause, and the voice replied: ‘Yes, sir, if you’ll hold the line I’ll tell Sir Gideon,’ —and then I waited for a minute or two, and the voice said: ‘Sir Gideon says he can see you if you can come round at once,’ then I said: ‘Thank you,’ and hung up.”
“Well, now, can you beat that?” exclaimed Rex. “He had some nerve, I’ll say, whoever he was.”
“And at what time was this?” asked the Duke.
“Just after ten.”
“That must have been about the time it happened,” the Duke commented. “Whoever did this thing heard the telephone bell ring, and decided that it was less dangerous to answer than allow it to ring—and disturb the other occupants of the flat.”
“That’s about it,” Rex agreed, “but how do you account for Mr. Aron finding the front door open?”
“Ah, my friend,” laughed De Richleau, “he had quick wits, that one, even while Mr. Aron was speaking to him on the telephone, he realized the possibilities of that chance call. Therefore, instead of saying, ‘Sir Gideon is out,’ he said: ‘Come along here now, at once.’ Then he finished quickly what he had to do, and went—leaving the door a little open, hoping that Aron would walk in; and you see, Aron did walk in. So that even if Miss Eaton had not discovered him so quickly, he would have rung the bell, and been found by the servants with that door just a little open—therefore suspicion would, in any case, have fallen upon him.”
“Exactly.” Simon Aron wriggled his shoulders. “So we’re in a muddle—in a nasty muddle.”
The attentive waiter was clearing the remains of the woodcock from the table.
“Now, what about a peach?” Aron suggested. The others shook their heads.
“Coffee, then—waiter, coffee for three.”
For a little time they sat smoking over their coffee, not saying much, then Rex remarked:
“Didn’t you say you had a date with Richard Eaton tonight for
supper? Doesn’t it strike you as mighty queer that he hasn’t turned up?”
“Oh, Richard!” Simon’s dark eyes flickered away from the table, and then with a steady gaze they met Van Ryn’s. “Richard’s hopeless about appointments, bit of an artist, you know—he’s often let me down before. By the way, didn’t you say you had a party, or something?”
“By Jove, yes.” Rex looked at his watch. “Do you know it’s a quarter to one?”
“Don’t—er—think I want to hurry you,” Aron murmured. “I’m ready to stay up, or go to bed—just as you like.”
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I ought to beat it,” Rex confessed, “that is, after I’ve acted as guard of honour for you, back to the Duke’s flat.”
“You still think—er—that I’m the criminal?” Aron inquired, smiling, as he sent for his bill.
“No, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Rex replied, regarding the young man curiously, “but I’d be interested to know if you think the police will accept your story?”
Simon Aron laughed again, his queer little nervous laugh into the palm of his hand.” ’Fraid they’ll have to,” he chuckled. “Anyhow, it seems I’ve made pretty good arrangements to ensure that it shan’t keep me awake!”
CHAPTER X - HOW LADY FELICITY SPENT THE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING
It was a little after one when Rex, having seen the Duke and their prisoner safely back to Errol House, walked round the corner to Lady Ingram’s in Audley Square.
The dance was in full swing, the whole of the recessed portion of South Audley Street, which forms the so-called square, being filled with lines of cars. Even at this late hour one or two rather bedraggled spectators stood on the pavement by the awning watching the arrival and departure of the guests.
The house was one seething mass of people, and the babel of talk almost drowned the band. Rex shouldered his way through the crush up the staircase; he held a brief, smiling conversation with Irma Ingram, who was still receiving, and, skilfully avoiding the onset of an elderly woman whom he had met at a dinner-party a few nights before, succeeded in reaching the double drawing-room, where dancing was in progress.
His eyes sought only for one small fair head, and his unusual height gave him the advantage of being able to survey the whole room easily from his position by the door. He had soon convinced himself that she was not among the dancers, so he next tried the supper-room, and here he was more fortunate.
“Hallo! Felicity,” he grinned, striding eagerly up to her, despite the fact she was apparently in earnest conversation with a sandy-haired young man.
She raised her eyebrows. “Why, if it isn’t my big, foolish American,” she said gaily.
“Not foolish,” he corrected. “Clean, plumb crazy!” And from his smiling glance it was not difficult to tell what he was crazy about!
Lady Felicity Standish looked quickly away. “Have you been here long?” she inquired ingenuously.
“Now, have a heart!” he protested. “Wouldn’t I have been around pestering you for dances if I had? I’ve just this very moment come.”
“Isn’t that too sad,” she smiled demurely. “If I’d known for certain that you were coming I might have saved you a couple. As it is there’s not a hope until I don’t know when, unless the tenth extra is any use to you?”
“That’ll be about four in the morning, and it’s no use at all,” said Rex firmly. “We’d better go into conference and rearrange the map of Europe.” He turned and regarded the sandy-haired young man with a steady stare.
The youth rose awkwardly and looked at Felicity, but she did not proffer an introduction. She just smiled at him sweetly and rather vaguely as she said: “Reggie, dear, wouldn’t you like to get yourself a little drink?”
“Think I will,” he murmured, and then to Rex, “Here take my place.”
“Thanks,” said Rex heartily, as he promptly sat down on the vacated chair, “I will.”
“Bye-bye, Felicity,” said the young man lazily as he moved off, “have a nice time with your big friend.”
Felicity turned to Rex, “You were rude to poor Reggie.”
“Rude?” protested Rex, leaning both arms on the little table. “Not on your sweet life, I just wanted to talk to you— that’s all there is to it!”
“Do you get everything you want?” she inquired curiously.
His smile broadened and he nodded. “Most things. That is, if I ask nicely enough! And I want to dance with you so badly that it just gives me a pain.”
She considered for a moment, studying him with her fine eyes. “Don’t you think,” she suggested, “that it’s the most frightful cheek, to drift along any old hour? I mean, if you really want to see a girl and know she’s going to be at a show, and then expect her to cut dances for you?”
“Ah, Felicity, don’t get sore with me. Honest, I couldn’t help being late—I couldn’t really. I’ll tell you all about it. I got all mixed up with the police, you’ve no idea, it’s just terribly thrilling. If it hadn’t been for that I’d have been right here on the doormat waiting to see you come!”
She smiled, like a wise mother at a wicked child. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to hear what you’ve been up to, besides—” she looked down at the spray of orchids on her shoulder— “I do owe you something for these divine flowers.”
He leaned over the table eagerly. “It was just great to see you wearing those when I came in. Now, what about these dances?”
“It is a little difficult, you know. Every quarter of an hour or so, some young man will be turning up and saying it’s his dance!”
Rex beamed at her. “Well, I tell you how we’ll fix it, since you seem sort of snowed under, let’s cut the whole thing and go some place else.”
“Oh! But we couldn’t do that.”
“Couldn’t we?” he grinned again. “Believe you me, we could. What’s to stop us? Let’s walk right out of here.”
“I suppose it is the only thing to do if I’ve got to talk to you, there won’t be much chance here!”
“That’s marvellous—where’ll we go? Embassy or Savoy? Embassy’s nearer and time’s getting on.”
“No, let’s go to the Hungaria—the music’s such fun. We can dance if we want to, or just sit and watch the queers.”
Rex was already on his feet. “That’s fine, just slip me your cloakroom check, and we’ll start right now.” He began to shoulder a way for her through the crush.
A number of the older people were already leaving and they slipped away without comment. The fog was lifting a little and it was not long before they were set down in Lower Regent Street.
“You know, this is the only place in London that has any real atmosphere,” Felicity sighed. “Just listen to that band, one might be in Vienna or Budapest.”
The dark-haired maître d’hôtel, Monsieur Vecchi, hurried forward, smiling his quick recognition. “Oh, good evening, a pleasure to see you ’ere, my Lady—yes, for two—this way, my Lady—please to follow me.” He went on ahead of them, turning slightly to see if they followed, and holding his hand high above his head, something after the manner of a Fascist salute, as he led them to a table by the wall.
“What a crowd you’ve got tonight, Josef,” Felicity remarked as they settled themselves.
“Ah, my Lady,” he exclaimed. “It is late now, you should have been here an hour ago—but it is the same every night. Where all the people come from, I do not know—but it is the music they like, and we try to make them ’appy. What will you ’ave? A little supper, eh? No—you do not want anything—it is too late, jus’ a little fruit and a bottle of wine. Very good, my Lady—you leave it to me,” and he hurried away.
“Isn’t he a darling?” Felicity smiled. “I adore those great, sad, brown eyes of his, and he’s so clever, he always knows just what one wants to eat before one’s even had time to think about it.”
Rex looked around him. “I’ve never been to this place before, but I’ll say it’s a good spot.” The
n he turned and smiled into her eyes. “Not that I care anyhow, any place would be swell with you around!”
She leant back luxuriously. “You know I’m terribly glad that you took me away from Irma’s party—all my friends were there,
and they’re incredibly nice people really—but they are such crashing bores!”
Rex smiled delightedly, then he sat up. “Listen! That tune they’re playing, it’s a wonder! Right out of the ark. Say, Felicity, can you dance just like Mother used to? That old-fashioned stuff; come on! Let’s.” He seized her hand and pushed the table from in front of them. “Come on!” he cried, “you come and dance with me!”
They danced, with only one short interval, until the band stopped for good. The dancers upon the floor grew fewer and the tables emptied, but they danced on. Rex held his slim partner to him with the firmness that is essential to all good dancing; they swayed to the music, and moved as one. They spoke little.
Once he turned his face down to hers, and said softly: “Not tired, Sweet?”
“No,” she smiled up at him—using his Christian name for the first time. “No, Rex, let’s go on, you dance divinely!”
And at another time: “Felicity?”
“Yes.”
“I’m mighty glad I came to England!”
“Are you—why?”
“Felicity—I’m crazy about you—absolutely bats!”
“I don’t believe it, but I love to hear you say it!”
“Oh, I mean it! Cross my heart I do.”
At last they were compelled to stop. Clapping the departing band in vain for further encores, they sought their table.
Rex settled the bill and gently put Felicity’s cloak about her shoulders. “Well?” he asked, with his boyish grin. “What’ll we do now?”
“Go home to our little white beds,” said Felicity.
“But I don’t want to go to bed,” he complained. “Can’t we go some place? It’s just wonderful having you on my own—I don’t want to let you go.”
“Where can we go? I suppose there are one or two places,” Felicity said doubtfully. “But I’ll meet all my friends again at the Four Hundred, and the others are just too depressing. Somehow London isn’t made for night clubs. Paris is different. I do think bed’s the only thing.”
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