Best British Crime 6 - [Anthology]

by Edited by Maxim Jakubowski

  * * * *

  The jewelry shop was a double-fronted establishment in the High Street. It had a wide selection of rings, brooches, necklaces, watches, and clocks on display. Inside the shop, it also had a range of silver cups that could be engraved on the premises. Albert Ives was a slight individual of middle years who prided himself on his ability to sum up a customer instantly. When the young man came into the shop, Ives needed only a glance to tell him that his customer had serious intentions. The man was there to buy rather than browse.

  “Good morning,” said the newcomer affably. “I’m looking for an engagement ring.”

  “What did you have in mind, sir?” asked Ives.

  “Well, you have a tray in the middle of the window that rather caught my eye. One, in particular, looked promising. Solid gold, twenty-two karat, with a cluster of five diamonds.”

  “Would you like to take a closer look?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “One moment.”

  Albert Ives unlocked the glass doors and reached into one of the front windows. The customer, meanwhile, glanced idly around the shop. When the tray was placed in front of him, he took out a monocle and slipped it into his eye, examining the array of rings with care. Ives took the opportunity to study the man. Tall, well dressed, and well groomed, he wore an expensive suit and a trilby that sat at a rakish angle on his head. A neat brown moustache acted as a focal point in a face that was pleasant rather than handsome. Ives noticed the costly gold cufflinks.

  The customer was intrigued. “This is the one that I liked,” he said, indicating the diamond ring, “yet this solitaire is almost twice as much. Why is that?”

  “The stone is of a far higher quality, sir.”

  “But it’s smaller than the cluster.”

  “Size is not everything,” explained Ives. “If the solitaire were identical to the one that first caught your eye, then the price would be considerably higher.”

  “Really?”

  Customers did not often show such a genuine interest in the trade, so Ives made the most of his captive audience. He talked at length about the virtues of the respective diamonds and drew the attention of the young man to the way that they were cut.

  “Fascinating!” said the other.

  “All that glitters is not gold, sir,” said Ives complacently.

  “I’ll remember that, old chap. Well, it looks as if you’ve saved me from buying the wrong one.” He indicated the solitaire. “Is this the best one you have in the shop or do you have any others?”

  “We do keep a small selection in the safe.”

  “That’s all right,” said the customer airily as the other man raised a questioning eyebrow. “Money is no object. There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned.” He laughed. “Heavens above, one only gets engaged once in a lifetime! Why spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar?”

  Ives ventured a smile. “I think you’ll find it will be rather more than a ha’p’orth, sir. But, as you say, it’s a unique occasion.”

  “Let me see what you have.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Albert Ives moved to the back of the shop and drew back a small curtain that hung at waist height. A large safe came into view. After using a key to begin the opening process, he then twiddled the tumblers until he found the correct combination. The heavy door swung silently open. Ives was about to reach into the safe when he realized that his customer was now standing directly behind him. Before he could turn, he was knocked unconscious with a vicious swing of a cosh. The safe was ransacked within seconds.

  * * * *

  After checking into their hotel, the Hilliers had a light lunch before sauntering along to the theatre in the bright sunshine. The river swarmed with activity. Young men in baggy trousers, white shirts, and boaters were showing off their punting skills to decorous sweethearts who lounged on leather cushions under their parasols. An occasional rowing boat went by. Gaudily painted barges were moored along the towpath and swans glided effortlessly past, viewing the invasion of their territory with utter disdain. Crowds milled on both banks. Invisible to the eye, Shakespeare was nevertheless a discernible presence.

  The Memorial Theatre commanded a fine view of the river. Opened six years earlier, it was a big, solid, unimposing structure. The Americans were very disappointed. Having walked along streets that were filled with half-timbered Tudor houses and dripping with character, they found the stark modernity of the theatre rather incongruous. Mary Anne turned to her husband.

  “Why didn’t they build it like an Elizabethan theatre?”

  “I guess they had their reasons, honey,” said Cyrus.

  “It’s such a letdown. The architect missed a golden opportunity. He should have designed it like the Globe playhouse.”

  “The architect was a woman—Elizabeth Scott.”

  “Then she should have known better,” said Mary Anne.

  “Let’s not condemn it on its exterior,” he suggested. “That would be unfair. The only way to judge a theatre properly is to watch a play being performed there. Come on.”

  They joined the throng that was converging on the building. The Memorial Theatre could accommodate thirteen hundred people and it seemed as if every one of them was in the lobby. It was so congested that Cyrus and his wife had difficulty getting in. Over the heads of the crowd, he saw a counter where programs were being sold.

  “Stay here, honey,” he advised. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I can’t move.”

  Cyrus forced a way through the press with polite firmness and joined the queue at the counter. A familiar face materialized beside him. Rosalind Walker gave him a warm smile.

  “How nice to see you again!” she said.

  “Hello, Rosalind. Is it always as crowded as this?”

  “One gets used to it.”

  “The lobby should have been bigger.”

  “That’s only one of its defects. The seats could be more comfortable, the upper balcony is too far from the stage, and—forgive my being indelicate—the ladies’ cloakroom is woefully inadequate for this number of people.”

  “It’s the stage that worries me. Proscenium arch, I’m told. Poor old Will wouldn’t even know what that was. Why not try to re-create the performance conditions of his time?”

  “A good question.” After chatting for a couple of minutes, they got to the counter and bought their programs. Rosalind looked around. “Where’s your wife?”

  “Over by the door,” said Cyrus. “If I can get back to her.”

  “Tony is out on the terrace, enjoying a cigarette.”

  “Wise man. Best place to be.”

  “I’m sure that he’d like to meet you. In the interval, perhaps.”

  “Yes. That would be nice.”

  “Where are you sitting?”

  “Front stalls.”

  “We’re at the back,” she said easily. “And don’t worry about the hordes. A lot of these people have actually got tickets to the balcony so they won’t be down here in the interval. People in the stalls usually make a beeline for the bar.” She moved away. “Enjoy the play.”

  “Oh, I will,” he promised her. “Every moment of it.”

  * * * *

  Mildred Conroy was a full-bodied woman in her early sixties with a romantic streak. She always took a particular pleasure in selling engagement and wedding rings. When the couple entered her jewelry shop that afternoon, she sensed the distinct possibility of a sale. The young man was clearly a person of means and the two of them were evidently in love. The woman was darting affectionate glances at him and he kept his arm around her waist.

  “Can I help you?” asked Mildred with professional sweetness.

  “We’d like to look at some engagement rings,” said the man.

  “Of course, sir. Does the young lady have any preference?”

  “Well, I rather hope it’s for me, actually.”

  “Oh, David!” scolded his compa
nion as he burst out laughing at his own joke. “That’s not what we were being asked and you know it.” She turned an apologetic smile on Mildred. “Do excuse him. Perhaps we could look at some of those in the window?”

  “Of course.”

  Mildred unlocked the glass doors and lifted out a display unit that held a dozen diamond engagement rings. The woman gazed at them with fascination and began to examine each in turn. When she asked for the respective prices, the man did not blench at the high cost. Mildred was encouraged. She was both furthering their romance and doing good business at the same time. While the woman was full of questions about the various stones, the man simply looked on. He was there to pay. All that he wanted was for her to be happy.

  “While we’re here,” said the woman, “we may as well see them all. Could I trouble you to get the others out of the window as well?”

  “Of course,” replied Mildred. “Look at the full range.”

  “They’re so beautiful!”

  “Just like you,” said the man into her ear.

  Mildred heard the surreptitious whisper and smiled. They seemed such a happy couple. There were three more trays of rings in the window and she had to stretch in order to retrieve them. It took her a little while before all four displays were side by side on the counter. Some of them could be discounted immediately, but the woman did pick out a sapphire ring to try on. After flexing her hand, she showed the ring to the man.

  “Is that the one, darling?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She selected a ring from the first display. “The diamond was my favorite at first but the sapphire is so gorgeous.” She smiled at Mildred. “Might I ask how much it is?”

  “Money doesn’t come into this, Venetia,” he said.

  “I’m interested to know.”

  “They’re virtually the same price,” said Mildred. “They’re also two of the best rings in the shop. I congratulate you on your taste.”

  “Venetia has excellent taste,” boasted the man. “That’s why she chose me—isn’t it, darling?”

  But the young woman was too preoccupied with comparing the rings, holding them side by side, then removing one so that she could try on the other. She slipped it off her finger and gave it to Mildred.

  “It’s between these two,” she decided.

  “Toss a coin,” suggested the man blithely.

  “David!”

  “Well, we can’t take all day.”

  “I’d like to think it over. What time do you close?”

  “Not until five-thirty, madam,” said Mildred.

  “Oh, we’ll be back long before then. David and I will pop into that Tea Shoppe just up the street. By the time we come out, I’ll have decided between diamond and sapphire.” She became anxious. “You won’t sell either of the rings while we’re away, will you?”

  Mildred shook her head. “No, madam. I’ll put them aside.”

  “Thank you.”

  After a last look at both rings, they gave her a nod of farewell and left the shop. Mildred put the rings into a small box and unlocked a drawer under the counter. When the box was out of the way, she began to replace the trays in the front window, taking care not to nudge any of the other items on display. The last tray was the one that she had first taken out. As she picked it up, Mildred glanced at it. Her blood froze. Shorn of its most expensive ring, it still contained eleven others but it was not the number that startled her.

  It was the fact that several of the rings were not the ones that had been there earlier. They had been replaced with rings that were similar in appearance but of a much lower value. Mildred had been tricked. While she was reaching into the window, the switch had been made. Her romantic streak had been a fatal distraction. She had just been robbed in broad daylight.

  * * * *

  Cyrus Hillier had been enraptured by the performance of Troilus and Cressida and Mary Anne had been overwhelmed by the quality of the acting. When the interval came, they were in something of a daze as they made their way up the aisle towards the lobby.

  “It’s wonderful!” said Cyrus. “A definitive production.”

  “But not as good as yours,” countered Mary Anne loyally.

  “I only had amateur actors. These are real professionals.”

  “I still preferred your version, Cyrus.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  As they came into the lobby, a young man bore down on them.

  “Professor and Mrs. Hillier?” he asked.

  “That’s us,” admitted Cyrus.

  “Anthony Walker,” said the other, offering his hand. “I believe that you’ve met my sister, Rosalind.”

  “We have indeed, young sir.”

  Handshakes were exchanged, then they moved to a corner where they could discuss the play. Anthony explained that his sister had rushed off to the ladies’ cloakroom before the general invasion. He shared their enthusiasm for the production though he had severe doubts about the play itself.

  “Not the jolliest piece that Shakespeare wrote, is it?”

  “It does have its comic moments,” argued Cyrus. “There was a lot of humor in that scene with Ajax and Thersites.”

  “But it’s still a rather pessimistic play.”

  “Pessimistic or realistic?”

  “Ah, well,” said Tony with a grin. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “Wait until you’ve seen the whole play.”

  “I will, Professor.”

  Rosalind soon joined them and they had an amicable debate about the theatre itself, all agreeing that it had its shortcomings. It seemed only minutes before the warning bell sounded to mark the end of the interval. Rosalind was saddened.

  “We’ll have to say goodbye now,” she said, “because Tony and I have to dash off the moment the performance is over.”

  “I thought you were staying at a hotel,” said Mary Anne.

  “We usually do and we’d have loved to have stayed on so that we could watch The Merchant of Venice this evening. But we have to be on the Shakespeare Express at five-thirty.”

  “What a pity!”

  “Needs must when the devil drives,” said Tony, shaking their hands in turn once more. “But it was a delight to meet you both and I hope that you enjoy the rest of your stay in England.”

  “Thank you,” said Mary Anne. “And goodbye.”

  After a flurry of farewells, they went into the auditorium. Cyrus and Mary Anne took their seats in the front stalls. Her mind was still on the two friends they had made.

  “It’s such a shame they have to leave when the play is over,” she said. “It would have been nice to have a drink with them afterwards.”

  “Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Perhaps not.”

  * * * *

  They were soon lost in the second half of the production. It was an exhilarating experience and gave them plenty to discuss when they returned to their hotel afterwards. The evening performance of The Merchant of Venice was equally satisfying, though Cyrus felt that the play was inferior to the one they had watched that afternoon. During the stroll back to the Shakespeare Hotel, he explained why. Mary Anne was, as ever, an attentive listener. Cyrus had hoped to continue the conversation over supper, but as soon as they entered the hotel they were intercepted. A stocky man in his forties introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Cyril Rushton and, after showing them his warrant card, asked if he might have a word with them. Mary Anne was patently discomfited.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?” she asked.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Hillier,” said Rushton. “I just need your help.” He glanced around. “Is there somewhere private where we can speak?”

  “Our room might be the best place,” said Cyrus.

  “Lead the way, sir.”

  Mary Anne was upset at being accosted by a detective, but Cyrus seemed to be completely unperturbed. It was almost as if he had been expecting it. When they got to the room, he sat on the edge of the bed while the others occupied the two cha
irs. Rushton produced a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flicked through the pages until he found the one he wanted.

  “I believe that you know a Miss Rosalind Walker,” he began. “It was she who told me where I could find you both. I understand that you met the lady this morning.”

  “Yes,” said Mary Anne. “It was at Paddington Station.”