But just as I was about to leave the cottage, the phone rang. It was Tracy, all agog to hear the latest on the Seagrave case and to tell me she was about to flee her maiden aunt in her SS100 and belt it down Devonwards. Her ETA, six o’clock sharp at my cottage and I had better have a cool martini mixed in my hand.
I rattled off, at newsreel speed, a general outline of my most recent activities, then asked her if had ever come across the said ginger moustache atop a Massey mouth. She retorted that, from the description, she was glad she hadn’t and added a cautionary word about someone I had almost completely dismissed from my mind — the blonde of Burgh Island. Miss Susan Prendergast.
‘Hadn’t you better warn her off, or something?’ Tracy urged. ‘After all, if Seagrave did murder his wife and has now done away with the Phipps girl ...’
‘Point taken,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think Seagrave has been back to see her over the last few days. The guy in charge of the hotel garage would have phoned me either at home or at the office. I gave him both numbers when I greased his palm.’
‘That’s a relief. Anyway, I think we should warn her off, all the same. You never know when he’ll be back a-courting and don’t forget, the Prendergasts are old friends of PC’s family.’
‘What do you mean, we?’
‘Well, I thought you and I might have some lunch over at the island tomorrow. We can chew the cud and hopefully, whisper the odd disparaging word into young Susan’s ear along the way.’
I laughed. ‘We can hardly air our real suspicions, my love. We would be sued for slander in five seconds flat.’
‘So we’ll just drop the hint that Seagrave is a notorious womanizer and can be trusted about as much as Don Juan, Casanova ...’
‘... Crippen,’ I added.
And that just about ended that, and with a ‘See you at six’, she was gone. A minute later, I was behind the wheel of the La Salle and heading for Totnes and Torquay.
*
I had noticed the police Wolseley tourer outside the theatre, its top down and the driver enjoying the sun. But I’d assumed, in my innocence, it was just parked there for some reason unconnected with Tubby Trouncer’s enterprise.
Inside the auditorium, I saw how wrong I was. For there on stage were two uniformed policemen and a fellow in the kind of raincoat that shouts ‘plain clothes’. They were gathered around old Tubby, and lo and behold, my quarry of the morning, Henry Swindon. Of the rest of the company, there was no sign.
I climbed up onto the stage, hardly believing the scene in front of me was real. For in the stage setting of the library, the group came over as distinctly theatrical, actors in some fictitious murder mystery rather than — who knew what?
The Inspector, for that’s who the raincoat turned out to be, stopped talking to Swindon as he noticed my arrival. Tubby Trouncer immediately turned around.
‘Good Lord, it’s you, Johnny. I’m afraid I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
I was about to move away, when Swindon suddenly said, ‘That’s the man, Inspector. The fellow I told you about. The one who was asking a lot of questions about Daphne.’
The Inspector’s eyes flicked from indifference to interest.
‘Ah. Well then, you sir, may be just the man I should have a few words with.’
With a bony hand, he indicated one of the chairs on the set. What could I do but sit down?
‘Could you tell me what this is all about first?’ I asked.
‘Just routine enquiries, Mr — er?’
‘Black. Johnny Black.’
‘I’m Inspector Wyngarde from the Plymouth division. We’re just making some enquiries about a Miss Daphne Phipps.’
‘Did her parents notify you of her disappearance?’
He nodded. ‘That’s why we’re here, yes.’
I felt sort of relieved that now I would be having some official help and what’s more, at the instigation of others and not myself.
‘I’ll give you all the help I can, Inspector.’
‘I’m sure you will, Mr Black.’ He turned to the rather frightened-looking actor. ‘Mr Swindon here has been very co-operative, even though —’
‘I know nothing,’ the actor interrupted. ‘Nothing about what has happened to Daphne.’
A thin smile flickered across Inspector Wyngarde’s somewhat skeletal features.
‘We are not saying anything has happened to Miss Phipps, Mr Swindon.’
‘Oh yes you are, otherwise you wouldn’t be here,’ he went on rather breathlessly, then turned to me as if for help. ‘That right, isn’t it, Mr Black? You think something awful has happened to Daphne, the Inspector obviously does too, and you all come running to harass me with your questions. Well, I don’t like it. I tell you straight. I was just one of many that Daphne went out with. So why don’t you get off my back? I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything.’
Tubby Trouncer put his arm around Swindon’s shoulder.
‘Now, calm down, Henry, no one is accusing you of anything. Johnny and the Inspector only came to you for your help in tracing Daphne. That right, Inspector?’
‘Precisely, Mr Trouncer, thank you.’ He turned back to me. ‘Now, Mr Black, if you would like to tell me what your interest in this whole matter might be.’
So I told him briefly about Black Eye and that I had come into slight contact with Miss Phipps, while acting for a client who was checking up on a philandering boyfriend. Not exactly the truth and nothing but the truth, but there we are. I felt it decidedly premature to raise the whole question of Seagrave and the Frazer-Nash incident at this stage. For had not the gentlemen of the law and an inquest already proclaimed Deborah Seagrave’s death as an accident?
‘I don’t suppose you will divulge your client’s name?’
I shook my head. ‘Professional oath.’
He pursed what little lips he possessed. ‘And did you trace your client’s boyfriend to Miss Phipps?’
‘Nothing I can prove. No.’
‘But you are still interested in her, it would seem.’
‘On the few occasions I’ve seen her, I grew to quite like her. She was quite a girl.’
‘Was, Mr Black? Was?’ he frowned.
‘Is,’ I quickly corrected myself.
He thought for a moment, his bony fingers rubbing an equally bony chin. I almost expected to hear a few clinks. ‘In what way is she quite a girl?’
‘Oh, quite a strong character. Knows what she wants. That kind of thing.’
‘And what does she want, Mr Black?’
I smiled. ‘I guess, more out of life than her poor parents.’
He looked surprised. ‘You’ve met her parents?’
I instantly regretted mentioning them.
‘Yes, I was over Plymouth way and decided to drop by, in case Daphne had gone home for some reason.’
‘So you were the man the Phippses mentioned.’ He turned to the still nervous-looking actor. ‘And the man Mr Swindon mentioned. My, my, you do get talked about, Mr Black. Your ears must be perpetually warm.’
I didn’t rise to it. Just went off Inspector Wyngarde in a rather big way.
He went on, ‘You must have known Miss Phipps quite well to have her parents’ address.’
‘No, I got that from her landlady.’
‘Ah yes. A Mrs Lovelock. We saw her earlier this morning. That’s how we got hold of Mr Swindon’s first name. Henry.’
‘Did the same as you, old boy.’ Tubby Trouncer interrupted with a shrug.
The Inspector took a deep breath, but his cadaverous chest did not seem to expand with it.
‘So, Mr Black, you are only concerned with Miss Phipps’ disappearance because you “quite like the girl’’. Nothing more?’
I didn’t like shaking my head, but I had to.
‘Well, I expect she’ll turn up like a ... well, she’ll turn up, hale and hearty and wondering what all the fuss is about. If you hear from her or about her at all, do, please, contact us, Mr Black.’
He turned to the actor. ‘That goes for you too, Mr Swindon. And do, please, try to relax. We don’t get too worried about people who go off without explanation at this early stage. Now, after a week or two, that’s another story. But I’m pretty certain you will hear from Miss Phipps soon. After all, from what both you and Mr Black have said, Miss Phipps is quite a character and more than able to look after herself. That right?’
We both smiled nervously. The Inspector looked at the watch that hung loosely on his wrist. ‘Well, we should be going now. We wish to interview Miss Phipps’ employer, Mr Adrian Feather, before we return to Plymouth. So, thank you all for your time and sorry, Mr Trouncer, for interrupting your, no doubt, valuable rehearsal time.’
With that, he strode off the set, trailed by his two doughty but silent constables.
Directly they had gone, Tubby turned to me.
‘Hell, Johnny, I’m already regretting your having opened your Black Eye in the same town. First you, then the police. Where’s it going to end?’
‘I wish I knew,’ I smiled. ‘But sorry, Tubby, all the same.’
He grinned. ‘That’s all right, old boy.’
I took his arm. ‘But I’m going to have to ask you one more favour.’ I pointed to the actor who was just about to disappear into the wings.
‘What on earth’s that?’
‘I want to ask Mr Swindon just one more question.’
‘One?’
‘One.’
‘Okay.’ He shouted across to the actor, who turned and reluctantly came back.
‘What is it now, Mr Black?’
‘Only one more question, I promise you.’
‘Which is?’ he sighed.
‘Have you ever seen a youngish man with a ginger moustache and a lop-sided way of talking like Raymond Massey, hanging around Miss Phipps? Oh and he rides an Indian motor-cycle.’
He didn’t take long in replying. ‘No. But then I told you I don’t know everyone she goes out with.’
‘So my description doesn’t ring a bell at all? I mean, in any direction at all?’
‘None. As far as I know, I’ve never ever come across a man like that.’
‘All right,’ I smiled. ‘End of Third Degree.’
The actor hesitated, then went off stage.
I turned to Tubby. ‘Last gasp — I don’t suppose you’ve seen him either?’
‘Never,’ Tubby laughed and affected a limp hand. ‘I’m trying to give up men on motor-cycles.’
And on that frustrating note, I left. The Wolseley was still outside, with just the driver, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed, snatching a tan at the rate payers’ expense.
*
When I got to the office, Babs was waiting with excitement written all over her, polka-dot frock and all.
‘You’ve had a call,’ she beamed and followed me into the office.
‘Anyone important?’
‘Ted Shilling. Up at the Imperial.’
‘I know where he works, Babs,’ I laughed. ‘What did he have to say?’
She looked very serious. ‘It’s all right, Johnny, he is not after money this time.’
‘I know, I know. Relax. Just say why he was ringing.’
She took a tiny notebook out of the pocket of her dress and held it up.
‘I bought this specially for your calls, Johnny. So I’ll always remember what they have to say.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that, Babs. Here, how much do I owe you?’
She looked horrified.
‘Owe me? You owe me? After what you did for me yesterday, I owe you, Johnny. You saved my job.’
‘Oh, that.’ I waved my hand. ‘After all, it cost me nothing to tell Mr Ling it was me who directed the errand boy. So how about the notebook?’
She hid it behind her back. ‘Nothing doing, Johnny. My way of saying a little thank you.’
‘Thank you,’I smiled.
She consulted the notebook again and started to read. ‘Ted Shilling said to tell you that the man has been in again, but this time with a different lady. He said she was a good bit younger and a blonde.’ She looked up. ‘Do you understand that?’
‘Yes,’ I said, with a deepening frown. ‘Unfortunately, I do — only too well.’
She came towards me. ‘Johnny, you look so upset. I don’t like to see you like this.’
I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Babs, I’m all right. I’ll tell you all about it one day.’
‘Can’t you — ?’ she pleaded, but I cut in.
‘I wish I could, but I can’t. Look, Babs, leave me for a bit, would you? I need to make a call.’
She hesitated, then went to the door. ‘Let me know if you need me.’ I saluted.
‘Aye, aye, miss.’ She perked up and actually missed the door knob, as she went out. I immediately rang the Imperial.
*
As I thought it could not have been anyone else but the young Susan Prendergast. Ted Shilling’s description fitted her to a tee.
‘She looked up at him like he was a god,’ Ted observed critically. ‘Hung on his every word, by the looks of things. And drank far too much for her own good at her tender age. I tell you, if she’d been my daughter, I’d have —’
‘Look, Ted,’ I interrupted, ‘you didn’t happen to see how they arrived, did you? I mean, did they come in a car or taxi or what?’
He guffawed. ‘Johnny, I’m a barman. I mix drinks, right. That’s my living. The spying I’m doing for you doesn’t extend beyond my bar. It can’t. So, no, I’m sorry. I only notice guests after they’ve arrived. I’m too busy for anything else.’
‘Okay, Ted, I’m not criticizing. I’m grateful, for goodness’ sake.’
‘That’s all right, Johnny boy, pleasure. Anyway, why is it so important to know how they arrived?’
I told him about my arrangement with the head of the Burgh Island Hotel garage.
The line went silent for a moment, then he said, ‘So you can’t understand why you didn’t get a call that this Susan girl had been picked up?’
‘More or less, yes.’
‘Perhaps her parents dropped her off here. He wouldn’t have rung you if they had taken their car out.’
‘No, he wouldn’t.’
‘So that’s what must have happened.’
‘Maybe,’ I conceded reluctantly, but somehow, I couldn’t see a printing magnate just dropping off his seventeen-year-old daughter at a hotel, without first checking that the person she was claiming to be going to meet was indeed there.
‘You didn’t see anyone who might look like her father, or indeed, her mother, hovering around the bar door when she came in?’
‘Can’t say I did, Johnny boy. All I remember is that they were already chatting when they entered.’
‘What time did they leave last night?’
‘Around eleven. I made a note of the time.’
I did a quick calculation. She would not have been back at Burgh Island Hotel until close on midnight — that is, if she went straight back. I wondered what time my man at the garage retired to bed. I bet he would have been long gone by then.
‘Okay, well thanks, Ted. I owe you one.’
‘’Snothing. I’m sort of enjoying watching out for him now. Makes my job a bit more ruddy interesting. The Dick Tracy barman and all that.’ He guffawed again and rang off.
I was indebted for his call. For it meant that I had put far too much trust in my check-point at Burgh Island, as a yardstick of how often Seagrave was seeing the vulnerable Miss Prendergast.
*
‘I still don’t see why all this is necessary,’ Tracy grumbled, as she began draping my biggest bath towels over the washing line I’d hung down the centre of my bedroom, wall beam to wall beam.
I grinned. ‘If it was good enough for Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, it’s good enough for me.’
She stopped and put her hands on her slim and delectable hips. ‘Yes, my darling, but in It Happened One Nig
ht, it was Claudette who was objecting, not Gable.’
I put on my Gable voice, number seven in my limited repertoire of famous voices. ‘Well, baby, it’s like I told you, see. My old flesh is weaker than yours.’
She came over and put her arms around my neck.
‘Why can’t we just be weak together?’ she cooed. ‘Like the old days.’
‘Because these are new days, my love. Remember what we promised ourselves? A few years of finding out about ourselves before —’
Her lips cut me off. After a rather pleasurable interlude, she whispered, ‘Imagine this is just a break for half-time.’
I gently disentangled myself, for my flesh by now was feeling remarkably frail.
‘Tracy, darling, if we do take a break, I very much doubt if I’ll ever have the will-power to get back on the pitch. And I doubt you will either.’
‘Let’s try it and see.’
I took her face in my hands. ‘Look, Tracy, the idea of us not having this cursed washing line between us tonight is the most seductive in the whole wide world, so try not to make the whole thing impossible. But if I don’t have the washing line, the sight of you in your skimpies or whatever you call them, will be the last straw ...’
‘... that broke poor Tracy’s back,’ she enticed. Hell, she has more come-backs than Carole Lombard.
I took a deep breath. ‘Tracy, will you just listen to me. I find you the most desirable girl I’ve ever met in my short career and probably, you’ll still be heading the list when I’m in a bathchair, but, right now, we should stick to the arrangement we made. For goodness’ sake, I’ve only just started in the profession that I hope will earn me the odd crust over the years and I’m still as penniless as a church mouse.’
Her lips interceded once more with a breathed, ‘Infest me ... infest me ...’
Once I had surfaced, I went on, ‘So if we spliced the main-brace, we’d have nothing to live on.’
‘But my money —’
‘That’s it. Your money. I’m sorry, old girl, but I was brought up in the old Protestant ethic of the male being the bread-winner. And again, you still adore going to London and mixing with all those bright young things who have little to do but enjoy themselves. And why the hell shouldn’t you? Then there’s all those house party weekends.’
Black Eye (A Johnny Black Mystery) Page 13