The Venetian Venture

by Suzette A. Hill

However, gloom was shattered by commotion; a commotion which assaulted her ears in a two-pronged attack. Behind her the air was rent by throaty roars as Caruso, hitherto quiet, embarked on excited comment. Below her was the sound of raised voices, protests, the slamming of a heavy door, more protests … She rather suspected that Hope-Landers’ flight had clashed with the inconvenient ingress of Cedric and company.

  To the noise of Caruso’s bellows and Felix’s ineffectual threats, Rosy darted to the window and peered down at the canal side. The stars were bright and she could see the fugitive’s angular figure careering along the quayside towards the boat. He took a flying leap and frantically began to tug the engine’s starting handle. She could see him bent over with shoulders heaving … Then abruptly all movement ceased. The figure seemed to stand stock still, frozen in the moonlight … And then jerkily, bit by bit, like some clockwork doll winding down, Hope-Landers sunk to his knees and then disappeared altogether beneath the boat’s gunwale. ‘Oh my God,’ Rosy breathed.

  By this time the returning party – Dilly and Duffy led by Cedric – had reached the landing in a state of panting indignation.

  ‘I simply can’t think why he was in such a hurry,’ croaked one of the twins, ‘and when I said “Hello Guy” he didn’t take a blind bit of notice. Seemed not to hear at all!’

  ‘Well at least he didn’t tread on your foot, dear,’ gasped the other. ‘I am really quite bruised!’ She turned to Cedric. ‘I hope that front door is all right. He slammed it so hard I thought one of the panels would fall out – that wonky one that Violet keeps meaning to have fixed.’

  Cedric too was peeved. He had spent an amusing time being shown the twins’ family home – their father’s etchings, sporting trophies, dusty collections of glass and silver and all the accumulated treasure of a bygone age: vestiges of Edwardian Venice and English eccentricity. Thus on a whim he had invited them back to the palazzo for a cocktail nightcap. They had accepted eagerly, and as a ‘special treat’ for their visitor had said they would take him in the gondola. At first he had demurred, reluctant to be subjected to further samples of Luigi’s warblings. ‘Oh no,’ they had cried in unison, ‘we will punt you ourselves; we can you know!’

  And so at first horrified and then strangely delighted he had lolled back among the gondola’s cushions as the two ladies took it in turns to glide their barque through the moonlit tributaries to the jetty of the Palazzo Reiss. There had been something pleasurably ghostly about the journey: the gentle swaying of the boat, the ethereal silence and the shadowy waters all lent a dreamlike unreality. It was something that Cedric would remember for a long while after …

  But such unreality was as nothing compared to what lay in wait. The collision with Hope-Landers as he came rushing out of the entrance just as the three of them were going in was acutely embarrassing. The ladies had been rudely shoved aside, one of them had dropped her handbag and he himself was almost knocked to the ground. The door had been given an almighty slam and the gas lamp fell from its bracket. It had been an unceremonious greeting for his guests and Cedric was none too pleased … Far worse was to greet him upstairs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Once the sisters had recovered their breath and availed themselves of the ‘facilities’ (punting stirs the bladder) Cedric’s intention was to usher them into the salon and ply them with the special concoction he knew they liked, ‘Venice on the Razzle’. However in this he was forestalled by Felix. ‘For God’s sake don’t take them in there,’ he hissed, ‘it’s not nice.’

  ‘What do you mean? Don’t say the dog has disgraced itself!’

  ‘No, no, the dog’s been as good as gold—’ He broke off to quell the booming creature. ‘You see it is … well it’s Hewson. He has had what you might call a turn.’

  ‘A turn? What sort of turn?’

  ‘Not a nice one.’

  ‘Do you mean he’s tight?’ Cedric muttered. ‘But what is he doing here anyway? I thought you were going to—’

  Felix ran his fingers through his hair and said, ‘Well he’s not actually here any longer – I mean not in the technical sense.’

  Cedric gazed at him startled. ‘Not here in the technical sense? What sort of sense then? I don’t understand – where is he?’

  Felix cleared his throat. ‘Under the rug.’

  Light dawned on Cedric. ‘Ah,’ he exclaimed in an anxious whisper, ‘you mean he has lost his wits: off his head under the rug – thinks he’s a bear or something. I am not entirely surprised. I always thought there was something a bit—’

  ‘Dead under the rug. Shot.’

  There came the sound of a cistern being flushed and the two friends stared at each other in consternation.

  ‘Deflect them into the dining room,’ Cedric said through gritted teeth.

  But it was too late. Relieved and spruced the siblings emerged from the cloakroom, clearly eager for their Venice on the Razzle. Circumventing the hovering Felix they stepped briskly into the salon, exclaimed appreciatively at its beautiful blooms and cast appraising eyes towards the cocktail cabinet.

  They seemed not to have noticed the shrouded heap on the floor, being evidently too engrossed in the prospect of the cocktail and issuing Cedric with earnest instructions on how to mix it. Exact measurements were apparently crucial.

  ‘That’s it,’ directed one, ‘just a dab of lime and a mere third of gin and don’t overdo the bitters or it’ll taste putrid.’

  ‘But you can be more generous with the rum – though none of that Bacardi stuff of course. Only the dark will do,’ cried the other. They seated themselves on a sofa and prattled merrily about the rival claims of French and Italian vermouth and the relative skills of their preferred bartenders. Listening to this, and despite the general ghastliness of things, Cedric was worried lest his own skills did not come up to scratch.

  As they chatted Felix planted himself squarely in front of the rug-draped mound, feet apart and trying to stretch wider than his lean frame would allow. He wondered where Rosy had got to. Last seen she had been haring down the backstairs. Had she returned to her lodgings? It seemed unlikely. He recalled her squeaking something about Hope-Landers. Surely she wasn’t mad enough to be pursing him for that bloody book still. Really, as if either he or it mattered now!

  At that moment, just as Cedric was presenting the twins with their drinks, there was a clattering of feet and Rosy appeared at the door dishevelled and breathless. ‘It’s Guy,’ she gasped, ‘he’s dead – in the boat. I tried to resuscitate him but it wouldn’t work. I tried for ages!’ She flopped down on the sofa next to Duffy or Dilly, grabbed the glass from the twin’s hand and downed it in two gulps. Her neighbour looked mildly affronted.

  There was a silence. And then the other twin, the one still in charge of her glass, said quietly, ‘Oh dear, it must have been all that rushing about. He had a bad heart you know. It was very foolish of him to be in such a hurry. And I daresay he had forgotten to take his pills. How sad. I had always rather liked him.’ She examined her glass pensively, and then raising it announced: ‘To absent friends.’

  There was an awkward silence; and then those fortunate enough to be holding a glass raised them solemnly and murmured assent. There was another pause, after which the one without said: ‘I so agree. He was delightful; and when I have the means I shall toast him myself.’ She glanced at Rosy’s drained glass and then looked pointedly at Cedric who returned to the cabinet.

  Sensing a certain froideur in her sibling’s demeanour, the other said tactfully, ‘I say, Dilly, do you think Violet has any of those wonderful Bath Olivers she used to keep? They are quite my favourite biscuit and impossible to find in Venice. Shall we go and raid her kitchen and see if we can find any?’ She looked at Felix. ‘You don’t mind do you, Felix?’

  He nodded dumbly, grateful for the respite. The sisters rose and bustled off in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘Quick,’ commanded Cedric, ‘shove Hewson behind the harpsichord. There’s no
light in that corner, they won’t see a thing.’

  Felix and Rosy dutifully stooped and began to lug the thing to where he directed. Rosy felt numb and exhausted – out of her mind actually after that thoughtless raid on the twin’s cocktail. God, had it been strong! She closed her eyes. Dear lord, let me wake up soon!

  The pair returned from their culinary searches evidently successful. They carried a plate draped in a napkin, but judging from the crumbs on their dresses and the sound of munching they had already tested the fare. Exchanging glances they passed the plate around to the other three and returned to the sofa.

  Cedric proffered the freshly mixed drink to Dilly (or Duffy) and she gave him a benevolent beam. ‘Delicious,’ she pronounced, ‘not bad at all!’ She scanned the room frowning and looking puzzled. ‘But what have you done with it?’ she asked.

  ‘Done with what?’ Felix asked tensely.

  She hesitated. ‘Well … with the body of course. Hewson’s. It was here a moment ago. I saw his shoe, one of those American loafers.’

  There was a stunned silence while each considered their response. Rosy was the first to speak. ‘What sharp eyes,’ she said vaguely.

  Cedric merely cleared his throat; while Felix yelped, ‘It was nothing to do with us – Hope-Landers, you know!’

  ‘Well I am sure it makes a very interesting story,’ said one of them, ‘you had better tell us.’

  ‘All ears!’ said the other and took a bite of her Bath Oliver.

  When they had finished the sisters appeared to reflect. And then smoothing her dress, one said, ‘It seems to me that you have spent a very strainful evening. Most strainful … Wouldn’t you say so, Duffy?’

  Duffy nodded vigorously. ‘What papa would have called a blinking bloomer!’ She turned to Cedric. ‘You were well out of it.’

  ‘I am not now,’ he replied tightly.

  ‘So,’ they both suddenly chimed, ‘something must be done!’ This was uttered with such brisk purpose that Caruso barked and wagged his tail. He looked enquiringly at the ladies.

  ‘I suppose we had better alert the medical authorities about Guy,’ Rosy said, ‘there must be a standard procedure for sudden heart attacks,’ adding bleakly, ‘and then – and then we shall have to report it all to the police …’ She groaned visualising the palaver and endless complications.

  Cedric closed his eyes. ‘Tricky,’ he muttered. Like Rosy he felt horribly weakened by the prospect in store. Why on earth hadn’t they simply gone to Frinton!

  ‘Take heart,’ said one of the twins stoutly, ‘no point anticipating trouble. There are certain pre-emptive measures that can be taken.’ She nodded firmly.

  ‘Although actually,’ her sister murmured, ‘it is Felix who may have the hardest task.’

  ‘What!’ he cried. ‘Me? What on earth do you mean?’ He had the air of a petrified rabbit.

  ‘Because it is you who will have to explain to dear Violet when she returns what Bill Hewson is doing rolled up in her best rug stashed behind the harpsichord.’

  ‘But … but he won’t be there,’ Felix protested, bewildered. ‘He will have been moved somewhere else by that time – to a morgue, a cemetery or something!’ He looked askance.

  ‘I rather doubt it,’ she replied consulting her watch, ‘your cousin should be here any minute. A bit late really – she was due to arrive an hour ago. Carlo is supposed to be picking her up at the Santa Lucia railway terminus. The flight was delayed as usual I assume.’

  Felix’s mouth dropped open and his horrified gaze moved slowly towards the shape wedged in its darkened alcove. He closed his mouth; and approaching the body tucked the protruding foot beneath the rug.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  It transpired that delightful though Chicago had been, by late October the city had started to turn chilly. That, plus her sudden overwhelming yen to be reunited with Caruso, had prompted Cousin Violet to curtail the visit. (Talking to the hound by telephone was not comparable to feeling its hot doggy breath on knee and cheek.) Naturally she had tried to alert Felix but, as so often, the palazzo telephone system had proved uncooperative (the loose door panel being not the only thing requiring attention). The plane had indeed been late but she knew she could rely on her faithful friend Carlo to be at the station awaiting her arrival … And thus here she was, full of delicious memories and mementos – including that spiffing trombone!

  ‘What trombone?’ Felix had asked dolefully. ‘I don’t see one.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said carelessly, ‘a little present from Jack Teagarden. It’s still downstairs of course. Carlo is dealing with it and he’s bringing up some of the other stuff too.’ She turned to Rosy: ‘My dear, I don’t know who you are but you look nice and strong. Would you mind awfully just running down and giving him a hand? It should only take two goes.’

  Startled, Rosy did exactly as bid. At least by the time she had struggled with the luggage the returning traveller would have been acquainted with the corpse in her drawing room … She would also know about the fate of her lodger, his body rocking gently under a tarpaulin in La Speranza. God what a mess! It was not a homecoming Rosy would have chosen for herself and she didn’t relish witnessing the reaction. Perhaps she could spin out her time with Carlo and the baggage … From far below there came a crash and what sounded like a curse.

  As might have been predicted, Violet Hoffman was none too pleased to learn of what had occurred in her absence and even Cedric’s suave sympathy failed to mollify.

  ‘It is too bad,’ she protested, ‘you have moved the harpsichord. It is so temperamental and now it will have to be retuned – it was only just done before I went away!’ (Cedric rather doubted this, his own trial with it suggesting otherwise.) ‘And why on earth did William Hewson have to choose my house to go on his rampage? We didn’t have much in common and I consider it an imposition. Couldn’t you have stopped him, Felix?’ she asked angrily.

  ‘Not really, I was otherwise engaged,’ he replied bleakly.

  ‘Or you might say all tied up!’ chortled one of the twins.

  Violet shot her a withering look. ‘This is no time for drollery, Duffy. It is a serious matter: I can’t have dead bodies strewn about my premises like this. It simply won’t do!’

  ‘Actually Violet dear,’ ventured Dilly, ‘there is only one surely. Guy’s is in his boat.’

  ‘That boat and the landing stage to which it is attached are within the curtilage of my domain,’ was the huffy response. ‘I am responsible.’ She glared around at them; but as her eye fell on the dog her expression softened. ‘Come to Mummy, then,’ she crooned. ‘Has poor Caruso been frightened by a big bad man …’ There followed the usual mutual pawings and fawnings.

  Felix took his cue. ‘Oh no,’ he lied, ‘the dog has been as brave as a lion. So valiant! He’s a wonderful fellow and we’ve been such good friends, haven’t we old boy?’

  The old boy waddled over and gave his friend an obliging lick.

  Impressed by the performance Cedric exclaimed, ‘You see! They have a real bond. Felix has been a splendid guardian … And do you know, Miss Hoffman, he has taken Caruso to the flower market every day for fresh blooms. The dog loves it!’

  ‘Really?’ said the owner regarding her cousin with a kindlier eye. ‘Well that’s reassuring at least.’ She glanced around at the plethora of exquisite flower arrangements. ‘Hmm. Yes I can see why you earned the Royal Appointment warrant. Most decorative.’ She nodded approvingly. But then her glance fell on the shape again and she scowled. ‘He really can’t stay here you know: far too unsettling.’

  ‘Well,’ broke in Dilly and Duffy, ‘that was just what we were saying before you arrived. You see we have a plan which—’

  They stopped as Rosy and Carlo appeared in the doorway. Both looked tired, and Carlo was carrying a trombone under one arm. He placed it gravely next to Violet’s chair and then, having been alerted by Rosy, peered uneasily towards the far corner.

  ‘It won’t bite you,’ Violet s
aid briskly, and gestured to them to sit down. ‘The twins have a plan,’ she announced.

  The sisters rose and took centre stage; and in alternating sentences outlined their proposal. This fell into two parts: to detach Guy’s boat from its moorings and let it drift aimlessly whither it chose – preferably into the Grand Canal and thence the lagoon (i.e. well away from the Palazzo Reiss and Violet’s ‘curtilage’); and secondly to weigh down Hewson’s body with bricks, place it in their gondola and punt it into some backwater where it could be surreptitiously sunk.

  There was silence as the plan was considered.

  ‘Who is doing the punting?’ Carlo enquired.

  ‘Bags I!’ cried Duffy.

  ‘No dear,’ her sister said gently, ‘I think this particular task requires a degree of care. It would be better if I handled things. Besides I am the eldest.’

  Duffy sighed. ‘Oh well, if you say so …’

  Cedric started to toy with his cigarettes. ‘Oh do smoke if you would like,’ said his hostess graciously. ‘And you could give Carlo one too, he looks a little peaky.’ The latter fell upon the proffered cigarette and started to puff with avid intensity. Rosy had the impression he was a man not currently at ease with the world.

  ‘But actually,’ she said, ‘as far as Guy is concerned, even if the boat were to stay where it is the body will be found anyway. Suffering a heart attack may be awful but it’s not sinister. Does one really have to set him adrift? What difference would it make if he were discovered here or somewhere else?’

  Violet frowned. ‘Because as I have pointed out it is my jetty – or at least I rent it. It is virtually outside my front door. Think of the publicity! And may I remind you that Hewson wasn’t the only murderer in all of this: it was Guy who gunned him down. The police are by nature inquisitive and have a passion for detail. Thus the poor man may have been my lodger but the less one knows or appears to know about him the better. Keep things dark and Guy and his boat at a seemly distance, that’s my answer … which is why I thoroughly endorse the twins’ proposal. Dispose of the pair of them!’