by T E Kinsey
‘It looks exactly like mine, certainly,’ she said.
‘You won’t mind if I take a look inside?’
She sighed. ‘Be my guest, Inspector. Be my guest.’
He opened the make-up case and looked inside, taking in the neatly arranged items in the top section. Then he lifted the tray and removed it.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘And what do you suppose we have here?’
She sighed again. ‘If there’s not a pair of diamond earrings, a pendant, and a string of pearls, then your bloodhound has got stickier fingers than I have,’ she said, glaring at me.
I confess I was getting a little weary of the bloodhound references by this point, so I glared back.
‘So it’s not a plant, then? Not some sort of police fit-up?’ asked the inspector, holding up the jewellery.
‘Well, I could deny it, but I’m sure you consider your little Welsh maid here above reproach, so what would be the point? It’s a fair cop. You’ve got me bang to rights, guv, and no mistake.’
‘I have indeed, and you’re under arrest for theft. But you’re being remarkably flippant for someone accused of murder, Miss Sewell. You were seen leaving the scene of a particularly cowardly killing and here you are in possession of a few items of rather expensive jewellery. I’d say you ought to be taking things a little more seriously.’
‘Mrs Sewell, if you insist on using that name,’ she said, coldly. ‘I lifted a few of the lady of the house’s less revolting items of jewellery, Inspector, and it would be a waste of all our time to deny that now. But I didn’t kill anyone. You already know I was seen in the library while Nelson was still on stage.’
‘So tell us exactly what happened.’
Another sigh. ‘Well, Inspector, I'm reasonably sure I told you before that I left the stage during the instrumental numbers and went off in search of some decent booze. I started in the library but there wasn’t a drop to be had, so I left there and decided to explore the rest of the house. That was when Blodwyn Bloodhound here saw me.’
That earned her another glare.
‘And there was no one else in the library?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
‘No one,’ replied Sylvia. Olive.
‘And you noticed nothing out of the ordinary in there?’
‘Nothing. I've told you all this before. Just a big library with the band’s instrument cases at one end and absolutely no booze anywhere. I mean, really. Not a drop.’
‘I know,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Whoever heard of such a thing?’
‘It’s not like they couldn’t afford it,’ said Montgomery. Sewell.
‘Well, actually–’ Lady Hardcastle began.
The inspector ostentatiously cleared his throat.
‘Sorry, Inspector,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Do, please, continue.’
‘Thank you, my lady, you’re most kind,’ he said. ‘Mrs Sewell?’
‘What?’
‘You left the library, and…’
‘Oh, yes. Pretty much everyone was still in the ballroom so I took the opportunity to have a bit of a poke round upstairs. And… well… you know… on thing led to another…’
‘And Lady Farley-Stroud’s best jewels accidentally fell into your pocket as you walked past them?’ said the inspector.
‘In a nutshell. I didn’t plan it, but it was too good a chance to miss.’
‘Didn’t plan it? You came to a country house with no plans to rob it? I have it on the best authority that that’s your MO.’
‘Oh, I can’t fault your sources, Inspector,’ she said. ‘But on this occasion, there was no plan. I had nothing to do with this booking. In fact I didn’t know anything about it until I was given a train ticket and told I had to be here by six o’clock with a bag packed for an overnight stay. I had no time for any of my usual research, no time to plan anything at all.’
‘You usually have a say in your bookings?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Yes. Rolie makes the bookings, but we all have a vote. This one came out of nowhere.’
There was a knock at the door and the redoubtable Sergeant Dobson peered in.
‘You sent for me, sir?’
‘Ah, Sergeant, yes. Mrs Sewell here will be off to the cells soon, but she’s expecting a visit from Superintendent Witham of Scotland Yard first. Please keep her secure until he arrives.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Handcuffs, sir?’
‘No, Sergeant, that shouldn’t be necessary. Just take her shoes and don’t let her out of your sight.’
‘Very good, sir. I can take her down the cell in the village if you likes, sir.’
‘No, the superintendent is coming here. Find a quiet room somewhere and make yourselves comfortable until he arrives. We can arrange less comfortable accommodation later.’
‘Righto, sir. Come along, madam, if you please.’
Mrs Sewell rose from the table and followed the sergeant.
‘Just to be sure, inspector,’ she said from the doorway. ‘I didn’t kill Nelson and I’d like five minutes alone in a room with whoever did. He was a good man, and a damn fine trumpeter.’
She closed the door behind her.
‘Another dead end,’ said Lady Hardcastle, staring dejectedly at the Crime Board.
‘I shouldn’t say that, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ve eliminated one of our possible suspects, I think. She’s a talented sneak thief who prides herself on leaving no traces. The sort where the victims don’t even realize they’ve been robbed until days, weeks, sometimes even months later. I’ve heard of cases where it’s been up to a year before someone notices that a special item of jewellery has gone missing. She’s not the sort to go tearing instrument cases to pieces; too calm and cool, that one.’
‘But where do we go from here, Inspector? How does that help us?’
‘We now know that the performance was arranged by Mr Richman without consulting the rest of the band and that he didn’t tell them about it until the last moment. I think Mr Richman wanted to get out of London in a hurry and didn’t want a lot of loose talk about where he was off to.’
‘That certainly makes sense,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘But why would he be in such a rush to get away?’
‘I’m pretty certain that he won’t tell us himself,’ said the inspector. ‘Unless we can kid on that we know a little more than we actually do. And to do that we need to find out a bit more about the band and what they were up to. Miss Armstrong, will you resume bloodhound duties and try to track down…’ He consulted his notes. ‘Mr Ivor Maloney, known to his friends as Skins.’
‘Drummer of this parish. On my way, sir,’ I said, and left the dining room.
I found Skins sitting on the low wall outside the French windows which opened from the ballroom. He had his back to the house and was looking out across the grounds and down into the valley of the River Severn. I coughed politely.
‘Mr Maloney?’ I said.
He turned and smiled. ‘Call me Skins, love, everyone does. What’s your name?’
‘I’m Armstrong, sir,’ I said.
‘And that’s what your mother calls you, is it?’
‘As long as she calls me in time for supper, sir, I don’t mind. Inspector Sunderland would like to speak to you.’
‘No problem, darlin’, you lead the way.’ He stood up. ‘But seriously, what do they call you?’
I went back into the ballroom through the open French windows and he dutifully followed as I led him through the house towards the dining room.
‘Seriously, Mr Skins, they call me Armstrong.’
He chuckled. ‘“Mr Skins”. You are a caution.’
‘So I’ve been told, sir. My name is Florence. My mother calls me Flossie, my friends call me Flo, and you... I shall make up my mind about you presently.’
‘You can’t say fairer than that, Miss Armstrong. I eagerly await the results of your deliberations. But please don’t call me “sir”; I ain’t nobody’s superior. ’Cept
when it comes to the drums, then I’m the absolute cake, second to no man, and all shall bow before me.’
I smiled and we walked on.
‘Nice gaff this,’ he said, admiring the oak panelling in the passageway. ‘Must be nice working here.’
‘They tell me it is, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t work here.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said. ‘So how come you’re dressed up in all the clobber, and running errands for this inspector geezer? The detectives round here have maids or something?’
‘Something like that, sir,’ I said and opened the dining room door. ‘Lady Hardcastle, Inspector Sunderland, this is Mr Maloney.’
I gestured for him to enter and he walked in grinning.
‘Call me Skins, guv,’ he said, reaching out to shake the inspector’s hand. ‘Everybody does.’ He waved a salute across the table. ‘Lady H,’ he said, and sat down before anyone could say anything. I took up my unobtrusive place in the corner.
‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Mr Maloney,’ said the inspector, pulling out his own chair and sitting down. ‘My sympathies on the death of your friend. Were you close to Mr Holloway?’
‘Close enough, Inspector,’ said Skins. ‘We’d been working together for maybe... I don’t know... maybe three years. Travelling and that. You get close to a bloke when you work together like that, don’t you?’
‘You do, sir, yes. And what about the rest of the band, are you close to them?’
‘Again, guv, close enough. Me and Barty get on best, I’d say, and Rolie’s all right for a manager, I s’pose. So, yeah, not bad.’
‘What about Miss Montgomery?’ asked the inspector, careful to use her alias.
‘Odd bird, that one. Sings like a nightingale, mind you.’
‘Odd, sir?’
‘Oh, you know. Bit stand-offish. Like she’s always got something else on her mind. Other fish to fry. Know what I mean?’
‘Actually, sir, I think I do, yes. Now then, this Engagement Party engagement, sir. It’s your normal line of work?’
‘Our bread and butter, guv, yes.’
‘So it must have been reassuring to know it was coming up.’
‘Do what, guv?’
‘Good to know there was a nice little earner on the horizon, takes the pressure off paying the bills, eh?’
‘It would have been grand, guv, yes. ’Cept this one was sprung on us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. Train ticket and “Pack your bags we’re on the three o’clock train and if you miss it, you’re sacked.” Not really time to look forward to it.’
‘I see, sir. Was that usual?’
‘With Rolie, everything’s usual. He’s a bit of a fly one, our Rolie. Like Sylvie; always got an iron or two in the fire what we don’t know about. Usually we know about bookings weeks, even months in advance, plan them together, like. But every once in a while…’
‘What happens every once in a while, Mr Maloney?’
‘Every once in a while, Inspector, he takes a whim and we scarper off dead quick like.’
‘Scarper, sir? Is it like that? Running away?’
‘Or running towards. I never know for sure.’
‘But you have your suspicions?’
‘You can’t help but have suspicions, guv.’
‘And what were your suspicions this time?’
‘Nothing I could make sense of, that’s for sure, but I’ve heard what happened in the library and I’ve been wondering about a few things.’
‘I’ve been closeted away in here for the most part, sir, so I’ve not heard the gossip. What have you heard about Mr Holloway?’
‘Coshed and left for dead they told me,’ said Skins
‘Indeed, sir, yes. At first we thought it was a robbery.’
‘A robbery? Nelson?’
‘Is that unlikely, sir?’ asked the inspector.
‘We’re musicians, Inspector, only one step out of the gutter – not even that to hear some people talk about us. We ain’t got nothing worth nicking.’
‘Meaning you no offence, sir, but that was my thought at first. I presumed he’d stumbled upon a burglary and had been walloped for his troubles. But then we discovered his missing trumpet case, and that got me thinking,’ said the inspector.
‘Thinking someone was there to nick his trumpet case, you mean? An empty trumpet case?’
‘Again, sir, you leap straight to the heart of it. Was it empty?’
‘Was it empty? Hmmm.’ Skins sat a moment in thought. ‘Here’s the thing, Inspector, right? See, I don’t like talking out of turn, and I ain’t the sort to go dropping no one in it, but there’s a chance – I mean, just a chance, right? – that there was something in that case. That’s what I mean about my suspicions.’
‘What sort of a something, sir,’ said the inspector, leaning forwards slightly.
‘That’s the thing, see, I ain’t at all certain. I just heard some things, that’s all.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Well, see, our Roland, he’s a bit of a sly one, like I say. Always got a fiddle going, some scheme or other. So anyway, last month we was playing these dates in Paris – there’s some lovely clubs there, they love a bit of the old ragtime, the Frogs – and one night we was in this little dive in Montmartre. And we’re sitting there in the break, you know, me, Barty, Rolie, Nelson and Sylvie, all together, like, but round two tables. So we’re sipping some rough red wine or other, and this bloke comes over and whispers in Rolie’s ear. Then he and Nelson gets up and goes to sit at another table and they’re chatting away, all secretive like.’
‘Could you hear what they were saying?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
Skins turned towards her. ‘That’s just it, my lady. I could and I couldn’t.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said.
‘Well, I could hear snatches of it, like, but I couldn’t suss out what they was on about. So this bloke what come over, he’s saying, “I’ve got it, but I’ll never get it past the English Customs.” And Rolie says, “Don’t worry about that, we can take care of that, can’t we Nelse,” all chuckly and smug like. And Nelson, he chuckles back.’
‘So you think they were smuggling something?’ said the inspector.
‘Well, that’s what it sounds like, don’t it.’
‘It does. And if Nelson was involved, that means it could have been in his trumpet case. But why get Nelson involved at all? If Richman was the schemer, why share the proceeds?’
‘He doesn’t have an instrument case, does he,’ said Skins. ‘He plays piano so he don’t carry nothing but his music. Our bags sometimes gets checked, but never our instrument cases. Never figured that one out, but that’s the way it happens. Rolie must’ve needed someone with a case he could hide something in.’
‘It would have to be something small,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But that doesn’t narrow it down much. It could be money, jewellery, documents... anything–’
‘Quite so, my lady,’ said the inspector, cutting her off before she could reveal too much of what we already knew. ‘Did you get any hint as to what it might be, Mr Maloney?’
‘No, nothing. There was more mumbling and then we was back on for the second set.’
‘Did you get a good look at this chap that came up to speak to them? Had you ever seen him before?’
‘No, like I said, it was a bit of a dive. Dark, candles in old wine bottles, you know the sort of thing. Oh, actually, come to think of it, you most probably don’t. But anyway, they ain’t the sort of places where you can get a good butcher’s at someone if he fancies keeping out of sight.’
‘What about his accent,’ asked Lady Hardcastle. ‘Could you tell where he was from?’
‘You’re a shrewd one, my lady, I can see why he wants you in his team. Yes, I was going to mention that. He spoke English, and the few words I heard seemed normal, like, like he was comfortable with the language, but a couple of words didn’t seem to come natural, like it wasn’t his ow
n language. Know what I mean? He sounded posh, like, but foreign with it.’
‘But no idea what sort of foreign?’ asked the inspector.
‘Do I look like a language professor, guv?’
‘No, sir, but you have a musician’s ear. You hear tones and rhythms that the rest of us might miss. It’s like second nature to you. And you travel. You must have heard many dozens of accents.’
Skins sat a while in contemplation. ‘All right, then. So I don’t reckon he was English. Nor French – you can tell them, even the ones what’s really good at English. He was like... I tell you what, there was some sounds like the Lascar sailors up the East End.’
‘Indian?’
‘Yeah, but not rough like them, more like he was an educated man.’
‘Was there anyone else there, Mr Skins?’ I said.
‘Anyone else, love?’
‘You know, anyone that the Indian gentleman might have spoken to? Anyone else suspicious? Anything that might give us a clue as to what was going on?’
‘Oh, I see. No, darling, it was a regular Paris nightclub. Mix of people. Some rough, some smart. Everyone from street toughs to music aficionados to military types and posh ladies and gents out for a bit of adventure.’
‘Oh,’ I said, disappointedly. ‘So no one stood out?’
‘Not really, love, no. Just your average Saturday night crowd in Paris.’
I nodded.
‘Thank you, Mr Maloney, this is all most helpful,’ said the inspector as he made yet more notes. ‘I appreciate that it’s inconvenient, but could I prevail upon you not to leave The Grange for a few more days. I might need to talk to you again.’
‘Inconvenient, guv?’ said Skins with a grin. ‘Free lodgings, free meals, and fresh air? You’re kidding, right?’
‘Well, when you put it like that, sir, I suppose you could treat it as a holiday.’
‘Too right, guv. Anything else I can do for you?’
‘Not for now, sir. Thank you very much for your time.’
‘My pleasure, guv.’ He stood to leave. ‘Lady H, Miss Armstrong.’ He bowed. ‘Don’t forget, love, I’m still waiting to hear what I can call you.’
I smiled and bowed in return and he left the room.