by Lynda Wilcox
And why not? Egg and chips sounded a damned good idea in his estimation and he always thought better on a full stomach.
The same could not be said for Eleanor, who tended to go drowsy after a meal. That meant she would have to keep her wits about her if she were to get anything out of him. She needed information, not the strong talking-to he was more likely to give her.
The restaurant was almost empty and the waiter showed them to an area free of other diners. Blount ordered a thick slice of Yorkshire ham to go with his egg and fried potatoes and, in preference to a discussion of murder, Eleanor filled the time, before and after it arrived, with pleasantries. The Chief Inspector seemed happy to let her do so, though every now and then she noticed his keen glance upon her as he ate the lunch and drank the beer she had bought for him.
“Thank you very much, my lady,” he said when he’d finished and wiped the plate clean with a slice of bread and butter. “Set me up until supper time, that has.”
The waiter cleared the plates, and Eleanor took out a cigarette which Blount lit for her. “You’re most welcome. I feel better for it, too, but now to business.”
“Indeed.” He sat back, his fingers entwined over his stomach. “Given your interest in this case, I suppose you were here to see Lamb? Mind telling me why?”
“Not at all.”
Eleanor gave him an account of her visit to the Variety Hall Theatre and what the Dashwoods had told her of Lamb’s pocket rifling activities.
“Damn, I missed that,” Blount muttered.
“I’m sure you are aware of Major Armitage’s interest in this case, and he has taken me some way into his confidence —”
“More than he’s done for me.”
Eleanor noted the interruption, but made no comment upon it. “So, after what Polly and Penny Dashwood said, I felt it necessary to speak to the cloakroom attendant myself. Alas, I was too late.” She tilted her head back and blew smoke at the ceiling, then brought her gaze back and stared directly at Blount. “ Do I take it that was a poison bottle you found?”
“You’re very sharp eyed, my lady. Yes it was. It was in his jacket pocket.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”
“Nothing at all, unless...”
Blount leaned across the table. “Yes? What have you thought of?”
Eleanor shook her head, trying to make sense of this latest conundrum. “Well, your post mortem will tell you if he was poisoned before he was stabbed, but my guess is he wasn’t. To me it seems far more likely that the poison was planted on him as a way of implicating him in Mr Eisenbach’s murder. It was a poor plant, in my opinion. If he was guilty of the earlier crime he would long since have got rid of the evidence. He wouldn’t still be carrying it around with him four days later.”
A catlike smile spread across the Chief Inspector’s florid features. “Yes, that’s pretty much the conclusion I’d come to, though why they picked on him is a bit of a mystery.”
“Oh, I think I could hazard a guess there.”
Eleanor considered it a sign of the lack of progress the police were making in the Eisenbach case that Blount should indulge her as much as he had. Now he waved a hand, palm upwards, to indicate she should continue.
“According to a member of staff at the Rudolph, Lamb had been flush with money since New Year. I suspect that he was paid, and paid well, to search Mr Eisenbach’s coat for that envelope — the same one you asked me about on my visit to Scotland Yard.” She frowned. “I also wondered whether, as well as hopefully taking something out, he was supposed to put something in.”
She lifted an eyebrow and the Chief Inspector nodded. “Yes, we found an identical poison bottle in Eisenbach’s coat.”
“I see.” Eleanor digested this for a moment, then gave a shrug. “After that he became dispensable, unfortunately for him.”
“Yes, but to whom? Who killed him? Who’s behind all this chicanery and murder?”
“There I cannot help you.”
Eleanor surveyed the man opposite and felt a degree of sympathy for him. Were he and Major Armitage working together on this case, or was the Chief Inspector as much in the dark regarding the espionage as he professed to be?
More importantly to Eleanor, to which of them did she herself owe allegiance? Armitage’s reply to that was easily guessed, but all he wanted was to find Eisenbach’s missing papers. He would claim that they were of vital importance to the nation. She and Blount, however, were more interested in finding a double murderer and bringing them to justice than in a new method of steel-making.
Wait. Go back. Them? Was the double murder the work of one man, or two? Maybe even a whole gang?
At the moment she had nothing more than an inkling who might be responsible, and it was far too early to voice her suspicions. She needed a lot more evidence before she was prepared to do that.
Yesterday she had expressed her doubts about Teddy Jensen to Armitage. Should she also pass on his name to to the Chief Inspector?
As if reading her mind, Blount put his forearms on the table and leaned forward.
“Lady Bakewell, I’m grateful for your help, your thoughts, and the excellent lunch I’ve just had —”
“But?” There had to be a but after that start. She could see it in his eyes and in his pose, and suppressed a sigh.
“But please leave the rest to us. This is no job for an amateur. Two people have now been murdered. If espionage is involved in this case, then it’s no place for a lady.”
Eleanor wanted to laugh. Some of the best spies in history had been women. Had the man never heard of Mata Hari?
“And if I could give you information that would help you crack this case, you wouldn’t refuse it, I take it?”
Blount blew out his cheeks. “Do you have any such information, my lady?”
“Sadly not, but don’t worry, Chief Inspector. I know my civic duty.”
They parted company in the lobby, with Blount telling her to consider the Rudolph off limits for the time being. She acceded to the demand with an absent nod, said goodbye, and stepped out onto the street.
If anything London was gloomier than ever. The afternoon was well advanced, the shadow of evening hung over the rooftops and crept down the buildings on the opposite side of the street painting them with an eerie and sinister air.
The Chief Inspector would carry on with the work of interrogating the hotel staff, but Eleanor was heading home. To give herself time to think, to digest the events of the morning as well as her lunch, she walked. She hadn’t far to go, maybe a mile or so, and soon, the lamps would be lit.
She pulled her cloche close about her ears and snuggled into the fur collar of her coat, deep in thought. By now convinced that there were at least two spies involved in the murders, and that she knew the identity of one of them, she wondered why they had bothered putting a poison bottle in Eisenbach’s overcoat. Was it to suggest suicide?
“Yes, that’s possible,” she muttered to herself, oblivious of the stares of passers-by.
Yet it was also unconvincing. The American had been in London to meet with a member of His Majesty’s Government. Why then should he kill himself the day before the meeting?
She came to a crossroads and turned right, her feet finding their own way home while she wrestled with disturbing thoughts — in particular the current location of the missing papers.
It occurred to her that there was another option to the list she had given to Peter Armitage and, if she was right, then it meant the documents might yet be recoverable. What a coup it would be if she could present the Major with them and hand Blount his killer at the same time.
Heartened by that thought and also the thought that the enemy had made a lot of mistakes in their efforts to steal the formula, she turned into a side street and hurried on towards home.
Along the main thoroughfares of the capital, the shops were still open, brightly lit and enticing, as they would be for at least another hour. Traffic was beginning to build toward
s the rush hour and people went about their business.
Lights in theatres and restaurants flickered on and the city which never slept geared up for another evening
Here, though, in the back streets filled mainly with private houses it was quieter, the shadows deeper and darker.
Eleanor almost squealed when a cat shot out in front of her from the service lane that ran between two narrow residences. She pulled up short to catch her breath.
It wasn’t much further, she could make out the lights of Piccadilly about a hundred yards ahead and from there it was but a short step to Bellevue Mansions.
She went back to her thoughts.
Chief Inspector Blount had made no effort to disguise his opinion of espionage — chicanery was the word he’d used to describe it — and Eleanor smiled to herself in the darkness, wondering if Major Armitage had similar disregard for the police.
Probably not. Even he would admit to the necessity of law and order. His job had as much to do with guarding the peace and maintaining the rule of law as the Chief Inspector’s.
Eleanor had spent quite a few moments in pleasurable contemplation of Peter Armitage before she became aware of the hurrying footsteps behind her. Deep in her pocket, her hand closed around the whistle that Tilly had insisted she carry with her now that they were engaged once more in what her maid referred to as ‘thwarting the bad guys’.
She had time to drag it out and blow one quick blast before a sickly odour reached her nostrils.
Chloroform!
Holding her breath, she turned her head and kicked back. A muttered oath confirmed that her heel had connected with someone’s shin.
She reached for her hat to bring it down over her face as her arms were pinioned. Already she was going woozy. A push in the back sent her sprawling onto her knees. She sensed a slimly built figure lean over her, a muffled voice said something she did not understand, and then everything went dark.
She lay in a pool of shadow, a scant ten feet from the bright lights and safety of Piccadilly.
Chapter 24
“Oh, Ella darling.”
Eleanor winced at the slap on her cheek. “Are you all right? Lady Bakewell!”
Lifted into a sitting position, she strove to fight off her attacker.
“Whoa, my lady. It’s all right, now. It’s me.”
She glanced at the dark figure crouching beside her. Major Armitage. Eleanor leaned against his chest and groaned. “Ugh. Chloroform,” she said.
“Can you stand? It isn’t far to your apartment.”
He helped her to her feet and, still groggy, she looked about her.
“Where’s my bag?”
“I can’t see any sign of it. They must have taken it. Come on, let’s get you home.”
He put an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him again as he guided her over the road and into the entrance to Bellevue Mansions. Her legs buckled more than once, and a horrible nausea swept over her in waves, like being drunk and seasick at one and the same time.
He chivvied and encouraged her, with more patience than she would have expected of him, at almost every step of the way.
They went up in the lift, which did nothing for the sick feeling in her stomach, and he held her up as he pressed on the doorbell.
“Come on, don’t pass out on me now.”
“’S no good.”
He scooped her into his arms as she began to slide.
“Merciful heavens!” Tilly took one look and stood back, holding the door wide as the Major strode past with her mistress in his arms. He carried her into the drawing room.
“Come, Tilly, attend to your mistress. She has been hurt.”
He lowered his burden gently onto the sofa.
If he had thought that by calling her by name he would get on her good side he was mistaken. The maid was quick to disabuse him of the notion.
“Well, I can see that, sir. Can’t say I expected anything less of you.”
He sighed and stood back, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she began her ministrations.
“What happened?” Tilly threw him a glance.
“I’m not sure. She was attacked, chloroformed I think, not far from here.”
“Peter, ow!” Eleanor grimaced in pain as she shifted her position. Woozy, she ran a hand across her forehead. “Will you go back and look for my bag? There’s also my whistle, it got knocked out of my hand.”
“There’s a torch on the hall table if you need one,” Tilly said, without turning around.
“Yes, all right. I shan’t be long.”
Once he had left the apartment, Tilly helped her mistress take off her coat and removed the stockings that had shredded when Eleanor had been pushed to the ground. She tutted at the grazed knees, and the dirty, torn coat, but said nothing before disappearing into the bathroom for warm water, gauze, and ointment.
“I’ll see to these in a minute,” she said on her return. “I’ll just pop and put the kettle on.”
“Thank you, Tilly. A cup of tea would be most welcome.”
Left to herself in the warm, comfortable drawing room, Eleanor struggled to stay awake. Both knees, one arm, and her head all hurt and she concentrated on the pain in an effort to hold sleep at bay.
She had been lucky — not only because she’d caught the merest whiff of chloroform, but because Peter had been on hand, and come to her rescue so quickly. Was that coincidence, she wondered. Had he been on his way to Bellevue Mansions and heard the whistle? She must remember to ask him and to thank Tilly for insisting that she have it with her.
“Tea won’t be long,” said the maid, bustling back in. “Right. Lets have a look at you.”
She knelt in front of her mistress and dabbed at the grazes.
Eleanor sucked in her breath, but otherwise made no complaint about the way her skin stung.
“Anywhere else?” Tilly asked.
“My arm hurts, but that’s where he grabbed me. I doubt the skin is broken, it was protected by my dress and coat sleeves. I was just thinking that I’d got away lightly. I was already on my knees by the time I passed out.”
Tilly wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, well, there’s lightly and there’s lightly. You wouldn’t have been attacked and left lying on the pavement in the first place if you hadn’t got involved in all of this.”
“I know, Tilly, I know. Don’t get on at me, there’s a good girl. I feel so unutterably weary, but I do thank you for that whistle. I think it responsible for saving me from even worse damage.”
Only slightly mollified, Tilly sniffed, gathered up her first aid equipment and went to make the tea.
The hot brew revived Eleanor enough to allow her to smile a few minutes later when the doorbell rang and she heard Tilly call from the hall, “Who is it? I warn you I’m armed.”
She heard a mumble before the turning of the key and was soon joined by a chastened looking Major Armitage.
“I found the whistle, but there’s no sign of your bag, I’m afraid.”
“Thank you, Major, not to worry. There was only a few pounds and my cigarettes and matches in it. Please help yourself to a drink.” She waved at the drinks trolley and watched as he took the decanter of whisky and poured a good splash into a tumbler. He didn’t add soda this time, she noticed.
“How are you feeling now?” He lowered his tall frame into the chair opposite Eleanor and regarded her critically. She noted his clenched jaw and widened eyes and wondered what she had done to anger him.
“A little better, thank you.” She gave a weak smile. “Tilly’s tea always works wonders.”
“Do you feel up to telling me what happened?”
“There’s not a lot to tell. I was walking home, heard footsteps, got one blow on the whistle — did you hear it, by the way?”
He nodded. “Yes, luckily for you, I did. I was on the opposite side of Piccadilly and there was a gap in the traffic, otherwise I might not have done.”
“But you didn’t see anyone running
away?”
“No, damn it, I didn’t. It took me a while to cross the road. He may have run off back the way you came.”
“More than likely.” She drank a little more of the hot, sweet tea.
“Go on with telling me what happened.”
Eleanor recounted the rest of her adventure and he listened, grim faced.
“I don’t suppose you caught a look at your attacker?”
“No, I was too busy trying to keep my face turned away from him, at the same time as fighting back and not breathing in. I have to say, just in case you feel like trying it sometime, it’s an impossible achievement.”
A smile flitted across his lips. “Well the chloroform might have briefly robbed you of your senses, but I’m glad to see it didn’t take your sense of humour.”
“It would take more than a street thug to do that.”
In an instant the smile vanished and he became serious again. “We both know he wasn’t that. Bag snatchers don’t carry chloroform around with them. Somebody thinks you have Eisenbach’s missing papers.”
“Maybe, although I haven’t. I wonder if they’d been hanging around the Rudolph.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
It took a considerable effort to battle the tiredness that hung like fog around her brain, ebbing and flowing like sea borne mist, and to sketch in her day’s activities for the Major’s benefit. Except for an occasional prompt, Armitage remained quiet and attentive during her recital, though he uttered a ‘tut’ that Tilly would have been proud of when she reached the part about the murder of the cloakroom attendant.
“Damn it!” He exclaimed when she’d finished. “I wish Blount had called me. I would have made sure you got home safely.”
“He was rather busy at the time, and it was hardly the Chief Inspector’s fault. I should have taken a taxi.”
“Yes. Next time make sure that you do.”