by Bruce, Leo
‘Not my idea of a cosy little home,’ Mrs de Mornay informed him. ‘But you know what Genie was. You should see the kitchen. She collected gadgets, you see. Now, what is it you want to know?’
‘Well, I wondered…’
‘You think she was murdered, I take it, or you wouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be surprised, myself. Have you met her sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve had a lot of trouble with her. She came here as soon as she was back from the country and started claiming goodness-knows-what among Genie’s things. I had to tell her plainly that Mr Smithers had given orders that nothing was to be touched. “But these are mine!” she said and I told her it didn’t make any difference—they would stay here till Mr Smithers settled everything. In the end I had to ask her to leave. So you think Genie was murdered?’
‘I …’
‘Could be. A lot of people loathed her. Extraordinary woman really. I quite liked her though I never put up with any of her nonsense. She couldn’t do without me and she knew it. I let her go so far and no farther. She never tried to treat me as she did the wretched Trudge.’
‘Tell me about…’
‘Trudge? She had no will of her own, poor old soul. She used to be very thick with Grace Marvell. But that ended in a blazing row about three months ago. It surprised me. I never thought Maud had it in her. They shouted at one another like fishwives. Genie was out at the time, fortunately. They didn’t speak for a week after that and they’ve never been more than barely civil since it happened.’
‘And Mr…’
‘Smithers? He appeared about the same time, or a little before. I’d never seen him till then. He had refused to live with Genie. Can you wonder? He’s a gentleman. I could tell that from the way he treated me. But I never knew what was between him and Genie till I heard about her will. I must say I was delighted. The first thing he did was to let me know that I shouldn’t be the loser by it. He has that calm way of understanding things. You know him well, of course?’
‘I’ve just…’
‘But you can see he’s a gentleman. I could, as soon as he came here. It surprised me, I must say. I wondered what on earth had made him marry Genie. They seemed to have nothing in common. But I suppose that was before she began her Career.’
‘So you didn’t know…’
‘About the will? Not a thing until he told me. Grace talks of disputing it but she hasn’t a leg to stand on. She’ll only waste what money she has if she tries.’
‘And Miss…’
‘Trudge? Not a hope. Though she really worked for Genie. She did most of the writing, you know. She must have made up recipes in her sleep. Genie couldn’t even spell—in French or English. Trudge spoke good French and could type like lightning. But Genie knew what she was doing.’
‘There had been another will…’
‘Before the one leaving everything to Mr Smithers? Oh yes. Grace and Trudge were both in it. In fact I think almost everything went to them. They never knew they had been cut out—I’m sure of that. It must have come as a nasty shock to them.’
Carolus made a determined effort to put in a question.
‘Mrs de Mornay, have you any reason…’
‘To complain? Oh no. Mr Smithers…’
‘I wasn’t going to ask you that,’ said Carolus loudly and with determination. ‘Had you any reason to think Miss Marvell…’
‘Was going to cut them out? Not a bit.’
‘To think that Miss Marvell was ever threatened by anyone?’ Carolus finished his question triumphantly. It actually silenced Mrs de Mornay for a moment.
‘Threatened? Who by?’
‘Anyone.’
‘I never heard… She never said anything.’
‘But was there anything to suggest it?’
‘Not so far as I know. She wasn’t the sort of woman to be threatened. I think if there had been anything like that she would have told me. Why? Do you think she was?’
‘Have you ever heard the name Mandeville?’
‘Isn’t there a writer? I seem to remember…’
‘I do not mean Sir John Mandeville. Nor Bernard de Mandeville. This man is alive today and uses that name.’
Mrs de Mornay shrugged.
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ she said. ‘But that means nothing. I’m a fool about names.’
‘You might have heard of someone known as Maxie? Does that ring a bell?’
‘Of course! Maxie Miller.’
‘I’m not thinking of the comedian.’
‘Don’t remember any other Max or Maxie. Beerbohm, of course, and Aitken, but don’t suppose you mean those.’
‘I don’t. What about Rivers? No? Gray then?’
‘Oh I know lots of Grays. Dorian, for example. And the Elegy man.’
‘Not, in that sense, the Elegy man. This one is nicknamed “Razor” Gray.’
‘How very unpleasant. Am I supposed to know him?’
‘I’m just asking you.’
‘I’m afraid there is no Razor Gray on my list of acquaintances,’ said Mrs de Mornay with heavy sarcasm.
‘Or Montreith?’
‘No. Definitely.’
Carolus had waited for that word. It had to be a favourite of Mrs de Mornay’s.
‘Did Imogen Marvell confide in you much?’
‘Yes. But not everything. She was rather secretive in some ways. Food was a common topic, of course. It had to be with Genie.’
‘Did she…?’
‘Know anything about it? Not really. She had learned the patter and could turn a menu inside out …’
Emboldened by recent success, Carolus interrupted.
‘Were her restaurants successful?’
‘Oh yes. She used to print a recipe for each of the dishes served. That was her gimmick. She…’
‘How far was she concerned with the actual running of them? On the spot, I mean?’
‘Very little. Grace managed one. She had someone responsible in charge of each. She kept in touch by telephone. You should have seen her lying in her Spanish rococo bed, smothered in lingerie and swansdown, phoning to tell Grace or someone she was a silly bitch. Her language was just crude—not picturesque or funny, just four-letter words. Especially to those she employed.’
‘It’s not an attractive picture,’ reflected Carolus. ‘And nothing happened, nothing that you noticed during these recent weeks, to suggest that any kind of threat was being made to her connected with the restaurants?’
Mrs de Mornay fidgeted with her ponderous beads.
‘She said she had a good mind to sell the lot of them—but she often said that. I don’t think she ever would have, though. It was the only way she could ever see her name in lights—Imogen Marvell’s Ma Façon Restaurant.’
‘Did she keep a directory of private telephone numbers?’
‘Trudge kept one for her. But it disappeared when Trudge did. We couldn’t watch everything.’
‘Who are “we”?’
‘Mr Smithers and I.’
‘Is Mr Smithers thinking of closing this house?’
‘Closing it? Certainly not. He … we … I… It’s a matter I’m not at liberty to discuss at present.’ There was a suggestion of coyness in Mrs de Mornay’s manner. ‘You see … But no doubt…’
This time Carolus’s interruption was welcomed.
‘Mrs de Mornay,’ he said resolutely. ‘The proprietors of a number of well-known restaurants have been the victims of organised blackmail recently. They are very vulnerable to this. A case of food poisoning, induced or imaginary, is enough to damage them and there are other means of attack. I realise that you had no direct connection with Imogen Marvell’s restaurants but you knew her pretty well. Can you give me any help here?’
Mrs de Mornay gasped.
‘You mean, they were blackmailing Imogen?’ she said incredulously.
‘I don’t know. I…’
Carolus had lost the initiative again.
‘That w
ould be the end!’ said Mrs de Mornay. ‘Genie paying protection money. But you must be joking. If there was one thing Genie wouldn’t pay it was money. Compliments, yes. Attention, yes, if it served her purpose. She could pay out too, in the sense of vengeance. But not money. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’
Carolus was silent a moment as though wondering how much to say.
‘The proprietor of the Fleur-de-Lys in which Imogen Marvell died was being blackmailed,’ he said and allowed it to sink in.
‘You think Genie’s death was part of the plot? Well, that’s a new one. She wouldn’t have been madly pleased about that. To be killed just as a piece of stage “business” by a blackmailer. I should have thought it was far more likely that she was in with the blackmailers.’
‘You would?’
‘Yes. Genie would have been at the receiving end of any hush money there was about.’
Carolus nodded and asked Mrs de Mornay whether he could see the chauffeur.
‘Biskett? Of course you may if he’s in the house. He’s probably got some young woman with him. I’ll find out.’
She left Carolus and returned to say that Biskett would be pleased to see him. Mrs de Mornay explained that he had a flat built on to the back of the house and was there now. Carolus went down.
An atmosphere of tobacco smoke and gin cleared sufficiently for Carolus to recognise Biskett, no longer wearing a cherry-coloured uniform but in an expensive suit. On the floor was kneeling a limp-looking girl with lank blonde hair hanging over her eyes.
‘I rather hoped to see you alone for a minute,’ said Carolus to Biskett when they had greeted one another civilly.
‘Of course. Sonia, love, go and have a bath, will you?’
‘But I’ve just had a bath, Dickie,’ piped the blonde.
‘Well, have another, sweet. Run along, because Dickie has to talk business with this gentleman.’
‘I don’t really want…’
‘Go and have a bath!’ shouted Biskett and the blonde disappeared. ‘Now?’ he said to Carolus.
Carolus gave rather more convincing reasons for his enquiries than he had hitherto done. Biskett was no fool, he decided as the young man watched him closely with greengrey eyes.
‘You knew Imogen Marvell pretty well?’ Carolus suggested.
‘Scarcely at all. I kept it on a strictly business basis. Had to, with Imogen.’
‘But you often drove her alone?’
‘Not so often as you’d think. Trudge was usually with her.’
‘But sometimes?’
‘Occasionally, yes.’
‘Anywhere particularly?’
‘Not really. To one of her restaurants. Wine tastings. That sort of thing.’
‘She apparently saw her lawyer without the knowledge of anyone in this house.’
‘When was that?’
‘About three months ago.’
‘Oh yes. I remember. I brought him here. She sent Trudge and de Mornay out together to eat at a new restaurant. She evidently wanted them out of the way. They were to make a full report. As soon as they were gone she sent me with the car to pick up this solicitor character.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘At his offices in the Haymarket. He was standing in the doorway and as soon as he saw the car he came out and jumped in. There’s one thing about that Rolls, you can’t miss it. I brought him here and he was with Imogen for an hour. A few days later I took her to the office. That any help to you?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
They were interrupted by a call from the bathroom.
‘Dickie! I’ve finished my bath!’
‘Have another, then,’ shouted Biskett.
Carolus went on to ask questions similar to those he had put to Mrs de Mornay and with no more result. Biskett had never seen or heard anything to make him think that Imogen Marvell was being threatened and considered it highly improbable. He had never heard the names Mandeville, Maxie, Rivers, Gray, or Montreith in connection with Imogen Marvell, though he had known a girl called Pamela Rivers.
‘A model,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘All legs and nothing at the top of them. I don’t suppose she had anything to do with it.’
‘It’s a common name,’ Carolus agreed.
There was another call from the bathroom.
‘I’m coming out now!’
‘Are you dressed?’
‘No!’
‘Then get dressed.’
‘Shan’t!’
‘Don’t, then. You’re being a bore, Gladiola.’ Biskett turned to Carolus. ‘Anything else you wanted to know?’
‘Yes. Did you ever drive Imogen Marvell to a block of flats in Bayswater called Gaitskell Mansions?’
He watched the chauffeur keenly as he answered but the negative was casual and convincing.
‘No. I should have remembered the name.’
Carolus took his leave, observing as he did so that the bathroom door was ajar.
‘What hell women are,’ observed Dickie Biskett unconvincingly.
Fourteen
Back at the Fleur-de-Lys that evening Carolus found Gloria Gee in a state of anxiety and some excitement.
‘It’s about Tom Bridger,’ she said, and looked at Carolus as though wondering whether he would be sympathetic.
‘Well, Gloria?’
All Gloria’s elocution practice went by the board.
‘He’s gorn!’ she said, and Carolus could see that she was holding back her tears.
‘You mean, left his job?’
‘He didn’t want to. I know that. He got a phone call. Then he came in here as white as a sheet. Honestly, you should have seen him, Mr Deene. I said “Whatever’s the matter, Tom? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.” “Perhaps I have,” he said. Then he told me he’d got to go to London and was going to borrow Antoine’s car. It’s a Vauxhall.’
‘Did Antoine lend it?’
‘Oh yes. He’s very good, like that.’
‘Did Bridger take any baggage with him?’
‘Not that I know of. No, I’m sure he didn’t because Mrs Boot told me nothing had gone from his room. He just popped in here and said he was off to London and would be back that night.’
‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. And there’s nothing been heard of him since. What do you think it means?’
‘It’s very early to say, isn’t it?’
‘I feel there’s something wrong. Honestly, Mr Deene, I have some queer instincts about people. My mother used to say I had second sight. As soon as Tom told me he was rushing off like that I knew there was something wrong. He looked scared.’
‘Did he mean a lot to you, Gloria?’
‘Well. You know. I suppose he did, in a way. He was such a cheerful fellow, wasn’t he? I mean, I don’t mean I was mad about him. But you know. I seemed to get used to him. He was ever so nice when my mum died.’
‘Perhaps he’ll turn up today.’
‘I wish I could think so. Where do you think he’s gone, anyway? He never told me he knew anyone particular in London.’
‘Had he got a passport?’
‘A passport? You mean you think he’s gone off abroad? He wouldn’t do that. Not without telling me. And what about all his things? Besides, he hadn’t got a passport. He happened to mention it to me. We’d thought of going abroad together this summer. Spain, he said. The Coster something-or-other. Tom said he’d never been abroad and would have to get a passport.’
‘I see. I may be able to find him. But don’t count on it. I’m going to London myself tomorrow. Meanwhile I must see Rolland.’
He found the proprietor of the Fleur-de-Lys annoyingly cock-a-hoop.
‘I’m glad I didn’t give in to them,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘They’ve packed in. They’ve had it. The whole thing failed. I got more publicity from the fact that Imogen Marvell was buried from here than I’ve ever had. The restaurant’s been packed.’
‘What else can they do? They can see I’m not a man to be messed about. Besides, they’ve called in Bridger. You didn’t realise this, but Bridger was obviously their man. It was he who worked the food poisoning—I can see it all now. And yesterday afternoon they phoned him to pull out of here.’
‘How do you know?’
‘What else can it have been? He had a phone call from London and rushed off at once in Antoine’s car. Didn’t even wait to pack his gear. They know when they’re beaten.’
‘I shouldn’t be too sure, if I were you.’
Rolland’s confidence was slightly shaken.
‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think these people give up easily. They can’t afford to. They must either go on till they’ve won or lose their means of livelihood. They mustn’t fail in one single case or they fail altogether.’
‘Then what do you suppose they’ll do?’
‘If you want my advice, Rolland, you’ll go to the police. Now. If you haven’t the guts for that get yourself a bodyguard.’
Rolland stared.
‘And what are you doing meanwhile? You’re supposed to be trying to break these people, and you calmly talk about my getting a bodyguard. What do you intend to do?’
Carolus smiled.
‘Put my head in the lion’s mouth, perhaps. But it won’t be to save you money.’
‘I see. You’re prepared to let them … beat me up. Perhaps …’
‘Kill you? Not if I can prevent it. You, or anyone else. I detest this thing more than you. I’m going to fight it. But you don’t make it any easier for me.’
‘I’ve got my business to think of.’
‘That’s what you all say. You and the rest of them who have suffered from this. If it was just your businesses that are involved I half believe I’d drop it. But it’s more than that.’
‘What?’
‘Murder,’ said Carolus.
‘What murder?’
‘Possibly in the past, probably in the present, certainly in the future.’
‘I see,’ said Rolland looking very much less comfortable. ‘And what exactly do you intend to do about it?’
‘I’m going to see the man they call the boss.’
Rolland gave a forced laugh.
‘How?’