‘This corner will do; my place is only a couple of blocks along. Please don’t bother to come to the door.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ll get a breath of air before I go in. Thanks for the ride. It was nice meeting the two of you – I mean that.’
‘It was nice meeting you too, Jo,’ Linda said, with genuine warmth. ‘Take care of yourself.’
‘The correct phrase is, I believe, “Don’t take any wooden nickels”,’ said Mike with a laugh. ‘So long, Jo. We’ll keep in touch.’
‘I think she’s rather brave to do that sort of job, and all alone,’ said Linda as he restarted the car.
‘I expect she can take care of herself. They breed ’em tough out on the prairie.’
As they slowed down for the lights at Marble Arch a taxi drew alongside and Linda suddenly sat bolt upright, stared swiftly for a second, then dropped below her husband’s broad shoulder.
‘This is my night for seeing things,’ she whispered tensely. ‘Can you catch a quick look at that woman in the back of the taxi alongside us?’
‘Why, who do you think it is?’
‘Don’t make it too obvious, she might recognise us. Darling, I’ll swear it’s Nadia Tarrant’s double, that tough cookie from Soho Square this afternoon – look out, the lights are changing! Hey, where are you going to?’
For answer Mike swung right along Bayswater in the wake of the taxi. It was of a modern design with a fair-sized rear window and the silhouette of its sole passenger was remarkably reminiscent of the hard-boiled redhead who had duped them and then ransacked the room.
‘I could be wrong. I only got a brief look at her,’ said Linda excitedly, ‘but I could almost swear it was her.’
They followed the taxi for several minutes, till Linda exclaimed, ‘He’s pulling off to the right!’
‘See if you can spot what street this is.’
‘Too dark. Here’s another one – Bolton Gardens – he’s turning again. This is Darlington Street.’
‘That’s strange, I’m sure that name’s familiar,’ Mike began. ‘Hello, he’s pulling up.’
He jammed on the brakes and stopped the car some thirty yards behind the taxi. A large head of flaming red hair was visible in the light of the street lamp as the woman got out and paid off the driver. The taxi drove off.
‘It is! It’s her all right!’ Linda whispered. ‘Look, she’s crossing over to the other side.’
‘Want to know something interesting?’ Mike said in a low voice. ‘Hector Staines lives in this street somewhere, I’m almost certain. Darlington Street, I’m sure it was. And the telephone number had a Bayswater exchange too.’
The woman they were watching took a key from her bag and opened the front door.
‘Got the house?’
‘Yes, the one with the high gables.’
‘Right. Let’s walk casually past and check the number. There’s a phone-box a bit farther up. We’ll pop in there and see if it is the same address as Staines’s.’
Quietly they left the car and walked up the road, not stopping outside the house with the high gables. ‘Two-nine-two,’ Mike said softly as they passed, and Linda nodded.
They reached the phone-booth, went inside, and searched rapidly through the S-Z directory for Hector Staines’s address.
‘Stafford – Stagg – Stainer – Staines … Here we are … By heavens, I was right! Hector Staines, 292 Darlington Street, W.2,’ he said, Linda peering over his shoulder as he found the page. ‘This is going to take some explaining, if he really is acquainted with that hard-bitten—’
The rest of his sentence was drowned by the staccato stutter of gunfire, a splintering of glass and the roar of a car engine revving violently. A split second later Mike yelled, ‘Down!’ as a car swept past the phone-box and reeled with screeching tyres into a vicious left turn.
Mike pulled Linda down and several seconds passed before they stood up again and realised that they had not actually been shot at. The glass of the phone-box was undamaged, and apart from bumps and bruises – as Linda laughingly commented afterwards, it is a physical impossibility for two grown people to duck inside a phone-booth – they were shaken but completely unharmed.
Rather unsteadily they walked to the car and then suddenly stopped short. Every window of the car was splintered with bullet-holes. Anyone sitting inside could hardly have escaped without serious injury.
Mrs Potter announced, ‘Superintendent Goldway on the line for you, Mr Baxter.’
‘Thank you. Good morning, John.’
‘Why ever didn’t you ring me last night?’ demanded the Superintendent without preamble.
‘It was getting on for three in the morning. I hardly liked to disturb you at such an ungodly hour.’
‘Another time don’t hesitate. Are you both all right?’
‘Fine and dandy! Just shaken up a bit, but that’s good for the liver.’
‘Shaken up sounds an understatement. I’ve had a look at your Jaguar. She is a mess, isn’t she? Thank God you weren’t sitting in it.’
‘And so say all of us!’ Mike echoed fervently.
‘We’re checking on the calibre of bullets now. I’ll let you know what turns up. I imagine you didn’t get much of a look at the gunmen?’
‘No, not at that speed. It was all over before we knew what was happening. There was also a somewhat embarrassing contest between Linda and myself to see who could hit the deck first.’
‘Quite so,’ Goldway chuckled, but when he continued his voice was serious. ‘Mike, I’ve got the Sergeant’s report on my desk and there are one or two points that puzzle me. I’m tied up this morning but I was wondering if you’ll be at home around three o’clock this afternoon?’
‘Certainly, if you wish, John. But why don’t I come down to the Yard?’
‘No, I want to talk to you both, and anyway I’ve got another call to pay in Belgravia, so it’s not out of my way. How did you get on at La Pergola?’
‘We drew a blank. But we met some interesting people. I’ve got a thin line to follow up.’
‘Good. How did you like the escort I provided you with?’
‘No complaints, Superintendent! No complaints at all.’
Goldway laughed. ‘Has she been in touch with you today, by the way?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. All right. Let me know if she does. I’ll be with you soon after three.’
Mike replaced the receiver and grinned ruefully at Linda. ‘Cunning old bird, he doesn’t miss a trick.’
‘He spotted the loophole in our story?’
‘He did. It’ll be his first question this afternoon.’
It was. Goldway accepted Linda’s offer of tea and demanded at once, ‘What exactly were you two up to, loitering around Bayswater at two-thirty in the morning? It’s hardly on your route home from Hampstead to Sloane Street. And please don’t give me that flimsy line about telephoning for a breakdown van because the Jag had packed in. Good enough for the Sergeant but not for me.’
‘We were in a phone-booth,’ Mike temporised. ‘Happily for us.’
‘Quite so. Now please tell me what you were doing in Darlington Street.’
‘We trailed, or think we trailed, a certain lady of dubious character to Hector Staines’s home there.’
‘The significance of the address had not escaped me,’ Goldway observed in a dry tone. ‘Who was the lady?’
‘I don’t know her name, but she has a certain talent for impersonations. She’s the one who passed herself off as Nadia Tarrant at that bed-sitter in Soho Square.’
Goldway stiffened. ‘Indeed? Where did you stumble across her?’
Mike explained, as Goldway sipped his tea.
‘I see,’ said Goldway when Mike had finished. ‘And you didn’t think all this should have appeared in the police report you gave to the Sergeant?’
Mike hesitated, and when he finally spoke he chose his words with care, causing the Superintendent to look up. ‘No,
John, I did not think everything need appear in that report.’
‘Very well, Mike. No doubt you have your reasons.’
There was a delicate pause, but Mike was too unsure of the theory that was gradually forming at the back of his mind, and Goldway knew him and trusted him too well to press the issue. He changed the conversation abruptly.
‘Mike, I’m none too happy about Jo Peters. She hasn’t checked in, and we haven’t been able to contact her all day. Do you think she might have phoned you whilst you were out?’
Mike glanced at Linda and shook his head. ‘No, we’ve been in most of the day, except for a useless visit to Conway and Racy’s. Anyway, Mrs Potter would have taken a message.’
‘Quite. It’s rather worrying. She was supposed to call me this morning and report on your combined operations of last night. When she didn’t I told my secretary to contact her. There was no answer. Finally I put a man on the job and it appears she never even went back to her flat last night.’
‘But we took her home ourselves!’ Linda protested.
‘Right to the door?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. But she said it was only a few yards away.’
The Superintendent frowned thoughtfully. ‘There’s probably nothing to worry about, she’s a very capable girl. However, the night porter at the block of flats where she lives is quite positive she didn’t return there – he’s on duty till seven in the morning. And the bed’s definitely not been slept in.’
Linda put in, ‘How long has Jo been working for you, John?’
‘About three years, on and off. Her position’s rather a peculiar one – although she’s attached to the Yard she’s not on what we call the established staff.’
‘Does she work for Inspector Rodgers?’
‘No. She doesn’t work for any of the regular CID people,’ said Goldway vaguely, and it occurred to Mike that he was evading the question. ‘She’s answerable to her own … department, and to me personally.’
‘What exactly was she doing at La Pergola?’
Goldway hesitated. ‘Let us say, keeping an eye on the place.’
There came a knock at the door and Mrs Potter entered.
‘Excuse me for intruding, Mrs Baxter, but there’s a parcel addressed to you. Found it outside the door. It wasn’t there a couple of minutes ago when I put the milk bottles out.’
Mrs Potter handed Linda a neatly wrapped box. She examined the address, which was printed in large capital letters. It told her nothing.
‘You’ve no idea who delivered it, Mrs Potter?’ she said.
‘No, ma’am. Whoever it was, he didn’t ring the bell.’
Linda frowned. ‘Probably something we ordered,’ she decided, and was just about to cut the string with her nail scissors when Goldway put out a restraining hand.
‘Wait a moment, Linda,’ he cautioned. ‘These things have been known to explode. I’d better take it along to the Yard and let them examine it.’
‘But, surely,’ Linda was beginning to protest when Mike snatched up the parcel, held it in both hands for a moment as if appraising it, then snapped the string.
‘Mike, don’t be a fool,’ Goldway protested, trying to restrain him.
‘It’s all right, John. I’ve a pretty shrewd idea what’s inside.’
He took off the wrapping to reveal an ordinary cardboard box. Then he lifted the lid and looked at the object inside for a few moments.
‘Just as I thought,’ he said. ‘Another woman’s shoe.’
Goldway asked uneasily, ‘One of yours, Linda?’
Linda shook her head. ‘No, I wish it were. Recognise it, Mike?’
‘I’m afraid so. Jo Peters was wearing exactly that style last night.’
There was a long silence.
Eventually Linda said, in a voice that faltered, ‘Does it mean what I think it means, John?’
‘It’s bad, that’s clear enough. Just how bad, it’s hard to guess.’
Mike broke in with unwonted sharpness. ‘When Lucy Staines was murdered a shoe was stolen. When Peggy Bedford committed suicide a shoe was missing. And Nadia Tarrant had one shoe missing when they found her strangled in the Farnham woods. Death and a missing shoe, each time. I don’t see much scope for guessing.’
‘There’s just this subtle difference, Mike,’ Goldway pointed out patiently. ‘In the three instances you mention the shoe was missing, and despite all our efforts none of them has been found. But this time we actually have the shoe. It’s not missing, it’s here, right in front of our eyes. I have a strong conviction that this time there is no death associated with it – I hope to God I’m right! This shoe has been sent as a symbol, to warn us; to warn you, most of all, and Linda.’
Mike grunted. ‘I certainly look forward to my talk with Corina,’ he said, glancing at his watch.
Goldway shot him a questioning look and for answer Mike produced the note Corina had had delivered to him in the night-club. When Goldway came to the final line his face went dark with anger. ‘So Corina’s tumbled to Jo! I’d give my pension to know how that leaked out.’
‘Perhaps you’d tell us now just why Jo was watching La Pergola?’ Mike ventured.
Goldway gave him a level look, then appeared to make up his mind to the inevitable. He considered for a moment, then nodded. ‘You know I trust you, Mike, but caution is inbred deep in all of us in this game. However, there doesn’t seem to be much point in trying to protect Jo now that the cat’s out of the bag. Jo was seconded to us from the Federal Bureau of Narcotics, Washington. That’s the “department” I was referring to. She was following a trail of drugs that stretched across the Atlantic and appeared to lead to Corina. We never got anything definite and now it looks as if we never will.’
‘Drugs? I wondered about that,’ said Mike. ‘Tell me, John, how large and valuable a quantity of the stuff could be hidden in, say, the heel of a lady’s shoe?’
‘I see what you’re getting at, Mike. Yes, it’s certainly a possibility.’
There was another silence whilst the Baxters digested this new twist to the Weldon case.
Eventually Linda said, ‘Do you suppose Luigi Saltoni was mixed up in this dope smuggling too?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘What’s his physical condition today?’
‘Still pretty much under the weather.’
‘Have you any objection to my seeing him?’ Mike asked.
‘No, of course not.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I telephoned the hospital this morning and they said he wasn’t allowed to take any messages or receive any visitors.’
‘That’s just a precautionary measure. We dare not risk anything happening to him. The rule doesn’t apply to you, Mike.’
Further discussion was interrupted once again by Mrs Potter, who tapped on the door and came in to announce Hector Staines.
‘I wonder what the dickens he wants?’ Mike said irritably. ‘Put him in the study, Mrs Potter. I don’t know what he’s after, but I’m certainly going to take this opportunity of asking him a few blunt questions.’
‘Such as?’ Goldway asked.
‘Such as why he called on Irene Long last night – if he did, that is. We’re pretty sure we saw him in the vicinity. Secondly, why he took Peggy Bedford to a remote country pub near Farnham. Thirdly, what his relationship is to the red-headed menace who passed herself off as Nadia Tarrant.’
‘I’ve no doubt this will amuse you,’ said Linda, ‘but my feminine intuition tells me Staines is in the clear. We can’t overlook the fact that he was the first person to draw our attention to the Weldon case. Let me try and answer those three questions of yours for him, darling. “I, Hector Staines, visited Irene Long because she was a friend of my late daughter and I am trying to discover what I can about who framed Harold Weldon. Question Number Two: I did not take Peggy Bedford to the Lord Fairfax, she took me, and that’s why I failed to notice the name of the pub; I was in love with her, or I was having an affair with her, o
r more simply she too was a friend of Lucy’s. Third question: What red-headed menace are you talking about? No one of that description came to see me at Darlington Street last night, so you must have been mistaken, Mr Baxter.” There, how’s that?’
Mike looked unconvinced, but made no reply.
Goldway replaced his teacup and stood up. ‘I must be on my way. I don’t particularly want to encounter Staines, but if you think the time is ripe I’ll get Rodgers to have him in and try a little hard cross-examination.’
‘Not yet, John. I’ll let you know, if I may? Before you go, though—’ Mike went to a drawer and extracted a photograph. ‘Do you recognise this customer?’
Goldway took the snapshot and examined it carefully. ‘Yes, it’s the late Larry Boardman, alias Leonard Bradley, alias about six other names. Jewel thief, confidence man, trickster. He died a short time ago – of natural causes, strange to say. Where did you find this?’
‘Amongst Peggy Bedford’s possessions in her flat. I went back there after her suicide and managed to … er … persuade the porter to open up for me. I was looking for the missing shoe – or any other likely clue. Boardman’s picture struck me as being possibly significant.’
‘Quite so. It has been established that Miss Bedford had a wide and somewhat dubious circle of acquaintances. She left an address book that has been quite a revelation. ‘No,’ he added with a dour smile, ‘there was no Bannister in it. Some other names from what we like to call the Top Drawer, but that’s rather beside the point.’ He looked at his watch, ‘Heavens, I must be off, I’m late! Phone me the moment you hear anything from Jo, won’t you? Thank you for tea, Linda, my dear.’
Mike conducted the Superintendent to the door, and was about to go through into the study where Hector Staines was waiting when Linda intercepted him.
‘Not so fast, Mike. I want a word with you first.’
‘Really, darling? What about?’
‘Don’t come the old innocent on me! Why didn’t you tell me you’d bribed your way back into Peggy Bedford’s flat?’
Mike grinned. ‘Perhaps I was hoping to erase my name from that spicy address book of hers.’
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