‘Come with me, then,’ said Olivia Marlow. ‘Let us persuade these silly people in the hotel. Oh, they won’t need much persuading, though,’ she added, with a laugh, ‘I’m a very good customer of theirs.’
Olivia was as good as her word, and the receptionist and concierge had to eat humble pie, which pleased Woodley-Foxe very much. The manager was called, and Olivia Marlow told him an edited version of what was going to happen. She said she most certainly did not want the police involved, as she did not want any of this to reach the ears of the press. Though the manager looked a little dismayed, he was reassured the whole thing would be dealt with very discreetly and there would be no scandal at all.
The detective, Miss Marlow and the manager went up to check that the necklace was still safe in the strongbox in the actress’ room while George remained downstairs to check the hotel register. Woodley-Foxe hadn’t told the manager he suspected one of his guests. George chose a moment when the receptionist was busy over at the concierge’s desk to take a quick look at the register. He only managed to get a glimpse of some of the names on the register, but that was enough.
Mrs Peabody and Daisy he dismissed; but there were the Countess St-Remy and Victor St-Remy, whoever he was. And there was also — George whistled under his breath — two other names he knew. He took out his notebook and checked the list he’d made at the cigar shop in Paris. Yes. There was no doubt. As well as the Countess, there were two more cigar buyers staying at Brooks — Mr Cornelius Meyer and Mr Luigi Felici. Well! That complicated matters — there was not one suspect, but three! Maybe, he thought excitedly, they might all three be working together. Perhaps they were an international gang of crooks and ‘The Shadow’ was just a blind, to make you think it was only one person! All of them would have to be kept under surveillance. George had to tell the detective straightaway.
At that moment, the lift doors opened and Mrs Peabody came out. George recognised her from the railway station when Daisy had left. She was wearing the same loud tweed suit. George tried to hide behind a pillar, but it was too late. She’d seen him.
‘Why, if it isn’t Daisy’s best mate!’ she carolled, causing everyone in earshot to turn around. ‘George Dale, isn’t it?’
Stepping hastily away from the desk, George mumbled, ‘Hello, Mrs Peabody.’
‘If you’ve come looking for Daisy, she’s out. She’s out for a final treat with her noble admirer.’ She cackled. ‘You want to be quick, boyo. He’ll have her whisked off her feet before you can say knife.’
George’s face turned bright red and he mumbled something non-committal. Mrs Peabody went on, ‘Regardless, faint heart never won fair lady, George.’
‘I’m not … you don’t understand …’ said George, in a strangled voice. ‘There’s nothing like that … Daisy and I … we’re just …’
‘Friends,’ finished the widow. ‘That’s what they all say, eh! But I saw how you looked at her at the station! And why, if you’re just friends, did you follow her to London I’d like to know, eh?’
‘I’ve come on business,’ said George, desperately, his face still flaming red. ‘Er … I mean … I’ve come with my uncle to see London. His name’s James Ward-Lock.’
‘Like the guidebook?’ said Mrs Peabody, echoing George’s own words earlier, and laughing at her own wit. George winced. ‘Yes.’
Mrs Peabody tapped him gently on the wrist. ‘You don’t have to be ashamed of being in love, you know!’
‘But I’m not!’ George almost shouted. ‘I haven’t come for Daisy! I’ve been following up leads in a …’ He broke off, suddenly. He’d been about to spill the beans! ‘Leads in an investigation of London with my uncle,’ he finished, lamely.
‘Your walking guidebook of an uncle, James Ward-Lock,’ chortled Mrs Peabody.
George had had enough. ‘If you will excuse me, Mrs Peabody, I must go. Do tell Daisy I send my regards.’ With that, he marched off purposefully towards a door at the far end of the lounge, not sure where he was headed, only knowing he had to get away from the infuriating old busybody before he did her a mischief.
Fifteen
It had been a perfect day. The sun was shining, the air soft, the road free of traffic. Victor drove quite fast, but very well, and they soon reached Windsor where they did a tour of the State Apartments and the Queen’s Doll’s House before taking a drive in the grounds. Then they’d taken a little road that led them deep into the countryside and had found the perfect picnic spot, over a stile into a beautiful meadow. They’d eaten the cold chicken, smoked salmon, asparagus and fresh bread the hotel had packed for them, and toasted the day with elderflower champagne that tasted like the very essence of spring itself. Victor had brought a camera with him and had taken lots of photographs of Daisy. Then they’d gone for a walk down the meadow to a little sunlit stream and, like children, competed at skimming stones across the water. One of Daisy’s stones went awry, nearly hitting Victor on the leg. He pretended to be angry and chased her back up the meadow, while she screamed and pretended to be frightened. He caught her at last just near the stile, and said, laughing, ‘You can’t get away from me so easily, Daisy.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I want to,’ she said, rather daringly. Then he’d laughed, again, and bending his head down to hers, kissed her very lightly on the lips. Quickly, he released her, and said, ‘It’s getting late. We’ll miss our show if we don’t hurry …’
‘Oh, don’t let’s go!’ said Daisy, impulsively. She could feel his cool lips still on hers, and longed for him to kiss her again. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at her, smiling, and said, ‘What would you like to do, then, Daisy, my little English flower?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, her heart racing. ‘I just know I don’t want to go back to London right away …’
‘Not even for tea at the Ritz?’
She shook her head.
‘Don’t let’s, then,’ he said, lightly. ‘Let’s just go for a drive — a mystery drive, around the lanes. What do you say?’
‘Oh, yes, the very thing!’
He laughed. ‘Coming then?’
They set off, laughing at nothing, talking mostly nonsense. It was like the most pleasant of dreams, as if time had stopped, and they were in a golden bubble. They stopped in a cosy little village for tea and seed cake. Victor took lots more photographs and even allowed Daisy to take one or two, which she did with much anxious laughter. Finally they slowly made their way back to London, reaching the hotel just after six. Victor parked the car and turned to Daisy. His eyes were shining. ‘I will never forget today,’ he said.
‘Neither will I,’ whispered Daisy.
‘This will not be the end,’ said Victor. ‘You must come to France.’
‘I would love to, but …’
‘But nothing,’ said Victor, smiling. ‘I will talk to Grandmother. She will talk to Mrs Peabody! Things will happen!’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Daisy, happily. She was sure they would!
They went back into the hotel. The entrance lounge was quite empty … except for someone Daisy had never imagined she would ever see here. She started forward.
‘George! What on earth …’
George’s quick glance took in her smart clothes, and Victor behind her. He mumbled, ‘Work.’
‘Work? What do you mean?’ squeaked Daisy.
‘Sshh,’ said George, frowning. ‘It’s hush-hush sort of work.’ He looked pointedly at Victor. Daisy coloured.
‘Sorry. Victor, this is George Dale. A friend from home. George, this is Victor …’
‘A friend from here,’ broke in Victor, smiling coolly, and holding out a hand. The two of them shook hands, though without noticeable warmth. Look at him, George thought crossly, all flash clothes and two-tone shoes, and is that a faint whiff of eau de cologne, what a lounge-lizard, I’ll bet, practised smooth-talker, would’ve thought Daisy had more sense! Victor did not appear to greatly want to extend his acquaintanceship with George, either, because he bowe
d to Daisy, nodded curtly at George, and said, ‘I must go back up to my grandmother, she may be wondering where I am, will you please excuse me?’
George watched him walk briskly away. ‘You’ve made friends, I see,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, in a forbidding tone of voice. But George wasn’t easily put off. ‘What’s his name? I didn’t catch it. Foreign, is he?’
‘His name’s Victor,’ snapped Daisy. ‘Victor St-Remy and he’s French.’
George’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘Oh, Lord.’
Daisy glared at him. ‘What’s the matter? And what are you even doing here, George? What’s all this nonsense about hush-hush work and …’
He drew her away, quickly, and whispered, ‘Daisy. You’ve got to listen. I’m on a case.’
She stared at him. ‘On a case? Are you crazy, George?’
‘Listen! You’ll have to promise not to say anything to anyone.’
‘About what? I don’t know what you’re talking about! Is this one of your silly …’
‘No, this is real, Daisy. But you have to keep this under your hat. Promise?’
‘Oh, very well,’ she said, a little ungraciously.
‘I’m working for a private detective. In fact, for Philip Woodley-Foxe!’ Quickly, he told her what had happened in Upper Charlton. Daisy listened, her eyes widening. Then she exclaimed, ‘Oh, I’m so glad you got the job, George. It’s your dream come true.’
‘You could say that,’ he said, with a quick, grateful glance at her, remembering his own ungracious reaction when he’d heard she’d been hired by Mrs Peabody.
Daisy frowned. ‘But I don’t understand. Why are you here, and not in Upper Charlton, if it’s about Lady Eleanor’s diamond bracelet?’
‘We’re trying to catch The Shadow, who’s robbed several people of their diamonds.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We’re posing as guests, tonight, at the dinner-dance. I’m supposed to be Woodley-Foxe’s nephew. He’s going by the name of Ward-Lock,’ he went on, hastily, ‘anyway, we’re here because we’re sure that The Shadow’s going to steal the Blue Moon Diamond, tonight, at the dance!’
Daisy gasped. ‘What!’
Emboldened by her amazement, George said, ‘And we think The Shadow is one of the guests here. We’re laying a trap to catch him — or her — or them.’
‘Who do you think it is?’ said Daisy, with curiosity.
George looked shifty. ‘Can’t say, really. We have a few suspects.’
Daisy gave him a hard stare. He shuffled his feet and looked very sheepish. An unwelcome idea leapt into her mind. She remembered his reaction when she’d told him Victor’s name. ‘George! Don’t tell me you suspect Victor…’ she said, slowly.
‘I never said …’ began George, but Daisy cut him short. ‘George Dale, don’t you dare say anything against my friend! Don’t you dare!’ Head high, she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving George staring after her in dismay. Oh, hell! he thought. That had really torn it! She obviously cared about that French bounder — would she warn him? He might well be The Shadow, rather than the Countess, who must be his grandmother. Or perhaps they were in it together. Yes, thought George, savagely, I’ll bet that superior attitude of his is hiding a life of crime! Well, it will give me a great deal of pleasure to collar him, then! He stumped away crossly to find Woodley-Foxe and tell him what he suspected.
Upstairs in her room, Daisy was trying to focus on the day she’d spent with Victor, but George’s sudden appearance at the hotel and his ridiculous insinuations kept intruding. She hadn’t thought of her suspicion of Mrs Peabody all day but now it came flooding back. Could Mrs Peabody be this Shadow person George told her about? It couldn’t possibly be Victor — after all, he hadn’t been in the vicinity of Upper Charlton at any time, but Mrs Peabody had …
Should she tell George about how she’d seen Mrs Peabody shadowing Olivia Marlow? And what about the other odd things — the letter from Carter’s at Poste Restante, the circled entry in the guidebook, the book in Irene’s suitcase? Could Mrs Peabody be a daring jewel thief? On the face of it, it seemed even more ridiculous than imagining her as a spy for Princess Hildegarde. But odder things had happened.
But Daisy didn’t really feel like going back down to talk to George — he had really annoyed her, with his absurd idea about Victor. Besides, if the detective was here, it was doubtful the jewel thief, whether it was Mrs Peabody or not, would make a move. Daisy certainly wasn’t going to let The Shadow spoil this night of all nights.
Sixteen
George stared down at the borrowed black trousers. They were a bit short in the leg but they’d have to do. At least the jacket was about the right size. He adjusted the white bow-tie and tried to subdue his unruly hair. He looked at his watch. Nearly seven o’clock. Very soon the guests would begin filing in. The band was setting up and tuning their instruments. As they were one of London’s most celebrated dance bands, there had been many bookings for dinner. The dance floor would be crowded with the cream of London society. The leader of the band, trumpeter Harry Golightly, a tall, fair man in a well-cut evening suit, looked quite distinguished himself.
George hovered in the doorway to the smoking room, which was just opposite the entrance to the dining hall. The smoking room was empty, but earlier, there had been three or four gentlemen in there. All of them had been smoking cigars. George had discreetly inquired as to who they were. Two were their suspects — Cornelius Meyer and Luigi Felici. Disappointingly, they didn’t look like jewel thieves at all. Yet, George knew appearances could be deceptive. Reading Woodley-Foxe’s cases had taught him that. Still, it was hard to think of any of the three older suspects — for he’d caught a glimpse of the Countess when she came in, all clouds of scent and expensive furs — attacking and trussing up the detective in Lady Eleanor’s house, or being nimble enough to get through skylights to steal diamonds from bedrooms at night. That had been The Shadow’s method in two previous cases. But Victor, on the other hand had a lithe agility, like a cat, and he seemed strong too. George hadn’t liked the mockingly intelligent light in Victor’s hazel eyes, or his warm glance at Daisy, as if he owned her. Yes, he thought, it’ll be Victor, I bet. He won’t look quite so pleased with himself when he’s in gaol!
Woodley-Foxe appeared. ‘All clear, George?’
‘All clear, sir. No-one’s come in or out, except for the band and the waiters. And the manager vouched for them all.’
‘Good. Miss Marlow’s getting dressed now. She’ll be down soon.’
‘The diamond necklace, sir?’
‘It’s safe and sound. Nobody’s touched it, or tried to.’ The detective’s face was grim. ‘If we were dealing with any other criminal, I’d say our presence would definitely deter them, but not The Shadow. This one likes to take the mickey, George, and I don’t like that.’
‘It’s a bit like they’re playing with us,’ agreed George.
‘That’s the gambler in them,’ said the detective. ‘But just as the gambler is foolish enough to think he can outwit the casino bank, the criminal is foolish enough to think he can outwit the forces of law and order. But, George, I believe that soon we will have no crime at all — that criminals will finally come to understand that they cannot win.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said George, who rather hoped such a state of affairs would not come about. Or else he and Woodley-Foxe would have no work, and there’d be nothing to put in Real Detective Mysteries and Young Reporter! It would be a dull, albeit, good world.
‘Now let’s go over what we decided,’ said the detective. ‘Where are our positions?’
‘I’m to make sure I stay near the entrance,’ said George, ‘and you’ll be at the other exit, sir. They’ve given us tables near each exit, and have closed off any other means of getting out. The French windows have been bolted shut. There will be staff in the room, who, at a signal from you, will surround Miss Marlow and make it impossible for anyone to approach her in an untoward manner.’
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p; ‘Excellent,’ said the detective. ‘Now, the lights have all been checked, and the door to the switchroom locked. The key is in my pocket. The Shadow will have to snatch the gem in bright light, in front of everyone. And then we can nab him, or her, quite easily.’
‘But sir, what if The Shadow decides not to take it tonight?’
‘He will,’ said the detective, definitely. ‘It’s a matter of pride, you see. In every previous case The Shadow has struck at precisely the time he has warned his victim it will happen. That is what makes criminals vulnerable. They believe in their own mythology. The Shadow has created a myth of his own elusiveness. He likes to mock the respectable. But his game will soon be over.’
‘It will,’ said George, happily, thinking of Victor in handcuffs.
Daisy stared critically at herself in the mirror. She was tired of the pink evening dress. She’d worn it three nights in a row now. Something had to be done to make it look different. A scarf, perhaps? She had a filmy one, embroidered with white daisies. That would do. She arranged it around her shoulders, pinning it with a diamante brooch. Well, it wasn’t the Blue Moon Diamond, she thought, with an inward smile, but it looked pretty enough.
As she stepped out into the passage, she saw Irene emerging from her own room. She was dressed for the outdoors in coat and hat.
‘I thought you were downstairs already,’ she said to Daisy.
‘It took me a little while to get ready … Is Mrs Peabody still in her room? Should I wait for her?’
‘No. She’s already gone. I’ll walk you to the lift, Miss Miller.’
‘I have the evening off myself,’ Irene said. ‘I’m going to the pictures with Mary Stewart — Miss Marlow’s assistant,’ she elaborated, seeing the blank look on Daisy’s face. ‘We are going, I believe, to see a new film which has been much praised — The Million, it is called. It sounds a little frivolous, but then Miss Stewart is young, and youth needs to be indulged, sometimes.’
The Case of the Diamond Shadow Page 9