She laid a hand impulsively on his sleeve. ‘Mr Holt, can I have it? Please. Let me have the ring as a keepsake. I’d like to have something that belonged to him; I’ve got nothing to remember him by. He’d have wanted me to have it, I’m sure …’
Holt pounced upon her words. ‘A moment ago you were quite prepared to believe that Vance is alive. Now you talk of him in the past tense as though he were dead.’
‘Oh no, I mean … It’s just that … Oh dear, you’re getting me all confused … Oh, look!’ she said with sudden relief. ‘There’s Jimmy!’
Jimmy Wade was entering the restaurant, his face wreathed in a mixture of smiles which managed to convey delight at seeing them and enxiety that he might be intruding. He bustled over to their table.
‘I trust you’ll forgive me if I’m disturbing you,’ he began. Then, addressing Julie, ‘As you told me you were lunching with Mr Holt I thought I might drop by and pick you up. If your Vespa is still out of action, dear, I expect you’d like a lift up to the College?’
Julie nodded, a trifle uncertainly.
Henri Legere said, jokingly, ‘She could always sit on the rear of my bicycle.’
‘You ride a bicycle, do you?’ Holt said casually. ‘How do you like riding “on the wrong side of the road”?’
‘It is terrible! But it is even worse with a car.’
‘Oh, do you run a car as well?’
‘No, but occasionally Mr Wade allows me to borrow his. He is very generous and lends it to just anybody who asks.’
Holt’s brain raced in top gear. Jimmy Wade had passed the watch test before lunch; the reference to the car offered an unexpected opportunity. He seized it and went on gently probing. ‘It’s a very generous man who lends his car, Mr Wade. Had I known you were here last night I might have thrown myself on your mercy – my own chariot’s under repair.’
‘I’m afraid you’d have been unlucky, great as the pleasure would have been,’ Wade responded, his india-rubber face signalling thwarted good intentions. ‘My car had already been borrowed.’
Holt’s heart leapt. ‘Really?’ he began, but to his immense annoyance the line of enquiry was terminated abruptly by Legere, whose action in replacing the signet ring on the plate instantly caught Wade’s full attention.
‘Good gracious me!’ he twittered, swooping on it with one of his incredibly swift, bird-like movements. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but isn’t this Vance’s ring?’
‘You recognise it?’ Holt said.
‘I do indeed. Julie dear, do you remember that time when you brought Vance to visit us at Honor Oak and I pulled his leg about having the dollar sign on his ring?’
She managed a nod and a thin smile. ‘I remember.’
Wade chuckled. ‘He didn’t take kindly to my mild witticism, did he?’
‘By all accounts he wasn’t blessed with a very great sense of humour,’ observed Holt.
Julie flushed with annoyance at the criticism. She stood up and said it was time for her to report back on duty at the College.
Jimmy Wade made a rush towards the coat-stand, beating Legere by a short head, whilst Holt pocketed the ring and went to the cash desk to pay his bill. The three men exchanged pleasantries about the size of this bill – The Golden Peacock was by no means cheap – and then strolled back to the table together.
To Holt’s surprise, Julie had been joined by a stranger. It was the tall, distinguished looking man in the well-cut suit whom they had seen talking to Legere earlier on.
Julie introduced him. ‘Ashley, this is Mr Philip Holt.’
Ashley Milton offered a slender hand. ‘Ah, the famous society photographer.’ He spoke in a weary drawl. ‘It’s an honour to have you eat at my humble restaurant, Mr Holt. I trust you fared well?’
‘We had an excellent meal, thank you,’ Holt answered shortly. He found the man’s manner irritating; it was faintly patronising.
Jimmy Wade finished his task of helping Julie into her coat and was now trying to catch Milton’s eye. The latter seemed in no hurry to greet either Wade or the Frenchman, and a petulant expression crossed his lengthy features when Wade finally managed to address him.
‘If you’ll forgive my mentioning it, Milton old chap, you haven’t returned my spare car keys yet, you know.’
‘Oh – how beastly careless of me!’ Milton fished languidly in the trouser pocket of his beautifully tailored suit and produced a broad flat car key on a small chain. Holt could read the emblem of the car’s brand name quite clearly. Cut into the key’s form were the letters ‘V W’.
Milton then turned to Holt. In an exaggerated movement he stretched out his left arm and crooked it in order to look at a gold watch on the inside of his wrist.
He said in his bored vocal slouch, ‘Holt, you don’t by any chance happen to have a few moments to spare, I suppose?’
‘I think I can manage that,’ Holt answered steadily.
Chapter Ten
Later that afternoon Holt conferred with Inspector Hyde in his hotel room.
‘I haven’t met Ashley Milton,’ Hyde said. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Conceited. Clever,’ Holt answered. ‘With great difficulty I restrained myself from punching his nose. He has a maddening habit of talking down to you.’
‘Sounds rather like Vance Scranton would have become in another twenty years,’ Ruth said. ‘Did they know one another?’
Holt nodded. ‘All too well, so it seems. That’s what Milton wanted to see me about. It appears he had a very good motive for wanting to kill the lad, and he thought it would be a good idea to clear himself with me and explain that, despite provocation, he didn’t commit the murder.’
‘Go on, Holt.’
‘Milton says that young Scranton was blackmailing him.’
‘Does he indeed?’ Hyde sank his chin on to his chest and sucked at his pipe. ‘It sounds ugly – but credible. Anything in writing, by any chance?’
‘Yes, some letters. Ashley Milton wrote them when he was a young man. There was a rather mucky affair with a very young girl.’
‘A minor?’ Hyde asked.
‘Yes. She was fifteen. Somehow or other Vance got hold of these indiscreet letters and put the bite on Milton.’
‘For how much – did he tell you?’
‘Nearly two thousand pounds.’
The Inspector pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘No wonder he’s scared of being suspected of murder! There’s a real motive there …’
‘But it seems to fit together, doesn’t it? That was Milton in Vance’s study last night, and it’s fair to assume that he was looking for the blackmail letters. Did he offer any proof?’
‘That he was being blackmailed, do you mean? Or that he didn’t murder Vance?’
‘Did he offer any proof of either?’
‘Well, he showed me the cheque stubs of the sums he’s been paying Vance over the past two years or so. As for his alibi, he says he was tinkering about on his boat on the night of the killing.’
‘That wasn’t the sort of night one would choose to tinker about with one’s boat—’
‘He didn’t say he went out to sea in it.’
‘Just as well for him – there was thick fog! What type of craft is it?’
Holt shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know much about them myself, but I think “luxury motor yacht” would be about the right description. It’s the sort of thing you see anchored in the harbour at Monte Carlo. Milton showed me a colour photograph hanging on the wall of his lounge – sumptuous place he has, above The Golden Peacock.’
‘We’ll have some discreet enquiries made into the private life of Ashley Milton!’ Hyde promised. ‘We’ll find out more about his luxury yacht, and we’ll also check what his sources of income are, apart from The Golden Peacock. From what you’ve told me, it seems he’s living it up rather grandly on the proceeds of one restaurant, especially if the Scranton boy was dipping into the till from time to time.’
‘Yes, I see what y
ou mean. But, although Milton seems to have had a motive for shooting Vance, we’re not absolutely certain that it was Vance who was killed, are we? If Vance is still alive, Milton could well be telling the truth.’
‘I suppose Milton couldn’t have killed the wrong man by mistake, could he?’ Ruth suggested. ‘I mean, could he have thought it was Vance who was in the study?’
The two men thought this over.
‘It’s a distinct possibility, Ruth,’ said Hyde seriously. ‘If the victim had his back to the murderer and the shot was fired as he turned round …’
‘But we must keep an open mind, eh, Inspector – until we’ve got definite proof?’ said Ruth with a delightfully cheeky grin.
‘Quite so,’ said Hyde with a smile.
Holt was pressing his fingertips to his temples in worried concentration. ‘One thing doesn’t tally. If Milton was looking for blackmail letters last night, and if it was a sack I heard being dragged across the floor … well, they must have been incredibly heavy letters!’
‘Perhaps he put them in suitcases,’ said Ruth brightly, ‘intending to search through them at his leisure.’
‘If they’d been suitcases he’d have carried them in the normal manner,’ Holt pointed out.
‘Then how about letters in boxes, or slipped between the pages of books—’
‘Books!’ Holt jumped to his feet and hugged her. ‘I think you’ve hit it, Ruth! That’s exactly the sound a pile of books would make … heavy books, dragged in a sack to prevent them slipping out of the holder’s grasp! By Jove, I wonder where this leads to! Now, supposing it was the books themselves that Milton wanted to examine …’ The telephone rang and Holt waved impatiently to Ruth to answer it. ‘If it’s Abe Jenkins I’m not available,’ he said crisply, going over to the window and staring out to sea.
It was some seconds before he realised that there was a deathly silence in the room. He turned and saw that Hyde was staring at Ruth.
‘It’s for you,’ she said in a strangled tone. ‘A man’s voice … He says he’s Vance Scranton!’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Holt exclaimed. In one stride he was beside Ruth and had seized the phone from her hand. He put his palm over the mouthpiece and looked quickly at Hyde. ‘What if it’s another hoax, like Lewisham?’
‘Force him to prove his identity,’ Hyde urged softly.
Holt nodded and released the mouthpiece. ‘Philip Holt here.’
‘Fine. This is Vance Scranton.’ It was a young, strong voice with a marked American accent.
‘Robert Scranton, did you say?’ said Holt, playing for time.
‘No, that’s my father. This is Vance on the phone. The prodigal son, you know?’
‘No, I’m not sure that I do know,’ Holt replied carefully. ‘The last time somebody claiming to be Vance Scranton spoke on the telephone, it was a trick and a man was murdered shortly afterwards.’
‘Oh, sure – you mean Curly. Say, didn’t he look terrible with that black wig and the lipstick and all?’
Holt’s heart missed a beat. The wig had got into the press reports of the murder, but there had been no mention of the lipstick question-mark on Curly’s skull.
‘Did you kill him, Scranton?’
‘Holt, I’m in no mood for answering questions. I’m in a jam and I need your help.’
‘Where are you? Where are you phoning from?’
‘Sorry, I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you anything at all unless you do a little job for me. Then you can hear the whole sad story. Is it a deal?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘You’ve got my ring, haven’t you? My signet ring?’
‘How the devil did you know that?’
‘No questions, or the deal’s off. Now listen carefully … If you deliver that ring to a safe place, as soon as I know it’s there I’ll meet you and give you all the answers to the Scranton Quiz Programme.’
‘Where do I deliver the ring?’
‘To old Harry Dalesford.’ Vance gave a laugh. ‘Yeah, the Professor himself. Only he mustn’t know about it, see? Find some excuse to call on him and drop that ring into the fancy clay jar he keeps on his desk – he stuffs a load of pens and pencils in it as a rule … You got that?… Don’t try and double-cross me, Holt, or I’ll find out for sure and then I just won’t turn up for our date.’
‘Where and when is that date to be, Scranton?’
‘Tomorrow night, around midnight, on the beach.’
‘Which beach? Eastbourne’s a big area.’
‘Under the Pier. Got it, Holt … Under the Pier. Midnight tomorrow.’
There was a click and the line went dead.
Hyde was the first to break the silence. ‘Was it the real thing?’
‘The line was bad, but I think so. He knows I’ve got the ring!’
Holt went on to recount the part of the conversation which they had not been able to hear. Ruth was entranced with this latest development, but Hyde said nothing.
‘What do you want me to do, Inspector?’ Holt asked presently. ‘Shall I go along with his plan, hoping to God that he keeps his word? Or are you going to sound the general alarm and have him arrested?’
The Inspector took some time before replying. It was a difficult decision to make. At last he said, ‘In order to arrest him I’ve first got to have my hands on him. That’s easier said than done. But if he gives himself up of his own accord … Holt, I suggest you go through all the motions of falling in with his plan. Do just what he asked – but with this one difference: I shall have a small army of police in plain-clothes – fishermen, tourists, courting couples, and so on – posted in the shadows of the Pier, ready to pick him up if he does keep his end of the bargain. If he fails to appear, then I’ll issue a warrant for his arrest and sound the alarm.’
‘I wonder who told him you’d got the ring,’ Ruth said. ‘The lady who gave it to you, by any chance?’
Holt shrugged his shoulders. ‘Possibly. Antoinette isn’t the only suspect, though. It could be any one of the people I met at lunch today.’
‘Let’s take another look at that ring,’ said Hyde. ‘Maybe there’s more in it than meets the eye.’
Holt delved into his jacket pocket. ‘That’s funny – I distinctly remember …’ With a perturbed expression he began to feel in his other pockets.
‘Did you transfer it to your overcoat?’ asked Ruth.
‘Or your wallet?’ the Inspector suggested.
Holt foraged in both these places with mounting anxiety and no success. There was a strained silence whilst he turned every pocket inside out. Finally the inescapable conviction that the ring was missing could no longer be denied. A thief had been at work.
Who? Henri Legere or Jimmy Wade as they joined him at the cash desk and strolled back with him to his table? Julie, under cover of the fuss Wade made as he helped her on with her coat? She had pleaded with Holt to let her have the ring as a keepsake. Or was the pickpocket Ashley Milton himself, forewarned by Julie of the ring’s existence, and clever enough to get Holt on his own in the relaxed surroundings of his private apartment?
As Holt tried to reconstruct the scene and account for each suspect’s movements, he realised with dismay that it could be any one of them.
The Inspector put through several calls to Scotland Yard and the three of them talked in his hotel room till late in the evening. One thing was crystal clear: the opportunity to pin Vance Scranton down to a particular time and a particular place was too good to miss. The loss of the ring could not be allowed to prevent the rendezvous under the Pier. It was agreed that Hyde should have a copy made, as accurately as they could remember it, and Holt would make some excuse to visit Professor Dalesford in the morning.
They discussed the curious choice of the Professor’s pencil-jar as a receptacle, and agreed that any one of four people – Dalesford, Julie, Antoinette, or Legere – would be in a position to pick the ring up easily.
When the telephone rang Holt ans
wered, in case it should be Vance. But to his surprise it was Vance’s parents. The call was short and Holt provided an account of it immediately he had hung up.
‘That was the Scrantons. They decided to come down here and they’re staying at the Grand. It seems they’ve had a letter forwarded to them. It was addressed to Vance at the College and Dalesford opened it by mistake.
‘What was in the letter?’ Hyde asked.
Holt made a wry grimace. ‘Belated birthday greetings. From Christopher.’
The Inspector sprang to his feet. ‘That confounded ghost again! Has Scranton brought the letter with him?’
Holt nodded. ‘Mrs Scranton asked me to go round first thing in the morning – says they’re too tired to see me tonight. She didn’t sound as friendly as usual. I could be wrong, but I thought I detected a note of impatience in her voice. They’re probably wondering when my investigations are going to show some results.’
‘You’d have risen very considerably in Mrs Scranton’s estimation if you’d told her you’d just conversed with her son on the telephone,’ the Inspector said with the faintest hint of a twinkle in his eye.
Holt smiled. ‘Yes, I would, wouldn’t I?’
‘What are you two playing at?’ Ruth protested. ‘Think of that poor mother, half out of her mind with worry and doubt—’
‘Yes – so overwrought, in fact, that the moment I tell her I’ve spoken to Vance she’ll rush off and do something foolish and upset the applecart completely!’ Holt pointed out.
Hyde grunted agreement with this point of view.
Holt went on, ‘This is a very delicate matter we’re trying to bring off, this rendezvous with Vance. It’s like setting a time-bomb – if we let the parents tamper with the fuse the whole thing may blow up prematurely … Don’t you agree, Inspector?’
‘I do indeed. First things first: contact Vance – and then it will be time to break the news to the parents that their boy is alive, and in all probability a double-murderer!’
It was a bright, blustery day with strange-shaped masses of grey cloud scudding across the sky as Holt drove to Deanfriston with Mr and Mrs Scranton in his newly-repaired Mustang. They had expressed a wish to meet some of their son’s friends, which had conveniently provided Holt with the desired excuse to visit the College.
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