Murder on Charing Cross Road

by Joan Smith

“We knew our attackers were French, so that’s not much help. No word from Luten yet, Corrie?”

  “No, he didn’t expect to be home much before dinner. And Black will be gone till mid-afternoon at least.”

  “Then I’ll go home and make a few notes on last night’s doings — for my new novel, you know.” He could no longer keep the wonderful secret to himself. “It’s to be a story about spies,” he announced. “All these recent doings have inspired me. Murray is quite excited.”

  “It sounds dandy,” Coffen said. “I won’t have to read this one since I already know about it.”

  “It won’t be just about the recent doings,” Prance informed him. “I’ll dress it up, invent a dashing hero.”

  “Don’t make Luten recognizable,” Corrie said. “He’d hate it.”

  Prance could only stare at such — well, impudence was the word that came to mind. As if he would make Luten the hero! Baron Wolfried would be based on an idealized version of himself. Who had been robbed and beaten after all, and still continued to pursue the villains, cracked ribs and all? Whose home had been vandalized? “Fear not, my dear. The hero is nothing like Luten,” he said in a thin voice.

  “I hope there’s going to be a girl in it,” was Coffen’s comment. “Having a girl in it helped your gothic.”

  “Oh yes, you must give us a heroine to rescue the hero when he gets himself tied to a tree,” Corinne said, laughing.

  Prance could only stare, speechless, at this outrage. The minx actually thought she and Luten were his main characters!

  “We’ll never live that down,” Coffen said with a shake of his head.

  Prance left, trying to conceal that he was in a snit. But as he went home, he pondered what woman — not a girl — would be the heroine in his dramatis personae. Prance, with his love of the theatre, thought of his novels as plays waiting to be performed.

  He had heard rumours that Drury Lane wanted to dramatize his gothic novel. They hadn’t approached him yet. He’d wait for them to make the first move. It wouldn’t be difficult to stage Shadows on the Wall. Much of the action was set at St. Justin’s Abbey. As for the tiger, that would be no problem either. Kemble had managed to put elephants and sixteen horses mounted by Spahis on stage in Bluebeard. It had been a great success too, although Prance personally had thought it a travesty. More circus than drama. Still, it was only one tiger, not a menagerie. They’d have to keep it on a concealed leash, of course. It wouldn’t do to have him maul Lorraine, the leading lady.

  Corinne finally got rid of Coffen by telling him she really must go upstairs and see how Mrs. Ballard was doing. Mrs. Ballard was spending too much time in her room alone.

  “Give her my regards,” he said, taking the hint and arising. “I’ll just toddle along home and see what Cook has in mind for dinner.”

  * * * *

  Luten was in no good mood when he returned. “What had Hopley to say?” his wife asked.

  “He was too polite to say what he thought — that I’m a jackass and have been wasting time on the wrong man.”

  “What, you mean Morgrave is not a spy?” she asked. “Oh I am glad.” When he stared at this thoughtless speech, she added, ‘It’s just that Samantha is enceinte, you know, and it seemed a shame if the baby should come into the world with such a cloud over him. I like Samantha. But what about the code book I saw in their dressing room?”

  “He works for Hopley,” Luten said, blushing. “That’s what comes of Hopley’s sitting on all his secrets, as if he didn’t trust us.”

  “That’s very foolish of him.”

  “There is a reason. If one of his men is taken, he doesn’t want them to be able to give the French any information.”

  “As if they would!” she scoffed. Luten thought it better not to frighten her by mentioning how such information might be extracted.

  “But if not Morgrave, then who —"

  “That’s what we have to find out. No word from Black?”

  “Not yet. And Coffen had no luck at the spinney either. He found a black touque and Reggie’s snuffbox.”

  “That’s a big help. I’ll tell Evans to notify the others there’ll be a meeting here this evening. Put on your thinking cap, my dear, we’re starting over from the beginning. And this time we can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

  He feared she was going to begin pestering him about the dangers of his work again. To distract her, he said, “So Samantha is enceinte, eh? That’s good news. They haven’t been married much longer than we have.” He looked at her, a question in his eyes.

  “Not yet, Luten,” she said. “You’ll be the first to know, I promise you.”

  “Shall we get to work on it?” he suggested, taking her hand to draw her up.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Evans tells me Molton wants to speak to you. He seems to be quite upset.”

  Molton was the footman who had been watching Morgrave last night. “I’d best have a word with him,” he said. “I’ll join you shortly.”

  Evans was asked to send Molton to Luten’s study. He came in, wearing a black eye and a bruise on his cheek.

  “Molton! What happened to you?” he asked in alarm.

  “I got beat up last night, your lordship. I was watching Morgrave’s place like you said.”

  “Did he go out?”

  “I didn’t see him. I was knocked flat out by a couple of men wearing masks. They trussed me up and when I come to I didn’t know where I was. I worked on my ropes and towards dawn I managed to work myself free. I started walking and after walking in circles for ages I met a fellow who told me I was in an alley off Drury Lane. So I walked home to tell you, but you’d left.”

  “What time were you knocked out, Molton?”

  “I don’t have a watch, sir, but it wasn’t much past ten. I was keeping track of time by church bells. Ten had just struck a few minutes before they got me.”

  Luten stood a moment, nonplussed. “I see,” he said in a hollow voice. “You’d best go to bed, Molton. Do you need a doctor?”

  “I’m all right. Cook gave me a headache powder.”

  “I’m sorry this happened, Molton. You take the rest of the day off.” Not knowing how else to recompense his footman, he gave him a guinea, which brought a smile to his face.

  “Next time I’ll keep an eye behind me as well as on the door,” he said. “The pity of it is I couldn’t tip Buckley the clue. He’d already left when I got home. He was to replace me at dawn, you recall. P’raps he’ll be safe in the daylight.”

  Luten just nodded and Molton left. He went into his study to ponder what he had just heard. Why had Molton been got out of the way if it was not to conceal that Morgrave was leaving? The time was right too. Ten o’clock — time to get to the spinney and prepare the attack. Hopley was wrong. Morgave was the spy. And it was even worse than he thought. He was actually employed by Hopley, working on highly secret documents. And Hopley wouldn’t believe it. The Brigade would have to give him incontrovertible evidence.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Luten forgot all about Corinne, waiting for him upstairs. He sat, trying to figure out how Molton’s and Hopley’s stories fit together. If the Frenchies knew he suspected Morgrave and had set up the meeting in the spinney, then might they not have removed Molton to increase suspicion of Morgrave? That could explain it. Or Morgrave could be guilty. He had to consider both possibilities. Meanwhile he had discontinued the watch on Morgrave, since the French were aware of it and taking their own precautions.

  Black had still not returned when the group met in Luten’s study after dinner to learn the gist of his visit with Hopley and Molton’s attack. They all sat, stunned into silence, but when they finally began speaking, it was clear they believed the French had removed Molton to make them think Morgrave was guilty. And perhaps they were right.

  “But if Hopley says Morgrave is not our spy,” Prance said, “then we are at pointe non plus. He was our only clue.”

  “Hopley menti
oned there are a few other points,” Luten said. “We must work to discover who put your purse in Morgrave’s pocket for one thing.”

  “I wish you luck of that,” Prance said. “We’ve no idea when it was put in. It’s not a bulky purse that one would notice right away. Anyone might have done it. He belongs to more than one club, and goes about to parties and plays and things.”

  “He don’t wear a blue afternoon jacket to parties and plays,” Coffen pointed out. “And he don’t seem to go out that much during the day. Corrie said he was at home two times she called on his wife. Can’t we ask him about it? Mean to say, if he didn’t put it there himself, he must be wondering how it got there. Pity it didn’t have your name on it, Prance, and he’d have returned it to you. McRaney mentioned Morgrave usually goes to Arthur’s in the evening, but we know he drops in some afternoons as we met him there in the afternoon. I managed to get into his pocket to search it, if you recall, so it could have been done there all right.”

  “I’d like you and Prance to go back there tomorrow afternoon, Coffen,” Luten said. “If Morgrave is there, strike up a conversation with him. You could complain about losing your purse, Prance. If Morgrave is innocent, he’ll mention finding it in his pocket.”

  “Yes, certainly I’ll drop in with Coffen,” Prance agreed. "I noticed you said 'If he's innocent.' Are you thinking he isn’t innocent, Luten?”

  Corinne scowled at her husband. “I think you should admit you were mistaken and ask Morgrave who had access to his pocket.”

  “Anything is possible in this case,” Luten said. “No harm to test him. I could have sworn it was him riding Smoker last night. The same build, the same general way of moving. I don’t know. I was sure it was him.”

  “P’raps you saw what you were expecting to see,” Coffen said

  “If I’m mistaken, no harm done. You might call on Samantha again, Corrie, and see if you can find out — discreetly — where Morgrave has been spending his afternoons recently, specifically since the day after Prance’s purse was stolen.”

  “Very well,” she said stiffly. “But I doubt very much that Morgrave is guilty.”

  Coffen sat listening and frowning. “What Hopley said about mor could be interesting as well. I’ll go back to talk to McRaney in the morning. See if he knows any chum of Bolton’s with some other letters to their names. Nor, or Mar, or something that looks like mor.”

  “Yes, do that by all means.” Luten drew out his watch and frowned at it, then went to the window and looked out. “Dash it, what’s keeping Black? He should be back by now. I hope to God nothing’s happened to him. I shouldn’t have sent him alone.”

  “Somehow one never imagines Black getting into any trouble he couldn’t handle,” Prance said.

  “He got tied up like the rest of you last night,” Corinne reminded them. Her annoyance with Luten put her in a sharp humour, for in the usual way she was one of Black’s greatest fans.

  Luten ignored this jibe and said, “There’s one other point Hopley mentioned, but I’d like to wait until Black gets here as it involves his visit to Long Acre. We’ll have a glass of wine and see if anyone can come up with any other ideas.”

  Before long Evans was at the door, announcing “Mr. Black.” At such moments, Black’s heart swelled in glory. He was no longer just “Black, the butler.” He was “Mr. Black.” He would hardly have been more gratified if he had been called Lord Blackwell. All eyes turned to him in eager anticipation. He stepped in and Luten showed him to a chair.

  “I’m afraid I had no luck,” he said. “Smoker hasn’t shown up yet. The reason I’m so late, I’ve been to every dishonest stable I know. I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe I know the answer.” He knew how Kean must have felt on the stage, with everyone on thorns to hear him.

  “It’s the matter of disguising the horse, you see. Not likely they’d have got started on that till this morning. Then to get the right colour of dye, put it on and let it dry, brush it down. Say the colour wasn’t dead on first time, for it’s a tricky business, they’d have to doctor it up. I figure tomorrow’s the earliest we can expect to see Smoker at a stable. I believe I’ve pinpointed the stable he’ll turn up at.”

  “If you don’t mind then,” Luten said, “do go back tomorrow.”

  “I’d ought to have remembered they’d need a little time before I went dashing off half-cocked, wasting the better part of a day,” Black said with a rueful shake of his head.

  “You’re not the only one who’s been wasting time,” Luten said, and gave him a brief account of his trip to Hopley and Molton’s attack.

  “Not Morgrave?” Black cried. He reached his hand into his pocket and placed Prance’s stolen pocket watch on Luten’s desk. “Then how does it come I bought this off of Ned Sparks?”

  There was a collective gasp of astonishment. Prance snatched up his watch and examined it for damage. “Well done, Black! Where on earth did you get this?”

  “At Ned Sparks’s place, which is how I know what stable to go looking for Smoker tomorrow.”

  “How did you come by my watch?” Prance asked.

  “Ned was using it. Ned was that proud of it he pulled it out two or three times to make sure I saw it. I praised it and asked him if I could have a closer look, for I wanted to make sure it was yours. Asked him where he got such a fine thing. He said a fellow traded it for a nag three days ago. Of course I asked him about the fellow and the nag. It wasn’t Smoker. But it was a Frenchie that made the trade, and the description sounded like Henri. Mind you a lot of them look alike,” he added.

  Coffen asked, “Did you pay him for it, Black, or did you snitch it? No offence.”

  “I paid him ten pounds. I figured it was worth that much to you, Sir Reginald, as you’ve often regretted losing it.”

  “It’s worth a hundred pounds to me, Black, for sentimental value alone.”

  “Then you can give me ten pounds to buy Smoker tomorrow.” He turned to Luten, and said, “I took the liberty of using some of your money to buy the watch.”

  “I don’t have any money with me, but I’ll give it to you this very night,” Prance said. “I’m most grateful to you, Black.”

  “You don’t think Ned Sparks will find it suspicious if you go back there tomorrow?” Luten asked Black.

  “Nay, he knows I’m after a mount. He suggested I call on him again soon. He seems to do a pretty thriving business in stolen mounts. I spotted dyed markings on two others while I was there.”

  “I think we must toast the new member of the Berkeley Brigade in champagne,” Luten said. Prance was the only one likely to object, and even he had been won over by the return of his watch.

  “And not the least valuable one either,” Corinne added with a special smile for Black.

  Black blushed like a schoolgirl and said, “I hardly know what to say. I’m greatly honoured, Lord Luten.”

  “The honour is ours,” Luten said. Then he rang for Evans. Corinne knowing that Coffen was always hungry, asked him to bring sandwiches as well. The refreshment was soon brought to the study.

  Before the meeting broke up, Luten had a word with Black about his visit to Long Acre. “Hopley has suggested we might get a lead there as to who arranged for you to overhear their plans for that disastrous meeting last night. There’s no point in your going back since they recognized you. In fact, whoever goes must speak French fluently. Prance and I speak it fairly well, but aren’t familiar with the patois a gang of thieves would speak,”

  “I can’t say I know any Frenchie I’d trust. I take it that’s what you have in mind? I never associated with them at all.”

  “But would you know any Englishmen who do work with the French, not on spy business, obviously, but on lesser crimes? I’m asking you since you’re more familiar with that element than myself. I hope I don’t offend you by the question, Black. I know you aren’t actively involved in that sort of thing, but you have such an interesting circle of acquaintances.”

  “No
offence, as Mr. Pattle would say,” Black laughed. “I don’t happen to know offhand, but I’ll certainly make some enquiries amongst former associates. I’m not proud of my past life, Lord Luten, but I’m proud that I’ve reformed. Proudest of all that you deem me worthy to —"

  “We’re proud — and extremely fortunate — to have you,” Luten said.

  Coffen ambled over to join them. “What about me calling on McRaney tomorrow to ask about that mor business, Luten? Is that still on?”

  “Do make the call as planned,” Luten said. “Whoever stole Prance’s purse and planted it on Morgrave also used his watch to buy the nag. Or at least had one of his French friends do it. Hopley doesn’t think it was Morgrave. We have to find out who it was, if it wasn’t him.”

  “Right. And Prance and I will go back to Arthur’s in the afternoon and quiz Morgrave if he’s there. One way or t’other we’ll catch the bleater. Are you coming home now, Black?”

  “Black is accompanying me home,” Prance said.

  “Are you still afraid someone’s going to kidnap you?” Coffen jeered.

  “You forget I have to reimburse Black for retrieving my watch. I am so very pleased to have it back. You’ve no idea.”

  Corinne drew Black aside to make a few enquiries about her house, and to compliment him on his good work.

  “You’d ought to give him a pourboire,” Coffen said aside to Prance.

  “I know that! How much do you think ...”

  “Finder’s fee of ten percent at least.”

  Prance nodded. “And my eternal gratitude.” He turned and called to Black. “Ready, Black?”

  “Just coming, Sir Reginald.”

  It occurred to Prance to ask him to drop the “Sir”, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The committee in charge of refreshments for the Orphans’ Ball met in Corinne’s salon the next morning to finalize plans for the fast approaching ball. The wine had been attended to, but tickets were moving so quickly they had to arrange with Gunter’s to enlarge the order of sweets. The important matter of how many more petits fours, mille feuilles and crèmes glacées to order managed to take up nearly two hours, most of which, of course, was spent in the taking of tea and the enjoyment of gossip.