Princes Gate

by Mark Ellis

  He put the flannel over his face. So now he had two new recruits. He had been annoyed at first when the A.C. foisted his niece on him. Having to baby her along was more likely to hinder his investigation than to help it, he’d thought. However, after chatting to her a little, his irritation had faded. She appeared to be a forthright and sensible girl. She’d passed out top of her year at the College and had made a point of saying she expected no special favours because of who her uncle was. She had volunteered and emphasised that she wouldn’t be discussing any of her work for Merlin with her uncle. He’d set her on to sifting the Dr Joneses. She certainly was a pretty thing and brightened up the office. And Cole was undoubtedly enthusiastic.

  Reluctantly he pulled himself out of the bath. He picked up his watch. It was half past seven. Time to have another go at the Polish girl.

  It was just after eight when he turned the car off Baker Street and parked outside the mews. He walked over the cobbles to the little pink house and rang the bell. This time he was in luck. A pale face peeped nervously out of the door.

  He could see why Jack Stewart was impressed. Saucer-like blue eyes stared out at Merlin over a perfectly designed nose and full lips. A few brown freckles were scattered evenly over both cheeks. The girl was wearing a towel over her head but a few wisps of tawny auburn hair peeked out and trailed down over her ears.

  “Can I help you?” The accent was strong but not impenetrable like her flatmate’s.

  “Sorry to bother you so early. Detective Chief Inspector Merlin. I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions for me.” He waved his identity card in front of her.

  The girl tensed. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t but I have reason to believe you might be able to help us in connection with a case which we are investigating. It’s quite straightforward, I assure you.”

  “Very well. Come in. I am afraid I am not dressed yet.” She tugged on the belt of a white dressing gown which closely hugged the contours of her body.

  He followed her into a cramped living room. A small kitchen area led off to the right and he could see piles of dirty dishes spilling out from the sink. The girl disappeared up some stairs at the back and Merlin sat down in a small, white armchair and leafed through an old magazine he found on the bamboo table in front of him.

  The girl re-emerged wearing a bright blue dress. Her thick, coppery hair tumbled down attractively over her shoulders. She removed a lipstick from a small bag on the table and carefully applied it in front of a small mirror. Finally, satisfied with her work, she sat down, placing a cigarette between her now deep red lips. “Sorry. Would you like one?”

  Merlin declined.

  “I am useless without my morning cigarette.” She shrugged and flicked her hair out of her eyes.

  “I won’t take up too much of your time. Could you tell me your name and how long you have been in England?” Merlin had a brief, enticing glimpse of black suspender as she leaned back in her chair. He felt a part of him which had been dormant for some time exhibit a spark of life. “My name is Sonia Sieczko. I have been in England for just over a year.” Merlin looked puzzled. “That’s S.I.E.C.Z.K.O, Sieczko.”

  He wrote the name down. “And what brought you to England?”

  “Huh! What brought me here? What do you think? Mr Hitler brought me here.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I am Jewish, or to be strictly accurate, half-Jewish, although that makes no difference to them. Poland has never been a good place for Jews at the best of times. With that maniac Hitler rattling his, how do you say, swords at Poland – ”

  She pronounced the “w” in “swords”, rather charmingly, Merlin thought. “I think the word would be sabres.”

  “Yes, well, with Hitler rattling his sabres at Poland, I thought I would not like to stay for his war.”

  “May I ask on what basis you, er…?”

  “I have a proper visa, you want to look at it? I have relatives here. They live in Manchester. I had no problems. They arranged it all.”

  “And what brought you to London from Manchester?”

  She leaned forward to flick ash into a heavy, black ashtray. “Money brought me to London. Isn’t it money which brings everyone to London?”

  “Not necessarily, Miss Seeshko.”

  “It’s pronounced with a ‘Ch’ not a ‘Sh’ – Seechko, you see.” Sonia laughed and threw her hair back.

  Merlin shrugged apologetically. “Do you have a job?”

  “I work in a shop. Swan and Edgar. You know it I am sure. In Picca …”

  “dilly, yes, I know it.”

  “I work in the ladies clothing department.”

  “Does it pay well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Do you have any other jobs?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our information is that you work in a club at night – a club in Soho called The Blue Angel.”

  Sonia looked coolly at Merlin. Her eyes narrowed. “And who has given you such information?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t reveal our sources. That information is correct, though, isn’t it?”

  She stubbed out her cigarette and glanced at her nails. “What of it? I am a poor Polish girl and must do what I can to survive.”

  “I’m really not concerned with how you make your living. I just need to ask you about someone who may have been in the club. It is The Blue Angel, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I have worked there for a few months. Only one or two nights a week. I have drinks with the men, I get tips.”

  Despite himself, his right eyebrow rose and she glared back at him. “I don’t get big tips for what you are thinking, Mister Policeman. I get good tips for being good company and that’s all. I am not a whore, if that’s what whoever gave you this information told you. I laugh, I chat, I drink, I go home. And I go home here, alone. Sometimes men ask but I always say no. You can ask any of the other girls there!”

  Merlin raised his hands defensively.

  “You can ask the owner. That fat man is always asking me to go off with customers and I refuse. It is because of this I haven’t been for the past week. You ask him, that animal.” She bit her lip and seemed close to tears.

  “I’m sure that what you tell me is correct and I never had any intention of insulting you. To be frank, however, what you get up to at The Blue Angel is not really my concern.”

  Her temper cooled and she relaxed back into her chair. “Anyway. To get to the real point of my visit.” He produced the crumpled Harris family photograph and passed it to her.

  “If you could look at the rather pretty girl in the middle of this group, I would be interested to know if you ever saw her in the club.”

  Sonia’s face became a picture of concentration. She held the picture close. “Yes, I think I have seen this girl.”

  “You have?”

  “Perhaps three or four times.”

  “At the club?”

  “At the club and elsewhere.”

  “And elsewhere? Hmm. Please tell me first about the club.”

  “She came every time in a party of men. I don’t know if she was working when she was with the party, if you understand me, but I only ever saw her with such a party.”

  “And who was in the party?”

  “I do not think it was exactly the same group every time but one of the men was the same each time. He is an American who has been in the club many times when I have been there. He is a loud, pompous man who drinks too much and is rude to all the girls.”

  “Did you catch his name?”

  She closed her eyes. “Arthur, I think. Yes, Arthur. I sat with his party once but I could tell he was a pig and left. The owner was very unhappy but I said I would only sit with people who were, how do you say it, polite and who were gentlemen. For this reason also I was not very popular with the fat man.”

  “Do you remember any other names?”

  “I can remember two or
three English men who were very well-groomed, is that the right word? I cannot remember their names. And there was a large one who was nervous and laughed too loudly. I’m sorry but apart from that I can’t remember anything.”

  “Can you remember anything particular about the girl?”

  “Not much. She was very pretty and did not say a lot. She did not look happy when she visited the club. She did look happy the other time I saw her, though.”

  “When was that?”

  “I think that would have been at Quaglino’s. I was taken for dinner there in, I think, November or December. She sat at a table near us. I only noticed her because I recognised her from the club.”

  “Do you remember who she was with?”

  She shook her head.

  “Was she with this fellow Arthur from the club?”

  “Possibly. But I do not think so.”

  “Perhaps another older man?”

  “I couldn’t really see the man. He was just out of sight behind a pillar. It might have been an older man. I can’t really say. What I can remember is that she was laughing and happy.”

  “And you’re certain you can remember nothing about her companion?”

  She smiled at Merlin. “I was more interested in the man I was with, Inspector.”

  “Of course. Do you mind telling me who that was?”

  “A friend called Jack Stewart.” She rummaged in her makeup bag. “Here is his card. I don’t know whether he noticed more than me.”

  “I’ll be sure to follow that up. I think that’s all for now. Thank you.”

  “You British police are so much nicer than our Polish ones. I am so glad I came here.”

  He returned her smile and held out his hand.

  Out in the street a milkman was making his deliveries from a rickety old cart. Merlin walked past the ancient carthorse and got into his car. As the engine juddered into life, he heard a shout and saw Sonia running towards him. “Sorry, Mr Merlin. I was thinking as you walked away. You asked me if I thought the man with your Miss Harris was this Arthur fellow and I said not. One reason I thought not was that I couldn’t imagine Miss Harris passing a happy time with such a man. But then I think it could have been him because I heard him calling out to a waiter, and he did have an American accent. I am not very good at such things but I know that there are many different American accents and the one I heard was similar to this Arthur’s. You know, it was very much, how do you say, an accent from the nose.”

  “Arthur Norton is from New England. It’s in the northeast of the United States.”

  “Oh?”

  “They speak like that in New England, Miss Sieczko. I think what you’re telling me is that the man with Miss Harris had a New England accent.”

  “Yes, then I believe I am.” They made way for the milkman who had finished his deliveries to the mews. As the cart passed, the horse looked at them curiously before noisily evacuating his bowels. As they jumped back, Sonia made a face at him and they both burst out laughing.

  When their laughter had subsided, Sonia pointed a finger at Merlin. “Something tells me you do not smile enough, Mister Policeman. You should you know. You have a lovely smile.”

  “Earth hath not anything to show more fair.” Merlin felt rather jolly after his meeting with the beautiful Polish girl and the opening lines of Wordsworth’s ‘Composed Upon Westminster Bridge’ sprang unbidden to his mind as he looked down on that very bridge. Motor traffic on it was sparse this morning, but crowds of pedestrians swarmed across, heading to their offices and desks. He still found it hard to believe that business life continued almost normally with the spectre of war, death and destruction looming larger every day, but it did. The Stock Market was as active as ever, while cargoes of oil, minerals, rubber and tea, moving largely without interference as yet over the oceans of the world, were traded freely in the commodity markets of the City. Cars, machines and pots and pans continued to be engineered in the factories of the Midlands. Cinemas, having been briefly closed at the outbreak of war, had reopened. Tea and cakes were still freely available at Lyons Corner Houses and cafés everywhere. People were dying natural deaths and being buried, marriages were being celebrated and, with or without benefit of the latter, babies were still being conceived. And, as he knew well, ordinary people continued to commit ordinary crimes, regardless of the latest news from Poland or France.

  He returned to his desk and read a note sent to all senior detectives by the A.C. It summarised the increased incidence of various categories of crime since September 1939 and contained an exhortation to increase effort and improve detection. Hey ho. He pushed the note to one side. There was a knock at his door. “Ah, Cole, come on in.”

  Feeling much more comfortable back in his uniform, Cole led Bridges into the room.

  “The Sergeant tells me you had an interesting time last night.”

  “Did he tell you what happened, sir?”

  “No. I wanted to hear it from you. Sit down.”

  Cole did as he was told, produced his notebook and cleared his throat. “As instructed, I attended Mr Morrie Owen’s flat at 32 Palace Gardens, Earl’s Court at 3pm. At approximately 3.15 a car arrived and picked Mr Owen up. I followed the car in my own vehicle to its destination just off Shaftesbury Avenue in Soho. The driver of the car and Mr Owen entered a doorway, which I believe is the entrance to The Blue Angel nightclub. I waited outside the club for three hours and no unusual activity was noted.” Cole felt a bead of sweat sliding slowly down the back of his neck.

  “At approximately 7pm, Mr Owen’s driver came out of the club. I understand from Sergeant Bridges that Mr Owen’s driver and general right-hand man is one Jimmy Reardon, so I shall now refer to the driver as Mr Reardon.

  “Thinking it unlikely that Mr Owen would go anywhere without his driver, I decided to follow Mr Reardon to his destination. Mr Reardon’s first port of call was a closed shop just off the Tottenham Court Road. I couldn’t see the name of the shop in the blackout.”

  “No torch with you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Remember to carry one with you in future.”

  “In any event, before reporting in this morning, I went down to Tottenham Court Road to get the shop name – it was called ‘Myerson’s Artistic Supplies’.”

  “Well done. That name rings a bell, doesn’t it, Sergeant?”

  “Bernie Myerson. We had dealings with him a couple of years ago, if you remember.”

  “Involved with that Italian mob, the Sabinis, wasn’t he?”

  “He provided us with some useful information.”

  “I remember.”

  Cole looked down at his notebook and cleared his throat again.

  “Continue, Constable, continue.”

  “When Mr Reardon came out of Myerson’s Artistic Supplies, although it was difficult to make out, it seemed to me that he was carrying something. I can’t be sure; if he was, he put it in his pocket very quickly. He then headed off back in the direction of the nightclub.

  “What do you think it was?”

  “Perhaps a small package or envelope. On his way back to The Blue Angel, Mr Reardon paid one more call at another closed shop, this time in Dean Street. On this occasion, thanks to the light from the opening door, I was able to make out its name, which was ‘Evergreen Chemists’. As previously, Mr Reardon spent about ten minutes in the shop and when he reemerged he was certainly carrying a small package, which he put inside his coat. I did not have an opportunity to see the person he was visiting…” Cole paused and turned his notebook a page back. “… nor did I have an opportunity to see the person Mr Reardon visited first. Mr Reardon then returned to the club. I waited outside the club until approximately 3am, at which time Mr Owen emerged from the club with Mr Reardon. Prior to 10pm I saw approximately thirty women enter the club and after 10pm I saw approximately twenty-five men enter the club. I think I saw two women enter the club with men, but I saw approximately fifteen women leave the club with men. The features
of the men and women were hidden in the darkness but…”

  “Don’t worry about that, Constable, it’s Owen and his people we’re interested in for now.”

  “Well, I could recognise Mr Owen when he left as his physique is, um, unusual.”

  “That’s a good word for it I suppose.” Merlin smirked at Bridges.

  “Mr Reardon brought the car round and drove Mr Owen back home, where he arrived at around 3.30. Mr Reardon drove off and I made my own way home.”

  Merlin leaned back in his chair and raised his arms behind his head. “I suppose Reardon might have innocently been picking up a prescription from the chemist out of hours, but we should check it out. As for Bernie Myerson, he’s quite a piece of work. I wonder what he’s up to. Anyway, Cole, well done. You must be dog-tired, although I have to say you don’t look it. You have my permission to take a few hours off to get your energy back if you want.”

  “I’m alright, sir.”

  “No. Off you go. Better if you’re fresh. I…”

  There was another knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Ah. Yes. Hello there.” Merlin stood up automatically and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I didn’t have a chance to tell you before, but the Assistant Commissioner has given us yet more assistance in the form of W.P.C. Robinson, his niece as a matter of fact.”