“What a crowd you’ve got tonight, Josef,” Felicity remarked as they settled themselves.
“Ah, my Lady,” he exclaimed. “It is late now, you should have been here an hour ago—but it is the same every night. Where all the people come from, I do not know—but it is the music they like, and we try to make them ’appy. What will you ‘ave? A little supper, eh? No—you do not want anything—it is too late, jus’ a little fruit and a bottle of wine. Very good, my Lady—you leave it to me,” and he hurried away.
“Isn’t he a darling?” Felicity smiled. “I adore those great, sad, brown eyes of his, and he’s so clever, he always knows just what one wants to eat before one’s even had time to think about it.”
Rex looked around him. “I’ve never been to this place before, but I’ll say it’s a good spot.” Then he turned and smiled into her eyes. “Not that I care anyhow, any place would be swell with you around!”
She leant back luxuriously. “You know I’m terribly glad that you took me away from Irma’s party—all my friends were there, and they’re incredibly nice people really—but they are such crashing bores!”
Rex smiled delightedly, then he sat up. “Listen! That tune they’re playing, it’s a wonder! Right out of the ark. Say, Felicity, can you dance just like Mother used to? That old-fashioned stuff; come on! Let’s.” He seized her hand and pushed the table from in front of them. “Come on!” he cried, “you come and dance with me!”
They danced, with only one short interval, until the band stopped for good. The dancers upon the floor grew fewer and the tables emptied, but they danced on. Rex held his slim partner to him with the firmness that is essential to all good dancing; they swayed to the music, and moved as one. They spoke little.
Once he turned his face down to hers, and said softly: “Not tired, Sweet?”
“No,” she smiled up at him—using his Christian name for the first time. “No, Rex, let’s go on, you dance divinely!”
And at another time: “Felicity?”
“Yes.”
“I’m mighty glad I came to England!”
“Are you—why?”
“Felicity—I’m crazy about you—absolutely bats!”
“I don’t believe it, but I love to hear you say it!”
“Oh, I mean it! Cross my heart I do.”
At last they were compelled to stop. Clapping the departing band in vain for further encores, they sought their table.
Rex settled the bill and gently put Felicity’s cloak about her shoulders. “Well?” he asked, with his boyish grin. “What’ll we do now?”
“Go home to our little white beds,” said Felicity.
“But I don’t want to go to bed,” he complained. “Can’t we go some place? It’s just wonderful having you on my own—I don’t want to let you go.”
“Where can we go? I suppose there are one or two places,” Felicity said doubtfully. “But I’ll meet all my friends again at the Four Hundred, and the others are just too depressing. Somehow London isn’t made for night clubs. Paris is different. I do think bed’s the only thing.”
“Just as you say, Felicity,” he agreed submissively, and he followed her out of the now empty restaurant, where the waiters were already stripping the cloths from the tables and piling the chairs on the table tops.
Outside they secured a taxi; and having settled Felicity inside, Rex leant through the open door.
“Say, Felicity, are you really tired?” he asked.
“No, I’m not tired,” she said. “Why?”
“Don’t you worry,” he laughed, and spoke in a low voice to the driver, then he jumped in beside her.
They crawled down Piccadilly, in the still lingering fog, but as they passed Hyde Park Corner Felicity leant forward and peered out.
“Rex,” she said suddenly, “where are we going? I think he’s lost his way.”
He leant back comfortably. “That’s all right, sweet, he’ll get us home some way. I never had the chance to tell you why I was so late tonight.” And he launched quickly into details regarding the death of Lady Shoesmith, omitting, however, the capture of Simon Aron and the supper at the Berkeley, since it had been agreed between him and De Richleau that not a word should be said regarding this to anybody whatsoever. Felicity was tremendously intrigued. But before she had finished asking questions the cab came to a stop, and she peered out again.
“Rex! Where are we? This isn’t Eaton Place!”
“No, but it’s home, sweet, my home—Trevor Square. I’ve got a tiny box of a house here for six months, all on my lonesome.”
She sat back. “No, Rex, that’s not fair. Take me on to Eaton Place, or tell the taxi to, if you like. I shall be quite all right on my own.”
He took one of her hands quickly. “Do you think for one second I’d let you go alone? But listen, Felicity. If we’d stayed at Irma’s party, what o’clock would you have got home?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Does it matter? Three o’clock—four—perhaps, if I’d been enjoying myself. I’ve got a key.”
“Well then!” She could feel his smile warm about her in the darkness. “It’s barely half past two. Step in for a little. There’ll be a fire, and drinks, and everything. After all, why not? It’s been a marvellous evening up till now, why go and let it finish before it must?”
“My dear, you do want to compromise the girl, don’t you? I shall never hear the end of cutting all those dances and some old trout’s bound to have seen me go off with you!”
“No one’ll see you here,” he urged. “Be a good guy, Felicity, just for half an hour!”
“What would my Victorian mother say?” she mocked. “And she’d be sure to think the worst of her daughter,” she added as an afterthought.
“She won’t say nothing—’cause she won’t know nothing,” Rex grinned.
“Idiot! I know she won’t. All the same, I suppose you realise that it is definitely ‘not done’ here in London, for a young unmarried girl to enter alone, at any time a bachelor’s apartment?”
“Nor is it in New York, but everybody does it, all the same!” Felicity’s delicious laughter broke the stillness of the silent square. “All right,” she agreed, drawing her cloak about her. “After all, why shouldn’t we have fun?”
They paid off the taxi, and Rex led her into the small, dark house. Soon they were sitting side by side before the glowing embers of a still warm fire, in the tiny drawing-room that occupied the whole of the first floor.
“Angel face!” said Rex as he kissed her.
“Cad!” said Felicity, as she kissed him back.
At a little after five a taxi came to a halt a few doors from Felicity’s home in Eaton Place. Rex handed her out, and accompanied her on tiptoe to her front door. Gently she inserted the key in the lock.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered.
She blew him a last kiss from the tips of her fingers. “Good night, my darling,” she whispered back.
Rex tip-toed back to the waiting taxi. “Well, I’ll say it’s been no ordinary evening,” he murmured. Then, having paid the man generously, for some quite unaccountable reason he set out to walk all the way home, whistling gaily at that dark and desolate hour of the winter’s morning.
11
Mr. Granville Schatz Asks Some Very Searching Questions
“One of the many things which has endeared this country of my exile to me,” remarked the Duke de Richleau, “is the English breakfast. Only an Englishman could have the magnificent physique which would enable a man to eat of all these things at such an hour; but it is pleasant for a foreigner, such as myself, to feel that did he by any chance one morning require a kidney, or haddock, a sausage, or the kedgeree, it is there. Monsieur Aron, I beg of you to eat of all these things; you have a tiring day before you!”
As he spoke the Duke waved his hand towards the line of fireproof dishes arranged upon the electric heater, which, together with a York ham, and a cold pie, occupied the best part of the sideboard in
the spacious dining-room of his flat.
Simon Aron grunted, it could hardly be said to be more, although it was intended to be a suitable acknowledgment of the Duke’s hospitality. He snipped perhaps a dozen grapes from the large bunch which crowned a dish of fruit, and sat down to play with them.
He was never at his best at nine o’clock in the morning, and he was by no means easier for his captivity, silken though its chains might be. Moreover, the Chinese robe of honour which the Duke’s man had given him as a dressing-gown, irked him considerably. The weight of its many coloured embroideries bore him down, and the fact that he privately considered the Duke to look a fool, with his neck sticking out of just such another gorgeous garment, was no consolation to Mr. Aron.
“I got on to Granville Schatz,” he remarked at length. “He should be here at any moment. Did you—er—do anything about my clothes?”
“Most certainly,” De Richleau replied. “I sent my man Max off to your club with the note which you wrote last night, while you were still in your bath. Even now, I expect, he is packing a bag for you.”
“Thanks. Did you ever happen to run across Granville Schatz at all?”
“No, I think not,” said the Duke.
Simon Aron grunted again. “Clever lawyer, best man in London, I should say.” With this he relapsed into silence once more.
After a little time there were voices in the corridor, but it was not Mr. Schatz, as they expected. Instead Rex Van Ryn made his appearance, looking larger and healthier than ever in a voluminous suit of plus-fours. He showed not a trace of having had barely two hours’ sleep.
“Will you join us, or have you already breakfasted?” proffered the Duke.
“Thanks, I’ve had mine, and I’ve got a date with a chap at Sunningdale at eleven o’clock, but I just had to come round and get the latest.” He grinned at Simon. “How’s the prisoner?”
Simon Aron grinned back. “Just—er—waiting for my solicitor to advise me how much in damages I can get out of you two for unwarranted detention!”
“That’s the stuff,” laughed Rex. “I suppose you’ve seen the news-sheets?”
Aron nodded. “Not much in them, only about the robbery—that’s interesting, though. Point in my favour.”
“Why do you say that?” De Richleau inquired.
“Well, I’ll tell you. I took a taxi when I left here, the porter can substantiate that. Then the driver can be found. He’ll say I never stopped or spoke to anyone on the way, and he took me straight to the Berkeley. If I took the necklace, it must be in the clothes you—er—took away last night. You couldn’t hide a thing like that at the Berkeley.”
“That’s a fact,” Rex nodded. “You might have passed it on, though.”
“Ner,” said Simon Aron, “couldn’t have done. Ferraro met me in the hall, and sent my things to the cloakroom. I went straight into the restaurant. Never spoke to a soul until you two arrived.”
“You might have slipped it to an accomplice on the sidewalk outside.”
“Ner, head porter knows me well, he opened the door of my taxi. He’d have seen if I’d spoken to anyone.”
At this moment Mr. Granville Schatz was announced. He was a little short, round-faced man, with markedly Jewish features.
Simon Aron introduced him. He shook hands all round with a certain violence, rubbed his palms together briskly, and sat down.
“Now, Mr. Aron, what’s the trouble this time?” he questioned genially. “You were very lucky to get me this morning. I’m usually away week-ends.”
“Very nice of you to come down, Mr. Schatz,” Aron murmured. “Very nice, indeed. As a matter of fact, we are in a very nasty muddle!”
The Duke intervened: “Mr. Aron, I’m sure you will wish to talk to Mr. Schatz alone. If you would care to move into my study, I will give instructions that you’re not to be disturbed.”
“Oh no! It’s very nice of you, but I don’t want to say anything private. As a matter of fact, I’d be rather glad if you’d stay.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Um—certain.” Mr. Aron nodded his head up and down, so that in his robe he had much the appearance of a nodding mandarin.
“In that case, let’s all move into the library.” De Richleau led the way into the room in which he and Van Ryn had discussed the crime the night before.
“Now let’s hear all about it,” said Mr. Schatz, producing a very small and very black cigar as he settled himself. “The truth—the whole truth—and as much of the truth as you want the other side to know!” He rolled the stubby cigar between his thick lips and applied a match.
“Perhaps,” said Aron, hesitantly, to the Duke, “you—er—wouldn’t mind telling Mr. Schatz—just what you told me last night. You see, you were—er—actually there.”
“By all means, if you wish,” De Richleau agreed. “Van Ryn, you will perhaps assist me if I fail to make any point quite clear?”
Rex nodded, and the Duke related their experiences of the previous night, up to the tracing of Simon Aron to the Berkeley.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Schatz when the Duke had finished. “I can’t handle this, you know. Ring’s the man. We must secure Ring before the other side get him. Can I use the telephone?”
“It’s on the desk at your elbow,” said De Richleau.
“Thanks. Wait a minute, though. It’s Sunday. Never mind—try his private house.
He seized the telephone directory and shuffled rapidly through it with his thick fingers. “Here we are—here we are—172, Upper Brook Street, just round the corner, Grosvenor 7970.” He gripped the telephone and dialled the number.
“What’s that? What’s that?” he bellowed a moment later. “Out of town is he? Will he be back tonight? Oh—oh—oh. Tell him Mr. Granville Schatz rang him. S.C.H.A.T.Z. That’s it. I’ll ring him then.” He replaced the receiver and turned to the others. “He’ll be back about nine—we must see him first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” said Simon Aron slowly. “But in the meantime these gentlemen are anxious to produce me at Scotland Yard.”
“What’s it got to do with them?” said Mr. Granville Schatz bluntly. “They can’t stop you walking out of here. Get damages—heavy damages—if they tried!”
“Exactly,” Simon nodded. “But, you see, I made an arrangement with them last night.”
“Arrangement? What arrangement?” Mr. Schatz snapped, eyeing his client angrily. “You ought to know better than to make arrangements without taking proper advice.”
Simon told him of the supper-party and his agreement that he would remain the Duke’s guest for the night, and accompany him to Scotland Yard in the morning.
“I see, well—all right. Now you haven’t told me your end of this yet.” Mr. Schatz eyed the Duke and Van Ryn suspiciously. “Perhaps it would be as well if you reserved what you’ve got to say till later!”
“Ner,” replied Mr. Aron, wriggling his head nervously. “I’ve got nothing to hide, and our—er—friends know as much as I do already.” He then gave an account of his telephone call and his visit to Sir Gideon Shoesmith’s flat the previous evening.
“Very strange indeed,” commented Mr. Schatz. “You say the hall porter saw you come and go. That’s good—under cross-examination we’ll get his time estimate so low that we’d have had no time except to run up the stairs and down again.”
“I think this robbery of Lady Shoesmith’s pearls should help things,” said Simon slowly. “What do you think? You see every moment of my time from when I left here, till I spoke to Monsieur de Richleau, can be accounted for. I couldn’t very well have swallowed the pearls!” he laughed his funny little laugh into the palm of his hand—“In fact,” he went on cheerfully, “I’m not feeling quite so bad this morning as I did last night. I don’t mind telling you, last night I thought I was in a real muddle!”
“Well,” Mr. Schatz opened his round eyes very wide, “I don’t wonder—suspicion of complicity—a very nasty case. But I d
on’t think we’ve got much to be afraid of. The police may have found fresh evidence by now, and be taking up a totally different line of inquiry. We’ll have to see them, of course, but we’ll prepare a statement first. I think we’ll see Ring tomorrow—can’t be too careful—but they haven’t enough evidence to issue a warrant.”
“Well,” Simon smiled, “I can’t say I’m altogether sorry about that!”
“There are one or two points that I’m not quite clear on,” the lawyer continued. “Why exactly did you go to see Sir Gideon?”
Simon Aron’s wide mouth curved back into a smile, “There was a little bit of a muddle about Richard Eaton; I thought if I had a word with Sir Gideon we might be able to clear things up.”
“I see. But I thought you said you didn’t know Sir Gideon?”
“Ner—I don’t—all the same I thought he might know my name and see me. It might have helped things.”
“What sort of a muddle was this about young Eaton?”
“Well—” Simon hesitated. “To tell you the truth it was about money—Richard was a bit hard up.”
“And you thought his stepfather might help him?”
“In a way. You see, Richard hasn’t been doing very well in his business—he’s a publisher, Galleon Press—you may know his stuff—and his creditors are becoming a bit troublesome.”
“Ah, it’s been a shocking year for anyone in business,” sympathised Mr. Schatz.
“Yes—well, Richard needs the money pretty badly, and when his mother dies—well, she’s dead, of course—he comes into a packet. It occurred to us she might help him out. I mean with his present muddle.”
“That’s reasonable enough. Did the boy get on with his mother?”
“Oh, yes. She was all right—very fond of Richard, I believe. I know he was of her. You see, Richard’s father used to allow him five hundred a year, but in 1925 he persuaded his father to put up the capital to buy the Galleon Press for him instead of continuing to give him an allowance. Private press books were a good bet in those days—limited editions signed by the authors, and all that—and Richard made a good thing out of it. By 1927 he was knocking up the best part of a thousand a year, so by going into business he had pretty well doubled his income. Early in 1929, when his father died, books were still booming, so I suppose the old man considered that Richard was quite adequately provided for. Anyhow, Richard didn’t benefit by a penny under his will. So, when the slump set in and the business started to go downhill. Richard’s income dwindled to practically vanishing point with it.”
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