Three Inquisitive People

by Dennis Wheatley

  Rex grinned and pulled her down again upon his knee. “Have a heart, honey!” he laughed. “It’s serious this business. Honest it is.”

  “I know,” said Felicity, twining a lock of Rex’s rumpled wavy hair round one of her pink fingers and giving it a vicious tug. “Saturday you never bothered to turn up at Irma’s until one o’clock in the morning; Sunday you lied in your imperfectly cleaned teeth about golf at Sunningdale—I know because Bobbie told me you never turned up, and let him down. Monday you put me off about dinner to dine with your friends, and now when I have got you to myself for five minutes I suppose I am to be packed off. What is the good of our having a love-affair if we never see each other—I ask you?”

  “Now, honey, you must be reasonable.”

  “Pig. You can’t even have the decency to remember how I loathe your nasty, cheap American endearments.”

  “I’m sorry, sweet. We did dine Tuesday, and lunch yesterday at that jolly little Punch’s Club in Waverton Street. ’Twasn’t my fault you wouldn’t dine last night. I’m clean crazy about you, honest I am. You’re just the most adorable thing that ever wore two shoes; but this is a big show I’ve got on with the Duke and Aron. I only wish I could let you in on it. You’ll be just terribly interested when I can spill the beans, later on.”

  Felicity coiled herself round him in the manner of an affectionate python. “That’s better,” she cooed. “But what a big, important person it is to be sure, with its little secret, just like a nice grubby schoolboy who’s got a robber’s cave in the coal cellar with a couple of friends, and won’t trust the girls for fear they tell. What are you going to do? Abduct Ishbel MacDonald, or blow up the King?”

  “Say, cut it out!” exclaimed Rex, laughing and wriggling in his chair. “You’re tickling! Stop it!”

  “Worse will befall,” whispered Felicity, “unless you tell. I see it all, as in a glass darkly, malice and pain coming from a fair woman who loves you.”

  “I can’t, sweet, I’ve given my solemn word to the others I wouldn’t let on.”

  “Here goes!” said Felicity, and her sharp little teeth seized upon the lobe of Rex’s left ear.

  “Hoi! You’re hurting—stop that.” A scuffle followed. For a minute Rex held the girl stretched out across his knee, and managed to get in one resounding whack upon her behind; but next second with surprising strength and agility in one so slight she had managed to wriggle free and stood looking down upon him, flushed, breathless, hardly at all dishevelled, but adorably pretty in her excitement.

  “Darling!” said Rex.

  “My beloved!” said Felicity.

  And rising, Rex folded the delectable femininity of Felicity into his huge male bosom, stooping his head quite considerably in order to bring his lips into firm and lasting contact with her lips, until the pain in his neck became such that he was forced reluctantly to take his mouth from hers, but even so he continued to hold her tightly to him for some little time. At last:

  “Rex darling.”

  “Felicity sweet.”

  “I’ll go now.”

  “Don’t go—I don’t want you to.”

  “Must, darling. Your silly old Duke will be here soon. Shall I see you at Archie’s cocktail party?”

  “Wish I could say, sweetheart.” Rex frowned. “You heard. He wants me on a job. If it’s this evening I’ll just have to cut Archie’s out.”

  “Poor sweet, what a shame. You don’t mind my hating your old Duke, do you? I bet he dribbles in his beard.”

  Rex laughed. “You’ve got him all wrong, sweetheart. He’s not that kind of Duke, an’ he hasn’t got a beard. You’d be crazy about him if you saw him. He’s a great guy.”

  “All right,” she smiled at him fondly. “Only don’t let him take quite all your time. I feel so lonely, Rex, when I see so little of you.”

  He grinned. “Wish I could believe that. You’ve got lots of other men to take you to places.”

  She nodded rather sadly. “I know—too many. That’s just the trouble, I suppose I’m an awful little fool to tell you so, but I just loathe going out with other men now. They’re all so bothersome, and I didn’t mind before. In fact, I thought it rather fun, but now I hate it.”

  Rex took both her hands in his and looked down into her upturned face. “You’re not a fool, Felicity,” he said earnestly, “you’re great! And honest to God I am a whole heap fond of you. Listen, just to show I’m not kidding, I’ll tell you a bit about what we’re up against, and I wouldn’t do that to another living soul.”

  “No, sweet,” she shook her head violently. “I’d hate it if you went breaking promises. I’ll be good and patient till it’s over.”

  “Well, I’d just like you to know, Felicity, that the Duke and Aron and I aren’t on a business deal. It’s that Shoesmith case. You know they’ve gone and put that boy behind bars. Well, he didn’t do it; and we’ve made up our minds to bring in the bird who did.”

  “Darling!” She laughed suddenly. “It’s just like a flick, with you as Sherlock Holmes—No, Rex, I didn’t mean that. It is a good show, I do hope you pull it off.”

  “You bet we will. Though really,” he added modestly, “it’s the Duke and Aron’s party, they’ve got the brains, I’m a kind of looker-on.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said seriously. “And if anything could make me more dippy about you than I am it only needed something like this; something outside dancing, and being just amusing and intolerably good-looking—oh, Rex, you are a pig.”

  At that moment there was a discreet knock upon the door. “Come in,” cried Rex, moving quickly over to the window.

  It was the little maid. “Please, sir, the Duke de Richleau is downstairs.”

  Rex looked at Felicity. “Like to meet him?” he asked, with a smile. “Don’t worry if you’d rather not. You can slip right up the next flight, and then down after he’s parked here.”

  She nodded quickly. “It would be rather fun.”

  Rex turned to the maid. “All right, show him up.”

  Felicity smiled. “You did mean that, dearest, didn’t you? I’m just frantically curious.”

  “Of course, sweet, I’ve been dying for you to meet the big chief. He’s a great man.”

  De Richleau paused in the open doorway. His quick grey eyes flashed from Van Ryn to the girl. He smiled as he took Rex’s hand. “My friend, how nice of you to receive me, but how foolish. In your place I should have declared myself to be at liberty only when I was deserted.”

  Rex laughed. “Not a bit of it, I like my friends to get together. He introduced them. “Lady Felicity Standish—the Duke de Richleau.”

  De Richleau took the hand which the girl extended; his eyes twinkled. “What shall I say?” he murmured. “It’s great to have you know me—or”—he paused, carrying her finger-tips very lightly to his lips as he bowed with a gesture which in anyone else might have seemed exaggerated buffoonery, but in him was the most charming of politenesses—“I have the honour, Madame, to be your obedient, humble servant.”

  Felicity’s blue eyes lit up in the most entrancing smile. “I never could,” she said, “abide Americans, but Your Grace’s courtesy is overwhelming to so young a girl.” With that she swept him a curtsy that would have done her credit in any Court.

  As she rose again they laughed, that rich laughter which is only known among friends who understand and appreciate each other well.

  “I think I knew your father,” said the Duke, “or perhaps it was your uncle, Henry Standish. He was Ambassador at Madrid, but that was long ago, before the War.”

  “Oh, did you. Uncle Pom—how thrilling! He was a dear really, but we always used to call him Pom—short for Pomposity, you know.” Felicity struck an attitude. “Lord Henry Augustus Standish, P.C., G.C.B., G.C.V.O., C.H., etc., etc., he was just like George Nathaniel Curzon—a most important person, but not half so clever, unfortunately for the family.”

  “Nevertheless, he had a fine taste in old brandy,” sm
iled De Richleau. “A taste which unlike myself you were probably not old enough to share.”

  Felicity laughed. “I remember the story though. He used to take his own brandy in a medicine bottle when he went out to dine, and pretend he was a martyr to indigestion.”

  “A most ingenious idea,” the Duke nodded. “I must remember that. I have suffered considerably at times from drinking the inferior brandy of some of my less well-educated friends; but I’m glad that I’m unable to recall any occasion upon which Lord Henry was indisposed when he dined with me.”

  “I must fly.” Felicity gave a pat to her hat and drew her fur about her. “You’ve got lots of awful business to discuss, I know.”

  “You have made me feel most guilty,” De Richleau protested. “I arrive and immediately you run away.”

  “Not a bit of it.” Felicity lifted her chin. “The woman who hangs around when men want to talk secrets is an utter fool. That’s all.” She held out a slim hand.

  The Duke carried it to his lips once more, he smiled at Rex. “If only every woman were as wise as Lady Felicity and half as beautiful, what a glorious world it would be.”

  Rex grinned. “Now, just what wouldn’t I give to be able to say things like that.”

  De Richleau held open the door for Felicity, as he replied softly: “My dear boy, every age has its privileges, that is one of mine, yours is—that it is quite unnecessary.”

  Rex ran quickly to the door. “Let me see you down, Felicity. I’ll get you a taxi.”

  She shook her head, kissing her fingers to him behind the Duke’s back. “No—I’m going to walk. Good-bye,” and she was gone.

  “A delightful child,” the Duke declared, sinking into the armchair lately occupied by Rex and Felicity. “Quite charming. How I wish that I were young.”

  “Well, I’m mighty glad you’re not. Now let’s have the lowdown on the latest. Drink?”

  “Not for me, I thank you,” De Richleau waved him away from the bell. “Later perhaps—not now.”

  Rex squatted on the pouf before the fireplace.

  “O.K., go right ahead.”

  “You’ll remember that Aron and I considered it possible that Sir Gideon had employed an agent.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I do not now think that he did; on the other hand I do think it highly probable that he did it himself.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “I do. I talked this morning with a little man who attended the Park Lane Hotel dinner. He sat next but one to Shoesmith and peculiar circumstances gave him an opportunity for observing the various guests. From what he says, it seems that Sir Gideon left the table almost directly after the King’s health had been drunk, and moreover was absent from the room for a period of at least half an hour. He only returned to say good night to certain of the guests when they were leaving.”

  “My hat, that’s interesting.”

  “Yes, particularly as I got information from another guest who left at ten minutes to ten, that Sir Gideon rose from the table before him. You understand what that could mean?”

  Rex puffed at his cigarette thoughtfully. “I’ll say I do,” he said, “an’ how! If he was away from that party all that time, he could have got to Errol House and back again on his head—and give Lady Shoesmith the works.”

  “Exactly.” De Richleau leant forward. “I have further information still. The hotel servants have been questioned on my behalf. At a quarter to ten our man asked a waiter where he could telephone, the man told him, and ostensibly he left the room for that purpose, but he did not telephone. There is no record of his having put through a call. He did, however, at about that time collect from the cloakroom—the cloakroom at the back exit of the hotel, that is—a small brown paper parcel; after that, at ten minutes to ten, shall we say, he disappears. Our next information is that somebody answering to his description asked for a double brandy and soda in the downstairs bar, which you may remember is near the front entrance of the hotel. That was somewhere in the neighbourhood of ten past ten, he was then seen definitely in the dining-room at about twenty past.”

  “That gets the time down to twenty minutes,” remarked Rex. “Even then it’s plenty, if he looked slippy.”

  “Time was the essence of the alibi, but how clever!” De Richleau smiled. “I have little doubt now that it was he who was responsible. But even if it were proved that he was absent while the speeches were being made, he would reply at once: That is quite true, I did not feel well. I went out for a little air. I sat in the lounge or the drawing-room, and then I went and had a brandy and soda in the downstairs bar.’ He could prove the last statement, but how difficult for anybody to disprove the first.”

  “You’re right!” Rex nodded. “We couldn’t make a case, so far.”

  “What do you suggest should be our next step?”

  “We’ve got to find some guy that actually saw him on the way to, or coming from, Errol House.”

  The Duke smiled. “Exactly what I think myself. I propose, therefore, that we should divide up the locality for the purpose of a rigorous inquiry. I’ll take the garages and flats in the cul-de-sac behind the Park Lane, there should have been a number of chauffeurs about at that hour, any of whom may remember seeing him. Aron can take the streets between the cul-de-sac and Errol Mews, they can’t be more than five hundred yards in length, although the turnings make it seem more. However, there are one or two blocks of flats which Gideon would have to pass, and Aron can question the porters. You, I suggest, should devote yourself to Errol Mews, where there are garages and flats again. Since he did not arrive by the front door, the probability is that he came up the fire escape and that, as you know, descends into the Mews.”

  “O.K. by me,” said Rex. “We’ll get that bird before we’re through.”

  23

  The Curious Behaviour of Mr. Carrington Smythe

  At ten o’clock the same evening Rex stood at the entrance of Errol Mews. Although the night was cold, he wore no overcoat; but a thick muffler was wrapped tightly round his neck, the ends of which were buttoned beneath his double-breasted jacket.

  He stood for a few moments at the opening of the Mews, his hands thrust into his jacket pockets and a cigarette at an angle in the corner of his mouth, while he surveyed the locality.

  The mews was plunged in semi-obscurity, lighted only by two lamps at a considerable interval apart, which served to throw a circle of pale light in their own vicinity, but hardly penetrated the surrounding gloom.

  Upon the whole extent of the right-hand side towered the bulk of Errol House. Here and there pale squares of light showed curtained windows, but too high up to relieve the blackness, though, in places, they threw into relief the iron fire-escape which Rex had examined earlier in the week.

  The left-hand side was occupied by a number of garages with chauffeurs’ flats above. The far end consisted of a high brick wall, screening the small hidden garden of a mansion in Park Lane. If, therefore, Sir Gideon had entered Errol House by the fireescape, he must have passed within a few feet of the place where Rex was standing, since there was only the one entrance to the mews.

  He must have passed also at very nearly the same hour upon his way to commit the murder, if their theory were correct, and again some few minutes later on his return. It was for that reason that Rex had planned his visit for this hour of night. He reckoned, with some wisdom, that people whose business or habits caused them to be about the mews at this hour on one night were the more likely to be there at the same time on another.

  Rex gathered from what he could see that there were six or seven garages in the mews; two stood with open doors. Of the nearest of these, the obvious occupant was leaning against the door, smoking a cigarette, while he gave his dog a run. In front of the other stood an old-fashioned Daimler, which an elderly chauffeur was hosing down, making as he did so that peculiar whistling sound to which in his younger days he had probably groomed a horse.

  Apart from these two and th
e faint notes of a wireless which seemed to come from the lighted windows of what Rex judged to be No. 7, the mews seemed destitute of life.

  Rex determined to tackle the obvious inhabitants first. He approached the man with the dog; at once the little terrier played up handsomely.

  “Hallo, boy!” he stooped down and patted the terrier’s head.

  “Careful,” advised the dog’s owner. “’E ain’t too good with people ‘e don’t know.”

  “He’ll be all right with me,” said Rex. As he picked the terrier up with one hand: “Won’t you, sonny? Nice little fellow.”

  “Oh, ’e’s all right with people what likes dogs,” the chauffeur agreed quickly, “but ‘e’s a bit difficult with people what don’t, if you take my meaning.”

  “I certainly do,” Rex smiled.

  After that, conversation became reasonably easy, and in a little while Rex put it to the man. “Had he at any time seen a biggish elderly man in evening dress enter or leave the mews.”

  It is debatable as to whether Rex put the question clumsily or not, but the chauffeur became on his guard at once. “If you ’appen,” he said coldly, “to be connected wiv the police, they’ve been ’ere already, and please to put down the dorg.”

  “You’ve got me wrong,” Rex assured him. “Of course I’ve read about the murder in those flats, but this is a wager. Friend of mine lives in the block and he thinks the job was put across by someone who used the fire ladder as a get-away. Now I don’t believe that at all, and he laid me he’d come down three nights in succession after dinner without being spotted by anyone in this mews. I’ve come around to see if I can’t check up on him and draw the dough.”

  The chauffeur thawed again, but did not prove helpful. “I’m around here most nights,” he confided, “and I’d be sure to spot anyone what comes down them escapes, but I haven’t seen no one.”