Prince of Secrets (7 page)

Cobie decided to do nothing, simply to continue calmly unpacking the diamonds from the safe. To move towards her, to say anything, might only serve to destroy her unnatural calm.

She hesitated. She put up a hand to switch off the light, before walking silently from the room. The whole episode had taken only one nerve-shattering minute. From wondering sardonically what would follow if he were caught, he moved to understanding what her inaction, her refusal to arouse the house, told him of her relations with her husband.

Her intrusion also told him that the tightrope on which he was walking was higher above the ground than was
usual, even for him. He didn't think that he had been recognised. He did think that it behoved him to move as speedily as he could, which he did. At the end he took a card from his pocket and put it into the empty safe which he left, prominent in all its rifled glory on the dressing table.

The last leg of his dangerous odyssey lay before him. His booty in his pockets, he wriggled through the sash window, leaving it open. It was the work of a moment to walk briskly along the balcony to enter his bedroom through his own open window. Earlier, he had placed a ladder, fetched from the garden, to lean against the orangery wall, giving the impression of an outsider having gained entrance.

Luck had been with him again, but for how long? One day the horse beneath him would fall at one of the fences he was trying to take, and that would be the end—but not yet, please. He laughed noiselessly at the thought of the brouhaha the rifled safe would cause in the morning.

He parcelled up the Prince's letters, to place them in a large and expensive envelope of white hand-made paper which he sealed with an elaborate and meaningless seal, bought from a pawnbroker's in a dingy part of London, sinking it deep into the hot wax.

The envelope was addressed as to the personal attention of HRH the Prince of Wales. In the morning he would set out for his pre-breakfast ride—he had been taking one for the last week, so that his being up at such a time would cause no comment, and on his way out he would slip the envelope on to the table where the incoming mail was placed.

His last act after hiding the diamonds was to take a bath and dress himself for bed. Angelic in pure white, his newly washed and dried hair clustered in curls about his head, he offered the world the impression of a cinquecento saint. He opened the communicating door between Dinah's room and
his, to slip quietly into her bed where she lay sleeping, a small smile on her face, to be discovered by her in the early hours and to celebrate with him not only his presence, but his unknown skulduggery.

Sir Ratcliffe Heneage lay in bed with Susanna Winthrop in the curve of his arm. It was almost dawn, time for him to leave. He began to move; she protested against him in half-sleep. Waking fully, she said, a little fretful, ‘I really—can't think what I'm going to do.'

He tensed a little, and asked, ‘About what?' He was a trifle apprehensive. It was always dangerous when women began to think. Best if they only ever felt.

‘About the fact that I'm having a baby.'

‘What is there to do? Your husband knows, and hasn't made anything of it.'

He could really do without this sort of thing to trouble him. Yesterday's letters from his bankers and his creditors were enough trouble for a fellow without a woman having second thoughts when he was in bed with her. He was sure she was having second thoughts. He knew the tone of voice she was using only too well.

‘He knows the child can't be his, but he's prepared to accept it, it gives him an heir, keeps the money from his cousin, but I'm frightened that he might find out that it's yours.'

Sir Ratcliffe gave a coarse laugh. ‘Never tell me that he thinks it's Apollo's!'

Susanna put her face into the pillow, said in a muffled voice, ‘For some reason he took it for granted that it was. I suppose he thought that it happened just before you and I became friendly. He thinks Cobie's my lover.'

She fell silent, then raised an agonised face.

He said, brutally, ‘I'd have thought that it would have
disturbed him more for Grant to be the father than myself. After all, Grant's an illegitimate nobody, I'm the possessor of an illustrious name.'

Susanna said tearfully, ‘I know, but since he's always believed that I've been unfaithful to him with Cobie, he didn't mind a child by him—he half-welcomed it. But if he knew that it was yours he would be enraged. It would mean that I'd been unfaithful with two lovers, not one. He couldn't stand that.'

Sir Ratcliffe began to laugh. ‘A good joke, isn't it—seeing that you've assured me that you were never Grant's mistress. Well, it's to both our advantages to let him think that it's Grant's, so why worry?'

‘Because—' and now Susanna's voice was agonised ‘—I'm doing Cobie a dreadful wrong. He's always behaved honourably towards me, and now everyone thinks that I became pregnant by him before I began my
affaire
with you. I've even let his wife believe that—as much by what I haven't said as what I have. Now I don't know how to tell the truth. Oh, it was a wicked thing to do…I can't think why I did it….'

‘But sensible,' said Sir Ratcliffe briskly, rising and putting on his heavy brocade dressing gown, ‘seeing that I can't afford to keep a mistress and an illegitimate brat, and I don't want to be involved in a nasty divorce case either. Now, if your husband doesn't mind Apollo's get, why should you have qualms? You gain every way. I'd better go, it's getting late, and you'd better stop all this pious talk about doing wrong.

‘First of all you don't mean it, and secondly, I find it a damned bore. I can get that sort of whining cant from my wife—from my mistress I expect better things. So put a bright face on, my dear, if you want to keep me in your bed.'

He had never spoken so coarsely to her before, but he was beginning to tire of her. Ordinary love was always milk-and-water to him: he needed strong brandy, but for safety's sake, he dare not, at the moment, try to find any. It was too soon after he had enjoyed the last child. He wondered how long Susanna would go on clinging to him if he meted out to her some of the treatment his wife received. It might be interesting to find out.

He was humming cheerfully to himself when he walked along the corridor to his room, the morning light growing stronger by the minute. No one was about, although he knew that by now the servants in the attics would be stirring, getting ready for the day. He unlocked the bedroom door to let himself in, and switched on the light.

He didn't, at first, see the open safe on the dressing table, only the bed, turned down for him, but not yet entered. He pulled off his dressing gown, yawned, and strode towards it…

To see on his way—no, he couldn't be seeing that, no, not that! There was the safe, yawning as widely as he had just done, and empty, quite empty, except for a piece of card left on its floor. Fearfully he leaned forward, picked up the card, and felt the breeze from the window, which was wide open, although he had left it almost shut.

The message on the card was plain and unequivocal. I'VE TAKEN PAYMENT FOR LIZZIE STEELE—BUT IT'S NOT THE FINAL PAYMENT was printed on it in bold capitals. Sir Ratcliffe's head buzzed and roared. For a moment the loss of the diamonds and the Prince's letters were forgotten. Someone knew! Someone was aware of Lizzie's death and his part in it, and that someone had taken the diamonds—and the letters—to punish him.

He was no longer safe, his secret was no secret. Some midnight thief had come through the window and robbed
him, not only of his last few pieces of wealth, but of his security. Still holding the card, he sank on to the bed. What to do? He must report the theft of the diamonds. He couldn't keep that from his wife.

Whatever he had said to her, he still wanted her to wear them every night. They were the only proof left that he wasn't entirely bankrupt, wasn't beginning to sell the last remnants of the Heneage wealth, everything else having gone. No, he must reveal the theft, but not the card which the thief had left—for what questions might not the police ask him about it?

He fetched his wallet from where he had left it on the previous evening and stuffed the card in it. As soon as there was a fire going and he was alone with it he would destroy the incriminating thing, but he couldn't destroy the fact that someone, somewhere, knew the dreadful truth of him—and was seeking revenge.

Worse, the one salvation he had, the talisman which had kept him safe for so long, was his possession of the Prince's incriminating letters—and they had gone, too. If they had been returned to the Prince he was done for, because the Royal favour, which had been the only thing to keep him afloat, would now be removed.

Sir Ratcliffe Heneage was swimming alone in a vast ocean, with no lifeboat, and no saviour, in sight.

‘T
hey say that Kenilworth has wired Scotland Yard and that they are sending a man to investigate the theft—is that true, Lady K.?'

Violet nodded. She had felt rather like Lady Macbeth on being informed of the theft of the famed Heneage diamonds— ‘What, not in our house!'—but no one, several friends had earnestly advised her, could have guarded against the activities of such a daring thief. He had climbed the orangery wall, using the ladder which he had stolen from the kitchen garden. He had then had the athleticism to pull himself up on to the balcony above it, to enter Sir Ratcliffe's bedroom in his absence, open the safe and take the diamonds.

Delicately and tactfully, no one asked which room Sir Ratcliffe
had
been in while the thief was at his work.

Only one person said something which worried the actual thief a little while he sat quietly beside Violet at tea-time, listening to the excited babble of voices.

‘Suppose Heneage had been in his room,' said Lord Dagenham, who was Kenilworth's brother-in-law, thoughtfully. ‘Taking a damned big risk, wasn't he? Might have been caught at his tricks.'

‘He'd probably have knocked Heneage out and taken off,' was the answer to that from one of the Prince's equerries. ‘That kind are ready to take risks—and look what a haul he got.'

‘I'm still puzzled as to how he knew which room to go in order to find such a major haul,' Dagenham said doggedly.

He was answered by Mr Hendrick Van Deusen, who had been eating muffin after muffin, a sardonic smile on his face. ‘Oh, he might have expected a big haul in any room he entered, given the guest list here. I agree that he was flying a bit near the sun.'

Only Dinah and Cobie picked up the classic allusion to Icarus. Dinah wondered at it a little, and Cobie knew exactly what Mr Van Deusen's coded message was.

‘Anyone any idea of their exact worth?' asked Christopher Sykes, the Prince's favourite crony. ‘You've been dealing in diamonds, Grant? What do you think?'

Cobie shrugged, and offered in a considered voice, ‘Their value as a historic work of art is not the same as their value as separate stones. On top of that, their value as a suite is greater than their joint value as separate pieces. I'm not really an expert—but I would guess at several hundred thousand. The big diamond in the necklace is of the first water. It would probably fetch as much as all the rest put together if the set were broken up.'

‘Broken up!' exclaimed Violet. ‘What sacrilege. Poor Ida Heneage must be heartbroken at their loss.'

Privately Cobie doubted that very much indeed, but said nothing. The Prince and Princess were absent from tea, they were having it in their suite. Someone reported that the Prince had had some good news that day, exact details unknown, and was busy celebrating in private.

Sir Ratcliffe and his lady were both absent—nursing their
financial wounds in their own room being the general verdict, and waiting for the Scotland Yard man to arrive, no doubt.

Dagenham took his brother-in-law on one side, and said to him as quietly as he could, ‘Heneage is in Queer Street, you know, ready to go bankrupt any day. You don't suppose he stole them himself, do you? Or had someone do it for him. They'd fetch enough
sub rosa
to help him on his way for some time to come.'

‘Is that what everyone's saying?' asked Lord Kenilworth, keeping his voice down as well.

‘No, but it's what they're thinking. It's damned queer that they went for Heneage, and no one else. There's a fortune in gems in the house at the minute, as you well know.'

‘He was surprised, perhaps. Or he thought it wisest to leave with the diamonds once they were safely netted.'

‘Probably. I suppose you had the unpleasant business of commiserating with him. I wondered why you'd asked him here.'

Lord Kenilworth shrugged, ‘Ladies like him, popular in a mild way. Fellow minister and all that.' He didn't like to confess that the Prince had commanded Heneage's presence.

He changed the subject rapidly. ‘Oh, hello, Winthrop. Come to escape the chit-chat about the diamonds?'

‘Nine days' wonder, and then we'll all forget about it,' agreed Arthur cheerfully. ‘Which room was Heneage in, do you think? Who's his current lady bird?'

Both his hearers raised inward eyebrows. Was it possible that the poor feller didn't know? Obviously not. None so blind as those who will not see, thought Dagenham, echoing one of his old nurse's platitudes.

The Prince, seated in his private suite, his wife ensconced behind the tea-table, was talking earnestly to Beauchamp, who an hour earlier had given him the letters which had not
been fetched out of their envelope until shortly before luncheon. The theft of the diamonds had occupied every one's minds to the exclusion of everything else and the Prince's secretary had delayed examining the post in detail until gone eleven o'clock.

He had stared at the covering note, printed in the same anonymous capitals as Sir Ratcliffe's message, I THOUGHT THAT THE PRINCE OF WALES WOULD LIKE THESE BACK, before he gave the letters a cursory examination. He was satisfied that they were the Prince's missing correspondence, returned, presumably, by the man who had robbed Sir Ratcliffe. He had sent for Beauchamp, and he and Beauchamp had together gone to the Prince and handed him his incriminating letters.

‘All there, sir?' questioned Beauchamp, to receive the Prince's answering nod after he had quickly looked through his errant correspondence.

‘I would suggest, sir,' he said, pointing deferentially at the fire which blazed in the grate, ‘that you might consider the flames a suitable repository for them. All danger of future blackmail would disappear with their ashes.'

‘Quite so,' said the Prince. ‘I will do it myself, and try to avoid such carelessnesses in future. I have given you both a great deal of trouble, I know. I thank you.'

He flung the letters into the fire, picked up the poker, and held them down until they collapsed into ash.

Beauchamp said as the last flames flickered out, ‘Your unknown benefactor deserves the thanks, sir. And him we do not know.'

‘Returned on the night Sir Ratcliffe lost his diamonds.' The Prince was thoughtful. ‘Tell me… I know that I should not say this, but is there any chance that Heneage…?' He left his sentence unfinished.

‘Arranged for the loss of the diamonds,' Beauchamp said,
adding briefly, ‘I think not. Were the letters not stolen from him on the same night, I might have thought so.'

‘The thief took both,' mused the Prince, ‘and left me a brief
billet-doux
—and the letters. Very odd. You are sure that you have no idea who stole my letters back for me, Beauchamp? I should like to thank him.'

‘No, sir, not at all,' lied Beauchamp. So Grant had taken not only the letters, but the diamonds. Now why should he do that? Grant couldn't want the diamonds. He was as rich as Croesus and could buy his own diamonds—and probably better ones even than those which Heneage had lost. Perhaps it was coincidence that placed two thieves in Sir Ratcliffe's room the night before—which was nonsense. No, Grant must still be after Heneage for his…other activities.

‘Lord Kenilworth has wired Scotland Yard. One of their best men will arrive late this evening, sir. He may perhaps solve the puzzle of the diamonds.'

‘So long as he doesn't solve the puzzle of the letters, eh, Beauchamp?' retorted the Prince jovially. ‘I feel a trifle guilty that he will not know the whole truth of what happened in Sir Ratcliffe's room last night, but a scandal must be avoided at all costs, you agree?'

He made a sign of dismissal, which he instantly revoked. There was a puzzled expression on his face. ‘If the same man committed both thefts, and was a thief coming from outside, Beauchamp, how did he know of my letters? Could it be possible that someone inside Markendale itself stole the diamonds and the letters—but then, how would he know of the letters? You assured me that knowledge of their theft was confined to a very few, none of whom could possibly be the thief.'

As so many times before, Beauchamp registered that Albert Edward was no fool. He said, as sincerely as he could,
‘Fortuitous, sir? A benevolent thief, serving his future monarch?'

‘Who brought pen and paper in with him, so that he could write his note?'

‘A resourceful thief who found them in Sir Ratcliffe's room,' offered Beauchamp.

‘Very resourceful, then,' his master said, an edge to his voice. ‘I sometimes wonder exactly how much you do know, Beauchamp. The more I think of this business, from the viewpoint of my special knowledge, the more odd it becomes. What is even more odd is…

‘Oh, never mind, you may go. I don't want to discuss this in public while it is still so fresh in people's minds, I am in danger of revealing that I, too, know too much. We will have tea here. You may say that I have had good news, and wish to celebrate it in private. I leave your fertile mind to manufacture the details!'

Beauchamp bowed and left. The Prince's private secretary muttered to him in the corridor outside, ‘You have some idea, then, who our thief might be?'

He put his grey face at his companion's disposal. ‘Nothing material, I assure you. No real evidence at all. Foolish to speak until one is sure.'

He was, though, quite sure that he knew who had stolen the letters and returned them to the Prince, but, watching his man sitting quietly at tea, his young wife by his side, he lost his sense of certitude.

Was it really possible that the young Apollo, busy charming all around him by his quiet modesty—for Cobie had dropped all arrogance in dealing with the house party—had broken into Sir Ratcliffe's rooms in the middle of the night…?

Useless to speculate. Did he really mind if Sir Ratcliffe, liar, cheat, blackmailer and sexual pervert who preyed on
children, had lost his diamonds, or that Mr Jacobus Grant might have stolen them, along with the letters?

Will Walker arrived at Markendale, Bates in attendance, too late to do anything other than gratefully eat a large supper and go to bed. He had asked Lord Kenilworth to provide him with a list, not only of his servants but of his guests.

Lord Kenilworth had raised haughty aristocratic brows. ‘You surely cannot suspect any of the guests!'

‘No, m'lord, but in a crime of this nature I have to cover every eventuality—as I am sure you understand.'

‘Well! Well! Well!' he said to Bates on the following morning, reading the list he had been given by his lordship's secretary. ‘Look who we have here! If it ain't our old friend Mr Dilley.' He put a blunt forefinger against Cobie's name on the paper.

They were seated in the Estate Office, which they were to use as their headquarters. The local police were represented by a stolid constable who had been given the duty of guarding the door. The secretary had already briefly outlined what was known of the robbery and they had both walked round the Hall and seen the ladder left leaning against the orangery wall. Afterwards a bigwig called Beauchamp had talked to them, impressing on them the delicacy of the case.

‘The Prince of Wales being in the house is most unfortunate,' he told them, ‘as I am sure Lord Kenilworth has emphasised to you. It is very important that there is no breath of scandal attached to him—or to anyone else. It is plain, I think, that the thief came in from the outside.'

‘So he would have us believe,' returned Walker smoothly.

Beauchamp gave him a sharp look.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Small things, sir. Things that we professionals look for.'

‘Such as?' Beauchamp was curt and a trifle imperial.

‘For one—how did he get here? We're five miles from the nearest village, ten miles from the nearest railway station.'

‘A bicycle?' hazarded Beauchamp, who was beginning to think that the Scotland Yard man, despite his somewhat oafish exterior, was too shrewd by half.

‘It rained last night, Mr Beauchamp, from six o'clock until just after midnight, but there are no signs of bicycle tracks—as there ought to be.'

‘I hope—' and Beauchamp was smooth ‘—that you will allow yourself to consider all eventualities and not be sidetracked by preconceived theories.'

‘Oh, I wouldn't do that, sir.' Walker was all earnestness. ‘Sergeant Bates here will tell you that I always keep an open mind.'

Bates had gone bright red and shuffled his feet. Now he was staring at Mr Cobie Grant's name and saying, ‘But you surely don't suspect him, guv? He's stinking rich. Why should he steal Sir Ratcliffe's diamonds?'

Walker, who had thought from the moment he had begun to reconnoitre round the Hall that there was something a trifle odd going on, had had all his bloodhound's suspicions roused by seeing his enemy's name in black and white.

He tapped his forehead. ‘There's more to detection, Bates, than informers and witnesses. After a time you get a feel for things. I'm feeling something now.'

‘Well, oughtn't we to get on with it, sir, begging your pardon? People like these don't like to be kept waiting. We ought to be inspecting the scene of the crime…interviewing Sir Ratcliffe, and the rest.'

‘Don't tell me what to do, Bates.' Walker was testy—and then did as Bates suggested. After all, he wanted to discover
how near Sir Ratcliffe's rooms were to those of Mr Dilley. The balcony was there for anyone to walk along if they wanted to. And had Sir Ratcliffe's door been locked? Had he been sleeping with Lady Heneage?

He knew the toffs' little ways, did Walker, and if it had been Mr Dilley up to his tricks, then he would nail him for sure. It was just as well that he was fly about the aristocracy and gentry.

He and Bates endured a fraught meeting with Sir Ratcliffe, and another with Lady Heneage, who had told him that, no, she didn't share a room with her husband. No, she had heard nothing untoward and had slept peacefully until her husband had come through in the morning with the dreadful news.