The Affair of the Mutilated Mink (9 page)

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Authors: James Anderson

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #England, #Burford; Lord (Fictitious Character), #Country Homes, #Motion Picture Industry, #Humorous Fiction, #Traditional British

BOOK: The Affair of the Mutilated Mink
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Suddenly his face cleared. 'Oh, I see?' He chuckled slyly. 'Date with one of the boyfriends, was it?'

'Certainly not!'

'Tell that to the marines.'

'I was looking for you, you fool!'

She could have bitten her tongue off as soon as the words were out, but simply stared dumbly at him.

Gilbert gave a start. 'Looking for me?'

'Yes, but—'

'Well, well, well,' he said slowly. 'I must say this puts a different complexion on things. And I won't say I'm not flattered. I am, of course, attractive to women, and I'm quite familiar with these sudden irresistible urges they get.'

Utterly speechless, Gerry just stood, her mouth open, the dozens of scathing words she wanted to utter stuck in her throat like a log jam on a river.

Gilbert continued thoughtfully, 'Now, I must try and work out just what happened, because it's all very confusing. I take it you went first to my room?'

Gerry gulped. 'I—'

He smiled. 'I can see you did. Don't be embarrassed - it's quite natural. You found my room empty, and, of course, were bitterly disappointed.' He took a step towards her. 'I'm terribly sorry, Geraldine, but I couldn't know you were coming. And now that I understand the situation, I don't mind telling you what I was doing. But one thing first: when we ran into each other, you must have realised you'd found the person you'd been seeking. Why then did you claw my face?'

At last, presented with a straight question, Gerry managed to reply. Through clenched teeth she hissed, 'I did not claw your face!'

'But my dear, you said—'

In a sudden bursting of frustration, anger and humiliation, Gerry yelled, 'I didn't claw your face. I did it with a carving knife!'

For seconds Gilbert didn't react at all; his face wore the same slightly pulled but patiently indulgent expression. Then it was as though something clicked. His jaw dropped.

He said hollowly, 'You came looking for me with a - a carving knife?'

'Yes! Now listen—'

But Gilbert had gone pale. Hurriedly he stepped back. He said, 'Keep away.'

Desperately Gerry shouted, 'You great imbecile, you don't understand—'

'Oh, yes, I do - only too well. I was warned about you, Lady Geraldine. I didn't know what the warning meant. But I do now. You're mad. Certifiable. You ought to be locked up!'

'Will you listen?' Gerry screeched. 'You've got it all wrong. I want to know what you were looking for. Either tell me or leave this house at once.'

'Well, I wasn't looking for a victim to stab! And don't worry, I'm going. Now. Nobody's safe with you around. It's monstrous that you're walking about free. The power of the aristocracy! Disgraceful! I shall show it up!'

And being careful to remain facing her, Gilbert sidled round her, backed to the door and went hurriedly out.

Gerry sank helplessly into a chair. She felt exhausted. Oh, crumbs, what a ghastly mess she'd made of that!

But at least he was going. To spread abroad heaven knew what sort of rumours about her. He'd make her out to be a maniac certainly - but whether on reflection he'd paint her as merely a nymphomaniac, or homicidal as well, she wasn't sure.

Suddenly Gerry's lips started to twitch. Then she gave a giggle. Next a chortle. Within seconds she was bent double in her chair, helpless with laughter.

 

* * *

 

Laura opened the door to the library and looked in. The only person inside was Paul, who was kneeling on the floor, peering under a chair.

She said, 'Oh,
mi scusi
.'

'It's all right.' Paul stood up. 'I was just looking for my fountain pen. Thought I might have dropped it in here yesterday. But no luck. It's rather a nice one: gold, twenty-first birthday present from my godmother.'

'Ah, then it would be a peety to lose it.'

'Were you looking for somebody in particular?' he asked.

'It is no matter. I am seemply exploring this beautiful house.' She looked round her. 'Would it be eendeescreet of me, signore, were I to ask whether perhaps one day it will be your home?'

'Mine?'

'Forgeev me, but I got the impression that you and the Lady Geraldine were — were . . .'

'Oh, I see.' Paul grinned. 'Well, I'd certainly like to think we were. But I'm not banking on it.'

'Ah, you have a rival?'

'You could say that.'

'Signore Quartus, I think? And you hate each other, yes?'

'Great Scott, no!'

'But if you are both in love with the same woman . . .'

'That doesn't mean we hate each other. After all, we're not Latins, who—' He broke off, in confusion. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean—'

Laura laughed, a rich appreciative laugh. 'Not crazy, hot- blooded Italianos? No, Signore Carter, you are certainly not that. You especially are very English, are you not? And so you stay in the same house as your rival, and you are very polite, and if the Lady Geraldine eventually chooses him you will smile and shake him by the hand and tell everyone what a frightfully decent chap he is. Right?'

Paul laughed. 'I sincerely hope the situation doesn't arise. But if it does, it wouldn't do any good to cut up rough. Just have to grin and bear it.'

'And suppose veectory should go to you. Will Signore Quartus also green and bear it?'

'I expect so. I mean, what else could he do?'

'Oh, quite a lot of theengs. You see, signore, you say you do not hate Hugh Quartus. But I look at his face once or twice last night, and I theenk very much he hate you.'

Paul felt decidedly embarrassed. 'I say, steady on.'

'You theenk perhaps that because I am an actress I seek the melodrama everywhere, eh?'

'Oh, I wouldn't presume to say such a thing.'

'Which means you do theenk it. Perhaps you are right.' Laura leant forward and helped herself to a cigarette from a box on a nearby table. 'Will you have one?'

She pushed the box towards Paul.

'No, thanks, I don't smoke.'

'Ah, no, of course not: you are an athlete, are you not? Deed I not hear it said that you competed for England at the Olympic games?'

'That's right.'

'And deed you ween a medal?'

'No, just missed out: I came fourth.'

'What was your event?'

'Three thousand meters steeplechase.'

'Steeplechase? Ah, yes, that is the one where they jump over the hurdles, yes?'

'That's it. But I shan't be doing much more serious competitive running.'

'I'm sure a boy so feet and active will not be content to seet around and do nothing, though?'

'No, as a matter of fact, I'm very fond of climbing.'

'Indeed? But that is a very dangerous hobby, no?'

'It needn't be if you take reasonable precautions.'

'So you have never fallen?'

'Touch wood.' He tapped on the table with his knuckles.

'It would be a terrible death, I theenk.'

'I can think of worse. Very quick.'

'But eemagine those few seconds while you were actually in the air.'

'I'd rather not imagine them, thanks!'

'You have never known anyone fall to their death?'

'No, never.'

She stubbed out her cigarette half-smoked and stood up. 'I have to go. I do not have long here and I must make the most of the time. There are people I must speak to.
Scusatemi
.'

'Of course.' He stood up, too.

She smiled, crossed the room and opened the door. She was just going through when from outside a voice spoke, 'Oh, signorina, I've been looking for you. Can we talk privately? It's important.'

Paul remained standing after Laura had gone. For some reason he felt strangely uneasy. There seemed something in a way sinister about that woman. He gave a sudden shake of his shoulders. Oh, he was being ridiculous!

Now. His pen. Where could it be? He hadn't used it since he'd arrived. So, it must have fallen out of his pocket. And that could only happen when he was bending over. Had he had occasion to stoop at all since he'd been here?

Of course, the secret passage! The roof in there was very low in several places.

Paul went upstairs and a minute later was again making his way along the passage, carefully scrutinising the floor as he went. However, he met with no success, and by the time he'd reached ground level and knew he could be only yard from the end, he'd more or less given up hope.

Then by his feet he saw the slightest gleam. He knelt down. Yes, there it was. What a stroke of luck! The trouble was it had slipped down a deep crack between two bricks and looked as though it might be tricky to extract; if he knocked it, it could easily slip even further down. He felt in his pocket for something to hook the pen up with and brought out a comb. He was gingerly trying to slip the end of it under the pen clip when he gave a start that nearly made him lose them both.

From close beside him he heard a voice.

It took Paul a few seconds to realise what had happened. Having nearly reached the end of the passage he was now behind the breakfast room panelling. The person talking must be standing very near the wall.

It occurred to Paul he was eavesdropping. But for the moment there was no avoiding this. So precarious was his hold on the pen that he couldn't relax his concentration for a second, or he might lose it altogether. So he remained quiet, gradually drawing the pen out and listening with half an ear to the slightly muffled voice.

At last he got his fingers on the pen and lifted it clear of the crack. He was about to stand up and make his presence known by banging on the wall, when he heard some words that caused him to jerk his head up in utter amazement.

Paul remained frozen as the voice went on, saying incredible things. He knew listening like this was a caddish thing to do. But he couldn't help himself.

Occasionally the voice paused, the 'silences' occurring obviously as the other person in the room spoke. But Paul could hear nothing of this; plainly only the one speaker was near enough to the panelling to be audible.

For two or three minutes Paul remained where he knelt. Then the voice simply stopped in mid-sentence, though Paul couldn't tell whether the speaker had left the room or simply moved to the far side of it. He made his way to the end of the passage, slid back the panel, and peered cautiously into the breakfast room. It was empty.

Chapter Nine

After leaving Gerry, Arlington Gilbert hurried up to his room. He was breathing heavily. He threw open the door, burst in, and stopped. Standing by the mantelpiece was a grim-faced Rex Ransom.

Rex said, At last. I've been waiting to have a little chat with you. You know what about.'

'I assure you I don't.'

'Don't play the innocent with me. Just tell me what your little game is.'

'Game? Are you mad?'

Rex stepped forward menacingly. 'Listen, buster, I'm warning you: spill the beans, unless you want me to black your left eye like I blacked your right last night.'

Gilbert gave a start. 'You - you did that?'

'Who the blue blazes did you think it was?'

'Now, listen to me—'

'No, you listen. I've got a good mind to beat you to a pulp.'

'Do so, and I shall sue you for assault. Fine publicity for you. I can't see the Burfords agreeing to the movie being shot here after that sort of behaviour.'

Rex closed his eyes for a few seconds and got a grip on his temper. Then be said slowly, 'I just want to know what you were up to last night.'

Gilbert turned away. 'I refuse to discuss the matter.'

Rex was silent. He dared not push Gilbert too hard. He might just make things worse for himself. So it seemed the only course now was to play for time, in the desperate hope that his worst foreboding was not about to be realised.

He said, 'You may not be able to keep that attitude up for long. I advise you to think over what I've said. I'll give you until tomorrow morning to come clean.'

'I shan't be here tomorrow morning.'

'What do—'

'I'm leaving.
Now
!

It was Rex's turn to give a start. 'Oh, no, you're not!'

Gilbert stared. 'What's that?'

'I'm not letting you out of my sight until I get to the bottom of this business.'

'You can't stop me leaving.'

'Yes, I can.'

'How?'

'If you leave this house, I shall use my considerable influence with Haggermeir to make sure you do not write the revised screenplay for
The Kings Man
!

'I've got the copyright.'

'Haggermeir's attorneys aren't at all sure you have. Apparently it's a moot point, legally. And if he cuts you out, could you afford to fight it through the courts?'

'That's a filthy trick.'

'So's whatever you're up to.'

Gilbert said slowly, 'If you want me to stay you'll have to arrange it with Geraldine.'

'Geraldine?'

'It's she who's given me the push.'

Rex's eyes narrowed. 'But why?'

'That is between her and me. However, if I'm to remain you'll have to convince her my presence is vital to the success of the movie — something like that.'

'All right, I'll speak with her. And if she agrees, you stay here. Understood?'

'Very well.'

Without another word, Rex left the room.

 

* * *

 

Haggermeir said, 'So that's the whole story. Satisfied?' Laura smiled. They were in his bedroom. She had been somewhat reluctant to go there, but with so many guests, and servants busy everywhere, it was hard to get privacy downstairs.

'And Signore Ransom does not know this?' she asked. 'Not likely!'

'He will be very angry, I theenk.'

'What of it? It's you I want. So, can you forget what I said last night and let me see your agent about a contract?'

She inhaled deeply on her cigarette. 'I theenk it may be arranged. It will have to be
very
remunerative.'

'I've already said it will be. I'll top any other offer that's made. Just so long as it's firmly agreed that we do have — have . . .'

'An understanding?'

'Yeah.'

'Very well. You've gotten yourself a deal, Meesta Producer.'

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