The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) (10 page)

There was no escaping it now. Angela rose and followed Cynthia out of the sitting-room. She pulled a mock-terrified fa
ce at Herbert as she passed. Freddy was regarding her with a malicious grin and she narrowed her eyes.

‘
Here we are!
’
said Cynthia.
‘
Don
’
t worry, this ought to be quite painless,
’
she said with a trilling laugh.
‘
Now, then, I
’
ve been watching you all weeke
nd and taking notes
—
just for background detail, you know
—’
(Angela widened her eyes in alarm)
‘—
but now I really want to
talk
to you
—
you know, to find out all the personal details that make you the celebrity you are. Your innermost thoughts and secrets. I
still don
’
t feel I
’
ve quite got to the bottom of the question: who is the
real
Angela Marchmont? Our readers are dying to know. Tell me, Angela, what is your motivation
—
your impetus? What really
stimulates
you?

Angela bit back the urge to reply,
‘
A martini
would do the trick nicely just now,
’
and made some vague and embarrassed response. She looked at the clock, but there was still half an hour until dinner and Cynthia was now asking questions about Angela
’
s married life which Angela had very much rather n
o
t answer. She sighed inwardly and began to make use of some of the lies she had invented earlier. It would be too much to see the truth splashed across the popular pages.

After fifteen minu
tes or so she was rescued by Freddy, who had taken pity on her and brought in drinks.

‘
Thank you, Freddy, darling,
’
murmured Cynthia, who was scribbling away in her notebook.
‘
We shall just be a few more minutes.
’

‘
I think it
’
s time you let poor Angela go,
’
he said.
‘
I hate to see beauty in distress.
’

‘
What on earth do you mean?
’
said his mother.

‘
Look at the poor creature,
’
he said, indicating Angela, who had been unaware of her pained expression.
‘
You
’
d much rather not do this at all, isn
’
t that right, M
rs. M?
’

‘
Don
’
t be silly,
’
said Cynthia.
‘
Why, everybody loves talking about themselves.
’

‘
Not Angela,
’
said Freddy.
‘
Let her alone now. You
’
ve had plenty of time to pry. And you can always make it up
—
that
’
s what you usually do, anyway.
’

‘
I do not,
’
said Cy
nthia indignantly.

‘
All right
—
let
’
s agree to call it “
creative embellishment”,’
said Freddy.

Fortunately, dinner was announced before a row could develop, and Angela flashed Freddy a grateful smile and escaped thankfully. For the rest of the evening she to
ok great care to keep out of Cynthia
’
s way, and went to bed early, hoping that she had got off lightly.

The Bentley arrived the next morning as they were having breakfast, and Angela went out to see it.

‘
How is the patient, Mr. Turner?
’
she said.

‘
Good as
new,
’
said the old man.
‘
Nothing wrong with her that a few whacks with a hammer wouldn
’
t put right. You
’
ll have no more trouble with her. Leastways, as long as you don
’
t go driving off the road again.
’

William was inspecting the car joyfully. It was polish
ed and gleaming, and he stroked the paint-work with pleasure.

‘
I don
’
t need to ask whether you are glad to have it back,
’
said Angela.
‘
We shall be leaving after breakfast, so you
’
d better put the luggage in.
’

‘
Sure thing, ma
’
am,
’
he said, and went off to
do as instructed. Angela returned to the house to finish her coffee.

At half-past ten they were ready to leave. Miles saluted Angela amicably, but Marguerite was nowhere to be seen. Cynthia and Herbert had left earlier, as Herbert had to get up to town.

‘
D
o look out for my piece in the
Clarion
,
’
said Mrs. Pilkington-Soames as they left.
‘
I expect it will be in on Friday.
Can
’
t
I change your mind about having your photograph taken, darling?
’

‘
I
’
m afraid not,
’
said Angela, happy that she had been able to put
her foot down on that, at any rate. She was relieved that the whole thing was over and done with, although still nervous at the thought of what Cynthia might take it into her head to write.

Freddy walked her out to the car.

‘
Cheer up,
’
he said.
‘
You can al
ways move to Siberia if it all gets too embarrassing.
’

‘
Oh, don
’
t! I have no idea why on earth I agreed to do it at all.
’

‘
Mother can be very persuasive when she likes,
’
said Freddy.

‘
I
’
m more inclined to blame those cocktails we had on Friday,
’
said Angela.
‘
They were rather strong. I believe she took advantage of it.
’

‘
Beware the demon drink,
’
said Freddy.
‘
The ruination of women throughout history.
’

‘
And men,
’
said Angela.
‘
Now, where on earth has William got to?
’

‘
I can make a jolly good gues
s,
’
said Freddy significantly.

‘
Nonsense,
’
said Angela.

Just then, William appeared in a hurry. He muttered a jumbled apology for keeping Mrs. Marchmont waiting and opened the door for her. Angela was just about to step in when Marguerite descended and kis
sed her enthusiastically.

‘
Simply enchanting to see you again, darling,
’
she said.
‘
You must come again for my Littlechurch exhibition.
’

‘
I
’
ll see what I can do,
’
promised Angela, ignoring the malicious grin on Freddy
’
s face.

Th
ey set off. Angela waved until they were out of sight then turned around and sighed.

‘
Well, that was an eventful visit,
’
she said. She settled back into her seat, but not before she had noticed a red smudge on William
’
s cheek.
‘
Wipe your face, William,
’
sh
e said.

He understood her immediately and scrubbed at his cheek in horror. The car swerved slightly.

‘
But don
’
t put us in the ditch again,
’
said Angela.

‘
I
’
m sorry, ma
’
am,
’
said William.

Angela shook her head, then looked out of the window and covered her
mouth to hide her smile.

‘
That all seems clear enough,
’
said Inspector Jameson.

‘
Oh yes,
’
said Dr. Ingleby.
‘
The body contained a large dose of arsenic. Quite enough to kill her, there
’
s no doubt about that.
’
He adjusted his spectacles and glanced at
his notes.
‘
She had eaten a few hours before death, but her stomach was empty. That, together with certain traces on her clothes, indicates that she
’
d had an acute gastric attack.
’

Jameson and Willis wrinkled their noses in sympathy.

‘
Yes,
’
went on Ingleby
,
‘
I
’
m afraid she was probably quite ill for some hours. The symptoms of arsenic poisoning are very unpleasant, and can include anything from a burning pain in the throat, diarrhoea and vomiting of blood to convulsions and coma.
’

‘
Poor woman,
’
remarked Wil
lis.

‘
However,
’
said the little doctor.
‘
It doesn
’
t look as though the gastric attack was the immediate cause of death, although of course the poison was the ultimate cause. By the state of the intestines
—
which I won
’
t go into so soon after lunch
—
I should
judge that she survived the initial attack. She may even have begun to feel a little better. That can happen with arsenic, you know
—
you can recover from the original symptoms of poisoning, but then be struck down by the after-effects. In this case it look
s
as though she died of cardiac failure. There was some congenital weakness there
—
signs of mitral stenosis and so forth, and I can only assume that the arsenic proved too much for her heart.
’

‘
What about the injuries to the face?
’
said Jameson.

‘
They were i
nflicted some time after death, that
’
s certain,
’
said Ingleby.
‘
Clearly, the purpose was to disguise her identity.
’

‘
Presumably that means whoever killed her knew there wouldn
’
t be too much hue and cry about her disappearance,
’
said the inspector.
‘
We
’
ve c
ertainly had no luck in tracing her up to now. No-one fitting her description has been reported missing.
’

‘
What have you been looking for?
’
said Ingleby.
‘
A blonde? You do know her hair was dyed, don
’
t you?
’

‘
Was it?
’

‘
Oh yes. One almost never sees that li
ght shade of blonde on a grown woman. Yes, she was a natural brunette. Almost black, in fact. It
’
s a colour that
’
s quite rare in England.
’

Jameson remembered the photograph of the infant which they had found in her suitcase, and his impression that the lit
tle boy had been foreign.

‘
Yes, that makes sense,
’
he said.
‘
How stupid of me not to think that her hair might have been dyed.
’

‘
Comes from not being married, sir,
’
said Willis comfortably.

‘
You
’
re married, though. Why didn
’
t you think of it?
’

‘
Mrs. Willis
’
s hair has always been a very fine shade of auburn, sir,
’
said the sergeant.
‘
No artificial colour required.
’

‘
Certainly not,
’
agreed the doctor.
‘
I must say I prefer a woman to wear the hair colour that God gave her.
’

‘
Mrs. Willis
’
s hair was the first thing I noticed about her,
’
said Willis.
‘
That and her ankles. Very narrow ankles, she had.
’

‘
I hate to interrupt your romantic reminiscences,
’
said Jameson,
‘
but we have work to be getting on with. You had better take another look at
the missing persons register and see if any dark-haired women matching her description have gone astray. It might be that she dyed her hair after she went missing.
’

‘
Right-oh, sir,
’
said Willis.

‘
But before you do that, we are going to pay a visit to an ol
d friend of ours.
’

Mrs. Chang lived in a flat on the top floor of her night-club premises in Brewer Street. She was a tiny Chinese woman who might have been aged anywhere between fifty and seventy. Her hair was long and still jet black, and she wore it pin
ned in a tight bun on the top of her head. She was dressed smartly and soberly, and would have looked the very epitome of respectability were it not for the mischievous look in her glittering eyes, and her tendency to assume a calculating expression whene
v
er she was asked a direct question.

She greeted Jameson and Willis fulsomely, as though they were old friends.

‘
Hallo, hallo, Inspector Jameson! And this Sergeant Willis. Yes, yes, I remember very well. We have talk together six months ago, yes? We have ta
lk together when you come and raid my club. Very polite policemen, both. Not like other one, what his name? He very rude. I respectable business-woman, I tell him, but he not polite at all. Why you here today, then? You come to shut me down again? You not
find anything here today. Everything above the board. You see? Three o
’
clock now and we shut. We open later but all very above the board. Fine music and dancing, but no illegal drinking. We have very fine Negro orchestra. Famous all over America. Pay gene
r
ous, too
—
we not cheap like other places that hire Negroes. Dukes and princes and film-stars come from all around to see them.
’

When Jameson could speak, he assured her that they were not there to shut her down, and she clapped her hands and beamed.

‘
Well,
well! Then why you come? Maybe you speak to my son, Johnny. He take over business soon when I too old. No good to rely on daughter
—
she just got married to very respectable man. You don
’
t trust daughter, inspector. She run off and get married instead of he
l
p with business.
’

‘
I congratulate you,
’
said the inspector politely.
‘
Now, we have come about a rather delicate matter.
’

The smile immediately disappeared from Mrs. Chang
’
s face and she sat up, her attention caught.

‘
Yes?
’
she said.

‘
Yes. I don
’
t know whether you have read the newspapers lately, but if you have you may have seen reports about a dead woman, who was found in a ditch in Kent.
’

The calculating expression appeared and Mrs. Chang said,
‘
Yes? Yes? Maybe I remember. Woman with her head c
rashed, yes? I think I read the story. Very sad.
’

‘
That
’
s the one,
’
said Jameson.
‘
Now, we are trying to find out who she was. She had no identification on her when she was found, but she did leave a suitcase, which contained a handbill for the Copernicus
Club.
’

Mrs. Chang nodded.

‘
Yes, many people come to my club. Very fashionable with the upper classes. Also many foreign princes and ladies.
’

‘
I don
’
t think she was upper class,
’
said Jameson,
‘
but we did wonder whether she mightn
’
t have worked here as a da
nce hostess.
’

‘
Ah, yes, my girls,
’
said Mrs. Chang.
‘
Very good girls. They dance with foreign princes. Only dance, though. We are respectable business. Nothing
—
how you say
—
below the belt here.
’

‘
Er, quite,
’
said Jameson.

‘
I fetch Johnny,
’
she said.
‘
He kno
w all the girls. He tell you what you want to know.
’

She sprang up with a surprisingly youthful energy and hurried through the door to the top of the stairs. From there, she leant forward over the banister and yelled piercingly in Chinese. Willis winced. P
resently, they heard a door open on the floor below and a man
’
s voice reply. The two exchanged rapid words and then the man made a huffing sound and ascended the creaky stairs.

‘
This my son, Johnny,
’
announced Mrs. Chang.
‘
He tell you what you need to know
. Johnny, you answer policemen
’
s question.
’

Johnny Chang was a stocky, serious-looking young man in shirt-sleeves. Although not particularly tall, he towered over his mother, who gazed at him impatiently.

‘
How may I help you, inspector?
’
he said, in a surp
risingly educated voice.

‘
My son go to Oxford,
’
put in Mrs. Chang proudly.
‘
Graduate first-class. He the clever one of the family. He look after his mother like a good boy.
’

Johnny said something impatiently to her in Chinese, and she snapped back at him t
hen smiled once more at the two policemen.

‘
Johnny say I interfere. Perhaps so. I leave you to talk.
’

She went into a back room and pushed the door to. Jameson was almost certain she was listening through the crack. Johnny Chang turned to them inquiringly
and Jameson explained what they were looking for and why they had come.

‘
Given the handbill, we wondered whether she might have worked here,
’
he finished. He observed Johnny carefully as he spoke, but the young man
’
s expression was unfathomable.

‘
Yes, we have girls here,
’
he said.
‘
Their job is to dance with the men and entertain them.
’

‘
And to encourage them to buy drinks?
’
said Jameson gently.

Johnny permitted himself a smile.

‘
If one of our clients wants to buy a pretty girl a drink
—
why, there
’
s
nothing wrong with that, is there, inspector?
’

‘
Nothing at all,
’
said Jameson.

‘
It
’
s all completely harmless,
’
said Johnny,
‘
and I assure you that we select our hostesses very carefully. Only respectable girls are allowed here. If we caught the slightest
whiff of anything untoward going on, they know perfectly well that they
’
d be out. Our clientele is what you might call rather top-drawer, you see, and we can
’
t afford to get a bad reputation.
’