Delphi collected works o.., p.528
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 528
Carola, I know you’re through with me, but I am asking you to do this service for me. I want you to show this letter to Vanessa. I want you to ask her to tell you, honestly and sincerely, if in her opinion there was anything on between Freda and Harcourt. I’ve been wondering why Vanessa suddenly got so fed up with Harcourt and why Harcourt, who was always a fairly decent sort of bloke about women, just: as suddenly began to make a fool of himself with every pretty woman who came across his path.
The point is this: If Vanessa thinks that there was something on between Freda and Harcourt — although to everyone who knew Freda this sounds almost impossible — then I must believe that it was Harcourt who killed her.
I am going to put this letter through the letter-box at your place so that you get it first thing in the morning. Will you have a talk with Vanessa, and will you tell her that I’m going to come and see her some time to-morrow?
Vanessa’s a fearfully nice woman. She’s a good friend of yours and I don’t think she has any reason to dislike me. She’ll have time to think this over. She’ll have time to make up her mind as to what she’s going to tell me when I go round there. If she believes live worst then I think I shall be justified in telling the police what I know. For my own sake I’ve got to do something soon.
My best wishes to you.
Yours ever,
Nicky.
Bellamy put down his pen. He read the letter through. Then he folded it, put it in an envelope, addressed the envelope, put on his hat and coat and went out.
As he walked down Half Moon Street he was whistling to himself.
CHAPTER TEN
Wednesday
Tea For Two
I
BELLAMY got up at twelve o’clock. He walked over to the window and looked out on to Half Moon Street. It was a bleak, dull-looking sort of a day. He began to think about Harcourt and Fenella — especially Fenella.
He remembered her vaguely, and somehow in connection with Mott’s Club. He thought that probably she was one of the women Mott used to get business for the Club, one of the women who brought men in to play. If that were so she might be inclined to talk to Mott about her adventures with Bellamy and Harcourt.
Well... supposing she did? Bellamy grinned, rang the bell for his tea and went into the bathroom.
When he came back his tray was waiting him. There were two or three letters on it. One of them was from Vanning.
Bellamy sat on the bed and opened the letter. Enclosed in the thick manilla envelope was a list of the people employed in the “C” Bureau, their addresses and any changes of address since the inception of the Bureau, and a series of marginal notes — probably supplied by the Special Branch, Bellamy thought — on their spending capabilities, their relatives and their women — if any.
He looked at the list and then began to tear it into small pieces. He threw the pieces in the waste-paper basket. Then he sat down on the bed and began to read Vanning’s letter:
My dear Nicky,
This letter is written with a certain amount of difficulty. First of all this horrible thing about my poor Freda has upset me more than I can say. I feel, however, that the only thing that will preserve my sanity, and prevent me from going right off the deep end is work. Freda was always so keen on the success of this organisation. She always wanted me to make good. She wanted to be Lady Vanning... poor darling, and so I feel that, in her memory, I ve got to clean up this business about the leakages. In that I am, as you know, more or less dependent on you.
I enclose the list of people employed here and such information about them as is quickly available. If you want any more — special — information about any particular person you must let me know and I’ll get it for you.
Sir Eustace came through on the telephone to-day. I think the Government are pressing him a little about the leakages and he wants a report of some sort from me fairly soon. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like a report from you, covering your activities up to the end of this week, by Friday or Saturday at latest. I can draft then something out from my own viewpoint and show him that I am moving in the matter.
Telephone if you want me. I’m filling every minute of every day with work. It’s the only solution. You’d better destroy this when you’ve read it, and see that the list doesn’t get lost.
I’m sorry to hear about you and Carola. You’re a damned fool, Nicky. Carola is a fine girl and you’ve lost something valuable. I saw her at Claridge’s yesterday for a minute and she said she thought that you really were turning over a new leaf. I hope she’s right.
Good luck to you,
Yours ever,
Philip Vanning.
Bellamy read the letter through twice and then burned it. He began to dress, singing: “In the Merry Merry Month of May” in a falsetto voice while he was dressing. He had just tied his tie when the telephone rang.
It was Fenella. She said cheerfully:
“Good-morning, Nicky. How do you feel? I feel awful. I had a very hectic time with Harcourt and I need encouragement.”
He grinned into the receiver.
“You sound all in one piece, anyway, my child,” he said. “Have you anything really interesting to tell me?”
“Yes and no,” she answered. “We met Iris Berington last night at The Priory and there was a little scene... nothing very much ... nobody got hurt physically I mean. But I didn’t find anything.”
Bellamy asked: “Did you search the place thoroughly?”
“Did I?” she laughed. “Beyond stripping the wallpaper off Harcourt’s flat. I did everything else.”
“I see,” said Bellamy. “Where’s Harcourt and where are you?”
She said: “Harcourt’s sleeping it off. He looks like an unconscious alligator, and you can hear him snoring in Peru. I’m talking from the call-box opposite — in the tobacconist’s. I’ve been home and changed into a coat and skirt. Also, Sire, I’m going to charge up to you one evening frock. The one I was wearing last night was ruined when Iris threw a tankard of bitter beer at Harcourt....”
Bellamy laughed.
“It sounds as if you had an evening,” he said. “Would you like to meet me at the cocktail bar at The Carlton in half an hour? D’you think Harcourt will stay put for an hour or so?”
“Definitely yes,” she answered. “I should say, judging by appearances that he’s going to sleep until some time in 1942. Does that suit you?”
“Excellently,” said Bellamy. “You can have lunch with me, buy yourself a new frock on the way back and then stay by the wreck until I need him to-night. ‘Bye, Fenella.”
He hung up, finished dressing, went downstairs and told the housekeeper that any telephone calls were to be put through to him at the Carlton.
He was drinking his second Martini when Fenella arrived. She looked quite charming in a dark grey suit with a tailor-made hat in velvet to match. She was smiling, fresh and attractive. She looked like anyone of the well-turned-out women one sees lunching in a good restaurant. Bellamy wondered vaguely just what her story was. He supposed it was the old one, the one that has been told with odd variations ever since there were men and women.
She drank a double dry Martini. Then she settled herself in her chair with a graceful wriggle and said:
“I’d better get all this business off my chest first, Nicky, because I hate mixing business with lunch. Don’t you?”
He smiled at her. He ordered some more cocktails and told her to go ahead.
“After we left you, Harcourt was quite comatose until we neared his flat,” she said. “Then he came up for air and decided that he didn’t want to go home. I thought that was a good idea because although I’m a girl who can always hold her own in a free for all with an alcoholic gentleman who has good manners, I wouldn’t back myself to romp home ahead of Harcourt if he got really passionate.”
Bellamy said: “The idea of Harcourt getting passionate is too appalling. Something like a playful hippopotamus....”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not very good with playful hippopotami. I’ve never experienced one yet.”
“Too bad,” said Bellamy. “Go ahead, Fenella.”
“Harcourt said that we’d go to the Priory,” she went on. “He asked me if that was all right and I said that one bottle party was very much like another one and that provided nobody was going to ask me to do a fan dance that was all right by me.
“So we went to The Priory. On the way Harcourt was pretty morbid. He nearly had me crying once or twice. The general theme was that he was a misunderstood fellow, that his wife hated the sight of him, that women let him down, that he lost his money at cards and that practically everything that could happen to him had happened, and that death would be a welcome relief.”
Bellamy said: “That sounds like Harcourt. What did you do?”
“I was very sweet and very feminine and very comforting,” she said. “I said that the darkest hour was before the dawn....”
Bellamy said: “That was a marvellous crack, Fenella. I bet you also said that ‘While there’s life there’s hope.’”
“Well, I did, as a matter of fact,” said Fenella brightly. “I produced any number of wise saws and ancient proverbs. In point of fact I was a little too successful because Harcourt got very boyish and peculiar all suddenly and tried to vamp me terribly intimately. Luckily we were just going round the corner by The Priory, and he fell off the seat. So I escaped with a slightly disarranged coiffure and ladders in both stockings — chinon stockings do run so easily....”
She finished her cocktail, and took the cigarette he offered her.
“He behaved quite nicely for a bit after that,” she went on. “Except that dancing with him was rather like being in a rough house with a polar bear. However, all was well until Iris Berington came in with a young man. Harcourt didn’t like that a bit. He began to make some very rude remarks about Iris. First of all they were sotto voce but as the time went on and Harcourt had absorbed a couple of immense whiskies and sodas his voice began to carry.”
Bellamy nodded sympathetically.
“He really did get a little tough.” Fenella continued, “and eventually the young man who was with Iris came to our table and did a little polite remonstrating. Har-court was very bitter. He said he hadn’t said a thing about Iris. He said that apart from the fact that she was a lousy cow, that she would steal the gold stopping out of her sleeping mother’s back teeth, and that she’d taken first prize in a cradle snatching competition when she was fifteen, she was a very nice woman — if you liked that sort of woman.”
Fenella flicked the ash from her cigarette delicately.
“The young man was feeling a little upset, I think. First of all he was in R.A.F. uniform and didn’t want any sort of trouble — he looked an awfully nice type of boy — and secondly I think he was a bit stuck on Iris. She’d probably told him some fairy story about herself and, being nice, he’d believed it.”
Bellamy smiled.
“I know,” he said. “The R.A.F. are damned efficient in the air. Those boys have to have one hundred per cent ‘quick reaction’... but Iris is a different proposition I think....”
“You’re telling me,” murmured Fenella. “If I was in the Air Force I’d rather much have an encounter with half a dozen Messerschmitts than get into range of Iris’ artillery. However,” she continued, “I gave the Flight-Lieutenant a quick look and indicated that Harcourt was cockeyed, and he tried to play ball. He told Harcourt not to be silly and just be nice and quiet.
“Harcourt said he always was nice and quiet; that seeing that Iris had taken him for every penny he’d got, nothing remained for him but absolute quietness. He said that if he was in the Air Force and knew a girl like Iris he’d just get into his airplane and fly away like hell was after him. He said that he had nothing against her personally, and that a lot of men would be crazy about ner, but that if he had his way he’d get her working on the Economic Commission, because, if the Government would only turn Iris loose on Germany, he, Harcourt, would lay his last shirt button to a baby elephant that she would positively ruin the country in a couple of weeks.”
Bellamy said: “Harcourt must have been very interesting.”
“By this time,” said Fenella, “Iris, tired of waiting for the return of her escort, appeared on the scene and took matters into her own hands. She was very angry. She called Harcourt a very rude name and, at the same time, threw a pint tankard of bitter beer at him. She scored a direct hit on Harcourt, and I got a good half of the beer over my frock. I didn’t mind — it wasn’t a fearfully good frock, and I thought that perhaps you’d buy me a new one.”
Bellamy said: “Oh, you did...? Well, what happened next?”
“Everyone was getting a little worried,” said Fenella, “so I thought I’d persuade Harcourt to go home. He and Iris were getting very bitter with each other in a quiet way. Iris told him that he was all washed up so far as she was concerned, and he retaliated by telling her that she was a ‘copper’s nark’ of the worst description, and that he’d have the law on her if she told lying stories about what she thought he was doing on Monday night. She asked him where he got his information and he said ‘Bellamy.’ Iris then said that she wouldn’t place too much reliance on what Bellamy said, and that if she knew anything Bellamy would be behind the bars before many days were gone. Harcourt said that he was perfectly able to take care of himself except where she was concerned, to which Iris replied brightly that that was what he thought, and that in her opinion he was a bloody fool of the very first order, and that he’d better watch out for Bellamy who was very dangerous.”
Bellamy said: “Oh dear, just fancy that!”
“I hope it isn’t true,” said Fenella. “Although I think you’d look too sweet peeping out from behind the prison bars. Do you think they’d let me come and feed you buns?”
They both laughed. Then he said: “Let’s go and have luncheon.”
They went into the restaurant. Bellamy ordered lunch. When the waiter had gone, Fenella said:
“Of course, as I’ve said before, all this is none of my business, and I’m not at all a curious sort of girl. But I’d get much more of a kick out of life if I knew what all the trouble was about.”
Bellamy said: “There isn’t any trouble, Fenella, and so far as you are concerned, my dear, your work is very nearly finished.”
She pouted prettily.
“That’s too bad,” she murmured. “And just when I was beginning to enjoy myself.”
“All good things must end,” said Bellamy cocking one eyebrow at her. “The point is that when you’ve had lunch I want you to go back and rejoin Harcourt. By the way, how are you going to get in? If he’s asleep he’ll never wake up....’
“It’s all right, Nicky,” she said. “I’ve got the key. I took it off his key-ring. I always think of little things like that.”
“Splendid,” said Bellamy. “Well ... you stay around with Harcourt until this evening. Maybe he’ll take you to dinner somewhere. Then you get him along to the Malayan Club about nine o’clock. I’ll be there soon after that and I’ll take him off your hands. Is that all right?”
She nodded.
“That suits me very well” she said. “I don’t think I could stand too much of Harcourt. Not at close quarters I mean. Anyhow, I’ll guarantee to have him there at nine o’clock.”
She paused for a moment, then she went on:
“Shall we meet again after to-night... you and I, I mean?”
Bellamy grinned at her.
“I doubt it,” he said. “Besides, I think it would be better for you if we didn’t. Surely Iris indicated sufficiently well last night that I was rather a dangerous person?” She nodded.
“I know,” she said. “I’m rather inclined to dangerous men... that’s always been my trouble. It’s been quite a relief toddling about with someone like Harcourt who isn’t really dangerous within the meaning of the Act.”
When luncheon was over Bellamy ordered a bunch of violets. When they were brought and the bill paid, he wrapped the stem of the violets in four five-pound notes. He handed the flowers to Fenella.
“That will take care of the new frock,” he said.
A page boy came up to the table. He said there was a telephone call for Mr. Bellamy. Fenella got up.
“Well... good-bye, Nicky,” she said. “I shall see you to-night, but I might as well make my official farewell now. Thanks for the violets and the extra twenty. I’ll buy an intriguing evening frock and every time I put it on I’ll think of you.”
“Then I hope you’ll wear it a lot, Fenella,” he said.
He grinned at her amiably.
“I’ll get myself a cab,” said Fenella. “You take your telephone call. Some old time when you want somebody drugged or kidnapped or something you might give me a ring.”
“I won’t forget,” said Bellamy. He watched her go.
He lit a fresh cigarette and wandered out to the telephone. It was the housekeeper at Half Moon Street.
Miss Carola Everard had been through, she said and had asked her to tell Mr. Bellamy that Mrs. March would be glad to see him for tea about four o’clock.
II
VANESSA was lying on a settee pouring tea when Bellamy arrived. She looked very beautiful, very tired and a little worried. She was wearing a long parma violet house coat that hugged the lines of her slim figure, violet sandals and very sheer chiffon stockings in an intriguing shade of beige. She wore ruffles of Venetian lace at her throat and wrists.
On the other side of the fire Carola sat and looked demure in a black coat and skirt and a black and white woollen jersey. She had a smart leopard-skin toque perched over one eye and a matching coat was flung over the back of a chair.
Vanessa looked up and smiled when Bellamy came in. She said:
“Do you want tea or a whisky and soda, my poor suspect, and I know the answer before you say it.”
Bellamy said: “You’re wrong. I’m drinking tea. I’m a reformed character. How goes it, Carola?”
“It goes all right, Nicky,” said Carola. “Except we’re all terribly worried about you and Philip and everything. This business of poor Freda is too shocking. None of us can realise that it’s true. All the time I expect the telephone to ring and the poor darling to come on the line and ask me to go round and talk.”
