The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile Read online

  Freddy was surprised.

  ‘Why, I haven’t been for months, but yes, I could take you if you like. Why this sudden interest in late-night revelry? I shouldn’t have thought it was your thing.’

  ‘I am very fond of late-night revelry,’ said Angela with dignity. ‘I’m not that old.’

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ said Freddy. ‘Then we shall go. When would suit you?’

  ‘What about tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow? Why the haste?’ He looked at her suspiciously. ‘I believe there is something you are not telling me,’ he said. ‘Wherefore this sudden irresistible attraction for the Copernicus Club?’

  ‘Somebody told me about it, that’s all, and said it was great fun,’ said Angela vaguely, but Freddy was not fooled for an instant.

  ‘Rot,’ he said. ‘There’s something, isn’t there? Spit it out.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Angela. ‘I promised not to say anything to the press—and especially not the Clarion.’

  ‘I should think I know when to hold my tongue,’ said Freddy, with a hurt air.

  Angela sighed. It was clear that she would have to tell him sooner or later, since she could hardly spend the evening questioning the staff of the club without drawing his notice.

  ‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But this is not to be spread about. The police think there may be some connection between the Copernicus and the dead woman we found the other week.’

  Freddy raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I say,’ he said. ‘Now that’s rather interesting. What makes them think that?’

  Angela told him about her conversation with Inspector Jameson and the handbill which had been found in the woman’s suitcase.

  ‘Awfully convenient for you, having a friend in the police,’ remarked Freddy. ‘I ought to cultivate a useful acquaintance of that sort myself. And so they’ve had no luck in getting anyone to talk? I can’t say I’m surprised. But what do you intend to do? Do you have something up your sleeve that gives you an advantage over the police?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Angela, ‘but William has a friend who plays in the jazz orchestra there, and he’s promised to give me an introduction. I thought I might begin with him. He’s bound to know if any of the dance hostesses have gone missing.’

  ‘This is starting to sound rather promising,’ said Freddy. ‘Old Bickerstaffe would lick his lips if he knew about it.’

  ‘Mind,’ warned Angela, ‘I promised Inspector Jameson, so you mustn’t tell anyone. If you do, I shall—I shall—’ she cast about for a suitably awful threat, ‘I shall tell your mother about you and Marguerite.’

  Freddy paled visibly.

  ‘You wouldn’t!’ he said, aghast.

  ‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘You’re a cruel woman, Angela.’

  ‘Then give me your word you won’t say anything. If you’re a good boy now, there’s a chance that you might get an “in” on the story later.’

  ‘You must introduce me to this inspector of yours.’

  ‘Perhaps I shall.’

  Freddy gave his word somewhat grumpily, then they parted, having agreed to meet again the following night.

  THIRTEEN

  It was a damp, drizzly evening when Angela and Freddy emerged from a little restaurant that they had discovered was a great mutual favourite, and set off for the environs of Brewer Street. In spite of the late hour and the gloomy weather, Soho was full of noise and life, and the patrons of the various establishments enjoyed a roaring trade as the young and the not-so-young, the fashionable and the unfashionable, flocked to their doors to get a taste of London’s gay and gaudy night-life.

  They had just turned off Brewer Street when they saw ahead of them a little knot of people gathered outside a particular door.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Freddy as they approached the group. A young woman turned to see who the newcomers were, and her face broke into a smile of recognition.

  ‘Hallo, Freddy, you ass,’ she said amiably. ‘I do believe it’s been an age.’

  ‘Hallo, Gertie,’ said Freddy. ‘Where have you been? Is your Governor still giving you trouble?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gertie, who had a face and manner that promised nothing but mischief. ‘Father has been a screaming bore ever since that business with the Cowboys and Indians party. I told him the damage to the car was nothing to do with me, and he said he didn’t care about the car, but he wouldn’t stand for any daughter of his riding a donkey through Covent Garden wearing only a poncho and a feather head-dress, and he confiscated my latch-key and stopped my allowance for simply weeks. I had to promise faithfully to behave myself before they’d let me out tonight. You’ll take care of me, won’t you, Walter?’ she said to her companion. ‘You’ll make sure I stay on the straight and narrow path.’

  ‘Y-y-yes,’ stammered her young escort, who looked, as far as Angela could judge, quite incapable of preventing Gertie from doing anything she wanted if she was determined to misbehave.

  Just then, the door opened and a solid-looking doorman stood back to let them all in.

  ‘Hallo, Mr. Pilkington-Soames,’ he said as they passed. ‘We haven’t seen you here in a while.’

  ‘Jenkins,’ said Freddy, nodding. ‘Are the old crowd in tonight?’

  ‘Some of them,’ said the doorman. ‘Mr. Doyle and Mr. Allison arrived earlier. They said they were expecting Mr. Bagley and young Viscount Delamere later on.’

  ‘Delamere? But he’s a frightful blister,’ said Freddy. ‘What on earth were they doing, letting him tag along?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ said Jenkins non-committally, and waved them in.

  Angela had suddenly begun to feel rather old, and was wondering whether she ought not perhaps to have come with someone nearer to her own age. She had no time to indulge the feeling, however, for they were ushered to a door which opened to let out a blast of hot, damp air and deafening music. In through the door they went, and Angela’s first impression was that they had entered Hell, for the whole place was clothed in a deep blood-red. The walls were red, the carpet was red, the chairs were upholstered in red velvet, and even the dim light seemed to wear a pinkish hue, thanks to the tasselled red lampshades that hung from the ceiling.

  They were shown to a table, and Angela looked about her as her eyes grew used to the gloom. It was only ten o’clock, but the place was full of people. The tables were packed so tightly together that one could easily eavesdrop on nearby revellers—were it not for the loudness of the music, which in fact made it barely possible to conduct a conversation of one’s own. The orchestra were in full swing, playing with great panache and humour, seemingly enjoying themselves as much as anyone, and the tiny dance floor was crammed with people, although there was not enough room to do much more than shuffle about. Angela looked towards the stage. The band-leader had launched into an intricate solo on the trumpet, which was rather impressive, especially since he appeared to be conducting the orchestra at the same time using his entire body.

  A waiter came and Freddy ordered champagne, which arrived accompanied by a plate of stale bread and cold sausage. Freddy pushed the plate away and offered Angela a light for her cigarette. They sat companionably for a while, entertained by the comings and goings. Angela had already spotted, sitting in close conference, two film-stars who were married—although not to each other—as well as the titled wife of a rising politician, who was laughing affectedly as a dark man, who looked to be a foreigner, kissed her hand.

  A young woman with unnaturally fair hair, red lips and a world-weary air passed their table and gave Freddy a brief wave. Angela watched as the girl spied a man sitting alone at a table and approached him, putting her hand on his shoulder in a familiar gesture. He motioned to a chair and she sat down. He summoned a waiter.

  ‘So that’s how it works,’ thought Angela. ‘Does she work here?’ she said to Freddy, as soon as she could make herself heard.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She’s one of Mrs. Chang’s
girls. Their job is to relieve the male customers of any inconvenient spare cash they may have about their persons by encouraging them to buy drinks.’

  ‘So I see,’ said Angela. She rifled in her little beaded evening-bag, and brought out a tiny notebook and pencil. She scribbled a note, then signalled to a passing waiter and instructed him to give it to the band-leader as soon as he could.

  ‘You ought to have given it to me to pass on,’ said Freddy. ‘Now the waiter will think you’re trying to seduce a black man.’

  ‘I doubt he’d blink an eye even if I were,’ said Angela. ‘I thought that kind of thing was all terribly normal nowadays in these circles. I doubt it would shock anyone for a second.’

  The band had paused between numbers, and Angela watched as the waiter slipped her note to the man she had seen playing the trumpet earlier. He read it without apparent surprise but merely glanced inquiringly at the waiter, who pointed at Angela’s table. The musician looked up, saw Angela and nodded at her, then gestured to indicate that he would join her as soon as possible.

  ‘Suppose we dance,’ suggested Freddy, as the next number began. ‘He’ll be busy for a while.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Angela, ‘If we can find any room, that is.’

  He led her to the floor and they essayed a rather cramped two-step. The girl called Gertie and her hapless escort were dancing too. Gertie flashed Freddy a wicked grin and looked at Angela curiously. The number finished and they went back to their table, a little breathless. Alvie Berteau put down his trumpet and nodded to a deputy, then came over to where they were sitting.

  ‘Mrs. Marchmont?’ he said.

  ‘Mr. Berteau,’ said Angela. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. William has told me so many things about you. Thank you for agreeing to see me. This is Freddy Pilkington-Soames.’

  They all shook hands solemnly, and Angela invited Alvie to sit.

  ‘Did William tell you why I wanted to speak to you?’ she began.

  A wary look came into Alvie’s eye and he looked around cautiously.

  ‘He did, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘But it’s kind of difficult here, ’cause we’re not supposed to talk about it. They’ll throw me out if they find out I’ve been speaking to you.’

  ‘Did you know—’ began Angela, then stopped as Freddy shot her a warning glance. She looked up to see a young man of Chinese appearance standing before their table. He bowed genially to Angela and Freddy, then looked at the musician.

  ‘Alvie,’ he said, ‘oughtn’t you to be on stage?’

  ‘Sorry, Mr. Chang,’ said Alvie, and stood up, but Angela interrupted.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, ‘I merely called him over because I wanted to tell him personally how delightfully talented he and his band are. Mr. Pilkington-Soames here works for the Clarion, and he was thinking of running a piece about the Copernicus and its jazz orchestra. I hope you don’t object to the publicity.’

  Johnny Chang hesitated.

  ‘No, not at all,’ he said affably. ‘Alvie, you may speak to this lady and gentleman, but I should like you to be back on stage in ten minutes.’

  He seemed inclined to hover, so Angela said, ‘As a matter of fact, Mr. Berteau and I were just about to go and dance. You don’t mind, I hope? Don’t worry, I shall send him back to work as soon as the next number is over.’

  Clearly supposing that Angela was a bored society matron in search of an illicit thrill, Johnny Chang bowed with the utmost politeness and stood back to let her and Alvie pass.

  ‘I’m sorry for forcing you to dance, and I do hope I haven’t got you into trouble,’ said Angela as they stepped out onto the floor.

  ‘No fear of that,’ said Alvie in friendlier tones. ‘You said the magic word “publicity”. He’ll be fine. They think a lot of their business, the Changs.’

  He steered her around the floor carefully.

  ‘I suppose we can talk now without being overheard,’ said Angela. ‘You know what I am looking for. A woman is dead and I want to find out who she was. It seems a great shame to let fear of the police get in the way of that.’

  ‘Well, you know,’ said Alvie cautiously, ‘it may be that the girls here do just a little more than what they were hired for. I think you understand what I mean.’

  He looked at her and Angela nodded.

  ‘But the police don’t like that one bit,’ he went on. ‘If it ever came out, this place could be closed down for good.’

  ‘The policeman who is investigating this murder is not interested in closing the club down,’ said Angela. ‘And besides, all we need is a name. Whether or not she was doing anything illegal and whether it was sanctioned by the club is irrelevant.’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Alvie. ‘How did she die?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘She was poisoned with arsenic, then after she died someone smashed her face in so it was completely unrecognizable and disposed of her body in a ditch.’ She said it quite deliberately, hoping to get a reaction.

  Alvie bit his lip.

  ‘Is there a girl missing from here, Alvie?’ asked Angela gently.

  He looked down at the floor for a moment, as though debating with himself.

  ‘Lita,’ he said finally. ‘Her name was Lita.’

  FOURTEEN

  Angela was about to inquire further when she became aware of a sudden disturbance taking place across the other side of the room. She turned, and her eyes opened wide as she saw a group of twenty or thirty policemen in uniform pushing their way through the crowd.

  ‘Not again,’ said Alvie in resignation.

  One of the policemen blew his whistle as he made his way towards the stage. He motioned and shouted to the band to stop playing. Some of them stopped at once, but others took a little longer to notice. One by one, they gradually fell silent, except for one poor trombonist who was lost in the music; he carried on playing merrily and bobbing up and down in time until a constable grabbed the instrument and pulled it out of his hand. Alvie’s look changed from consternation to amusement at the sight of his band-mate’s astonished expression.

  A police sergeant got up onto the stage and bellowed, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this club has been found to be in breach of His Majesty’s licensing laws and shall close immediately. Please collect your belongings and leave.’

  There were groans, as well as several shrieks from some of the more excitable members of the audience, but most people rose obediently and made for the door. The exodus was proceeding in an orderly fashion when suddenly there was a loud screeching, and a tiny Chinese woman could be seen, struggling in the grip of two policemen. What happened next Angela was never entirely sure, but shortly afterwards there were screams and yells, and a group of people began scuffling on the floor. This set off something of a panic, and there was a general stampede for the exit. Angela felt herself buffeted from all sides as hundreds of people headed for the door at the same time, but before she could react she was knocked off her feet and almost fell to the floor. Fortunately, Alvie was still with her, and caught her just before she could be trampled in the rush, but there was no time to thank him as he pulled her out of the crowd and up onto the stage. From there she could see Mrs. Chang being borne away by the police. To Angela’s astonishment, she also spotted Freddy, who was in the process of being subdued by two policemen with the aid of a truncheon.

  ‘Good God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever is going on?’

  She hurried down from the stage, ignoring Alvie’s warnings, and ran towards the disturbance.

  ‘Freddy!’ she cried, as she watched him being dragged away in handcuffs.

  Freddy had no chance to reply before he was carried off. A policeman barred Angela’s way.

  ‘You can collect him in the morning,’ he said. ‘I dare say a night in the cells will do him a power of good.’

  ‘But—’ began Angela, but it was no good. The policeman shook his head and would not let her pass. Angela looked about her desperately as the sea of people surged towards the door, th
en hurried back to her table to collect her little bag. It was not there, but fortunately she found it on the floor after a brief hunt.

  Another policeman came and chivvied her out of the place, and after a few uncomfortable minutes Angela found herself out in the cold street without her coat and hat. All about her were groups of people equally bereft and complaining loudly. She spotted Alvie standing with one or two of his band-mates, as well as a waiter and one of the hostesses. They were trying to persuade a policeman to let them back in to collect their things.

  ‘No,’ said the policeman firmly. ‘Nobody is to come back in. I’ve had my orders. You can come back tomorrow and fetch them. Now, get along with you.’

  Alvie turned away in disgust and walked off. Angela stopped him as he passed her.

  ‘I haven’t thanked you for saving me from being trampled to death,’ she said.

  He smiled.

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I guess William wouldn’t have been too happy to find himself without a job.’

  ‘Shall you be without one now?’

  ‘Naw,’ he drawled. ‘Mrs. Chang will be out by tomorrow, and we’ll open up again in a few days, busier than ever. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again.’

  ‘Rather an erratic way to earn a living, don’t you think?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘It’s a good place to work,’ he said. ‘They play fair—and pay fair.’

  ‘Alvie, when can I talk to you again about Lita?’

  He looked at her seriously, stroking his chin in thought.

  ‘Listen,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t know much about her myself, but she was friendly with a couple of the girls here. I’ll see if I can get one of them to talk to you.’

  ‘I’d be awfully grateful,’ said Angela. The night air was chill and she wrapped her arms about herself. ‘And now, I really ought to get home. I’m cold, and I’ve had rather more excitement this evening than I was expecting.’

  Alvie laughed and helped her to find a taxi, which took some time given the number of people milling about in the street. They shook hands as she got in, and he promised to let her know as soon as possible when they could talk again. The taxi-driver looked surprised when Angela told him to take her to Mount Street, and she supposed she was looking rather disreputable, being without a coat or hat and having been handed into the taxi by a black man some years younger than herself. Her appearance was of little concern to her, however, since she was more worried about Freddy. Why had he been arrested?