The image of the flabby and bejowled baronet,clad in elfin garb, gambolling and pirouetting about the stage andnimbly orchestrating the tangled mishaps of the various loverscould not be conjured by anyone at the table – however hard theymight try. But the die had been cast – by their director, theirchairman and the owner of a manorial residence that just happenedto have a mini-theatre installed.
“So, we have only to hear the ladies read?”Dutton said after a polite pause.
“Exactly, my dear Dutton. A palpablehit!”
And that, Sir Peregrine went on to informthem, would, if at all possible, take place tomorrow evening. Heproposed to have the full cast come to Oakwood Manor for supper atsix o’clock, to be followed by a read-through of the script – inrole. Everyone was to study his assigned part – Crenshaw couldinform Clementine of her role as Hermia and they might evenrehearse en suite – and all were to come prepared for anevening of pleasure and purpose.
This generous offer was received well, andturned out to have been perfectly timed, for Sir Peregrine had justthanked them for their cooperation when Gillian Budge appeared athis elbow with a tray of glasses and a decanter of sherry. Theywould now toast their achievement with a “goblet of Amontillado”before departing, a suggestion met with hearty murmurs ofapproval.
However, at this moment, Brodie thought tocheck his pocket-watch for the time, and discovering it was almostnine-thirty, he made his excuses and headed for the cloakroom. Inthe excitement of the audition he had almost forgotten the bit ofunpleasantness he had planned for the would-be blackmailer.
***
Brodie grabbed his coat, hat and walking-stick, andtook the stairs two at a time. The back door opened out onto anarrow strip between the public house and the adjacent building.Brodie swung to the right and found himself in the broader alleybehind the tavern, one that stretched northward thirty yards untilit met the east-west service lane. A gibbous moon hung in thesouth-eastern sky, lighting some sections of the alley brightly andcasting sharply edged shadows elsewhere. Brodie found the ashcanmentioned in the extortion note without difficulty. Carefully hepeered around in all directions, but could see or hear nothinguntoward. Even the raucous chatter of the taproom did not carryback this far. Laying down his walking-stick for a moment, heplaced the parcel he had brought along under the lid of the can ontop of the clinkers, and replaced the lid. The parcel, tied withstring, was stuffed with plain paper.
Then he moved quickly, as a frightened ornervous fellow might, back into the narrow gap between thebuildings and walked noisily out onto Front Street, where hewheeled and strode eastward. At Peter Street he turned north andkept walking. Finding a convenient shadow to cover his next move,he squeezed between the walls of two brick shops and made his wayback towards the head of the alley behind The Sailor’s Arms. Whenhe reached it, he remained hidden in the ell of a chimney, fromwhich vantage-point he could observe the rear of the tavern and theashcan.
It seemed an hour but was probably only tenminutes before he spotted movement – a dark figure materializingout of a shadowy lair not ten yards away from him. It movedstealthily towards the ashcan, glancing about frequently. When itreached the can, it opened the lid and lifted out the parcel. Atthis precise moment Brodie made his own move. Knowing that theblackmailer would be occupied for a few seconds in examining thecontents of the parcel, Brodie loped soundlessly towards him (itwas now apparent that the figure was a black-suited man). A splitsecond before Brodie reached him, the fellow heard his footstep,and whirled around to face him.
The man looked vaguely familiar. He wasstartled, but not frightened.
“Who the hell are you!” Brodieshouted. “Spreading lies about my fiancée!” He grabbed the fellowby the coat-lapels, and began to shake him. “You thievingblackmailer! You bastard! Did you think I’d give money to the likesof you!” Brodie was taken aback by the strength and vehemence ofthis sudden, unplanned outburst.
The blackmailer was not a large man, andBrodie had no difficulty in lifting him off the ground and rattlinghis bones. He made no sound except a kind of wheezing as he wasbeing shaken. But the moonlight caught his bold black eyes fully,and they registered shock and a smouldering animal fury.
“You’re coming with me to the police,” Brodiesaid.
“You want them to know all about the babygirl in Montreal, do you?” the fellow hissed, making no effort tofree himself from Brodie’s grip. “About the hooer you’recourtin’?”
Brodie was stunned by both the venom and theincredible calm in the fellow’s voice. “God damn you!” he heardhimself scream, and then before he could think further, he saw hisright arm drop away and his hand forming a fist.
Which is when the blackmailer drove his kneetowards Brodie’s crotch. The blow was poorly aimed, however, andcaught him on the thigh. But it lent an alarming amount of force tothe punch that Brodie landed on the villain’s left cheek. Hebuckled under the impact, slid to the ground in a sitting position,then slumped onto his back and lay still – the half-opened parcelbeside him.
My God, I’ve killed him, was Brodie’s firstthought. Ignoring the pain in the fingers of his right hand, heknelt down and put a trembling palm on the man’s chest. It washeaving steadily up and down: he had merely been knockedunconscious. Still, the fact that Brodie had, against all theprinciples he had been taught, struck a fellow human being in angerleft him paralyzed, unable to think or act. For a minute, perhapslonger, he remained crouched over his victim, dazed andunseeing.
Finally, he was able to stand up, and lookaround. Then he did a very foolish thing. He picked up his hat, andhe ran.
SIX
Constable Cobb, to his surprise and not a littlechagrin, found himself patrolling the south-east sector of the cityon a Wednesday evening – during a week when it had been his turn totake the more relaxed day-shift. But last night Ewan Wilkie had, heclaimed, spotted a burglar slipping out of the back window of ahome on York Street, had given chase, tripped on a prowling tomcat,and turned his ankle. Both cat and burglar escaped unharmed. So itwas that one of the part-time constables had been called in to takeCobb’s regular day-shift, while the veteran Cobb replaced Wilkie.Fortunately, the first couple of hours this evening had beenpeaceful, and in one or two of the lulls Cobb had found time for aflagon of decent ale at The Cock and Bull.
He was just ambling west along WellingtonStreet when he saw someone zigzagging along the side-path towardshim. Some drunk, no doubt, beetling home before the wife’s curfew,or dander, was up. And young, too, by the slimness of figure andquickness of step. Cobb spread his feet and stood his ground. Thefellow almost crashed chest-first into him before coming to anabrupt stop.
“Jesus, what’re you doin’ out here like this,Brodie Langford?”
Brodie stepped back, bent over, and gaspeddesperately for breath.
“Somebody chasin’ you?”
Brodie straightened up. His face was crimsonand his eyes wild. “Is it you, Cobb?” he panted.
“Last time I checked my trousers it was,”Cobb said, giving Brodie the once-over. “You ain’t drunk, areya?”
“You’ve got to help me, Cobb. Please.”
Cobb glanced over Brodie’s shoulder, butcould see no-one menacing behind him.
“Then you better tell me what’s goin’on.”
“I have just assaulted a man. In the alleybehind The Sailor’s Arms.”
“What’d he do? Try an’ rob ya?”