“You gonna send somebody up to OakwoodManners to spy on ‘em? A servant maybe?”
“Better than that: a bona fide memberof their little acting troupe.”
Cobb paled.
“I’m asking you to go up to Shuttleworth’splace tomorrow and accept the baronet’s offer to play Bottom.”
Cobb dropped his poker-stick. “But I gotta goback to work. Next week I’ll be on night-patrol. I ain’t got thetime to do somethin’ like that.”
“You and Wilkie share the south-east patrol,don’t you?”
“Yup. Turnabout.”
“And Wilf Sturges doesn’t care which of youtakes which shift?”
“I guess not.”
“And Wilkie owes you a favour or two?”
“About half a dozen,” Cobb said with aresigned sigh.
“So you could arrange to take the day-patrolfor a couple of weeks – between now and the trial?”
“But what chance have I got, even if I wascrazy enough to go up there an hog-nog with the swells? Onlythe one that killed Duggan’ll know the blackmailer’s dead. Theothers could still be leavin’ their parcels in ashcans all overtown. They’ll be spooked an’ leery of me, won’t they? Not casualan’ friendly-like, that’s fer sure.”
“Now that’s thinking like an investigator,isn’t it? I thought of that, too. So I asked Francis Hincks to putthe full story of the murder on the front page of his newspaper,the Examiner, tomorrow afternoon. It will mention that Mr.Broderick Langford was apparently being blackmailed by one AlbertDuggan and allegedly retaliated by clubbing said blackmailer todeath. References to the alley, the brown-paper parcel and theashcan should leave no doubt as to the modus operandi ofthis particular blackmailer.”
“I see. So everybody in the actin’ troop willthink he’s home an’ dry? Duggan’s dead, an’ they’re off thehook?”
“Exactly. They’ll be relieved, relaxed anddefinitely off-guard. If you can get into Oakwood Manor and keepyour eyes peeled and your ears pricked, you might be able to findout what information Duggan was using on each of them. I know it’sa tall order, old friend. But if I can get that information, I’msure I can build a proper defense for Brodie. At the moment itseems like the only chance I’ve got.”
“There’s still Nestor, ain’t there?”
“Yes, I mustn’t forget that. Nestor couldcertainly tell us what his cousin was using as leverage for hisextortions, as he himself was likely the source for some of it. Hemay well know for certain who the targets were. But I can’t justsit idly by and wait for Nestor to turn up some time in the nexttwo weeks, can I?”
“I see yer point.”
“If you’ll take this on, I’ll pay for yourextra hours.”
Cobb looked hurt. “Now, major, you know Ican’t take money from ya.”
“I do. But I was thinking that there would benothing improper if an anonymous donor were to pay Delia Cobb’ssecond-term school fees.”
Cobb grinned. “Nothin’ improper in that, asfar as I c’n see.”
“So you’ll do it, then?”
“I will. But only fer Brodie’s sake, major.I’m gonna hate every minute of it.”
But that, Marc thought, remained to beseen.
ELEVEN
The next morning – Saturday – Cobb returned to hisregular patrol. Ewan Wilkie, however, was happy to take thenight-shift for the next two weeks as the chances of his catchingthe serial burglar and securing the reward were much greater onthat circuit. His total lack of curiosity about matters unrelatedto police work (and much else) led him to accept the proposed swapwithout asking what reasons Cobb might have for wanting it.
At six o’clock, with an hour to go on hisSaturday shift, Cobb stopped at the The Cock and Bull to conferwith one of his lesser snitches (still no sign of Nestor Peck orhis pal Itchy Quick) and take some supper. At quarter to seven heastonished the regular patrons of the tavern by stepping into ataxicab and noisily directing the driver to take him home. The Cobbcottage was located at the far eastern edge of town, on ParliamentStreet just above King, and so it was almost seven when the cabbiestopped his horse in front and heard Cobb ask him to wait.
In the house Delia was ready with a change ofclothes and a basin of warm water. Cobb had a quick wash, put on anew shirt, and wriggled into his wedding-suit (recently retailoredto accommodate his mature figure). Fabian had polished his father’sSunday boots and helped him squeeze into them. The children stoodon the front stoop and cheered him back into the cab.
“Oakwood Manor, sir!” he called up to thedriver, and then waved to his admirers on the porch.
***
Marc had given Cobb money to cover the use oftaxicabs and other incidental expenses associated with what hethought of as his undercover operation. Everything now dependedupon the next half hour and his interview with Sir Peregrine. Amessage had been sent up to the baronet in the morning and a replyreceived by noon: Sir Peregrine would be pleased to hear Mr. Cobbread for the role of Bottom the weaver. Would the gentleman come atseven-thirty?
It was shortly after that hour when the cab,a converted surrey, wheeled through the gates of Oakwood Manor andcame to a gravelled halt at the entrance to the baronet’sostentatious abode. Cobb overpaid the cabbie, stepped up to themassive front door, and was startled when it was opened by a veryprim-looking gentleman in formal dress.
“You must be Cobb,” he said without theslightest trace of emotion, though Cobb felt the fellow’s eyesflick down to his boots and up again.
“Yer master’s expectin’ me, I believe,” Cobbsaid.
Without further speech and with an economy ofmovement, the butler led the way through a wide vestibule towards astout door at the end of it. Cobb was removing his Sunday hat whenthe butler snatched it out of his fingers and plunked it on ahall-tree. Taking the hint, Cobb took off his coat and watched itsettle on the knob next to his hat.
At this point the door beside him opened andSir Peregrine appeared, all smiles. “Welcome to Oakwood, Mr. Cobb.That’ll be all, Chivers.”
Chivers bowed meagrely and vanished.
“I got yer message, sir,” Cobb said. “An’most people call me Cobb.”
“I’m so glad you could come, Cobb, and that,upon reflection, you have reconsidered our offer.”
“I ain’t ever been on the stage before,” Cobbsaid as Sir Peregrine led the way into theballroom-cum-theatre.
“Neither have the other members of the cast,excepting of course Lady Madeleine and myself. We propose to put ona purely amateur production in the time-honoured aristocratictradition. You’ve already viewed our stage, still underconstruction, and this is the temporary table where we areexecuting rehearsed readings of The Dream Sequence, mypersonal adaptation of the forest scenes from the Bard’stranscendent comedy.”
“Are them the scripts there on the table?”Cobb said, choosing to ignore the wince this remark incited in hishost.
“Yes, but I have already laid one out for youin the dining-room over here. You’ll be reading Bottom oppositeTitania, and I thought the dining-room would prove a morecomfortable venue. Now, do come and meet my lady, who is mostanxious to meet you.”
Lady Madeleine, who was seated near one endof the dining-table, did look anxious to Cobb, but not to meet him.She gave him a cool, non-committal smile upon being introduced,then darted a glance at her husband that would have shattered thecrystal decanter on the sideboard, had it been aimed in thatdirection. Cobb tried not to stare at the voluptuous, bold-eyedwoman on the other side of the table. How a flabby dandy likeShuttleworth had managed to hook a creature as beautiful, and asyoung, as this was beyond Cobb. Except that money and rank appearedto suspend the regular workings of human nature.
“As you know full well, Cobb, this tragicbusiness with Broderick Langford – a blackmailer, they tell me, wasthe cause of it all – has left our troupe one player short. We havemade adjustments so that the role of Bottom is now open. Lady Mad,as the others have been urged to call my dear wife and bosomcompanion, has kindly agreed to read her role of Titania in thescene I myself have marked out for you.”