But really, he was not here to babysit the man from the Admiralty. ‘Get on with it, you two. If Hartmann is here, I want to know.’
Quinn watched Macadam and Inchball milling through the crowd. Despite the differences in their characters, evident in their distinctive gaits, it had to be said that Quinn had never seen two men who were more obviously policemen. If the crowd had not been so intent on the brilliant creatures who were cavorting in front of Porrick’s Palace, his sergeants would not have escaped its wary attention.
Quinn turned back to the group of film people. Eloise, of course, drew his gaze. But he found that the man with the eye patch, Waechter, also interested him. The mere knowledge that he had taken a life once suggested that he could do so again. Whether one called it manslaughter or murder, it was the ultimate crime. A man capable of that could reasonably be considered capable of anything.
Waechter directed a few urgent – possibly angry – words towards a man holding a Yorkshire terrier. Quinn was momentarily distracted by the dog, so he did not immediately recognize Porrick. But the fellow’s overcoat gave him away. A third man was drawn into the discussion, a dark-complexioned individual, of excessively short stature, and with the look of an indigenous South American. He nodded eagerly as if to reassure the others of something. The dog joined in with a few bad-tempered yaps of his own for good measure.
The exchange had no impact on the actors, who maintained their good-natured rapport with each other and the audience. At least this was the case with Eloise and the stout comedian with the mournful expression. The other couple he had picked out, the ones who had taken an interest in Lord Dunwich, followed the discussion with greedy eyes, as if they suspected that there was profit to be made from whatever might fall out from it.
But the altercation petered out. The reassurances of the South American played a part. So too did the intervention of a large, imperious-looking woman with a spreading bosom who spoke sharply and decisively to the man with the dog.
Quinn looked back to where Lord Dunwich was, and was surprised to see him in conversation with another man he recognized, Harry Lennox, the Irish proprietor of the Clarion. He supposed it shouldn’t really surprise him that Lennox was here. If he himself had been considered enough of a celebrity to be invited, then the publisher of one of the most widely read newspapers in the country would surely have merited an invitation. But he found it troubling all the same. It was not so long ago that he had been investigating the case in which Lennox had been indirectly involved. He had no wish to be seen by Lennox, or more specifically by his daughter Jane, whom he now noticed was there with her father. She was dressed in an eye-catching gown that seemed to be made entirely of black sequins and black-dyed ostrich feathers attached directly to her skin. Presumably she was in mourning. But she could not mourn discreetly, of course. Being who she was, the spoilt and savage child of a millionaire, she had to mourn fashionably.
The group of film people began to wave and make their way back inside Porrick’s Palace. But just as they were doing so, an ugly scene broke out.
A man with his back to Quinn began shouting and gesturing angrily.
Waechter, who was herding his company away, turned for a moment to look at the shouting man. He frowned as he tried to take in what the man was saying. Presumably there was some difficulty with the language. Quinn couldn’t be sure, but he thought he made out the word ‘Parasites!’ followed by something which could have been: ‘Without me, you’re nothing!’
Waechter dismissed the heckler with an impatient shake of his head and a dark look towards Porrick. The latter took this as a cue to step forward and confront the shouting man. There was something about his manner, a weary brusqueness, that suggested to Quinn that this was not their first encounter.
The crowd had greeted the outburst with nervous hilarity, neutralizing any danger through ridicule. Quinn, however, was gripped by the same ominous sensation that had come over him earlier, the sense that this incident too had something to do with him personally; that dark events were moving towards some kind of climax.
Waechter hurried his actors inside, to be followed in by Porrick and his wife, together with Lord Dunwich, and Harry and Jane Lennox, who presumably were in some way connected with the party of film people. A wider entourage followed behind them.
At the removal of the film people, the man stopped shouting and turned disconsolately away, pushing against the tide of the crowd, who were now forming a queue to be admitted.
As soon as he turned, and Quinn got a clear view of his face, the premonitory feelings that Quinn had experienced earlier were fulfilled. It was the man he had seen in the Tube train compartment.
Quinn observed that the man was wearing the same leather gloves as before. Had he subconsciously noted the gloves already? That would explain the curious dream-like sense of inevitability he had experienced when he saw the man’s face.
Quinn felt a strange conflict of emotions. He wanted to detain and challenge the man. But some fierce and almost threatening glint he had caught in the other’s eye deterred him. It seemed that he held in his gaze a secret, inexplicably pertinent to Quinn, and which it would not profit Quinn at all to discover.
The man knew that he had been seen. He held Quinn’s gaze for long enough to suggest that this did not unduly concern him, that he almost welcomed it. At last he turned and pushed his way through the square. Any thought Quinn might have had of following him was forgotten by the excited return of Macadam and Inchball.
‘’E’s here, guv! We seen ’im, ain’t we, Mac!’
For a moment, Quinn thought Inchball was referring to the same man. He frowned in confusion.
‘’Artmann, guv! ’E was with them film people. Went in with them. Looks like ’e knows Waechter! You was righ’, guv!’
Quinn nodded calmly. ‘Very well. Inchball, you watch the front. Macadam, go round to the back. There must be a rear exit. I want a man in place to tail him whichever way he comes out. And whatever you do, don’t let him know that he’s being followed. I shall go inside to watch the film. If Hartmann does have some connection with Waechter, as it now seems likely, then it would be as well for us to familiarize ourselves with what kind of a man Herr Waechter is. This film of his would be a good place to start.’
He looked up at the trees in the centre of the square. The lights in the branches seemed brighter now. But that was merely a function of the darkness thickening around them.
SIXTEEN
As the lights went out inside the auditorium, bubbles of excitement seemed to float in the darkness. Voices rose to an urgent clamour. It was as if each member of the audience was rushing to get out the single most important thing they would ever say, which had for some reason occurred to them at this inappropriate moment. Then, everyone ran out of words at the same time. Silence hung momentarily above them. Quinn thought he heard a short hiss, like liquid being squirted from a number of atomizers. The air was suddenly pleasantly scented. He felt himself relax. He sensed an easing in the expectant tension all around him.
The band began to play. Because this was a gala occasion, the management of the theatre had evidently supplemented the usual pianist with some string players and a percussionist. The violins came in with a highly charged romantic overture. The darkness seemed to throb and quiver, as if a spasm of emotion had passed through it. Then all at once it burst into shimmering life.
A pair of enormous eyelids opened slowly. Two equally enormous eyes stared out at him. At him, at him alone. That was certainly what Quinn felt. Every other man in the auditorium must have felt the same.
For these were the eyes of a woman. And their gaze was one of desire. What man would not wish to think himself the subject of that gaze?