The detective shook his head. ‘I don’t expect you’ll see me again. You may be quite certain that Lord John knows every Central C.I.D. man by sight—and many of the Divisional ones as well. But I’ll keep in touch with you in different ways. Before this evening I may give you the names of one or two people who are stopping here. You might have a chat with them, say, after dinner—provided your contact with them can appear casual. You follow?’
‘I’m game to do my best for you,’ said Gilmour decisively.
‘I’m confident of that! And listen—I’m counting on you not to repeat our present conversation to a single soul. In enlisting your help in this way I’m being most unorthodox. It’s frequently done, of course, in the Special Branch—not often in “C”. But then the whole case can scarcely be called orthodox!’ He scribbled something on the back of his card. ‘Here’s my home address, Mr. Gilmour. You’ll probably find me either there or at the Yard if you want me in a hurry. Before I go, is there anything you’d like to ask?’
Alan Gilmour put down his pipe on the table.
‘There is,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I want to ask you about Miss Elizabeth Marlowe.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s—it’s difficult to put into words. What I want to know is—where exactly does she stand in all this?’
For nearly a minute Inspector Tripp sat in silence.
‘If I were you, Mr. Gilmour,’ he said at length, ‘I don’t think I’d go out of my way to see a great deal of Miss Marlowe during the next few days. Perhaps it sounds a lot to ask?’
‘It does,’ replied Gilmour frankly. ‘I’ve got no friends in London, and, as it happens, I think a lot of Miss Marlowe.’
‘Perhaps I should explain further.’ Inspector Tripp chose his words carefully. ‘It wasn’t money—or valuables—that was stolen from Sir Richard Templeton’s safe last night. It was documentary evidence against Lord John that we’ve been gathering for weeks.’
Alan sat up with a jerk. ‘But how did Lord John know Sir Richard Templeton had the evidence in his possession?’
Tripp sighed. ‘I wish I could answer that! As far as we’re aware, nobody outside Scotland Yard knew it, except Sir Richard himself—and of course his secretary.’
‘I see,’ said Alan slowly. ‘And how was the safe opened?’
‘By some person who knew the combination. Sir Richard’s note-book disappeared in the course of the evening, and his pocket may have been picked by one of Lord John’s people. If so, it probably happened at a dance in Carbery Square. Sir Richard gave me a record of his movements, and he was at no other place where such a thing was likely. Indeed, he dined at his club, and, after calling at a friend’s house for a few minutes, went on to Carbery Square. . . . Which reminds me. I’ve got to be there to meet Mrs. Prideaux at eleven o’clock. We’ll have to continue this conversation later.’
‘I’m going in that direction myself,’ said Alan. ‘Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready. I can give you a lift in my taxi.’
Alan flung down his dressing-gown on the couch at the foot of the bed.
‘We’d better not be seen together,’ remarked Inspector Tripp. ‘As I’ve just said, Lord John probably knows every inspector in the Central C.I.D. Branch by sight. I’ll wait for you in a taxi down at the side door.’
Alan, who was partially dressed, completed his toilet in record time; and as they drove away Inspector Tripp continued their talk at the point where they had left off.
‘There’s another line of inquiry to be opened,’ he said. ‘At the time Sir Richard Templeton locked the stolen documents in his safe yesterday afternoon, there was a second person in the room, and Sir Richard admits that it’s his habit to repeat the combination aloud as he writes it down. The other person was Miss Marlowe.’
Alan frowned.
‘Why do you tell me this, Inspector?’ he asked. ‘You aren’t trying to put me against the girl?’
‘I’m simply telling the facts, Mr. Gilmour,’ returned Tripp. ‘A police officer cannot—dare not—be a sentimentalist.’
‘You mean then that Elizabeth Marlowe is—well, to be blunt, she’s under suspicion?’
‘That,’ said Inspector Tripp deliberately, ‘is precisely what I do mean.’
For several minutes, Alan sat glumly in his corner of the cab.
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, Inspector,’ he said at last; ‘I’d stake anything on it.’
‘Well, perhaps you’re right,’ nodded the detective. ‘But, if you take my tip, you’ll give her a wide berth. If you do see her, I’m relying on you not to give her any kind of hint of what I have just said.’ He put his head out of the window to direct the driver to the other side of Carbery Square.
As they drew into the kerb, a large limousine car pulled up ahead of them, and a slender fair-haired woman stepped out on to the pavement. She stood for a moment to give instructions to the chauffeur, then ran lightly up the steps of No. 37.
‘That’s Mrs. Prideaux,’ remarked Tripp, glancing at his watch. ‘I wish all women were as punctual.’
The quick picture Alan Gilmour had got of the woman’s face lingered with him.
‘If she’s supposed to be a friend of Templeton’s,’ he murmured, ‘I can’t say I admire his taste.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Tripp sharply, pausing on the step of the taxi-cab.
‘Oh, nothing. She’s good-looking, of course. But she struck me as cold and hard—and a devilish clever woman. I don’t like the mixture.’
‘I’m always interested in first impressions,’ said the detective with a smile. ‘Well, good-bye, Gilmour. You may not see me in the next few days, but you’ll hear from me.’ He held out his hand; and the shy, almost boyish look crept once more across the tired lined face. ‘You won’t find me effusive, but you’ll find me grateful.’
Gilmour took the hand with its firm friendly grip. ‘You’ve opened my eyes about one thing, Inspector. I always thought you were a ruthless set of devils at Scotland Yard!’
‘We aren’t that,’ replied Tripp, the boyish smile widening, ‘but, in spite of what the newspapers say, we aren’t exactly half-wits either. Well, you’ll hear from me later. Goodbye.’ He watched Alan’s taxi drive away, then thoughtfully crossed the pavement to the door of 37 Carbery Square.
CHAPTER IX
AT CARBERY SQUARE
Inspector Tripp was shown at once into Mrs. Prideaux’s own room. He had barely time to absorb an impression of the strangely cool and unfeminine atmosphere, and the cabinets of jade and agate, crystal and ultramarine and lapis lazuli that were along one wall, when Lydia Prideaux herself entered.
‘I’ll confess to you, Inspector,’ she said with a smile, ‘that Sir Richard Templeton piqued my curiosity this morning! If only I’d had my wits about me I’d have asked you to come this evening instead—and I’d have had a little cocktail party in your honour.’ She put back her head and gave a light, musical laugh. ‘Not many people, you know, have met a detective from Scotland Yard.’
‘And most of them who have,’ said Tripp, his grey eyes twinkling, ‘wish that they’d avoided the acquaintance! I’ve come to ask if you’ll help me, Mrs. Prideaux.’
‘Do sit down. I’ll help you if I can, of course!’
‘You held a dance here last night?’ said Inspector Tripp, refusing the cigarette which was offered to him. ‘Do you mind my asking how many people were present?’
Lydia settled herself comfortably against a pale-green cushion, not unaware that it was a perfect frame for her blonde hair and fair complexion, and let a thin pale column of cigarette smoke curl upwards from her shapely lips. ‘About fifty or sixty. But the caterers will know—Hunter’s of Bond Street. I can get you the exact number if you wish.’