I was silent. There is no reasoning with an infatuated sixty-year-old.
“Well, I never thought you’d let me down, Mrs. H.” She brushed away an imaginary tear from her false eyelashes. “Not for all your funny little ways, I didn’t. But if it means going it alone so be it! Tomorrow I’ll head out for Moultty Towers on the bus. Going by car would have been more convenient, but it’s not like I don’t know where Biddlington-By-Water is. A proper dead-in-a-live-hole if ever there was one. Went there a few years back, I did, to play bingo at the Old Age Pensioners’ Hall. Wasn’t anyone in the room with their own teeth and most of them too deaf to hear the caller. Talk about a wasted evening. I remember this one geezer in particular that kept saying gambling was sin and he shouldn’t be there and that if his wife, or it could have been his daughter, knew of it it’d break her heart. Never happy unless they’re miserable some people, but that’s neither here nor there to you, is it Mrs. H.?”
“What exactly do you hope to accomplish by going to Moultty Towers other than another chat with her ladyship?” I was putting on my coat and Mrs. Malloy proceeded to button hers.
“Talk to people, if there’s any still around, that knew Flossie Jones. Like the kitchen maid. Could be someone will remember something being said… about her family, for instance… that will help me get started.”
It wasn’t a bad idea and for a weak moment I was tempted to go with her. Tracking down names and addresses, following up the most tenuous of leads would surely be preferable to facing up to Kathleen Ambleforth’s voluble disappointment when I asked for the return of the vanload of items from Ben’s study. Also, and far worse, was the possibility that Ben would remain angry with me. I had never seen him as he had been tonight, so cold and tight-lipped. His bouts of irritation with me tended to be vehement, with him stomping around, clutching his head and shouting an occasional lion’s roar, a brief upset that rustled the curtains and shifted a couple of pictures out of alignment before he threw up his hands and suggested a cup of tea. This was different, and I both longed to be home and dreaded Ben’s response when I came through the door.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Malloy’s voice bounced me back to the moment at hand.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know that! I’m not deaf!” It did not bode well that the second person in one evening to feel I had betrayed them was not ready to forgive and forget at a moment’s notice. “I thought I heard something.” She stood pulling on her gloves. “A creaking sound.”
“I heard one earlier,” I said. “Old buildings tend to make their own funny little noises. Or it could be a stray cat that’s found it’s way in from the alleyway. There was one hanging about when I came in.” The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I heard the indisputable sound of a footstep.
“Cat! Me Aunt Fanny!” Mrs. M. gave the leopard toque, that matched her fur coat, a twitch. “There’s someone out there. But there’s no need to get your knickers in a twist. It’ll be Lady Krumley come back to tell us something she forgot. Or Milk,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion, “stumbling up the stairs to die at his desk with a cigarette between his lips and his very own bottle of booze in his hand after being shot in the back by some thug he was onto…”
She didn’t get to paint a vivid word picture of her selflessly nursing Mr. Jugg back to health and vigor. The office door that neither of us had thought to lock after her ladyship’s departure was thrust open and a man stood in the opening. He wore a raincoat and hat as befitted the weather and a pair of sunglasses that didn’t. He also happened to be holding a gun, which he waved around in what seemed to me a random fashion while twitching on his feet like someone with a bad case of chilblains.
“Well, I must say! The least you could do was knock!” Mrs. Malloy glared at him.
“Where’s the boss?” he snarled.
“Left for the evening.” I glanced toward the desk hoping that some heavy object would leap off it into my hand.
“And who are you two?”
“A pair of waxwork dummies,” snipped Mrs. M.
“Try not to annoy him.” I gave her a nudge.
“That’s right!” He waved the gun around some more. “I’ve got a real nasty temper and would as soon shoot your lights out as look at you.”
“Be our guest,” responded the comic in our midst, without so much as a quiver. “It’s not like we pay the electricity bill. If you’ve got eyes in your head behind those stupid glasses one look around this place will show you that me and Mrs. H… Hodgkins here are giving it to you straight. Mr. Jugg’s not hiding under the desk or in the washbasin. He’s off on his holidays. Can’t say where he’s gone or when he’ll be back.”
“Don’t you neither of you move while I check out the joint.” The man sidled toward the door leading to the loo and after a look inside opened the one to the broom cupboard. He was in his mid to late thirties. The brim of his hat was tipped down over his nose, and his shoulders hunched. A memory, a vague sense of familiarity, prodded at my mind. Was that why I wasn’t trembling with terror. Because he made me think of a bad actor in an even worse movie. Or had I seen him somewhere, quite recently? This evening? I had the answer before he was fully facing us once more.
“You’re the man in the café. You were sitting at a table by the window reading, or pretending to read a newspaper.”
“So what if I was?”
“Just being chatty, that’s always her way.” Mrs. Malloy draped a comradely arm around my shoulder.
“You shut your gob, tiger lady, or I’ll have you stuffed and hung on a wall.” He had stopped twitching his feet and held the gun steady. “Now you two dames hear me good and clear. You’re to get hold of your boss on the double and give him a message from me. He’s to tell old Lady Crumb Cake she needs to stop making up stories or someone will see she’s locked up in the loony bin and stays there. If he don’t he’ll be just one other P. I. that doesn’t show up for business as usual.”
“Could you give us your business card?” I was able to be flippant because I was sure now he wasn’t going to kill us, unless we were stupid enough to follow him down the stairs and try to get the license plate number if he made off in a car. Although surely any self-respecting thug would know enough to melt into the shadows before hopping aboard public transportation or slipping into a waiting vehicle. I continued to muse along these lines when the door closed behind him and for several moments after his footsteps faded into silence. Of course I knew what Mrs. Malloy was about to say before she opened her mouth.
“That puts the case in a different light. Someone who isn’t Flossie Jones seems to be up to tricks. And something’s got to be done about it. You can’t get away from that now, Mrs. H.”
Six
The moon huddled behind a threadbare blanket of cloud. It was no longer raining, but the wind shook the trees as if intent on rattling some sense into their leafless heads. It was well after midnight when I dropped Mrs. Malloy off at her house in Herring Street close to the center of Chitterton Fells. And I did so without making any promises. Wasn’t it enough that I had allowed her to talk me out of contacting the police in regard to the man we called Have Gun Will Travel, on the grounds that Mr. Jugg would not appreciate official interference? Her posture as she went up the path to her front door let me know in no uncertain terms what she thought of my saying I would sleep on the Lady Krumley situation. The wind slammed the front door behind her causing the forsythia bush to cower against the wall.