Murder in Piccadilly (13 page)

“Nancy,” said Bobbie pleadingly.

She turned and established his existence at the table by according him a faint smile.

“You've done me no good by asking me to marry you,” she said with an astonishing return to good temper. “I'm fond of you, Bobbie.” His hand was on hers in an instant and she did not withdraw it.

“That dancing of yours was marvellous,” he whispered. “It simply stunned them with its perfection.”

She stared at him, suspecting ill-timed humour, but to her unspoken amazement she saw that he was sincere. Actually he was the only person in the club who did not know that she had been a failure.

“You're a lamb,” she said impulsively.

“And I'm a wolf, I suppose,” interposed Nosey Ruslin humorously.

“No, you're a bear,” Nancy corrected prettily. “But I don't want to live in a zoo.” To Bobbie's delight she caught him by the arm and brought her lips on a level with his right ear. “You're a dear, and I'll wait a month. If you can afford to marry me then…”

Nosey discerned an acquaintance at the other side of the room who was good for a drink, but when he returned refreshed, Bobbie was alone.

“She's dancing at a party with Billy Bright,” he explained sulkily.

“I suppose what she whispered was a secret?” Nosey was almost playful.

“I wanted to tell you that, Mr. Ruslin,” said Bobbie, eagerly. “She promised to wait a month and—”

Nosey uttered a cry of astonishment.

“You must have made a hit with her!” he said, enviously. “That means she'll chuck the contract I offered her. And all for your sake. You're a lucky chap, Mr. Cheldon.”

“Lucky? How?” The voice was harsh, even hostile.

“Because there isn't another man in London Nancy'd do that for,” he retorted with emphasis. “Can't you see she's an artiste with the soul of an artiste and that her profession means everything to her? If she's willing to give it all up for you—to share your lot—” the sentimental note was choked before it could rise to pathos.

“I know she won't marry me unless I'm rich,” he blurted out.

“Well, why not be rich?” He surveyed the room. “Mr. Cheldon, we can't talk here. Come to my flat and we'll see if I can't think of some scheme to help you. I want Nancy and you to be happy.”

Bobbie was muttering his gratitude when they reached the street, but his companion did not speak until the door of his flat was closed and locked.

“Nothing more to drink, Mr. Cheldon,” he said, when his guest was filling the armchair on the other side of the fireless grate. “We've got business to do and we must have clear heads.”

Something about the room reminded Bobbie of his debt.

“Oh, by the way, Mr. Ruslin, that twenty-five pounds. I'll—”

“You'll get a thick ear,” said Mr. Ruslin facetiously, “if you ever refer to it again. I'm not a millionaire, but I've got all I want and a bit over. Any time you're in a fix for a little of the ready I'll be waiting with both hands full of quids.” He smiled.

“You're my best friend, Mr. Ruslin!” Bobbie cried uncontrollably.

“You're not the first chap who's said that,” Nosey rejoined placidly. “But let me begin with a question, Mr. Cheldon. Why did you send me back the barker?”

As he instantaneously translated the last word Bobbie sat up in a fluster. “I didn't return it,” he gasped. “It was uncle.”

Mr. Nosey Ruslin affected the politeness of inattention.

“You don't mean to say so!” His back was towards Bobbie and he appeared to be busy with a cigarette-box. “Suppose he thought it rather dangerous, Mr. Cheldon. Perhaps he suspected something was wrong.” He was ambling towards the other chair now. “I don't know this uncle of yours, and if I did I can't say I'd want to kiss him.” He laughed.

“Neither would anyone else.” Bobbie grunted to himself. “But he's got pluck, Mr. Ruslin. I shouldn't have had the nerve to do it myself.”

“Do what?”

Bobbie forced a laugh.

“I don't know how to put it.”

“Can't you trust a pal?” The note was almost plaintive. “You called me your best friend a little while ago. Doesn't that go for something?”

“Yes, of course it does. I'm sorry, Mr. Ruslin.” Bobbie laughed again. “I was worked up at dinner the first night and he said things that made me feel I wanted to choke him. When I began to think about the revolver I was minding for you—” he stopped as if thought had failed.

“You planned a little expedition to his room at night with some idea of removing uncle from this vale of tears?” It was all so very obvious to Nosey that he never imagined for a moment he was being clever. “But what happened then?” he asked abruptly.

“He walked straight up to the revolver and took it away from me,” the culprit confessed. “Of course, Mr. Ruslin, it was just a try-on of mine—a little joke. I didn't mean anything serious. I was fuddled, perhaps, drunk.”

“But it might have gone off. It was fully loaded. When it was returned to me the ammunition had been removed.”

“Uncle did that. I'd never have thought he had so much courage. I really almost expected him to die of fright when he saw the weapon close to his cracking bones. As long as I've known him he's been whining about his health, and I well remember when I was a kid I exploded a paper bag behind him and he nearly had hysterics.”

“It may be that he couldn't fancy you shooting him,” Nosey suggested. It was a polite way of conveying the opinion that Massy Cheldon did not regard his nephew as anything better than an invertebrate loafer.

“But never mind, Mr. Cheldon,” Nosey added, the moment he detected anger in the boyish face opposite him. “You and I are friends, and I'm going to stand by you no matter what happens. No, don't thank me. I want no thanks except your marriage with Nancy. That's all that matters to me. Money doesn't interest me and I'm too old to bother about mixing with the nobs. Give me Shaftesbury Avenue, winter or summer, and I'm happy. I may not be a gentleman of your sort, but fifty quid a week and reasonable health and Nosey Ruslin looks the whole world in the face, Scotland Yard and all.” He was relieved that his impulsive indiscretion brought only a chuckle from his young friend.

“I can marry Nancy only when I'm master of Broadbridge Manor and the Cheldon estate,” said Bobbie, returning to moodiness.

“Exactly. And now, Mr. Cheldon, keep your wits about you while we think out a plan to make you master of Broadbridge Manor and the husband of the finest little girlie in all London. First of all, your uncle knows you want him out of the way.”

“That couldn't have cost him much thinking.”

“No. But the revolver helped a bit. Mr. Cheldon, your uncle took the weapon from you and returned it to me. Has he told you that for the sake of the family he'll keep what happened a secret?”

“Yes. But he'd have to anyhow.”

“Are you sure you can trust him? Mr. Cheldon, you're no fool. You're a man of the world. Tell me.” Nosey thrust himself to the edge of his armchair. “Can you guarantee that he'll never lose his temper and give you away? Mr. Cheldon, your uncle has you in his power. Will you do nothing to get out of it?”

“How can I?” The quaver in his voice was not due to Nosey's question but to the influence of his melodramatic, rhetorical style.

“That's why I asked you here,” said Mr. Ruslin with appropriate gravity. “And before we part, Mr. Cheldon, we've got to find the solution of the riddle.”

“What riddle?”

“Getting out of your uncle's power and getting into the family property,” was the earnest reply. “Then you will be able to marry Nancy and save her from the clutches of that dago, Billy Bright.”

Bobbie winced at the mention of the dancer's name.

“An appalling bounder,” he muttered, summoning to his aid all the puny anger of which he was capable.

“Mind you, Mr. Cheldon,” the tempter resumed, “I don't agree with Nancy and I've told her so a dozen times. ‘You're a fool,' I said to her only a few minutes before you arrived at the ‘Frozen Fang.' You're a fool not to marry on any terms a young gentleman like Mr. Cheldon. He's good-looking, intelligent and straight. What more do you want, my girl? If it's money, that'll come sooner than you expect.' I think my words impressed her, but she's afraid of poverty, Mr. Cheldon, and in a way I can't blame her, for she's known it, and the Whitechapel brand fairly sizzles the soul, believe me.”

Bobbie closed his eyes and drank in the flattery.

“I don't know what I'd do without you, Mr. Ruslin,” he said in a nervous whisper. “It's worrying, though. I can't sleep for thinking of Nancy. I hadn't the pluck to tell her tonight that uncle had promised to get me a job.”

“What sort of job?” asked Nosey, almost curt of tone.

“Oh, something in a rubber firm's office.”

Nosey's exclamation was one of shrill contempt.

“Five quid a week, I suppose, and touch your hat to the boss.” He laughed derisively, and Bobbie had not the courage to halve the estimate and turn it into fact. “You, Mr. Cheldon, a city clerk! Your uncle must think you're a fool. You're a county gentleman, that's what you are. You ought to be standin' for Parliament and makin' speeches an' taking Nancy to Court. A city clerk, indeed!”

“But what can I do?” The tone was plaintive.

“Look here, Mr. Cheldon, for your own sake I'll speak plainlike and put all my cards on the table. What you do really doesn't matter a curse to me. I have all the money I want and I'm quite happy to be what I am. At my age Love's young dream is something that don't exist. But there's yourself and there's Nancy.” He dropped into a whisper. “Unless you're not the man I take you for you should get the Cheldon money as quickly as possible. You failed the other night—don't fail next time.”

Bobbie went white as dread rendered his expression lifeless.

“I—I—how could—” he clutched at his throat as if attempting to wrench coherent speech from it.

“Your uncle alive means no Nancy. Understand? Well, it's got to be uncle dead, eh?” He leered. “You don't suppose you could do it yourself? Of course not. That's a job for someone else. Now let's come to terms, and, mind, there must never be no present for me. I want nothin'.” He paused, but Bobbie remained silent. “Supposing I found a chap who could do it neatly and without danger to anyone, includin' himself, what would you say to paying him a thousand quid in four instalments of two hundred and fifty each? You'd know nothin' about it until the family solicitor was reading the will to you.” Mr. Ruslin winked expressively. “You and me would be in the background. No danger, no nothin'.”

The little that was left of Bobbie's conscience turned sick.

“It would be horrible,” he gasped.

Nosey Ruslin shrugged his shoulders.

“Seeing that it don't make no difference to me either way I'll not argue about it,” he said, advancing towards the sideboard. “But it's the Continent and Billy Bright for Nancy and a city clerkship for you. And won't Nancy laugh, and Billy, too, when they hear what you're doin'!” He laughed as if to provide Bobbie with a sample of the derision to which he was to be subjected.

“Nancy,” Bobbie repeated, speaking to himself, “Nancy.” With a sudden movement he was on his feet.

“I have no choice, Mr. Ruslin,” he said, nervously, “and I'm grateful to you. I haven't thanked you before, but—”

“Don't you worry about that,” said Nosey good-naturedly. He tapped him on the arm. “If you want another little loan you know where to come for it.” He laid a hand on his own extensive mouth to indicate that he objected to any expression of thanks. “Now, Mr. Cheldon, let's draw up a plan of campaign. I don't know your uncle by sight, and so you must arrange to point him out to me. Is he often in London?”

“He comes up about twice a week. He's very fond of London,” said Bobbie, rather surprised at the ease with which he had dropped into his friend's suggestion. “Once you saw him you'd easily spot him again. He's about three inches shorter than I am and very thin. Looks a lot older than fifty-three, and is fond of talking about his internal organs. Has two small, deepset eyes and a weak, sneering sort of mouth.”

Nosey listened with apparent intentness and Bobbie saw his lips move as though he was memorising at least some of the description.

“When is he coming to London again?”

“Tomorrow. I am lunching with him at his club—299 Piccadilly—afterwards we're motoring into the city to see a friend of his who manages the rubber firm I spoke of.”

“You'll leave the club between half-past two and three?” said Nosey.

“Nearer three. Uncle is a good luncher and never hurries.” Bobbie smiled faintly. “Say ten minutes to three, Mr. Ruslin.”

“Good. I'll be there, and with a pal, and if it's Billy Bright don't you worry. This is none of your business and never will be. You don't know nothing about it and that's all there is so far as you are concerned, Mr. Cheldon. But there's one little bit of business that's got to be done now.”

“Yes?” Bobbie was feeling overwrought. Had his imagination been more powerful he must have rushed out of the flat.

“Just scribble a few lines to say you'll pay that thousand quid when you come into the property. Say it's for services rendered. No one will guess what the services are.” He spoke jauntily and as carelessly he produced a writing pad, bottle of ink and pen. “Use whatever words you think will protect you. When the money is paid you will have the bit of paper back to burn or to keep as a souvenir.”

As if under the influence of a drug Bobbie wrote with almost mechanical precision, “I promise to pay the sum of one thousand pounds in four agreed instalments of two hundred and fifty pounds within a year of my succeeding to the Cheldon estate. The payment to be made for services rendered by the holder of this document. Robert Cheldon.”