The Package Included Murder (11 page)

The Hon. Con was keeping both feet firmly on the ground. ‘We must organise a search party!'

The proposal didn't go down at all well. There were murmurs of discontent.

‘Organise a search party?' whined Jim Lewcock. ‘In all these bloody pokey little streets?' They had left the comparatively bustling city centre and were now in the residential area. ‘We wouldn't find her in a month of bloody Sundays. Jesus, she could be anywhere.'

‘She'll have gone back to the hotel,' asserted his brother. ‘And I can't say as how I blame her. I dunno about you lot but my dogs are killing me!'

Desmond Withenshaw was equally restrained in his enthusiasm. ‘We can't send out a search party for Miss Clough-Cooper,' he objected, attempting to laugh the whole thing off. ‘It's dark and we don't know the town well enough. Look, why don't we go straight back to the hotel and see if she's there. If she isn't – well – we'll tell the Intourist people and let them handle it.'

The Hon. Con began to doubt the evidence of her own ears. ‘Have you forgotten that there have already been three attempts on Penny Clough-Cooper's life?' she demanded furiously. ‘Good grief, she may be lying dead in a pool of her own blood at this very moment!'

‘In which case we'd be too late, anyhow,' muttered some unidentifiable rotter.

The Hon. Con pressed pig-headedly on. ‘ I propose we divide ourselves into four groups of – well – three or whatever it is. Then we'll set off in different directions – north, south, east and west – calling Miss Clough-Cooper's name and …'

‘And that'll bring the cops down on our bloody necks quicker than anything!' This time there was no mistaking Tony Lewcock's uncultured tones. ‘I though that was what the Honourable Miss Bossie Boots was trying to spare us.'

‘Now, look here, you!' It was a well-known fact that the Hon. Con had the patience of a saint but enough was enough. She squared up to Lewcock minor in an attitude strongly reminiscent of bare-fist pugilism. Tony Lewcock sportingly prepared to defend himself and no holds barred. There might have been a classic encounter if Miss Jones, ever inclined to over-dramatise, had not flung herself between the two heavily breathing protagonists. The rest of the party, having unconsciously formed themselves into a ring, were hard put to restrain their disappointment.

However the dust-up did serve to clear the air and the Albatrossers sullenly agreed to undertake a search for the missing Clough-Cooper. The Hon. Con once more attempted to get things organised but nobody's cooperation stretched that far. Almost before she realised what was happening, the Hon. Con found herself alone with Miss Jones.

‘Where've they all gone?' she howled. ‘Holy cats, it's no good wandering off like that! We ought to quarter the town and …' She ranted on for some time while Miss Jones, as was her wont, stood there meekly and took it.

‘Perhaps,' she suggested at last, ‘that's Miss Clough-Cooper coming now, dear.'

Don't think that the Hon. Con hadn't heard the approaching footsteps, too. ‘Don't be silly, Bones!' she retorted automatically and then fell silent as she caught sight of the pathetic and exhausted figure which came limping through the gloaming towards them. ‘Oh, blimey!'

When Miss Clough-Cooper was sure she had been spotted she sagged weakly against the nearest wall.

The Hon. Con charged over. ‘ What's happened? Are you all right? Oh, you poor girl! Where on earth did you get to? Why didn't you … Bones, don't just stand there, you chump!'

The search party hadn't gone very far. Attracted by the Hon.

Con's bellows, it seized the opportunity to come rushing back and gathered round.

Miss Clough-Cooper sagged dramatically at the knees and was caught – much to his wife's and the Hon. Con's disgust – by Mr Beamish. Miss Clough-Cooper muttered something unintelligible.

‘What did she say?' The Hon. Con crowded nearer and tried to shove everybody else out of the way. ‘Give her air! I say, you rotters, do stand back and let the poor lass breathe!'

Miss Clough-Cooper rallied her flagging forces, filled her lungs and, enunciating her words clearly, made the announcement which they had all been dreading. ‘Somebody tried to kill me again!'

This was greeted by a general groan.

The Hon. Con glared angrily at her companions. ‘When?' she demanded.

‘I don't know,' whispered Miss Clough-Cooper and raised a languid hand vaguely to her head.

‘Where?'

Miss Clough-Cooper gesticulated even more vaguely behind her. ‘Somewhere over there, I think. In one of those narrow little alleys with the white-washed walls.' She choked back some sobs. ‘My tummy's been a bit upset all day, with the strange food and everything, and I though I'd better get back to the hotel as soon as possible. Naturally,' – she cast her eyes down – ‘ I didn't want to disturb the rest of you or have to answer a lot of embarrassing questions.'

‘Quite, quite,' rumbled the Hon. Con, pleasurably surprised to find such modesty. She had, somehow, got hold of Penelope Clough-Copper's hand and now she patted it encouragingly. ‘ Still, you could have confided in me, you know.'

Miss Clough-Cooper shyly acknowledge the reproach. ‘I'm sorry,' she murmured.

‘Well, chin up, old fruit!' The Hon. Con was never one to bear a grudge where a pretty girl was concerned. ‘It doesn't matter. Now, try and tell me exactly what happened. Somebody' – she frowned hideously – ‘try to – er – grab you?'

Miss Clough-Cooper shook her head. ‘They threw a knife at me!' she gasped and, to the Hon. Con's dismay, began to blub in good earnest.

‘A
knife
?' queried nearly everybody else.

Miss Clough-Cooper raised a puffy, tear-stained face which shone in the moonlight. ‘This one!' she said, and held up her hand. Across her palm lay a large pocket knife, its broad, heavy blade open. ‘I pulled it out of the wall where it had stuck, quivering, after just missing my head.' Those with really keen night vision could actually see a flake of white powder on the tip of the blade.

‘Bloody hell!' Jim Lewcock reacted predictably to this crisis. ‘Here, is that a Russian knife?' He leaned forward and stretched out his hand.

‘
Don't touch it
' howled the Hon. Con, who'd probably read more detective stories than the rest of them put together. ‘Finger-prints,' she explained in a more reasonable tone.

Any tendency to explore the problem of how the Hon. Con was going to cope with fingerprints, if any, was abandoned in the face of yet another sensation. Mrs Frossell, well to the fore, was staring in fascination at the knife. It is debatable how much of the earlier proceedings had actually sunk in, but her contribution now was loud and clear. It was also unambiguous. ‘Why,' she said, even smiling a little, ‘that's Roger's knife!' She turned to her son. ‘Isn't it, dear?'

Roger Frossell raised both hands in the air and excelled himself. ‘Oh,
mother
!' he wailed.

‘I,' said the Hon. Con with that passionate determination which has got England in its present mess, ‘am prepared to sit up all night, if needs be, as long as we get at the truth.'

Young Roger Frossell gulped down a yawn. ‘Well, I'm not!'

They were sitting in the bathroom. The Hon. Con, cashing in on the privileges of rank, proprietorship and age, had got the prime position and reasonably comfortable on the polished wooden seat. Roger Frossell had had to be content with the edge of the bath. When he wasn't fully occupied with yawning his head off, he concentrated on keeping his feet securely resting on the narrow strip of duck boarding.

He yawned again. ‘Oh, God,' he grumbled sleepily. ‘ Look, can't we leave this till morning?'

‘You youngsters!' sneered the Hon. Con. ‘Not an ounce of the old stamina amongst the lot of you. And watch your language, sonnie!'

‘When you're my age, you need your sleep!'

The Hon. Con scowled. ‘Don't be cheeky!'

Roger Frossell tried to ease the ache in his back. ‘Sorry,' he mumbled. ‘Look, I'm not trying to be obstructive or anything, but I really am tired. I'd be much more use to you in the morning when we've both had a good night's sleep. And there's my mother, too,' he added in a vain appeal to the Hon. Con's maternal instinct. ‘You know what she's like. She won't go to bed while you've got me penned up in here.'

‘Your knife!' said the Hon. Con. They were words she'd said several times before.

Roger Frossell let his exasperation show. ‘For the nine millionth time' he snarled, ‘anybody could have got hold of that f … flaming knife! I missed it when we were in Moscow and I haven't seen it since. Not until Miss Clough-Cooper produced it this evening.'

‘So you say!'

‘Ask my mother, then! She'll tell you exactly the same thing.'

‘Ever heard of collusion?' asked the Hon. Con scathingly. ‘ Your mother would swear black was sky-blue pink if she though it would save your miserable skin.'

Roger Frossell acknowledged the truth of this sadly. ‘ Why do women have to be so possessive?'

The Hon. Con spurned so obvious a red herring. ‘Don't change the subject!' she snapped. ‘ Where did you keep this knife?'

‘I didn't keep it anywhere specially. Sometimes I had it in my pocket and sometimes I didn't. I left it in my suitcase or on the dressing-table or in the pocket of another jacket.'

‘Trust you,' said the Hon. Con gloomily. ‘And where had you purportedly left this knife when it disappeared?'

Roger Frossell shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘Search me. I told you, it could have been lost days before I missed it. Hours, anyway. As a matter of fact, I didn't know until this evening that I'd really lost it. I thought it was still kicking around somewhere and would turn up in due course.'

The Hon. Con sighed. It all sounded so plausible. She wished she could be sure that his smooth-tongued young whipper-snapper wasn't trying to pull the wool over her eyes. ‘You don't fool me,' she said.

Roger Frossell had a great deal of charm when he wanted to. He turned a bit of it on now. ‘I wouldn't even try!' he protested, twinkling his eyes. ‘You'd be more than a match for an idiot like me, Miss Morrison-Burke. That's why' – he pointed out slyly – ‘I was so keen for you to undertake this whole investigation. You may recall that I was one of your most enthusiastic supporters.'

‘Sez you!' responded the Hon. Con, weakening a little in spite of herself. She tried to live up to the flattering image the young pup had of her. ‘ Has it struck you that our potential murderer must be a blooming boy scout or something?'

‘A boy scout? How do you make that out?'

The Hon. Con hitched up her left trouser leg and gave her calf a good scratch. That was the trouble with ankle socks: they left gaps where the creepy-crawlies could sneak in and get you. She rearranged her clothing. ‘Listen,' she said. ‘ Suppose our joker fellow nicked your chiv in Moscow.' She beamed with satisfaction as she remembered the jargon. ‘Even if it was after the two attempts to kill poor old Penny Clough-Cooper in Moscow, it was still
before
the attempt to snuff her in Alma Ata.' She leaned back. ‘Hence the boy scout.'

The rim of the bath was biting into young Roger Frossell's buttocks. ‘I'm afraid I don't quite see …'

‘Be Prepared!' explained the Hon. Con. ‘Oh, come on, laddie! Shake the old grey cells! Our putative murderer steals your knife to kill Penny Clough-Cooper with – right? Well, how did he know that the attempt on her life, by suffocating her with a pillow, in Alma Ata was going to fail? That's why I said he must be a boy scout. Prepared for every eventuality.'

‘Oh.' Roger Frossell had always suspected your brain started softening at twenty-five and now he was sure. He gave the Hon. Con his most dazzling smile. ‘Gosh, aren't you clever!'

‘Comes of having a tidy mind,' said the Hon. Con modestly. ‘ On the other hand, though, maybe our laddie isn't really trying to kill Penny Clough-Cooper. Perhaps he just wants to scare the living daylights out of her.'

Roger Frossell looked up in surprise. ‘Why on earth should he want to do that?'

‘I dunno,' said the Hon. Con and glared hard at the boy. ‘Sort of silly prank kids of your age get up to, though, isn't it?'

‘Oh, come on! I'm eighteen, not eight.'

‘You could just be trying to take the mickey out of your elders and betters.' The Hon. Con was beginning to wonder if she'd stumbled on the answer to her problem at last. ‘And that might explain why you're so keen to keep the Russian police out of it. And why you were so keen on me taking charge of the investigation.' Her face darkened ominously. ‘You thought I'd never discover the truth, you little rat!'

Roger Frossell looked alarmed. ‘It wasn't like that at all!' he protested with considerably more vehemence that he'd shown for some time. ‘ Honestly it wasn't!' He seemed on the point of saying something more but caught himself in time and clamped his mouth shut. It was so obvious that he was trying to hide something that even the Hon. Con noticed it. Instead of pursuing the matter there and then, though, she decided to box clever and spring it on the cheeky young monkey at some later date when he was least expecting it.

‘Eighteen, eh?' she said, hoping to confuse him by this abrupt change of subject. ‘Why aren't you at school?'

Roger Frossell sighed. ‘ Well, I am, really.'

‘It looks like it!' sneered the Hon. Con.

‘Well, I don't leave officially til the end of term, of course, but I'm not going on to university so I don't really have to bother all that much about exams. My uncle's a publisher and I'm going to join him after the summer vac. He's footing the bill for this little jolly, actually.'