Death in the Middle Watch (15 page)

“Certainly not, sir. And if he had I shouldn't know about it. He wouldn't come in by this entrance. Not just after his wife had died,” said the hall porter stiffly.

Carolus made for the lift, But outside the door of Number 47, he heard the sound of a pop record being played loudly from within. He waited till there was a pause, then knocked. “Rita,” he heard Darwin's voice calling, “see who it is, my pet.”

After a short pause, Rita came to the door in what used to be called a peignoir but which surely has a more businesslike and expressive name to be used with ‘bra,' ‘panties' and other terms in twentieth century terminology.

“Hullo,” she said, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke in Carolus's face. “D'you want to see Guy? He's under the shower at the moment, but if you come in, I'll tell him you're here.”

She led the way into a room littered with modern machinery, a television set, hi-fi pick-up, electric heater, typewriter, tape-recorder, radio and cocktail cabinet. Carolus looked about him.

“I shouldn't think you need to go out at all when you've got all this to play with,” be said.

“We don't, much.”

“Nice for you.”

“Think so? I bought most of it. Guy hasn't much idea. Have a drink?”

Carolus thanked her and was enjoying a whisky and soda when Guy Darwin came in, fully dressed and smelling of after-shave lotion.

“Hullo. What do you want?” he asked with quite an amiable smile.

“Oh, just a few questions,” said Carolus. “I'm sorry if I intruded.”

“You could have phoned.”

“So I could. May I have a look at your passport?” asked Carolus coolly.

“What's all this about?” asked Darwin.

“Murder,” said Carolus. “Of course you can refuse to show me your passport if you want. I'm just a private individual.”

“And a damned inquisitive one. I see no reason why I should show you my passport. But you can look at it if you like. There's nothing phony about it.”

Darwin went to a bureau.

“The one in your own name,” Carolus mentioned.

“Of course. What d'you mean? D'you think I've got two passports?”

“Yes,” said Carolus.

“What's the matter with you? Playing detectives, or what? Look at that and then get out.”

“Thank you,” said Carolus after a look through the passport, but making no move to leave his chair.

“I guessed I should find Miss Latour here. What have you done with poor Mr Gavin Ritchie, Miss Latour?”

“Oh, he was nothing,” said Rita.

“How expressive you are. I was surprised you had time for him at all. So much cabling to do. You must be glad to be home again.”

“I am,” said Rita. “Guy and I are going to be married, you know.”

“Congratulations to you both,” said Carolus. “Though I suppose you'll have to wait for a bit. For what they call a decent interval, won't you? I hope you'll ask me to the wedding. After all, I've watched it all happen, haven't I?”

Darwin seemed suddenly to have lost his temper.

“Get out!” he shouted to Carolus. “You snooping bastard. Get out and don't come round here again.”

“No. I won't,” promised Carolus. “I take it you'll be leaving here, won't you? Not your sort of flat at all. I suggest Ibiza. Or Crete.”

“Who the hell cares what you suggest?” shouted Darwin. “I'm going to throw you out in a minute.”

“When will you move?” Carolus asked.

Rita, giving a fair imitation of the proverbial dumb blonde, asked, “Are we moving, Guy?”

Carolus stood up in a leisurely way.

“Yes, my dear,” he said to Rita. “Quite soon. Too many associations round here. But I'm sure we'll meet again somewhere. Funny if we were all together,
and
Leacock, wouldn't it be?”

“Leacock's dead,” said Darwin.

“Yes. I'm afraid he is,” said Carolus and, without waiting for any more remarks from either of them, asked, “How did you know?”

Darwin was ready for that one, anyway.

“Read it in the papers,” he said. “Quite a story. Who killed the man? He was a rowdy and a bit of a nuisance, but I can't think how he got himself killed.”

“In a brothel,” said Carolus. “Fighting over a woman.”

“But fighting with whom?”

“That's what I'm going to find out. Have you any suggestions?”

“I? Don't be funny. I left the ship at Gib. Or don't you remember?

“So you did,” said Carolus. “These cruises are so confusing. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“But you haven't put any questions!”

“Thanks all the same,” said Carolus. “Be seeing you, no doubt.”

Carolus returned to his hotel.

He found an afternoon tea session in full swing in the lounge. Perhaps swing was hardly the word, but teas with sandwiches and cakes were being handed round by waiters in uniform, chiefly, he supposed, for the benefit of American visitors who had heard about this incredible English custom. And no sooner had he sat down than he was approached by the very person most appropriate for it—Mrs Grahame-Willows.

“You see I've discovered your retreat,” she said rather archly.

“Yes. Do join me.”

Mrs Grahame-Willows consented.

“As a matter of fact, I asked Mr Porteous where I could find you.”

“But he didn't know!” said Carolus in genuine amazement.

“Oh, yes he did,” said “the lady at the table where we sit.”

“I can't think how,” said Carolus. “I told no one where I was going.”

Mrs Grahame-Willows smiled.

“Not even Mr Gorringer?” she asked.

Carolus suddenly remembered that he had on other occasions mentioned to the headmaster that he sometimes stayed at Freeman's. Evidently this had been enough.

“You see, I knew you were interested in the movements of those on board,” said Mrs Grahame-Willows. “And since I noticed a rather extraordinary thing when we landed, I made a note of it to tell you.”

“Yes. What was that?”

“The blonde young woman whose name—or at least the name she gave—was Rita Latour, left the ship alone.”

“You surprise me.”

“Ah, but who do you think was waiting for her on the docks?”

Carolus managed to resist the temptation to say Chairman Mao or Dr Johnson and vacantly shook his head.

“You'll never guess,” said Mrs Grahame-Willows. “It was that man Darwin. The one whose wife died before we reached Lisbon.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I managed to overhear just a snippet of their conversation,” said Mrs Grahame-Willows. “They kissed, and the man said, ‘Thank God you've come, darling'.”

“Did you hear what the girl said?”

“Yes. She asked something about cables. Had he received all her cables, or something like that. He replied, ‘Yes. Clever girl.' Then they walked away.”

“How disappointing for you.”

“Not really. I'd heard enough. Of course she was reassuring him about Gavin Ritchie, the young man who was rather friendly with her when we got to Tunis.”

“Of course! And what do you suppose
he
was telling
her?
Or don't you think he sent her any cables?”

“If it was what I think it was, he was probably telling her how he had buried his poor wife,” said Mrs Grahame-Willows.

“Quite likely,” agreed Carolus, and, excusing himself, he left her in the surroundings that suited her so well and made for his bedroom.

E
ARLY NEXT MORNING THE
telephone, a “period” instrument, rang in Carolus's room. He recognized the voice of the paunchy old man at 341 Dover Street.

“He's come,” he said, “with a young lady. Turned up last night. Very little luggage—only a small handbag each with British Airways on them. I didn't phone you then because it was too late and I was going off duty. But you'll be in plenty of time to catch them if you come round now.”

Carolus thanked him and would have started at once if the old gentleman had not detained him.

“We don't like doing this sort of thing,” he said repeating the words of yesterday. “It seems like spying, somehow.”

“It
is
spying,” said Carolus, losing his patience. “But you're being paid for it.”

The old gentleman was equal to him.

“Am I, sir? Thank you. I'm pleased to hear that,” he retorted. “I'll expect you round as soon as you can manage it, I've just sent their breakfast up to them. The waiter says they've been packing. He says you'd be surprised at what they've got into those little handbags.”

It was not far from Freeman's Hotel to Dover Street and Carolus was able to get a taxi, but when the old doorkeeper greeted him with that particular look with which doorkeepers
make their wishes known to clients, he said that Mr Darwin had gone out.

“He told me he wouldn't be long. He just had to buy something. But the young lady is there.”

Carolus did what clearly was expected of him.

“Thank you, sir. I ought to phone to the young lady to tell her you're here. But I suppose it doesn't matter as you're a friend of Mr Darwin's.”

This was enough for Carolus and he pressed the bell of Suite Number 18.

“Oh it's you!” said Rita, seeming delighted to see him. “However did you find us here? Guy said no one knows about this place.”

Carolus did not answer directly but looked at the confusion on the bed where the two small handbags had evidently been packed and some discarded clothes, too heavy perhaps for the flight bags, still lay.

“Going abroad?” he asked Rita.

“Yes,” she beamed. “To Morocco. We're leaving before lunch from Heathrow. Exciting, isn't it?”

“Very,” said Carolus. “I hope you have a good time.” He looked at her as though he felt shy. “Hadn't you better get some more clothes on?” he suggested.

“If you want me to,” said Rita coyly.

“Well, I think it would be wise,” said Carolus. “Guy will be back in a minute and I don't know what he will think. He's not expecting me here, you see. Besides, if your flight leaves before lunch you haven't much time.”

Rita pouted and disappeared into the bathroom leaving Carolus with the two small bags to which, deep under the clothes with which they were filled, he made certain small additions. He had barely time to light a cigarette and lounge
carelessly in an armchair when Darwin entered. He seemed to be thunderstruck by the presence of Carolus.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“Waiting for you. I wanted to ask you those few questions.”

“I haven't time for that sort of nonsense now,” said Darwin.

“No. I see you're going away. Another little holiday? How lucky you businessmen are. Lisbon one day, Tunis the next …”

“Who said anything about Tunis?”

“I did,” said Carolus. “I was just giving an example. Nice little flat you've got here. Not leaving it for good, are you? I shouldn't mind this.”

“Certainly not. Short holiday,” said Darwin. “Wouldn't give this place up for anything.”

“No. I suppose not,” said Carolus, as if disappointed.

“And now, if you wouldn't mind, I still have some packing to do.”

Rita entered.

“Ah, there you are, Guy,” she said. “I'm quite ready now. Shall we go, darling?”

“Yes. When Mr Deene leaves us.”

“Oh, don't be so rude, darling. Mr Deene only came to see you for a minute.”

“Don't worry,” said Carolus, and then mouthed a lie not perhaps in its literal sense, but by implication one of the largest of his career, “I know when I'm not wanted!” he said.

“There!” said Rita. “Now you've offended him!”

“To hell with that!” said Darwin, picking up his small bag. “Come along!”

And indicating to Carolus that he should go first, he followed Rita out and locked the door behind him. The three went down together in the lift after Darwin had said goodbye to the doorkeeper.

“We'll meet again,” said Carolus as he left them in Dover Street.

Five minutes later, Carolus was in a public call box. He had asked for the Chief Security Officer at Heathrow.

“I've got some information for you,” he said, “and I'm speaking from a call box. So don't attempt to have the call traced or you won't get all the information.”

There was a short hesitation, then—

“All right. Go ahead.”

“There is going to be an attempt at hijacking the 414 flight to Tangier, leaving Heathrow at 12.42,” said Carolus.

“414 at 12.42,” repeated the C.S.O., seemingly writing down the details. Carolus wondered whether he was accustomed to this sort of thing.

“It will be made by a man and a woman, with passports probably in the names of Guy Darwin and Rita Latour. But they may have false passports. In any case they are both armed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Do you think this is a practical joke? Each has a small automatic at the bottom of their flight bags.”

“That will be found in any case.”

“I daresay. But I wanted to make certain of it.”

“Where are you speaking from?”

“As if you didn't know. You've had that checked. I'm expecting your men at the door of the call-box at any minute.”

“Do you wish to give your name?”

“I don't mind, provided you phone through to Deputy Chief Inspector John Moore at CID headquarters,” said Carolus. “And tell your men to take me to him. I don't want to waste a lot of time. My name's Carolus Deene.”

“Carolus Deene,” repeated the other slowly as he wrote it down. “Does the DCI know you, sir?”

“Intimately. Ah, I see your men coming along now. They haven't hurried, have they? But you'd better get a move on to prevent those two getting on the Tangier plane.”