was blackmailing her she had no idea of it. He was hunting in his mind for something to reply when Bridget came into the supper-room.
She was carrying her mother’s bag.
Everything seemed to happen at the same moment. Bridget calling gaily: ‘Really, Donna darling, you’re hopeless. There was your bag, simply preggy with banknotes, lying on the writing-table in the green boudoir. And I bet you didn’t know where you’d left it.’ Then Bridget, seeing her mother’s face and crying out: ‘Darling, what’s the matter?’ Lord Robert himself getting up and interposing his bulk between Lady Carrados and the other tables. Lady Carrados half-laughing, half-crying and reaching out frantically for the bag. Himself saying: ‘Run away, Bridget, I’ll look after your mother.’ And Lady Carrados, in a whisper: ‘I’m all right. Run upstairs, darling, and get my smelling-salts.’
Somehow they persuaded Bridget to go. The next thing that happened was Sir Daniel Davidson, who stood over Evelyn Carrados like an elegant dragon.
‘You’re all right,’ he said. ‘Lord Robert, see if you can open that window.’
Lord Robert succeeded in opening the window. A damp hand seemed to be laid on his face. He caught sight of street lamps blurred by impalpable mist.
Davidson held Lady Carrados’s wrist in his long fingers and looked at her with a sort of compassionate exasperation.
‘You women,’ he said. ‘You impossible women.’
‘I’m all right. I simply felt giddy.’
‘You ought to lie down. You’ll faint and make an exhibition of yourself.’
‘No I won’t. Has anybody—?’
‘Nobody’s noticed anything. Will you go up to your room for half an hour?’
‘I haven’t got a room. It’s not my house.’
‘Of course it’s not. The cloakroom, then.’
‘I—yes. Yes, I’ll do that.’
‘Sir Daniel!’ shouted Lucy Lorrimer in the corner. ‘For Heaven’s sake go back to her,’ implored Lady Carrados, ‘or she’ll be here.’
‘Sir Daniel!’
‘Damn!’ whispered Davidson. ‘Very well, I’ll go back to her. I expect your maid’s here, isn’t she? Good. Lord Robert, will you take Lady Carrados?’
‘I’d rather go alone. Please!’
‘Very well. But please go.’
He made a grimace and returned to Lucy Lorrimer.
Lady Carrados stood up, holding her bag. ‘Come on,’ said Lord Robert. ‘Nobody’s paying any attention.’
He took her elbow and they went out into the hall. It was deserted. Two men stood just in the entrance to the cloakroom. They were Captain Withers and Donald Potter. Donald glanced round, saw his uncle, and at once began to move upstairs. Withers followed him. Dimitri came out of the buffet and also went upstairs. The hall was filled with the sound of the band and with the thick confusion of voices and sliding feet.
‘Bunchy,’ whispered Lady Carrados. ‘You must do as I ask you. Leave me for three minutes. I—’
‘I know what’s up, m’dear. Don’t do it. Don’t leave your bag. Face it and let him go to the devil.’
She pressed her hand against her mouth and looked wildly at him.
‘You know?’
‘Yes, and I’ll help. I know who it is. You don’t, do you? See here—there’s a man at the Yard—whatever it is—’
A look of something like relief came into her eyes. ‘But you don’t know what it’s about. Let me go. I’ve got to do it. Just this once more.’
She pulled her arm away and he watched her cross the hall and slowly climb the stairs. After a moment’s hesitation he followed her.
CHAPTER 6 Bunchy Goes Back to the Yard
Alleyn closed his file and looked at his watch. Two minutes to one. Time for him to pack up and go home. He yawned, stretched his cramped fingers, walked over to the window and pulled aside the blind. The row of lamps hung like a necklace of misty globes along the margin of the Embankment.
‘Fog in June,’ muttered Alleyn. ‘This England!’
Out there in the cold, Big Ben tolled one. At that moment three miles away at Lady Carrados’s ball, Lord Robert Gospell was slowly climbing the stairs to the top landing and the little drawing-room.
Alleyn filled his pipe slowly and lit it. An early start tomorrow, a long journey, and a piece of dull routine at the end of it. He held his fingers to the heater and fell into a long meditation. Sarah had told him Troy was going to the ball. She was there now, no doubt.
‘Oh, well!’ he thought and turned off his heater.
The desk telephone rang. He answered it.
‘Hullo?’
‘Mr Alleyn? I thought you were still there, sir. Lord Robert Gospell.’
‘Right.’
A pause and then a squeaky voice:
‘Rory?’
‘Bunchy?’
‘You said you’d be at it till late. I’m in a room by myself at the Carrados’s show. Thing is, I think I’ve got him. Are you working for much longer?’
‘I can.’
‘May I come round to the Yard?’
‘Do!’
‘I’ll go home first, get out of this boiled shirt and pick up my notes.’
‘Right. I’ll wait.’
‘It’s the cakes-and-ale feller.’
‘Good Lord! No names, Bunchy.’
‘‘Course not. I’ll come round to the Yard. Upon my soul it’s worse than murder. Might as well mix his damn’ brews with poison. And he’s working with—Hullo! Didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Is someone there?’ asked Alleyn sharply.
‘Yes.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Alleyn, ‘I’ll wait for you.’
‘Thank you so much,’ squeaked the voice. ‘Much obliged. Wouldn’t have lost it for anything. Very
