In the Teeth of Adversity (11 page)

It was a good argument, but I doubted that it would hold up in a court of law. “Maybe,” I said, “but she strikes me as too timid to be violent. How about the Right Honourable MP? Now there” – I warmed to the idea – ‘Is a woman I would put nothing past.”

“Neither would the Opposition,” Gerry said. “Even though she's been known to work very well on committees.”

“What do you mean?”

“The hardest thing to bring off in bigamy,” Gerry said, as though he'd thought deeply about the subject, “is keeping the ladies apart. Suppose Meredith didn't manage it. The wronged ladies could have formed a conspiracy for revenge and drawn straws or something for the one who'd actually do the deed. Then the others got to work and manufactured three solid alibis.” He looked into space thoughtfully. “I wouldn't be surprised if a conspiracy like that were pretty nearly undetectable. So long as none of them broke under the strain.”

“That's a bloodcurdling thought.” I felt as though the temperature had plummeted a good thirty degrees, although the thermostat on the wall beside me continued to register a perfectly respectable reading of 70°F. “But it could have worked. Edytha and Kate alibied each other in the waiting room. Sir Geoffrey admitted he'd only been there half an hour. It might depend on just when Tyler Meredith died. How long it took, I mean. One or both could have slipped past the receptionist, knocked Meredith out, strapped the mask over his face, and gone back to the waiting room – trusting to luck that no one would go into the surgery in time to rescue him.”

“Even if he was discovered in time,” Gerry said, “they didn't run much of a risk. Could he bring any sort of charges? He'd have to admit what had driven them to it – and I'm not sure it isn't the kind of crime that draws a prison sentence. At any rate, you've got to admit society frowns on bigamy.”

“Whichever one did it,” I said, “no one could deny she had sufficient provocation. Quite probably, no jury would convict her. Not if there were any other women on it – and any decent QC would see to it that there were.”

“Provocation, indeed,” Gerry said.

“You've got to admit Tyler Meredith brought it on himself. After all, he was planning to betray –” Was that quite the right word? I tried again. “He plotted to
use
–” That didn't seem the mot juste, either. “Er...” I floundered desperately.

“The situation reminds me,” Gerry said solemnly, “of a classic American newspaper legend. It happened back in the innocent days. There was a sensational court case featuring a dentist accused of rape.

“Naturally, no respectable newspaper could print such a word in those days. Not even when the jury found the accused guilty as charged. The brightest sparks of one of the leading newspapers cudgelled their brains late into the night trying to come up with a lead fit for the delicate sensibilities of their readers.” He paused.

“And?” I prompted.

“They finally headlined it,” he said, “‘Dentist Fills Wrong Cavity.' ”

We were carelessly standing with our backs to the stairs; a mistake I became aware of when a sudden clatter of onrushing heels sounded unnervingly close behind me. I half expected, as I turned, to face the Honourable Edytha, rushing away from memories which had suddenly threatened to overcome her.

Instead, I was nose-to-flaring-nostril with Adele. Chin high, haughty, and imperious, she defied me to remain blocking her path. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had commanded, “Out of the way, peasant!” I stepped away hastily. There was no doubt about it – if we had been in a Roman amphitheatre, Adele's thumb would have been turned down.

However, she did her best to twitch the corners of her mouth into a smile. It wasn't a very good smile, but one had to applaud the obvious effort.

“I – I'm sorry,” she said, sidling past. “I – I just feel I need a breath of fresh air.” It was so unconvincing it was almost original.

“Then, allow me.” Gerry crossed and swung the front door open for her with a flourish. It wasn't until he had closed it behind her and turned back to me that a thoughtful look occupied his face.

“Did you notice anything just then?” he asked.

“Anything?”

“That thing she was carrying. Was it one of those large-size handbags, or one of those small-size overnight cases?”

“I don't know,” I said. I might have added that I didn't want to know. We had enough problems. If Adele decided to go back to her friends on the coast, or to go home to mother, it wasn't for us to worry about. I felt Zayle could only be congratulated – but would he see it that way?

“I wonder whether we should have let her go.” Gerry was determined to worry. “The inspector won't like it.”

“How could we have stopped her? And why should we have? We've nothing to do with the police. If the inspector wants to keep people cooped up, he should have put a policeman on the door. So far as we're concerned, that was the client's wife and she wanted to go out. Were we supposed to bring her down with a flying tackle and carry her back upstairs?”

I was working myself into a fine state of righteous indignation. It sounded like a pretty solid argument – but would the inspector view it that way?

“That's right.” Gerry, at least, was willing to view it that way. “It isn't up to us to keep track of his suspects. In fact, so far as I'm concerned, we haven't even seen her this afternoon.”

“That may be the best story,” I agreed. “Besides, we aren't certain she's decamped.”

“No, but I wouldn't like to take any bets on it.”

Neither would I. The experience had taught me a lesson, though, and I faced the stairs as we resumed our conference. I wasn't going to be caught off guard again.

That was how I happened to see Penny as she darted out of the surgery and down into the loo on the landing of the stairs, pausing only to give us a cheerful wave. There was nothing unusual in that.

What was unusual was the way in which Zayle almost immediately emerged from the surgery and pussyfooted up the stairs. His manner was distinctly furtive. What's more, he didn't make a return journey. I wondered if he had his own set of keys to his partner's quarters. It would hardly be surprising – it was his house, after all.

“What do you think – ?” Although Gerry had his back to the stairs and hadn't seen a thing, he came to the crux of the situation with his usual sixth sense. “What do you think the dear departed kept in that flat? I mean, it's positively unnatural the way all those birds want to get in there and remove souvenirs. Do you suppose he had a collection of nude photos of them? Or do you suppose he peddled drugs in his spare time and they want to get their hands on what's left, now that the source of supply has been cut off?”

“What spare time?” I asked. “Running all those women simultaneously couldn't have left him with much. It's a wonder he had enough time left to work on any formulas.” And that was a thought – perhaps they were looking for the formula. Certainly, it was the most likely thing for Zayle to be searching for.

During the thoughtful silence, the door of the waiting room opened. Models can have a curiously extinguished look in off-duty moments when the cameras aren't clicking. Morgana Fane had this now as she slipped past us with a demure smile. The most vivid proclamation of life about her emanated from the glittering op art medallion around her throat. It seemed to whirl and pulse with a life of its own. It made me feel off balance and slightly dizzy just to look at it. It was the sort of thing she would have picked up on one of her working trips to the States. Undoubtedly, it was the next fad she was about to launch here. It ought to make the costume jewellery industry very happy – and the manufacturers of aspirin tablets delirious with joy.

She went up the stairs, heading purposefully for the landing. As she reached it, the door opened and Penny came out while she went in.

“You know” – Gerry had turned to follow Morgana's progress up the stairs – “there's something funny there.”

“Considering her reputation,” I agreed, “she seems strangely subdued these days. Perhaps it's a side effect of the new anaesthetic.”

“In which case,” Gerry said, “a double fortune awaits the stuff's debut on the open market. If it can subdue her, it can sell on its secondary properties alone.”

“On the other hand, she may be practicing for her new station in life,” I reflected. “Or perhaps her brush with the Valley of the Shadow has shaken her enough to turn over a new leaf.”

“How could it when she doesn't realize how close she was?”

“Perhaps her subconscious realizes it. Anyway –”

“Attention!” We snapped into it automatically at the sharp command.

Intent on analysing the situation with Gerry, I had been neglecting my vigil on the staircase. Now General Sir Malcolm Zayle stood before us, carrying out inspection.

“Still no uniforms?” he demanded harshly of Gerry.

“Neither has he –” Gerry was reduced to pointing at me.

“That's different,” Sir Malcolm told him. “His uniform is on the way. I know all about him – he's Geoffrey's adjutant. Good man, Geoffrey.” He nodded to me. “You'll learn a lot from him.”

“I feel I already have – sir,” I said. I felt quite grateful to Sir Geoffrey, whose timely intervention had saved me from the sort of problem poor Gerry kept encountering with the General.

“At ease,” Sir Malcolm said.

I relaxed, while Gerry tried to look as though he had never snapped to attention in the first place. General Sir Malcolm continued to survey us both.

“Mission tonight,” he said. “Might be dangerous. I need a volunteer.”

Gerry silently took two brisk steps backward, leaving me in the vanguard. Sir Malcolm nodded approval.

“Good man,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”

I smiled weakly, resolving that, if the dangerous mission had anything to do with dentistry, I was going to go over the hill – and let them bring on their firing squad.

“Right!” He nodded again. “Report to my quarters in two hours.” His mouth softened into almost a smile. “Mufti will do.” He turned and marched upstairs.

“It's all right for some,” Gerry said. “It's lucky I haven't any ambition to be the sweetheart of the regiment, or I might start getting jealous.”

“Thank you for volunteering me,” I said. “I must do something nice for
you
someday.”

“Now, now, what can you expect from a white-feather man? Go and serve your country, like a nice little hero. Perhaps you'll win a VC.”

I glanced at my watch. “Whatever this mission is, I'm not going to face it on an empty stomach. Let's slide out and get a drink and a sandwich before I march to face the foe.”

“Have fun with the Dawn Patrol,” Gerry said as we left the pub. “You never know your luck – you might run into Mata Hari or Tokyo Rose.”

I was relieved to find the Zayle hallway empty, the waiting room deserted, the receptionist gone for the night. My footsteps seemed to thud against the carpet as I climbed the stairs. I might have been moving through an empty building; no sounds came from any of the living quarters, and only the faintest gurgle of running water from the surgeries where water perpetually squirted round the inside of the china spittoons beside the chairs, ready to whisk from sight the next expectoration of saliva, blood, and fragments of tooth. I shuddered and quickened my pace.

A sliver of light beneath the door leading to General Sir Malcolm's quarters was the first sign of life I had seen in the entire building. I hurled myself toward it thankfully and rapped on that door, telling myself it was silly to let my nerves play tricks on me. There was nothing sinister about the house; it was the surgery and living quarters of a perfectly respectable dentist, whose partner had met with an unfortunate accident. There was nothing sinister about it.

If I told myself that often enough, I might believe it. As it was, I was delighted when the door swung open and Sir Malcolm's tall, military figure was silhouetted by the light behind. I beamed at him, then realized this might not be the proper attitude for one of the ranks. I wiped the smile off my face quickly and saluted.

“Good evening, sir.”

“At ease.” He checked his watch. “You're early. I like that. Eager. Ready for action. You're a good lad. Come in.”

I followed him into his quarters. They were military to the point of being Spartan. The only personal touch consisted of two photographs, both of extraordinarily beautiful women. I recalled reading that he had been married twice. One beauty was dressed in the costume of the 1916 era; the other in the more familiar clothes of the late 1930s. I wondered whether that was the key – or half of it – to the wanderings of his mind, continually harking back to the two eras when he had been triumphant in battle and in love. The days of glory – you could hardly blame him for not wanting to relinquish them.

“Through here,” he said, leading me through a monastic cell with a single divan and through French windows onto the roof. “Over here.”

It was a small shed which seemed to have been built as an afterthought sometime after the original roof had been topped and semi-landscaped. He opened the door and motioned me inside.

“Just help me with these things. We'll get them out and ready for action, eh?”

Two buckets of water, two buckets of sand, a stirrup pump, a heavy blanket, a couple of chairs, a pair of binoculars, a chemical fire extinguisher – we took them out of the shed and arranged them at strategic points around the roof. I had gone into such a daze that I scarcely flinched when he suddenly plonked an ARP helmet on my head.

“Sit down,” he said, taking one of the chairs for himself. I sank into the other one thankfully, wondering what was coming next. I hoped he didn't start his own fires to help his fantasies along.