Trouble Brewing (24 page)

His hands clenched momentarily. ‘I have to rely on others! Age makes such idiots of us all. But old or not, I wish I could get to grips with Jaggard. I've rarely been wrong about a man but I was wrong about him.' A new light crept into his eyes. ‘I've said some hard things to you, sir. Perhaps it's only my age that made you listen. I mean them; I mean everything I've said. But the hardest thing for me to realize is that Jaggard deceived me so completely.'

‘Have you considered that Jaggard might be innocent?' asked Jack tentatively.

‘Don't be a damn fool, man,' began Mr Hunt, then stopped, keenly searching Jack's face. ‘You've got something in mind, haven't you? Out with it, sir!'

Jack shook his head. ‘I'm afraid I can't, Mr Hunt. For all I actually know, both you and the police may be correct.'

‘But you've got other ideas than the official ones, haven't you?' he said, continuing to stare at Jack acutely. ‘I wonder if old George Lassiter was right about you, after all. Well, ideas are not enough. There's a girl murdered. Ideas didn't save her, did they? If you knew what was going on, why didn't you take some action?'

‘Because I . . .' Jack stopped in exasperation as the door opened and Fields entered the room.

‘There's a Mr Robert Waldron to see you, sir.'

For a moment Mr Hunt looked blank, then he gave a broad smile. He looked suddenly younger and fitter. ‘Robert? Robert Waldron? John Waldron's son? My word, I had no idea he was in London.' He tried to lever himself out of his chair before glancing impatiently at Fields. ‘Give me a hand up.'

‘If you would care to wait here, sir, I will show the gentleman in.'

‘Wait here? Stuck in this chair? I'm going to meet Robert standing on my own two feet, not lolling about like some old fogey.' Fields, resigned to the inevitable, helped his master to stand. ‘That's better. No, not your arm. Pass me my stick.' He slowly walked into the hall, obviously trying to recapture some of his former strength. Jack glanced at Fields, and the butler gave him the very slightest suspicion of a shrug. If the man had said, ‘What can I do?' his meaning couldn't have been clearer.

They followed Mr Hunt into the hall. Standing by the front door was a sallow-skinned, wiry man in his vigorous early sixties. He strode forward to take Mr Hunt's outstretched hand with pleasure.

‘Mr Hunt! You're looking remarkably fit, sir.'

‘Don't flatter me, Robert, I'm nothing of the sort. I'm older than your father was when he died. My word, though, it's good to see you again after all this time.'

He broke off as the door to the morning room opened and Pat, followed by a very disgruntled-looking Laurence Tyrell, stepped into the hall.

‘My mind's made up,' she said over her shoulder to Tyrell. ‘Those are the only terms I'll accept.' She stopped and looked at the men in the hall. ‘I'm awfully sorry, Uncle. I had no idea you had visitors.'

‘Major Haldean is just leaving us, my dear, but this is a very old friend of mine who's turned up out of the blue. Robert, this is my great-niece, Mrs Patricia Tyrell, and her husband, Laurence Tyrell.' He said the names with an air of defiance, but they clearly meant nothing to Waldron.

‘Larry's just going as well, aren't you, Larry?' said Pat. There was an odd deliberation in her choice of words.

Mr Hunt went for the sound rather than the sense. ‘Is there anything wrong?'

‘Wrong?' Pat pushed her hair back from her face and laughed. ‘Nothing much. After all, Larry's got what he wants, haven't you, my dear?'

For a man who had, apparently, got what he wanted, Tyrell was clearly finding it quite a struggle to be civil. ‘We'll talk about it later, Pat.' Then he relaxed and smiled. ‘I'll call for you this evening as we arranged.'

The hall was lit by a long window over the stairs and, as Tyrell spoke, the sun came out from behind a cloud, lighting up Tyrell's face as if he were under a spotlight. Maybe it was that which gave Jack a sudden feeling of unreality. It was like watching an actor. Tyrell's smile was as attractive as ever, but his eyes were calculating and very cold. Jack felt Mr Hunt stiffen beside him. He had seen it too.

For a split second Jack felt as if he had stepped out of time. It was as if he was watching a group of statues, then Tyrell had hold of Pat's hand and the odd, frozen moment passed.

‘When shall we say? Ten o'clock? I'll be here earlier if you like. Why don't you ask your friends, the Lassiters, to come?' He turned to Jack. ‘Would you like to join us? We'll have supper at the Savoy, but we can always go on somewhere else if you fancy it.'

Jack was stupefied by the implications of that look. With a huge effort he spoke as naturally as he could. ‘Thanks very much. I'd be glad to, especially if the Lassiters are going to show up.'

‘Good. Half ten in the Savoy?' He squeezed Pat's hand affectionately. ‘Do ask your friends, Pat. After all, we've got something to celebrate.'

Mr Hunt and Mr Waldron retreated into the drawing room. Fields opened the door to show Jack and Tyrell out but, as he opened it, Jack drew back, patting his pockets.

‘I think I've left my cigarette case. You go on, Tyrell. I'll see you this evening.' He stepped back as Tyrell went down the steps and the door closed behind him. Fields murmured, ‘Excuse me, sir,' and left Jack with Pat.

He grinned apologetically at her. ‘I'm sorry. I'm guilty of telling whoppers. I've got my cigarette case, but I wanted a few moments alone with you.'

She looked at him apprehensively. ‘Why? What is it?'

He nodded in the direction of the front door. ‘Laurence Tyrell. I'm sorry if this sounds like vulgar curiosity, but I would like to know what you've got to celebrate.'

She shrugged. ‘There's no reason why you shouldn't know. It'll be common knowledge soon enough. I'm going to tell H.R.H. when his visitor's gone. I've decided to live with Larry as his wife.'

Jack nodded slowly. ‘I see. Are you sure you're doing the right thing?'

‘No, I'm not!' she broke out. ‘I'm not certain of
anything
, but I can't go on like this.' She gave him a challenging stare. ‘Everyone thinks Larry's after my money. Do you?'

‘It'd crossed my mind.'

‘Well, it's crossed mine, too. I hate all this. I'd love to be able to trust him absolutely but I just can't. Anyway, I've taken a step which should give me the truth of the matter.'

Jack looked at her inquisitively. ‘And that is?'

‘I've made a will. At least, I've given instructions to Mr Stafford and he's drafting it for me. I'm leaving all my money to the Red Cross. Larry asked me why, and, of course, I can't spell it out for him.'

‘He'll have guessed,' said Jack.

‘Yes . . . It's horrible to be so cold blooded about it, but I can't think what else to do.'

Jack looked at her thoughtfully and decided to back a hunch. ‘Was this Jaggard's idea?'

Her intake of breath told him he was right. ‘What d'you mean?'

‘You've seen him, haven't you?'

She gazed at him speechlessly, then slowly bowed her head.

‘It's a pretty good idea,' continued Jack conversationally. Apart from a fairly major flaw, he added to himself.

‘How did you know?' Her voice was a whisper.

‘You, principally. Oh, it's nothing you said, but after he escaped you were desperate. You're still worried, but it's about Tyrell, not Jaggard. Therefore something's happened to make you stop worrying about Jaggard so much. It's the idea about the will that made me twig, though. You might have thought of it, but I don't honestly think you'd have taken such definite action off your own bat. And,' he shrugged, ‘I must admit I was guessing. Jaggard needs clothes, food and money and I thought he was as likely to ask you for them as anyone.'

‘What are you going to do?' she asked quietly.

‘Nothing very much. Did you meet him at your old house?'

She nodded.

‘He did jolly well to get through the cordon. Rackham had men posted all round the place. You've been watched, too. Is he still there?'

‘He's gone. Please don't betray him. He asked me to help. I couldn't live with myself if I let him down. Whatever he's done, he didn't kill Miss Mandeville. He wants you to know that. He believes you can find out the truth.'

Jack caught hold of her hands. ‘Easy, now, easy. Can you contact him?'

She didn't speak but her expression was plain to read. ‘Don't worry,' said Jack quickly. ‘I won't split. For one thing, what you've told me isn't evidence and, for another, I don't see what good it'll do.' He felt her hands convulsively clasp his. ‘Don't be too grateful. I might ask you to tell the police yet, but let's hope for the best, shall we?'

‘Someone knows something, that's for sure,' said Bill acidly, later that afternoon. ‘My money's on that smooth-faced beggar, Kennet. He'd go to the stake for Jaggard by all accounts and yet I'll swear Jaggard's not been near the house.' He tapped the pile of papers on his desk. ‘All these are supposed sightings. I don't believe any of them are a ha'peth of use. I thought he'd try and get in touch with Pat Tyrell, but she's as clean as a whistle. Where the devil can he have got to?'

‘I don't know,' said Jack, truthfully enough. ‘Bill, you know you've been keeping a watch on Pat Tyrell?'

‘And a fat lot of good it's done us. Yes?'

‘Could you step it up this evening? For her protection, I mean. I've got the nastiest feeling something's going to happen.'

Bill looked at him curiously then, sweeping a file from his chair, sat down heavily. ‘What sort of thing?'

‘It's Laurence Tyrell.' Jack shook his head impatiently. ‘Stop rolling your eyes at me. I tell you, I'm worried. It's this blasted will she's made. If only she'd not told Tyrell before it was actually signed, it'd be a brilliant idea.'

Bill sighed wearily. ‘Look, we've been through this before but I'll say it again. If anything happens to Pat Tyrell, Laurence Tyrell loses out. Mrs Tyrell's income goes back into the trust and he hasn't got a bean. What's rattled you?'

‘It was a look he gave her,' admitted Jack.

‘A look? That's not much to go on.'

‘You should have seen it. That, and the fact he'd obviously been arguing with Pat about her will.'

‘You can hardly blame the man for that.'

‘No. But when I came in on the tail end of it, together with old Mr Hunt and this visitor of his, he switched off his bad temper and suddenly became very sociable. He invited me to join them for supper at the Savoy and wants the Lassiters to be there as well.'

‘So? What exactly are you afraid of?'

Jack took a deep breath. It seemed ridiculously melodramatic when he said it out loud and yet . . . ‘I don't know how and I can only guess at why, but I think there's going to be an accident. A hundred-per-cent, twenty-four caret, copper-bottomed accident with the Lassiters and me as unimpeachable witnesses. I think Laurence Tyrell is planning to murder his wife tonight.'

T
he Lahones descended on their table with noisy whoops, bringing in their wake at least six other assorted youths and as many girls armed with toy balloons.

‘Pat! Darling!' called Eve Lahone. ‘I haven't seen you for a positive
age
!' She sat down and aimed a dazzling smile at Tyrell. ‘You've been keeping her all to yourself, haven't you? It's very bad of you. Poor Tim's been absolutely morose without Pat.'

‘Life's been just too flat,' called Tim Lahone, pressing his cigarette onto a balloon. ‘Let's make it go with a bang.' He roared with laughter at the noise.

George Lassiter stirred unhappily. ‘I didn't realize this ghastly crowd would be here,' he muttered to Jack. ‘Much more of this and I'm off.'

A girl answering to the name of Binky draped herself round Jack's neck, ruffling his hair. ‘Dance with me, darling. You absolutely have to dance. You've got the
wickedest
eyes I've ever seen.'

‘Let's all dance,' said Eve Lahone loudly. ‘Pat, I'm going to borrow this delicious man of yours. He's simply too good looking for words.'

They all surged off onto the floor. As Jack negotiated the giggling Binky round the floor, he was badly puzzled. Surely Pat would be safe here? He simply couldn't see how Tyrell could try anything in this crowd, and yet why ask him and the Lassiters? It wasn't for love of their company, that was for sure.

He looked round the room and spotted two of Bill's men. They blended in very well. If he hadn't recognized them, he wouldn't have known they were the police. They should have made him feel secure. They didn't. Pat Tyrell was dancing with Tim Lahone, trying, with limited success, to make him keep his hands in the correct position. The music finished and the group drifted back to the table.

‘Thanks for nothing,' muttered Lassiter as he sat down beside Jack. ‘That wretched girl I was lumbered with has got a shriek like a hyena and I'm convinced she's had more than's good for her. I'm damn sure that feller Lahone has. Look at him! If that was my wife he was fooling around with, I'd rearrange his face for him, but Tyrell doesn't seem to mind.'

‘Let's go on somewhere,' said Eve Lahone, pulling out a chair.

‘We'll have another drink first,' countered Tyrell, snapping his fingers for the waiter. ‘Three bottles of champagne. That'll see us on our way.'

Eve evidently considered this to be a hilarious remark, for she laughed uproariously. ‘More champagne, darling. What a lovely idea.'

‘I'm going,' said Lassiter abruptly. ‘Anne's hating every minute. If Tyrell knew what he was about, he'd get his wife out of it, too. She's not happy either.'