The Kill Fee Page 26

  Miss King reached out her hand and Poppy had no good reason not to give them to her. The older woman looked first at the baby and commented “circa 1885 by the bromide”, once again surprising Poppy with her forensic knowledge. Then she turned over the picture and gasped, her free hand going to her throat. It was the most emotion Poppy had ever seen her aunt’s companion emit. “Ruthie!” declared Miss King and turned towards the door.

  “Wait! I need the pictures!”

  “I’m sorry, Poppy, but these are now the property of His Majesty’s government.”

  “They’re what?”

  “I have to hand these in. You probably don’t know, but the woman in this picture has been missing for three years. She works for the government, and –”

  “Ruth Broadwood. I know. She was spying for us at the Russian court.”

  Complete shock registered on Miss King’s face. “However do you know that? It’s top secret.”

  Poppy reached out her hand and took hold of the photograph. Miss King continued to hold her side.

  “If it’s top secret, Miss King, how do you know? I know you were friends with Ruth when you both worked at Downing Street, but how do you know about this?”

  “And how do you know about Downing Street?”

  “Marjorie Reynolds told me.”

  “Marjorie… oh.” Miss King sank onto the bed. Poppy, now with the photograph in hand, could easily have left, but she was intrigued by Miss King’s past and wanted to know more. She sat on the bed beside the older woman.

  “You weren’t just a nanny for the Chancellor, were you? Were you trained as a spy too.”

  Miss King had begun to recover herself. She straightened her shoulders and adopted her familiar deadpan look. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Poppy. But let’s just say that my appointment here wasn’t an accident. Your aunt is very well connected in all sorts of circles.”

  Poppy was incredulous. “You’re here to spy on Aunt Dot and her friends?”

  “Not spy, no. But Marjorie Reynolds thought it might be prudent to have someone in the house to keep an eye on things. For your aunt’s protection.”

  “Marjorie what?” Poppy’s voice rose in outrage.

  “Gertrude! Poppy! Are you coming down?”

  Poppy walked to the door, still holding the photograph. “I’m not going to tell Aunt Dot about this now – I’ve got too much else to do this evening – but I think when things quieten down, you, Aunt Dot and I need to have a little talk.”

  Miss King nodded. “Fair enough. But please, promise me one thing: get that photograph to Marjorie Reynolds. If there’s a chance Ruth could still be alive…”

  Poppy agreed that she would, then scampered down the stairs to see her aunt. She made the visit as quick as she could, careful not to be drawn into Aunt Dot’s efforts to have a “little chat”, then headed downstairs to the hall. She put on a slate grey mackintosh and hat, and put the double-sided photograph into her satchel, which she swung over her shoulder. She glanced at her watch – a quarter to eleven – then looked at the telephone in the hall. I’d better give Rollo a quick call, she thought. Checking no one was standing listening at the top of the stairs, she called Rollo’s number at The Globe. He answered after a couple of rings.

  “Rolandson.”

  “Rollo, it’s Poppy.”

  “Speak up, Miz Denby. I can hardly hear you.”

  “I can’t,” Poppy mumbled into the phone.

  “What’s wrong, Poppy? Are you all right?”

  “I am, but I can’t talk. I’m at my aunt’s and walls have ears.”

  “Can you tell me what you are doing next?”

  “I’d prefer not to. Not here. Do you remember who came to the office today to ask for help? Before you, Daniel and I went to Oscar’s?”

  Rollo sighed. “I hope there’s a good reason for all this subterfuge, Miz Denby. Are you referring to Delilah Marconi?”

  “I am. Can you meet me at that person’s flat in half an hour?”

  “I can,” Rollo sounded annoyed. “But this had better be damned well worth it.”

  “Thank you.” She was just about to say goodbye when she decided to ask one more thing. She doubted Miss King would think anything of it if she was eavesdropping. “Has Daniel called?”

  “No, he hasn’t,” said Rollo. “But Marjorie has. And I’ve spoken to Ivan. I’ve got a lot to tell you too. I’ll see you in half an hour. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone.

  CHAPTER 34

  Adam and Daniel had searched every place they could think of, but still no Delilah. They had visited every club, pub and restaurant she had been known to frequent, called every friend where she might be having dinner at a private residence, and even popped in to see Uncle Elmo – otherwise known as Guglielmo Marconi, the world-famous radio and broadcast pioneer. The latter was tricky, as they did not want to give the impression that they had “lost” his great-niece. Instead they pretended that Delilah had concocted a treasure hunt, where she herself was the treasure to be found. It was a perfectly plausible explanation, because Delilah and her Bright Young friends were always going on highly publicized scavenger hunts in and around London. Uncle Elmo considered it charming, but could not help the young men in their search for his sparkling young relative.

  “If we don’t find her soon, we may very well have to tell him the truth,” whispered Daniel as they got back into Adam’s motor. “His contacts could be invaluable. And the police will take us far more seriously with him on our side.”

  “I’d rather not go to the police just yet,” said Adam, firing up the engine.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock when Adam and Daniel decided to take a break from their search. As they were in Kensington, Adam suggested they pop into his penthouse apartment for a drink and a snack. He hadn’t been home since this morning, when he and Delilah had left to go to the theatre and they were intercepted by the man in the alley. Adam parked the motor in his usual spot, but was careful to scout the area before he and Daniel got out.

  “What are you looking for?” Daniel asked.

  “I was nearly mugged here this morning,” answered Adam.

  Daniel looked at him curiously. The photographer had seemed all too happy to accompany Adam on his quest to find Delilah, and the young actor was glad that he seemed to accept his explanation of “we had a tiff and she stormed off” at face value, expressing empathy because apparently he and Poppy had had a tiff too. “Women!” he had declared, and they’d both laughed.

  But Adam wasn’t sure how long he could keep up that pretence, particularly not after Daniel’s next question: “Is this where Delilah thought you had gotten into a sword fight?”

  Adam sucked in his breath, then quietly exhaled. So she had told her friends about it. Poppy Denby and Rollo Rolandson were far too savvy to take that at face value. He wasn’t sure how long he could string Daniel along. Maybe it was time to get rid of him…

  “Perhaps we should call it a night, old man. I’m sure Delilah will turn up sooner or later. We’ve left instructions all over town to ring me if she does. There’s no need for us both to man the phone. Can I drop you somewhere?”

  Daniel turned to face him square on. In the diluted light from Kensington Road Adam could see the photographer was looking serious. Adam remembered what Delilah had told him about Daniel’s background. He was a soldier and had seen action on the Western Front. Adam himself had been conscripted in 1916, but he had managed to concoct a quick discharge because of a problem with his eyes – the result of reading late at night as a child in the theatre without proper light. It didn’t affect his day-to-day life – and he refused to wear spectacles – but by the time he had got through the medical and turned his considerable acting talent to good use, the doctor believed he was practically blind. He didn’t care if people thought him a coward. It was a mad war and he wasn’t going to sacrifice himself for someone else’s insanity.

  Adam sized Daniel up, wondering if he could take him. He
discounted using the secret rapier – he didn’t want to do the man any permanent harm – but he couldn’t allow himself to be turned in to the police, if that was Daniel’s intention.

  Daniel took a step forward; Adam braced himself. Daniel noticed the change in body language and frowned. “What’s going on, Lane?”

  Adam tried the nonchalant approach one final time. “Not a thing, Rokeby, not a thing. Want that lift?”

  Daniel grabbed his arm. Adam winced. It was the stitched wound. Daniel tightened his grip. “Come on, old man; it’s time to fess up.”

  Adam’s fist tightened on his cane. Quick as a flash Daniel kicked it aside and had Adam in a half-nelson. “So it’s true then. There is a rapier in that cane.”

  And I should have used it, thought Adam as he threw his weight back against Daniel, trying to knock him off balance. But the photographer just tightened his grip. Adam felt his airway compressing.

  “It’s not what you think,” he croaked.

  “I don’t know what to think, Lane. Is Delilah really missing, or have you done something to her?”

  “What the –” Adam’s reply was quenched by Daniel’s forearm as he tried to wriggle out of the ex-soldier’s grip.

  It was no use. Adam could not break free. He raised his hands in defeat; Daniel’s arm loosened.

  “If you think I could ever hurt that girl, you obviously don’t know me,” he whispered.

  “And that’s exactly the problem, Lane. I don’t know you. And neither does Poppy. But she does suspect you of stealing that Fabergé egg. The question is, are you simply a thief, or a murderer too? And if you’re not a murderer, then someone else is, and both Poppy and Delilah might be in danger. You say you love her – who knows if you do or not? – but I can tell you this: I really love Poppy and I will not let her get hurt; or Delilah. So if there’s anything you know that could help, it’s time to tell me.”

  Adam exhaled, sinking back against Daniel’s chest. “All right, I’ll tell you. But not here. Let’s go up to my flat.”

  Daniel nodded in agreement and let Adam go, but positioned himself between the actor and the cane.

  Adam gave a rueful smile. “I could have taken you, Rokeby.”

  The photographer’s demeanour did not change. “You could have tried.”

  The purple and silver filigree egg was perched on the table between them, its diamond studs catching the light of the gas fire.

  “So what are you going to do with it?” asked Daniel, sipping at a cup of tea. Adam had offered him something stronger, but he’d declined.

  “Well, now that my fence is dead, I’m not really sure. I could try to flog it on the black market, but that’s risky. I could wait until my employer contacts me again…”

  “Can’t you contact him?”

  Adam shrugged. I’ve sent a telegram to Valetta, telling him there has been a delay in the handover, but that was before Watts was killed. I’ll need to send him another. I’ll do it in the morning.”

  Daniel put his cup down on its saucer. “How sure are you that your employer’s in Malta?”

  “Fairly sure. Why else would he use the Valetta post office?”

  Daniel frowned. “You don’t seriously think it’s Victor Marconi, do you?”

  Adam sighed. “No, not really. But it’s the only connection I have with Malta. He’s the only person I know associated with the place.”

  “There are hundreds of thousands of people living on the island. It could be any of them.”

  “Or none of them,” agreed Adam. “Malta could simply be a front.”

  “Or not,” said Daniel, trying to puzzle it out. “And it’s not true that Victor is your only connection. Didn’t the Russian royals just come from there?”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. Rokeby was cleverer than he had given him credit for. “Indeed they did,” he observed.

  Suddenly, the telephone rang. Both men jolted. “Thank God!” said Adam as he went to answer it. “Finally, something about Delilah.”

  “Kensington 2673. Adam Lane speaking…” He looked expectantly at Daniel, who was perched on the edge of the sofa.

  “I have some information on the whereabouts of Delilah Marconi,” said a male voice.

  Icy fingers clawed at Adam’s heart. It was the voice of the man in the alley.

  “What have you done with her?” asked Adam.

  “Nothing yet. But I will if you do not bring the egg to this address…” The man dictated an address, which Adam wrote down.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said and put down the phone.

  Daniel looked alarmed. “Dear God, Lane. I hope they’ve not…”

  Adam’s hands quivered as they picked up the egg and wrapped it in the oil cloth.

  “If I’m not back with her in an hour, Rokeby, go to the police. Give them this address.” He passed the piece of paper to Daniel, who looked at it – his face registering recognition.

  “You can give it to them yourself. After you’ve got Delilah. And whether you like it or not, I’m coming with you – you’ll need all the help you can get, where you’re going.”

  Adam weighed this up, realizing that someone as handy as Daniel could be an asset. He nodded his agreement and then went to the sideboard and opened a drawer. He pulled out a revolver and handed it to the ex-soldier. “I assume you know how to use this.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Poppy arrived at Delilah’s apartment building and went up to the second floor. Her neighbour across the hall was having a party and Poppy went in to see if Delilah was there. She found the neighbour – Giles – dressed as a Greek god and lying on a chaise longue as an assortment of mythical creatures fed him grapes. The Minotaur greeted her by name. She had no idea who it was. She managed to lure Giles away from his cavorting long enough to gather that he had not seen Delilah since yesterday, and that as far as he knew no one had come to her flat – oh, apart from an old duck earlier in the afternoon. She had apparently made a scathing remark about the crates of champagne Giles was having delivered.

  That must have been Miss King, thought Poppy.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Sorry, old thing; didn’t take much notice. Planning a party. And Delilah had said she would come! Tell her she’s a party pooper. But she’s still welcome if you find her.” Then he turned and threw himself head-first onto a pile of cushions already occupied by – good Lord, could that really be? – the ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky, dressed as a golden fawn.

  Poppy closed the door on the high jinks and hullabaloo and put Delilah’s key in the lock. The door opened without a problem; no one had put the security chain on the latch from the inside, which suggested no one was home. As she stepped across the threshold and switched on the light, she let out a gasp. Something had happened to Delilah. Her fastidiously house-proud friend would never have left the place in this condition.

  “Delilah!” she shouted in vain. Where are you? Without a second thought about her own safety, she picked up a hefty brass candlestick and started a frantic search of the flat, desperately hoping she would not find Delilah’s injured body – or, God forbid, worse – among the mess.

  A couple of minutes later, she had discerned that the flat was indeed unoccupied. No Delilah; no intruders. She put down the candlestick, her hands shaking, and sank onto a sofa. Where could her friend be? And who had ransacked her home? To her untrained eye it looked as though someone had been searching for something. But what? The egg?

  Then the doorbell rang. Rollo. At last! Poppy jumped up and flung open the door. “Thank heavens you’re here! Someone’s wrecked the place. I’ve no idea what’s happened to Delilah, and –” It wasn’t Rollo. It was Andrei Nogovski. Poppy screamed.

  Before she could run, his hand slapped over her mouth and he pulled her back into the flat, kicking the door shut behind them. She fought against him with every ounce of her strength, but it was no good.

  “Stop fighting and I will let you go,” he whispered into her ear.
>
  For that she stomped on his toes and tried biting his hand. He winced, but didn’t loosen his grip. Eventually she went limp – not in surrender, but to woo him into thinking she’d given up. He was not to be fooled.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Miss Denby. But if I must, I will. However, if you co-operate, both you and your friend Delilah could come out of this unscathed.”

  At the mention of Delilah’s name, Poppy decided to comply. She relaxed against him, and after a few moments he released his hand from her mouth.

  “You have Delilah?” asked Poppy.

  “I know where she is,” answered Nogovski.

  “Where?”

  “If I get what I need from you, I will tell you.”

  Poppy could feel his heart pounding against her back. “And what is it you think I have?” asked Poppy.

  “Information that will lead me to the missing egg.”

  “I have no idea where the egg is,” she answered truthfully.

  “Ah, but I think you do. You just don’t realize it. By the way, you dropped something earlier today.”

  He released her suddenly and she stumbled, taken by surprise. As she steadied herself she noticed Nogovski was twirling something between his thumb and forefinger. It was a red paper poppy.

  “You do get around, Miss Denby. You and your little editor. Here, let me put it where it belongs.”

  He took a step towards her. She took a step back. He raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She stood her ground as he threaded the flower stalk through her button hole.

  “So, you were the man in the tunnel. How did you manage to stay hidden while we were in it?”

  He cocked his head and smiled. “Oh, you give me too much credit, Miss Denby. I wasn’t in the tunnel at the same time as you. It was afterwards. The fellow at the paper shop was – how should I say? – very accommodating when I offered to double whatever Oscar paid him to keep the place secret.”

  Poppy flicked her eyes to the door and then to the window. She could not see an obvious way of escape. She would have to play along. “May I sit?” she asked. “It’s been a long day.”