Hand in Glove

‘Then they will return to the garage?’

‘They ought to,’ Sergeant Raikes said with some emphasis. ‘The point is, sir, will they? Likely enough, he’ll drive straight back to London. He may sell the car before he’s paid for it and trust to his connection here to get him out of the red if things become awkward. He’s played that caper before and he may play it again.’

Mr Cartell said: ‘May I, P.P.?’ and reached for the telephone.

‘If it’s all the same with you gentlemen, I think I’ll make the call,’ Sergeant Raikes said unexpectedly.

Mr Cartell said: ‘As you wish,’ and moved away from the desk.

Mr Period began feeling, in an agitated way, in his pockets. He said fretfully: ‘What have I done with my cigarettes?’

Nicola said: ‘I think the case was left in the dining-room. I’ll fetch it.’

As she hurried out she heard the telephone ring.

The dining-room table was cleared and the window open. The cigarette-case was nowhere to be seen. She was about to go in search of Alfred when he came in. He had not seen the case, he said. Nicola remembered very clearly that, as she stood back at the door for Miss Cartell, she had noticed it on the window-sill and she said as much to Alfred.

A shutter came down over Alfred’s face.

‘It wasn’t there when I cleared, miss.’

Nicola said: ‘Oh, well! I expect after all, Mr Period—’ and then remembered that Mr Period had left the dining-room to answer the telephone and had certainly not collected the cigarette-case when he briefly returned.

Alfred said: ‘The window was on the latch as it is now, when I cleared, miss. I’d left it shut, as usual.’

Nicola looked at it. It was a casement window and was hooked open to the extent of some eight inches. Beyond it were the rose garden, the side gate and the excavations in the lane. As she stared out of it, a shovelful of earth was thrown up; derisively, she might almost have thought, by one of the workmen, invisible in the trench.

‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘We’ll find it. Don’t worry.’

‘I hope so, I’m sure, miss. It’s a valuable object.’

‘I know.’

They were staring doubtfully at each other when Mr Period came in looking exceedingly rattled.

‘Nicola, my dear: Andrew Bantling on the telephone, for you. Would you mind taking it in the hall? We are un peu occupé, in the study. I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Nicola said, ‘so am I, that you’ve been bothered. Mr Period – your cigarette-case isn’t in here, I’m afraid.’

‘But I distinctly remember –’ Mr Period began. ‘Well,’ never mind. Your telephone call, child.’

Nicola went into the hall.

Andrew Bantling said: ‘Oh, there you are at last! What goes on in the lay-by? P.P. sounded most peculiar.’

‘He’s awfully busy.’

‘You’re being discreet and trustworthy. Never mind, I shall gimlet it out of you on the train. You couldn’t make the three thirty, I suppose?’

‘Not possibly.’

‘Then I shall simply have to lurk in the lane like a follower. There’s nowhere for me to be in this district. Baynesholme has become uninhabitable on account –’ he lowered his voice and evidently put his mouth very close to the receiver, so that consonants popped and sibilants hissed in Nicola’s eardrum.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said the Moppett and her Leonard have arrived in a smashing Scorpion under the pretence of wanting to see the family portraits. What’s the matter?’

‘I’ve got to go. Sorry. Goodbye,’ Nicola said, and rushed to the library.

Mr Cartell and Mr Period broke off their conversation as she entered. Sergeant Raikes was dialling a number.

She said, ‘I thought I should tell you at once. They’re at Baynesholme. They’ve driven there in the Scorpion.’

Mr Cartell went into action.

‘Raikes,’ he said, ‘tell Copper I want him here immediately in the car.’

‘Which car, sir?’ Raikes asked, startled, the receiver at his ear.

‘The Bloodbath,’ Mr Period said impatiently. ‘What else? Really, Raikes!’

‘He’s to drive me to Baynesholme as fast as the thing will go. At once, Raikes.’

Sergeant Raikes began talking into the telephone.

‘Be quick,’ Mr Cartell said, ‘and you’d better come too.’

‘– yes, George,’ said Sergeant Raikes into the telephone. ‘That’s correct. Now.’

‘Come along, Raikes. My hat and coat!’ Mr Cartell went out. ‘Alfred! My top-coat.’

‘And you might ask them, Harold, while you’re about it,’ Mr Period quite shouted after him, ‘what they did with my cigarette-case.’

‘What?’ the retreating voice asked.

‘Lady Barsington’s card case. Cigarettes.’

There was a shocked pause. Mr Cartell returned, half in and half out of an overcoat, and a tweed hat cocked over one eye.

‘What do you mean, P.P.? Surely you don’t suggest …’

‘God knows! But ask them. Ask!’

IV

Desirée, Lady Bantling (ex-Cartell, factually Dodds), sat smiling to herself in her drawing-room. She smoked incessantly and listened to Moppett Ralston and Leonard Leiss and it would have been impossible for anyone to say what she thought of them. Her ravaged face, with its extravagant make-up, and her mop of orange hair made a flagrant statement against the green background of her chair. She was possibly not unamused.

Moppett was explaining how interested Leonard was in art and what a lot he knew about the great portrait painters.