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Once our pursuers were well out of sight, I rounded the block and headed back toward the club.
“What are you doing?” Chaz demanded. “They’ll see us.”
“No, they won’t. They’ll think we’re long gone.”
“So what’s the plan?” he asked as I parked the car halfway down the block with the bonnet pointed at the club.
“The barman,” I said. “He knows something. I’m sure of it. The club will be closing soon, so we’ll wait here until he comes out.”
“And then what? Kidnap him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Though the thought had crossed my mind. “We’re just going to pull him aside and question him. I have a feeling he’ll tell us a lot more if he knows his boss isn’t watching.”
“I doubt he’ll tell us anything at all,” Chaz groused. “You don’t cross Derby Jones. Not if you like your limbs intact and working.”
Great. Not only had Jones sent his goons after me, but he probably considered what I’d done crossing him. If he found out who I really was, he’d probably break my shins. Or worse. But I couldn’t think of that now. I needed to focus on clearing my name.
It was late. I was cold. And I’d give anything for a drink. Sans that option, I could use a snack. I rummaged around in my handbag for some mints or something but came up empty.
“Open the glove box door,” I ordered.
Chaz sighed, but did as told.
“Anything of interest?”
He shuffled things around. “Road map. Extra pair of driving gloves. And a nearly empty tin of boiled sweets.” He rattled it.
“Give it over.” I pried off the lid and popped a sweet in my mouth. I offered him one, but he shook his head.
“You think Jones is behind Dottie’s death?” Chaz asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s definitely capable of killing someone, but the manner of her death doesn’t seem his style. Probably more likely to shoot someone or drop them in the Thames. Stabbing someone with a woman’s hatpin seems... unlikely.”
“Did he admit to having an affair with her?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” I said.
“Why surprisingly?”
“He didn’t seem the sort to just admit it. And Louise was very specific about his type. Something just felt off.”
He eyed me. “You had a hunch.”
“Yes, I did.”
He sighed. “And now I get to freeze my nether regions off, waiting on a barman who may or may not know something interesting.”
“Buck up,” I cheered him. “It’s not everyone who gets the chance at a stakeout.”
“North would have a fit if he knew what you were up to.”
“Let him.” I crunched the last of the boiled sweet and selected another. “If I leave it up to him, I’ll be hanging from the gallows in no time.”
“Don’t be dramatic, love. They don’t hang ladies. At worst you’ll end up in Bedlam.”
“Lovely,” I said dryly. “I could use a holiday.”
The doors of the club swung open, and patrons spilled out onto the street, some staggering, likely from copious amounts of cheap alcohol. Finally, the last one left and the light above the door switched off.
“He’ll have to clean up,” I said, “but it shouldn’t be long now.”
About twenty minutes later, the door opened again, and the barman exited the building and strolled toward us. His head was down, hunched against the cold, hands jammed in his pockets.
As he drew even with us, Chaz swung open the door and stepped out onto the curb right in front of him. The barman muttered something—either an apology or curse, it was hard to tell—and started to go ‘round him. Only Chaz grabbed his arm. “We need to talk.” He shoved the poor man in the backseat of my car before he could protest.
“Whatcha want?” he demanded, staring at us with wide, frightened eyes.
“We ain’t gonna hurt you,” Chaz said in a rather unconvincing rough accent, “if you tell us what we want.”
“What do you want? Who are you?”
I turned around, and he got a good look at my face.
“Oh, it’s you.” He seemed to relax at least a little.
“I saw you inside,” I told him. “It looked like you wanted to tell me something.”
“I saw you talking to Mr. Jones,” he said. “You know him?”
I shook my head. “No, but I knew Dottie Hale.” A little white lie. “I wanted to know if he knew what happened to her. He said he didn’t. Claimed they were lovers.”
The barman snorted. “There weren’t no love lost between those two.”
“Why do you say that, er, what’s your name?” Chaz asked.
“Harry.”
“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m... Maddie,” I said, once again giving him my maid’s name. “And this is my partner, Jimmy.” Seemed like a good name for a tough.
“Right. Well, trust me when I say Mr. Jones weren’t havin’ relations with the likes of Dottie Hale.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
“Well, she were a regular weren’t she? Came in nearly every day. Drank a bit. Flirted with this one or that one. Sometimes got real close, if you know what I mean.”
Chaz and I exchanged glances. We did know.
“Jones don’t touch the likes of that no how. If he’s with a woman, she better not be with anybody else, you get my drift?”
“We do,” Chaz assured him.
“Why would Jones lie to me then?” I mused. “He claimed they were lovers.”
Harry snorted. “Opposite of that, more like.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He leaned forward. “If Mr. Jones finds out I told ya, he’ll kill me.”
“He won’t find out,” Chaz assured him.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” Harry said, “but that Dottie stole money from Mr. Jones. He were that furious, he swore he’d get her.”
“Get her?” I had a bad feeling I knew exactly what Derby Jones had meant by that.
Harry nodded. “If you ask me, Derby Jones killed Dottie Hale.”
––––––––
IT DIDN’T SURPRISE me to find someone accusing Derby Jones of murder. In fact, I was quite certain he was capable of just such a thing. Question was, was he guilty of this particular murder?
The most interesting tidbit was that while Derby had claimed to be having a relationship with Dottie, the barman had been quite certain he was doing no such thing. In my experience, barmen tend to know things about both their employers and patrons that other people simply don’t. They’re rather like butlers in that regard.
There was nothing more for it but to go home and get some rest. I dropped Chaz off at his flat, then tooled home to my own townhouse. Maddie was still abed, so I made myself a cup of tea, then sequestered myself in my room. It wasn’t long before I’d nodded off.
I’d no idea how long it was later, though it felt like but a minute or two, when pounding on the front door woke me from a deep sleep. The pounding was followed by Maddie’s screech and a lot of shouting, then feet thumping on the stairs. This did not bode well.
Jumping from bed, I threw on a robe and slippers, then flung open the door and shouted in my most imperious lady-of-the-manor voice, “What the devil is going on!”
The hall was crowded with people. Maddie stood in front of my bedroom door, one hand braced against the frame as if to bar the way. Facing her was Detective Inspector North in all his glory, bushy eyebrows beetled angrily. Behind him ranged several uniformed coppers. One even had his billy club out.
“Someone tell me this instant what is going on,” I demanded.
“I will not let them take you, m’lady,” Maddie assured me, rather dramatically, I thought.
“Hush, Maddie. Detective Inspector North, I demand to know what’s going on.”
He straightened his shoulders and eyed my nightwear, blushing slightly. “Lady Rample, you are under arrest for the murder of Harry Simpel.”
I blinked. “Harry whom?”
North gritted his teeth. “The barman at Apollyon.”
“Harry’s dead?” The last time I’d seen him, he’d been hale and hearty, although terrified Jones would find out he’d ratted on him. Had Jones found out Harry talked?
“You know very well he is,” North snapped. “Stabbed him through the heart with a hatpin, just like Dottie Hale.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I was suddenly worried about Chaz. He’d been with me when we talked to Harry. If North found out, he might accuse Chaz of murder, too. Worse, if the killer knew...
He stepped forward. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”
I sighed. “May I get dressed at least?”
“Sorry. Can’t have a murderer running loose, can I?”
I gave him a cold smile. “You will hear from my solicitor.”
“Be that as it may—”
“Maddie,” I shouted over him. “Call my solicitor. Then ring my aunt.”
North blanched. “I’ll give you five minutes.”