The taxi driver took us cautiously and safely through the bad-tempered rush of lunchtime traffic. Just before reaching Central Station, he turned into a side street running down to the river and drew up outside the last house in the street.
Gordon paid the taxi driver and we climbed out. We were standing in front of a gloomy looking building, every window with drawn curtains. The street level was a junk shop with all sorts of odds and sods in its dirty window. The sign over the door said Oswald Street Antiques.
There was a heavy iron double gate in the wall beside the building. Gordon produced a key and opened it.
“Who lives here?” the Chief asked, a touch of suspicion in his voice.
Gordon clucked. “I can understand why you’re wondering,” he said. “This is scarcely the most elegant part of Glasgow.”
Gordon opened the heavy gate to let us in. 174
“Do come in, please,” he said. “Old Humph will explain the rest.”
The gateway led into a backyard surrounded by high brick walls, the plaster flaking off them. All of a sudden, the ground began shaking—a train was on its way into Central Station. The building was wall to wall with the station.
An open-backed lorry was parked in front of a row of ramshackle warehouses. A bruiser of a man was sweeping the yard. He stared at us wide-eyed as we walked past.
Gordon directed us up a narrow set of outside steps and into a battered stairwell. Three floors up we reached a carpeted corridor. There was a slightly stale smell.
Gordon knocked twice on the door at the end of the corridor and, before opening it, waited until a small light on the wall came on.
“In we go,” he said, letting the Chief and me go in first.
The room we entered was very large and panelled with dark wood. Tall windows covered with thin curtains allowed in some weak daylight. I could hear the hum of traffic and voices from the street outside.
At one end of the room there was a counter and a number of leather armchairs. At the other end there was a woman sitting behind a large desk. She was talking on the telephone and she gestured to us to stay where we were. 175
“Who’s she?” the Chief asked. “And where’s the detective?”
“Patience, my friend,” Gordon said. “You’ll soon find out.”
The woman finished her call, put down the receiver and waved us over.
“Welcome, Mr Koskela,” she said. “Thanks for coming. Do sit down.”
The woman was neither young nor old, but somewhere between the two. Her skin was very pale and her curly hair was the same deep reddish-brown shade as the mahogany desk. She was wearing a severe, well-cut tweed suit.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’d prefer to stand,” the Chief said. “We’ve come to meet Mr Fillingsworth.”
The woman made a dismissive gesture. “Forget about him, Mr Koskela. He’s no longer needed.”
The Chief’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”
“What I said, of course,” the woman replied. “You engaged Mr Fillingsworth to find me. That’s what he’s done. And now I’ve had you brought here so we can meet. The detective has done his bit and we can forget him now.”
The Chief looked confused. “What do you mean? Are you—”
“Exactly!” the woman interrupted him. “I am the rightful owner of the pearl necklace you found on your ship. And I’m very grateful to you for taking the trouble to seek me out. Do you have the necklace with you?” 176
The Chief was at a loss for an answer and I, too, was flabbergasted. How could this woman know that it was a pearl necklace we had found on our ship? The Chief had never mentioned a necklace to Mr Fillingsworth.
“Well,” the woman repeated, “have you got the necklace with you?”
“Are you Rose Henderson?” the Chief asked.
The woman smiled, but it was a smile without warmth.
“My name is irrelevant,” she said. “The pearl necklace is mine and that’s all you need to know. I’ve already had your room at the boarding house searched, so I know you haven’t hidden it there. My guess is that you carry it around with you. Be sensible now and give it to me.”
The Chief was open-mouthed with astonishment. Then he laughed.
“What are you saying? That you broke into our room?…”
“Not at all,” the woman answered. “Your landlady was asleep in her chair, so all my men did was borrow her keys for a while.”
The woman fixed her eyes on the Chief and added, “Of course, if the woman had tried to prevent them, things might have gone badly for her. Just as badly as they’ll go for you if you don’t do what I say.”
The tone of her voice had suddenly become cold and hard. 177
The Chief seemed more surprised than afraid. “Who and what are you?” he asked.
The woman’s expression didn’t change.
“Hand over the necklace… now,” she said slowly and with the kind of exaggerated care used when talking to someone who has difficulty understanding.
The Chief shook his head.
“Out of the question, ma’am,” he said. “Not until you start behaving like a decent human being and tell me who you are and why you should have the pearls.”
The woman looked at the Chief, her eyes devoid of expression. Then she turned in the direction of the door and nodded to Gordon. Gordon opened the door and for a moment I thought the Chief and I were going to be ushered out. But two men came in through the door instead, one behind the other. The first was a short, wiry fellow with a lined face and a knuckleduster on each hand. The second was much younger and running to fat. His lips were fleshy and worm-like and he was twirling a closed flick knife in his fingers.
“Now look, Mr Koskela,” the woman said. “Don’t make things difficult. I’m not keen on trouble. Hand over the necklace and I’ll let the two of you go.”
The Chief’s face darkened. “We don’t have it with us,” he said. 178
The woman sighed with annoyance. Then she nodded to Gordon, who ordered the thug with the knife to frisk the Chief. The Chief swore, but that was all he could do since Gordon had drawn a pistol from a holster under his jacket.
The man with the flick knife made a quick search of the Chief’s pockets and carefully felt his jacket in case there was anything stitched into the lining. When he’d finished, the woman said, “Now the ape.”
The thug hesitated. “What if it tries to bite me?”
“You’ll just have to bite it back, won’t you?” Gordon said calmly. “Get on with it.”
My heart was pounding. I made sure I kept very still while the thug searched through the pockets of my overalls.
“Right, where have you hidden the necklace?” the woman asked the Chief when she realized we didn’t have it with us.
“That’s none of your business, ma’am,” the Chief said through clenched teeth.
The woman inclined her head to the side as she weighed up the Chief with a long look.
“All right, Mr Koskela, this is what we’ll do. You go and fetch the necklace and bring it back. I’ll hang on to the ape as surety—it must be worth a penny or two.”
“It certainly is!” the thug with the knife sneered. “I’ve read about luxury restaurants in London that have ape meat on the 179menu. Pricey stuff! An orangutan steak costs a couple of weeks’ wages. And this gorilla here would easily…”
The Chief’s face went pale with rage. He took two long strides forward and punched the thug smack in the face before he could open his knife. The man hit the floor.
Gordon flicked off the safety catch of his pistol and the small wiry fellow raised his knuckledusters to hit the Chief from behind, but both stopped when the woman slapped the desk with the palm of her hand. She stood up and walked over to the Chief.
“You’ve got three hours to fetch the necklace,” she said. “Do you think that’s long enough?”
The Chief didn’t answer.
“And don’t bother going to the police, Mr Koskela,” the woman added. “You should know that I have some very good friends in the police.”
The Chief gave me a long look before turning to the woman. “I shan’t go to the police,” he said in a dull voice. “And you can have that accursed necklace.”
He threw me another quick glance and strode out of the room.