In the space of only twenty-four hours, the atmosphere in the first-class restaurant had undergone a radical transformation. Lunch on the day of departure had been served to passengers who were, in the main, excited by the novelty of oceanic travel, yet were also very tentative in their surroundings. Not knowing quite what to expect, they were at first reserved and watchful. By the time they sat down for their second lunch aboard, however, everything had changed. They were relaxed and confident. Friendships had already developed, smiles of acknowledgment were distributed freely on all sides, and there was a pervading familiarity that showed itself most clearly in a greater volume of noise and a substantial increase in laughter. Genevieve Masefield had observed the process on previous voyages but it always amused her. When she came into the restaurant for lunch, she collected nods of welcome from people who would have been too shy even to look at her properly on the previous day.
Liberated from the company of the Singleton family, she sat instead directly opposite Theodore Wright. The cyclist looked rather incongruous in a smart suit. His hair was still unkempt and his face glowed with health. Beside Genevieve was a tall, fleshy man in his thirties with a permanent smile on his face. Stanley Chase had a cultured voice and an engaging manner. She admired the way Chase tried to converse with Wes Odell, who sat opposite him, even though the coach was curt and offhand. When the first course was served, Chase noticed Wright’s meal was different from everyone else’s, and that his portions were much smaller.
‘Do you have a special diet?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Wright replied with a mock groan.
‘Who chooses what you eat?’
‘I do,’ said Odell.
‘Why?’
‘I’m his coach.’
‘Does he have no say in the matter?’
‘None.’
‘But you’re not his mother,’ said Chase with a chuckle. ‘Surely Theo is old enough to decide what he wants for lunch.’
‘I have to get him fit.’
‘Yes,’ Wright said jocularly, ‘by starving me to death.’
‘Whatever food you’re getting,’ said Genevieve, ‘you look very well on it.’
‘I agree,’ said Chase. ‘You’re obviously in prime condition. And in your game, I suppose it’s important to keep your weight down.’
Odell was blunt. ‘Very important.’
‘It’s like training a greyhound, isn’t it?’
‘No, Mr Chase.’
After delivering his firm rebuff, Odell started to eat his food. There were no special dietary requirements for him, and Genevieve noted the relish with which he consumed each mouthful. Coach and cyclist seemed an ill-matched pair at first sight. While the one was terse and unsociable, the other was effervescent and friendly Theodore Wright was obviously glad to be sitting with Genevieve and kept up a stream of light-hearted comments. She found both him and Stanley Chase extremely pleasant company. It was Wes Odell who was the spectre at the feast. At one point, when she paid Wright a compliment, his coach shot her a glance of stern disapproval. Genevieve could not understand what she had said to deserve it.
When the main course was served, Wright turned his attention to Chase.
‘Have you spent much time in the States?’ he asked.
‘I’ve made a number of visits,’ said Chase, ‘but they’ve always been in pursuit of business. I never stay long enough to see the place properly.’
‘You’d need a lifetime to do that.’
‘Several lifetimes.’
‘What kind of business are you in, Mr Chase?’
‘Antiques.’
Wright grinned. ‘How much will you offer me for Wes?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid he wouldn’t qualify,’ said Chase. ‘I specialise in antique furniture. Sheraton, Hepplewhite, Chippendale, and people of that ilk. Your coach would need to be at least a hundred years older before I took an interest in him. I ship my merchandise to New York, sell it there, then take special orders from certain clients. It’s a good living. I know you’ve been having severe financial difficulties in America recently but there are still people with plenty of dollars to spread around.’
‘Where do you get your antiques?’ asked Genevieve.
‘From all over the country – house sales and auctions, for the most part.’
‘It must be fascinating.’
‘It is, Miss Masefield,’ Chase said affably. ‘I get to meet the most extraordinary characters along the way.’
Wright sat up. ‘But not as extraordinary as me, surely?’
‘No, Theo. You are well and truly unique.’
‘Who else would cycle all the way across the Atlantic?’ noted Genevieve.
By the time they reached dessert, Odell was more forthcoming. He actually initiated a discussion. The coach had only one subject of conversation but there was no denying his expertise.
‘Since I took charge of Theo,’ he asserted, ‘he hasn’t lost a race.’
‘I wouldn’t dare to, Wes,’ said Wright. ‘Not with you breathing down my neck.’
‘Is that how you coach, Mr Odell?’ asked Chase. ‘With naked fear?’
‘No, Mr Chase. I prepare him thoroughly in body and in mind.’
‘“Mind”?’
‘Having the right attitude is as vital as being in peak condition. It’s not enough to simply to have a desire to win,’ emphasised Odell. ‘You must have the conviction that you can’t lose. That’s what will drive you on through the really gruelling phases of a race.’
‘What about this one in France?’
‘It’s the blue riband of cycling, Mr Chase.’
‘Is that why you’re going all this way to take part?’
‘Yes. We have to prove that Theo can beat Vannier.’
‘Vannier?’
‘Gaston Vannier,’ explained Wright. ‘He’s the French champion and he’s won the Bordeaux-to-Paris race for the last two years. My job is to stop him making it a hat trick. And to get my revenge.’
‘Vannier has been making some disgusting remarks about Theo in the French press,’ Odell said bitterly. ‘He’s been scornful about the times we’ve recorded in certain races and doesn’t think that Theo will even reach the finishing line in Paris. The cuttings were mailed to us and I had them translated. Vannier has been very cruel about Theo.’
Wright set his jaw. ‘Wait till you see what I do to him!’
‘He’s only trying to put you off, surely?’ said Chase.
‘Well, it hasn’t worked. Vannier can watch out. I’ll rub his nose in the dust.’
‘Deep down,’ said Odell, ‘this French guy is scared of Theo. He knows the reputation we’ve built up. His nasty comments are meant to spook us.’
Genevieve was interested. ‘How long is the race, Theo?’
‘Five hundred sixty kilometres, as the crow flies.’
‘How much is that in miles?’ she said.
‘Around three hundred fifty, we reckon,’ said Wright, ‘though it will be farther than that because of the way the road loop so much. Then there are the hills to climb and there are plenty of those, apparently. They’ll make it seem even longer.’
‘Three hundred and fifty miles?’ Chase echoed in wonder. ‘I’d be exhausted if I drove a car that distance. No wonder you keep yourself in trim, Theo.’
‘He’s won six day-races before now,’ Odell said proudly.
‘How long will the Bordeaux-to-Paris run take?’
‘The best part of twenty-four hours.’
Genevieve gaped. ‘You stay continuously in the saddle for that long, Theo?’
‘Yes,’ he replied cheerily ‘Give or take a few stops to answer to the calls of nature. They’re something even Wes can’t control.’
‘What about food and drink?’
‘I grab what I can along the way. No time to sit down for a three-course meal in a pavement cafe, I’m afraid. I guzzle what I can when I have a short break.’
‘Water’s the main thing he needs,’ added Odell. ‘It can get very warm at this time of year. Theo must have regular fluid, so I carry plenty of it with me.’
‘What about Gaston Vannier?’ asked Chase. ‘Does he prefer wine?’
Wright was determined. ‘Whatever he drinks, he won’t catch me.
‘I think it’s amazing,’ said Genevieve. ‘To cycle for twenty-four hours nonstop. What will you be like at the end of it?’
‘Holding the winner’s check, Genevieve.’
‘But what sort of state will you be in?’
‘Better than you think, Miss Masefield,’ said Odell. ‘Wes is fully prepared for it. When he does take a break during the race, I massage his legs to keep them supple.’
‘You’ve thought of everything, Mr Odell,’ observed Chase. ‘You’re a lucky man, Theo. A good trainer makes all the difference. I saw a boxing match in New York once and one of the fighters was out on his feet at the end of the fifth round. But his trainer really worked on him in the corner. He sponged his face, gave him a drink from a bottle, and talked nonstop into his ear. I don’t know what he said but his man came out like a demon for the next round and knocked his opponent all round the ring.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘It was only afterwards I discovered that the trainer had given him a drink of brandy from that bottle. That was the secret ingredient.’
Genevieve was puzzled. ‘Brandy? Is that legal?’
‘Anything is legal in boxing – if you can get away with it.’
‘Would you like a swig of brandy during a race, Theo?’
‘Not me, Genevieve. I’d never be able to cycle in a straight line.’ Wright held up his glass of water. ‘I’ll stick to this – until we celebrate afterwards, that is. It will be the best champagne then.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘A pity you won’t be there to share it with me.’
Genevieve smiled at him and earned another glare from Wes Odell. When the meal was over, she made a polite excuse then rose to leave. Wright gazed after her with candid admiration. Stanley Chase leaned across to him.
‘If Miss Masefield were waiting for me behind the finishing line,’ he whispered, ‘I think that I’d be prepared to take part in the Bordeaux-to-Paris race as well.’
‘No chance,’ said Wright, with feeling. ‘I saw her first.’
George Porter Dillman hoped to catch the purser alone in the lull immediately after lunch but he had to wait until Paul Taggart had finished calming down an irate passenger. When the door finally opened, a large, stone-faced, middle-aged American woman in a tweed suit and a feathered hat came bursting out and waddled off down the corridor. Dillman went into the cabin.
‘Who was that?’ he asked.
‘Mrs Anstruther,’ sighed Taggart. ‘She’s only been on board the Caronia for a day and she’s already notched up five complaints. If she keeps up that rate, I’ll need the patience of Job to survive this voyage.’
‘Were the complaints serious?’
‘They were to her, Mr Dillman, and that’s all she’s concerned about. First of all, she wanted to be moved to another cabin because she didn’t like the colour of her carpet. Then she took against her stewardess. Last night, she had a toothache and blamed it on the chef. This morning,’ he continued in a tone of disbelief, ‘she ordered me to speak to the captain because the ship was rolling too much. What does she expect when we’re in the Atlantic?’ he wailed. ‘It has waves. But the latest complaint was the best yet.’
‘Did she want you to turn the vessel around and take her back to New York?’
‘If only I could! No, she’d just come steaming out of the restaurant because, she claims, the man sitting opposite was looking at her.’
‘He didn’t have much choice,’ said Dillman.
‘According to her, he was staring in a meaningful way. As if he had designs on her. Can you believe it?’ said Taggart. ‘Look at the woman. She’s a positive Gorgon.’
‘Is there a Mr Anstruther?’
‘There was, it seems. “If my dear Wilbur were still here …” she kept saying, as if he’d have waved a magic wand and solved all her problems. My guess is that Wilbur took to his heels and ran away years ago.’
‘What action did you promise to take over this latest complaint?’
‘I said that I’d look into it,’ Taggart said wearily. ‘Which means, I fear, that I’ll have to ask you to have a discreet word with a Mostyn Morris. His cabin number will be on that list I gave you. Mrs Anstruther described him as having all the attributes of a Welsh mountain goat.’
‘You won’t see many of those travelling first-class on the Caronia
‘We won’t see any, Mr Dillman. She’s simply having fantasies.’
‘I’ll advise the gentleman to sit elsewhere next time.’
Paul Taggart had more work for him. A passenger in second class had had his wallet taken in the lounge and a woman had reported hearing strange noises from inside a locked storeroom. The purser also told him about the case he had assigned to Genevieve Masefield at the start of the day.
‘Why didn’t the lady put all her jewellery in your safe?’ asked Dillman.
‘That’s exactly what I said to her. Mrs Robart struck me as being a trifle scatter-brained. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she put those earrings down somewhere and simply can’t find them.’
‘It seems unlikely that anyone got into her cabin to steal them. No thief would make off with a pair of gold earrings when there must have been other valuables he could take as well.’
‘That thought crossed my mind,’ admitted Taggart.
There was a sharp knock on the door and Inspector Redfern let himself in. When he saw Dillman, he backed out again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you were busy.’
‘Come in, Inspector,’ urged Dillman. ‘I was just leaving.’
Redfern paused in the doorway. ‘In that case …’
‘Any progress?’
‘I think so, Mr Dillman,’ he said. ‘I can’t claim they’ve owned up to the crime in so many words, but their manner has convinced me beyond any doubt that they are guilty of the crime.’
‘“Their manner”?’ repeated Dillman.
‘Yes. When we arrested them, they protested their innocence then refused to say a word. It was almost as if they had a pact of silence. But that’s gone now,’ said Redfern. ‘Heritage came very close to taunting me this morning. And yesterday, Miss Peterson actually challenged me to prove their guilt. She’d lost that simpering look completely. Her eyes were blazing.’
‘That could have been anger at wrongful arrest.’
‘No, Mr Dillman. What I saw was a woman, brazenly confident that she and her accomplice had got away with it. Until then, she’d been meek and mild. In a flash her real character suddenly revealed itself.’
‘Are you sure that they’re safe where they are, Inspector?’ said Taggart.
‘Quite safe.’
‘A strong man could break out of that cabin.’
‘Where would he go? Heritage can’t escape from this ship. Besides,’ he said, ‘the only place he wants to be is with Miss Peterson. Sergeant Mulcaster and I would hear the noise if he tried to break down any doors. We keep a close eye on both of them.’
‘I wonder if I might make a suggestion,’ Dillman said gently.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Well, I know that Sergeant Mulcaster doesn’t have too high an opinion of the Pinkerton Agency but it has had considerable success. One of the things it taught me was the value of using female operatives, especially when it came to questioning female suspects.’ He saw Redfern purse his lips in irritation. ‘We don’t want to tread on your toes, Inspector. This is your case and we respect that. I just feel that Genevieve Masefield might be able to talk to Miss Peterson as a woman and draw things out of her that neither you nor Sergeant Mulcaster ever could do.’
‘Thank you for the offer, Mr Dillman, but I’ll have to decline it.’
‘Don’t you want any help?’
‘We don’t need it.’
‘Very well. I won’t press it.’
‘You’d be wasting your time, Mr Dillman.’
‘Then let me leave you with this thought, Inspector. You told us, I believe, that both the suspects have repeatedly denied their guilt.’
‘Most villains do.’
‘But they’re not typical villains, are they?’ said Dillman. ‘Until recently, they were well-behaved British citizens who went about their lawful business without causing a moment’s concern. They then commit a heinous crime – allegedly’
‘Who else could have murdered Mrs Heritage?’
‘That’s beside the point. What I’m asking you to consider is this. The husband may indeed have poisoned his wife – all the signs indicate that – but supposing that Miss Peterson was not directly implicated … Suppose that, until you arrested her, she didn’t even know that Mrs Heritage had been killed?’
‘She did seem overwhelmed by the news,’ Redfern conceded.
‘Could that be the reason she was so angry yesterday?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Innocent of the crime herself,’ argued Dillman, ‘she refuses to believe that her lover could have committed it. That’s why her denials are so vehement, Inspector. You can’t prove that she has blood on her hands if they’re completely clean, can you?’
‘That’s marvellous!’ exclaimed Cecilia Robart. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Genevieve. ‘The bath steward did.’
‘Bath steward?’
‘You’d be surprised what people leave in a bathroom. They take off watches, necklaces, earrings, and everything else they’re wearing before they get into the water. Then they simply forget to pick them up again. It may seem incredible, but a glass eye was once found in a bathroom on the Carmania.’
‘Who could possibly leave that behind?’
‘An old gentleman who was ever so grateful when it was returned to him.’
‘Well, he couldn’t have been more grateful than I am, Miss Masefield,’ said Mrs Robart. ‘I’d given up all hope of ever seeing the earrings again.’
‘You’re certain they’re the right ones?’
‘No question of that.’
When Genevieve had called at her cabin to return the items, Mrs Robart was quite overjoyed. Now, taking the earrings across to the mirror, she held them up to the lobes of her ears and beamed happily.
‘How on earth did they get into the bathroom?’ she wondered.
‘Did you have a bath this morning?’
‘Yes. I had a reservation, first thing. I don’t remember taking the earrings in there with me. Though I did have my necklace for safekeeping,’ she said, touching the pearls around her neck. ‘I always wear that when I’m travelling. Even for breakfast.’ She scratched her head. ‘I suppose I could have had the earrings on. I am a little absentminded at times.’ She turned to face Genevieve. ‘Oh, this has cheered me up no end. You must let me give you a reward.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Mrs Robart.’
‘But you recovered them within a matter of hours.’
‘The bath steward must take the credit. He found them when he was putting some fresh towels in there. Why don’t you give him a tip when you next see him?’
‘I will,’ agreed the other woman, looking for her purse, ‘but I’d like to give you something as well. You’ve soothed my mind wonderfully.’
‘They are beautiful earrings.’
‘David always knew what to buy for me.’
‘Take more care of them in future.’
‘Oh, I will, I promise.’ She found her purse. ‘Ah, here we are.’
Genevieve held up both hands. ‘No, Mrs Robart. Put it away. I’m not allowed to take money. I was only doing my job and I get paid for that. I just hope that every problem I encounter gets sorted out as quickly and painlessly as this one.’
‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’
‘We aim to serve.’
‘You certainly did that.’ She opened the door. ‘Thank you again.’
‘If I might offer one last piece of advice …’
‘Leave any valuables in the purser’s safe from now on,’ said Mrs Robarts, anticipating the counsel. ‘I will, Miss Masefield, I guarantee it. I’ve had my scare. You won’t hear another peep out of me for the rest of the voyage, I promise you.’
Sergeant Mulcaster was outraged. Bunching up his fist, he brought it down on the table with such a bang that he scattered a pile of papers lying there. They floated lazily to the floor.
‘Poke their nose into our investigation?’ he roared.
‘Calm down, Ronnie.’
‘I hope you told him to mind his own bloody business.’
‘It was only a suggestion,’ said Redfern.
‘Well, it’s one that we can do without.’ Mulcaster’s pride had been hurt. ‘When I see Mr Dillman again, I’ll tell him what I think of his offer.’
‘He was making it on behalf of Miss Masefield.’
‘That’s even worse, Inspector.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the lady is an amateur!’ snarled Mulcaster. ‘She’s nice to look at, I grant you, but she’s had no experience of real police work. At least Dillman has had some professional training – if you can call it that. But not that well-dressed assistant of his. What on earth did she imagine she could do?’
‘Talk to Carrie Peterson as a woman.’
‘Give me a dress to wear and I could do that.’
‘Ronnie!’
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but this has made my blood boil. We don’t need any outsiders butting in on our investigation.’
‘That’s what I said to him.’
‘How would Dillman like it if we started to do his job for him?’ He bent down to pick up the pages on the floor, still seething with righteous indignation. ‘Blimey! There are five days to go yet. We’ve got bags of time to squeeze a confession out of Heritage and his fancy woman. By the time we reach Liverpool, we’ll have them singing like canaries.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said the inspector.
‘Oh?’
‘They’re a tougher proposition than I thought. Especially Miss Peterson.’
‘Let me frighten the truth out of her.’
‘No, Ronnie.’
‘We’ve been much too soft so far.’
‘You weren’t exactly soft when we arrested them,’ Redfern reminded him. ‘You used undue force against her, there’s no doubt about it. She’s not a strong woman. You had no cause to pounce on her like that.’
‘I thought she was trying to get away, Inspector.’
‘Let’s be honest, Ronnie. You jumped in too fast and too hard. And it’s not the first time it’s happened, is it? You’ve been disciplined twice for handling suspects too roughly’
‘They deserved it.’
‘Only if there’s provocation.’
‘Well, I was provoked.’
‘That’s not the view the superintendent took. If I hadn’t spoken up for you, he might well have suspended you. And you’d never have been given this assignment,’ stressed Redfern. ‘I had to defend you all the way.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Mulcaster, restoring the papers to the table. ‘Thank you.’
‘I don’t want thanks, Ronnie. I just want recognition that I’m the senior officer here, which means I make the decisions. There’ll be no strong-arm methods with Carrie Peterson. That could get us both into trouble.’
‘It would also get us the confession we need.’
‘The evidence is strong enough as it is.’
‘It’s not enough for me, Inspector,’ said Mulcaster, rubbing his hands together. ‘When I’ve got someone in custody, I like to break them down bit by bit. It saves so much time in court.’ He nodded towards one wall. ‘What do you think she’s doing in there now?’
‘Thinking about Heritage, probably.’
‘And him?’
‘I daresay he’s playing chess with himself.’
‘Eh?’
‘That was my reaction at first, Ronnie, but it is possible.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘John Heritage can certainly give himself a better game than I can. He trounced me good and proper at chess. It’s a pity there’s no dartboard in that cabin.’ A reflective smile spread over his face. ‘Now, there’s a game where I’d take on anybody. I’ve won cups at it.’
‘I could win cups at interrogation – if I was given free rein.’
‘Well, you’re not.’
‘What are we going to do, Inspector?’
‘Bide our time.’
‘Let me have an hour alone with Heritage.’
‘No, Ronnie.’
‘I won’t lay a finger on him,’ said Mulcaster. ‘I’ll just talk to him. Face-to-face.’
‘That’s what you said last time, and the suspect finished up with a split lip and three missing teeth.’
‘He threw a punch at me. I had to restrain him.’
‘Well, I’m restraining you now,’ said Redfern, fixing him with a stare. ‘I want to get those two back in one piece. This case could be the making of us, Ronnie. Think of the headlines in the papers. ‘Detectives Cross Atlantic to Capture Murder Suspects.’ There’ll be photographs of us, probably. And of them, of course,’ he added, taking his pipe out of his pocket and slipping the stem into his mouth. ‘We have to keep Heritage and his mistress looking pretty for the camera.’
Mulcaster gave a low cackle. ‘And for the hangman,’ he said.
Frank Openshaw was a gregarious man. In the course of a single day afloat, he had befriended a large number of people. As he strolled along the boat deck, he was able to greet several passengers by name. George Porter Dillman was one of them.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Dillman.’
‘Hello, Mr Openshaw.’
‘I’m just taking my constitutional,’ said the Yorkshireman, patting his stomach. ‘It’s the only way to keep this from getting even larger.’
‘How is Mrs Openshaw?’
‘Not too well, I fear. A touch of seasickness. Kitty is having a lie-down in the cabin. For some reason, it always happens like this. She’s fine on the first day out, then has an upset tummy on the second. You’re a sailor, Mr Dillman,’ he recalled. ‘Do you know a cure for seasickness?’
‘Yes,’ replied Dillman. ‘Stay on land.’
Openshaw chortled. ‘That’s a fair comment.’
‘I was being facetious. Seasickness is not amusing to those who suffer from it.’
‘Kitty could confirm that.’
Dillman had just returned from interviewing the man in second class whose wallet had been stolen. A pickpocket was evidently at work in the public rooms and the detective would need to stalk him. He had also dealt with the other problem reported to the purser. When Dillman unlocked the storeroom from which noises had been heard, the ship’s mascot, a large cat, came darting out of the prison in which he had inadvertently been locked. During his incarceration, he had managed to knock over a number of small boxes. Dillman had stacked them neatly before locking up the storeroom again with his master key. He was pleased to see Openshaw again. They had lunched at separate tables so had not spoken since the previous day.
‘I was interested to hear that you owned two theatres,’ said Dillman.
‘Both in London’s West End. The music hall is in Manchester.’
‘What sort of plays do you present?’
‘Ones that make money, Mr Dillman.’
‘Pinero? Shaw? Henry Arthur Jones?’
‘Don’t ask me the names,’ the other said dismissively. ‘I hardly ever go to the theatre, myself. I usually fall asleep. Music hall is my passion. I do love that. But I cater to all tastes,’ he went on. ‘One of my theatres put on a Shakespeare play last year.’
‘There’s a certain amount of vaudeville in some of those,’ opined Dillman.
It was not a point he had any chance to develop. At that moment, a figure tried to sidle past them without attracting attention. Openshaw spotted him at once.
‘Mr Leach!’ he called out, moving to intercept him.
Leach came to a halt and exchanged reluctant greetings with the two men. Wearing a long black coat and a black hat, he looked as if he were about to attend another funeral. Dillman recalled the way Leach had left his cabin the previous night. ‘Where have you been hiding?’ asked Openshaw.
‘Nowhere,’ said Leach.
‘We didn’t see you at dinner last night or at lunch today.’
‘I was there, Mr Openshaw.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll be able to join us for drinks before dinner,’ said Openshaw, with a benevolent wave of his arm. ‘You, too, Mr Dillman. Kitty so enjoyed your company, and I’m sure that she’ll have recovered completely by this evening. We’re in cabin number six. Can I count on seeing you there, Mr Leach?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘You can tell us about the tricks of your trade.’
‘They don’t make for polite conversation.’
‘There must be some yams you can tell us. And you’ll be able to meet some of our other friends as well. They include a couple of attractive single ladies,’ he said with a roguish smile. ‘They’re the best decoration of all at a drinks party, I always think. Come along and say hello to them, Mr Leach.’
The undertaker looked alarmed. The invitation was unwelcome but he seemed unable to find the words to refuse it. Eyes darting, he shifted his feet uneasily. Dillman could see how uncomfortable the man was. Frank Openshaw waited for a reply that never came. Unable to find an excuse, Ramsey Leach simply turned on his heel and scuttled away as fast as he could. Openshaw turned in surprise to Dillman.
‘By heck!’ he said. ‘What did you make of that?’