Peter Lovesey - Abracadaver

‘No,’ said Mrs Body. ‘My bedroom. But I should warn you that there is a steep descent.’

‘I shall bear that in mind, Ma’am.’

‘Please sit down, and put your things on the table. I can draw the curtains if you find it cosier. I don’t suppose these curtains were drawn in ten years before I bought them. What can I offer you to drink?’

There were no decanters in sight. Mystified, Cribb asked for gin.

‘White satin?’ said Mrs Body. ‘There is plenty of that here. Butterleigh’s, of course.’

‘Naturally.’

She moved the curtain a fraction and put a speaking-tube to her mouth. ‘Send up two gins, please.’ Turning back to Cribb she asked, ‘Did you meet the Rear-Admiral on your way upstairs?’

Cribb nodded. ‘Ah. So that was who it was.’

‘A personal friend of Sir Douglas. Strange for a nautical man to be affected by drink. Perhaps I should have offered him rum.’ There was the sound of machinery from somewhere. ‘Good. That will be our waiter.’ She got up and opened a small door, impossible to detect in the intricate wall-decoration. Two glasses were waiting on a serving-lift. ‘I am in contact with everyone, you see, but secure from intruders. Would you like to see my other contrivances?’

Cribb hesitated, half-looking at the door behind his chair.

‘You’re not nervous, Mr Cribb?’ She pulled at a cord on her left, and the curtains on the wall facing them parted some six feet, revealing the bare, whitewashed wall. ‘Now, if you will kindly turn down the gas above your head. Thank you. There!’

With the lowering of the light to a modest blue flame, a singular effect appeared on the white wall opposite, a coloured panorama with moving trees and minute figures in motion crossing green lawns.

‘Kensington Gardens to the life!’ said Cribb.

‘A camera obscura,’ explained Mrs Body. ‘The camera is above our heads and looks out from the top of the tower. The image is projected on to the wall by an arrangement of mirrors and lenses. By working a lever I can turn the camera through the full sweep of landscape visible from the tower, including my neighbours’ houses and gardens. Sometimes it can provide diverting entertainment.’

‘That I can believe,’ said Cribb. ‘I was wondering how you passed the time, sitting in a box like this, staring at a blank wall. It’s most ingenious. Scotland Yard could do with some of them, mounted on the higher landmarks of London.’

‘Ah yes. What a pity Mr Body has gone over to the majority. He could have worked miracles for Scotland Yard. He was a man of science, you know. I have a weakness for men with inventive minds. Why, there is a room downstairs still filled with his contraptions and chemicals. I have a magic lantern he made. I show the pictures on the wall here. There are several melodramas in sets of frames, and some whimsical figure-studies which you may care to see later, after more drinks. My gentlemen-friends usually—’

‘You won’t mind my addressing myself to you in a personal way, Ma’am?’ Cribb suddenly said.

‘Not in the least, my dear.’ Mrs Body drew her chair closer to Cribb’s. She was wearing black satin that rustled each time she moved.

‘Seeing that you’ve been so friendly as to show me your boudoir here, Ma’am—’

‘That is my pleasure, Mr Cribb.’

Cribb coughed over his gin. ‘Quite so. I thought it right to warn you that certain complications could arise from something that happened at the Paragon music hall last Tuesday.’

‘The accident to Lola Pinkus?’

‘No accident, Ma’am. Murder, almost certainly. The manager there, Mr Plunkett, could find himself in a deal of trouble. In a statement he made to the police he mentioned a connexion with you—’

‘Outrageous! My reputation is beyond reproach.’

‘Nothing of an indelicate nature, Ma’am,’ Cribb hastened to add. ‘No-one would suggest anything of that sort. May I turn up the light a fraction? No, the connexion in question is purely of a business nature, Ma’am. I believe the artistes at Mr Plunkett’s midnight shows are conveyed to the Paragon from Philbeach House in a private omnibus.’

‘God forgive me, yes.’ Mrs Body picked up a large fan and fluttered it in a frenzied way. ‘It is the only time they leave the house. They have all agreed not to step outside these walls. They have every convenience here.’

‘What would happen if one disobeyed the rules, Ma’am?’

‘He would be asked to leave. But my guests are not foolish, Mr Cribb. They are here because they are unemployable. They would starve if they left.’

‘So they have no choice.’

Mrs Body called into the speaking-tube, ‘More gin, if you please. Send up the bottle.’

‘It sounds rather institutional, Ma’am—to an outsider, I mean.’

‘Not at all. The guests come here of their own volition. I am paid to see that they are well looked after and there are no complaints. They are given work by Mr Plunkett. I even permit visitors to come, if they are respectable. Ah, here’s the gin. Let me fill your glass.’

‘I suppose you wouldn’t have much knowledge of the benefit performances at the Paragon?’ said Cribb.

‘No knowledge at all, Mr Cribb, beyond what I overhear being rehearsed downstairs. Is there anything irregular in the shows?’

‘I’d rather not comment, Ma’am. You’ve never attended any of the performances, then?’

‘My duties keep me here, you see. George and Bertie, the Undertakers, escort the artistes to the Paragon. I really know nothing of what goes on there.’

‘You’ve nothing to fear then, Mrs Body. You can still help me, though. Tell me what sort of girl young Lola Pinkus was. Did she get along with the other guests? Was she a good mixer, would you say?’

Mrs Body giggled slightly. ‘Pardon my amusement, Mr Cribb. Lola’s achievements as a mixer are unparalleled in my experience.’

‘You mean that she . . .’

‘Flirted outrageously, Mr Cribb. One hesitates to speak uncharitably of the departed, but, frankly, all members of the opposite sex were like curtain-calls to Lola, every one a fresh delight. Sam Fagan, Bellotti, Professor Virgo, almost the entire orchestra of the Paragon. It led to some bitterness here, I assure you. She and her sister had promised Bellotti they would assist him in his barrel-dancing act. You may imagine the poor boy’s disappointment when Lola took up with the Professor instead.’

‘Ah,’ said Cribb. ‘He was jealous, then.’

‘It quite ruined Bellotti’s act. A man on barrels isn’t much of an attraction without a pretty assistant, is he? I believe they pelted him with champagne-corks at the Paragon.’

‘Did he argue with Virgo over the girls?’

‘No, no,’ said Mrs Body. ‘Bellotti knew that the Professor hadn’t taken the girls from him. How they wheedled their way into the sword-swallowing act I do not like to speculate, but the trick they made the Professor do was quite out of keeping with the rest of his act. He is an orthodox sword-swallower and fire-eater, not a conjurer. The poor man was thoroughly miserable about it, but Lola had some way of compelling him to co-operate, I’m sure of that.’

‘You’re sure it wasn’t Bella who persuaded him?’

Mrs Body shook her head emphatically. ‘Bella had no initiative whatsoever. She was entirely dominated by her sister. Oh, they had arguments enough, and bitter ones, too. Such language, Mr Cribb! But Lola always had the last word. There was just one occasion when she met her match and that was last Monday.’

‘How was that?’

‘Did you meet my new guests, Albert, the strong man, and his mother? They arrived on Sunday, bringing their bulldog with them. I do not usually encourage pets, but as Beaconsfield has trodden the boards like the rest of us and was a working member of the troupe, I made an exception. The lady is extremely attached to the animal, you understand, and she asked me whether it could recline at her feet under the table at dinner on Monday evening. I had no objection myself, because it looked a placid beast, but naturally I said that if any of my guests objected, Beaconsfield would have to leave the dining-room. I was thinking of Professor Virgo, a man of nervous sensibilities, you know.’