J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

Outside her window, the two large, aggressive Alsatians, which were employed as watch-dogs in the grounds at night, were being teased. Rosalie appreciated that such treatment was necessary, to increase their savage tendencies. However, their snarling, barking and growling, combined with their handler’s raucous and excited exhortations, combined to assail her somewhat fragile sensibilities in a distressing manner.

Nor did the annoyances end there.

Passing from the stone wall to the house, an electrician caused an alarm system to operate. Its bell set up a hideous jangling clamour which seemed to drive hot needles through Rosalie’s throbbing skull.

As if those distractions were insufficient, in the gymnasium on the floor above Fiorelli’s and Rosalie’s bedroom, several very large, weighty members of the staff—to whom the executive laughingly referred as the Heavy Mob—were testing each other’s abilities in the art of unarmed combat. At all too frequent intervals, a huge body would alight, after being thrown through the air by another beefy male member of the villa’s work force, whit a crash which jarred the ceiling. The repeated impacts made any hope of sleeping impossible.

Normally Rosalie would have accepted the various disturbances as a small price to pay for the benefits of being a wealthy, influential businessman’s wife. Suffering from a most severe throbbing in her head, probably caused by over-excitement the previous night, she felt that it all amounted to far too much of a good thing.

Crawling from the large and comfortable bed with some reluctance, Rosalie donned a diaphanous robe over her very fetching shortie nightdress. Deciding against putting on any kind of footwear, as to do so would have entailed bending over and further aggravating her condition, she left the bedroom.

Stepping into the passage wondering if old Fanny Dinks had donned her “hoisting knickers” yet, Rosalie had the pleasant thought driven from her head. She was astounded at the further evidence of activity which met her gaze and afflicted her delicate hearing.

Across the passage from the main bedroom was an establishment rarely found in a private residence. It was referred to by the staff as the “Guard House”. Usually, it was only occupied during the night. This morning, men were inside busily checking its furnishings and specialised fittings.

The large room, which looked out over the rear of the villa, housed up to twelve of the “Heavy Mob”. Unless on some specific duty elsewhere about the premises, they spent the horns of darkness in it. To make their stay more pleasant, there were four beds upon which some of their number could rest and relax. The remainder of the party could sit in comfort in the armchairs, or at the table. Having the welfare of their employees at heart, the Syndicate had thoughtfully provided packs of cards, and a dart-board to help while away the tedious periods of their tours of duty.

At one end of the room, a polished brass column descended through a circular hole in the floor. Copied from all idea employed by Fire Brigades throughout the world, it facilitated a rapid response to any request for service that might come from the ground floor.

The comings and goings of the male domestic staff in the “Guard House” were controlled and directed by whichever butler was in charge. He sat at a table, with a telephone on it, at the opposite end of the room to the brass column. Before him, on a polished wooden board, was painted a ground plan of the villa. It showed the location and name of every room. Each of them had a red light bulb affixed to its centre. When one of the lights flashed on, the butler was instantly alerted. He knew immediately to which room he must dispatch members of his work force.

Curiosity impelled Rosalie to cross the passage and look into the “Guard House”. She wondered what might be causing the feverish and noisy activity. Inside, some of the men were polishing the column. At the table, the senior butler held the telephone’s receiver as he checked that every signal light’s bulb would function. All the men turned admiring glances in their mistress’s direction.

“What’s all this about, Slasher?” Rosalie inquired.

“Boss told us to check everything out, Mrs. Fiorelli,” the butler answered, his unprepossessing, badly scarred features puckering in a puzzled frown. “He said he wants to make sure all, the security arrangements are working.”

“Oh lord!” Rosalie ejaculated, massaging her temples with delicately moving fingertips. “That’s all I need.”

“It could be because he’s got Mr. Anacropolis down in the library with him,” the butler remarked. “The boss always likes everything working right when he’s paying a visit.”

“Yes, I know he does,” Rosalie admitted. “I wonder if he’ll have the noise held down if I tell him I’ve got a splitting headache?”

“He might,” grinned the butler. “It’s worth a try.”

“I think so, too,” Rosalie declared and withdrew, for she could see that her presence was distracting the other men.

After the hustle and bustle of the upper floors, the entrance hall was cool, calm and wonderfully silent. To avoid distressing her still fragile senses, Rosalie made sure that her bare feet descended as gently as thistledown as she walked towards the open double doors of the library. She moved gracefully and without a sound. For which precaution, she soon found that she had a double reason to be grateful.

Fiorelli’s voice came to her ears, just before she would have passed through the portals and into his range of vision. The words brought her to an immediate and unhesitating halt.

“No. Benkinsop hasn’t a clue about how we fixed it all up.”

Not too alarming in itself, but sufficiently so to lead Rosalie to the conclusion that she would like to hear more before announcing her presence.

“You’re sure of that? ” demanded Aristocle Anacropolis’s suave, yet nasal tones. If she can prove that you nobbled young Penny Parkerhouse, there’ll be all hell to pay.”

“She can’t do that,” Fiorelli declared, sounding smugly confident. “Garibaldi used some of that drug the School Swot brewed for the feller in Newmarket. It’s guaranteed to be undetectable.”

Only with an effort did Rosalie restrain her impulse to rush in and tell the two men just what she thought of them. Forcing herself to remain calm, she examined the situation. It would never have done for the lady of the house to be caught behaving like an over-inquisitive servant. So she looked about her. Fortunately the entrance hall was deserted at that moment and the front door closed. While she bad been, very properly, taught by Miss Benkinsop that eavesdropping upon private conversations was highly improper conduct for a young lady, she believed that her former headmistress would not be too disapproving under the circumstances. So she continued to listen.

Not only listen!

A Benkinsopian was trained never to flinch from danger if faced by a precarious situation. Moving forward with all the stealth she had acquired as a member of the school’s Girl Guides’ troop, Rosalie attained a position from which she could see— without herself being detected as well as hear what went on.

The library was furnished as expensively as Miss Benkinsop’s study, but with far less good taste. In fact Rosalie, not normally a critical young lady, had always considered it just a shade too ostentatious. There was, to her British way of thinking, a little too much suggestion of the Eastern sheik’s boudoir in the decor.

Flanking the inner doors, through which Rosalie was peeping cautiously, were two Grecian marble statues of ladies in an all-too-undraped condition. The floor was of polished mahogany parquet, each segment of the irregular pattern being just over a foot square. In the centre of the room stood a large, ornate desk. On the right wall hung an enormous portrait of Fiorelli’s great-great-grandfather—clad in the manner of one of the Three Musketeers who happened to be living in Hollywood, California—nonchalantly holding a magnificently hilted rapier. Facing the inner doors, large french windows opened on to the front gardens.