Murder At The Masque Read Free Page A

eggs, so Igor says, are the rubies. But a woman’s value is high above rubies, is it not, Inspector?’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Igor should know this before he takes another lover,’ she added obscurely.
    ‘Besides those we know about, did the Grand Duke have any other – um—?’
    ‘Lovers? Ah, Inspector,’ she smiled deliciously, ‘how could I know? Igor is a very’ – she paused, head on one side – ‘
enthusiastic
man.’
    Rose blenched at the thought of tracking down a catburglar on the trail of an enthusiastic man. Why did these Grand Dukes have to live in London? Why didn’t they stay in Russia? Somewhere off his beat.
    ‘There is one thing, Inspector,’ she added helpfully. ‘I have a feeling there was one other egg – you understand I am a
femme du monde
and Igor talked to me as not to the others – that is bigger, more splendid than the rest, not because the lady was more prized, but because it is her profession, yes? Naturally she required more money. But she chose not money, but an egg that must be better than the others, she said. He was not happy, Igor, but he granted it to gain her favours. This lady does not live in England, so I think either it has not yet been stolen or you have not heard about it.’
    ‘If it’s not in England, it’s not my concern,’ Rose said swiftly. Other countries could take care of their own burglars.
    ‘Perhaps your burglar has not heard of the egg, if he is a London person, just listening to gossip. As I do,’ she laughed.
    ‘Who is this lady?’ Rose was curious despite himself.
    She spread her hands regretfully. ‘I do not know, Inspector.’ She laughed as she saw his face fall, and relented. ‘Yes, Inspector, I do. Her name is La Belle Mimosa.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The beautiful Mimosa.’
    ‘Mimosa what?’
    ‘Not what.
La Belle
Mimosa. She is always known thus, and addressed so. As I am Kallinkova. It tells our professions. Mine, the greatest ballerina in the world; hers the most famous courtesan. During the summer she dwells in Paris and Biarritz; in the autumn in Mentone, and the winter in Cannes.’
    ‘Cannes?’ Rose pricked up his ears.
    ‘But yes.
Everyone
must be in Cannes for February and March. I too. I leave tomorrow. Last year I dance for theTsar in St Petersburg, and at the summer palace at Tsarkoie Selo. This year I dance in London, in Paris and now in Monte Carlo. You come to see me, yes? I will dance my Odette just for you, dear Inspector.’
    Cannes? That’s where Auguste was going. Rose dispelled the undutiful thoughts that entered his head, as he left Kallinkova’s house and went out into the biting cold of London’s Mayfair.
    That had been two weeks ago. Since when there had been no further burglaries of Fabergé eggs or their contents – and precious little progress on solving the six that had already taken place. Higgins had been his best bet; a frown crossed Rose’s face as he clambered into the hansom outside The Seamen’s Rest to return to the Yard. There was something odd there somewhere, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Higgins knew something all right. And why did the South of France keep cropping up in the conversation?
    This promised to be an excellent holiday. Auguste stared out at the blue sky through the window. The smell of the Mediterranean wafted in, or rather the smell of the fish in the busy port below them. And above all the smell of his mother’s cooking coming from the tiny old-fashioned kitchen, the smell of the luncheon they were about to begin. Here he was merely a son, not a
maître chef, and his mother had been hurt when he suggested helping her cook the luncheon. It had been a faux pas
of the first order.
    ‘No, my son,’ she had said, firmly, ‘you recall, you cannot even make a
brandade
. Goodness only knows how you look after yourself in London.’ Useless to point out that the unfortunate episode of the
brandade
had taken place twenty-three years ago when he was fifteen. And so he