Rum Affair Read Free Page A

had been seen to enter, obviously, by the neighbours. Perhaps Kenneth had even been seen to depart. The question was, when had he left? Before or after the beastly figure in the wardrobe had arrived? It occurred to me that, unshaven as he was, the man who lay bundled behind that locked door hadn’t looked like a layabout. Could the thief have committed the murder, in a panic, then shoved the dead man in the wardrobe and left? But no one had left. The sergeant was saying so, comfortably. “It seems pretty clear from the enquiries we’ve made, that if the chap came into one of these houses, he’s still there. These front door locks would present no problem to him. But you’ve heard nothing, Miss?”
    I shook my head.
    “And you’re alone in the flat? Might I ask when you came?”
    I told him. He knew, obviously, already. A street of busybodies.
    “And I’m told that the gentleman Mr Chigwell sometimes lends the flat to, left a little before that?”
    There was a question in the voice. The champagne glasses, of course. “He’s my brother-in-law,” I said. “We were to meet here for a drink, but I found a note saying he’d been called out. I waited a bit in case he came back.”
    I held my breath but he didn’t pursue that. He was only concerned with the man he was chasing, after all. I gave him the name and Edinburgh hotel address of a fictitious Miss Smith of Blackheath and then stood like a dummy while he shut up his notebook and announced that he was now going to search the flat.
    “But there’s no one in it,” I said. “I would have heard them. I’m absolutely sure.”
    “Well now,” said the sergeant. He had a bass baritone voice of a kind I particularly dislike. “You were asleep for a bit, didn’t you say? And he’d make much less noise than a doorbell. You can be quite sure of that.”
    “It won’t take long,” said the other policeman brightly. He was a tenor. “And you’ll feel a lot safer, I guarantee, afterwards.”
    I could hear my voice rise a little. “But I’m not staying here anyway. I meant to leave long before this.” I followed the sergeant into a bedroom. “Look, do you need me any more now? It’s late. I’d like to go off.” They had moved into the kitchen.
    Someone took me by the arm and I jumped. A pair of bifocal glasses, topped by two black eyebrows, shone into my face. “They’ll only look under a few beds and then go off,” said my third visitor kindly. “Routine, you know. Why not let me make you a cup of tea while they do it, and then I’ll find you a taxi?” And, while I drew breath to answer, he had the effrontery to press my hand. The bifocals flashed.
    “You dropped this, Madame Tina,” he murmured. And closed my fingers, gently, over the pieces of Kenneth Holmes’ card.

 
     
TWO
    My mind, I think, was perfectly blank while I sat there in front of the almost-dead fire staring at the champagne glasses and listening to the hiss of Bifocals filling the kettle in Mr Chigwell’s neat kitchen, and the soft sounds of the policemen moving all through the flat. Bedroom. Bedroom. Bathroom. Now there was only the hall. In the kitchen, I heard the rattle of cups. Since he had given me Kenneth’s torn up card Bifocals had spoken to neither policeman: why? He knew I was Tina Rossi, it seemed. It was to be expected. I am famous. He now knew, for the fragments were all too easy to read, with whom I had an assignation for tonight. Still, he showed no haste to expose me.
    I didn’t know whether my money or my virtue was in jeopardy, and I didn’t, immediately, care. I could deal with bifocal gentlemen if I must. I couldn’t deal with the law.
    And the law were now in the hall. Every nerve in my body heard that wardrobe door rattle and pause.
    “Miss Smith!” It was the sergeant. “D’you know why this door is locked?”
    I got up and went through. The hall wardrobe stood firmly locked as I had left it, the key in my bag. “No. I haven’t locked it,” I