A Novel by A. J. Hartley

Author:A. J. Hartley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781466891692
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

We have your nefew, Arnold. If you want to see his safe return, go to the end stall in the lady’s toilets half an hour after the opera has begun. Bring your necklace. Tell no one and come alone or the consiquences will be dyre.

I looked up.

“Well?” said Andrews. “What can you tell me about this?”

“It’s badly spelled?” I said.

“I mean,” he persisted, with an effort at composure, “did you write it?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Have you seen it before or heard anyone refer to it?”

“No.”

He stared me down for another second, then glanced at Willinghouse. My employer, if he still was that, said nothing. “The man you pursued,” said Andrews. “Did he say or do anything that might suggest he was … foreign?”

“Are you asking if he was black?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“He’s asking if he was Grappoli,” said Willinghouse. He sounded annoyed.

I shook my head. “He never spoke,” I said.

Andrews frowned. “What happened to the necklace?” he asked.

“I didn’t see it,” I answered.

“Not at all?”

“It was gone when I got there,” I said.

“And you didn’t see it on the person of the man you say took it?”

“Well, he wasn’t wearing it, if that’s what you mean,” I said, looking up for the first time.

“Well, no,” he said, irritated. “But you didn’t see him pocket it or something?”

“He could have had it in his hand the whole time and I wouldn’t have seen it.”

“You saw no sign of its light?”

“Light?”

“It had a luxorite stone in it,” he said, clearly disappointed.

“No. Where is my mistress?” I asked, trying to sound concerned. “Is she angry with me?”

“Well,” said Willinghouse, his voice low and hard, his eyes flashing green fire. “At very least, you disrupted a major society event, causing her great personal embarrassment and leading to her being escorted from the building—in front of Bar-Selehm’s elite—in the company of a police officer. Whether you stole anything or not, your conduct was rash and unseemly.”

“Will she—?” I began, then retooled the question, acutely aware of sitting in no more than a blanket and borrowed underwear. “Am I to be dismissed? From her service, I mean.”

Willinghouse pursed his lips. His scarred cheek flexed as he clamped his teeth together for a moment, as if he was seriously considering the possibility; then he breathed out and shook his head briefly. “Not this time,” he said.

I relaxed—doubly so when, after a nod from Andrews, the uniformed officer squatted at my feet and unlocked my shackles.

“The lady’s nephew,” I said. “Is he all right?”

“Always was,” said Andrews. “There was no kidnapping. The young man lives in Harrisberg. Officers were dispatched on the first available train and found him enjoying a champagne breakfast at home with friends. A simple ruse, but an effective one.”

* * *

WILLINGHOUSE MARCHED ME OUT of the station without a word, waiting until we were a block away before turning on me. I was dressed in my own—freshly laundered—clothes and boots, which he had brought from the house, and felt, insofar as was possible, more like my old self.

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