The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7 Part 11

"This is Hogmanay. Scotland takes priority. Mrs Roy knows that because she was married to a Scot." He put an arm around Mabel's shoulder. "Play something from bonnie Scotland."

Cora tried to intervene but Rennie was too drunk to brook any refusal. Wearing the tartan of his clan, he banged the top of the piano with a fist. In order to placate him, Mabel played a Scottish air and Rennie got through one verse before he completely forgot the lines. He was outraged when some of them laughed at him and vented his spleen on Landru.

"What are you grinning at, you frog-faced, b.l.o.o.d.y Frenchman?" he shouted. "This is Hogmanay. We don't need foreign t.u.r.ds like you here." After gulping down some whiskey, he beat his chest. "I'm going to show you a Highland dance."

"Later on, perhaps," said Crippen, taking him by the arm. "I think you need to sit down for a while."

Rennie shrugged him off. "Go away."

"Try to calm down."

"Who wants to calm down on Hogmanay? It's the greatest night of the year for a Scot. Get a wee dram inside you, Dr Crippen, and enjoy the party. You've a face like a smacked a.r.s.e."

"There's no need for vulgarity, Mr Rennie."

"If you won't touch whiskey, drink some of that quack medicine you palm off on people. Maybe that'll cheer you up."

Crippen was hurt. "I'm not a quack," he a.s.serted, "I'm a qualified doctor. It just so happens that my qualifications aren't recognized in England. Now please do us all a favour and sit down."

"Let him alone, Hawley," chided Cora. "Angus is ent.i.tled to show us how he can dance."

"Yes," said Helsing, dryly. "We need some amus.e.m.e.nt."

While the Scotsman moved to the centre of the room, the others drew back to the walls. Crippen moved two chairs out of the way and Cora shifted an aspidistra to safety. A small, cluttered parlour was hardly the ideal dance floor but Rennie was undeterred. While Mabel supplied the stirring music on the piano, he danced a Highland fling by the flickering light of the gas lamps. Rennie showed surprising nimbleness at first, dancing on his toes and holding an arm aloft. At the height of his performance, however, he suddenly lost his balance and tumbled to the floor amid mocking jeers. Hauling himself angrily to his feet, Rennie turned on Helsing this time.

"All right," he challenged, "let's see you dance, Mr Magic."

"I wouldn't be so foolish as to try," replied Helsing.

"Then what can you do?"

"I can hold my whiskey a lot better than you, my friend."

Rennie bristled. "Are you saying that I'm drunk?"

"Otto is saying nothing of the kind," explained Cora, taking Rennie by the elbow. "Now you come and sit over here with me while Otto shows us one of his tricks."

"They're not tricks," corrected Helsing. "They're pure magic."

"There's no such thing," sneered Rennie.

"Wait and see, my friend."

Helsing moved them all to one end of the room and took up a position near the door. Dorothy, meanwhile, had run out into the hall to retrieve the Master of Magic's voluminous cloak from its peg. When she handed it to him, Helsing whisked it through the air, making the gaslight dance crazily.

"What I'm going to do," he announced, "is to make Dotty disappear before your eyes."

Rennie cackled. "I could make her disappear as well," he claimed. "She can disappear up to my room any time she wishes."

"Please be quiet," said Crippen, mildly.

"The same offer goes to you, Mabel. I know you like Scotsmen because you married one. Did he have a kilt like mine?"

"Sit still and watch," said Mabel, hiding her annoyance behind an indulgent smile. "Otto really is a master of his craft."

Taking his cue, Helsing held his cloak out so that its hem touched the floor. After a little curtsy, Dorothy stepped out of sight behind the cloak. Seconds later, Helsing flicked it aside to show that his a.s.sistant had apparently vanished into thin air. Cora, Mabel and Landru clapped in appreciation. Rennie glowered. Crippen wondered how it was done. Helsing gave them no time to work out the secret. With another twirl of his cloak, he held it out for a few seconds then dropped it to the floor. Dorothy had reappeared again, spreading her arms to take the applause.

"That's not magic!" yelled Rennie. "It's a cheat."

"Merveilleux!" said Landru, still clapping. "C'est un miracle."

"Speak English, you snail-eating b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Don't be so rude, Angus," said Cora, reproachfully. "Henri is a guest here. Show him some respect."

"I don't want Hogmanay spoiled by a Frenchie."

"You'll do as you're told."

Crippen spoke surrept.i.tiously to Helsing. "Is there any way you could make Mr Rennie disappear?" he asked.

"I can think of the perfect way," murmured the magician.

"Why don't we all have another drink?" said Mabel, taking charge of the situation. "Then we can play a few games."

Rennie cackled. "And I know just the games to play!"

Crippen had to spring into action. Whenever Cora's friends descended on him, he was given the task of pa.s.sing refreshments around and pouring the drinks. He always felt strangely excluded as if he were a hired waiter rather than the master of the house. It was the same tonight. Alone in the kitchen, he replenished the gla.s.ses. His wife was drinking gin while Helsing and Rennie preferred malt whiskey. Mabel, Dorothy and Landru opted for wine. Crippen himself, never a committed tippler, was happy to nurse a gla.s.s of stout all evening. He could never understand how the others could drink so much. As he handed the gla.s.ses out, he got no sign of grat.i.tude from Rennie and Cora berated him for taking so long.

When the games started, Crippen joined in reluctantly. The noise got louder, the laughter wilder and Angus Rennie progressively more out of control. As the hours rolled by, the Scotsman managed to insult or upset everyone, reserving his real venom for Landru and making the Frenchman's dark eyes blaze with fury. Mabel was caught between them. On learning that she was a wealthy widow, Landru began to court her and even suggested that she might visit Paris with him. Having his own designs on Mabel, Rennie was enraged. He did everything but throw a punch at Landru.

During a lull in the festivities, Crippen took Dorothy aside.

"I wonder if I could ask you a favour, Miss Quinn?" he said.

She was guarded. "What sort of favour, Dr Crippen?"

"I noticed that you have some command of French."

"Oh, I speak it very badly," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "Monsieur Landru was very patient with me."

"What do you make of the fellow?"

"He's very shy but that's understandable. I like him."

"Could you spare me a few minutes?" he asked, escorting her out of the parlour. "There's something I want you to translate."

"My French is not that good, Dr Crippen."

He guided her upstairs and along the landing until they came to Landru's room. Letting her in, he turned up the gas so that light flooded the whole area. Landru was travelling light. All that he'd brought with him was a small valise. Crippen opened it and extracted a newspaper. Dorothy was alarmed.

"Should we be doing this?" she said. "It's private property."

Crippen stiffened. "Landru is under my roof, Miss Quinn. That gives me certain rights, I feel." He opened the newspaper. "There," he said, pointing to an item. "Translate that for me, please."

"I'm not sure that I can."

"This edition is four days' old. There has to be a good reason why Landru has kept it. Tell me what that reason is."

Dorothy studied the item carefully and Crippen was struck afresh at how closely she resembled Ethel le Neve, an employee he'd come increasingly to admire. He controlled a powerful urge to touch her and contented himself with inhaling her delicate perfume. Dorothy was nervous. Fearing that they might be disturbed by the Frenchman, she was anxious to get out of the room quickly. She shook her head.

"I don't know some of the words," she confessed.

"But the police are mentioned, aren't they?" he said.

"Yes and so is Monsieur Landru. This is the word that I can't translate," she went on, indicating it. "Escroquerie."

"What does it mean?"

"I'm not certain, Dr Crippen."

"You must have some idea."

"All I can do is to hazard a guess."

"Go on."

"I think it's something to do with fraud."

"I knew it," said Crippen. "We're harbouring a criminal."

After replacing the newspaper and turning down the light, Crippen led the way out. He sent Dorothy back downstairs alone. Standing in the shadows, he weighed the significance of what he'd just discovered. Landru was on the run. That accounted for his unheralded arrival on their doorstep. He was a swindler. It was Crippen's duty to inform the police at once and he moved off to do so. Then he checked himself. There was no need to rush things. Cora would never forgive him for wrecking the Hogmanay celebrations by having one of their guests arrested. Besides, Crippen wasn't sure that the British police would have any jurisdiction over Landru. He agonized for several minutes about what he should do and decided that he'd simply bide his time. The important thing was that the Frenchman had been identified as a criminal. Crippen resolved to keep a close eye on him.

When he went downstairs, he heard a noise from the kitchen and went to investigate. Mabel Roy was looking in a cupboard.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

"I was searching for some cake," she replied. "Part of the Hogmanay tradition is to give oatmeal cake to children. That's why its other name is Cake-Day."

"We don't have any oatmeal cake."

"Any kind of cake will do. Since we don't have a child either, we'll have to make do with Miss Quinn. She's the youngest here."

"Let's forget about the cake, shall we?" said Crippen, closing the cupboard door. "If Mr Rennie is an example of how Scotsmen behave on Hogmanay, I don't think we need to be too faithful to tradition. I've never seen him so drunk. The man's conduct has been abominable."

"It's only because he's very unhappy."

"Oh?"

Crippen's first impulse had been to get her out of the kitchen as swiftly as possible because it was so embarra.s.singly dirty. Cora didn't believe in cleaning the stove or stacking the utensils in any kind of order. Unwashed crockery stood in the sink and every surface was covered by piles of tins and bottles of alcohol. The only consolation was that the subdued light hid most of the grime. Crippen didn't try to usher her out because Mabel Roy was a shrewd woman. She might have some insight into Rennie's unpardonable antics and he wanted to hear what it was.

"This is only an opinion, mark you," she warned.

"I trust your judgment."

"Well, according to Belle to Cora, that is Angus Rennie was a pleasant man when he lodged here. She spoke fondly of him."

"Mr Rennie was tolerable enough," conceded Crippen.

"I think he's been badly wounded in an affair of the heart. That's why he has that air of desperation about him. Your wife knows him, of course, and is ready to let him take a few liberties but he was very forward with me and more or less pursued poor Miss Quinn into the bas.e.m.e.nt during one of the games." She smiled sadly. "I feel sorry for the man. I know what the loss of a loved one can do to you."

Crippen was about to point out that a blighted romance didn't ent.i.tle Rennie to behave so aggressively but Cora swept into the room.

"Is this true, Mabel?" she demanded. "I've just been speaking to Otto and he tells me there's every possibility of a strike."

"I'd say that it was more of a probability," replied Mabel.

"If we go on strike, we earn no money."

"That's not the way to look at it, Cora. At the moment, we're at the mercy of the managers. Our contracts usually oblige us to perform one matinee a week. But they now want us to add three or four matinees without any extra payment. I call that sheer exploitation."

"I don't care what you call it," said Cora, truculently. "n.o.body will make me go on strike."

"If the Variety Artistes Federation makes the decision, you'll have to obey it. We must stick together."

"My place is on a stage and n.o.body will shift me from it."

"Need we have this discussion in here?" bleated Crippen.

Cora was dismissive. "Oh, be quiet, Hawley!"

"Go into the parlour where we have a fire."

"I'm glad you mentioned the fire," she said. "It's dying. Make yourself useful for a change and fetch some coal." Crippen hesitated. "Off you go, man. We want a good blaze at midnight."

Smarting at her brusque treatment of him, Crippen went into the parlour to retrieve the coal scuttle. Dorothy was at the piano, tapping out a ditty with one finger.

"Where are the others?" asked Crippen.

"There was n.o.body here when I came downstairs," she said, "though I heard Mr Helsing talking to your wife in the dining room."

"What about Landru?"

"I've not seen him for ages, Dr Crippen."

"Say nothing of what we found out about him."

"I won't breathe a word," she promised. "In any case, we don't know that he's a criminal. Just because the French police want him, it doesn't mean that he's done anything wrong. He seems such a kind and attentive gentleman. I can't believe he'd commit a crime."