Safer Dead

‘That’s right,’ I said, and as she didn’t appear to recognize me I decided not to mention the Golden Apple club. ‘I’m hoping you can help me, Mrs. Van Blake. It’s kind of you to see me.’

The butler came in with a tray of drinks which he set on a table.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said. She waved to a lounging chair and sat down nearby.

The butler asked me what I would drink. I asked for a highball, and while he fixed it, we sat in silence. He gave her a brandy in a balloon glass and then went away.

‘What is it you want?’ she asked as soon as he had shut the door behind him.

‘I’m a crime writer,’ I said, aware of her hostility. ‘I’m interested in the movements of Joan Nichols. I understand you met her in Paris last year?’

She looked down at her brandy glass, her face expressionless, then she looked up at me and her eyes told me nothing.

‘I meet so many people. I don’t remember anyone called Joan Nichols. Are you sure you’re not making a mistake?’

‘You were in Paris in August last year, Mrs. Van Blake?’

‘I was.’

‘Joan Nichols was a showgirl, working in Paris at that time. I understand she had dinner with you at your hotel more than once.’

She frowned and moved impatiently.

‘It’s possible. I really don’t remember,’ she said, giving an irritable little shrug. ‘How do you know this?’

I couldn’t make up my mind if she really didn’t remember or if she were lying. I had an idea that behind the expressionless mask there was tension, but it was only an idea.

‘Miss Nichols told her friends she had dinner with you,’ I said, ‘but it isn’t important. I don’t want to bother you with this. I was hoping you would remember, but of course you must meet a lot of people. I can easily check at the Paris hotel.’

A little of the brandy suddenly jumped out of her glass and made a spot on her skirt. I didn’t see her start, but the splash of brandy was a giveaway. She looked up.

‘But you wouldn’t go all the way to Paris to find out if she dined with me or not, surely?’ she said, staring.

‘It’s the policy of the magazine I work for to check every fact before we print it. I was hoping you would remember the girl and save me the time of going to Paris, but as you can’t, I’ll have to go.’

‘How extraordinary. Why is it so important?’

‘I’m trying to fill in the girl’s background. It seems she had a talent for making friends with rich people. I’ve no proof of this. Her friends tell me she claimed to know you and dined with you. That’s quite a story, Mrs. Van Blake. After all she was just an ordinary showgirl, and to have become friendly with you shows she must have had a lot of talent. On the other hand, she may have been lying. If I go to Paris, I might dig up other wealthy people who met her.’

‘I would like to help you,’ she said, passing her slim fingers across her forehead. ‘Let me think now. I do vaguely remember meeting a girl. She was rather pretty if she’s the one. Yes, I think I do remember her.’

‘You did meet her then?’

‘I suppose I must have. I don’t recall her name, but I’m not good about people’s names.’ She drank a little brandy before saying, ‘Yes, I’m sure I met her. I can’t remember just how. I was on my own in Paris. I was waiting for my husband. I dare say the girl amused me. I do vaguely recollect asking her to dine with me.’

It was quite nicely done, but not well enough to fool me. She had remembered Joan Nichols as soon as I had mentioned her. I was sure of that. Why had my bluff about going to Paris suddenly smoked her out?

‘What was your hotel, Mrs. Van Blake?’

She looked up and for a brief flash there was a wary, angry expression in her eyes.

‘I stayed at the George V.’

‘You don’t remember how this girl made friends with you?’

‘I don’t. We probably met in a shop. I believe that was it.’ I could almost hear her thinking. ‘Yes, of course. I do remember. She didn’t speak French and was in trouble with a shopkeeper. I came to the rescue. Yes, that was it.’

I was sure now she was lying, and I had trouble in keeping my own expression deadpan.

‘Did you like her?’

‘For goodness sake!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I must have liked her to have invited her to dinner, Mr. Sladen. I scarcely remember the girl. I meet so many people. Is that all, because if it is . . .’ She got to her feet and stood looking at me.

I got up.

‘I guess that is all. It was just a matter of checking. It was nice of you to see me.’

‘Why are you interested in this girl? Didn’t you say you were a crime writer? Is she in trouble?’

‘Not now: she’s dead. She was murdered on August 20th of last year: a few days after her return from Paris. The police tell me she was a blackmailer,’ I said, watching her closely, but she didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘I see. It just shows how careful one should be in making acquaintances of strangers.’

‘That’s right,’ I said and as she moved towards the wall bell, I went on, ‘That’s a fine portrait of you. I had no idea Lennox Hartley, could do work like that.’