The Perfectionist

Their faces looked strangely familiar.

'Wondering where you’ve seen them before?' said Billy. 'They’re actors, mostly, earning a little extra between engagements. You know them better as the Perfectionists. They look different out of evening dress, don’t they?'

He knew them now: David Hopkins, the doctor; McPhee, the skene-dhu specialist; Joe Franks, the trunk murderer; Wally Winthrop, the poisoner; and Pitt-Struthers, the martial arts man. In jeans and T-shirts and a little shame-faced at their roles in the deception, they looked totally unthreatening.

'You’ve got to admit it’s a brilliant con,' said Billy. 'Retirement is so boring. I needed to turn my organising skills to something creative, so I thought this up. Mind, it had to be good to take you in.'

'Why me?'

'Well, I knew you were up for it from the old days, and Harry Hitchman-where are you, Harry?'

A voice from the background said, 'Over here.'

'I knew Harry wouldn’t mind playing along. So I rigged it up. Did the job properly. Civil service training. Got the cards printed nicely. Rented the private car and the room and hired the actors and stood you all a decent dinner. I was the Hungarian waiter, by the way, but you were too preoccupied with the others to spot me in my false moustache. And when you took it all in as I knew you would-being such a serious-minded guy-it was worth every penny. I wanted to top it with a wonderful finish, so I dreamed up the suicide,' he quivered with laughter.

'You knew I’d come up here?'

'It was all laid out for your benefit, old sport. You were totally taken in by the perfect murder gag, and you were bound to look for a get out, so I fabricated one for you. Harry told you I’d jumped off the balcony, and when you asked in which hotel, I knew you took the bait.'

'Bastard,' said Duncan.

'Yes, I am,' said Billy without apology. 'It’s my second career.'

'And the woman in the room next door-is she an actress, too?'

'Which woman?'

'On, come on,' said Duncan. 'You’ve had your fun.'

Billy was shaking his head. 'We didn’t expect you to come through the room next door. Is that how you got on the balcony? Typical Duncan Driffield, going the long way round. Which woman are you talking about?'

From the corridor outside came the sound of hammering on a door.

Duncan covered his ears.

'What’s up with him?' said Billy.

***