‘An unfortunate accident,’ said Roach.
‘I demand compensation!’ she wailed, all calmness fled at the broken artefact or perhaps just using it as an excuse to let rip at the law.
McLevy meanwhile had been searching in the melee for a face he knew and thought to glimpse it in the main salon.
Mulholland came through the back door to join the burgeoning kerfuffle and the inspector saw his chance.
‘Ah, constable, no doubt you have important tidings!’ he boomed, crossing past the other two and heading for Mulholland.
McLevy beckoned the constable close as if they were exchanging significant news.
‘You know my tidings,’ muttered Mulholland. ‘They’re not worth a damn.’
‘I must search out someone,’ McLevy said urgently. ‘You must assuage the Countess.’
‘
While Mulholland puzzled out the exact shade of meaning to this word, McLevy turned towards the others.
‘Constable Mulholland is an expert on Persian crockery,’ he announced grandly. ‘He is your man!’
With that he shoved Mulholland towards the Countess and slid past her and the baleful glare of Roach into the main salon, followed by Ballantyne, who had sense enough not to want to stay where he had been which was stuck part way up the stairs and an easy target.
Inside the main salon some of the younger policemen were trying not to stare too obviously at the presented decolletage of the assembled
The court official and his wig had removed to another room. McLevy looked around in vain for his objective yet saw nothing.
Then he noticed that one of the curtains by the window was swaying gently as if someone had slipped behind.
He moved over to stand in front.
‘Ballantyne,’ he whispered. ‘Put your body atwixt me and the rest of the room.’
‘Whit for, sir?’
‘Do as you’re damned well told!’
The constable hopped to it and stood rather awkwardly but served as a barrier between the others and McLevy.
A voice sounded behind. Low enough just to hear.
‘You’re too late, inspector.’
‘I gathered that.’
‘A while before ye arrived. The Countess got a letter. Hand-delivered. Upstairs she went like a shot frae a gun.’
McLevy frowned. Had they been betrayed? But how? Surely not. Unless someone at the station or sheriff’s office had tipped the nod?
That was not possible. Surely.
Yet it would seem as if Binnie might have left because of that delivery.
Or was it all just bad timing?
‘Where is this letter?’ he asked under his breath.
‘In her dress. I saw her stash it there. A hidden pocket just under the bosom.’
The inspector was momentarily disquieted.
‘
‘Aye.’ There was a hint of laughter in the hidden tones. ‘Ye surely know where such has its position.’
McLevy nodded.
‘I owe you for this, Maisie.’
‘I tellt ye. I do it for Jean, not you. Besides, the Countess is an auld bitch.’
McLevy moved away abruptly, followed again by the bewildered Ballantyne who had witnessed his inspector talking to himself and being answered from the ether in the best traditions of mesmerism.
As Maisie emerged from the curtain she caught the eye of Feeney the butler who was standing across, having emerged from the side room.
The woman had no idea whether he had twigged the exchange or not but better safe than sorry.
And anyway she had now nailed her colours to the mast.
She walked over to stare him straight in the eye.
‘If you so much as open your mouth, you will find your means of manhood bouncing before your very eyes. And after that my good friend, Mister McLevy, will throw you in jail for the rest of your life. This is Leith.’
Feeney made a silent resolve to quit the place as soon as possible.
Back to the Earl of Essex. The man was a wastrel and paid badly but castration was low on the agenda.
Mulholland had been discounted as a Middle Eastern specialist by the time McLevy and Ballantyne rejoined the fray, and Roach was getting an earful of condemnation from the Countess to which he had little defence.
‘You have upset my establishment,’ she almost spat at him, ‘destroyed my possessions, and for what? The stupid idea of a stupid man!’
‘And here I am!’
McLevy appeared suddenly with a face like fury, then went on the attack, grand opera style.
‘In the room at the top of your house is a suitcase with clothes of a male persuasion. Who is their master?’
‘They have been so for a good long time. A client left them,’ replied the Countess quickly.
‘Liked tae dress up in smelly socks, did he?’
‘All sorts make the world.’
‘For a good long time, eh?’ McLevy came towards her with what seemed violent intent. ‘And whit about the dregs o’ beer and bits o’ biscuit, are they from long ago as well?’
‘One of the girls perhaps. They are wilful creatures.’
This insouciant response angered the inspector even more, it seemed, and he moved as if to confront the Countess face to face. But as he did so, he caught his foot on one of Mulholland’s large policeman’s boots and tripped headlong to send himself and the Countess crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and rustle of garments.
Her modest dress, by appearance more suited for a sewing circle than a bawdy-hoose, was jerked at rudely by McLevy’s digits as he scrabbled for purchase.
She let out a violated squeak.
‘Remove your hands, sir!’
‘No’ my fault,’ replied McLevy. ‘Mulholland’s feet.’
‘I was nowhere near,’ protested the constable, which in fact was the truth of the matter.
Roach was horrified at the apparent ravishment beneath as McLevy slid on top of the woman.
The hidden bosom-pocket was very well hidden.
‘McLevy. What in God’s name are you doing?’
A high-pitched scream from the Countess came in answer, and then the inspector wrenched back with a folded letter in his hands.
‘Extrication only, sir,’ he explained, and then clambered to his feet as the gallant Ballantyne helped the Countess to hers. Her eyes widened when she saw what McLevy held.
‘Give that back –’
‘Why so?’
‘It belongs to me!’
‘Does it? Let me see.’
He stood at a distance away and stepped back from the tiny hands of the Countess, which were stretching out like talons to reclaim her property.
‘Oh aye. Right enough. Here’s your name at the top.’
