Of course she knows who I am, thought Hitchcock. Jane Farquhar, being the worldly one, must have recognized me. Jane Farquhar, spy, of all ridiculous casting. Certainly Miss Allerton knows who I am… that remark about Lockwood taking direction. But none of this was in Regner’s scenario. But then, that piece of work was terribly sketchy at best, with holes, as Alma, my darling Alma, had reminded him, big enough to drive hearses through. Holes, which to fill in it was patently up to Hitchcock. Well, they were being filled in, all right.
His eyes darted to Nancy Adair, who walked ahead of him. Who are you really, Miss Adair? You led us to Jane Farquhar when there were at least half a dozen equally as inviting bed and breakfast establishments that you chose to pass over. That look on your face when Miss Allerton told us about the circus, I didn’t miss that. I saw you bite your lower lip and I heard you clear your throat, and if you only had a glimpse of the scenario, which gave you the location of the church in King’s Cross, why should the mention of the circus cause such unrest?
The circus broke camp and departed yesterday. They can’t be far from here. Circuses travel slowly, especially itinerant ones. Cotton candy and popcorn and bangers on a roll. A locked wrought-iron gate kept civilization at bay from Madeleine Lockwood. Miss Allerton had found a large key in her handbag that unlocked the gate. She motioned them inside and then relocked it. They followed her up a short path to the front door, and again Miss Allerton found the proper key. She unlocked the door and motioned them in, then shut the door and said, “Wait here.”
The hallway in which they waited faced a grand, winding staircase that led to the three upper floors. The furnishings, Hitchcock decided, were early Miss Havisham, straight out of Great Expectations. He looked at the ceiling expecting to see cobwebs and was not disappointed. Nancy Adair asked Hitchcock if he found the musty odor of old age and decay less offensive than that of cigarette smoke, but Hitchcock ignored the question. He was watching Phoebe Allerton ascending the impressive staircase in search of their hostess. Portraits hung along the staircase, and Hitchcock moved closer for a better look in the dim light. Nancy Adair realized she was shivering in this foreboding atmosphere and looked for somewhere to sit, but there were no accommodations.
“These things must be worth a bloody fortune/’ said Hitchcock. One of the portraits was a John Singer Sargent. Another was by Mary Cassatt. The Whistler had to be worth a pretty penny too.
“How nice! You like my gallery!”
Startled by the sudden sound of a strange voice, Hitch- cock turned to the head of the staircase, and there stood an apparition that had to be Madeleine Lockwood. Phoebe Allerton stood a few feet behind her, clutching her handbag tightly.
“Your gallery is most impressive,” said Hitchcock, as Nancy Adair came up behind him for a better look at the apparition.
Madeleine Lockwood, they knew, had once been a great beauty. Time had not been kind, but she had obviously made Spartan efforts to defeat time at its dirty work. Her face was heavily rouged, lipsticked, and mascarad. Piled atop her head was a ratty red wig of a color to defy the sunrise. From her ears dangled a pair of heavy emerald ear- rings. Around her neck she wore a black choker, an obvious camouflage for the wrinkles. There was no way to camouflage her wattles. She wore a heavily brocaded hostess gown more suitable to an evening party forty years ago. A pearl necklace and several pins and brooches adorned her. Her hands were covered in black lace gloves and she was wielding a feathered fan. If she’d appeared at the circus in this getup yesterday, thought Hitchcock, she must have caused one hell of a sensation. She was descending the staircase slowly, followed by Phoebe Allerton. Miss Lockwood paused at each portrait and identified the subject as she fanned herself lightly.
“This is Le Comte du Ferrante. He was beheaded in 1912 for disclosing state secrets to the Croatians. A very poor businessman. The Croatians never paid well.” She came down a few more steps and then paused. “This is Dimitri Razumov, purported to be one of Rasputin’s lovers. At the time of the Russian Revolution, he tried to sell out the new government to the Americans, but they weren’t interested. Dimitri faced a firing squad, but without a blindfold, bless him. And here we have Adriana Borgesi, one of the unsung heroines of espionage. She escaped to Switzerland from Italy when II Duce came to power, and he sent a hit squad to track her down and assassinate her. But she was too smart for them. Friends spirited her out of Switzerland into Holland, where a tramp steamer took her to Canada.” She walked down the stairs slowly. “From Canada she went to Hollywood. I am told she is doing quite well playing bits and extras in the movies.” She laughed a dry little laugh. ‘“Knowing Adriana, she’s probably peddling secrets from studio to studio. She was a very wicked little minx.” Miss Lockwood held a gloved hand out to Hitchcock. Entering into the spirit of her game, Hitchcock kissed her hand lightly. She said, “I
