'Of all the ungrateful wretches! Aren't you going to tell me what it's all about?'
He called back: 'I'll come and tell you the whole story later.'
'Sez you,' murmured Mrs Rees-Talbot.
Downstairs, Betty waited with Race's hat and stick.
He thanked her and passed out. On the doorstep he paused.
'By the way,' he said, 'was the name Morelli?'
Betty's face lighted up.
'Quite right, sir. That was it. Tony Morelli that's the name he told her to forget. And he said he'd been in prison, too.'
Race walked down the steps smiling.
From the nearest call-box he put through a call to Kemp.
Their interchange was brief but satisfactory.
Kemp said: 'I'll send off a cable at once. We ought to hear by return. I must say it will be a great relief if you're right.'
'I think I'm right. The sequence is pretty clear.'
Chapter 8
Chief Inspector Kemp was not in a very good humour.
For the last half-hour he had been interviewing a frightened white rabbit of sixteen who, by virtue of his uncle Charles's great position, was aspiring to be a waiter of the class required by the Luxembourg . In the meantime, he was one of six harried underlings who ran about with aprons round their waists to distinguish them from the superior article, and whose duty it was to bear the blame for everything, fetch and carry, provide rolls and pats of butter and be occasionally and unceasingly hissed at in French, Italian and occasionally English. Charles, as befitted a great man, so far from showing favour to a blood relation, hissed, cursed and swore at him even more than he did at the others. Nevertheless Pierre aspired in his heart to be no less than the head waiter of a chic restaurant himself one day in the far future.
At the moment, however, his career had received a check, and he gathered that he was suspected of no less than murder.
Kemp turned the lad inside out and disgustedly convinced himself that the boy had done no less and no more than what he had said – namely, picked up a lady's bag from the floor and replaced it by her plate.
'It is as I am hurrying with sauce to M. Robert and already he is impatient, and the young lady sweeps her bag off the table as she goes to dance, so I pick it up and put it on the table, and then I hurry on, for already M. Robert he is making the signs frantically to me. That is all, monsieur.'
And that was all. Kemp disgustedly let him go, feeling strongly tempted to add, 'But don't let me catch you doing that sort of thing again.'
Sergeant Pollock made a distraction by announcing that they had telephoned up to say that a young lady was asking for him or rather for the officer in charge of the Luxembourg case.
'Who is she?'
'Her name is Miss Chloe West.'
'Let's have her up,' said Kemp resignedly. 'I can give her ten minutes. Mr Farraday's due after that. Oh, well, won't do any harm to keep him waiting a few minutes. Makes them jittery, that does.'
When Miss Chloe West walked into the room, Kemp was at once assailed by the impression that he recognised her. But a minute later he abandoned that impression.
No, he had never seen this girl before, he was sure of that. Nevertheless the vague haunting sense of familiarity remained to plague him.
Miss West was about twenty-five, tall, brown-haired and very pretty. Her voice was rather conscious of its diction and she seemed decidedly nervous.
'Well, Miss West, what can I do for you?' Kemp spoke briskly.
'I read in the paper about the Luxembourg – the man who died there.'
'Mr George Barton? Yes? Did you know him?'
'Well, no, not exactly. I mean I didn't really know him.'
Kemp looked at her carefully and discarded his first deduction.
Chloe West was looking extremely refined and virtuous – severely so. He said pleasantly:
'Can I have your exact name and address first, please, so that we know where we are?'
'Chloe Elizabeth West. 15 Merryvale Court , Maida Vale. I'm an actress.'
Kemp looked at her again out of the corner of his eye, and decided that that was what she really was. Repertory, he fancied – in spite of her looks she was the earnest kind.
'Yes, Miss West?'
'When I read about Mr Barton's death and that the – the police were inquiring into it, I thought perhaps I ought to come and tell you something. I spoke to my friend about it and she seemed to think so. I don't suppose it's really anything to do with it, but –'
Miss West paused.
'We'll be the judge of that,' said Kemp pleasantly. 'Just tell me about it.'
'I'm not acting just at the moment,' explained Miss West.
Inspector Kemp nearly said 'Resting' to show that he knew the proper terms, but restrained himself.
'But my name is down at the agencies and my picture in Spotlight… That, I understand, is where Mr Barton saw it. He got into touch with me and explained what he wanted me to do.'
'Yes?'
'He told me he was having a dinner party at the Luxembourg and that he wanted to spring a surprise on his guests. He showed me a photograph and told me that he wanted me to make up as the original. I was very much the same colouring, he said.'
Illumination flashed across Kemp's mind. The photograph of Rosemary he had seen on the desk in George's room in Elvaston Square . That was who the girl had reminded him of. She was like Rosemary Barton – not perhaps startlingly so – but the general type and cast of features was the same.
'He also brought me a dress to wear – I've brought it with me. A greyish green silk. I was to do my hair like the photograph (it was a coloured one) and accentuate the resemblance with make-up. Then I was to come to the Luxembourg and go into the restaurant during the first cabaret show and sit down at Mr Barton's table where there would be a vacant place. He took me to lunch there and showed me where the table would be.'
'And why didn't you keep the appointment, Miss West?'
'Because about eight o'clock that night – someone – Mr Barton – rang up and said the whole thing had been put off. He said he'd let me know next day when it was coming off. Then the next morning, I saw his death in the papers.'
'And very sensibly you came along to us,' said Kemp pleasantly. 'Well, thank you very much, Miss West. You've cleared up one mystery – the mystery of the vacant place. By the way, you said just now – 'someone' – and then, 'Mr Barton.' Why is that?'
'Because at first I didn't think it was Mr Barton. His voice sounded different.'
'It was a man's voice?'
'Oh, yes, I think so – at least – it was rather husky as though he had a cold.'
'And that's all he said?'
'That's all.'
Kemp questioned her a little longer, but got no further.
When she had gone, he said to the sergeant: 'So that was George Barton's famous 'plan.' I see now why they all said he stared at the empty chair after the cabaret and looked queer and absent-minded. His precious plan had gone wrong.'
'You don't think it was he who put her off?'
'Not on your life. And I'm not so sure it was a man's voice, either. Huskiness is a good disguise through the
