‘No, Rupe, no! She’s a criminal! Come to think of it, how do you even know someone like that?’
‘In my line of work’ – a wintry smile – ‘you meet all sorts.’
‘When you introduced me to her in the pub the other night I simply couldn’t believe it. The woman’s a blackmailer, a black marketeer and a burglar, for heaven’s sake. She should be in jail!’
They’d been sheltering in The Grenadier, hidden in a Knightsbridge cul-de-sac, during yet another bombing raid. The pint-sized black-eyed girl had been in a corner, laughing and having a ball, but the tales she told were not victimless.
‘Look,’ said Guy, ‘I don’t judge anybody. I lived in Tangier for over five years – there are precious few rules there, and no laws to speak of – certainly no morals – but I’ve never encountered someone like her. She’s without a single scruple.’
‘Is that so shocking?’ said Rupe, pouring them both another shot. ‘The world is changing. We live in an age of legalised murder – is what she’s doing worse than that?’
‘And then she said she wanted to marry me!’
‘She’s very beautiful, Guy.’
‘For heaven’s sake. Preposterous!’
‘If the deadline’s dawn tomorrow, she’s your only hope.’
Guy swallowed the whisky at a gulp.
Rodie stood on the self-same step occupied by the ancient colonel only a few hours before, only this time the door was wide open.
‘What kept you, Rupe?’ she whispered, but her big eyes were looking out for Guy. ‘Come on in!’
Markham Street was in complete darkness, but inside the house a small light shone from a candle on the hall table. From down the road a hoarse voice yelled, ‘Put that light OUT!’
‘Get inside,’ ordered Guy, and all three crowded into the narrow hall. He shut the door quickly.
‘Move quietly,’ he warned. ‘The man next door can hear. In fact, why don’t you two just go and sit in the kitchen while I check around? And make sure the curtains are drawn before you switch on any lights.’
The house was roomier on the inside than its cramped exterior suggested. He made his way upstairs aided by the feeble light of a torch and stepped into the front bedroom. The house smelt musty, the air in it still, suspended; it took no time for Guy to conclude that what the colonel said was true – nobody had lived here for many weeks. He had no idea what he was looking for, but, pausing to pull together the curtains, he switched on the overhead light and looked about.
‘Did you think any more about my marriage proposal?’ Rodie had crept silently up the stairs on plimsolled feet and was standing in the doorway dressed from head to toe in black.
‘Your workaday outfit, I see,’ said Guy dismissively. She did look extraordinarily beautiful. ‘Why don’t you get a proper job?’
‘I’m probably better off than you are,’ she retorted. ‘And who’s to say what a proper job is these days? What are you doing sitting behind a desk in that dusty old room in the back end of the Palace? Rupe said you come from Tangier.’
‘Look,’ said Guy, ‘this is no time to be exchanging curriculum vitae. And you can damned well put those down, for a start.’
He’d noticed that in one gloved hand Rodie had a small gilt travelling clock and in the other an ornate silver box.
‘Nobody’ll miss ’em.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ he hissed. ‘We’re in the house of a man who’s killed himself. We don’t know the circumstances, but it’s a tragedy. To many, he was a wonderful, kind, generous chap, and he’s dead.’
‘Wonderful, kind, generous – and with no need for these any more,’ said Rodie, oblivious to the tragedy which hung over the house.
‘Do you have a brain?’ said Guy. ‘If so, use it! The man who lived here disappeared from this house a couple of months ago. He was coming into the office every day, but he never came home at night. I’m looking for a letter, a note – something – which might tell me where he was when he claimed to be here.’
‘If I were you, I’d try his desk, then,’ snapped Rodie. ‘You won’t find too many clues in a bedroom.’
They went downstairs. Rupe was already in the small room beyond the kitchen which Ed Brampton had used as his study. The desk was open, and Rupe was neatly collating and piling the papers inside.
‘I’ve had a look through but there’s nothing helpful here,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Couple of unpaid bills, begging letter from his sister, some palace bumf which by rights should never have left his office. That’s about it.’
Guy was astonished. ‘You’ve done all that? You’re not a burglar too, are you, Rupert?’
The man turned round with an enigmatic smile. ‘There are many departments in the General Post Office. Not all of them employ people to shove letters through somebody’s front door.’
‘Well, I didn’t suppose you . . .’
‘Guy,’ said Rupe, ‘do you have any idea what you’re doing here?’
‘Well, since you put it like that, no. I felt I had to get into the house just to make sure all was in order. Then I thought there might be a clue as to where Ed had been staying before he shot himself . . .’
‘You’re sure he did that? Shot himself?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Nothing,’ said Rupe, turning back and closing the desk. ‘There’s a small safe in the wall behind that picture.’
‘My turn!’ whispered Rodie joyously, and slid across the room.
‘Wait, wait . . . Hold on a minute!’ said Guy, running his hands through his hair. ‘This is supposed to be a house-cleaning operation, not a full-scale burglary.’
‘Won’t be a jiffy,’ whispered Rodie, her ear against the combination lock. Guy looked on helplessly – as a mission leader he was a failure, with his two underlings completely out of control, robbing him of all initiative.
The safe door offered little in the way of self-defence and soon they were poking in its murky interior. ‘Are they rich?’ said Rodie, sifting through a pile of small leather boxes. Her nimble fingers were opening the catches and evaluating the jewels within.
‘Come away!’ hissed Guy. ‘That’s private property! This is disgraceful!’
Rodie turned round to look at him and slowly smiled. She was doing it just to irritate him. ‘Don’t you think I look nice in this?’ she teased, stringing a heavy diamond necklace round her black polo neck.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ spluttered Guy. ‘Put it back and let’s get out of here. We’ve achieved the main objective. The rest can wait.’
Rupe led the way.
‘Incidentally,’ Guy said to Rodie, ‘how did you get into the house, as a matter of interest?’
‘That’d be telling,’ she said as she gave him a peck on the cheek.
‘ . . . and a great friend of the Duchess of Windsor, of course.’
‘We won’t talk about that, if you don’t mind.’
‘How are they getting on in the Bahamas? We hear so little these days.’