We are ‘between jobs’ at the moment. There’s a Soviet agent we need to keep an eye on, and a couple of Germans and an Austrian who need to be warned off, but mostly it’s quiet (you might wish to take this opportunity to read between the lines and work out why Lady Hardcastle was so keen to get us to the Innsbruck Sinfonia’s performance at the Colston Hall, and why the second chair trombonist now has such a haunted look in his eye). All of which means that I should welcome the opportunity to get stuck into a proper mystery again. It’s been a while since we had to find any lost treasure. There was a case in Warsaw before the war that involved a diamond diadem – that was a hoot. And, of course, there was a stolen emerald in Littleton Cotterell where I first met darling Skins. But treasure maps and concealed vaults? I’m ever so slightly jealous, so please keep me up to date with any progress. If there’s a puzzle to be solved, I’d love to have a go.
I’m sure you don’t need any guidance but I’ve been working for Herself for too long and her habit of offering unsolicited advice has rather rubbed off on me. I’m not sure there’s a secret to it, though, to be honest. I gather Supt Sunderland was planning to ask them just to keep their eyes and ears open for him. Vague and seemingly unhelpful though that may be, it’s pretty much all they need to do. They need to get to know their ‘targets’. Find out who they are, watch what they get up to . . . We’d do nothing much more.
I suppose I might poke around the club if I thought I could get away with it – see if the building could reveal any of its secrets. I know many have tried and failed over the years, but it never hurts to have a look for yourself. Lady Hardcastle, meanwhile, would charm all and sundry into being horribly indiscreet – people do love to talk. But we’re not possessed of magical powers so there’s nothing we could do that ‘the boys’ can’t. Apart from some skilled breaking and entering – I still haven’t lost my skill with a picklock – but Skins always seemed like someone who could pick a lock. I’d wager there are a few tales from his past he hasn’t told either of us.
Meanwhile, though, don’t forget to see if you can adjust your plans so we might meet for lunch on the first.
Your friend
Flo
Chapter Three
The Aristippus Club occupied a large – yet oddly discreet – building almost hidden away in the backstreets of Mayfair. It had taken Skins and Dunn about half an hour to push the handcart the mile or so from New Row, and Dunn was not in a cheerful mood.
‘How long till your missus gets her hands on her inheritance?’ he said as they heaved the recalcitrant cart round to the yard at the rear of the club.
‘Four more years yet,’ said Skins.
Dunn grunted. ‘Do us a favour when the time comes? Tenth anniversary is tin, right? Ask her for a car – they’re made of tin. A nice big one with plenty of room for drums and basses.’
‘You could always buy one yourself if it’s that important to you.’
‘On our wages?’
‘We’ve just had another fantastic month. What else do you spend your money on?’
‘Not birds, that’s for sure. Not these past couple of months, anyway.’
‘There you go, then. Treat yourself to a nice new motor. Or a second-hand one.’
‘I’d much sooner moan at you to get one if I’m honest, mate.’
Skins knocked on the back door. ‘That’s what I thought.’
The door was opened by a liveried flunkey.
‘Yes?’ he said.
Skins was impressed that the man had made such an apparently short and simple word last almost two seconds.
‘We’re with the band,’ he said. ‘We need to bring our gear in.’
‘Your gear?’ Another two syllables; another three seconds.
Skins indicated the handcart and its musical burden.
‘Ah,’ said the flunkey. ‘Your . . . gear. You must be from the Finchley Foot-Tappers.’
‘No, they couldn’t make it. We’re the Dizzy Heights.’
‘Are you? I thought you played at the club on Fridays.’
‘We do.’
‘But today is Tuesday.’
‘We’re early.’
‘Wait here, please.’
He closed the door.
‘I could have stayed in bed,’ said Dunn.
‘I could be with Ellie and the kids,’ said Skins.
The flunkey returned.
‘This way,’ he said. ‘You may leave your . . . cart there.’
They grabbed as much as they could carry but that still left a fair amount to be fetched in.
‘You couldn’t lend a hand, could you, mate?’ said Dunn, nodding towards the snare drum and traps case still on the cart.
The man frowned. Clearly this idea had never occurred to him and he was struggling with the novelty of it. ‘A hand?’ he said at length. ‘I shall get one of the boys to bring your remaining . . . “gear” to the ballroom.’
‘You’re most kind,’ said Skins.
They followed the flunkey through the familiar maze of servants’ corridors, up a flight of stone steps to the main part of the building and along another, this time marble-floored corridor that ended at a set of double doors. The flunkey threw them open to reveal the spacious ballroom. The walls were hung with portraits of notable former club members, the ceiling with extraordinarily elaborate chandeliers.
‘Looks even better in the daylight,’ said Skins. ‘Very elegant.’
‘Is it?’ said the flunkey. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know.’
‘Definitely elegant,’ said Skins. ‘Ballrooms are always “elegant”. Mountains are always “majestic”. And barmaids are always “buxom”. It’s the law. You can look it up.’
The flunkey seemed impervious to badinage. ‘They’ll want you down at that end.’
‘On the stage?’ said Dunn. ‘Where the band usually goes? I’m not sure I like the idea of that.’
‘The boy will be here presently with the rest of your impedimenta.’
‘You’re a diamond,’ said Skins. ‘Oh, before you go . . . Don’t suppose you know anything about the Treasure of the Mayfair Murderer? You know, what with you being a long-standing loyal servant of the club and all that.’
‘I’m afraid I cannot say, sir.’
‘Can’t say, or don’t know?’ said Dunn.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the flunkey. ‘There are rumours, of course, but nothing more than that.’
‘So you don’t know where the vault is?’ asked Skins.
‘I should be living it up in the south of France if I knew that, sir.’
‘You and me both, mate. Do you reckon the rumours are true?’
‘There are so many. Some say the entrance is concealed in plain sight along one of the corridors. Some say it is hidden in the darkest depths of the most inaccessible parts of the cellars. Some say it opens with a simple key. Some say there are puzzles to be solved. I even heard – you’ll love this one, sir – I even heard that the door can only be opened by satanic ritual.’ The flunkey laughed.