Death with Blue Ribbon Read online

  ‘There. I thought so. People don’t like to wake up and find one of those creeping round the room. Then …’ She paused for breath. ‘Then there’s Bridger grinning all over his face. What he got to grin about I’d like to know, except that he’s chasing after that Gloria Gee, as she calls herself. What you say about her, eh? Nice thing to have him waltzing up to her room every night, or so I’m told he does, and it wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Don’t you approve of anyone, Mrs Boot?’

  ‘Eh? Well, I don’t like those that say things behind your back, like Molt does. They call him a wine waiter. I’d like to know what would have been said in Mistr’an Misses Cheeseman’s time if anyone had called himself a wine-waiter. Not that they were much to write home about. He was caught with one of the girls they had working here and she had a nasty way of spying on anyone and writing D-U-S-T with her finger on anything there wasn’t time to get round to.’

  Carolus was determined to break this disapprobationary sequence.

  ‘What about young Davy Paton?’ he asked.

  ‘What about him? Thinks too much of himself for my liking. Playing silly jokes half the time. He’s another who talks. I’ve heard what he says about people. I always say if you can’t say anything good about anyone don’t say anything at all.’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘Well I must be getting on otherwise they’ll think I don’t do my work in the morning.’

  She nodded unsmilingly and left Carolus to reconsider her information.

  So Imogen was making the most of it. Carolus could imagine her having death-bed scenes and wondered if they would be televised.

  He dressed and went downstairs and found Rolland.

  ‘You ought to be pleased,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Rolland.

  ‘The press haven’t mentioned the name of your restaurant.’

  ‘What good will that do? She’s going to sue me.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure. It must depend on the medical evidence.’

  ‘Dr Jyves our local man couldn’t find anything wrong with her. She raged like a lunatic, called him incompetent and ordered him out of the room. Now she has sent for a specialist.’

  ‘All the same, the first attack was half a failure.’

  ‘They’ll soon do something else. Worse probably. I think I shall pay. It’s scandalous but you don’t seem able to do anything about it. I can’t go on like this.’

  ‘I shouldn’t do that,’ said Carolus. He foresaw an end to the visits of Rivers and the rest and the collapse of his own efforts.

  ‘Why not? Yesterday you wouldn’t advise me one way or the other. What makes you tell me not to pay it now?’

  He was insistent, looking desperately for some hope.

  ‘I shouldn’t. That’s all. I can’t say much but I have made a start. Hold out as long as you can.’

  Rolland was not a fool. Sly, selfish, mean, but quite intelligent.

  ‘Play it off the cuff,’ Carolus advised him. ‘With any luck they’ll give you some breathing space. As for Imogen Marvell, whatever she ate…’

  ‘That’s just it. She must have been given something. Who do you suppose…’

  ‘Whatever she ate she probably brought up when she vomited. The carpet was cleaned at once of course?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then I doubt if she can prove it was anything she had here.’

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘Why? But I should take those scampi off the menu if I were you.’

  ‘I have,’ said Rolland, tragically.

  Six

  It was clear that Imogen Marvell intended to make her presence felt positively and at every moment of the day. Though reported by Miss Trudge to be remaining in bed ‘seriously ill’ she succeeded in disturbing the routine of the Fleur-de-Lys and no one, from Antoine to Gloria Gee, was allowed to forget that there was a Very Important Invalid in number four.

  Miss Trudge was everywhere. Because it disturbed Imogen to have the telephone in her room used, she hurried about looking distraught and carrying out Imogen’s orders.

  At ten o’clock arrived the first of those summoned from London to Imogen’s bedside. This was her sister Grace Marvell. After a brief interview with the suffering woman, during which she was called elegantly ‘a clumsy cow’, she was dismissed and came down to the bar for a reviver. Carolus fell into conversation with her.

  She was a dumpy, jolly little woman who seemed quite unperturbed by her sister’s bad temper and illness.

  ‘Nothing wrong with her,’ she confided to Carolus. ‘Just tantrums that’s all. But that silly old Trudge plays up to her.’

  ‘Miss Trudge is devoted to your sister?’

  ‘A dog-like devotion. Or bitch-like. I can’t bear her. Flying about as though she was on fire. Imogen attracts that type, I suppose.’

  ‘Do you share your sister’s gastronomic interests, Miss Marvell?’

  ‘I taught her all she knows—which isn’t much. It never struck me as important. I knew how to cook but so do millions of women. It took Imogen to turn the knowledge to money.’

  ‘I read a newspaper article of hers in which she spoke of your grandmother, the Baronne, from whom she learned the secrets, she said, of the cuisine française.’

  Grace Marvell grinned.

  ‘Granny was a railway porter’s wife who lived in Pimlico. All she could cook was kippers and spuds. It was a joke in the family.’

  ‘It must have been your maternal grandmother,’ said Carolus kindly.

  ‘I believe she had been connected with catering—as a waitress,’ chuckled Grace. ‘But Imogen never knew her. She was knocked down by a hansom cab in the Seven Sisters Road and was killed, before Imogen was born. They were both as English as I am and if either of them saw France it was on a day excursion to Boulogne. The Baronne is sheer fantasy. But she gets away with it, bless her. She’s a phenomenon really.’

  Miss Trudge rushed in.

  ‘Oh, Miss Marvell. I’ve been looking for you. Could you come at once, please? She’s asking for you.’

  ‘Cool down, for goodness’ sake. I’ll come up when I’ve finished my drink.’

  ‘But she’s asking for you!’ cried poor Miss Trudge making the nervous movement called wringing the hands.

  ‘All right. All right. Go and tell her I’ll be up presently.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that. Won’t you please come?’

  Grace gave Carolus a grin and followed Miss Trudge from the bar.

  ‘It just shows, doesn’t it?’ commented Gloria.

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Dickie Biskett says those two hate each other now, though they were friendly enough till about three months ago. Jealous, I suppose.’

  Yes, thought Carolus. For in spite of her way of discussing her sister one felt that Grace admired her success.

  He saw no more of Grace till lunch-time but in the meantime became aware of a vague-looking elderly man who drifted about the Fleur-de-Lys like a stray cat. This, he learned from Gloria, was Imogen’s husband. It was typical of him that no one saw him arrive, in fact no one remembered sending for him. He was just there.

  Carolus was not very successful in conversation with him. He was courteous, even chatty, but made no reference to The Invalid and could not be led to discuss anything more personal than the weather, the news from Vietnam, the Government and so on. His name, Carolus learned, was Dudley Smithers. Marvell was a professional name which Grace had been obliged to adopt when Imogen became famous. The two sisters were born Grace and Emma Haskins.

  ‘You staying long?’ Carolus asked Mr Smithers at the bar.

  ‘No. Not long,’ he said. ‘It’s bracing air down here, though, isn’t it? I thought this morning what splendid air this is.’

  ‘You came down last night, perhaps?’

  ‘No. No. I do enjoy a day in the country. Blows the cobwebs away.’

  Exasperated Carolus tried a direct attack.

  ‘How is
Miss Marvell this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s doing nicely,’ said Mr Smithers. Then, chirpily he asked: ‘Are you staying in the hotel?’

  Carolus, temporarily defeated, decided to retire.

  In the hall he found a curious little scene in progress. An impressive-looking elderly man was speaking in a loud but cultured voice to Miss Trudge who with scarlet face positively writhed before him.

  ‘You told me on the telephone it was a case of life and death,’ he said. ‘I’ve wasted an entire morning coming down here.’

  ‘Your fee will be paid, Sir Glynn,’ said poor Miss Trudge reproachfully.

  ‘Fee? Do you think I’m talking about fees? I have several important cases in the hospital, people who need attention, and you bring me down to see a hysterical woman with a small bilious attack, and that induced by her own self-pity.’

  ‘Oh, Sir Glynn! How can you speak like that? Miss Marvell is seriously ill. You haven’t even prescribed anything for her!’

  ‘I’ll prescribe. One mile’s walk a day to be increased, by extending it daily, to five miles. Cut out all animal fats, all farinaceous food and all sugar. Give her a dose of castor oil immediately. And never call me down on what I can only describe as a wild GOOSE chase!’

  He nodded briskly and went out. His car was chauffeur-driven and carried him away smoothly. Miss Trudge was in tears.

  ‘I was told he was the best specialist for this trouble,’ she appealed to Carolus. ‘You heard him? How could he speak like that?’

  ‘I don’t imagine Miss Marvell will be very pleased with his advice.’

  ‘I should not dream of telling her,’ said Miss Trudge, with an anxious glance upward towards the room in which The Invalid lay.

  But she must have given Imogen some indication of the specialist’s advice for as Carolus passed her door later he heard a scream of fury.

  He paused there for a moment—it could scarcely be called eavesdropping because Imogen’s voice rang through the house.

  ‘I shall expose him!’ she cried. ‘Exercise! No sugar! Castor oil! The man must be a charlatan. Trudge! Do you hear? I shall expose him. Is there no one I can depend on? Where’s my sister? Gone in to lunch? How dare she when I can eat nothing. Fetch her at once. At once, do you hear? And Rolland! And get another doctor! Phone immediately. Say that Imogen Marvell needs attention. Move, woman! The man’s a scoundrel. Five miles a day! No animal fats! He must be mad. It’s a conspiracy! I’m surrounded with jealousy. If you don’t move, Trudge, I shall get out of bed and shake you!’

  Miss Trudge came out, a strange pallor taking the place of her usual crimson. She bolted downstairs. It was in fact pleasant for Carolus to observe at lunch-time the tranquil calm with which Imogen’s self-effacing husband, Dudley Smithers, ate his way through several courses. Perhaps he knew Imogen better than any of them.

  Then at something past four in the afternoon, Carolus did that thing dear to the heart of English hotel residents, he ‘had tea in the lounge’.

  Miss Trudge was there swallowing a hasty cuppa because she had not been able to come down to lunch. Carolus asked earnestly after Imogen Marvell.

  ‘She is very brave,’ said Miss Trudge somewhat ambiguously. ‘But unfortunately she insists on looking at the daily newspapers. I have kept them from her till now but as soon as she finishes her nap she is determined to see them. I’m afraid it will cause a relapse.’

  ‘What form is that likely to take?’

  ‘She is so sensitive. She will be deeply hurt by the way the story has been interpreted. It will send her temperature up, I’m afraid. It’s so bad for her to become excited. I think I’ll run and see if she has woken up.’

  She meant it literally. Her exit was at the double.

  Half an hour later Grace Marvell walked in chuckling.

  ‘She’s screaming blue murder,’ she said. ‘She’s been looking at her press.’

  ‘Not very comforting, I’m afraid,’ said Carolus.

  Grace smiled.

  ‘She’s in hysterics. What’s more she can keep this up till tomorrow morning. I’ve known her scream her head off for hours at a stretch if things go against her. It’s frustrating, of course. She’ll have to be given an injection presently to make her sleep, otherwise the whole hotel will be disturbed.’

  ‘You seem to know her very well.’

  ‘I ought to. I was brought up with her. She was the only girl at school who could get her way with the headmistress—one of those granite women—by simply screaming till she did.’

  Miss Trudge dashed in.

  ‘She wants Mr Smithers!’ she cried. ‘We shall have to get another doctor for her!’

  She hurried off.

  ‘She means Imogen’s husband,’ explained Grace.

  ‘Surely he has a calming effect?’

  ‘Oh, no. His coolness drives her insane. He doesn’t blink an eyelid while she abuses him with every insult under the sun. It’s harrowing to see them together.’

  ‘Why does he put up with it?’

  ‘Imogen’s enormously rich,’ Grace explained adequately. ‘Though I don’t see what he can hope for.’

  Carolus was glad to escape from this atmosphere when he made for the bar soon after six o’clock.

  He thought Gloria looked a little sulky at first and mentioned that he had written a note to his friend Alex Foss which seemed to cheer her up.

  ‘Have you really?’ she said. ‘That’s ever so nice of you.’

  For a few minutes she was absent-minded as though away in a dream world of her own. But she returned to give him some surprising news.

  ‘Who do you think booked in just now? Staying the night.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Carolus obligingly.

  ‘The man I told you about! The one who made the scene about food poisoning the other time. You remember? I said he came in here and had quate a chet with me.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Well, he’s come back. I shouldn’t have thought he would after what happened, would you?’

  They were interrupted by the entrance of an individual of sanguine complexion in a check suit. Behind his back Gloria made excited signals to Carolus to indicate that it was the man they had been discussing. He ordered vodka-and-tonic and sat beside Carolus. He seemed anxious for conversation so having agreed that it was a dirty night and the Government was hell, Carolus asked him if he often came here.

  ‘Not more than I can help. Last time I was here I got food poisoning. I’m deciding whether to bring an action for damages, or not. Since I read of the same thing happening to this cookbook woman, I feel something should be done.’

  Carolus thought Imogen’s health might not improve if she heard herself called ‘this cookbook woman.’

  ‘So you’re going to try the food again? That’s very courageous of you.’

  ‘I’m going to see the proprietor, or whatever he is.’

  Carolus studied the man narrowly. Was he or was he not connected with Rivers and the rest?

  ‘Live in London?’ Carolus queried in a tone of idle chatter.

  ‘Yes. I’d move out myself but the wife won’t live anywhere else. Do you?’

  ‘Bayswater,’ said Carolus quickly.

  Yes. It had struck home. With tremendous casualness the man asked: ‘What part of Bayswater?’

  ‘Wilsey Place,’ said Carolus. He did not mean to commit himself too far.

  So pointedly lacking in interest was the man that Carolus felt fairly certain of him.

  ‘Hm? Don’t know that part. Live in Chelsea myself. Have a drink?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Must have been quite a thing, this diet expert passing out.’

  ‘It was. Hope you had nothing like that?’

  ‘It was very unpleasant. Very unpleasant. Ought to be more careful in a restaurant like this.’

  Rolland entered.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Rolland,’ said the stranger, his manner becoming rather aggressive. ‘I wanted a word
with you.’

  Rolland’s attempt at dignity was pitiable. His nerve had evidently broken down.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he said. ‘You had better get in touch with my solicitors.’

  ‘I get in touch with your solicitors? That’s a laugh. I’ll sue you for every penny you’ve got. I came here to speak to you in private on this matter before going for you with the utmost rigour of the law.’

  Rolland hesitated.

  ‘I suppose you had better come to my office,’ he said wearily and the two men went out.

  ‘Poor Mr Rolland,’ said Gloria. ‘He must be out of his mind with all this happening and Her upstairs. You’d think Antoine could tell good scampi from bad, wouldn’t you? It’s beyond me, I must say.’

  Seven

  Miss Trudge rushed in.

  ‘Is Mr Smithers here?’ she asked.

  It was perfectly obvious that he was not, but Miss Trudge looked about her rather wildly.

  ‘May I offer you a drink, Miss Trudge?’ asked Carolus.

  Miss Trudge stopped fidgeting sufficiently to give Carolus a hurried smile.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly,’ she said with emphasis. ‘It would not be … With Imogen in bed … It’s very kind … It might be perceptible when I am near her, you see … It has been rather a trying day … So kind of you to think … Perhaps a teeny brandy then, but I must get back…’

  She sipped gratefully but as she raised her arm Carolus saw that there was blood at her wrist. She tried to cover this, and he felt it better to say nothing.

  Just then Grace Marvell came in.

  ‘You’re smothered in blood,’ she said to Miss Trudge. ‘Whatever’s the matter? Look at your arm! Wait—let me look.’

  Her examination revealed a long scratch from near the elbow.

  ‘You’re an idiot, really you are. This might turn to blood-poisoning. You deserve it for the way you allow that sister of mine to walk over you. But we can’t have any more scandal. I’ll have to do it up. Is there a chemist’s near here?’

  ‘Mr Fulbright,’ said Gloria. ‘Just down the road. You remember. You bought the eau-de-cologne there this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ll go and get some plaster. You’re a nuisance but that could be serious if it’s not attended to. Imogen’s fingers must be tipped with poison. Stay here.’