When Alasdair opened his front door soon after hearing Toby’s distinctive tattoo on the knocker, he was surprised to find a young man, who must have been Jonny Stewart, standing on the doorstep as well.
“This is Jonny, but you’ll have deduced that already, Sherlock,” Toby said as he bustled into the hallway. “He’s proved invaluable tonight and hopefully will carry on the good work when it comes to the briefing we need to give you. It’s been quite an evening.”
“One that seems to have ended earlier than expected?” Alasdair ushered them into his sitting room.
“We left before the meeting ended,” Jonny explained. “Actually, I don’t suppose it was even halfway through.”
There was clearly an extraordinary tale to relate. “You must be in need of a refreshment. I’ve an excellent bottle of hock in the refrigerator, although it’s a case of fend for ourselves, as Morgan’s having an evening off.”
“Let me go and organise three glasses and a corkscrew,” Toby offered. “I’ll leave Jonny to make the speech he made earlier which persuaded me to bring him along. I warn you, it’s long-winded.”
“It won’t be, this time,” Jonny said to Toby’s back as the actor left the room. “You know about the Ivor Gregg stuff but you may not know the exact relationship between me and my pal Roger with whom I worked on the case. The aged great-uncle provided pearls of wisdom on that front, he and his mathematical professor being exceptionally well placed to understand the personal situation. As I believe you and Toby also are, which is why he let me tag along, given that I’m not going to go blabbing about why, for example, he seems to be so at home in your house.”
If that wasn’t the long-winded version, Alasdair dreaded to think what the young man had said to Toby. “Pleased to hear about the lack of blabbing. Discretion must always be our watch word.”
“Quite. I wish all men in our position would be as sensible.” Jonny ran his hand through his blond locks. “This Monday Evening Association malarkey is going to need a touch of discretion, too, although not in the same way.”
“It certainly is.” Toby backed through the door with an opened bottle in one hand and three glasses expertly held in the other. “While I pour, do you want to provide a factual outline of what happened, from the moment the doorman made that rather waspish aside when we were on the way in, up until the one he made when we were on the way out? I propose there be no comment or speculation from any of us until Alasdair’s been brought up to date.”
“Am I allowed to pose any questions?” Alasdair asked.
“Only for clarification purposes. It’s been an experience, old bean, and one I’m still trying to process, so reliving the last few hours will help me get my thoughts a bit clearer. Here.” Toby handed Alasdair a glass of hock. “Yours is on the way, Jonny.”
“Thanks. Well, here goes…” Jonny started the tale with the pair of them on the pavement, unsure they were in the right place, then took in the doorman, the arrival of Lloyd and volunteering to help Moira with coffee, at which point Toby took over.
Alasdair listened with growing incredulity. If he hadn’t been able to read Toby like a book, he’d have suspected that he was having his leg pulled, especially when they got to the bit with Moira and the spare change in her pocket. But it was clear Toby was in deadly earnest and that the evening had unsettled him.
“And there you have it,” Toby said, when he’d reached the part where he and Jonny were back on the pavement again. “With Gentleman Jeff assuring us we had a standing invitation to come back as far as he was concerned, while Lloyd had a face like a wet Wednesday.”
Jonny nodded. “There’s an atmosphere between those two and I suspect Lloyd didn’t like his place as leader being usurped. I rather pumped Moira while we were doing our Lyons Corner House stuff with the coffees. She implied the club was a bit of a support group for people with a shared experience, although she didn’t let on anything about this unique powers nonsense. She did say that Lloyd’s the driving force behind it all. And at no point did I get the impression that she’s dotty. Feet firmly on the ground, I’d say, so either I’m a poor judge of character, which is possible, or she’s as good at acting as you two.”
“That’s the feeling I got about Richard and Jeff, as well,” Toby said. “Richard said something about not being able to dissemble but I sensed that was false modesty.”
“But that’s not the impression you got about this Lloyd chap?” Alasdair asked.
“No. He’s…” Toby shrugged. “Intense. You should have seen his face at the point when he insisted I had some special ability and I insisted I didn’t. He wasn’t surprised or disappointed, more like angry at being made out to be in the wrong.”
“So, if he was the only one of the group who came across as odd, then how do you explain all this stuff about sermons and seats and all the rest? Do you really believe these things happen outside of a comic book or a Marx brothers’ film?” Alasdair didn’t.
“Of course not, Alasdair. It’s the discrepancy that’s so intriguing.” Toby twirled his glass, studying the golden liquid as though it might contain the answer to the mystery. “We’ve all of us experienced things that defy rational explanation, and there are stories a-plenty from wartime that folk swear are true, like the comrade in white from the Great War. These stories didn’t have the same ring to them, if that makes sense.”
“It does to me,” Jonny said. “Great uncle Jonty explains away some strange coincidences as being due to his Mama sitting on her cloud manipulating events on earth to her satisfaction. When she’s not checking that the angels are wearing enough layers against the cold. He’s had some strange events in his life, too. You know what happened with him and Orlando in 1919?”
Alasdair nodded. “A story that beggars belief, except we know it’s factual.”
“Exactly. I may be wrong but, like Toby, I don’t think this was a case of angelic intervention.”
“So,” Toby said, “the only explanation I’ve come up with so far is that these powers aren’t real but they might believe they are, especially if Lloyd’s so insistent that he’s right about them.”
“That might be so,” Jonny said. “If Jeff has convinced himself he’ll get a seat on a bus, then every time he does so, that’s more justification of his belief. On the occasions he doesn’t, he simply puts it down to one of those exceptions he talked about, so the exception is never made to test the rule. He says he’s conned himself into saying he’ll keep the seat so he can give it away or some such rubbish. He also said at one point if I get a seat, rather than when , which I suspect was a slight giveaway. Anyway, as self-delusions go, it’s one that’s pretty harmless, I’d have said.”
As Jonny spoke, Alasdair studied him, Jonty having warned him that his great-nephew liked to present himself as being like one of Bertie’s feckless pals from a Jeeves and Wooster story, hiding the fact he wasn’t at all lacking in brains. What Alasdair had seen so far bore out that assessment.
“I’d accept the deluding himself theory,” Toby said. “If the story of Jeff’s accident is true—and that’s one of the few things which could be checked—it’s possible the experience might have…let’s say it affected his perceptions of reality. Maybe that’s when his belief first arose.”
“That’s an excellent point.” Alasdair stroked his chin. Toby would have heard the upcoming confession before and perhaps had it in mind when he’d spoken. “When I began operational flying during the war, I’d usually come back from a sortie to find out that some poor sod, maybe a pilot who was much better in the air than I was, hadn’t made it home. The first few times that happened, I tied myself in knots asking why, but one of the more experienced chaps soon took me under his wing and put me right. He said that in the end you just have to accept that’s the way it is: a particular German bullet had someone else’s name on it and not yours. I know at least one other pilot who couldn’t accept that and drove himself half mad trying to come up with a logical explanation.”
“Wartime can play awful tricks on a mind under pressure.” Toby gave him a sympathetic smile. “So, we can rationalise Jeff’s story. What about Richard? There’s a significant point of difference to Jeff, because the latter doesn’t appear to have confessed to anyone except the Monday evening crew. Whereas Richard says he let his story slip to the vicar’s wife, as a result of which people try to catch him out with his predictions. That’s harder to account for.”
Jonny, who’d drained his glass, waggled it, rather like a prop. “Not if you look at it from a completely different angle. What if, rather than being delusional, he’s putting on a show, probably to impress Moira, whom he fancies like billy-oh.”
“Does he? I missed that.” Toby rose, to fetch the wine bottle. “I must have been too wrapped up in trying to work out why they wanted me there.”
“One up to the Stewarts for spotting it, and the fact that she seems to like him, too. If he was another of Lloyd’s mistakes, he might have been so overcome with passion on his first visit that he had to make up a story, plumped for the sermon thing and then was stuck with it. A tale he had to embroider, hence all the details about the boiler blowing up and the choking episode. Thanks.” Jonny held out his glass to be refilled.
“That makes sense in view of what you’ve related,” Alasdair said. “It would be very difficult to check up on his story unless you visited his parish and even then Richard might pretend that the vicar had sworn all the congregation to secrecy because he didn’t want to bring attention to their church.”
“There was certainly an air of artificiality—for want of a better word—about him,” Toby observed. “As there was with Jeff at first, although that might have been nerves. People often put on a show when they’re finding their feet with strangers. And what about the lovely Moira herself?”
Jonny shrugged. “She strikes me as being least easy to explain away.”
“Do you think she’s pretending for Richard’s sake,” Alasdair asked, “or wouldn’t that work chronologically if he’s trying to impress her?”
“It might work if she’s doing it for Jeff’s sake. She gets invited by Lloyd, who’s got it wrong again. First meeting she attends, Jeff’s there, she goes swoony, makes up some nonsense, etc etc.” Toby placed the empty bottle back on the tray then took his seat once more. “Again, who’s to prove or disprove the exact change thing, because she also put a proviso on it about not being able to plan it in advance. Richard’s the only person who seemed loophole less.”
“Perhaps he’s not been able to come up with a suitable one,” Jonny suggested.
“What about this Lloyd chap?” Alasdair asked. “He says he knows when people have a special ability. Is that all a front to get a certain group of people together for some underhand reason? Did he strike you as nefarious?”
“Not at first. He came across as business-like, explained the Herbert and Chapman name stuff in a reasonable way and generally appeared sympathetic and caring towards his little crew. It was only when I insisted that he was wrong about my so-called powers that he put on a face like thunder.” Toby studied his glass again. “He suggested that maybe I hadn’t had to use them yet. No, I correct myself, because it was Richard who said that and Lloyd shot him a dirty look. Perhaps that’s his loophole and he didn’t appreciate having his thunder stolen.” Toby launched into a northern accent. “You do have powers, Mr Bowe, but you’re not aware of them yet because they’ve not come into use. Give it time, tha knows.”
Alasdair snorted. “Your devoted Yorkshire fans would be less than devoted if they heard your attempt at their brogue. Does Lloyd really talk like that?”
“He does,” Jonny confirmed. “Without the ‘tha knows’ or any such expressions from East of the Pennines. I’d agree with Toby’s assessment of him whole-heartedly. The man’s got a temper, or a chip on his shoulder, or both. I saw the way he looked at us when we left and that was pure daggers. Incidentally, the business with the name plate still puzzles me. Or business with the lack of nameplate, to be precise.”
“Lloyd did come up with an explanation for that while you were canoodling with Moira in the kitchen. I should have mentioned it already, sorry.” Toby wrinkled his nose. “He said the firm doesn’t publicise its location because they handle delicate business for their clients and wish to maintain discretion for them. Whether he means they deal in high class divorce cases or something much more shady, along the lines of entrapment, I don’t know. The offices gave the impression it was both a genuine firm and a busy one.”
“That impression’s correct,” Alasdair said. “I couldn’t just sit here contributing nothing, so I’ve been doing a bit of digging the last few days. As part of which I had the good sense to mention the company name to Morgan. He’d heard of the firm, through one of his pals at his gentleman’s gentleman club and remembered the name because of the Arsenal connotation. Herbert and Chapman appear to operate as a combination of solicitors and private investigators, and they do handle a wide range of cases. From a tricky divorce to those that are both unpleasant and controversial. The eldest son of a peer of the realm gets caught doing something unmentionable to little boys and they’re the people to go to in order to have the best chance of either getting him off or having it hushed up. That’s not a theoretical example, by the way. They’re rather good at creating a plausible scenario to suggest that the accused is an innocent victim.”
Toby shuddered. “How vile. I feel dirty all over now, just from sitting in the office.”
“There’s more. Remember Charles Carstone, the actor?” Alasdair asked.
“The chap whom Landseer brought in to play Charles the Second in Naughty Nelly ?” Toby nodded. “Jonny, this fellow tripped and fell under a train at somewhere like Bank on the Central Line, when he was on his way home. Killed pretty well instantly.”
“Chancery Lane, although the rest is correct,” Alasdair said. “There was speculation about whether it was more than a mere trip, but the inquest—going on witness testimony—concluded it was accidental. No evidence that he was pushed or that he’d thrown himself under the wheels.”
“In fact,” Toby cut in, “he had a good Samaritan nearby who grabbed him, almost effected a rescue and then had themselves to be hauled back before there was a double tragedy. Of course, Carstone was an actor and, like us, would know how to make a supposed stumble look realistic. If he had a life insurance policy, it would be nullified in the case of suicide, which is incentive enough to put on an act.”
Alasdair nodded. “Keep that possibility of a faked stumble in mind, because Carstone was apparently one of Herbert and Chapman’s clients. Possibly a less savoury one, which was kept under wraps.”
Jonny puffed out his cheeks. “Landseer doing its cover-up work again?”
“I doubt it,” Toby replied. “Sir Ian may wink at our relationship, but he’d draw the line at interfering with children, if that’s what this Carstone was accused of, so he can’t have known.”
“It can’t have got as far as a police charge, either,” Alasdair pointed out, “or that fact would surely have come out at the inquest. So, possibly he feared something emerging and took his own life. Or we’re jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
“Irrespective of that, Morgan has done well turfing up all this information.” Toby gave an appreciative bob of the head. “I wonder if Moira and the rest know what goes on in those offices during the day?”
“They might not, given the less savoury aspects are not common knowledge. Except to those like Morgan who know everything about everything.” Alasdair grinned.
“I hope the club members don’t realise,” Jonny said, “because I liked all of them. Except for him in charge, of course.”
“Ditto. Here’s another thing, Alasdair,” Toby said. “There was one more chair in the little circle than necessary for the number of backsides present. Lloyd gave a vague impression he might have been expecting someone else.”
Jonny nodded. “He definitely eyed that empty chair a couple of times. As though perhaps somebody had been invited on the off chance, like you were Toby, but had yet to show.”
“Or had attended in the past but had stopped,” Alasdair suggested. “And for whom they always leave an empty chair in the hope that he or she will reappear one day?” A nice missing person’s case would be gratifying to stick one’s nose into.
“That’s possible.” Toby frowned. “Do you think that Lloyd’s invitation was merely a ruse and they actually wanted us to investigate something, like a member of the group who’s mysteriously gone missing?”
“That would make more sense than this taradiddle about who can do what, but why not ask you outright?” Alasdair pointed out.
Toby shrugged. “Perhaps they were testing me out, making sure I was as nice and reliable in real life as I always am on the screen. Or perhaps they’d meant to ask me to help, but because I had Jonny alongside and they were unsure of his role in things, they were waiting for the next time to come clean. I have a standing invitation to attend whenever I want, so they might be hoping I reappear.”
“Perhaps. Although that’s a risk, given that you upped sticks and left early. Why not say something while you were still at the door, if it seemed their last chance?”
“Maybe they were reluctant because it wasn’t all the group who wanted to avail themselves of your services,” Jonny said. “What if it was Moira or Jeff, or any combination of three, who had the idea of searching for their lost member but didn’t know how to go about it. Then Lloyd tells them that Toby Bowe, actor and amateur sleuth, has powers like they do and has been invited along to a meeting. They see this as their chance.”
“Why not start with the police if you want to find a missing person? Not meaning to be argumentative, Jonny, just testing your theory.” Alasdair rose. “Time to open another bottle of hock, or would you prefer port?”
“Whichever lubricates my brain cells best, if my ideas are to be under such rigorous scrutiny.” Jonny held out his glass as Alasdair came to collect it. “What if they went to the police and got sent off with a flea in their ears, given that the missing person was a grown man or woman with no dependants. Or they had dependants, but they were the sort that one couldn’t blame them for wanting to get away from. Perhaps it’s as simple as the police having more important cases to deal with at the time.”
“There are other reasons why people don’t go to the police. They have things they want to keep hidden and would rather not take the risk of bringing themselves to official notice in any way. Ah, excellent.” Toby admired the glass of port Alasdair had given him. “An excellent colour: this will be a treat.”
“I hope so.” Alasdair slipped into his favourite chair once more. “I’ll accept your arguments and follow up with another question for the pair of you. Why do you think it’s the others, not Lloyd, who want someone found?”
“Two things. The objective fact that the open invitation for us to attend another meeting came from Jeff, not Lloyd, and the subjective fact that I really didn’t like the latter whereas I liked the others.” Jonny rolled his eyes. “Instinctive, I know, and the sort of sloppy thinking that Professor Coppersmith probably slaps his students’ legs for.”
“Instinctive reactions aren’t to be dismissed,” Toby said, “if they support an idea rather than become the idea itself. People talk about feminine intuition or a man having a hunch but I’m sure it comes down to our brains working behind the scenes, analysing what we see and hear and coming to a conclusion. We’ve both, independently, decided there’s something unpleasant about Lloyd.”
Jonny nodded. “Well, if we’re allowing hunches, my other conclusion from tonight is that there’s something going on below the surface of that group and, while I’m not forming any definite ideas as to what that is, I’m itching to know more. I’d be happy to return to the fray in a fortnight and see what transpires. Although I suppose if it’s your investigational expertise they want to tap into, then that may not get us any further forward.”
“Would you go back, Toby?” Alasdair asked. “Not on your own, I hasten to add, because having listened to what you’ve said I’m still concerned they could be a bunch of lunatics. Sir Ian would be having kittens if he were here. What will you tell him, by the way? He’ll be wanting a report.”
“To take your questions in order, I don’t know. Like Jonny, I want to know more, but I’d rather tackle Moira or Jeff on their own, or else I don’t think we’ll get any further forward.” Toby caressed his glass, clearly still processing the events of the last few hours. “Yes, I would take a wingman with me, not simply for protection but because two eyes are better than one. Jonny picked up things I didn’t and vice versa. As for Sir Ian…I think I’ll drop him a note telling as much of the truth as I can. An outline of the evening, my gratitude to Jonny, our feeling that this might be about a case and a promise to keep him updated.”
Alasdair nodded slowly. That seemed a reasonable strategy. “Sir Ian has eyes and ears working for him everywhere—as does the Landseer publicity department—so the story might even ring a bell.”
“People who bother actors for reason unknown and now it’s Landseer’s turn?” Jonny asked.
“Who knows? It’s a strange world, as Matthew Firestone could tell you. Can I ask if Jonny is short for Jonathan, by the way?” Alasdair added.
“It is. Named after the aged great-uncle, but we had to have a different shortened version to avoid confusion.” Jonny chuckled, handsome face alight with glee. “Awkward when one of us is in trouble and we get the full Jonathan , because who’s being picked out? We tend to assume both of us are being referred to, as that’s always possible.”
“That sounds like Toby, here. Always getting into mischief.”
“Alasdair, now that I’ve met you both, I can see exactly why you were cast as my notable relative and his partner for this film you’re about to release.” Jonny looked from Alasdair to Toby and back again. “There’s only a general physical likeness, but personality wise it’s an excellent fit and that enhances the resemblance.”
“You can thank Landseer for coming up with such an excellent idea,” Toby said. “The film project not only gave us paid employment, it helped us get involved in a long-dormant case. I dare say you’ve heard all about that.”
“I have. The body in the crypt.” Jonny, face suddenly serious, laid down his glass. “I do hope that violent death isn’t what we’re dealing with here. People who’ve gone missing—whether of their own volition or not—and who can be found and returned to the arms of their loved ones is one thing. Cold-blooded murder is another.”
***
“Jonny’s a nice lad,” Toby said, when they’d returned to the sitting room after taking leave of their guest. “Both bright and perceptive. These traits clearly run in the family.”
“He’s discreet, too, although not so much that I didn’t notice his amused little smile when he left. The one that smacked of, ‘I’ll make myself scarce so you can get up to whatever you want to get up to.’”
“I wonder if he’s off home to his pal Roger so they can get up to whatever they want.” Toby stretched and yawned. “It’s a shame we can’t take advantage of the opportunity he’s given us.”
“Quite. We’ll have no problem turning up tomorrow with a face full of stubble, but if the pair of us are both yawning and looking more than a touch worse for wear, it would hardly help the Landseer cause. Let alone the risk it presents of accurate conclusions being drawn about what we’d been up to.”
The next morning would see them attending a charity event hosted by a shaving cream manufacturer, which involved various actors—who would not be allowed to have shave beforehand—being rendered smooth-skinned. Alasdair wasn’t clear how it could help promote their new film but if the Landseer publicity department was certain it would, then its knowledge must be bowed to. There’d be other nights they could spend together.
“A kiss or two before I depart?” Toby pulled Alasdair towards him. “As a sort of deposit against future favours to be claimed?”
“I think that would be more than acceptable.”
When they broke the clinch, a touch tousled, Toby reached up to ruffle Alasdair’s hair some more. “You’ll have to slather on the Brylcreem, tomorrow. You won’t necessarily have any of the support team to wrestle these locks into control.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. We’ll be on parade, Toby, so we could well find ourselves being preened and prettified. Costume all ours, though, so make sure you’re as dapper as a male mannequin.”
“I’ve a new blazer for the occasion. I’ll be dazzling.”
“You always are, sweetheart.”