The London Blitz Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,62
up early. Everyone was too concerned about you, and the explosion at the theater, for the merriment to continue.”
“Ah.”
“Janet was upset, and suggested I go on back to my billet. No night for celebrating, really…. Do you suspect me?”
The bluntness of that struck her like a blow, but she did her best not to show it, saying quickly, “No. But I’m afraid the police do.”
He sat on the side of the bed, which hugged the wall lengthwise, opposite the bureau; his unblinking eyes stared into nothing. “But I’m innocent. I hope you believe me.”
“Oh, I do, Gordon. You’re my savior, after all. My knight.”
His eyes met hers and his smile turned into a crinkly thing, as if unsure whether or not to become a frown. “If they caught him… this Ripper… he wouldn’t be as famous as the other one, would he?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Well, the first one… Jack… they never caught him. He was too smart for them, they’ll say. But the truth is, he didn’t have Sir Bernard Spilsbury and these modern detectives up against him, did he? Fingerprints and things.”
“No. He didn’t. It was all quite crude then.”
“But if the new Jack were to kill someone famous, that would be different.”
“I’m afraid… afraid I don’t follow you, Gordon.”
He shrugged, the smile boyish as ever, charming. “Well, imagine if the Ripper killed you, Mrs. Mallowan. Mrs. Christie. What headlines that would make—the fiend who killed the mistress of murder. That would make history.”
“I suppose so. If you were guilty. But I don’t believe that you are.”
His eyes tightened and, finally, he blinked. “You don’t?”
She sat next to him on the bed and patted his hand reassuringly. “Certainly not. You’re a smart boy, Gordon. Would a smart boy like you leave such obvious clues just scattered about? These things on your bureau… worthless items, a toothless comb, a fountain pen, a cheap watch.”
He was frowning in thought. “Then you see it, don’t you? That I’ve been framed for this.”
She smiled and clasped her hands in a single clap. “Exactly. And I know who did and how it was done.”
Still frowning, nodding, he said, eagerly, “Do tell.”
“They’ve found a gas respirator, you know, the police have. With a service number that will likely lead to you, Gordon. I don’t see your mask anywhere here in your room, or on your person.”
“No. It was stolen several days ago.”
“I knew it!” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “These clues were planted, Gordon. And who was responsible?”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you, though it pains me, it grieves me to my core.” She sighed heavily, lowered her head. “My ‘friend,’ your ‘benefactor’… Stephen Glanville. Who better, with his Air Ministry connections, to help himself to your personal items, to enter inconspicuously and plant these obvious clues?”
“Why Glanville?”
“He is a notorious ladies’ man, our Stephen. Though he denied knowing her, Stephen undoubtedly had an affair with Nita Ward. And he may… I hate to tell you this, as it may cause you pain, Gordon… he may have set his sights on your lovely wife.”
The cadet’s eyes flared. “Janet!”
“I’m afraid so. He has loitered around rehearsals, and his eyes have fallen upon her…. I don’t believe she has given him any cause for the unforgivable thoughts he’s clearly having regarding her, so I do beg you not to blame or reprove her. But with you out of the way…”
“He would have a clear field,” Cummins said, squinting in anger.
“Seeing your lovely wife,” Agatha said, “told me everything I needed to know about you, Gordon. With such a lovely, desirable creature in your life, you would have no need for the soiled flowers of the West End.”
“I love her. Janet is wonderful. I would never hurt her.”
She gripped his hand again. “Then you must cling to your innocence. And I will help you, Gordon. I will plead your case. Together, we will shatter this frightful frame, and restore your good name.”
He looked at her almost lovingly. “You’re wonderful, Mrs. Mallowan. You’re like… something from one of your own books.”
“As are you, Gordon. As are you.”
The door burst open and Inspector Greeno stood there with revolver in hand—such weapons were checked out only when an officer felt a vital need, and Greeno clearly felt it. His eyes widened at the sight of Agatha, then turned hard, as he leveled the weapon at the cadet, and behind him were two more plainclothes detectives, equally well armed.
“Stand up, Cummins,” the inspector said, “and put your hands on your head…. You’re nicked!”
The cadet’s eyes