THE ROGUE OF FITZROY ROAD

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 72, 25 March 1931, Page 14

THE ROGUE OF FITZROY ROAD

By

KENNAWAY JAMES

(Author of “ The Missing Mannequin,” etc.)

CHAPTER XIV. | At Grafton Club. A little later Morden Sarker had gone, while Mr. Tinsole, taking first a sniff of white powder, prepared to go West to meet the troubled member of the peerage. The Grafton Club was a club of distinction. Standing in the neighbourhood of St. James’, as all good clubs should stand, it was a political club of vast importance. There were held at the Grafton Club meetings, the signifirance of which resounded through the chancellories of Europe. Cabinets had been made and unmade at the Grafton Club. You entered it through a vast door fronted by pillars which probably would have baffled Samson, had he tried his hand at pulling them down. Having passed through the door, under the eye of a dignified hall porter, you became aware of nothing so much as spaciousness and bigness generally. The ceiling was high and gloomy. The walls, hung with, ponderous, dark oil paintings o# departed statesmen, were gloomy also. A wide staircase descended into the hall, so wide that a coach and pair might have been driven up its deep-carpeted length. Down stairs came Lord Lanchester to meet a mean-looking man who, never of imposing appearance at any time, looked now like a rat in a drawing-room. “Ah, Mr. Tinsole,” said Lord Lanchester, “Conje this way.” So saying he led the way through a vasty corridor until they reached a little room at the farther end. “We shall be quiet in here,” said his lordship, indicating a deep leather chair into which Mr. Tinsole subsided. Lord Lanchester quite matched his surroundings. He was tall and portly and wore immaculate clothes which were obviously the work of a master builder of apparel. His moustache was the correct Conservative shape which had at one time been the fashion of the Grafton Club. You also found his lordship scorning anything so modern as a tic. He wore a magnificent stock in which reposed an equally magnificent pearl. His eyes was graced by a monocle which needed no gold “gallery” to keep it in position, no silken cord to hold it when it fell. So deep, so well-moulded were his lordship's features. The first thing to do was to take out a wallet from his pocket and extract the photograph of himself in the “Greyhound World.” It was on the tongue of Mr. Tinsole unwittingly to say that he had seen it, but he saved himself in time. “You see,” said Lord Lanchester, “this is only part of a photograph.” “Dear me,” said Mr. Tinsole, “how Very distressing. What was on the rest of the photograph ?” “Damme, you needn’t put me through the humilation of describing it to you. I told you last time we met that there was a lady in the matter. She was, er — er—sitting on my lap. Don’t know however we came to be photographed. The place seemed just an ordinary 6ort of pight club. It was under a grocer’s shop somewhere, but I’m hanged if I can say where it was. Let me ring for a little sherry.” Had his lordship said arsenic Mr. Tmsole’s face could not have looked more horrified. “No thank you, my lord. I never touch it,” he said. “A cocktail, then. It’s the wrong time for port. How about it? Sorry to say the cocktail habit has crept into this old club. Younger members, you know.” For a moment Mr. Tinsole hesitated. He had heard about cocktails, but had never yet tried one. He was ignorant of everything, their size, their colour, their taste. Well, he had already been chaffed by Modern Sarker that day for drinking water. He would oblige his lordship. “Thank you, my lord, a cocktail, lie said. “What kind?” a small one,” replied Mr. Tinsole, whereupon, his lordship, seing that I insole knew nothing about it, ordered two dry Martinis from the liveried footman who had by now responded to his lordship's ring of the bell. A little lu*ter they were discussing again the photograph which was the cause of their meeting. “You were saying, my lord, that the ifght club was under a grocer’s shop. How very strange.” Mr. Tinsole sipped his cocktail and found it good. “That's right,” said Lord Lanchester, “but there’s nothing very strange about it. “My friend Lord Harwell, who, as you will remember, was Home Secretary in a recent Government, frequently made a tour of these places incognito, and he told me that you come across them in the most unexpected surroundings and situations. Said he knew one in the basement of a house in Baysvvater named the “Curacy.” On investigation he found that the place had no connection with curates at all ami never had done so. Damn funny, what? Have another cocktail?” Mr. Tinsole, who was actually relishing his Martini, at once acquiesced. His pale heart had begun to glow, and he laughed heartily at the story about the Home Secretary. He must remember to tell Morden Sarker about it. Sarker thought it pretty bright to run clubs in the basements of liis grocer’s shops. But “The Curacy!” That beat old Sarker. “Yes,” continued his lordship. “Old uarwell quite enjoyed the night-club end of liis job.” “I suppose they’re veiy interesting,” said Mr. Tinsole. “But how do you find them, and how do you get into them. Do you have to get an introduction ? For instance, I wonder if you would think me impertinent if I asked how you yourself came to be in the club beneath the grocer’s shop. You see, my lord, you have told me little more about this matter than just that you are being blackmailed by this fellow Weston. Perhaps with a little more information I could be of more use.” “I don't see that details of that sort can hell) you. Still, if you want to know how I got there I’ll tell you. I was taking my usual evening walk in the park when a young woman passed me. An extraordinary looking young woman in a sort of semi-Eastcrn dress. Astonishingly good-looking. It was so struck by her appearance that I turned and followed her. Just curiosity, you know. Then she accidentally dropped her handbag, and T naturally picked it up for her. After that we walked along together and then she suggested we should go somewhere for some chain-

pague. And, oh, what champagne it was when we got there. I shudder even now* at the very thought of it.” “She knew the place then?” “Evidently, hut there was no harm in her knowing it. She said she had been there once before with her late husband.” “You don't think she was working in conjunction with this fellow Weston who’s got the photos, do you?” Mr! Tinsole was anxious to know if Lola! were suspected. He was relieved wheDl his lordship replied: “Well, I know all about these decoy women, but there was nothing of that about this girl. She seemed to get quite fond of me. And, by the Lord Harry, couldn’t she kiss!” Tinsole laughed heartily at this. He would have to compliment Lola on her kisses when he saw her. “But you surely didn't kiss each other in a public place like that, did you?” “Not so public, my friend. Leading from the main part of that basement club, or whatever you call it, were several alcoves in which you could kiss a girl as long as you liked, so long as you kept on buying champagne. Oh, that champagne! Had it not been for that I’m sure I should never have thought of going into an alcove. By jove, I wonder if they are blackmailing that girl as well.” “Not very likely,” said Mr. Tinsole. “And in any case you say she’s a widow, so I suppose she’s got a right to sit on any man’s knee if she wants to. There’s nothing they could blackmail her about. It’s different with you. You are married and your wife is a leader of society, and all that kind of thing.” “All right, don’t rub it in,” said his lordship testily. “I know quite well I’m married. JSo would you if you were married to Lady Lanchester.” The peer gave a grim-sounding laugh as he said this. Mr. Tinsole made no comment. He was thinking of the thousand pounds. The cocktails had almost made him forget that Morden Sarker was expecting him to come away with what he, Sarker, called “the boodle.” “Tell me,” said his lordship presently, “What kind of fellow is this man Weston. I’ve only heard him on the telephone, and I don’t like his voice anymore than I like his methods. Damn clever the way they managed to get that photograph, all the same. I expect lots of other poor devils have been caught there in the same way.” In this Lord Lanchester was quite right. “The place ought to be put in the hands of the police,” he added. “Now, about Weston?” Mr. Tinsole gave an entirely fictitious account of Morden Sarker, even to the extent of saying he had a beard and was tall and thin. “Well, he wasn’t at the club himself, then,” was the peer’s comment. “Anyhow, wliat are we going to do about it?” “You mentioned the police a few minutes ago. Let me advise you very strongly to leave the police out of it. Weston is friendly with many of tli© police and you wouldn’t get much farther. He gives them valuable information about the underworld. No, my lord, yoti must not think of going to the police. And in addition, Weston is a fighter. I know a good deal about him. He tried to blackmail someone not very long ago and they went to the police, instead of doing as I advised them. A man it was. He now goes about with a silk mask over part of his face. Somebody sqirted nitric acid in his face one dark night.” Lord Lanchester paled. “And he’s wishing to-day that he’d taken my advice. You see, I know these blackmailers eo well that I can advise when it’s safe to go to the police and when it isn’t. In the case of Weston it is not safe.” “Very well, then, I suppose I must give you the thousand pounds—wliea I get the negatives arid—” “I’m afraid Mr. Weston will want the money before he parts with the negatives. After all, you can hardly blame him. He may be a rogue, but you can take it from me lie’s not a fool. Once you get the negatives you could snap your fingers at him. Oh, no, my lord, we can scarcely expect that of him.” “But how am I to know that he hasn’t kept some of the proofs. For all I know he may have printed off a million of them.” Here was where came in the tact of Mr. Tine-ole. “My lord,” he said, “to you who understand British sportsmanship, I think I can explaiu, knowing that you will believe me. When people of Weston’s type make a bargain they always keep it. Just in the same way as honest people like ourselves would keep it. The bargain may be tainted all tile colours of the rainbow, but it’s kept, kept with the rigidity of a commercial transaction in the city.” “Well, that’s reassuring, at any rate,” said his lordship. “Almost the pleasantest aspect of the case. In fact quite.’*

Mr. Tinsole leant back with inward triumph and with the feeling that he had been speaking what almost amounted to the truth. Barely did the blackmailer go back on a bargain of this kind. They might continue indefinitely to blackmail where it was a case of staving off information, but the return of incriminating photographs or documents was always performed punctiliously. Lord Lanehester drew out his chequebook, giving a keen look at Mr. Tin“Wliy, anyone would think you held a brief for the scoundrels,’* lie "said halflaughinglv. Mr. Tinsole coughed uneasily; then leant forward to receive the cheque. But his hand shook and his face went very pale.