Prince of Secrets Read online

‘No need to leave me.’ Dinah rose in her turn. ‘My things can stay here, and when the inspector is finished, you may change and I will order more tea on the lawn.’

  Cobie wasn’t sure that he wanted her with him but, short of issuing an order, there was nothing he could do. He offered her his arm, and they strolled slowly back to their quarters, the constable leading.

  Walker was waiting impatiently for them in the corridor. Cobie threw the door open, and said, more politely than he would have done had Dinah not been present, ‘Do be quick about it, inspector. I have already wasted too much of my day on this.’

  ‘Oh, I will that,’ agreed Walker with something of a snarl and, allowing Dinah to precede them, the two men, the constable following, walked into the small sitting room from which their two bedrooms led.

  ‘I’ll begin with your room, Lady Dinah,’ Walker announced and, watching him, Cobie marvelled a little at the man’s delicacy in conducting his search so as not to distress Dinah overmuch.

  ‘Nothing, as I expected,’ he said. ‘Now your room, Mr Grant.’

  He was being equally punctilious with him, Cobie noticed, Dinah’s presence being responsible no doubt. Here his search was both rougher and more thorough, and took some time. He even picked up every one of Cobie’s many boots and shoes and shook them to see whether anything was hidden inside them. Next he examined every pocket in every suit.

  He ordered Cobie’s trunks to be opened, and searched through those. Hat boxes were taken from the tops of the two wardrobes, and inspected. Walker began to realise how much money, time and effort was needed to make Jacobus Grant such a perfect example of a high-bred gentleman.

  He suspects, thought Dinah, watching him. He thinks he knows that Cobie took the diamonds, and is determined to prove that he did. Like her husband, she watched him approach the tallboy and begin to go methodically through each drawer. He stared at the books, the photograph and the ornate box on top of it. He nodded, and turned away from it. Cobie gave an inward sigh of relief—but Walker had not done with him.

  ‘You know, Mr Grant,’ he said, ‘after I discovered that you were a master of magic tricks I found a friend to introduce me to a stage magician so that he could tell me how such tricks are done. Most illuminating.’

  He turned back towards the tallboy, smiling. Cobie knew that he was playing cat and mouse with him, as he had done with the inspector when the odds were in his favour—as they were not now.

  ‘This pretty box, for example,’ Walker said, picking up the ornate box containing cigars and shaking it—but no noise came from it, Cobie was relieved to hear. ‘I believe it to be a magic box.’

  He opened it, stared at the cigars in it, and shook it again. Yes, I’m right, Cobie thought, he is playing cat to my mouse, turning the tables on me, and I have to take it with a smile, which he proceeded to do.

  ‘Want one, inspector?’ he drawled. ‘If so, take one, with my pleasure.’

  ‘Why, I do believe I will, sir. To smoke later.’ He placed one carefully in his breast pocket, made to put the box back—and stopped again.

  ‘The magician told me the trick to open such as these,’ and he began to fiddle with the panel on its side.

  Walker knew. He was about to be unmasked. He had done what he had been warned not to do. He had flown too near the sun, and its flames were about to consume him. Walker was leering at him. Cobie kept his face impassive, saying languidly, ‘Most interesting, inspector—but to what end?’

  ‘This,’ said Walker, and with a quick flick of his fingers he manoeuvred the panel, so that the side of the box began to fall open.

  ‘The biggest mistake even the cleverest criminals make is to underrate the opposition,’ he intoned, before pulling the side away and looking into the box’s false bottom, ‘perhaps you might like to explain this, Mr Grant.’

  Yes, he had underrated Walker and was about to pay the price. His latest magic trick had failed. Except that when Walker finished pulling the side away to reveal the compartment below the false bottom, the look on his face changed into one of baffled consternation…

  He was not the only surprised person in the room.

  When he had turned the box towards the Grants, to reveal, as he thought, the diamonds, he had only revealed that it was empty of anything but cigars!

  Cobie’s mind was whirling. He had put the diamonds in the box’s false bottom immediately after he had returned to his room, confident that their camouflage was complete—and how wrong he had been.

  Now they were gone!

  He was even more surprised than Walker. Who the devil could have taken them—and when? Did the whole world suddenly know how magic boxes worked?

  ‘What on earth was all that about, inspector?’ he asked, in his most haughtily arrogant mode. ‘What rabbit were you about to produce out of what hat? Surely you didn’t think that the diamonds were in there?’

  He began to laugh, carefully. He didn’t want to decline into baffled hysteria himself, as by his expression Walker was on the point of doing.

  ‘What the devil have you done with them?’ Walker spluttered, all his recent mocking urbanity gone. ‘I know you took the diamonds, Grant. There was no thief from outside, only one from inside, and you’re him.’

  Dinah, who had been standing quietly just inside the door, said, also haughtily, and she had never sounded more like Violet, ‘Don’t you think that this has gone far enough, inspector? You have reduced my husband’s room and personal belongings to shambles in an attempt to prove he stole Sir Ratcliffe’s diamonds. Now, on what appears to be no evidence at all, you have made a straight accusation of theft.

  ‘Why are you wasting your time with us, when you should be concentrating your efforts on finding the real thief? If my husband will not ask you to leave, I will.’

  She was a dear little kitten, Cobie thought, standing up to Walker’s giant moggie, in defence of her mate. The only thing which spoiled the picture was his knowledge of his guilt, and of his frantic mind’s squirreling around to try to make out where in Hades the diamonds had got to!

  Walker said, ‘I don’t think that you know your husband very well, Lady Dinah.’

  Dinah replied proudly, head thrown back, still out-Violeting Violet, ‘Oh, I assure you, I know him very well, Inspector. Someone said that a wife always knows. I may be young, but I am a wife. If you don’t leave us—and with an apology—I shall go straight to my brother-in-law, Lord Kenilworth, and ask him to approach Scotland Yard and tell them to withdraw you from the case.’

  Cobie blinked a little at his young wife’s sudden firmness, and self-control. Nothing she had ever said or done had prepared him for this. Your fault, he told himself, you taught her, and laughed inwardly when he remembered those who had worried that she wouldn’t be able to stand up to living with him! Momentarily the boot was on the other foot.

  Walker said, for really, there was nothing else he could say, mild Lady Dinah having turned into the aristocrat embattled and the search having gone so horribly wrong, ‘I must apologise to both of you. No, I have no real evidence that Mr Grant had anything to do with the robbery, but I have to do my duty as I see fit, Lady Dinah, you must understand that.’

  Dinah, having got what she wanted, was all graciousness. ‘Oh, yes, I do understand, inspector. Now I know that my husband is tired from his ride, and was about to take tea when you sent for us, so that I am sure you will leave us to allow him to do exactly that.’

  She had done more for him than she knew, Cobie thought. By taking up the cudgels she had allowed him to collect his straying wits, because for once the magician himself was baffled.

  All he could think of after the disgruntled Walker had left was, What in the world has happened to the diamonds?

  Chapter Five

  The whispers grew to a roar and no one knew who had started the rumour on its way. Certainly not Cobie Grant, he was careful to keep a puzzled interest in the matter of the necklace. If he thought that it was the tongue of Beauchamp, the gr
ey man, which was responsible, he said nothing. In any case, for the first twenty-four hours after the necklace had disappeared from where he had put it, he was too occupied by that to have time to start any hare on its dubious way or to scatter any red herrings of his own about Markendale’s drawing rooms and corridors.

  The word was that Sir Ratcliffe himself was the thief; that he had stolen the necklace to sell it secretly, so strapped was he for cash. His imminent bankruptcy was suddenly public knowledge. The Prince’s influence which had kept the wolves away had disappeared with the recovery of his letters. Sir Ratcliffe had lost his bulwark against ruin.

  Walker, before he left Markendale to pursue his enquiries elsewhere, was told sub rosa of this possibility. It was one which had crossed his mind, even though he was sure that he knew who the thief was. He said nothing of his suspicions. He had been introduced to the Prince who had been gracious to him, and it had been immediately plain that whatever else, Cobie Grant, Mr Dilley, enjoyed the favour of the Prince and his immediate circle.

  It would be death to his own career if he attempted to accuse him of stealing the diamonds without being able to provide the strongest supportive evidence. Indeed the Prince had spoken to Grant, in Walker’s presence, as to an intimate and trusted friend.

  More of his magic tricks, of course. Walker sardonically wondered whether he had some mysterious hold over the heir to the throne, but thought it more likely that it was his other powers of entertainment which made him the current favourite. Bates had told him of the servants’ hall gossip: that Grant and Sir Ratcliffe were at outs, that the Prince was supporting Grant because he found him amusing and had withdrawn his favour from the Baronight, as Bates called Sir Ratcliffe.

  Worst of all, for Sir Ratcliffe, at least, another whisper was started on its way, and this time several persons contributed to the evidence which made the rumour something more than hot air and gossip.

  It was being muttered that Sir Ratcliffe’s amazing luck at baccarat was caused by more than luck. Lords Dagenham and Rainsborough went to Lord Kenilworth with their suspicions. Unknown to them, others had also hinted to their host that something odd was going on at Sir Ratcliffe’s table.

  Lord Kenilworth’s reaction was similar to that of his wife when the theft of the Heneage diamonds had been made known.

  ‘Not here,’ he said, and then to Dagenham, whose judgement he respected, ‘Are you sure that he’s cheating?’

  ‘Almost sure,’ Dagenham said. ‘I think that he ought to be watched.’

  Kenilworth groaned, ‘More scandal! Can’t we keep this quiet?’

  ‘No.’ Dagenham was heavy. ‘We can’t. Young Ffolliot has noticed. It was he who came to me. Can we have a young fellow know that his elders and betters are willing to stand by and allow blatant cheating to go on?’

  Kenilworth nodded. ‘How do we pin him down?’

  Dagenham said, ‘Talk to Beauchamp. He’ll know how to keep this muted.’

  Kenilworth did. Beauchamp’s advice was, that if cheating were detected, Sir Ratcliffe must be challenged. The Prince could not be seen to be party to fraud.

  ‘It’s scandal either way,’ Kenilworth offered in a doom-laden voice.

  ‘True,’ Beauchamp returned, ‘and in that case we must be sure to do the right thing.’ He paused. ‘Ask Grant to be one of your watchers.’

  ‘Why Grant?’

  ‘Very observant, Grant,’ was all Beauchamp would say. He could hardly tell Kenilworth that he was trying to throw Heneage to the wolves, or rather, to the biggest wolf of all who was only waiting to make a meal of him.

  Cobie wasn’t feeling very wolf-like. He had been a little distrait after Walker had left them, Dinah noted, which was very unlike him. It was plain to her that he was having to try a little harder than usual to maintain his perfect calm.

  He puzzled away at the problem of the diamonds all through the evening, through dinner, and through the game of baccarat which followed dinner. He thought that Heneage’s cheating was becoming so blatant that surely someone else besides himself would register it. He didn’t want to be the first to challenge him. Supportive, but regretful evidence, would be a better line.

  And, by the way, where the devil was the necklace? It was like a sore tooth, he could not leave it alone. For the first time for many years he found himself nonplussed.

  Dinah, however, was particularly radiant that night. She was dressed in white again. Assorted pale pink rosebuds made up the silk wreath on her head, and the nosegay at her waist. To complete the air of supreme and delightful innocence, she carried a small bouquet of the same silken flowers dangling from her right wrist instead of a fan. Her jewellery was simple. A necklace of seed pearls, one of the few pieces which she had owned before Cobie married her, circled her neck, while a simple silver bracelet, also set with seed pearls, adorned her other wrist.

  She was still glowing when they finally abandoned the game, and made for their rooms. She looked at Cobie, her gaze limpid and said, when they reached them, ‘You seem a trifle tired, my love. Too much riding, perhaps. Would you prefer that I didn’t come to you tonight?’

  No, he didn’t. Damn it, he wanted something to take his mind off the diamonds. More, he liked her in his bed whether he was making love to her or not. And what a surprise that was! Always before his women had been there for him to make love to, and little else. He knew that he had been selfish, but so be it. Dinah, now…was different. Another problem to worry over.

  ‘My dear,’ he told her, and it was no less than the truth, ‘I can never be tired of you.’

  His answer surprised her more than she would have thought possible. He had said it soberly, with none of his usual mockery present, which made everything he said opaque so that she could take nothing for granted.

  He deserved a reward. Now, what sort of reward could she give him? Perhaps she could show him that if she were his pupil in life, then he had taught her well, and she would so demonstrate.

  ‘Very well, then. I shan’t be long.’

  Neither of them rang for their servants to prepare them for bed these days. Cobie removed his clothes, put on a linen nightgown, one with a frill which made him, so Dinah told him, look like an archangel in a painting.

  There was something different about her tonight. His intuition told him that—but it didn’t tell him what the difference was. Perhaps he would find out when she came to his bed. The thought shortened his breathing. He found himself lusting after his young wife after a fashion which three months ago he would not have believed possible.

  The door opened and Dinah entered.

  She was wearing a flowing white silk négligé over her nightgown, her hair was down, and she looked younger than ever. The glow had grown, so that her skin, instead of being alabaster was mother of pearl, with, his painter’s eye told him, pale pink, pale blue, mauve, and delicate grey shadows on it.

  He put out his hand. She didn’t take it, but stood back instead, one hand behind her back, and said, her dark eyes on him, ‘Cobie, why did you steal Sir Ratcliffe’s necklace?’

  In the headlong career which Cobie Grant had pursued for the past ten years, he had never before been struck by such a bolt of lightning coming at him from out of a sky which appeared to be innocent of threat. It took him all of the self-control painfully acquired on a dreadful afternoon when he was barely twenty-one, and honed since then by what he always thought of as his tightrope walking through a life of deceit and trickery, to show no emotion whatsoever other than a slight surprise.

  His perfect eyebrows rose. He said, as though he were replying to a demand of whether he wished to drink tea or coffee, ‘Sir Ratcliffe’s necklace, Dinah? Why should I wish to steal it? I have a veritable Golconda of diamonds at my disposal.’

  ‘Oh, I know that,’ she said, smiling. ‘That’s why I had to ask you. It seems such an odd thing for you to do.’

  ‘Odder still for you to assume I stole it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t assume it, Cobie. I know
you took it. See,’ and she slipped her négligé off to reveal the diamond necklace blazing around her throat. The hand behind her back was held towards him, and there were the rings on her finger, and the brooch in the palm of her hand.

  ‘I think that they look rather splendid, don’t you, Cobie? Is that why you stole them?’

  He surprised her. He always surprised her. It was one of the things which he did to people. He went down on both knees before her, took her hand, the one without the brooch in it, and kissed it.

  He looked up at her, his bright blue eyes as limpid as her own dark ones, and said, ‘Oh, what a wife I gained when I bought you from Rainey, Dinah! I admit that I never thought that it was you who took the diamonds from the box, so that when Walker prowled around and found it, you had already saved me. You not only deserve my thanks but also a reward for what you did, and this is it!’

  He stood up, and in one lithe movement lifted her up, threw her on to the bed and tore the négligé and nightdress from her, leaving her wearing only the diamonds, as she had worn only his jewels on the night he had made her his wife. His body and his mouth came down on hers, for Dinah to respond to him with the same passion, the same violent desire, with which he was taking her.

  He was laughing, and so was she when the ecstasy swept them away so that they were neither Dinah nor Cobie, but one thing. It was an ecstasy more powerful than either of them had ever experienced before.

  After it they lay side by side, half-sliding into sleep until Dinah lifted herself on one arm, took the necklace from around her own neck, and placed it around his, saying, ‘Now tell me why you stole it,’ to have him counter with,

  ‘No, first of all you must tell me how you found it and why you stole it.’

  She had expected to be shy, not to want to tell him that she had searched his room, and something, perhaps some intuition beyond reason, told her not to let him know of her previous search of his bedroom in their Park Lane home.

  ‘I was like the lady in the Bluebeard legend,’ she said, ‘for I went into your room after the necklace was stolen, and I saw your magic box. I didn’t know that it was magic, but I did think that it was rather beautiful, and I picked it up to examine it more closely. I think that the catch must have been faulty, for the side came loose—and there were Sir Ratcliffe’s diamonds.’