Page 90 of Garden of Lies

“For pity’s sake,” Ursula snapped, “don’t keep us in suspense. This is not a melodrama. What is the point of the damned telegram?”

Slater raised a brow at her sharp tones but he did not comment.

“According to the museum director, the staff at Cobb’s New York mansion claim that he left on a business trip ten days ago.”

“The Atlantic crossing takes about a week,” Ursula said. “Sometimes less. You were right, Slater. Cobb has been in London for at least a few days.”

Mrs. Webster reappeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Otford is here to see you, sir,” she said. “Shall I tell him to wait until you’ve finished breakfast?”

“No,” Slater said. “If he’s here at this hour, he must have something interesting for us. Send him in, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Webster started to move back out into the hall.

“You’d better set another place for breakfast, Mrs. Webster,” Slater added. “I have a feeling he will be hungry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mrs. Webster disappeared. Less than a moment later Gilbert Otford scurried into the room. He stopped short and gazed at the heavily laden sideboard with a worshipful expression.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said. He did not take his attention off the array of serving platters. “Mr. Roxton.”

“Good morning, Otford,” Slater said. “Please join us.”

“Delighted, sir. Thank you.”

There was a flutter of activity before Otford sat down across from Ursula. His plate was heaped high with sausages, toast and eggs. He fell to the meal with enthusiasm.

Slater seemed content to wait until Otford had made some inroads on his breakfast before questioning him but Ursula was not in a patient mood.

“Well, Mr. Otford?” She fixed him with a look. “What have you to tell us?”

“Cost me a small fortune to get one of the housemaids and a footman to chat,” Otford said around a mouthful of sausage. “Those who work at the club have been told to keep quiet about what goes on there. Anyone caught gossiping will be turned off without a reference. No one wants to lose a post at the club because the pay and the gratuities are excellent.”

“That’s all you got for Mr. Roxton’s money?” Ursula asked. “The information that the servants are well paid?”

Otford looked at Slater, perplexed. “Is she upset about something?”

Slater was suddenly occupied drinking his coffee.

“Mr. Otford,”Ursula said. “I asked you a question.”

“No, Mrs. Grant—uh—Mrs. Kern,” Otford said hastily. “That was not all I learned. I was just coming to the interesting bits.”

“About time,” Ursula said.

Slater drank a little more coffee and then looked at Otford.

“You were saying?” Slater prompted in a manner that was almost gentle.

“Right.” Otford flipped a page in his notebook. “Here’s the information that made my ears prick up. Evidently there are two levels of membership—the general level and the inside elite known as the Vision Chamber members. Those who belong to the Chamber are provided with more intense forms of the drug and some very exclusive services.”

“Exclusive services?” Ursula said. “What are those?”

Otford squirmed in his chair. This time he looked to Lilly for help. She gave him a benign smile and turned to Ursula.

“I believe Mr. Otford is referring to the sorts of exclusive services that only a very expensive brothel such as the Pavilion of Pleasure might be able to provide,” she said.

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