Page 53 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
Twelve
TUESDAY
Astartled doorkeeper admitted Inspector Treadles and Sergeant MacDonald, led them upstairs to a common room, then rushed off to knock on a door deeper in the dwelling. After several minutes, a man of about thirty-five, well-dressed and well-coiffed, came into the common room.
“Mr. Ainsley?” asked Treadles.
“The name’s Temple. I do for Mr. Ainsley.”
The valet, then. Treadles introduced himself and MacDonald. “Is Mr. Ainsley at home?”
“He is. But he’s never up at this hour, unless he’s just come back from a night on the town. Won’t you have a cup of tea?”
Tea sounded tempting. Treadles had abandoned his own breakfast when MacDonald had banged on his door, all excited to have come across a missing-person report, filed the evening before, that matched the description of their murder victim exactly. “Yes, thank you. Much obliged.”
They followed the valet to a small sitting room dominated by apainting of an African elephant. Temple brought not only tea but buttered toast, muffins, marmalade, and a bowl of strawberries and grapes before running off to wrangle his master again.
“I wouldn’t mind having someone to ‘do’ for me,” said MacDonald, helping himself to a muffin.
Treadles couldn’t complain. He might not have a valet, but since his wedding, he had never had to worry about how his meals got on the table or whether his clothes were overdue for laundering.
From farther inside the apartment came Temple’s muffled entreaties. “Mr. Ainsley, you said you’d be up when I came back. Come now. You’ve got to get up now. You can’t keep a police inspector waiting. What are they here for? I told you. About Mr. Hayward.”
“Hayward?” came a sleepy voice. “Wait! You didn’t tell me it was about Hayward.”
The voice had become much less sleepy.
“I did, sir.”
“No, you didn’t. Oh, for God’s sake, don’t open the curtains—the light hurts my eyes. Let me put on some clothes. Make me a cup of coffee, will you?”
“It’s already in the percolator. Shall I shave you now?”
“I thought we mustn’t keep the coppers waiting.”
“But you can’t receive anyone looking like this!”
“Trust me, plenty of people have seen me like this and the sun still never sets on the British Empire.”
A minute later, a young man with bloodshot eyes, sandy stubble, and the beginning of a paunch came padding out, clad in a heavily embroidered black dressing gown. He shook hands weakly with the policemen and sat down opposite.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen? Oh, thank you, Temple, you’re an angel.”
“You reported a missing person last night, a Mr. RichardHayward,” Treadles stated, “whose address, according to the report, is the same as yours.”
His first swallow of coffee had a marked effect on Ainsley. Already he was more alert, his speech sharper. “Yes, Hayward has the rooms at the end of the hall. Didn’t know the police were this efficient. Will you be able to find him soon? He needs to at least come back and take his poor guinea pig.”
“Guinea pig?”
“Yes, he has one, which he has almost killed with neglect.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sweet little fellow—Samson’s his name, though between you and me, he could be a Delilah, for all we know. But anyway, Hayward and I had plans to dine at this new place last Thursday. He was supposed to come by and have a drink here before we headed out. I waited and waited and he never came. Knocked on his door and no one answered. I figured he must have forgotten and was probably out having fun with other people, so I went to dinner on my own.
“When I came back, I knocked and still nobody answered. Left him a note under the door and told him what an ass he was. Expected him to come by and apologize—or at least explain. He didn’t. But what can you do? Some fellows are like that.
“But then Saturday the landlady came and asked if I’d seen Hayward. Said he didn’t come by to settle his bills for the week. That’s when I remembered I still hadn’t seen him since before Thursday. We got a little worried. She opened his door. And wouldn’t you know it, the place had been turned inside out. Temple had to go fetch some smelling salts for Mrs. Hammer. And it was only when we were leaving that I saw Samson’s cage on the floor, the little fellow starving to death inside. Took Temple the rest of the day to coax him back to life. Excellent nursemaid, Temple. Absolutely first rate.”
