“Oh. He came regular?”
“We’re all very regular, officer,” she giggled.
“Has he been here?”
“I haven’t seen him. He may have looked in. He often funks a rag. Rather a dull old thing. What’s it all about?”
“Any friends of his here?”
“Oh, hell! Friends! What’s a friend? Half this push knows him to drink a cocktail with.”
“I see.” Bell glowered at her. “Nobody’s friendly. But half of you knew him. Did anybody know him particular besides you?”
“What do you mean?” Her thin face flushed. “You’ve no right to ask me all these questions. I won’t stand it. I told you, I just know him, and lots of the others do. I’m not going to be kept here to be worried by you.”
While Reggie listened to their talk, his eyes were searching the room and the crowd within. The gramophone blared the tune of “The Gigolo’s Wedding,” but few continued to dance. Most of them had gathered into little parties to talk, nervously, angrily, spitefully, or with cackling laughter, over the invasion of the police.
The plan of the room became clear to him. Square front and back parlours of a house of the year of grace 1800 had been made into one. Furniture, except for cushions and divans and a bar counter, had been abolished. The curtains were in two shades of purple On the walls and ceiling many shades of yellow were combined in a dazzle of a pattern to conceal the room’s shape and size, so that the frieze running round it seemed to hang without support from above or below. The frieze was painted in the manner of a primitive tapestry, with stunted figures. Reggie made out scenes of the story of the three bears and Goldilocks - the child and their porridge, the child and their beds - and always the bears were grotesque and Goldilocks a malicious sprite.
A stab at his mind from unconscious memory made him think of the moment when his wife had seen Faustine with Golly Dodd and Lindsay and Florian, and called them Goldilocks and the three bears.
Though one was going, a corpse, to the mortuary, two were in Faustine’s rooms. He saw Cosmo Florian, decorated with a violet dinner - jacket and a soft ruffled shirt over which a cascade of blue tie fell, drinking at the bar. Lindsay’s mop of sandy hair rose from between giggling women, and his tweed - clothed arms were round two of them.
Bell’s interrogation of Faustine went on. “I want a lot more. When did this party of yours start?”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Any old time. People come along when they like.”
“When did you expect Dr. Dodd?”
“I didn’t expect him,” she snapped. “I told you so.”
“You said he often came. What time would he come?”
“God knows. Don’t be a fool. People don’t have fixed times to look in.”
“Did he look in or didn’t he?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Go to hell!”
“Have you been in your house here all the evening?” That shook her. She did not answer for a moment. She drew back against the wall. “Of course I have. Is it likely I’d go out with this push here? Look here, what are you asking all this nonsense for? If it means anything, I have a right to know.”
“I’m investigating a crime,” said Bell.
“What crime? What’s happened? There’s been nothing here. Do you mean something about Golly Dodd?”
“I do. Did you expect it?”
“Me? Golly? “While she gasped that out the telephone rang. “Oh, hell!” She ran to it.” Yes. Speaking. Who’s that? Phipps? What’s the matter with you? Well, don’t gobble; go on. What? …” She swayed and staggered, and dropped the receiver and reeled, and, as Reggie caught her, Bell snatched it up.
“Speaking for Miss Rook. Give that message again, please. … I understand.” He clashed back the receiver, took it off again, and rang up the Kensington police station. “Superintendent Bell speaking. Send round to Mrs. Samuel Rook’s house at once. Big job. I’m coming along.” He rang off and turned to Reggie. “What’s wrong with this woman? Only a faint, eh? All right. I want you, sir.” He strode to his chief assistant at the street door. “Now then. You’re left in charge. Name and address of everybody, and the time they came here and where they came from. Look ‘em over for any bloodstains. Then you can turn ‘em loose. And take the chance to search the house for traces of blood or a weapon. What’s it like, Mr. Fortune?”
“Narrow blade, double edge, wavy edge: handle probably at an angle to the blade.”
“Queer thing. Know that if you see it, won’t you George? Now, Mr. Fortune, come on, will you? This is a merry night.”
“Yes. As you say.” Reggie went with him along the street. The rain had stopped; moonlight made a silver sheen on the wet pavement. They came to the police cars. “I infer we’re going to Mrs. Rook’s house. Did you get the address?”
“Pick it up at the station,” Bell told him.
