‘I see, sir. Was that usual?’
‘With Rolie, everything’s usual. He’s a bit of a fly one, our Rolie. Like Sylvie; always got an iron or two in the fire what we don’t know about. Usually we know about bookings weeks, even months in advance, plan them together, like. But every once in a while…’
‘What happens every once in a while, Mr Maloney?’
‘Every once in a while, Inspector, he takes a whim and we scarper off dead quick like.’
‘Scarper, sir? Is it like that? Running away?’
‘Or running towards. I never know for sure.’
‘But you have your suspicions?’
‘You can’t help but have suspicions, guv.’
‘And what were your suspicions this time?’
‘Nothing I could make sense of, that’s for sure, but I’ve heard what happened in the library and I’ve been wondering about a few things.’
‘I’ve been closeted away in here for the most part, sir, so I’ve not heard the gossip. What have you heard about Mr Holloway?’
‘Coshed and left for dead they told me,’ said Skins
‘Indeed, sir, yes. At first we thought it was a robbery.’
‘A robbery? Nelson?’
‘Is that unlikely, sir?’ asked the inspector.
‘We’re musicians, Inspector, only one step out of the gutter – not even that to hear some people talk about us. We ain’t got nothing worth nicking.’
‘Meaning you no offence, sir, but that was my thought at first. I presumed he’d stumbled upon a burglary and had been walloped for his troubles. But then we discovered his missing trumpet case, and that got me thinking,’ said the inspector.
‘Thinking someone was there to nick his trumpet case, you mean? An empty trumpet case?’
‘Again, sir, you leap straight to the heart of it. Was it empty?’
‘Was it empty? Hmmm.’ Skins sat a moment in thought. ‘Here’s the thing, Inspector, right? See, I don’t like talking out of turn, and I ain’t the sort to go dropping no one in it, but there’s a chance – I mean, just a chance, right? – that there was something in that case. That’s what I mean about my suspicions.’
‘What sort of a something, sir,’ said the inspector, leaning forwards slightly.
‘That’s the thing, see, I ain’t at all certain. I just heard some things, that’s all.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Well, see, our Roland, he’s a bit of a sly one, like I say. Always got a fiddle going, some scheme or other. So anyway, last month we was playing these dates in Paris – there’s some lovely clubs there, they love a bit of the old ragtime, the Frogs – and one night we was in this little dive in Montmartre. And we’re sitting there in the break, you know, me, Barty, Rolie, Nelson and Sylvie, all together, like, but round two tables. So we’re sipping some rough red wine or other, and this bloke comes over and whispers in Rolie’s ear. Then he and Nelson gets up and goes to sit at another table and they’re chatting away, all secretive like.’
‘Could you hear what they were saying?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
Skins turned towards her. ‘That’s just it, my lady. I could and I couldn’t.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said.
‘Well, I could hear snatches of it, like, but I couldn’t suss out what they was on about. So this bloke what come over, he’s saying, “I’ve got it, but I’ll never get it past the English Customs.” And Rolie says, “Don’t worry about that, we can take care of that, can’t we Nelse,” all chuckly and smug like. And Nelson, he chuckles back.’
‘So you think they were smuggling something?’ said the inspector.
‘Well, that’s what it sounds like, don’t it.’
‘It does. And if Nelson was involved, that means it could have been in his trumpet case. But why get Nelson involved at all? If Richman was the schemer, why share the proceeds?’
‘He doesn’t have an instrument case, does he,’ said Skins. ‘He plays piano so he don’t carry nothing but his music. Our bags sometimes gets checked, but never our instrument cases. Never figured that one out, but that’s the way it happens. Rolie must’ve needed someone with a case he could hide something in.’
‘It would have to be something small,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But that doesn’t narrow it down much. It could be money, jewellery, documents... anything–’
‘Quite so, my lady,’ said the inspector, cutting her off before she could reveal too much of what we already knew. ‘Did you get any hint as to what it might be, Mr Maloney?’
‘No, nothing. There was more mumbling and then we was back on for the second set.’
‘Did you get a good look at this chap that came up to speak to them? Had you ever seen him before?’
‘No, like I said, it was a bit of a dive. Dark, candles in old wine bottles, you know the sort of thing. Oh, actually, come to think of it, you most probably don’t. But anyway, they ain’t the sort of places where you can get a good butcher’s at someone if he fancies keeping out of sight.’
‘What about his accent,’ asked Lady Hardcastle. ‘Could you tell where he was from?’
‘You’re a shrewd one, my lady, I can see why he wants you in his team. Yes, I was going to mention that. He spoke English, and the few words I heard seemed normal, like, like he was comfortable with the language, but a couple of words didn’t seem to come natural, like it wasn’t his own language. Know what I mean? He sounded posh, like, but foreign with it.’
‘But no idea what sort of foreign?’ asked the inspector.
‘Do I look like a language professor, guv?’
‘No, sir, but you have a musician’s ear. You hear tones and rhythms that the rest of us might miss. It’s like second nature to you. And you travel. You must have heard many dozens of accents.’
Skins sat a while in contemplation. ‘All right, then. So I don’t reckon he was English. Nor French – you can tell them, even the ones what’s really good at English. He was like... I tell you what, there was some sounds like the Lascar sailors up the East End.’
‘Indian?’
‘Yeah, but not rough like them, more like he was an educated man.’
‘Was there anyone else there, Mr Skins?’ I said.
‘Anyone else, love?’
‘You know, anyone that the Indian gentleman might have spoken to? Anyone else suspicious? Anything that might give us a clue as to what was going on?’
‘Oh, I see. No, darling, it was a regular Paris nightclub. Mix of people. Some rough, some smart. Everyone from street toughs to music aficionados to military types and posh ladies and gents out for a bit of adventure.’
‘Oh,’ I said, disappointedly. ‘So no one stood out?’
‘Not really, love, no. Just your average Saturday night crowd in Paris.’
I nodded.
‘Thank you, Mr Maloney, this is all most helpful,’ said the inspector as he made yet more notes. ‘I appreciate that it’s inconvenient, but could I prevail upon you not to leave The Grange for a few more days. I might need to talk to you again.’
‘Inconvenient, guv?’ said Skins with a grin. ‘Free lodgings, free meals, and fresh air? You’re kidding, right?’
‘Well, when you put it like that, sir, I suppose you could treat it as a holiday.’