“Funny. But the last I heard, Schrödinger was Harry Johnson’s cat.”
Dora said, “That’s a funny name.”
“The owner is a funny guy.”
“But I want Morris,” Dora said before Sally Hawkins called her away.
If not Morris, then Joey. Or someone. Jury looked down, studied his pint.
“Are you saying this is Harry Johnson’s cat?”
Jury nodded and drank his beer.
“What is it doing here?”
“I expect Harry brought her here.”
Melrose dropped his head in his hands. “Why? Why? Why? Do I want to hear the answer?”
“Probably not. ‘The cat came back.’ It’s Harry having his little joke. Don’t you remember he sucked me into his story about the Gaults with that enigmatic comment ‘The dog came back’?”
“This was a joke?”
“Um-hm. There’s a murder in Chesham and I’m stuck with it. Harry knows it. So he’s just getting his mite of revenge because I’m still on his case.”
“He’s crazy. Why would he bring his cat here?”
“Well, he didn’t know it was his, did he? He thought he was bringing Morris back.”
“So he couldn’t tell his own cat?”
“Not him. Not without the collar. He put a collar on Morris in order to tell them apart. Now, the real mystery is how Morris got the collar off and onto Schrödinger. I suspect Mungo managed that little trick. Easy enough to get it off; it’s just a Velcro closure. Well, we’ll never know.”
“You’re just leaving Schrödinger here and Morris with Harry?”
“No, of course not. You’re going to get Morris back.”
Melrose stared, not at Jury but at some impossible image in his head. Then he collected his cigarettes and lighter, stuffed them into his pockets, drank off his beer, and said, “That’s it.”
When he got up, Jury pulled him down by his sleeve. “It’s perfectly simple. You’ll go to Harry’s. I have a dog, I mean cat, carrier in the car-”
“Why? What would you have a carrier for?” Melrose had sat down again.
“It’s… Wiggins’s. He got a hamster. We’ll put the carrier in your car. You’ll be staying at Boring’s.” Pleased, Jury drank his beer.
“Is there any part of my life you don’t have plans for? Why will I be staying at Boring’s?”
“Because you’re going to London.”
“I have no plans to go to London.”
“You do now. That’s the second thing: Have you ever used an escort service?”
Melrose sat back and regarded Jury through narrowed and suspicious eyes. “No, and I don’t plan to in the future.”
“Here’s a change in your future plans: Smart Set, Valentine’s, King’s Road Companions. You choose.”
“Oh, thanks very much. None of the above. I don’t fancy sex I have to pay for.”
“Who said you had to?”
“Pay for it?”
“No, have it.”
“Well, that’s what those escort places are for.”
“Not necessarily. You can have an escort for a lot of things. Just take her to dinner or a show or for a walk in Green Park or to the Royal Albert Hall or to the Vic-”
“Can you see me taking a woman of that sort to the Victoria and Albert?”
“Christ, but you’re a snob. I never knew you were a snob.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, but you’re not. Look at all your canoodling with the Crippses. Anyone who can hang around White Elite and Ash the Flash by definition is not a snob. Not to mention Piddlin’ Pete.” Jury gave a brief but beery laugh. “And what about Bea? Yes, Bea. You didn’t waste any time taking her to the National Gallery. She’s a lot more EC3 than SW1.”
“Bea’s an artist.”
“I know. But her accent’s Brixton. So go ahead, choose: Smart Set, Valentine’s, King’s Road.”
Melrose continued to stare at Jury.
“Oh, for God’s sakes. I’ll go first.” Jury was certain that Rosie Moss knew more than she’d told him; now was as good a time as any to ring her. He did. “Rosie, hello. Richard Jury… yes, that one. Look, if you’ve nothing on, how about a drink tomorrow night… No?… Thursday night, then?” He danced his eyebrows at a leery-eyed Melrose Plant. “Okay, I will. Thanks.” Jury rang off. “See? Simple as that? Rosie’s with Valentine’s. So you take one of the others.”
“If you were actually talking to someone just now. You could have been faking the whole thing.”
Jury just gave him a look.
“Oh, very well. Smart Set. I like the name better.”
“Right.” Jury got out his mobile phone. “We’ll call that first.”
Melrose threw up his hands. “Wait a minute: you think I’m going to do this right now?”
“Why not? I did it right now.”
“You don’t trust me to do it?”
“No.”
“Hell.” Melrose reached over and grabbed the mobile. “What’s the number?”
Jury slid a page from his small notebook across to Melrose. “Don’t forget the London code’s just changed.”
Melrose glared. “I’m not a child.” He tapped in the number and waited for the ring. “Yes… hello… I was just wondering… I’m going to be in London-”
Jury held up a page on which he’d been writing. “-tomorrow and I’m interested in your, uh, service.”
Jury went on writing.
“And I was just wondering about the procedure… Yes… Yes.”
Jury held up his note: “They’ll want to know what kind of girl.” “Oh, I’m not particular-no, wait, I’d say a blonde, tallish, good-looking, of course, but then you wouldn’t have one that’s bad-looking, would you, a-ha?”
A twitter came out of the mobile.
“That sounds all right… Where will I be staying? At my club. Boring’s. It’s in Mayfair… Oh, cocktails and dinner, I think… At my club? Well… look, I’ll get in touch after I get to London to pick a place to meet… Yes.” He gave her his particulars, including a credit card number. He had to wrestle the card out of his leather billfold. “Yes. Good-bye.” Melrose gave the mobile and a dirty look to Jury, who smiled and stowed it in his pocket.
Dora was back again, sitting down beside Jury, ignoring Sally Hawkins. “When you go to London,” she said to Melrose, “will you go to this person’s house and get Morris?”
“No,” he said to her. Ignoring Dora’s crestfallen look, he turned to Jury. “Now, what are your instructions? I mean, about how to behave on a first date?”
“I don’t care what you do as long as you get the information.” Jury thought of the cabdriver who’d whisked him to the animal hospital, and smiled. The Knowledge.”
Jury looked at his watch. “Got to go. I want to make a few stops before I head back to London.”
“What about this infernal kidnapping of Morris? When am I supposed to do that?”
“After your hot date tomorrow night. So the day after. And don’t use the Rolls; take one of your other wrecks. The Bentley. It’s pretty old as I remember.’
“There’s the Jag.”
“You don’t own a Jaguar.”
“I could always buy one. I mean, we want to do this right.”
“Why are you sodden with money, whilst I just have to squeak along?”
Melrose shrugged. “Justice? You can have my Bentley.” “Thanks. And remember, this isn’t a kidnapping. Kidnapping is what Harry did. You’ll be going to London anyway for your date.” Jury smiled. “I’ll let you know the exact time to appear at Harry’s house. He lives in Belgravia. You know where that is.”
“‘You know where that is,’” Melrose mimicked. “Yes, sport, I know. What’s his address?”
Jury told him.
“So when Harry comes to the door-incidentally, I’m sure Harry will remember me after that drama in the Old Wine Shades.”
“Harry won’t be coming to the door.” Jury’s smile was even broader. “Harry will be elsewhere.”