Susan edged away from him. “What kind of a good turn?” she asked, more for something to say.

He brooded, staring at her, but not seeing her. “I was down and out and Cornelius, that was the brother, found me. He took me to his home, talked Kester into letting me stay. They taught me how to drive a car and I’ve been their chauffeur ever since. You wouldn’t think important men like that could be bothered to be kind, but they were. Cornelius was always good to me.”

“Has he gone away then?” Susan asked.

“He’s dead.” The bitterness went out of his eyes and he looked sad. “He died six weeks ago. He got a cold. Silly thing to die of, but he wasn’t strong.”

Susan twisted her fingers in her lap. She felt she was no nearer to finding out the mystery than before he began to speak.

“Kester doesn’t seem able to get on without Cornelius. They were fond of each other.”

Susan didn’t say anything.

“It’s affected his mind,” Joe went on in a hushed whisper. He glanced at her sharply and then looked away. “You wouldn’t think that was possible, would you? But that’s what happened.”

“Is he bad?” Susan asked, her attention arrested by the rigid grief in his eyes.

Joe said, “I don’t understand these things. All I know is there’s something wrong in his mind. He acts the same. That is he’s kind and quiet and eats all right, but he doesn’t go anywhere. This is the first time I’ve taken him anywhere since his brother died. Why to Shepherd Market?”

Susan frowned. “I don’t understand. Will you please explain?”

So he told her about taking Kester to Shepherd Market and about the Gilded Lily Club.

“Now why does he want to go there? Who’s this fellow Rollo he was asking about? You see what I mean it worries me.”

“But why should it?” Susan asked. “I mean it isn’t your business, is it?”

Joe looked at her. “Yes, it is. They did me a good turn, and now it’s up to me to pay them back. Mr. Weidmann’s not well. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s rich. You can’t, think how rich he is. I’ve got to protect him.”

Susan rather admired his emphatic gratitude. “But you don’t know there’s anything wrong,” she pointed out. “It may be all right.”

“Not if they know he’s got all that money.”

“They? Who?”

“Rollo, whoever he is, and the man in the black shirt.”

Susan bit her lip. “Yes, I had forgotten him.”

“You know something, don’t you?” Joe twisted round so that he faced her.

“You found out something?”

“I got in the back of the car as you said. I had scarcely hidden myself under the rug when the man in the black shirt got in the front and drove off. We drove for a long time. I was too scared to see where we were going.”

“He followed me. Mr. Weidmann had gone to his club to write a letter. I picked him up and took him home. The Packard kept close behind us all the way,” Joe told her.

“That must have been it,” Susan said. “You can imagine how I felt. I didn’t know where we were going.”

“What happened?”

“After a while, the car slowed down and stopped. I heard him lower the window and then I heard him talking to someone. I think it must have been some woman who was taking her dog for a run. Black shirt said,’ Does Mr. Granthan live in that house?’ And the woman said, ‘No, that’s Kester Weidmann’s place, the international banker.’”

“The nosey bitch,” Joe said angrily. “She said that, did she? Why can’t people mind their own business?”

“Well, that’s what she said,” Susan went on hurriedly. “And Black shirt said, ‘Kester Weidmann? Well, I’m sure up creek without a paddle,’ or something like that and the woman laughed. ‘If I had all his money, I’d buy myself a diamond necklace. He’s worth millions,’ she said and Black shirt laughed, said good night and drove away.

“He drove a long time and then he stopped again. I was still too scared to see where we were. He sounded his horn twice, like a signal and then he drove into a garage. I heard him leave the car and I was left in the dark.”

Joe was tense with interest now. “You did pretty well,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d do as well as that.”

Susan coloured. “It wasn’t anything,” she said, although she knew it was. “I just stayed in the back of the car and kept out of sight. Well, this place was a mews flat. It is in Bruton Place, behind Bruton Street. No. 146.” She went on to tell Joe all she had heard at the flat. “Then they seemed to quarrel,” she ended, blushing at the memory. “He hit her and there was a struggle. It was all rather nasty and I didn’t listen anymore. After a while he came down the stairs. I only just got back into the car in time. Then he drove off to Market Mews, in Shepherd Market. He left the car and opened a garage door and went inside. It was another garage flat. The number was 79. While he was turning the lights on, I slipped out and hid in the dark. He came out and put the car away. Then he locked up and after a while I saw a light in the upstairs window. I didn’t stay any longer and went home.” She stopped a little breathless, anxious to know if she had done the right thing.

Joe stared at her, his eyes frankly admiring. “I knew you were all right soon as I saw you,” he said. “I knew you would be good and you are good.”

Susan felt suddenly happy. “Well,” she said, “I wouldn’t like to do it again, but now it’s done—”

But Joe wasn’t listening. He stared across the heath, his face blank with concentrated thought. “You didn’t see the woman?”

She shook her head. “He called her Celie, but I didn’t see her.”

“There’s a lot to be done,” he said. “I’ve got to have help. If you want to help, I can pay you.”

“You can pay me?” she repeated, looking with wonder at his shabby clothes.

“They’ve given me presents,” he explained. “Mr. Weidmann thinks nothing of giving me a fiver now and then. I’ve saved. I don’t want the money for myself. You can have it, if you will help me.”

“But what more can I do?” she asked, wide-eyed with excitement. “If you can tell me what I can do, I’ll do it.”

Joe rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I want someone in the Club,” he said, looking at her slyly. “How would you like to do that?”

Instantly she became alarmed. “Inside the Club?” she repeated. “Why, I don’t think—”

“You could do it,” he said aggressively. “You said you couldn’t follow Black shirt but you did it. You can do this too.”

“But how do I get into the Club?” she said. “I mean they wouldn’t let me in. No, that’s asking too much.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “Maybe they want staff. Even if you got into the kitchen it’d be something. Find out. Ask someone. If you try hard enough and if you want to do it you’ll get in all right.”

Susan shook her head. “It’s no use you talking like that,” she said impatiently. “If you want me to get into the Club, you’ll have to help me. I can’t do it on my own.”

Again he looked at her admiringly. She could almost hear him saying, “You’re the right sort. I knew you were the right sort soon as I saw you.”

Although she was flushed and excited, she met his eyes calmly. “You must be reasonable,” she went on. “I’ll do what I can, but you must help me.”

He took out his notebook. “Where can I get you?” he asked abruptly. “Are you on the phone?”

She gave him her address and her telephone number.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do. Leave it to me. If you’re out, I’ll leave a message.” He got to his feet. “I must get back. They’ll wonder where I’ve got to.”

* * *

A few minutes after eleven o’clock a.m., Celie walked briskly down New Bond Street, too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice the admiring glances shot at her as she hurried along the narrow, crowded pavement.

She stopped a taxi in Burlington Street and gave the admiring driver an address in Soho.