‘I knew a chap in the army who liked it when a girl had a whip in her hand,’ said Alfie. ‘I remember there was a bordello in Paris where—’
‘Alfie?’ interrupted Charlie. ‘Do shut up, there’s a good chap.’
‘Right you are, old boy. Right you are. Time and a place for bordello stories. Understood.’
Charlie shook his head.
Still laughing, Millie kissed Charlie goodbye and left the ballroom. The rest of the Alphabets left a few moments later, telling Charlie they’d see him in the bar. He beckoned Mickey over and handed over an envelope. They exchanged a few words before Charlie waved to the band and called, ‘Thank you so very much, ladies and gentlemen. Same time next week if you can bear it?’
They agreed they would, and he left to join his pals.
The Dizzy Heights began to pack up.
‘Fancy a pint?’ said Dunn, as he bent to pick up his bass case.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Skins. ‘Somewhere near the shop, though – let’s get this gear put away first.’
‘Do you mind if I tag along?’ asked Puddle.
‘The more the merrier,’ said Skins. ‘Anyone else? Lamb and Flag for a swift one before last orders?’
They were quite a sociable group, and often went out together when they weren’t working, but at such short notice a couple of them had places to be. There were families to get back to and – in Elk’s case – another gig to play, but Benny and Blanche said they’d love to join them.
‘Delighted to have your company,’ said Skins. ‘You can help push the cart.’
‘There’s always a catch,’ said Benny.
‘You can put your trombone on it, though, mate. Save you carrying it all that way.’
‘I wouldn’t be going all that way if I weren’t going for a drink with you.’
‘You make an excellent point,’ said Skins. ‘Now give us a hand with these temple blocks and we might make it over there before closing time.’
The four of them made short work of the journey back to New Row, and they were in the pub with a drink in front of them in less than three-quarters of an hour.
‘Good health,’ said Benny, raising his rum.
‘Here’s mud in your eye,’ said Dunn.
‘Here’s what in my where?’ said Puddle. ‘Where do you pick up this rubbish?’
‘I’m hip to all the new lingo. I keep my ear to the ground.’
‘Well, quite. That’s where everyone throws their rubbish.’
Glasses were clinked and sips taken.
‘What did you make of that lot, then?’ asked Skins.
‘The Alphabet Gang?’ said Benny with a throaty chuckle. ‘Usual crowd of moneyed fools, if you ask me.’
‘They were, weren’t they. Did . . . did any of them strike you as a bit . . . odd?’
‘They were all plenty odd,’ said Benny. ‘You got any specific oddness in mind?’
Skins gave Dunn an enquiring look.
Dunn shrugged. ‘Don’t look at me, mate. Your call.’
Skins paused a moment in thought. ‘All right,’ he said at length. ‘I’m not betraying any confidences. See, Barty and I know this bloke. Well, know of, is more like it. He’s a copper. We met him years ago out Gloucestershire way, but now he’s working at Scotland Yard. He’s asked us to help him out with something.’
Puddle laughed. ‘You two?’ she said. ‘He must be desperate.’
Skins grinned. ‘I can’t argue with you there, Pudds. He must be.’
‘But why did you agree?’
Skins shrugged.
‘I just went along with it because Skins did,’ said Dunn.
‘And I just went along with it because he did,’ said Skins. ‘Well, that and the fact that another mate of ours seemed keen on the idea.’
‘You two have a lot of mates,’ said Puddle.
‘We’ve been around a while,’ said Skins. ‘But this one is special. She introduced me to my wife.’
‘Very special indeed, then,’ said Benny. ‘What exactly does he want you to help him with?’
Benny Charles spoke slowly and deliberately. His deep voice always seemed to have a smile in it, but there was often a sadness in his eyes as though they had seen more than they wanted to. Which they had. He had served in the British West Indies Regiment and had seen terrible fighting in the Middle East, about which he never spoke. In truth, none of the band spoke of their wartime experiences, bar the odd humorous anecdote, but Benny seemed to his bandmates to have been more deeply affected than the rest of them. Unlike many they knew of, though, it hadn’t driven him to bitterness and anger, but to patience and compassion. He was only twenty-nine years old, but he was known to many as Uncle Benny, a man whose cheerful kindness could make any problem seem trivial.
‘He’s hunting for a deserter. He reckons he’s a member at Tipsy Harry’s and he’s asked us – me and Barty – to keep an eye out for anyone who might fit the bill.’
‘They must have hundreds of members,’ said Puddle. ‘How does he expect you to find one bloke among all those?’
‘Miss Puddle is right,’ said Benny. ‘They must have a hundred or more members at that club. We know what them places is like. How do you expect to find this one man? It’s like trying to find a needle in a big pile of needles, if you ask me.’
‘Our police mate has his reasons for thinking it’s one of the dance class lot,’ said Dunn. ‘Wants us to look for anything odd.’
‘Like I said, I reckon they were all pretty odd. But I always find the English upper classes a bit peculiar. No offence, Miss Puddle.’
Puddle touched his arm. ‘Oh, I’m not upper-class, sweetie. More of a middle-class girl made good. A bit of musical talent opened the doors, and the accent is put on. At least I think it is. I can’t seem to stop doing it now.’
‘Why they looking for a deserter after all this time?’ asked Benny. ‘It all ended nearly seven years ago. We should be putting it behind us now.’
‘Probably should,’ said Skins. ‘But this geezer half-inched twenty-five grand’s worth of sparkle.’
Jaws dropped.
‘Jewellery?’ asked Puddle.
‘Uncut diamonds,’ said Dunn. ‘Smuggled out of Antwerp and on their way to Blighty. Only they never got here because this bloke Grant pinched them en route.’
‘Wait till you hear the next bit, though,’ said Skins. ‘The superintendent reckons there’s secret treasure hidden at Tipsy Harry’s, and that old Granty joined up to nick it.’
‘Secret treasure as well?’ said Puddle.
‘The Treasure, if you please, of the Mayfair Murderer,’ said Dunn. ‘Some Georgian bloke – founder member of the club – killed a diamond merchant, nicked his stock, and hid it at the club. No one’s been able to find it for a hundred and twenty years, but now there’s a rumour that someone – they’re assuming Grant – has worked out it has something to do with the club regalia that comes out for special events like the dance contest.’
‘How?’ said Benny.