Oh, and I went to the Chelsea Flower Show yesterday with my friend Lilian where we entirely failed to see the King and Queen. According to the newspapers they arrived at ten and stayed for an hour and a half. We arrived at twelve so we didn’t even spot their entourage. I’m sure you’re used to hanging around with royalty, but it would have been rather glamorous and fun to see them. Heigh ho.
To my slight surprise, Ivor and Barty have agreed to help Superintendent Sunderland. I know you said you thought they were ideal for the job, but I wasn’t completely convinced they’d go along with it. I can’t believe it’s the same case I wrote you about all those years ago. And I can’t believe it was true. I thought I’d had a whole lifetime’s worth of excitement after our adventures in Weston, and with an actual war going on a few miles away there was no chance of anything as glamorous as a diamond robbery happening on the road outside our little aid station.
But it was true, and the boys have decided to help. They have absolutely no idea how to go about things, mind you. Since meeting you (when was that – seventeen years ago?) Ivor has always fancied himself as a crime-solving adventurer, but the poor dear really doesn’t have a clue.
They know the ‘new’ members of the club they’re supposed to be looking at from this ‘Alphabet Gang’ they’re playing for, but beyond that, they’re drawing a blank. Ivor is convinced every one of them is far too stupid to be a diamond thief who has evaded the authorities for eight years. But that can’t be right, can it? He likes to believe he treats everyone the same. ‘I just take people as I find ’em, Ells-Bells. Prince or pauper. No prejudice here.’ But I still think he has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to the upper classes – he assumes they’re all idiots. To be fair, he might have a point in a lot of cases, but not all of them.
They need . . . I don’t know how to say it . . . filtering? Sifting? We need some systematic way of working out who’s who. Who’s a genuine idiot and who’s a cunning criminal on the run. Any tips from the experts?
And then there’s this mystery treasure story. The boys are enormously skeptical but I think there might be something in it. There’s no smoke without fire, as they say. Any tips there on finding out more about it? You must have contacts at the newspapers. Can you get someone to look in the archives and see if they can find out more about this Hatton Garden robbery and the Aristippus Club member who was hanged for it?
I’m going to try to work out a way of gaining access to the club on my own account to see what I can find out. I’m not going to ask Ivor if he can pick locks quite yet, but it might come to that.
But I must dash – I hear Edward exhorting Catherine to ‘put your hands up on your head like horns’, and I fear another bullfighting incident and its attendant injuries, breakages and recriminations.
Give my love to Emily.
Your friend
Ellie
P.S. Lunch on the first would be swell. Thank you.
Chapter Four
It was Ellie Maloney’s strict rule that if the band wasn’t working and Dunn didn’t have a date, he should come round to the house in Bloomsbury for dinner on Thursday evening. In previous years, they had struggled to get together because although the Dizzy Heights tried hard to keep the diary clear on Thursday nights – even musicians needed a little time off – Barty Dunn’s kaleidoscopic love life had meant that he was seldom available. But in recent months he had been a regular visitor, and was, he freely admitted, glad of the company.
He arrived at seven sharp and Mrs Dalrymple let him in.
‘Good evening, Mr Dunn,’ she said as she took his hat. ‘Come on through, won’t you? Mr and Mrs Maloney are in the drawing room.’
‘Evening, Mrs D,’ said Dunn, brightly. ‘How’s your knee?’
‘Oh, mustn’t grumble. Thank you for asking, though. Everyone’s been so concerned. But it was just a wee tumble. I’ll be right as rain in no time.’
‘I’m sure you will. And what about your nephew? Did he get that apprenticeship he was after?’
‘Aye, he did. My sister and her husband are so proud of him. Lucky to have a job in this day and age. Third generation of the family working at the shipyards, mind you.’
‘Good for him.’
‘I see you have your hands full there. Would you like me to take those?’
‘No, ta, Mrs D. They’re for the lady of the house.’
‘Right you are, dear. Just go on through. They’re expecting you.’
Dunn nudged the drawing room door open with his foot.
‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Burglar here. Just come to do a little light burgling. Carry on about your business. I’ll try not to get in the way.’
Skins hopped up from the floor where he had been playing with the couple’s two small children. The gramophone was playing ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’. Any other doting father might have arranged the children’s menagerie of soft toys around a picnic blanket, where they could enjoy an imaginary pork pie and a glass of ginger beer. Skins, though, had opted to furnish them with cardboard instruments and stand them in a line so they could perform for the delighted toddlers.
‘Hello, mate,’ he said. ‘Come on in. We’ve got nothing worth nicking, I’m afraid. But we can do you a nice plate of nosh if you’re hungry.’
Ellie put down her trumpet-playing teddy bear and stood to kiss Dunn’s cheek. ‘Hi, honey,’ she said. ‘Ooh, what you got behind your back?’
Dunn brought out his right hand to reveal that it held a bottle of champagne.
‘Oh, you absolute peach,’ she said. ‘I love champagne.’ She turned to Skins. ‘You never bring me champagne. I knew I married the wrong one.’
‘Don’t be fooled by his apparent generosity,’ said Skins. ‘It’s not like he bought it. He half-inched it from Tipsy Harry’s at the weekend.’
‘Well, it’s very thoughtful, darling, thank you. Pity there’s just one, mind you – I could do with a couple of drinks after the day I’ve had.’
Dunn’s left hand appeared, holding a second bottle.
‘Ivor, darling, I want a divorce,’ said Ellie. ‘I want to marry the man with all the champagne.’
Ellie was the only person in the world allowed to call Skins ‘Ivor’.
‘I’ll pack my things and be out by morning,’ he said.
‘Sorry it’s not chilled,’ said Dunn, handing her the two bottles. ‘I should have nicked some ice while I was at it.’
‘Where would you have put it?’ said Ellie.
‘In Mrs C’s larder.’
‘Cold in there, is it?’ asked Skins.
‘It would be with a load of ice on the shelf.’
Ellie laughed. ‘Did I ever tell you that the first time I had champagne I was in—’
‘Weston-super-Mare,’ said Skins and Dunn together.
Ellie harrumphed. ‘Well, if you’re not going to indulge me and let me regale you with my tales of youthful derring-do, perhaps you’ll be good enough to help me round up the monsters so we can get them into bed before dinner.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Dunn. He scooped up the giggling Maloney children, one under each arm. ‘Where do you want them? I could put them in the bin, but they’d probably get out. If you can get me a cab, I can have them dumped in the lake at Regent’s Park before anyone knows they’ve gone. Although if I’m taking them that far, I might as well feed them to the lions.’ He roared and the two youngsters giggled and wriggled.