Detective Constable McCrae gave a snort of deep disapproval.
“Blasphemy, I call it. Sabrina Fair, that’s Milton, that is.” “Well, Milton isn’t the Bible, my lad.” “You’ll not deny that Paradise Lost is about Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden and all the devils of Hell and if that’s not religion, what is?” Sergeant Cobb did not enter on these controversial matters. He marched ishment, the dour constable at his heels. In the shell pink interior of Sabrina Fair the Sergeant and his satellite looked as out of place asthe traditional bull in a china shop.
An exquisite creature in delicate salmon pink swam up to them, her feet hardly seeming to touch the floor.
Sergeant Cobb said, “Good morning, Madam,” and produced his credentials. The lovely creature withdrew in a flutter. An equally lovely but slightly older creature appeared.
She intum gave way to a superb and resplendent Duchess whose blue-grey hair and smooth cheeks set age and wrinkles at nought. Appraising steel grey eyes met the steady gaze of Sergeant Cobb.
“This is most unusual,” said the Duchess severely. “Please come this way.” She led him bethrough a square salon with a centre table where magazines and periodicals were heaped carelessly. AH round the walls were curtained recesses where glimpses could be obtained of recumbent women supine under the ministrant hands of pink robed priestesses.
The Duchess led the police officers into a small business-like apartment with a big roll top desk, severe chairs, and no softening of the harsh Northern light.
“I am Mrs. Lucas, the proprietress of this establishment,” she said. “My partner, Miss Hobhouse, is not here today.” “No, Madam,” said Sergeant Cobb, to whom this was no news. dis?This search warrant of yours seems to be most highhanded,” said Mrs. Lucas. “This is Miss Hobhouse’s private office. I sincerely hope that it will not be necessary for you t cupset our clients in any way.” “I don’t think you need to worry unduly on that score,” said Cobb. “What we’re after isn’t likely to be in the public rooms.” He waited politely until she unwillingly withdrew. Then he looked round Valerie Hobhouse’s office. The narrow window gave a view of the back premises of other Mayfair firms. The walls were panelled in pale grey and there were two good Persian rugs on the floor. His eyes went from the small wall safe to the big desk.
“Won’t be in the safe,” said Cobb. “Too obvious.” A quarter of an hour later, the safe and the drawers of the desk had yielded up their secrets.
“Looks like it’s maybe a mare’s nest,” said McCrae who was by nature both gloomy and disapproving.
“We’re only beginning,” said Cobb.
Having emptied the drawers of their contents and arranged the latter neatly in piles, he now proceeded to take the drawers out and turn them upside down.
He uttered an ejaculation of pleasure.
“Here we are, my lad,” he said.
Fastened to the underneath side of the bottom drawer with adhesive tape were a half dozen small dark blue books with gilt lettering.
“Passports,” said SereaeaIeant Cobb.
“Issued by Her Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Aff airs, God bless his trusting heart.” McCrae bent over with interest as Cobb opened the passports and compared the affixed photographs.
“Hardly think it was the same woman, would you?” said MacRae.
The passports were those of Mrs. da Silva, Miss Irene French, Mrs. Olga Kohn, Miss Nina Le Mesurier, Mrs. Gladwys Thomas, and Miss Moira O’ationeele. They represented a dark young woman whose age varied between twenty-five and forty.
“It’s the different hair-do every time that does it,” said Cobb. “Pompadour, curls, straight out, page boy bob, etc. She’s done something to her nose for Olga Kohn, plumpers in her cheeks for Mrs. Thomas. Here are two more-foreign passports-Madame Mahmoudi, Algerian.
Sheila Donovan, Eire. I’ll say she’s got bank accounts in all these dill erent names.” “Bit complicated, isn’t that?” “It has to be complicated, my lad. Inland Revenue. Always snooping around asking embarrassing questions.” It’s not so difficult to make money by smuggling goods comb it’s hell and all to account for money when you’ve got it! I bet this little gambling club in Mayfair was started by the lady for just that reason.