As if by Magic by Dolores Gordon-Smith Page B

sort.’ He pulled it out. It was about the same size as a cashbox but made of highly ornamented polished rosewood.
    â€˜That’s a striking thing,’ said Rackham. ‘I wonder why he buried it at the back of his desk?’ He picked it up. ‘How does it open? It seems to be a solid block of wood. There’s no keyhole.’
    â€˜Try pressing the sides in,’ said Jack. ‘That might do it.’
    They both tried but the box stayed obstinately shut. ‘I think I’ll leave a receipt with Mr Lloyd and take this with me,’ said Rackham. ‘You never know, it looks as if it might be important. Someone at Scotland Yard ought to be able to open it.’ He looked round the room. ‘What next?’
    â€˜His dressing room?’ suggested Jack.
    He led the way to the dressing room Gilchrist Lloyd had shown them and into the bathroom. It was fitted out as luxuriously as the office, but with pink rather than green marble, gold taps, a full-length gold-framed mirror and soft white towels. A huge white bath stood against the wall. Jack opened a door off the bathroom. ‘The lavatory. Good God!’
    â€˜What is it?’ asked Rackham eagerly.
    â€˜He’s got pink curtains to match the wall. Now that really is a bit much.’
    â€˜Honestly, Jack,’ complained Rackham. ‘I thought you’d found something.’
    â€˜Well, it is a bit much. Don’t you think?’
    â€˜I think he certainly liked his home comforts,’ said Rackham. He looked at the shelf by the wash-basin which held gold-and-tortoiseshell-backed brushes and combs with the initials A.C. inscribed on them, a collection of little bottles, a soap-dish, shaving brush and razor. ‘I’ll take a couple of those bottles with me. They should have his fingerprints on them.’
    Jack looked at the shelf. ‘I bet even my cousin Isabelle hasn’t got as much stuff as this.’ He opened a bottle and sniffed it. ‘Cologne. Rather a nice one if you like that sort of thing. Soap in a very fetching little dish and various unguents, all from Floris. Well, he certainly went for the best.’ Jack picked up the shaving brush and held it idly. ‘A hugely expensive shaving brush and a razor. He went in for the safety variety, I see. It’s easier to shave yourself with one of those.’
    â€˜I’m surprised he didn’t get his valet to shave him,’ commented Rackham.
    Jack put the brush back on the shelf. ‘It’s a bit far to pop down to Richmond for a wash and brush-up.’
    Rackham shook his head. ‘His valet stayed at the Mulciber Club during the week. Mrs Culverton told me. He’s on my list of people to interview.’
    Jack turned to look at his friend. ‘His valet stayed at the Mulciber Club? But . . .’ He frowned at Rackham. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
    â€˜What d’you mean?’
    Jack indicated the bathroom shelf. ‘Look at all this stuff, Bill. The bloke must have been as vain as a peacock. At the very least he was unduly careful of his personal appearance, wouldn’t you say?’
    â€˜Undoubtedly so.’
    â€˜Then why does a man who goes to such lengths about his looks change here when there’s a valet waiting for him at the club where he’s going to spend the evening? If you have a valet, the evening is when you need him most. He could have been going to see someone else first, I suppose, and had to change for that, but if he was meeting Nigel Lassiter and this Dr Maguire at half past seven it doesn’t give him much leeway.’
    Rackham started to speak, then stopped. ‘That is odd,’ he said eventually. ‘That really is odd. I wonder if he was meeting anyone else first? I have to talk to both Nigel Lassiter and Roger Maguire anyway, so I’ll ask them. They might know. Is there anything else you want to have a look at?’
    â€˜We’ve not searched the