Murder in Piccadilly by Charles Kingston

that moment discussing Bobbie, who might have been troubled had he known that when Nosey climbed the stairs to his third-floor flat a shadow congealed and became Billy Bright.
    â€œI saw you on the other side of the street,” said Nosey cheerfully, opening the door with his latchkey. “Once I thought that young fool would have spotted you.”
    â€œHe’d never have recognised me,” said Billy, entering the living-room which with a bedroom comprised ninety per cent of the flat. Without troubling to ask permission he began to operate with the whisky decanter and the soda siphon. “What happened, Nosey?”
    His host rubbed his hands.
    â€œPlanted the seed, my dear Billy, planted the seed,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Dropped a hint that he ought to scrag his uncle and the next moment laughed at the notion. Then I flattered him. Compared him to you to your disadvantage.”
    The dancer grinned.
    â€œI’ve never met a bigger ass in my life,” he said, but without heat or jealousy. “But what can you expect from a chap who’s been brought up in a hothouse by his darling mamma? You heard Nancy’s description of the old lady?”
    â€œA scream. Billy,” he lowered his voice not because there could be any danger of an eavesdropper but in order to impress on his companion the seriousness of his words. “Billy, it’s a cinch. I thought when we first mentioned the affair that there was going to be some risk for us, but now I know there won’t. He believes everything, even that hundred quid a week tour on the continent.”
    Billy laughed spontaneously.
    â€œIf he believes that he’ll believe anything,” he remarked, unconsciously paraphrasing Macaulay.
    â€œHe’s so much in love with Nancy that he’d believe the crowned heads of Europe were fighting one another to secure her for their state theatres. He can’t see that at her best she’s only second-rate. Billy, don’t yell when I tell you that he believes it’s her dancing that makes the partnership—that if you lost her you’d never get another engagement.”
    Billy, lounging in an armchair, did no more than wink.
    â€œPoor Nancy!” he said pityingly. “I haven’t told her yet that when our engagement with the ‘Frozen Fang’ ends next Saturday week there’s nothing more. I don’t want to chuck her unless—”
    â€œYou can get someone better,” Nosey added. “My dear Billy, she’s a rotten dancer. Her youth and good looks have helped her, but there are so many girls with looks and youth who can dance better that there’s no future for her.”
    â€œUnless I married her,” said the dancer lazily.
    â€œBilly.” Nosey’s voice was almost stern. “It’s no use going on with our little scheme unless you stick to business. I can’t have you working in Nancy’s camp as well as in mine. You understand? Marry her by all means, but let’s finish here and now.”
    Billy stared at him in surprise.
    â€œNow you’re the fool!” he growled. “How can I marry Nancy or anyone else? I’m up to my neck in debts; next week I may be kicked out of my flat; there’s not a restaurant in London that’ll give me credit, and the agents are getting so tired of me that they send the office boy out to say that there’s nothing doing at the moment. Nosey, when agents do that it’s as good as a signed statement that I’m not worth a cent in the dancing market, that no one wants me.”
    â€œWhat about me?” asked Nosey dolefully. “I’ve been fighting to stave off bankruptcy for months and—” he paused and forced a smile.
    Billy nodded understandingly.
    â€œThat little affair with Jack Fraddon? Still worrying about the money he invested in that theatrical agency?”
    Nosey became positively grim.
    â€œThe last letter I