The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) by Clara Benson

hesitantly. ‘ Might it have been suic ide? ’
    Jameson looked sceptical.
    ‘ Do you mean she killed herself, but then someone else found her and disfigured her face? Why should anyone do that? ’
    ‘ I don ’ t know, ’ said Angela. ‘ I was just looking at possibilities. ’
    ‘ Well, until we know who she was it ’ s going to be difficult to make any deductions, ’ said the inspector.
    ‘ That ’ s true enough, ’ said Angela.
    They talked of other matters until the end of lunch, then Jameson looked at his watch regretfully.
    ‘ No peace to the wicked, ’ he said. ‘ I must go, I ’ m afra id. The superintendent is expecting me at three o ’ clock. I dare say he wants to complain about something. ’
    ‘ Thank you so much for lunch, ’ said Angela, ‘ and good luck with your murder hunt. I only wish there were something I might do to help. ’
    ‘ Unless you c an tell me who she was, I don ’ t suppose there is. ’
    ‘ Well, if I think of anything useful, I shall telephone you, ’ said Angela. ‘ No, it ’ s quite all right — there ’ s no need to come back with me. I can see you ’ re in a hurry and I ’ m only around the corner. You ha d better go and see your superintendent. ’
    He smiled briefly then glanced at his watch again and bade her goodbye. Angela watched him hurry off down the street then turned her steps towards home. She had just reached the corner of Mount Street when she hesi tated and appeared to change her mind. She crossed the road and walked on, then turned into a little mews a few hundred yards farther on, where the Bentley and William lived.
    She found the car standing in the street, its bonnet wide open, and William sitti ng on the pavement, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the early autumn sunshine. He ground out the cigarette and stood up hurriedly when he saw her.
    ‘ Any trouble? ’ she asked.
    ‘ No, ma ’ am, ’ he replied. ‘ Everything is fine. I just thought I ’ d give her a once-o ver. Do you want to go somewhere? I can go and get my jacket if you ’ ll give me a moment. ’
    ‘ No, no, it ’ s quite all right. As a matter of fact, I came to ask you something. What was the name of your band-leader friend back in New York? Albie or Alvie somethi ng. ’
    If William was surprised he did not show it.
    ‘ Do you mean Alvie Berteau? ’ he said.
    ‘ That ’ s the one I mean, yes. Is he in London now? ’
    ‘ Yes, ma ’ am. He got an engagement in some night-club or other — I can ’ t remember the name. ’
    ‘ The Copernicus Club, ’ said Angela.
    ‘ Yes, I believe it is, ’ he said. ‘ Have you seen him there? ’
    ‘ No, but I should like to speak to him. Can you introduce me to him? ’
    ‘ Sure, ’ said William. ‘ Any time you like. I ’ ll go look him up for you. ’
    ‘ Thank you, ’ said Mrs. Marchmont.
    William hesitated.
    ‘ Might I ask —’ he began.
    ‘ I don ’ t see why not, ’ said Angela. ‘ I think it is possible that he knows something about the woman we found in Kent. ’
    ‘ You mean you think he killed her? ’ said William in astonishment.
    ‘ No, of course not. But the police seem to think that she worked at the Copernicus Club, and I wondered whether he knew her, that ’ s all. I should like to find out who she was. ’
    ‘ Don ’ t the police know yet? ’
    ‘ Apparently not, and nobody at the Copernicus will speak to them because they are all worried for their jobs. I thought perhaps I might be able to persuade him. ’
    ‘ Maybe you can, ’ said William. ‘ I hope so. I don ’ t like to think of that poor woman ’ s not being claimed by anyone. ’
    ‘ Nor do I, ’ said Angela.

TWELVE
    Angela left William to carry on tinkering with the Bentley, and decided to take a little walk to a hat shop near Regent Street of which she was rather fond. It was a fine afternoon and warm for September, and the streets were bustling and lively. Angela walked unhurriedly along Grosvenor Street,