Byways to Evil. Lloyd Biggle, jr.

had a chief inspector at her beck and call. Perhaps for that very reason they were tempted to consider her a friend with high connections, able to put in a good word that would get a sentence reduced or a charge dropped.

      And occasionally she did get a sentence reduced or a charge dropped—sometimes in the interests of justice but more frequently because there was bigger game in the offing and the favours she did were likely to be returned. Criminals who received help from Lady Sara, or whose families were helped while they were quodded, considered her a colleague with whom one could jaw without restraint. The gossip she picked up was always interesting and sometimes invaluable.

      As a result, Lady Sara was made welcome in the club any time she chose to visit it, and so was I when I accompanied her—but not when we had a constable with us. This was why we were kept waiting outside.

      Finally Roy Koby joined us. He was fairly good-looking but rather old to inspire a girl Blanche Dillion’s age to fall so precipitously in love. Though his face bore no obvious signs of dissipation, I marked him at once as a heavy drinker, and this would do him in eventually if some angry father or brother didn’t settle him first.

      Perhaps he had been to Oxford. He had that confident self-assurance about him, and he was impeccably dressed even though he had been summoned unexpectedly. He greeted Lady Sara with exaggerated courtesy—he had a pleasant, beautifully modulated voice, which probably served him well—and nodded politely to me and to Constable Perkins when Lady Sara introduced us.

      She invited him to sit down. Then she said, “You really soaped Blanche Dillion. Didn’t you know how young she is?”

      He said with a frown, “Surely she is in her twenties—”

      Lady Sara was shaking her head. “You should have checked. She isn’t twenty yet.”

      Koby raised his eyebrows.

      “Did you know she stole some of that jewellery from her mother and also gave you some her aunt had lent to her?” Lady Sara asked.

      “No,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know that.”

      “Her father doesn’t like you,” Lady Sara observed.

      Koby shrugged. “Fathers never do. As long as the daughters like me—”

      “This father is a Viscount and an MP. Her uncle is a judge. The Home Secretary, who is the highest police authority in the London area, is her godfather. You certainly made a muck of it this time. Her family is furious and determined to make a muck of you in return.”

      “They wouldn’t do that to the girl,” Koby said confidently.

      “Think again,” Lady Sara said. “They’ve got you dead to rights. She’ll turn crown’s evidence and claim you goaded her to steal the jewels. She’ll be let off with a reprimand—would a judge send a Viscount’s daughter to prison for taking her mother’s jewellery when there’s a character like you to blame the entire mess on? It’ll be the lag for you. The sentence will give you something you haven’t had for years, a permanent address.”

      Koby looked at me. I nodded slowly. He looked at Constable Perkins, whose nod had the solemn authority of an Act of Parliament.

      “Understand—none of this is Blanche’s idea,” Lady Sara said. “Her family won’t leave her any choice.”

      He didn’t want to believe her. He had been so successful for so long, had made fools of so many women, that he had difficulty grasping the possibility that for once something had gone wrong. On the other hand, here was Lady Sara—with a constable who certainly looked as though he ought to know—and Lady Sara had never been known to give anyone a bad shot. His pause was a long one while all three of us sat looking at him sternly. It was his move.

      “What’s to be done?” Koby asked finally.

      “The jewellery,” Lady Sara said. “If you have it in my hands within an hour, I’ll see that Blanche puts it back where she got it. That will stopper things. Nothing missing, nothing to fuss about however angry her father may be.”

      “I haven’t got all of it,” Koby said.

      “Your problem. Get it.”

      “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Will you wait here?”

      Lady Sara nodded.

      He hurried away, and Lady Sara announced to us confidently, “This shouldn’t take long.”

      It took him only thirty minutes. Lady Sara told me afterward she knew he’d had several successes recently, and he wouldn’t have been in any hurry to fence Blanche’s jewellery. He might have given a few choice pieces to the woman he was living with, though, and that could have delayed him while he persuaded her to give them up.

      She checked the jewellery against the list Blanche had made for her. “Right,” she announced finally. “That’s the lot. We’ll have everything back in place no later than tonight.”

      As we started to leave, she turned to Koby. “I feel certain this will quiet things, but if for any reason it doesn’t, I’ll let you know at once so you can clear off. I hesitate to give advice to an old hand like you, so just consider this a friendly suggestion. In the future, try to concentrate on older women, preferably those whose relatives aren’t peers or politicians.”

      When we returned to Connaught Mews, we found an impressive-looking brougham outside Lady Sara’s residence. It was drawn by two splendidly matched horses, and there were two splendidly matched and uniformed coachmen on the box. Inside Lady Sara’s apartment, two visitors were waiting. One was the Earl of Spalton, a wizened little man whom I had never met, though Lady Sara seemed to know him well. I had heard much about him. He was rare among England’s peers for his extensive business interests. He had disposed of most of his land holdings and invested the money in a diversity of commercial enterprises. Instead of a landed peer, he now was a merchant prince.

      The Earl introduced his companion, Sir Cecil Elliman, whose name was one to reckon with. It was frequently mentioned by the newspapers in connection with his business affairs. He was what reporters liked to call a magnate. In the City, where he was active in a number of major enterprises, he was of towering importance. It required only a glance to see that he was active in them to his own considerable profit.

      The Earl, one of the wealthiest men in England, looked shoddy beside Sir Cecil, who was a substantial-looking man in every respect. His suit certainly had been built by the best bespoke tailor on Saville Row, his custom-made boots came from Lobb, and his hat, from James Lock, was distinctive enough to have been a special design the maker reserved for him. He had the air of always knowing what the best was and insisting on getting his money’s worth. His gloves put the Earl’s to shame and could have been used for a window display in the most expensive shop on Regent Street. His shirt, also custom-made, had a front that bristled with diamonds. He was middle-aged, with an ample moustache and long side-whiskers. His hair was deep black with no sign of thinning.

      He seemed pleasant enough, but he had a narrow, calculating way of looking at a person that was disconcerting—as though everyone he met had to be weighed in terms of profit or loss. For all I knew, perhaps this was characteristic of all magnates. My experience of them had been severely limited. When we were introduced, his searching glance left me grateful I wasn’t an employee of his summoned to walk the carpet. Having studied me and found me wanting, he turned his attention to Lady Sara.

      “I must confess, my lady, that I persuaded my good friend the Earl to come along and introduce me so I would be certain of a hearing,” he said. “I know much about you and your achievements, and I have come to ask for your advice if you would be so kind.”

      Lady Sara was consulted frequently by business proprietors, from the elderly woman who kept a tiny sweet shop to directors of large companies, but none of them, not even those of Sir Cecil’s class, had ever brought along an earl to introduce them. She modestly replied that she could offer no guarantee, but she would be pleased to give his problem her full attention.

      We