“What’s in the box?”
“I wondered when you would ask,” Nellie said.
* * *
—
It was like one of the pirates’ treasure chests that populated his boyhood reading. Jewellery—diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and God knows what else. Even in the low light of the Crystal Cup they seemed to glow.
It was, Nellie confessed, how she had got started. Niven had been at the Front and had known nothing of Great Percy Street and the kindly old landlady. All Nellie had told him when he returned from the war was that she’d “had some luck.” It seemed the old lady had been a fence and was holding the proceeds of several robberies for the man who had stolen them. “His last one was the big one, he was planning to retire to the Riviera. Leave the life of crime behind for good.”
“Let me guess—Azzopardi.”
“Went by a different name then,” Nellie said. “I didn’t know anything about him. It was before we came to London.” The story, “according to my friend Agnes” （his mother had a friend?）， was that a man had come to the capital from Switzerland to hawk “sparklers” to a Hatton Garden dealer. “He was an agent, engaged by some Russian nobility—émigrés—don’t know who. Every second person you met was claiming to be a Romanov in those days.” The nameless middleman had stayed at the Ritz and it was from there that Azzopardi—Spiteri was his real name—had pinched the lot.
“Let me get this straight,” Niven said, offering his mother a magnificently sceptical eyebrow. “Azzopardi, or whatever he called himself, stole the Russian crown jewels and then you stole them off him?”
“Don’t be silly,” Nellie said. “The Soviets have flogged the crown jewels.”
“So that’s where he was caught?”
“No, he decided to do one last job—at the Goring. Shot in the hand, arrested. Take that as a lesson.”
She had sold, Nellie said, one item only from the hoard—an amethyst necklace, a stake that had proved lucky. She closed the lid of the box and patted it affectionately. “I was keeping the rest for my retirement,” she said. “Give it back to him and he’ll leave us alone.”
Niven didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother concede defeat before. Perhaps Azzopardi had been right, it was time for her to leave the field of battle.
“We’ve got bigger problems than the Maltese,” she said. “Maddox is about to make his move.”
“And have you got a plan?”
“Always,” Nellie said.
* * *
—
Niven made the delivery to Eaton Square himself. Azzopardi kept him on the doorstep and didn’t check the contents of the box. He trusted Nellie to be honourable, he said. He must be the only one in London who does, Niven thought.
* * *
—
Where was Gwendolen Kelling? He went to the flat and pressed the buzzer on the street door for a long time, but there was no answer. He imagined she had gone shopping or was having lunch with someone. He liked her too much. He worried it was making him weak. But what if it was making him stronger?
The True Bride
“Oh, look, it’s Miss Kelling. Have you met Miss Kelling, Chief Inspector?”
Frobisher shook her hand （barely touching it） while looking anywhere but at Gwendolen. He was not good at theatrics. Honest men rarely are.
Gwendolen was confused. Nellie had telephoned her, urging her to meet her at the Sphinx as quickly as possible. From what Gwendolen could discern from Nellie’s caginess, she had had another “casualty” （as she put it） that needed attending to. Had someone had an accident in the Sphinx? It couldn’t be another gang fight surely, the club wouldn’t be open yet. When she arrived there was no sign of anyone needing medical attention, just a rather exasperated-looking Frobisher, holding a silver dance shoe in his hand as if he had come to the unlikely venue of the Sphinx to find his Cinderella.
Gwendolen waited for a cue from Nellie, which was duly given. “We resolved our little matter without you, after all, Miss Kelling,” Nellie said. “I’m so sorry if I’ve wasted your time by dragging you here.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Coker,” she said smoothly. “I was nearby.”
“As Inspector Frobisher has finished here, perhaps he would escort you out,” Nellie said. Frobisher didn’t look as if he thought he’d finished, but he said, “Of course. Allow me, Miss Kelling.”
* * *
—