And then he heard the hoots and shouts of drunken laughter and saw that the mummy was being followed by Bo-Peep, then a large, paunchy bear, and, bringing up the rear, a masked harlequin carrying the threat of a wooden bat.
Not the boy king come back to haunt him but a harmless troupe of drunken partygoers in fancy dress.
Relatively harmless. He was suddenly surrounded by them, laughing and jostling as they circled him, not quite as convivial as they seemed at first sight. They reminded Ramsay of the bullies who used to lark around him at school. Close up, the bear smelt rank—it was a costume, of course （he certainly hoped so）—and Bo-Peep, he could see now that he was nearer her, was actually a man. Beneath their costumes people could be anyone, their intentions anything. It was a frightening idea.
Ramsay managed to break free of their dubious embrace and run off.
* * *
—
“Everything all right at the Sphinx?” Nellie greeted him.
“Yes.”
“And the Flying Dutchman—how is he?”
“Same as ever.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Nellie’s gimlet gaze bored into him. It was like being the guilty suspect in a courtroom, prosecuting barrister, judge and jury all wrapped in the unholy trinity of his mother. “Have you been up to something, Ramsay?”
“No!”
“Nothing has happened?”
“Well, yes, a police raid, but it came to nothing. I do think someone might have told me about the trick with the bar.”
“Don’t be peevish,” Nellie said. “It suits you too well.”
“Did you know about it? Did you have a tip-off from Maddox? I thought he wasn’t our friend any more.”
“He isn’t,” Nellie said. “We have another friend now.”
* * *
—
A wild-eyed Kitty was the last to arrive, the Molinard lipstick smeared and the fox-fur tippet in a bedraggled state.
“What happened to you?” Nellie asked sharply.
“Nothing much,” Kitty said. She was reluctant to mention her recent misadventure as she would undoubtedly be blamed for it herself.
“Try again.” Nellie stared at Kitty, Kitty stared back. A war of attrition. Kitty finally capitulated.
Despite her inherently reckless nature, Kitty had politely declined the man’s offer as she knew from her sisters’ conversation that there was something vaguely disgusting about this “spinning” thing. Therefore, when he had reached out and grabbed her arm and tried to pull her into the car, Kitty had struggled like a fish on a line, roaring, “Murder!” at the top of her lungs until the man released his catch. He laughed and told her that she was “more trouble than she was worth,” a byline that would, unfortunately, follow Kitty for the rest of her life.
“What sort of man?” Nellie asked.
“Dunno.”
“Maddox?”
“No, I know what he looks like. It wasn’t his car.”
“What sort of car was it?”
“A Mercedes-Benz, yellow. The Sports Phaeton model.” Kitty knew cars, she studied Niven’s motoring magazines, intending to own a Rolls-Royce when she was older.
“Was it indeed,” Nellie said thoughtfully. It didn’t seem to be a question.
“Tried to persuade me to go for a spin with him.”
“Did he indeed.”
* * *
—
It was possible, of course, Kitty thought now, that he would not have done something horrible to her but would simply have imprisoned her somewhere （she imagined a bed of straw, a kindly jailer） and delivered plates of hot buttered toast at regular intervals until the ransom demanded of her mother was paid. Would Nellie pay, and if so, how much? There was another scenario, of course, where the man might well have done unspeakable things to her but rewarded her with an endless supply of iced buns and lemonade and many other diversions and she would have got to ride around like a queen in the back of his yellow car. She felt a pang of regret now that she might have missed out. The next time the man—or any man—offered to take her for a spin, she might very well go along just to see what happened.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Nellie said, as if she could read her thoughts. “The kittens, too.”
* * *
—
And so it begins, Nellie thought. Opening salvos from the enemy—arson, abduction and a raid. All attempted, all failed. Maddox’s signature was all over the raid and the fire. Not the kidnap, though. A yellow Mercedes-Benz had been parked outside the Goring when she arrived there this afternoon. There couldn’t be that many in London.