The Bee's Kiss(78)

‘Harry’s working on a cocktail for you, Commander,’ Cyril greeted him cheerfully.

‘It’s called The Corpse Reviver,’ said Harry Craddock. ‘Very powerful concoction.’

‘Trying to put me out of a job?’ said Joe.

Harry smiled. ‘Not necessarily. Four of these taken in swift succession will unrevive any corpse.’ He listed the ingredients.

Joe shook his head in disbelief. ‘Thanks all the same but I’ll stick to something simple. What about you, Cyril?’

Cyril was prepared. ‘The Bee’s Kiss,’ he said. ‘I’ll toast the Queen Bea with an appropriate potation.’

Harry deftly measured light and dark rum into a cocktail shaker, adding honey, heavy cream and ice. He shook it lustily and poured the golden foam into a cocktail glass which he presented, with a flourish, to Cyril.

Joe eyed it doubtfully. ‘Spoon? Are you having a spoon with that?’

Cyril took a sip and licked his lips. ‘Delicious! Looks so innocent, doesn’t it? Honeyed, frothing, inviting? But beware – there’s a sting in there! Too much of this and you’re on your back and feeling ill. Have one?’

‘No thanks. I don’t drink rum these days. I’ll have a White Lady.’

‘Ah, yes. Army, weren’t you? I expect it would put you off.’ His sharp eyes crinkled with humour. ‘Not a problem for me. Ex-Royal Flying Corps – they tried to keep us well clear of intoxicating spirits!’

They took their drinks to a secluded table.

‘Right, Cyril,’ said Joe, ‘that’s enough of the heavy symbolism. Get to the point, will you? I’m a busy man.’

‘Are you though?’ The tone was annoyingly arch. ‘You confirmed on the telephone information that had been put my way by an official source. You’re off the case. You’ve been left sitting twiddling your thumbs – just like you left me at the Ritz the other night.’ He gave Joe a forgiving smile.

‘Ah! That was you?’

‘None other. And I mean – none other. Everyone’s been discouraged from taking an interest but I’m not so easy to put off.’

‘And you have contacts.’

Cyril didn’t reply. Joe wouldn’t have expected it. Journalists were skunks but they all had honour when it came to refusing to name their sources. He was surprised when Cyril said, ‘The Irishman. I’d say – watch him, Commander . . . if you were still allowed to watch him. He’s the link between my two areas of expertise, you might say.’

‘Not sure I follow you, Cyril.’

‘Well, covering this crime story, as I was – my headline was going to be “Mysterious Death of Wren at Ritz” – it occurred to me that I was particularly well placed to have insights, what with my society background an’ all.’

‘Do you have them often, these insights, and are you prepared to share them with me?’

‘You know about the Hive?’ Cyril’s voice had become businesslike and low.

‘I know it exists. Nothing more. Peripheral to my enquiries?’

Cyril shook his head. ‘I don’t believe so. Listen! These girls that buzz about getting ready to save the country, sharpening their stings ready for the Russian bear . . . know who teaches them their skills? Down at the Admiralty building, there’s a room that’s been set aside for their use and one of their instructors is our friend Donovan.’

‘Skills? What sort of skills?’

‘Wireless training – intercepts, code-breaking, signalling. The sort of stuff the girls were good at in the war.’ He paused and sipped again at his cocktail. ‘It just occurred to my suspicious mind to wonder whether the bloke might have extended his brief somewhat.’

‘I am aware of the man’s extra-curricular relationship with the Dame,’ said Joe carefully.

‘Well, push the thought a bit further. Good-looking bloke. Heart-breaker perhaps? What do you say to him being the honey in this nasty little cocktail?’

‘Girls apt to develop a crush on the teacher, you mean?’

Cyril sighed. ‘This is more than the plot of a girls’ school story, Commander. Frolicksome larks among the Wrens . . . I’m talking about sinister manipulation.’ He reached out and touched Joe’s arm to underline his earnestness. ‘Sinister enough to lead to death.’

‘Death? Whose death?’ asked Joe uncertainly.

‘Ah, well. This is where the lighter side of my job gives me that insight I mentioned. Not sure anyone else has made the connection. There’s only about six girls in this group. They’re crème de la crème – intended to form the core of any future organization. What would you say if I told you that two of them had killed themselves? Over the last two years. Committed suicide. Coincidence? Two out of six? I don’t think it could be. Hushed up, of course. I only took notice because they were both on my socially-interesting list and now, when I come across a third death connected with this little set-up, I begin to smell a rat – and perhaps a good story.’