members of the gang from whom he’d just escaped. Was the whole world out to get him?
‘Ah, Mr Webber,’ said the detective sergeant genially. ‘We’d like a word with you, please.’
Adam hit him as hard as he could, pushed the other man aside, vaulted the barrier, and resumed running.
‘My uncle’s a very clever man,’ said Vic Dudley. ‘He’s crossed a sheep with a kangaroo. That’s right, a sheep and a kangaroo. So he gets woolly jumpers. And another thing …’ He paused. There was mild laughter from the Windmill audience. They hadn’t come to hear jokes: they’d come to see the girls. But Dudley had a pleasant personality. They’d tolerate him, as long as he didn’t go on too long.
‘Thanks for the titter,’ said Dudley. ‘We’re always glad of titters here. And another thing. He crossed a carrier pigeon with a woodpecker. Very clever. He’s got a bird that carries messages and knocks on the door when it gets there.’
In the wings, Jane and two other girls, dressed in fishnet tights and not much else, were watching. Dudley was not only personable but also rather good-looking. Jane felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to find Andy, one of the stagehands. ‘Message from Bert,’ he said quietly. ‘Your mum rang. She wants you to phone back as soon as you can.’
Bert was the stage-door man, and keeper of the backstage telephone. Jane was alarmed. Her mum had never rung her at the theatre before. But she’d given her the number in case of emergency. This must be an emergency. She thought quickly. Vic Dudley had only just started his routine: he had a way to go. Then there’d be the accordion act. She had fifteen minutes before she was needed for the Montmartre scene. She hurried towards the stage door.
Mrs Hart was almost incoherent with alarm, emotion, and the sheer amount of news she had to tell. As soon as Jane said hello, it all came tumbling out.
‘Jane, dear, the most dreadful things have been happening here! Mr Cooper’s been murdered!’
‘Murdered?’ Jane was aghast. This was Britain in the 1940s. Murders were rare. ‘
Murdered?!
’
‘Someone knocked him about so badly he died! Millie and I found him this morning. In a pool of blood,’ she added, to fill in the picture.
‘My God, how awful! How did it happen?’
‘That’s even worse! The police think Mr Webber did it!’
‘Adam Webber? That’s impossible!’
‘It’s true, dear. After they had that quarrel, when you were clearing number six, Mr Cooper smashed up Mr Webber’s room! And they think Mr Webber went back and beat him up!’
‘But he couldn’t have, he was with … I mean, he’s not that kind of man.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, dear. The police went to arrest him on Southend Pier, and he attacked them and got away!’
‘Attacked the police? That I don’t believe!’
‘And there was a fight, and two men got killed!’
‘What?!’
‘It’s true! It was on the nine o’clock news! The police are searching for Adam Webber. Anyone who sees him has to ring Scotland Yard. Whitehall 1212.’
‘Mum, I’ve got to go. What am I supposed to do about all this?’
‘There’s nothing you can do. I just thought you ought to know. I didn’t want you having too much of a shock when you get home. There’s a policeman on duty in the hall.’
‘Just as well, with all this going on! But I’m sure Adam’s done nothing wrong!’
‘Then why’s he run away, dear? You’re too trusting, you are. If he comes near you, make sure you call the police.’
Jane could hear The Accordion Aces going into their lastnumber. ‘I’ve got to go, Mum. I’m on in two minutes. See you later. Take care.’
She hung up, and raced back to the wings, ready to take her place for ‘One Night In Paris’. But her mind wasn’t in France. It was in turmoil.
There were another fifty minutes and four routines to get through, which Jane did on automatic pilot. The Windmill girls were well drilled, and
‘Ah, Mr Webber,’ said the detective sergeant genially. ‘We’d like a word with you, please.’
Adam hit him as hard as he could, pushed the other man aside, vaulted the barrier, and resumed running.
‘My uncle’s a very clever man,’ said Vic Dudley. ‘He’s crossed a sheep with a kangaroo. That’s right, a sheep and a kangaroo. So he gets woolly jumpers. And another thing …’ He paused. There was mild laughter from the Windmill audience. They hadn’t come to hear jokes: they’d come to see the girls. But Dudley had a pleasant personality. They’d tolerate him, as long as he didn’t go on too long.
‘Thanks for the titter,’ said Dudley. ‘We’re always glad of titters here. And another thing. He crossed a carrier pigeon with a woodpecker. Very clever. He’s got a bird that carries messages and knocks on the door when it gets there.’
In the wings, Jane and two other girls, dressed in fishnet tights and not much else, were watching. Dudley was not only personable but also rather good-looking. Jane felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to find Andy, one of the stagehands. ‘Message from Bert,’ he said quietly. ‘Your mum rang. She wants you to phone back as soon as you can.’
Bert was the stage-door man, and keeper of the backstage telephone. Jane was alarmed. Her mum had never rung her at the theatre before. But she’d given her the number in case of emergency. This must be an emergency. She thought quickly. Vic Dudley had only just started his routine: he had a way to go. Then there’d be the accordion act. She had fifteen minutes before she was needed for the Montmartre scene. She hurried towards the stage door.
Mrs Hart was almost incoherent with alarm, emotion, and the sheer amount of news she had to tell. As soon as Jane said hello, it all came tumbling out.
‘Jane, dear, the most dreadful things have been happening here! Mr Cooper’s been murdered!’
‘Murdered?’ Jane was aghast. This was Britain in the 1940s. Murders were rare. ‘
Murdered?!
’
‘Someone knocked him about so badly he died! Millie and I found him this morning. In a pool of blood,’ she added, to fill in the picture.
‘My God, how awful! How did it happen?’
‘That’s even worse! The police think Mr Webber did it!’
‘Adam Webber? That’s impossible!’
‘It’s true, dear. After they had that quarrel, when you were clearing number six, Mr Cooper smashed up Mr Webber’s room! And they think Mr Webber went back and beat him up!’
‘But he couldn’t have, he was with … I mean, he’s not that kind of man.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, dear. The police went to arrest him on Southend Pier, and he attacked them and got away!’
‘Attacked the police? That I don’t believe!’
‘And there was a fight, and two men got killed!’
‘What?!’
‘It’s true! It was on the nine o’clock news! The police are searching for Adam Webber. Anyone who sees him has to ring Scotland Yard. Whitehall 1212.’
‘Mum, I’ve got to go. What am I supposed to do about all this?’
‘There’s nothing you can do. I just thought you ought to know. I didn’t want you having too much of a shock when you get home. There’s a policeman on duty in the hall.’
‘Just as well, with all this going on! But I’m sure Adam’s done nothing wrong!’
‘Then why’s he run away, dear? You’re too trusting, you are. If he comes near you, make sure you call the police.’
Jane could hear The Accordion Aces going into their lastnumber. ‘I’ve got to go, Mum. I’m on in two minutes. See you later. Take care.’
She hung up, and raced back to the wings, ready to take her place for ‘One Night In Paris’. But her mind wasn’t in France. It was in turmoil.
There were another fifty minutes and four routines to get through, which Jane did on automatic pilot. The Windmill girls were well drilled, and
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