The Devil in Disguise Read Online Free Page A

injection of new funds would be welcome since little was left of the original endowment. Charles’s demise could not have been more timely. And then they had learned he had left his fortune to his housekeeper-companion, Vera Blackhurst.
    â€˜We can’t fight her claim all the way to court. Our case isn’t strong enough and the trustees can’t afford the risk. Though I think we ought to check Vera out.’
    Jim’s eyes narrowed. ‘Listen, I don’t want you doing your Sexton Blake bit on behalf of the Trust. They aren’t the kind of clients to mess around with. If there’s any inquiry work to be done, we play it by the book, okay? Get them to instruct Jonah Deegan.’
    â€˜All right, all right. But there’s something else you should know.’
    He reported his conversation with Frances Silverwood and Jim shook his head. ‘Luke afraid? I don’t believe a word of it.’
    â€˜He came to see me the other day. I was waiting for him to come back to me before I mentioned it to you. He reckoned one of the trustees was deceiving him.’
    â€˜Good God. Who was he pointing the finger at?’
    â€˜He wouldn’t say. But he was obviously troubled. Talked about losing sleep. He’d even mentioned it to Ashley Whitaker, who quite rightly told him to have a word with us.’
    â€˜But why should he be afraid? It’s not like Luke to go over the top.’
    â€˜It’s not like Frances to exaggerate, either,’ Harry said grimly. ‘Maybe I’ll learn more at tonight’s meeting. Matthew Cullinan’s hired a room at the Piquet Club.’
    â€˜My God, you are moving in exalted circles. Don’t they say that’s the oldest gentlemen’s club in England?’
    â€˜From what I’ve heard, that’s because it caters for the oldest gentlemen. Matthew’s probably the youngest member they’ve ever had. He’s just been elected, apparently.’
    Jim whistled. ‘So soon? I heard there was a five-year waiting list.’
    â€˜Not if you’re an offspring of Lord Gralam. He’s even arranged for an outside caterer to come in to make sure that we are fed and watered.’
    â€˜All the trustees’ meetings I’ve attended,’ Jim grumbled, ‘I’ve never done better than soup and sandwiches.’
    Harry patted his partner on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, mate. I’ve learned this much from rubbing shoulders with the nobility. It’s not what you do that matters. It’s who you know.’
    The streets had been dark for a couple of hours by the time Harry found himself outside the entrance to the Piquet Club. A uniformed commissionaire who bore a marked resemblance to Sir John Gielgud opened the door eighteen inches and examined Harry’s Marks and Spencer suit and Hush Puppies with disdain.
    â€˜May I help you?’ The plummy tones made Sir John sound like a bingo caller.
    Harry conquered the temptation to tug a forelock and said tentatively, ‘Kavanaugh Trust?’
    â€˜Ah yes’ - the commissionaire paused - ‘sir. Take the stairs and it’s on your left on the second landing.’
    As he climbed the wide curving staircase, Harry studied the sepia-tinted pictures of eminent past members. Bewhiskered men with stern faces, proud Liverpudlians who had lived in an age when the city was great. The club was legendary for its wealth, derived from endowments established by merchants who had taken time off from slave trading to play cards with each other. He paused on the first landing, opposite a door marked Strictly Private and guarded by a security camera and alarm. Presumably that was where they kept their etchings: the Piquet Club’s other claim to fame was that it boasted one of the finest collections of erotica in private hands. The stuff was supposed to make the Kama Sutra look as racy as Teach Yourself Origami .
    On the second landing, he glanced through an