Page 80 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

“The business of forging paintings?”

“I told you, I don’t know anything about forged paintings.”

“I think you do.”

Mr. Underwood swallowed heavily. If he was lying, I couldn’t tell. He might simply be nervous with Harry bombarding him with the same question.

I decided to ask a different one. “Did Reggie Smith work here?”

“He used to. This is where he met McDonald. They continued their relationship outside of the club. And yes,” he said to Harry, “it wasthatkind of relationship, not the business kind. After they got together, Reggie ended his employment here. He didn’t need to work anywhere else. He just painted. Although he never said, I think McDonald supported him.”

“Until their relationship ended,” I pointed out.

“I don’t know why it ended. Reggie never confided in me. But I can make a guess, if you like.”

“Please do.”

“McDonald wasn’t faithful. When Reggie found out, it upset him.”

“Enough for him to kill McDonald?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But you think it?”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. His coat slipped a little, revealing a black ribbon choker around his neck. He quickly recovered himself. “May I go now?” He addressed the question to Harry. “Or is the information I’ve given you not enough to stop you informing Mrs. Rumble?”

“You may go,” Harry said.

Mr. Underwood hurried back to the Portland Club, but the floral scent of the perfume he wore lingered.

Harry and I set off down the street. “You told him you’d tell Mrs. Rumble about…?” I indicated the club.

“I told him I’d inform her that he painted in his room. I didn’t mention the Portland.”

Blackmailing Mr. Underwood with that and not his nocturnal occupation was all right with me. “Do you think he’s lying about not painting the forgeries?” I asked.

“I’m unconvinced.”

We both fell silent. Something troubled me and I tried to think back to when I’d first met Mr. Underwood. Something troubled Harry too, but it wasn’t the same thing.

“Did seeing him like that…disturb you?” he asked.

I frowned at his profile. “In women’s clothing? No, except that it’s not fair he can wear obvious color on his cheeks and lips and I can’t. One evening the lights went out in the hotel as I was getting ready for dinner and I had to dress by candlelight. I put a little too much rouge on my cheeks. When the lights came back on, I was with my aunt. She ushered me back to my room and made me take it off before my uncle saw.”

He laughed. “Perhaps one day you can dress however you want and wear as much rouge as you like and no one will bat an eyelash.”

“I think we’re some way off from that day.”

It began to rain, so Harry suggested we take a cab the rest of the way to the hotel. Once inside the dry cabin, I told him what had been on my mind. “Did something seem odd about his answers to you?”

“In what way?”

“When we first met him, I recall telling him that Reggie Smith was arrested for the murder of McDonald. After that, he seemed to open up a little. He was more forthcoming about Reggie, even hinting at his relationship with McDonald and that he thought McDonald was Reggie’s patron. He also mentioned their relationship ending. Of course, he never named McDonald. He let us come to that conclusion on our own.”

“And tonight hedidname McDonald,” Harry said.

“Indeed.” I frowned, trying to make sense of the strange feeling I’d got from Mr. Underwood. “He made quite a point of repeating everything he’d already told us. Perhaps too much of a point.”

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