Fifteen minutes later, the clerk at the front desk looked up to see what he thought was a former guest entering the hotel. "Mr.-Chalmers," the clerk said in a cool tone. "What a surprise. Back so soon?"
The coolness didn't surprise Harry at all. The clerk had been less than friendly during their few meetings. Likely the result of the fake address that he'd given, Harry thought. "I beg your pardon, my good man?" Harry said, lifting an eyebrow. "I don't recall our having met before this moment. I believe you have a room reserved for me?"
"A-room, sir?" His gaze suddenly took in the expertly tailored suit Harry was wearing, and the uniformed chauffeur behind him, who was carrying several expensive looking suitcases, all bearing a family crest, and he swallowed heavily.
"Lord Bryce-Davies," Harry informed him with a bored air. "My agent, Mr. Carter, informed me that he had made arrangements- I could be mistaken, I suppose. Perhaps it was another hotel-?"
"Oh, no, your Lordship," the clerk said quickly. "Mr. Carter reserved our best suite for you to use during your visit. And the banquet room has been set up as per his instructions for the reception this evening." He turned the register toward Harry. "If his Lordship would care to sign-"
Harry took the offered pen, giving the toadying clerk a disappointed glance. "I expected Mr. Carter to be here to meet me, but I suppose he's been detained. Did he leave a message, by any chance?"
The clerk checked the box for the penthouse, then shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, but, no. There was a young woman looking for you, however." He leaned closer to Harry, lowering his voice to say in a tone of disapproval, "I believe she's the *private detective* who is handling the security for your Lordship's collection."
"Ah yes. Miss Holt. I've been looking forward to meeting that exceptional young woman," Harry said with a quelling look. "Is she about, by any chance?"
Harry was gratified to see fear on the clerk's face. "I-I believe she's in the banquet hall, seeing to the final security measures for the reception-"
"Would you mind paging her and asking her to come to my room for a conference?" He turned to the chauffeur. "Thank you, Fred. That will be all for the moment." He handed the man a twenty dollar bill- in full view of the clerk's eyes.
The chauffeur put the cases onto the floor and took the money. "Thank *you*, your Lordship."
"I'll call if I need you again before I leave Los Angeles."
The desk clerk snapped his fingers to summon a bell hop. "James, take Lord Bryce-Davies' luggage to his room, please." He handed the key to Harry. "Enjoy your stay, your Lordship. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to call."
"You'll be the first person I think of," Harry assured the man smoothly, then rolled his eyes as he turned to follow the bell hop toward the elevator. It was going to be a very long evening.
***
Laura stood in the midst of caterers and security people, surveying the banquet room. There were two doors, both of which were going to be manned by an armed guard, just as there would be two armed guards on duty the entire evening on either side of the display case.
Thank goodness the collection would only be on display for one evening. Laura wasn't sure she could handle the added stress of keeping it safe for much past tomorrow morning when it would depart on the same airplane it had arrived on to return to England.
"Excuse me, Miss Holt-"
She turned to find the desk clerk who had given her so much grief earlier standing there. "Yes?"
"Lord Bryce-Davies just checked in and has asked that you join him in his suite for a conference."
"Oh, he has, has he?" Laura said. "Well, you can inform his Lordship that I'm busy at the moment and that I'll see him at the reception later."
The clerk looked horrified by her answer. "You can't mean to say that you're refusing to do as his Lordship asks?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Laura confirmed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to consult with the security people." She moved toward the display cabinet, where a cadre of security were on duty watching as the collection was placed inside to lay on the white satin lining. The clerk turned and left the room quickly, obviously agitated by Laura's refusal. She smiled grimly, wondering what it was about titles that made some people go stark raving mad. He was just a man, after all. Okay, an incredibly gorgeous specimen, but still just a man. One who liked playing games, apparently, if his little masquerade was any indication.
She didn't need the distraction that he offered. The Agency needed her full attention. She couldn't afford to let herself get side-tracked. Especially not by a pair of sapphire blue eyes and a charming smile.
***
Harry was on the telephone with Scotland Yard when there was a knock on the door. "You're sure about that, Dixon?" he asked. "Okay . . . I'll fill Miss Holt in, then . . . Don't worry. We'll be on the lookout." The knock came again. "Just a moment," he called, thinking it was Laura as he hung up the phone. "Come in, Miss- Holt?" The clerk was at the door, looking very nervous. Harry looked into the corridor, then peered out to look up and down the small area. "Where is Miss Holt?"
The clerk swallowed, making his Adam's apple bob up and down. "Uh, she, uh, asked me to extend her- apologies, your Lordship. She said that she's very busy, and that she will see you at the reception this evening."
"I see." Harry gave the man some money. "Thank you, anyway. Uh, is Miss Holt still in the banquet room?"
"She was when I left. She was surprising the collection's placement, I believe."
"Thank you." He closed the door behind the clerk, his expression thoughtful.
***
Laura secured the locks on the case, then gave the key to the guard who stood nearby, waiting. She watched as he and three of his fellows left to take the keys to the security room safe, then turned back to study the collection of jewel studded rings necklaces, tie pins, bracelets- tiaras of all sizes, from the smallest, evidently used by a very young child, to the center piece of the collection, what Laura had come to think of as the Tiara. White gold, with diamonds and rubies, Laura thought it would befit a Queen, much less the wife of an Earl.
She reached out to touch the glass, then jumped as a voice said in her ear, "Takes your breath away, doesn't it?"
Laura didn't have to turn. She easily recognized that smooth voice. "Yes. It's- magnificent. I can understand someone wanting to steal it. But- they couldn't sell it anywhere. It's too-"
"Last I heard, there were more than a few private collectors who would be more than willing to buy it."
"Why? They couldn't display it. Couldn't tell anyone they had it."
"No. But to some of those people, just the knowledge that they owned such a piece would be enough. Then, there are those who would steal it simply to sell to a fence for cash, far below the actual worth, of course."
"What are you doing down here?" Laura asked.
"Well, the mountain wouldn't come to Mohammed, so-"
"Mohammed came to the mountain," Laura finished for him. "I'm not sure whether being called a 'mountain' is an insult or a compliment."
"In this case, it's a compliment. Why wouldn't you come upstairs?"
Laura fiddled unnecessarily with the locks, pretending to be interested in making sure they were secure. "I've got a lot of things to do before the reception."
Harry watched her for a moment. "Oh, indeed. The room is filled with armed guards. I don't think anyone is going to get in here to steal the collection, even if you took ten minutes out of your busy schedule, Miss Holt."
"I don't like being ordered around."
"I wasn't aware that it was an order. I made a simple request. If that toady of a clerk said it was anything else-"
"No. He said it was a request. But-"
"You're still angry with me, aren't you? For not telling you who I really was when we met?"
"I don't like being made to look like a fool, either, Your Lordship."
Harry looked around. "Harry, please. No sense in attracting attention. I even took the service stairs down here and came in through the kitchen."
"Slumming?"
"Not at all. I simply wanted to speak to you without all of the trappings. And I needed to tell you what I learned from Scotland Yard."
"You've spoken with Scotland Yard?"
"I have a friend there. We were at school together. Anyway, he wasn't able to confirm that Daniel is here- I told him that he is. But he did inform me that two other less savory characters are in Los Angeles. Interpol's been watching them for some time."
"Who are they?"
"Johnny Davis and Leo Mason. They're second class thieves, looking to move up in the world by stealing the tiara and selling it to a private buyer."
"Do you have a description?"
"Davis is an ex-boxer who's been in and out of trouble for years since he was forced to retire from contention by a scandal of some kind. He's powerfully built, dark hair, with a broken nose. Mason's described as short, slightly built, with very light blonde hair. He served time several years ago for manslaughter. Used a knife to cut up a man he claimed had insulted him."
"You're thinking that this Leo Mason killed Mr. Carter, aren't you?"
"Hugh was killed with a knife," Harry reminded her.
"But why would they leave him in Nathan Ford's- or Daniel Chalmer's room?" Laura wondered.
"That's something Daniel would probably be able to tell us. You haven't seen any sign of him?"
"No. And I've watching." She nodded to the security guards. "Put the cover over the case, please. Your Lordship-"
"Please, Miss Holt," he said again. "I'd be much more comfortable if you'd call me Harry."
"Harry."
"You managed it last night," he reminded her.
"And just what IS your full name?"
"Must we?" he asked, reluctant to tell her. Laura simply stood there, looking at him. Harry drew a deep breath. "Lord Harrison Michael Patrick Bryce-Davies, eighth Earl of Bensonhurst."
"That's a mouthful," Laura commented.
"Precisely why I prefer Harry. Now that that's out of the way, I believe you were about to ask me something?"
"Why bring the collection here at all? It's not as if you're opening the showing up to all and sundry. The guest list for that reception is a veritable who's who of wealthy, famous people who no doubt have similar collections of their own."
"Ah, but there's something about a collection of jewelry worn by Kings and Queens and Dukes and the like. Even in my country, people are fascinated by the history of such things. That tiara- the one that everyone's after?- it rumored to have been worn by Anne Boleyn herself when she was the wife of Henry VIII."
"The one he had beheaded?" Laura asked, her eyes wide..
"The very same. Henry reportedly gave it to my ancestor as payment of a debt- the nature of which has been long since forgotten. The collection is on display most of the year at Bensonhurst Manor, for the viewing by those who take the twice daily tour of the house."
Laura's eyes were wide again. "You let people- *tour* your house?"
"Part of it. The private quarters are off limits, of course. The entire upper floor, as a matter of fact. Property taxes being what they are, it was either open the place up to tours or sell it. I have a house in London that I prefer to use." He hadn't wanted to get into this at all. The look on her face troubled him. "You asked why I brought the collection over here. For the same reason I took it to Paris, and put it on display in London to a similar group: charity, Miss Holt."
"They do say charity begins at home, Your-" she stopped, and smiled. "Harry."
Harry returned her smile. "Yes. But I find that people who are lucky enough to *have* money tend to forget that there are those less fortunate than they. People- especially children- who, through no fault of their own, haven't the good fortune to have a warm place to sleep or enough food in their belly. Poor souls who need a hand occasionally to feed their family when a job goes sour without warning. You see them on the streets in London, still. And I know similar things go on in this country."
"Yes," Laura agreed in a breathless voice, caught up in his words. "Yes. They do. All the time. But there are government programs to help them-"
"Yes, there are. But even the government can use a bit of help from time to time, when the need is so overwhelming, don't you agree?"
"I suppose. So you plan to ask the guests at this evening's reception for a donation to your cause?"
"Most of them have already given a donation. This is a way of saying thank you personally. And the publicity something like this generates is worth almost as much as any donation."
"I can understand that," Laura agreed. "I'm counting on the same publicity to give my agency a little boost."
"Then we'll both be getting what we want, eh?"
"*If* I can keep someone from stealing that tiara," Laura reminded him.
"At least now you know who else to look for, right?"
"I'd still like to hear Daniel's version of all this, Harry."
"We shall. Now. What say we go back up to my suite and have a drink? I'll explain-"
Laura glanced at her watch. "I'd love to, but- I have to go and get ready for the reception."
"It's nearly two hours yet," Harry pointed out, but sighed, knowing that his explanations would be put off once again. "Very well." He bowed over her hand. "Until this evening, Miss Holt."
He watched her out the door, then wandered over to the ten or so tables that had been set up near the podium and display to inspect the place cards. "May I help you, sir?" a young woman wearing a waitress uniform asked as she looked him over with approval.
"Uh, yes. I was wondering- could you by any chance tell me where Lord Bryce-Davies has been seated this evening?"
The young blonde gave him an uncertain look. "Oh, I don't know if I should, I mean-"
"It's all right-" he looked at her name badge, "Maris. I'm Lord Bryce-Davies," he informed her in a near whisper that wouldn't carry across the large room. The familiar expression came over Maris' face. "But let's keep that between us, eh?" he asked with a smile guaranteed to gain her agreement.
"Uh, you're- over here," she told him, leading him to a table front and center of the podium.
His eyes scanned the names on the other cards at the table. "And Miss Holt- where is she sitting?"
"Oh. At that table over there." The table she indicated was several tables away from his, Harry noticed. "She and Mr. Michaels and their secretary-"
"Thank you. You've been a great help, Maris." He pretended to study the place settings until the young woman moved away toward the door, no doubt to tell her friends that she had actually *spoken* to Lord Bryce-Davies. Harry glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then picked up the place card for Miss Leslie Maxwell, who had been seated at his side. Harry had met the daughter of Aaron Maxwell, the gentleman who had been so anxious to bring the collection- and Lord Bryce-Davies- to Los Angeles, in London. Leslie was a tall, statuesque blonde- without a thought in her head. He could still recall Maxwell's words upon their first meeting. "She's a model- or wants to be. Of course, if she were to get a better offer, she'd give it up in a heartbeat." Leslie was a well-known member of the "jet set", flitting from place to place as her interest grew and waned.
All in all, Harry's usual "type". If he hadn't met the formidable Laura Holt prior to the reception, he might have been quite pleased at having such an attractive companion for dinner- and who knew what else later. As it was, he decided, carrying Leslie's card over to the other table, he was equally certain that Mr. Michaels - after his initial anger at being out maneuvered- would appreciate his thoughtfulness in sending the blonde in *his* direction. After all, he could afford to be generous to Murphy, couldn't he, with Laura by his side?
Harry picked up Laura's place card and carried it to his table, placing her in the seat next to his and smiled. Things were starting to look up, after all.
To Be Continued . . .