Murphy entered the office as Bernice Foxe came from Laura's office. Seeing her in an evening dress, her dark hair styled, he whistled appreciatively. "Nice."
She twirled to give him the full view, then tweaked his black bow tie. "You don't look so bad yourself." She picked up her wrap, ready to leave.
"Do you have that information on Lord Bryce-Davies?" Murphy asked her.
"Oh, I'm glad you reminded me." She picked up a folder from her desk. "Here you go." Murphy flipped through the information the folder contained with a deepening frown. "We're going to be late, Murphy," Bernice told him, holding her wrap toward him.
"Okay, okay," Murphy said, tossing her his car keys, still reading from the file. "You drive, okay?"
Sighing, Bernice placed the wrap around her own shoulders, then followed him out of the office, locking the door behind them.
***
Laura met them in the lobby, now wearing a strapless evening dress, her long brown hair piled atop her head. She looked her friends over. "You clean up very nicely, Murphy," she teased.
"What is it about a man in a tux," Bernice wondered, casting a teasing glace at Murphy as he ran a finger around his collar.
"This thing is cutting off my circulation," he complained. "It's a good thing I don't have to wear one every day."
A commotion near the elevator caused them to turn and watch, as Lord Bryce-Davies was set upon by local media the moment the elevator doors opened. "Who is *he*?" Bernice asked in a dreamy voice. "Wow!"
"*That* is our client," Murphy informed her darkly.
Bernice's eyes slid to Laura. "*He's* the one who bought you that magnum of champagne? You had dinner with a prime specimen like that and didn't give me *any* details?"
"I thought he was a thief at the time, remember?" Laura reminded the receptionist, silently agreeing with Bernice's assessment as Harry chatted easily with the local television and newspaper reporters. "Do you have that information, Murphy?" she asked.
"Yeah." He handed the folder to her. "Any sign of Chalmers yet?"
"No," Laura told him, glancing through the file. "And it's not just Daniel Chalmers that we're looking for anymore. Apparently he's not the only one after that tiara. Two other men are here as well. Johnny Davis and Leo Mason." There wasn't much in the file. The official biography of the current Earl of Bensonhurst was painfully brief.
Born in Ireland to the previous Earl's son and his Irish wife, his mother died in childbirth. Relatives in that country raised him until the age of fourteen, when his grandfather brought him to London and completed his education. Harrison Michael Patrick Bryce-Davies had attended Oxford until his grandfather's death eight years ago, at which time Bryce-Davies had assumed the hereditary title. He had turned the family's dwindling fortunes around with his uncanny ability to recognize a good investment, and as a result, he was listed as one of the wealthiest men in the British Isle, with property in London proper, and the family seat, a castle known as Bensonhurst Manor, among other places. There were a couple of press clippings as well, one about his Lordships founding of the Helping Hands Foundation, and the other mentioning how Lord Bryce-Davies was one of England's most eligible bachelors. A "prize catch", as the columnist put it.
"Not one mention of Chalmers, Laura," Murphy pointed out.
"So I noticed."
"What if he's trying to protect Chalmers?" Murphy suggested. "If Chalmers killed those men, do you really think that his son would help us find him? And he himself admitted that the scandal-"
"I agreed to give him until after the reception, Murphy," Laura said. "And that's what we'll do." She noticed that Harry had disentangled himself from the reporters. "We'd better get to our table."
The entire time he was speaking to the reporters, Harry was covertly watching Laura and Michaels. He wondered for a moment who the attractive brunette was, then recalled the young woman mentioning something about the agency receptionist/secretary. But he quickly dismissed her as Murphy Michaels- that *had* to be a rented tux, he noted - handed Laura a folder.
She read the contents quickly, glancing in his direction once she was finished. So she'd sent for information about him. Well, most likely it was only the official bio. Not much there, thanks to his grandfather's influence. There were no details regarding his early years in Ireland - and not one mention of those two years with Daniel.
He entered the banquet room as they approached a table, and was distracted by the arrival of Aaron Maxwell and his daughter, Leslie.
"Where's the dreamboat sitting?" Bernice asked as they stopped at the table.
Laura pointed to the middle table some distance away. "Over there with Mr. Maxwell and his daughter, I think."
Murphy pulled Bernice's chair out, then moved to where he'd thought Laura was sitting, only to stop and pick up the place card. "Uh, Laura, who is- Leslie Maxwell?"
"Mr. Maxwell's daughter," Laura answered absently, her gaze scanning the growing crowd of people for a glance of Daniel Chalmers or the other two. She noticed Harry speaking to a tall, blonde woman wearing a low-cut, embarrassingly tight black gown. "In fact, that's her with Harry- his Lordship."
"Really?" Murphy said, smiling. "I thought you were sitting here at this table?" he said, glancing at the other place cards.
"I am."
"Your card isn't here," he told her.
Laura tore her gaze from the bright red fingernails resting on Harry's dark tuxedo sleeve, and turned her attention to the name cards. "It has to be here," she insisted.
Murphy held out the card in his hand. "Someone put Leslie Maxwell at this table."
"She was supposed to be-" Laura began, pointing toward the main table. "Why that-," she said, shaking her head.
"Who?" Bernice asked.
"Harry. He changed the place cards, Murphy," Laura said, as Murphy's eyes lifted to someone standing behind her.
"Ah, Michaels. Miss Holt. Allow me to present Miss Leslie Maxwell."
Laura pasted a smile on her face as she turned to face her client. "How do you do, Miss Maxwell?" she said, then pinned Harry with a glare. "Your Lordship. Murphy and I were just discussing the seating arrangements. It seems my place card is missing."
"Missing?" Harry repeated, his blue eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Oh, my. Perhaps we'd best go try and find it, eh?" He turned to the blonde. "I'm sure you'll be in good hands with Mr. Michaels, my dear." He smiled at Bernice. "I don't believe we've met." He held out his hand toward her. "Lord Bryce-Davies."
"Bernice Foxe," Bernice responded, having risen from her seat. "I'm- their- receptionist," she told him, and gave Laura a look as Harry bent over her hand in a courtly manner. He then held out his arm to Laura. "Shall we go in search of your seat, Miss Holt? I believe they're getting ready to begin-"
Laura slipped her arm through his and let him lead her toward the main table. As they left, she heard Leslie saying, "Lord Bryce-Davies says you're a private detective," in a breathless voice that made Laura roll her eyes. "That must be an absolutely fascinating job."
"Uh, yeah."
"You switched those cards, didn't you?" Laura accused in a quiet voice as Harry pulled the chair beside his out for her.
He bent close to her ear. "I thought I was doing your associate a favor."
"But won't Mr. Maxwell be upset that you've farmed out his daughter?"
"Nonsense. He's looking forward to meeting you, after hearing me sing your praises this afternoon."
Laura turned to look at him, as he sat down, her eyes wide with surprise at his words. "You-"
Aaron Maxwell appeared at the podium, tapping the open microphone. "Excuse me?" he said, trying to get everyone's attention. "Excuse me? If you could all take your seats, we can begin." There was a general movement of people to tables and chairs before the room fell into silent expectation. "Thank you. First, I'd like to thank you all for being here this evening. And, since I'm sure that you didn't come here to listen to me, I'd like to introduce our guest of honor, Lord Bryce-Davies, the Earl of Bensonhurst."
The crowd began to applaud, and Harry leaned closer to Laura, whispering. "Now the fun begins." He rose from the chair and approached the podium as Maxwell moved aside. "Thank you. Thank you," he said again, lifting his hands in a plea for silence. "I didn't realize I was worthy of such admiration. First things first. I'd like to thank Aaron Maxwell for his interest in the Helping Hands Foundation, and his tireless efforts to bring both myself and my collection to your country." He paused as the audience clapped again, then waited for silence to fill the hall. "And I mustn't forget the person responsible for the security of that collection. Protecting something with such value takes a great deal of intelligence and experience. The Laura Holt detective agency has both in its founder. Please, Miss Holt. Stand up and take a well deserved bow." He led the applause this time as Laura slowly rose from her chair, smiling tightly. Once the applause faded again, Harry placed his hands on either side of the podium to begin. "I shan't give you a long-winded, dry speech. I'm sure most of you are well aware of the goals of the Helping Hands Foundation, having already given generously to such a worthy cause. But, just in case some of you haven't given, or simply haven't heard of HHF, I think I'll hit the high points. What is the Helping Hands Foundation?" he asked. "Well, simply, it's an organization which is designed to give those who need a small lift up- a helping hand, if you will- when there's no where else to turn. Someone recently reminded me that there are government agencies for such people to go to. But all too many of these people fall through the cracks of bureaucracy, or are simply too proud to ask for help. It is these people that the Foundation seeks to help. People who *want* to work, but, for various reasons- illness, an accident, the sudden loss of a job through no fault of their own, find themselves on the street, or struggling against the tide to pay a mountain of bills and feed their family. No child- or adult, for that matter- should have to spend the night shivering in a doorway, trying to sleep while your empty belly gnaws away at your backbone and you worry whether or not you'll even be alive the next morning to worry about it. The Helping Hand Foundation helps those who *want* to help themselves, but simply need the helping hand that we can give. Surely those of us who have been lucky, either by birth or by hard work, can afford to give a pittance back to those who are less fortunate. There, but for the Grace of God, go you or I. Now, since I know that you aren't here to listen to me, either," he nodded toward the uniformed guards standing beside the sheet-draped display case, "if you please, gentlemen-?"
The band across the room struck a chord. "Ta-da!" as the sheet was carefully folded and the collection revealed, glittering in the spotlights focused on the case.
The room was filled with oohs and ahs, and Harry stepped away from the dais as the band began to play softly in the background. He stood back as the audience moved forward to view the display, then joined Laura at the table. "Not going to look?"
"I looked earlier, remember?"
"Good," he said smoothly, placing an arm under her elbow to bring her to her feet. "Then we'll dance."
"I'm not here to dance, your Lordship," Laura said, remaining beside her chair. "I'm here to do a job. And that means looking for your father."
"Daniel will turn up, Laura," Harry said. "And I thought we were past the title, hmm?" He held out his arm. "One dance. That's all I ask, and I won't ask another thing of you."
"How come I don't entirely trust you?" Laura asked, looking up at him. She glanced around, and Harry realized that she was looking for her friends.
"Your friends are at the collection," he told her. "I believe Michaels is trying to impress Miss Maxwell with his knowledge about it."
"Who's that with Bernice?" Laura asked, pointing to the white haired, stooped shouldered man in the ill-fitting black tux.
"I've no idea. One of Maxwell's friends, no doubt." He indicated the slowly filling dance floor. "Shall we trip the light fantastic, Miss Holt?"
"You're not going to give up, are you?"
"I'm told that I can be quite tenacious when something's important."
"That's funny," Laura said, laughing, and Harry found himself transfixed. "People say the same thing about me." She slipped her arm through his. "Very well, your Lordship. Shall we dance?"
"The King and I. Deborah Kerr, Yul Brynner, Twentieth Century Fox, 1956," Harry cited. He smiled as he saw the look of surprise on Laura's face. "Of course, the 1946 version with Irene Dunn and Rex Harrison was far superior."
"Don't tell me. You're a film buff?"
"I've seen my share of your country's cinematic treasures," he told her. "I've a preference for film noir, however. The Maltese Falcon, White Heat- "
"So tell me, how does the grandson of an Earl manage to see all of those old films? AND have a father who's a jewel thief/con man who doesn't rate a single mention in the family bio?"
"Perhaps because for the first fourteen years of his life, he had no idea that he WAS the grandson of an Earl," Harry suggested.
They stopped in the middle of the dance floor as Laura said, "That's why the Foundation is so important to you, isn't it? Because you've lived that life. You know what it's like to be hungry and cold- and alone."
Harry steered her back into the dance with deft movements. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to," Laura said, watching his face. Every time they spoke, another piece of the puzzle that was Harry fell into place. Someone tapped lightly on her arm to get her attention, and Laura tore her gaze from Harry's to find Murphy with Bernice in his arms. "Murphy. Where is Miss- Maxwell?"
"The blonde bombshell?" Murphy questioned, giving Harry a murderous glance. "She's found someone else fascinating. I think this one's a movie producer," he said, nodding toward the other side of the dance floor.
"Really, Murphy. And I thought I was doing you a favor."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Murphy told him, then ignored him to ask Laura, "Any sign of you-know-who?"
"Nothing yet. Bernice, who was that man you were talking to earlier?" she asked the receptionist, who was staring in awe at Harry. Noticing Harry's own smile, Laura tugged on Bernice's arm to get her attention.
"Oh, he said he was some Colonel or such. In the Royal Hussars, whatever that is." She sighed. "Sounded so romantic, though."
Laura sighed deeply, and started to speak, but Harry beat her to it. "Did he give you a name?"
"Um, Frobush- no, Frobish. Yeah. Reginald Frobish."
Harry grasped Laura's hand and pulled her behind him as he left the dance floor. "Harry," she hissed, noticing the surprised looks they were receiving. "What are you doing?"
"Col. Reginald Frobish is one of Daniel's aliases, Laura," he told her, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the white haired elderly gentleman they had seen earlier with Bernice. He spoke to Murphy without looking at him. "Let's split up, shall we? If you find him, take him up to my suite. Whatever happens, I suggest we all meet back there in half an hour."
"Okay. Com'on, Laura," Murphy said, but Laura shook her head. "You and Bernice go on. I'm sticking with his Lordship."
Murphy gave Harry a warning glance, then moved away with Bernice. Harry looked at Laura. "Still don't trust me, eh?"
"Well, Daniel IS your father. It would only be natural for you to want to protect him- even if he is guilty of murder."
"He's not. And even if he was, while I would dislike the intense publicity something like that would generate, I've no desire to see him get away with murder. Or theft. Now. Shall we continue to stand here sniping at each other like commoners or go and find him?"
The two of them moved around the room, speaking occasionally to other guests as they looked for any sign of Col. Frobish. "There he is!" Laura hissed, and started forward.
Harry kept her at his side, his own eyes on the man standing before the display case, eyeing the tiara. "What are we waiting for?" Laura asked. "He'll get away!"
"I don't think so. He's focused on his goal at the moment." Cautiously, they moved around to stand directly behind Daniel. "Hello, Reggie, old man," Harry said in a bright tone. Laura saw Daniel jump as Harry's hand fell on his shoulder. "It's been a long time."
Up close, Laura could see that it was indeed Daniel. The twinkle in his eyes belied the concern in his voice, however. "Your Lordship. I do hope you'll forgive my crashing your little party. I just couldn't resist -"
"Understandable," Harry said. "Why don't we go upstairs where the three of us can talk over old times?" he suggested.
"Oh, I don't think I can do that," Daniel began.
Laura moved quickly to bracket him between herself and Harry. "Oh, but I insist, *Colonel*," she said. "Harry's told me *so* much about you."
"Has he really?" Daniel asked, looking uncertainly at his son as the three of them moved toward the exit.
To Be Continued . . .