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Lord Andrew’s teeth. The old aristocracy had not taken kindly to Mr Tesla’s elevation to the peerage. Although he had been rightly rewarded for his services in the Second Worlds War, he was still to the minds of Lord Andrew and company just one more Johnny Foreigner.
    But very good with electrical systems. Hence his employment here.
    ‘We might blame Tesla,’ said Lord Andrew hopefully.
    Cameron Bell just shook his naked head. ‘I regret to say, he said, ‘that if Mr Hamilton died through some malfunctioning of the electrical system, it is you who will do the dance for Jack Ketch, silken cord or not.’
    Lord Andrew buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
    ‘If only,’ continued Cameron Bell, as if once more musing aloud, ‘there was someone possessed of investigative skills to a degree that could justly be described as above adequate who could look into this matter on your behalf Who could possibly present plausible evidence to support an argument that the electrical system of this elegant and successful establishment was in no way to blame, then—’
    ‘How much?’ cried Lord Andrew. ‘How much do you want? You are hired, just tell me how much.’
    Mr Cameron Bell made a thoughtful face and offered a thoughtful nod. In business, as in life, he tended to adhere to something known as the Vance Principle, a universal overview which posited that nothing in the universe was stable. All was constantly changing, evolving, all was mutability.
    Mr Cameron Bell’s fees were in harmony with this cosmological axiom and so varied according to the anxiety and financial standing of his clients.
    This was in no way dishonest, for Cameron Bell was a most honest man. This was merely business. And it also had to be said that Cameron Bell was not one who could be ‘bought’. He would never knowingly attempt to prove the innocence of any he knew to be guilty. No matter how much they paid him.
    And he had already made up his mind that Lord Andrew Ditchfield was not guilty of this crime, if crime it really proved to be. Neither through negligence nor intent, no guilty man was he.
    This Mr Bell instinctively knew, with an instinct based upon reason.
    Cameron Bell named a figure as a daily retainer and another as a final remuneration upon satisfactory closure of the case. Lord Andrew, aghast at the enormity of the figures concerned, took to a wilder flapping of his hands.
    ‘What luck,’ said Cameron Bell.
    ‘Luck?’ queried Lord Andrew Ditchfield, who could see no luck at all.
    ‘That I am already on the scene, as it were. Even now the London bobbies will have been alerted and will be on their way. Commander Case of Scotland Yard will probably take immediate charge of this one. A thorough fellow he is, to be sure. Although perhaps at times too thorough. He would no doubt wish to preserve the crime scene for as long as possible. Days, weeks, months, who can say? The Electric Alhambra would have to remain closed throughout this protracted period.’
    Lord Andrew groaned dismally.
    ‘What joy,’ said Cameron Bell.
    ‘Joy?’ queried his lordship, throwing up his flapping hands.
    ‘What joy will be seen upon the face of Commander Case when he finds that there is an aristocrat involved. He is presently flirting with this new political fashion known as Bolshevism. What was it I recently heard him say? Oh yes —”Come the revolution, aristocrats will be first up against the wall.” A foolish fellow at times. But a great friend, and one who will take my advice.’
    ‘I will write out a contract,’ said Lord Andrew, ‘employing you from this very moment.’
    ‘As luck would have it,’ said Cameron Bell, producing a cream vellum envelope from an inner pocket, ‘I have one of my own with me. I will just fill in the financial details and then you can sign it.’
     
    Commander Case took command of the situation. He arrived at the Electric Alhambra minutes later. In the company of numerous police constables and several