by Emily Organ
“Quite a reasonable assumption, I should think.”
“Yes, we had all eaten and drunk quite a bit by that stage. Mr Gallo had been keen for the merriment to continue, but the rest of us wanted to retire for the night.”
“Did you see Mr White the following morning?”
“I don’t specifically recall seeing him at breakfast, but he was definitely in the dining room at lunchtime. I remember that because Mr Somers went to sit beside him after Mr Bolton had offended him.”
“Tell me about Mr Somers, then.”
“He was on first-name terms with Mr Gallo, having met him in New York several years ago. He was extremely upset by his death and was moved to tears on one occasion when we discussed it. He knew the Gallo family well, and was also well aware of Mr Gallo’s indiscretions.”
“Which were?”
“The companion, Miss Hamilton.”
“He knew her?”
“No, he didn’t know her, but he wasn’t surprised to hear about the rendezvous. He said Mr Gallo had always had a weakness for the fairer sex, but that he also loved his wife dearly.”
“Very interesting.”
“I liked Mr Somers,” I said, “and he was probably the person I spoke to the most. I cannot imagine him bearing Mr Gallo any ill-will.”
“He may still have murdered him.”
“But he’s quite a large man. I struggle to imagine him chasing after Mr Gallo with a knife and catching up with him.”
“But Mr Gallo fell down the stairs. He may have been stunned by the fall, which would have allowed time even for a large man to reach him and do the dreadful deed.”
“I simply cannot countenance it.”
“As things stand, Mr Somers is as likely to have done it as anyone else.”
“But I can’t think what motive he would have had.”
“You barely know him, Penny. He may well have had a motive that we’re yet to find out about. Which publication does he write for?”
“The City Journal.”
“You needn’t look so glum just because I consider your favourite guest to be a suspect!” James smiled.
“I’m not glum, but I suppose I can see that I have formed rather fixed opinions of all the guests, and I really don’t know any of them well. It’s difficult to view the situation objectively, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is. What of Mr Bolton? What did he say to offend Mr Somers?”
“His tone was quite disrespectful yesterday. He has a confrontational manner about him, and I don’t think he took kindly to Mr Gallo at all. The feeling was mutual, I suspect. While Mr Gallo was conducting the tour, I felt as though Mr Bolton was constantly attempting to trip him up with unhelpful comments.”
“Such as?”
“Asking about the curse and the previous owner’s suicide.”
“Questions his readers would no doubt have liked to have answered.”
“Quite possibly, but he didn’t have a polite manner about him. His hands were often stuffed into his pockets or his arms were folded. He gave off an air of self-importance.”
“Did he explain his dislike for Mr Gallo?”
“No, it was just the impression I got from him. My feeling was that he resented Mr Gallo’s wealth and success. He struck me as the sort of man who would resent anyone who was wealthy and successful.”
“I know the type. So his motive for murder could simply have been that he didn’t like the hotelier.”
“It’s probably not a good enough reason to murder him, is it?”
“Not really.”
James reviewed the notes he had just written and scratched his chin with the end of his pencil. I felt a warmth in my chest as I watched him, moments together like this were no longer forbidden. Never again would I need to worry that he would choose Charlotte before me.
“What are you smiling at?” James asked when he looked up.
“Nothing.”
He gave a bemused grin then consulted his notes again. “There was a lady, a Mrs Mortimer, did you say?”
“Yes, that’s right. A writer for Wonders of the World. She was an older lady who had once travelled the world with her husband. I think she said he was a geographer. His job was definitely something to do with maps.”
“And how was she with Mr Gallo?”
“She seemed to like him. In fact, she was quite a pleasant lady, although she didn’t take to Mrs Mirabeau. I had breakfast with her yesterday. I say breakfast, but neither of us actually ate anything. She was really quite horrified by the murder.”
“As you might expect.”
“Yes. And we were joined by Mr Wentworth, an older man who seemed quite grumpy a lot of the time. I don’t think he was too impressed by Mr Gallo either. He called one of the rooms ‘vulgar’.”
James laughed. “Some of the rooms are a little over the top, aren’t they?”
“I liked them. I found myself agreeing with Mr Somers, who pointed out that such places can provide guests with a little fantasy. He said that they offer an escape from people’s everyday lives.”
“I can see what he meant by that. So Mr Wentworth wasn’t too keen on Mr Gallo?”
“I’m not entirely sure. He was quite grumpy with most of us, so perhaps that was just his usual demeanour.”
“What else did you learn about him?”
“Not a great deal, except to say that he was one of those old-fashioned types who seemed quite baffled by the concept of lady news reporters. It’s possible that he feels quite baffled by ladies altogether. However, I’m quite sure that he couldn’t have chased after Mr Gallo with a knife given that he uses a walking stick and is quite unsteady on his feet.”
“A ruse, perhaps?”
“That would have been some ruse, but he appeared quite frail to me. I really cannot imagine him having the physical ability to commit such a brutal murder. I know you will still consider him a possible suspect, though.”
“Who else was there?”
“The reporter for The Times, Mr Blackstone. He was the only guest I had met previously. Quite a dour man; you’ve probably come across him at some point. He bored Mr Somers senseless at dinner, then prided himself on interviewing as many people as possible yesterday morning. I don’t think he managed to interview as many as Mr Bolton, however. I got the impression there was some sort of interviewing rivalry between them. I assume Mr Blackstone’s interviews have already been printed in The Times, but I haven’t had a chance to read them yet.”
“If Mr Blackstone spoke to a lot of witnesses it would be quite interesting to talk to him. I suppose Fenton will deal with that, but I’ll make a note of it.”
“Oh, and he couldn’t handle his drink. He had to be helped up to bed by Mr Gallo’s staff at about ten o’clock.”
“Oh dear, how embarrassing.”
“I recall him rather liking Mr Gallo, however, and he seemed quite impressed with the hotel. I’d say that he and Mr Hardy were the most gracious toward our host.”
“Mr Hardy, now who’s he?”
“Another person I didn’t speak to a great deal. He was a slick-looking gentleman who writes for The Hotelier. He sang Mr Gallo’s praises throughout the tour, in an almost obsequious manner, I would say.”
“Do you think he wished to impress his host?”
“It appeared so, though I’m not sure why. I noticed he got on well with Mrs Mirabeau over dinner. They were engaged in deep conversation for a while.”
“Did you overhear any of it?”
“Unfortunately, no. Mr Somers was seated next to me and he has rather a loud voice.”
James sat back in his chair and sighed. “From what you’ve told me about the other guests, it’s difficult at this stage to determine any motive for murdering Mr Gallo. I can only hope that Fenton has obtained more information from them through his interviews.”
“At least we know who we can initially discount.”
“I don’t think we can discount anyone.”
“Some
are far less likely to have done it than others. I’m absolutely certain that Mrs Mortimer, Mr Wentworth and Mr Somers lack the physical capacity needed to inflict fatal injuries upon two people.”
James nodded. “I suppose that’s a reasonable assumption. We can’t discount them, but we can consider the others as more likely suspects.”
“So that leaves the two young men, Mr White and Mr Goldman, and the other three, Mr Bolton, Mr Hardy and Mr Blackstone.”
“That narrows it down to five. We could certainly concentrate on them in the first instance.”
I refilled our cups from the teapot. “Circumstantially, Mr White is the most suspicious because he vanished after the men left the smoking room. He may have used that time to prepare himself for the murder. He needed to obtain the spare key for the room, put on the overcoat and gloves, and arm himself with the blackout lantern and knife.”
“I’ll speak to Fenton later today and find out what he has discovered about Mr White and the other suspects. With any luck he has reached a similar conclusion. There is also Mrs Mirabeau to consider, of course. There would have been no need for her to steal the spare key to the Venetian Suite given that she was already in possession of it.”
“Mrs Mirabeau is a lady of slight build,” I said. “Do you really think she could have inflicted such harm on two people?”
“I think this was an impassioned crime,” said James. “Whoever inflicted those vicious knife injuries was consumed with anger as they carried out the act. Even a slightly built lady would be capable of doing such a thing if she were filled with sufficient rage. And let’s not forget that Mr Gallo was probably incapacitated by his fall on the stairs. Had he managed to get down the stairs and away from his attacker there is a possibility that he might have escaped with his life.”
“Are you saying that it would have been easier for the culprit to attack him because he was hurt?”
“Yes, even if the culprit happened to be slightly built.”
“And you’re suggesting that the murderer was angry, which would imply that the assailant knew his or her victim quite well.”
“Yes. Something the victim did must have provoked an intense anger, so this attack may have been an act of revenge.”
“Or jealousy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Let’s consider that Mrs Mirabeau is the guilty party,” I said, “and that she held a strong affection for Mr Gallo. Perhaps he had rejected her advances and chosen Miss Hamilton instead.”
“That would have caused her to be angry with both Mr Gallo and Miss Hamilton, and would provide a suitable explanation for the savage attack on both parties.”
“The more I consider this, the more I suspect that Mrs Mirabeau is the culprit,” I said. “But why did she wait until all the guests were staying at the hotel to carry out the murders?”
“Because the guests would all be considered as suspects, wouldn’t they? Their presence muddies the waters. But let’s not get carried away with ourselves, as we have no idea whether Mrs Mirabeau held any affection for Mr Gallo or not. It seems that she respected him professionally, but there is no evidence that she harboured any stronger feelings toward him than that. And I can’t help but think about this interest in art, and the paintings sitting beside the writing desk. There have been several thefts from London galleries in recent months.”
“You don’t think Mr Gallo has been stealing paintings, do you?”
“No, I don’t, but there is naturally some convergence between the art world and the criminal world, and I think it may be worth investigating whether Mr Gallo came close to it at all. What was the name of the art gallery owner?” James consulted his notebook. “Ah yes, Court-Holmes.”
“The Calthorpe Art Gallery!” I said. “Hearing you say that name again recalled to my mind the name of the art gallery Mr Gallo mentioned.”
“That’s a well-known gallery,” replied James. “It’s on New Bond Street and a painting was stolen from there not long ago. My colleague Inspector Raynes is investigating the case.”
“I think I remember Edgar reporting on it for the Morning Express.”
“I’ll put our theory on Mrs Mirabeau to Fenton later, but in the meantime we need to speak to Court-Holmes and find out a bit more about him.”
Chapter 21
New Bond Street was bustling with gentlemen in top hats and ladies in furs. They stepped in and out of waiting carriages, which conveyed them to luxurious little shops selling fine jewellery and expensive luggage.
The Calthorpe Art Gallery was a pale, ornate, four-storey building with carved decorations around each window. Once we had stepped through a set of polished oak doors, the quiet of the gallery descended upon us. A tangy scent of oil lingered in the air, and I glanced at the paintings of rural scenes, distinguished gentlemen and vases of flowers.
A smart young man greeted us, and by the manner in which he looked us up and down I could see that he had decided we were not his usual clientele.
James introduced us and asked to speak to Mr Court-Holmes. The young man went to fetch the gallery owner, and a short while later a fair-haired man of about forty-five strode through the door at the back of the gallery. He had green eyes, a tidy moustache and a proud, upright posture. His clothes were smart and well-tailored.
“Do you have news for me, Inspector?” he asked James.
“Not of your stolen painting, I’m afraid, Mr Court-Holmes. We’ve come to see you about a separate matter.”
“Mr Gallo?” he asked with a sigh.
“Yes. I understand he was a friend of yours. Please accept my condolences.”
“It has come as quite a shock. I really can’t understand why anyone should wish to harm him.”
“You have already answered one of my questions, in that case,” said James.
“He had only been in London a few months, but we spent some considerable time together as we shared a passion for art.”
“Do you know of anyone he might have fallen out with? Did he mention an argument or a dispute of any kind?”
Mr Court-Holmes shook his head. “None at all.”
“Where did you first meet Mr Gallo?”
“It was during a private viewing at the Royal Academy. Must have been about two years ago now. He purchased a number of artworks for his hotels. In fact, I recall that he was in London at the end of last summer buying paintings from the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition. He took a large shipment back to America with him! He was also a good customer of ours, not to mention a gentleman I considered a friend.”
“When did you last see him?”
“We had dinner only last week.”
“Just the two of you?”
“There was myself, Mr Gallo and Mr Dubois, the proprietor of the Elysian Hotel. And two other friends, Mr Talbot and Mr Ripley. We enjoyed a very pleasant evening at Le Croquembouche.”
James wrote this down as if it were a new piece of information, not letting slip that he had already heard a similar account from Mr Dubois.
“Mr Gallo was keen to acquire artworks for the hotel, and I saw him a number of times at Sotheby’s auction house,” Mr Court-Holmes continued. “He always enjoyed visiting us here, and as you can see we have quite a variety of works. I’m rather fond of Realism,” he pointed at a painting of peasants toiling in a field, “and I find Neo-Classicism rather pleasing.” This time he gestured toward three paintings depicting bored-looking women in diaphanous clothing reclining on Grecian terraces. “However, my first and most persistent love is Rococo. It’s what some call Late Baroque. I’ll never forget seeing Boucher’s Triumph of Venus in Stockholm. It is such a vibrant artwork. Our stolen piece, the Madame Belmonte, is another Rococo painting. It was painted in 1775.”
James and I gave an appreciative nod.
“You’ll notice an absence of French Impressionism here,” he added, adjusting his silk cravat. “It doesn’t do much for me. Just a blotch here and another there. It’s said that the artwork refl
ects one’s first impression of a scene, and that is why no further detail is required, but I prefer a painting with greater depth. Some would consider the works in my gallery to be old-fashioned, but I have always admired the old masters and will continue to celebrate the paintings inspired by their style. What is your view of impressionism, Miss Green?”
“I find it quite pleasing to the eye. In fact, I see the world as an impressionist painting whenever I remove my spectacles!”
He laughed at this. “And you say that you’re a news reporter.”
“Yes, for the Morning Express.”
“Then I have met your colleague, Mr Fish.”
“I recall that he reported on the theft of the Madame Belmonte painting.”
“They knew what they were looking for when they came here. The robbers propped a ladder up against the rear of the building and broke a window on the first floor to get inside. The Madame Belmonte was cut from her frame quite skilfully. Oddly enough, the theft has actually increased business. People have been interested to see the empty frame, and for a while we kept it hanging on the wall! Just for a day or two, while our visitors’ curiosity was piqued.”
“I believe my colleague, Inspector Raynes, has been assisting you with the investigation,” said James.
“That’s right. And a detective from Pinkerton’s is over from America at the moment working on the case with him, having followed a criminal fellow over the Atlantic. Stealing and forging paintings is the sort of thing this chap goes in for, apparently. They’re trying their hardest to find evidence that he has something to do with our missing Madame Belmonte, but these people are very good at covering their tracks, aren’t they?”
“Are all your paintings for sale?” asked James.
“We’re not a shop, so we don’t put prices on our paintings. However, if someone is interested in purchasing one we will happily discuss it over a glass of champagne. I like to choose which clients I sell my paintings to, and even if someone offers a decent price I won’t necessarily sell to them. I have a strong attachment to every artwork here, and I like to feel reassured that if we sell one it will be looked after in a responsible way. If a person is not a good match with a piece of artwork I simply don’t sell it to them.”