by Emily Organ
“The murder weapon, you mean?”
“Perhaps you didn’t know they were referring to the murder weapon. Perhaps they came up with an excuse to visit your room. This wouldn’t mean that you were complicit in the crime at all, as you were assisting the murderer unwittingly.”
“No one asked if they could put anything in my bedchamber, or asked to visit it at all, Inspector. Have you asked the staff? I think it would have been perfectly easy for a chambermaid to hide the knife in my room without arousing suspicion.”
“The staff have all been interviewed.”
“Did you happen to learn anything about the relationship between Mrs Mirabeau and Mr Gallo? She was particularly well-placed to carry out the attack because she is so familiar with the hotel and had access to a spare key for every room. If it could be established that there was an intense acquaintance between her and Mr Gallo—”
“Are you concocting a motive to fit the crime, Miss Green?”
“No, I’m only wondering if you or your officers have discovered any sort of untoward relationship between Mrs Mirabeau and—”
“Not a bit of it!” he interrupted. “And if I hear any rumours of this sort again I shall assume you have been the source of them. Please don’t share any of your far-fetched theories with anyone outside these four walls, Miss Green. We don’t need your wild guesswork confusing matters even more. I’m aware of the cordial relations between yourself and Inspector Blakely, but I must warn you against working with him on this investigation.”
“But it’s my job to report on it.”
“By all means report on it, but you should not be involving yourself in the investigation. Firstly because you’re a news reporter, and secondly because you are still listed as a person of interest in this investigation.”
“Why on earth would I be of interest, Chief Inspector?”
“I’m afraid you will be until we can explain how the knife came to be found in your bedchamber.”
“It was discovered there because I foolishly left my door unlocked when I went down to breakfast!”
“I can’t just take you at your word, Miss Green. There might well be another explanation for it.”
“Has Inspector Blakely told you about the guests we – I mean to say he – thinks are most likely to have committed these crimes?”
“We have discussed them, thank you. That’s all for now, Miss Green. Please report back here tomorrow morning.”
“Must I continue to report here every day, Chief Inspector? Can we not try every second day, or even every third? I have no plans to go anywhere.”
“We will see you tomorrow morning, Miss Green.”
I encountered Mr Blackstone as I stepped out of Bow Street police station.
“Miss Green.” He gave a polite nod. “Have you just visited Fenton for a report on the progress of the case?”
“There was a little more to it than that, unfortunately. Seeing as the weapon was found in my bedchamber, I have to report here every day. He asks me questions and then I ask him some in return, but he’s never very keen to answer them. Are you here to get an update from him?”
Mr Blackstone nodded.
“Well, good luck,” I said. “He’s rather grumpy today. I think he resents the press taking such an interest in the case.”
“Oh, I always find that he’s all right with me.”
“Good,” I replied with a bitter taste in my mouth.
I should have liked to discuss the case further with Mr Blackstone, but I was mindful of Chief Inspector Fenton’s warning that I wasn’t to go around sharing my theories too widely.
Chapter 24
“Watch out, Potter, here comes the chief suspect,” said Edgar as I arrived back at the newsroom.
“I would find your remark amusing had I not just spent the last hour at Bow Street station with Chief Inspector Fenton,” I replied, pulling my papers out of my bag and tossing them onto my desk.
“The man clearly has no idea what he’s doing,” replied Edgar. “Surely he must know that a mild-mannered lady reporter couldn’t possibly be capable of such a crime.”
“I’m not sure I like the description ‘mild-mannered’,” I replied. “It suggests that I’m rather feeble.”
“Women are feeble. That’s why they’re generally incapable of murder.”
I gave a dry laugh. “I’ve encountered a few murderesses in my time.”
Edgar pondered this for a moment. “That’s true. There have been a few, haven’t there? You’ve got me feeling worried now. Perhaps you’re the guilty party after all.”
“I wouldn’t rile her, Fish,” Potter chipped in. “You never know what she might be capable of.”
“Who is capable of what?” asked Mr Sherman, the newsroom door slamming behind him.
“Murder, Mr Sherman,” replied Edgar. “We’ve decided that Miss Green would be quite capable of committing a murder.”
“Is your article about Lord Northbrook’s report on Egypt written yet, Fish?” asked the editor.
“Almost, sir.”
“Then may I suggest that you finish it instead of sitting there spouting nonsense? And what are you grinning at, Potter?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Your parliamentary report last Friday was rather thin on detail. Are you sure you didn’t nod off?”
“The discussion in the House of Commons can be pretty dull at times.”
“It’s dull most of the time, Potter, but it’s your job to report on parliamentary proceedings all the same.”
“The Under Secretary for Home Affairs fell asleep on Friday afternoon, sir.”
“And that means you’re entitled to follow suit, does it?”
“No, but his job is surely more important than mine.”
“Are you arguing with me, Potter?”
“No, sir.”
“You just argued with him, Potter,” whispered Edgar.
“Quiet, Fish!” scolded Mr Sherman. “Mr Potter, if I have a parliamentary reporter who keeps falling asleep I shall find a simple solution. Do you know what that might be?”
“A replacement parliamentary reporter, sir.”
“Very good. Perhaps fewer beverages in the House of Commons’ bars will encourage a more alert mind.”
“Might do, sir,” he replied meekly.
Mr Sherman turned to face me. “How’s the Hotel Tempesta investigation going, Miss Green?”
“There are numerous potential suspects, sir.”
“Including yourself?”
“Chief Inspector Fenton informs me that I am still a person of interest.”
“Foolish man. What is Inspector Blakely’s view?”
“He has various possible suspects in mind, but the real challenge is finding the evidence.”
“Isn’t that always the challenge? By the way, a telegram arrived for you.” He passed it to me. “The messenger boys are all out on errands, so I thought I’d better bring it to you myself.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The telegram was from James, asking me to accompany him to dinner that evening. My initial joy was tempered when I read that Inspector Raynes and a man named Mr Russell would also be joining us.
James arrived at my home in Milton Street in a hansom cab at six o’clock.
“You’re getting in the cab with just him, are you?” asked Mrs Garnett in a reproachful tone as we stood in the hallway.
“There’s a cabman, too,” I replied, looking in the mirror as I pinned my hat in place.
“But he sits up top, right at the back. That’s no good for a chaperone.”
“Inspector Blakely and I have travelled in many hansom cabs together before now.”
“That makes it even worse!” She sucked her lip disapprovingly. “What would your mother say?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m thirty-five years old, Mrs Garnett.”
“That makes no difference! You’re a spinster, and he’s a bachelor.”
James was qui
etly listening to the exchange from the doorstep.
“Miss Green is quite safe with me, Mrs Garnett.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
She sucked her lip again. “It still makes no difference. It’s not the way two grown people should behave!”
James kissed me as soon as we were seated in the darkness of the hansom cab. “Don’t tell Mrs Garnett I did that,” he said.
“Well, I just might. She would never allow you inside the house again!”
We both laughed.
“How was the visit to your parents?” I asked.
“They were initially better-natured than when I last saw them.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“But then I told them about the impending court case and Father became rather quiet again.”
“Oh.”
“I think he feels ashamed that his son is to appear as a defendant in court. It’s not fitting for a police officer, as far as he’s concerned.
“Did he say that to you?”
“He didn’t need to; I knew that’s what he was thinking. And I know myself that it isn’t proper.”
“I don’t know how you could have avoided the situation.”
“By not proposing marriage to Charlotte Jenkins in the first place!”
“Your mother introduced you to her, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but I certainly can’t blame Mother. I foolishly thought that I was in love when I evidently wasn’t. It was only when I met you, Penny, that I realised what love really felt like.”
I reached out in the darkness and laid my hand on his.
“The same applies for me, James. I don’t think any of this could have been helped, and it is difficult enough without your father making you feel worse.”
“He’s disappointed in me, and I suppose I would feel the same way if my son had done such a thing. But nothing can be done to change the situation now. I can only hope that my father will come round before too long. Are you looking forward to our dinner tonight?”
“I would be if it were only the two of us dining,” I said. “Why Inspector Raynes? And who is Mr Russell?”
“Raynes is to tell us more about the American art thief, and Mr Russell is the Pinkerton chap who is chasing after him. The thief calls himself Mr Rigby Pleydell-Bouverie.”
“An impressive name.”
“Not his real one, however. He was christened Jack Shelby, and Inspector Raynes describes him as a gentleman criminal. I’m not sure he is truly a gentleman, as such, but apparently he has made a convincing pretence of being one.”
The Royal Adelaide Grand Cafe Restaurant was a large, busy establishment located opposite Charing Cross Hospital. Inspector Raynes waved us over to his table when we arrived and stood to his feet to greet us. I remembered meeting him at Scotland Yard before. He was a tall, long-limbed man with a large nose and a fair moustache.
“You look rather sorrowful sitting here on your own, Raynes,” said James. “Where’s the Pinkerton fellow?”
“He should be here shortly,” he replied. His voice had a nasal tone to it. “Have you dined here before?”
“No,” replied James. “Have you?”
“Oh yes, a number of times. I can strongly recommend the Dover sole.” He knocked over an empty wine glass as he sat down again.
“Dover sole sounds good indeed,” said James as we took our seats. “I thought you might like to know that Miss Green and I met with your friend Mr Court-Holmes last week.”
“He’s not a personal friend, you know,” replied Raynes with a puzzled look.
“I realise that; I said it in jest. But he was a friend of Mr Gallo’s, so I was interested to find out whether he would be able to tell us anything more about him.”
“Was he helpful?”
“I’m not entirely sure. There is no doubt that Mr Gallo had an interest in art. The question is whether he had any involvement in the criminal side of the art-dealing industry. Mr Court-Holmes seems certain that he wasn’t mixed up in it, but it could provide a motive for his murder if he was. What do you know about Mr Court-Holmes?”
“He has owned the Calthorpe Art Gallery for eight years now. Pleasant chap, isn’t he?”
“He seemed to be. What did he do before he opened the gallery?”
“He was a private collector. Apparently, he was born into a wealthy family, so he had access to plenty of capital to buy all the paintings he wanted.”
“Have you discovered whether he has any connections with the criminal fraternity?”
“My investigation has been focused solely on the stolen painting, the Madame Belmonte. I can’t find any evidence that he has been involved in any criminal activity. Do you think he could be?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I asked you, Raynes. So you suspect that the painting was stolen by this American chap who calls himself Mr Pleydell-Bouverie?”
“It’s rather a coincidence, don’t you think? I heard that he arrived in the summer with a couple of associates, and that the Madame Belmonte was stolen a short while after his arrival. However, it’s not the only painting to have been stolen recently. Oh, here comes the Pinkerton detective now. He’ll be able to tell us more.”
A dark-haired man approached our table, and I noticed there was something strikingly familiar about him, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“This is Mr Russell,” said Inspector Raynes.
We introduced ourselves, and as his eyes met mine he gave a faint smile, as if he were also aware that we had met before.
“Mr Russell?” I asked as we sat down. “I feel sure that I know you by another name.”
Chapter 25
Mr Russell smiled again. “You know me by the name of Hardy.”
“I knew it!” I said. “I felt rather confused for a moment there. You attended the dinner at the Hotel Tempesta, did you not? Were you working undercover? But I don’t understand… You had a British accent that night…”
“I was born in Britain but I’ve been living in New York for the past twenty years.”
His hair was styled quite differently compared with the oil-slicked hairstyle he had sported at the dinner. He was clean-shaven, but I felt sure he had worn a moustache previously.
“You are quite the actor, Mr Russell,” I said.
“Sometimes one has to be.”
“At least there is one less suspect for us to consider now,” said James with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Russell.”
A waiter arrived and we quickly placed our order.
“Have you informed Chief Inspector Fenton of your true identity?” James asked the detective.
“Only on Friday. I could have told him earlier, I suppose, but I wanted to keep my cover going for as long as possible.”
“What exactly were you doing at the Hotel Tempesta?” I asked. “Were you investigating Mr Gallo?”
“We suspect that he had something to do with Pleydell-Bouverie’s schemes. Let’s call him by his real name, Jack Shelby, as it’s easier to say without getting our tongues twisted. We know that Shelby and Gallo met two weeks ago, and I was hoping to find out whether Shelby had offered him any stolen artworks at that time. We haven’t found out yet whether he had.”
“So Mr Gallo may have been involved in some sort of criminal activity?” James asked.
“Perhaps unwittingly. Shelby’s Pleydell-Bouverie character can be quite convincing.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“He’s staying at Claridge’s presently. We have our men watching him around the clock.”
“Why don’t you simply arrest him?” I asked.
“If only we could, Miss Green. Shelby is wanted for a series of bank robberies in the United States, and that’s why he has fled to Europe. Bank robbery isn’t an extraditable offence, so we are powerless to do anything at the moment. Had he committed murder it would be a different story, but Shelby doesn’t seem to be the violent type.”
“Then you don’t think he
could have been behind Mr Gallo’s murder?” I asked.
“It wouldn’t be his usual style of crime. We know that he is a thief, but we also know that he abhors violence.
“Isn’t bank robbery violent?” asked James.
“Not his sort of bank robbery. He prefers a degree of sophistication. The modus operandi of his gang is to break into the bank and crack open the safe in the dead of night. But with regards to Gallo’s murder, I wouldn’t rule Shelby out completely. Something may have changed that prompted him to commit such a terrible act.”
“So you’re just following him around at the moment?” asked James.
“We’ll have him extradited to America if we can prove that he has committed forgery. We are convinced that he has, but we need the evidence. My colleagues back home are working on that. We’re certain that Shelby and his men are behind the thefts of paintings in New York and Boston, and we know that forgeries of those paintings have been made.”
“Why forge stolen paintings?” I asked.
“The forgeries are sold to people who believe they are buying the real thing.”
“Even though they know that the original painting has been stolen?”
“Yes. Astonishing, isn’t it? Some people are willing to buy a painting they know has been stolen at a much lower price than it would fetch at auction. We believe that Shelby has made several copies of each forgery, which must have brought in quite a bit of money.”
“And he just keeps the original?” I asked.
“Now this is where he makes even more money. The owners of the stolen artworks are so keen to have the original painting returned to them that they are usually happy to agree a compromise with the thieves in order to buy the painting back. We know that Shelby employs a lawyer specifically to negotiate with the people he has stolen from.”
“Then he gets away with it and makes a lot of money in the process!” I exclaimed. “Why can he not be arrested?”
“He can only be arrested if the victim of the crime wishes to prosecute. Whether they are art galleries or banks, many of his victims are more interested in having their property returned than in having men like Shelby arrested. If they prosecute, they may never see their stolen goods returned to them. They are not particularly interested in seeing the thieves behind bars, even though locking them away would ultimately make society safer. Fortunately, there’s a bank in America that wishes to prosecute Shelby, and that’s why I’m here in London. My aim is to arrest Shelby, and when my colleagues are able to prove that he has been involved in the forgery of paintings I shall pounce on him.”