Mrs. Vanderstein's jewels

by Mrs. Charles Bryce

  CHAPTER XX

  It was long past one when at last Gimblet got to bed. He had had a longand tiring day, full of strain and excitement, and his head was nosooner on the pillow than he slept soundly and dreamlessly. It seemed tohim that he had only just shut his eyes when Higgs awoke him the nextmorning by coming in with his hot water. He rolled over yawning andrubbing his eyes, as his servant pulled up the blinds and laid ready hisclothes. When he had finished and gone away, the detective turned overagain for another snooze; but in a minute Higgs was back again.

  "The young man from Ennidge and Pring has called, sir," he said, "theclerk who came with the key last evening, you know, sir. He wants toknow if the inquest is to be to-day, as, if not, he has been given aholiday and is going to spend it in the country."

  "He can go," said Gimblet; "the inquest won't be till to-morrow."

  He was thoroughly awakened by now, and went to his bath as soon as Higgshad departed.

  Breakfast was on the table when he entered the dining-room, and hehelped himself to omelet and sat down and poured out his tea before hetook up the morning paper, which lay beside his plate.

  As he folded back the sheet and cast his eye over the page, he uttereda startled exclamation and sat staring incredulously at the paper as heread:

  MYSTERY OF MISSING LADIES PROVES MYTHICAL.

  Mrs. Vanderstein is Staying at Boulogne.

  "Our correspondent at Boulogne telegraphs that Mrs. Vanderstein, of 90 Grosvenor Street, is staying at the Hotel de Douvres in that town. Having observed her name in the visitors' book of the hotel, our correspondent inquired of the manager if the lady could be she who had been reported missing for the last two or three days, and learnt that, while the manager was unaware of the anxiety which has been felt in England on her account, it is certainly Mrs. Vanderstein, of 90 Grosvenor Street, who is at present beneath his roof. Further conversation with the affable and obliging host of the Hotel de Douvres elicited the information that the lady arrived early on Tuesday morning with the intention of staying for one night only. She complained of feeling indisposed, however, and sent for a doctor, who ordered complete rest; so that Mrs. Vanderstein kept her room till this evening, when, her health being improved, she dined in her apartment as usual, but afterwards went out to the Casino.

  "As luck would have it, the manager was relating these details to our correspondent at the very moment--about 11 p.m.--when a carriage drove up to the door, and the lady herself re-entered the hotel. On our correspondent's introducing himself and explaining that grave anxiety was being felt on her behalf in this country, she expressed considerable astonishment, and said that this explained the fact that letters she had written had not been answered. She conjectured further that they could not even have been delivered, remarking that the French postal system left much to be desired. In reply to further questions, the lady proclaimed her aversion to being interviewed, and said merely that she would send some telegrams in the morning; upon which our correspondent withdrew, and she entered the lift and mounted to the first floor, where she has a suite of rooms.

  "Mrs. Vanderstein, who appeared to be entirely recovered in health, was elegantly dressed in a black and white casino costume, with a rose coloured toque trimmed with an osprey, which was very becoming to her dark hair and superb complexion. She was wearing some of the magnificent jewels with which rumour has been so busy during the last few days."

  Gimblet read the paragraph twice, and then pushing back his chair walkedrestlessly about the room. His appetite was gone for the time being; hiseyes glowed again with the excitement of a new problem. One second hespared, in which to be glad that Mrs. Vanderstein still lived; he wasglad for Sir Gregory's sake, and for Sidney's sake, and even a littlefor her own, though he had never to his knowledge set eyes on her. Butfrom the first he had felt an indefinable sympathy for the fastidiouslady whose house was scented with the delicate, delicious perfume thathe associated with her name. But, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Vanderstein,alive and well and disporting herself at Boulogne, slipped quickly outof the place in Gimblet's interest hitherto filled by Mrs. Vandersteindead and cruelly murdered. His mind now occupied itself busily andeagerly with the questions raised by this shifting of roles in thetragedy of Scholefield Avenue.

  If Mrs. Vanderstein had not played the piteous part of the victim onthat fatal Monday night, who had? Not Miss Barbara Turner, for she wasdescribed as having very fair hair, while that of the murdered woman wasvery dark. And if Miss Turner were not flying from justice, where wasshe? Could she and Mrs. Vanderstein have combined to kill their hostess,when they visited the house hired by Mr. West of tropical origin? Inany case here was a tangled knot to unravel, and a black crime to bringhome to its perpetrator. Gimblet saw that he was not likely to solvethe puzzle off-hand, and reflected that in the meantime he had betterfortify himself with food while he had the opportunity. His breakfastwas rather cold by the time he again sat down to it.

  What, in heaven's name, had Mrs. Vanderstein and Miss Turner been doingin that house on Monday night? Had Miss Finner been mistaken, after all,and was it not they whom she had seen before the door? If so, by whatastounding coincidence had he been led to search there of all places, bywhat incredible freak had Fortune taken him to the scene of this blackand cold-blooded crime? His brain, while he ate, busied itself withthese and such-like riddles.

  Soon after breakfast a high official from the Yard called for him inaccordance with arrangements made the night before, and they set forthtogether in a taxi for Fianti's.

  "For," said the official, as they went, "whether it was Mrs. Vandersteinor some one else whose body you found, we want the man who did itequally badly, and we want your help in finding him. I suppose yourcommission from Sir Gregory Aberhyn Jones dies a natural death now?"

  "I suppose so," said Gimblet, "but I'll see him presently and let youknow. There's still Miss Turner to account for, but I daresay she's atBoulogne too."

  "As likely as not," agreed his companion. "It's just the sort of littledetail they'd forget to mention."

  "Well, we shall soon know," was Gimblet's only comment.

  At Fianti's they sent up their cards by the detective of the regularforce who was always in attendance on the Prince and Princess ofTargona, with a request for the favour of an audience. They had notlong to wait, and were very graciously received by Prince Felipe, wholistened with grave attention to the explanation of the object of theirvisit, and read the note presented for his inspection by Gimblet with alively curiosity.

  No, His Highness was afraid he could not assist them in this matter.The writing paper was certainly his--how obtained he could offer nosuggestion--the writing was of course a forgery, if that could be calleda forgery which made absolutely no pretence of resembling the original.He had no notion to whom the appellation of Madame Q. might refer. Nodoubt more than one lady whose name began with that initial had beenpresented to him on different occasions, but he could not for the momentrecall.... Possibly some of his suite could be of more assistance.

  But no one of the Prince's household could give them any help. In thematter of the writing paper, it was suggested that the hotel servantsmight know something as to how it was obtained, but nothing definitecould be found out about it.

  The Prince sent for them again before they left, but it was only to saythat they had his best wishes for the success of their investigations,and to ask a few questions as to points of English police procedure inwhich he appeared to be interested.

  "Truly, a strange country!" he murmured from time to time on receivingthe answers to his inquiries.

  Before they were dismissed, Gimblet once more produced the crumpledpaper which bore the Targona arms over the Prince's name, and asked thePrince if he could detect a certain odour which clung about it.

  "Delicious," said Prince Felipe, when he had pressed it to his nose, "adelicate, pungent fragrance! But no, I do not know what it is."

  Th
e official parted from Gimblet at the door of Fianti's and while theone returned in a hurried taxi to his sanctum at Scotland Yard, theother strolled across the street to Mrs. Vanderstein's house.

  He found a relieved and rejoicing household.

  "You've seen the news, of course, sir," said Blake, himself opening thedoor in answer to the detective's ring. "And we've had a telegram thismorning. Here it is."

  He handed it to Gimblet, who read:

  "Blake 90 Grosvenor Street London W. Think letters must have missed am staying at Hotel de Douvres Boulogne till further notice writing.

  "VANDERSTEIN."

  The telegram had been sent off at 8.14 that morning.

  "I suppose Miss Turner is with her, sir," Blake was saying, as Gimbletgave him back the paper, "the newspaper doesn't mention her."

  "No," said Gimblet. "Still, as you say, I daresay she is there all thesame. It is Mrs. Vanderstein, and above all Mrs. Vanderstein's jewels,that the public is interested in."

  He went back to his flat, where he found Sidney and Sir Gregory, bothradiant.

  "What splendid news!" Sir Gregory greeted him as they met, with ajoyful cry. "I could not believe it at first; it seems too good to betrue. But oh, Mr. Gimblet! what a night I have spent! I shall send thatreporter man a fiver. These newspaper chaps sometimes have their uses,after all!"

  "I hope you see now," Sidney remarked, "what a mistake it is to suspectpeople of doing impossible things."

  Sir Gregory looked towards them with a puzzled expression. Gimblet,however, merely smiled.

  "I am delighted to be in the wrong, Mr. Sidney," was all he said.

  "She will laugh when she hears what a fuss I've been making," resumedSir Gregory, pursuing his own thoughts. "I think I shall run over toBoulogne to-morrow and see her. I assure you, Mr. Gimblet, I feel tenyears younger again. What a nightmare it has been!"

  "I found a wire for me at the club," put in Sidney; "she says she issorry we have been worried, and that her letter must have missed thepost. It's jolly good of her to wire to me; I didn't think she meant tohave anything more to do with me when I last saw her."

  "It looks as if she had forgiven you, doesn't it?" said Gimblet.

  He was thinking that it was not every young man in Sidney's position whowould have looked so delighted to hear that his aunt was alive afterall, when all his difficulties seemed removed by her supposed death.

  "She doesn't say a word about Miss Turner," Sidney continued. "She mighthave, you'd think. Of course she doesn't realise in the least that we'vebeen imagining her murdered."

  "I telegraphed this morning as soon as I'd seen the paper," said SirGregory, "and said we had been most anxious and that I trusted they wereboth well. I expect there will be an answer for me by the time I getback. Must be going now in fact. You see she has been ill; kept her roomtill last night, the hotel man said."

  "It's a very odd business," said Gimblet. "I have done a littletelegraphing on my own account, I may tell you, for I want to knowwhether Mrs. Vanderstein did go to Scholefield Avenue, or whether MissFinner took some one else for her. I ought to get the reply any minute.And the police are sending a man of theirs over to see her, by theafternoon boat. They want me to help them with investigations of thetragedy we discovered yesterday. I suppose, Sir Gregory, that I can beof no further use to you?"

  "Thankee, Mr. Gimblet, I hope I shan't trouble you any more."

  After a little more mutual congratulation the two visitors tookthemselves off, and Gimblet composed himself to await the answer to histelegram, which was now due.

  He was sitting contemplating his Teniers, the beauties of which he hadnot had much leisure to gaze at of late, and munching sweets as hemused, when the expected ring came at the door of the flat; but insteadof the message he thought to receive it was Inspector Jennins fromScotland Yard, an astute and good-humoured officer, who had before nowbeen his associate in more than one important case.

  "I came round to tell you, Mr. Gimblet," he exclaimed as he was shownin, "that the young lady has been found."

  "What, Miss Turner?"

  "That's it. She's in the Middlesex Hospital and, what's more, has beenthere all the time."

  "Then how in the world was it that no one knew it? That was one of thefirst places I inquired at, and I daresay you did too."

  "Yes; she was brought in on Wednesday morning about 3 a.m. by a policeconstable who had been on night duty in Regent's Park. He saw herknocked down by a man, and picked her up unconscious, and she has beenso ever since. The man got away in the dark, and at the hospital no onerecognised the young lady from the description given in the inquiriesthat were made, as the account of the clothes she wore was all wrong.But there have been a lot of photographs of her and Mrs. Vandersteinin the papers to-day and yesterday, and this morning one of the nurseswho'd been studying her portrait recognised the original in spite of herwounds. The hospital authorities communicated with us, and I'm off tothe hospital now. I thought perhaps you'd like to come."

  "I should, certainly," said Gimblet, and they were soon on their way.

  "I have only once seen Miss Turner, and that was only a passingglimpse," Gimblet said as the taxi sped along. "Don't you think it wouldbe a good plan to take one of the Grosvenor Street servants with us toidentify the young lady? It is possible that the nurse may be mistaken;people look so different in a horizontal position. And their saying thather clothes were wrongly described looks to me as if there were someerror somewhere."

  "I think that's a very good idea of yours," agreed Jennins, and puttinghis head out of the window he told the driver to go to 90 GrosvenorStreet.

  They called for Amelie, Mrs. Vanderstein's maid, who appeared after afew minutes, in high delight and excitement at the prospect of assistingthe police. She looked rather reproachfully at Gimblet, as though shewould have liked to point out to him that it was to be regretted that hehad hitherto failed to appreciate how valuable her co-operation mightbe. "Ah, cette pauvre demoiselle," she murmured as they got into thecab; and her manner indicated that she would have liked to add: "Howdifferent it would have been if you had consulted me earlier."

  At the hospital there was a little delay before they were led upstairsand handed over to the guidance of a pleasant-faced nurse who led themto a ward full of casualty cases, which had suffered various injuries atthe hands of Fortune.

  In one bed was a woman who had been knocked down by a van; in the next achild who had fallen into the kitchen fire; in the third a woman whosehusband had kicked her to the very verge of the grave; the fourth helda girl with an arm crushed in the machinery of the factory she workedin--so the nurse informed the inspector.

  She led the party through the ward, keeping up a running commentary asthey advanced, till they reached the end bed of all, in which lay ayoung girl whose head was covered with bandages, and who lay quiet andstill as if asleep.

  "Here she is," said their guide.

  Gimblet looked at Amelie.

  "Mais oui, monsieur," she answered his unspoken question. "C'est bienMademoiselle Turner. Ah, la la! the poor one, what have they done toher?"

  Barbara looked terribly white and fragile. Her face had grown thin toemaciation, and there were deep blue lines under her eyes.

  "Poor young lady," said the nurse, "she's got concussion of the brain,and it must have been a frightful blow that did it."

  When they left the ward Gimblet asked: "How was it Miss Turner was notrecognised till to-day?"

  "Well," said the nurse, "you see the pictures in the papers aren't verygood, and her hair is so hidden by the bandages that it's rather hard tosee the likeness. But what really put us off here was the description ofthe clothes she was supposed to have been wearing. Of course no one everthought of connecting her with a young lady in a white evening dressand a red opera cloak!"

  "Why," asked Jennins, "were those not the colours she wore?"

  "Just wait a moment," said the nurse; "I'll show you her things."

  She hurried away
and returned in a minute with a bundle of apparel.

  "Look at them," she said, and held them up for them to see. "Lookat this old black coat and skirt; do you see how threadbare andold-fashioned it is? It isn't even very clean. And this horrible hat,"she pointed to a battered straw, "it is almost in pieces; and the bootsare, quite. Her underclothes were of such coarse, stiff calico that youwould take them for workhouse things, and all darned and mended till youcould hardly see the original stuff. The stockings weren't even mended.They were just one large hole. And there was no blouse under the coatat all. Nothing but a chemise. How was one to imagine that this was theyoung lady who was being inquired for? There's a tremendous amount inappearances, and she appeared to be the poorest of the poor."

  Gimblet seized upon the miserable garments and examined them eagerly.But they rendered him no information. Nothing was marked, the boots wereodd ones and of a prehistoric age; there was no distinctive featureabout any of the things.

  With injunctions that they should be telephoned to if Miss Turner awoketo consciousness, they left the hospital and dismissed Amelie, who wentback to Grosvenor Street to pack and return to the hospital with someof Barbara's belongings, so that she might find them there if they wereneeded.

  "Now what I want is to see the constable who brought that young ladyinto the hospital," Gimblet said to Jennins.

  "So do I," said the inspector. "He's been sent for and should be at theYard by now," and they drove off in another taxi.

  Police-Constable Matterson of S division had already arrived, and wasawaiting them when they reached Scotland Yard. Jennins called him intohis private office, and there, in response to their questions, he toldhis story.

  "At about 2 a.m. on Wednesday morning," said he, "it being a dark, wetnight, with the rain pouring down like water out of a bucket, and thethunder claps as near overhead, and as frequent, as ever I heard, Iwas on duty near St. Mark's Church just outside Regent's Park. Thereis a small bridge for foot passengers across the canal opposite and Icrossed it on my way to the outer circle of the Park. I was just restinga minute on the bridge, for I didn't like to stay under the trees morethan I need with that storm so close, when a flash of lightning thatmust have been almost over me, it was that bright, showed up the canalbelow, as I leant on the parapet, so clear that I could have countedevery blade of grass. There was the canal winding out of sight, and thesurface of it all jumping and hissing as the rain-drops hit it; andthere were the banks on either side and the trunks of the trees lit upas light as day. But the thing that caught my eye was the sight of twopeople struggling on the bank, a few yards from the water. It was a manand a woman, and he seemed to be trying to catch hold of her round theneck, while she was dodging and defending herself as best she could.It was all very clear for half a second and then the dark swallowedeverything up again, and the thunder burst, as it seemed, just on myhead.

  "Apart from what I had seen it seemed to me that folks wouldn't be outfor any good in that weather, and at that hour and place; and when thenoise of the clap rumbled away I caught the sound of the tail end of ascream which made me sure of it. I turned my lantern towards the placeand hollered back, running to get over the fence and down to the canalas I did so.

  "As I came near to where I'd seen the pair, two successive flashescoming close one after the other showed them up again no more than afew yards away, and they saw me in the same instant. The man had got agreat spade in his hand, and when he caught sight of me he lifted it upsideways and aimed a fearful blow at the woman with the edge of it. Sheducked and dodged again--very active she was, poor thing--and he missed,so that the blade glanced off her shoulder and he as near as possiblelost his balance. But he recovered himself at once and threw up his armsagain with the spade clutched in both hands, as I saw by the secondflash, and brought it down with all his force flat on the top of herhead.

  "I didn't see her go down, for the light went before the blow hadfallen, and in the dark I lost him, and he got clear away.

  "While I was groping about with my lantern, I fell over the body of thegirl, lying where he had struck her to the ground, and at the firststart off I thought he had done for her sure enough. So I let her liefor a few minutes, while I blew my whistle and kept on searching aroundfor the scoundrel. Two more of our men came up after a time and we had aregular hunt, but he'd got a good start and we never saw him. On turningour attention to the girl again, we found that she was still alive,though unconscious, so we got an ambulance and took her to the hospital.There was nothing to show who she was, but from her clothes I judged herto be one of the lowest and poorest class. I reported the occurrence atthe time, and made a further search by daylight on the spot. I picked upthe spade near by, where the fellow had evidently dropped it as he ran;it had a piece of stout cord attached to the handle about four or fivefeet long, but was otherwise without distinguishing mark of any kind.It's outside, if you wish to see it, sir."

  Jennins told him to bring it in.

  "Of course," he said to Gimblet, "no one ever thought of connecting thisstory of violence and brutality with the two missing ladies. The reportdidn't come my way, as it happens, but I don't suppose for a moment Ishould have been a scrap the wiser if it had. Still, it makes one feel abit foolish now, I'll own."

  Matterson returned with the spade and cord, which proved to be veryordinary; and Gimblet's inquiring lens could discover nothing about themin any way remarkable.

  "What was the man like?" he asked the policeman.

  "I didn't have much time to take notice, sir," replied Matterson, "buthe was a dark fellow with a black beard, and tall."

  "Did you see if he wore gloves?"

  "Come to think of it, now you ask me, sir, I believe he did. I saw hishands plain enough as he lifted the spade, and I ought to know. But Icouldn't swear to it, I'm afraid, though my impression is that he did,and that it struck me as curious at the time, in the sort of way a thingwill strike you for a moment and then slip out of your memory like adream does."