The Big Book of Female Detectives

by The Big Book of Female Detectives (retail) (epub)

  “Not such a fool, Mr. Smith!”

  Vark threw the knife into a distant corner of the room, and leveled a revolver at the bullet-head of the advancing burglar. Bill fell back for the moment—fell into the arms of two policemen.

  He gave a roar like a wild beast.

  “Trapped, by——!” he yelled, and struggled to get free.

  The next moment Hagar and Bolker were in the room, and Bill glared at one and the other.

  “Y’ trapped me, d——n y’!” said he; “wait till I git out!”

  “You’ll kill me, I suppose?” said Hagar, scornfully.

  “No; shawn’t kill you, nor yet that little d——l with th’ ’unch. There’s on’y one cove as I’d swing for—that beastly thief of a lawyer!”

  Vark recoiled before the glare in the man’s eyes; and as Bill, foaming and cursing, was hurried out of the room, he looked at Hagar with a nervous smile.

  “That’s bluff,” he said, feebly.

  “I don’t think so,” replied Hagar, quietly.

  “Good-by, Mr. Vark. I’m afraid you won’t live more than seven years; there will be a funeral about the time of Larky Bill’s release.”

  When she went out, Bolker grinned at the lawyer and, with frightful pantomime, he drew a stroke across his neck. Vark looked at the clasp-knife in the corner and shivered. The mandarin on the table rolled and smiled always.

  DETECTIVE: FLORENCE CUSACK

  THE OUTSIDE LEDGE: A CABLEGRAM MYSTERY

  L. T. Meade & Robert Eustace

  THE SUCCESS of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories inspired a sudden dash by a large number of authors to write similar fiction. One of the least likely may have been L. T. Meade, the nom de plume of Elizabeth Thomasina Meade Smith (1844–1914), who was a prolific (approximately two hundred titles) and highly successful author of books for teenage girls.

  Unlike the work of many of her contemporaries, Meade’s mystery fiction broke significant new ground when it was written and remains highly readable today. Some of her most memorable story collections were written in collaboration with Dr. Clifford Halifax, the pseudonym of Dr. Edgar Beaumont (1860–1921), or with Robert Eustace, the pseudonym of Dr. Eustace Robert Barton (1868–1943). Two of Meade’s collections were selected for Queen’s Quorum as being among the 106 most important short story collections in the history of the genre: Stories from the Diary of a Doctor (1894) with Halifax, the first series to feature a physician detective, who happens to be Halifax himself, and The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings (1899) with Eustace, the first collection to feature a female criminal.

  Stories about Miss Florence Cusack, by Meade and Eustace, appeared in The Harmsworth Magazine between April 1899 and March 1901; there were only five stories, and they remained uncollected until 1998. Miss Cusack, like Holmes and his many imitators, had her devoted and admiring “Watson”—Dr. Lonsdale. An unusual element of the stories is that the culprit is known to both the detective and the reader early on, the challenge being to learn how the criminal committed the crime.

  “The Outside Ledge: A Cablegram Mystery” was originally published in the October 1900 issue of The Harmsworth Magazine; it was first collected in The Detections of Miss Cusack (Shelburne, Ontario, The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box Press, 1998).

  The Outside Ledge: A Cablegram Mystery

  L. T. MEADE & ROBERT EUSTACE

  I HAD NOT HEARD from my old friend Miss Cusack for some time, and was beginning to wonder whether anything was the matter with her, when on a certain Tuesday in the November of the year 1892 she called to see me.

  “Dr. Lonsdale,” she said, “I cannot stand defeat, and I am defeated now.”

  “Indeed,” I replied, “this is interesting. You so seldom are defeated. What is it all about?”

  “I have come here to tell you. You have heard, of course, of Oscar Hamilton, the great financier? He is the victim of a series of frauds that have been going on during the last two months and are still being perpetrated. So persistent and so unaccountable are they that the cleverest agents in London have been employed to detect them, but without result. His chief dealings are, as you know, in South African Gold Mines, and his income is, I believe, nearer fifty than thirty thousand a year. From time to time he receives private advices as to the gold crushings, and operates accordingly. You will say, of course, that he gambles, and that such gambling is not very scrupulous, but I assure you the matter is not at all looked at in that light on the Stock Exchange.

  “Now, there is a dealer in the same market, a Mr. Gildford, who, by some means absolutely unknown, obtains the same advice in detail, and of course either forestalls Mr. Hamilton, or, on the other hand, discounts the profits he would make, by buying or selling exactly the same shares. The information, I am given to understand, is usually cabled to Oscar Hamilton in cipher by his confidential agent in South Africa, whose bona fides is unquestionable, since it is he who profits by Mr. Hamilton’s gains.

  “This important information arrives as a rule in the early morning about nine o’clock and is put straight into my friend’s hands in his office in Lennox Court. The details are discussed by him and his partner Mr. Le Marchant, and he immediately afterwards goes to his broker to do whatever business is decided on. Now, this special broker’s name is Edward Gregory, and time after time, not invariably, but very often, Mr. Gregory has gone into the house and found Mr. Gildford doing the identical deals that he was about to do.”

  “That is strange,” I answered.

  “It is; but you must listen further. To give you an idea of how every channel possible has been watched, I will tell you what has been done. In the first place it is practically certain that the information found its way from Mr. Hamilton’s office to Mr. Gildford’s, because no one knows the cipher except Mr. Hamilton and his partner, Mr. Le Marchant.”

  “Wireless telegraphy,” I suggested.

  Miss Cusack smiled, but shook her head.

  “Listen,” she said. “Mr. Gildford, the dealer, is a man who also has an office in Lennox Court, four doors from the office of Mr. Hamilton, also close to the Stock Exchange. He has one small room on the third floor back, and has no clerks. Now Mr. Gregory, Mr. Hamilton’s broker, has his office in Draper’s Gardens. Yesterday morning an important cable was expected, and extraordinary precautions were adopted. Two detectives were placed in the house of Mr. Gildford, of course unknown to him—one actually took up his position on the landing outside his door, so that no one could enter by the door without being seen. Another was at the telephone exchange to watch if any message went through that way. Thus you will see that telegrams and telephones were equally cut off.

  “A detective was also in Mr. Hamilton’s office when the cable arrived, the object of his presence being known to the clerks, who were not allowed to use the telephone or to leave the office. The cable was opened in the presence of the younger partner, Mr. Le Marchant, and also in the presence of the detective, by Mr. Hamilton himself. No one left the office, and no communication with the outside world took place. Thus, both at Mr. Gildford’s office and at Mr. Hamilton’s, had the information passed by any visible channel it must have been detected either leaving the former office or arriving at the latter.”

  “And what happened?” I inquired, beginning to be much interested in this strange story.

  “You will soon know what happened. I call it witchery. In about ten minutes time Mr. Hamilton left his office to visit his broker, Mr. Gregory, at the Stock Exchange, everyone else, including his partner, Mr. Le Marchant, remaining in the office. On his arrival at the Stock Exchange he told Mr. Gregory what he wanted done. The latter went to carry out his wishes, but came back after a few moments to say that the market was spoiled, Mr. Gildford having just arrived and dealt heavily in the very same shares and in the same manner. What do you make of it, Dr. Lonsdale?”

  “There is only one conc
lusion for me to arrive at,” I answered; “the information does not pass between the offices, but by some previously arranged channel.”

  “I should have agreed with you but for one circumstance, which I am now going to confide to you. Do you remember a pretty girl, a certain Evelyn Dudley, whom you once met at my house? She is the only daughter of Colonel Dudley of the Coldstream Guards, and at her father’s death will be worth about seven thousand a year.”

  “Well, and what has she to do with the present state of things?”

  “Only this: she is engaged to Mr. Le Marchant, and the wedding will take place next week. They are both going to dine with me tonight. I want you to join the party in order that you may meet them and let me know frankly afterwards what you think of him.”

  “But what has that to do with the frauds?” I asked.

  “Everything, and this is why.” She lowered her voice, and said in an emphatic whisper, “I have strong reasons for suspecting Mr. Le Marchant, Mr. Hamilton’s young partner, of being in the plot.”

  “Good heavens!” I cried, “you cannot mean that. The frauds are to his own loss.”

  “Not at all. He has only at present a small share in the business. Yesterday from a very private source I learned that he was in great financial difficulties, and in the hands of some money-lenders; in short I imagine—mind, I don’t accuse him yet—that he is staving off his crash until he can marry Evelyn Dudley, when he hopes to right himself. If the crash came first, Colonel Dudley would not allow marriage. But when it is a fait accompli he will be, as it were, forced to do something to prevent his son-in-law going under. Now I think you know about as much of the situation as I do myself. Evelyn is a dear friend of mine, and if I can prevent it I don’t want her to marry a scoundrel. We dine at eight—it is now past seven, so if you will dress quickly I can drive you back in my brougham. Evelyn is to spend the night with me, and is already at my house. She will entertain you till I am ready. If nothing happens to prevent it, the wedding is to take place next Monday. You see, therefore, there is no time to lose in clearing up the mystery.”

  “There certainly is not,” I replied, rising. “Well, if you will kindly wait here I will not keep you many minutes.”

  I went up to my room, dressed quickly, and returned in a very short time. We entered the brougham which was standing at the door, and at once drove off to Miss Cusack’s house. She ushered me into the drawing-room, where a tall, dark-eyed girl was standing by the fire.

  “Evelyn,” said Miss Cusack, “you have often heard me talk of my great friend Dr. Lonsdale. I have just persuaded him to dine with us tonight. Dr. Lonsdale, may I introduce you to Miss Evelyn Dudley?”

  I took the hand which Evelyn Dudley stretched out to me. She had an attractive, bright face, and during Miss Cusack’s absence we each engaged the other in brisk conversation. I spoke about Miss Cusack, and the girl was warm in her admiration.

  “She is my best friend,” she said. “I lost my mother two years ago, and at that time I do not know what I should have done but for Florence Cusack. She took me to her house and kept me with her for some time, and taught me what the sin of rebellion meant. I loved my mother so passionately. I did not think when she was taken from me that I should ever know a happy hour again.”

  “And now, if report tells true, you are going to be very happy,” I continued, “for Miss Cusack has confided some of your story to me. You are soon to be married?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and she looked thoughtful. After a moment she spoke again.

  “You are right: I hope to be very happy in the future—happier than I have ever been before. I love Henry Le Marchant better than anyone else on earth.”

  I felt a certain pity for her as she spoke. After all, Miss Cusack’s intuitions were wonderful, and she did not like Henry Le Marchant—nay, more, she suspected him of underhand dealings. Surely she must be wrong. I hoped when I saw this young man that I should be able to divert my friend’s suspicions into another channel.

  “I hope you will be happy,” I said; “you have my best wishes.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. She sat down near the fire as she spoke, and unfurled her fan.

  “Ah! there is a ring,” she said, the next moment. “He is coming. You know perhaps that he is dining here tonight. I shall be so pleased to introduce you.”

  At the same instant Miss Cusack entered the room.

  “Our guest has arrived,” she said, looking from Miss Dudley to me, and she had scarcely uttered the words before Henry Le Marchant was announced.

  He was a tall, young-looking man, with a black, short moustache and very dark eyes. His manner was easy and self-possessed, and he looked with frank interest at me when his hostess introduced him.

  The next moment dinner was announced. As the meal proceeded and I was considering in what words I could convey to Miss Cusack my impression that she was altogether on a wrong tack, something occurred which I thought very little of at the time, but yet was destined to lead to most important results presently.

  The servant had just left the room when a slight whiff of some peculiar and rather disagreeable odour caught my nostrils. I was glancing across the table to see if it was due to any particular fruit, when I noticed that Miss Cusack had also caught the smell.

  “What a curious sort of perfume!” she said, frowning slightly. “Evelyn, have you been buying any special new scent today?”

  “Certainly not,” replied Miss Dudley; “I hate scent, and never use it.”

  At the same moment Le Marchant, who had taken his handkerchief from his pocket, quickly replaced it, and a wave of blood suffused his swarthy cheeks, leaving them the next instant ashy pale. His embarrassment was so obvious that none of us could help noticing it.

  “Surely that is the smell of valerian,” I said, as the memory of what it was came to me.

  “Yes, it is,” he replied, recovering his composure and forcing a smile. “I must apologise to you all. I have been rather nervous lately, and have been ordered a few drops of valerian in water. I cannot think how it got on my handkerchief. My doctor prescribed it for me yesterday.”

  Miss Cusack made a common-place reply, and the conversation went on as before.

  Perhaps my attitude of mind was preternaturally suspicious, but it occurred to me that Le Marchant’s explanation was a very lame one. Valerian is not often ordered for a man of his evidently robust health, and I wondered if he were speaking the truth.

  Having a case of some importance to attend, I took my departure shortly afterwards.

  During the three following days I heard nothing further from Miss Cusack, and made up my mind that her conjectures were all wrong and that the wedding would of course take place.

  But on Saturday these hopes were destined to be rudely dispersed. I was awakened at an early hour by my servant, who entered with a note. I saw at once that it was in Miss Cusack’s handwriting, and tore it open with some apprehension. The contents were certainly startling. It ran as follows—

  “I want your help. Serious developments. Meet me on Royal Exchange steps at nine this morning. Do not fail.”

  After breakfast I sent for a cab, and drove at once to the city, alighting close to the Bank of England. The streets were thronged with the usual incoming flux of clerks hurrying to their different offices. I made my way across to the Royal Exchange, and the first person I saw was Miss Cusack standing just at the entrance. She turned to me eagerly.

  “This is good of you, doctor; I shall not forget this kindness in a hurry. Come quickly, will you?”

  We entered the throng, and moved rapidly down Bartholomew Lane into Throgmorton Street; then, turning round sharp to the left, found ourselves in Lennox Court.

  I followed my guide with the greatest curiosity, wondering what could be her plans. The next moment we entered a house, and, threading our way up some bare, uncarpeted
stairs, reached the top landing. Here Miss Cusack opened a door with a key which she had with her, pushed me into a small room, entered herself, and locked the door behind us both. I glanced around in some alarm.

  The little room was quite bare, and here and there round the walls were the marks of where office furniture had once stood. The window looked out on to the back of the house in Lennox Court.

  “Now we must act quickly,” she said “At 9:30 an important cable will reach Mr. Hamilton’s office. This room in which we now find ourselves is next door to Mr. Gildford’s office in the next house, and is between that and Mr. Hamilton’s office two doors further down. I have rented this room—a quarter’s rent for one morning’s work. Well, if I am successful, the price will be cheap. It was great luck to get it at all.”

  “But what are you going to do?” I queried, as she proceeded to open the window and peep cautiously out.

  “You will see directly,” she answered; “keep back, and don’t make a noise.”

  She leant out and drew the ends of her boa along the little ledge that ran outside just below the window. She then drew it in rapidly.

  “Ah, ha! do you remember that, Dr. Lonsdale?” she cried softly, raising the boa to my face.

  I started back and regarded her in amazement.

  “Valerian!” I exclaimed. “Miss Cusack, what is this strange mystery?”

  She raised her hand.

  “Hush! not another word yet,” she said. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. She rapidly produced a pair of very thick doeskin gloves, put them on, and stood by the window in an attitude of the utmost alertness. I stood still in the middle of the room, wondering whether I was in a dream, or whether Miss Cusack had taken leave of her senses.

  The moments passed by, and still she stood rigid and tense as if expecting something. I watched her in wonderment, not attempting to say a word.

  We must have remained in this extraordinary situation fully a quarter of an hour, when I saw her bend forward, her hand shot out of the window, and with an inconceivably rapid thrust she drew it back. She was now grasping by the back of the neck a large tabby cat; its four legs were drawn up with claws extended, and it was wriggling in evident dislike at being captured.