The Big Book of Female Detectives

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

  “You?”

  “I had a touch of toothache, ma’am,” said Tuppence glibly. “So thought it better to come home and have a quiet evening.”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer said nothing, but she drew back and let Tuppence pass into the hall.

  “How unfortunate for you,” she said coldly. “You had better go to bed.”

  “Oh, I shall be all right in the kitchen, ma’am. Cook will——”

  “Cook is out,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer, in a rather disagreeable tone. “I sent her out. So you see you had better go to bed.”

  Suddenly Tuppence felt afraid. There was a ring in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s voice that she did not like at all. Also, the other woman was slowly edging her up the passage. Tuppence turned at bay.

  “I don’t want——”

  Then, in a flash, a rim of cold steel touched her temple, and Mrs. Vandemeyer’s voice rose cold and menacing:

  “You damned little fool! Do you think I don’t know? No, don’t answer. If you struggle or cry out, I’ll shoot you like a dog.”

  The rim of steel pressed a little harder against the girl’s temple.

  “Now then, march,” went on Mrs. Vandemeyer. “This way—into my room. In a minute, when I’ve done with you, you’ll go to bed as I told you to. And you’ll sleep—oh yes, my little spy, you’ll sleep all right!”

  There was a sort of hideous geniality in the last words which Tuppence did not at all like. For the moment there was nothing to be done, and she walked obediently into Mrs. Vandemeyer’s bedroom. The pistol never left her forehead. The room was in a state of wild disorder, clothes were flung about right and left, a suit-case and a hat box, half-packed, stood in the middle of the floor.

  Tuppence pulled herself together with an effort. Her voice shook a little, but she spoke out bravely.

  “Come now,” she said. “This is nonsense. You can’t shoot me. Why, every one in the building would hear the report.”

  “I’d risk that,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer cheerfully. “But, as long as you don’t sing out for help, you’re all right—and I don’t think you will. You’re a clever girl. You deceived me all right. I hadn’t a suspicion of you! So I’ve no doubt that you understand perfectly well that this is where I’m on top and you’re underneath. Now then—sit on the bed. Put your hands above your head, and if you value your life don’t move them.”

  Tuppence obeyed passively. Her good sense told her that there was nothing else to do but accept the situation. If she shrieked for help there was very little chance of any one hearing her, whereas there was probably quite a good chance of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s shooting her. In the meantime, every minute of delay gained was valuable.

  Mrs. Vandemeyer laid down the revolver on the edge of the washstand within reach of her hand, and, still eyeing Tuppence like a lynx in case the girl should attempt to move, she took a little stoppered bottle from its place on the marble and poured some of its contents into a glass which she filled up with water.

  “What’s that?” asked Tuppence sharply.

  “Something to make you sleep soundly.”

  Tuppence paled a little.

  “Are you going to poison me?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Perhaps,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer, smiling agreeably.

  “Then I shan’t drink it,” said Tuppence firmly. “I’d much rather be shot. At any rate that would make a row, and some one might hear it. But I won’t be killed off quietly like a lamb.”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer stamped her foot.

  “Don’t be a little fool! Do you really think I want a hue and cry for murder out after me? If you’ve any sense at all, you’ll realize that poisoning you wouldn’t suit my book at all. It’s a sleeping draught, that’s all. You’ll wake up tomorrow morning none the worse. I simply don’t want the bother of tying you up and gagging you. That’s the alternative—and you won’t like it, I can tell you! I can be very rough if I choose. So drink this down like a good girl, and you’ll be none the worse for it.”

  In her heart of hearts Tuppence believed her. The arguments she had adduced rang true. It was a simple and effective method of getting her out of the way for the time being. Nevertheless, the girl did not take kindly to the idea of being tamely put to sleep without as much as one bid for freedom. She felt that once Mrs. Vandemeyer gave them the slip, the last hope of finding Tommy would be gone.

  Tuppence was quick in her mental processes. All these reflections passed through her mind in a flash, and she saw where a chance, a very problematical chance, lay, and she determined to risk all in one supreme effort.

  Accordingly, she lurched suddenly off the bed and fell on her knees before Mrs. Vandemeyer, clutching her skirts frantically.

  “I don’t believe it,” she moaned. “It’s poison—I know it’s poison. Oh, don’t make me drink it”—her voice rose to a shriek—“don’t make me drink it!”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer, glass in hand, looked down with a curling lip at this sudden collapse.

  “Get up, you little idiot! Don’t go on drivelling there. How you ever had the nerve to play your part as you did I can’t think.” She stamped her foot. “Get up, I say.”

  But Tuppence continued to cling and sob, interjecting her sobs with incoherent appeals for mercy. Every minute gained was to the good. Moreover, as she grovelled, she moved imperceptibly nearer to her objective.

  Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sharp impatient exclamation, and jerked the girl to her knees.

  “Drink it at once!” Imperiously she pressed the glass to the girl’s lips.

  Tuppence gave one last despairing moan.

  “You swear it won’t hurt me?” she temporized.

  “Of course it won’t hurt you. Don’t be a fool.”

  “Will you swear it?”

  “Yes, yes,” said the other impatiently. “I swear it.”

  Tuppence raised a trembling left hand to the glass.

  “Very well.” Her mouth opened meekly.

  Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sigh of relief, off her guard for the moment. Then, quick as a flash, Tuppence jerked the glass upward as hard as she could. The fluid in it splashed into Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face, and during her momentary gasp, Tuppence’s right hand shot out and grasped the revolver where it lay on the edge of the washstand. The next moment she had sprung back a pace, and the revolver pointed straight at Mrs. Vandemeyer’s heart, with no unsteadiness in the hand that held it.

  In the moment of victory, Tuppence betrayed a somewhat unsportsman-like triumph.

  “Now who’s on top and who’s underneath?” she crowed.

  The other’s face was convulsed with rage. For a minute Tuppence thought she was going to spring upon her, which would have placed the girl in an unpleasant dilemma, since she meant to draw the line at actually letting off the revolver. However, with an effort Mrs. Vandemeyer controlled herself, and at last a slow evil smile crept over her face.

  “Not a fool, then, after all! You did that well, girl. But you shall pay for it—oh, yes, you shall pay for it! I have a long memory!”

  “I’m surprised you should have been gulled so easily,” said Tuppence scornfully. “Did you really think I was the kind of girl to roll about on the floor and whine for mercy?”

  “You may do—someday!” said the other significantly.

  The cold malignity of her manner sent an unpleasant chill down Tuppence’s spine, but she was not going to give in to it.

  “Supposing we sit down,” she said pleasantly. “Our present attitude is a little melodramatic. No—not on the bed. Draw a chair up to the table, that’s right. Now I’ll sit opposite you with the revolver in front of me—just in case of accidents. Splendid. Now, let’s talk.”

  “What about?” said Mrs. Vandemeyer sullenly.

  Tuppence eyed her thoughtfully for a minute. She was remembering
several things. Boris’s words, “I believe you would sell— us!” and her answer, “The price would have to be enormous,” given lightly, it was true, yet might not there be a substratum of truth in it? Long ago, had not Whittington asked: “Who’s been blabbing? Rita?” Would Rita Vandemeyer prove to be the weak spot in the armour of Mr. Brown?

  Keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the other’s face, Tuppence replied quietly:

  “Money——”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer started. Clearly, the reply was unexpected.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you. You said just now that you had a long memory. A long memory isn’t half as useful as a long purse! I dare say it relieves your feelings a good deal to plan out all sorts of dreadful things to do to me, but is that practical? Revenge is very unsatisfactory. Every one always says so. But money”—Tuppence warmed to her pet creed—“well, there’s nothing unsatisfactory about money, is there?”

  “Do you think,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer scornfully, “that I am the kind of woman to sell my friends?”

  “Yes,” said Tuppence promptly. “If the price was big enough.”

  “A paltry hundred pounds or so!”

  “No,” said Tuppence. “I should suggest—a hundred thousand!”

  Her economical spirit did not permit her to mention the whole million dollars suggested by Julius.

  A flush crept over Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face.

  “What did you say?” she asked, her fingers playing nervously with a brooch on her breast. In that moment Tuppence knew that the fish was hooked, and for the first time she felt a horror of her own money-loving spirit. It gave her a dreadful sense of kinship to the woman fronting her.

  “A hundred thousand pounds,” repeated Tuppence.

  The light died out of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s eyes. She leaned back in her chair.

  “Bah!” she said. “You haven’t got it.”

  “No,” admitted Tuppence, “I haven’t—but I know some one who has.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend of mine.”

  “Must be a millionaire,” remarked Mrs. Vandemeyer unbelievingly.

  “As a matter of fact he is. He’s an American. He’ll pay you that without a murmur. You can take it from me that it’s a perfectly genuine proposition.”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer sat up again.

  “I’m inclined to believe you,” she said slowly.

  There was silence between them for some time, then Mrs. Vandemeyer looked up.

  “What does he want to know, this friend of yours?”

  Tuppence went through a momentary struggle, but it was Julius’s money, and his interests must come first.

  “He wants to know where Jane Finn is,” she said boldly.

  Mrs. Vandemeyer showed no surprise.

  “I’m not sure where she is at the present moment,” she replied.

  “But you could find out?”

  “Oh, yes,” returned Mrs. Vandemeyer carelessly. “There would be no difficulty about that.”

  “Then”—Tuppence’s voice shook a little—“there’s a boy, a friend of mine. I’m afraid something’s happened to him, through your pal Boris.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Tommy Beresford.”

  “Never heard of him. But I’ll ask Boris. He’ll tell me anything he knows.”

  “Thank you.” Tuppence felt a terrific rise in her spirits. It impelled her to more audacious efforts. “There’s one thing more.”

  “Well?”

  Tuppence leaned forward and lowered her voice.

  “Who is Mr. Brown?”

  Her quick eyes saw the sudden paling of the beautiful face. With an effort Mrs. Vandemeyer pulled herself together and tried to resume her former manner. But the attempt was a mere parody.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “You can’t have learnt much about us if you don’t know that nobody knows who Mr. Brown is….”

  “You do,” said Tuppence quietly.

  Again the colour deserted the other’s face.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I don’t know,” said the girl truthfully. “But I’m sure.”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer stared in front of her for a long time.

  “Yes,” she said hoarsely, at last, “I know. I was beautiful, you see—very beautiful——”

  “You are still,” said Tuppence with admiration.

  Mrs. Vandemeyer shook her head. There was a strange gleam in her electric-blue eyes.

  “Not beautiful enough,” she said in a soft dangerous voice. “Not—beautiful—enough! And sometimes, lately, I’ve been afraid….It’s dangerous to know too much!” She leaned forward across the table. “Swear that my name shan’t be brought into it—that no one shall ever know.”

  “I swear it. And, once’s he’s caught, you’ll be out of danger.”

  A terrified look swept across Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face.

  “Shall I? Shall I ever be?” She clutched Tuppence’s arm. “You’re sure about the money?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “When shall I have it? There must be no delay.”

  “This friend of mine will be here presently. He may have to send cables, or something like that. But there won’t be any delay—he’s a terrific hustler.”

  A resolute look settled on Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face.

  “I’ll do it. It’s a great sum of money, and besides”—she gave a curious smile—“it is not—wise to throw over a woman like me!”

  For a moment or two, she remained smiling, and lightly tapping her fingers on the table. Suddenly she started, and her face blanched.

  “What was that?”

  “I heard nothing.”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer gazed round her fearfully.

  “If there should be some one listening——”

  “Nonsense. Who could there be?”

  “Even the walls might have ears,” whispered the other. “I tell you I’m frightened. You don’t know him!”

  “Think of the hundred thousand pounds,” said Tuppence soothingly.

  Mrs. Vandemeyer passed her tongue over her dried lips.

  “You don’t know him,” she reiterated hoarsely. “He’s—ah!”

  With a shriek of terror she sprang to her feet. Her outstretched hand pointed over Tuppence’s head. Then she swayed to the ground in a dead faint.

  Tuppence looked round to see what had startled her.

  In the doorway were Sir James Peel Edgerton and Julius Hersheimmer.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Vigil

  Sir James brushed past Julius and hurriedly bent over the fallen woman.

  “Heart,” he said sharply. “Seeing us so suddenly must have given her a shock. Brandy—and quickly, or she’ll slip through our fingers.”

  Julius hurried to the washstand.

  “Not there,” said Tuppence over her shoulder. “In the tantalus in the dining-room. Second door down the passage.”

  Between them Sir James and Tuppence lifted Mrs. Vandemeyer and carried her to the bed. There they dashed water on her face, but with no result. The lawyer fingered her pulse.

  “Touch and go,” he muttered. “I wish that young fellow would hurry up with the brandy.”

  At that moment Julius re-entered the room, carrying a glass half full of the spirit which he handed to Sir James. While Tuppence lifted her head the lawyer tried to force a little of the spirit between her closed lips. Finally the woman opened her eyes feebly. Tuppence held the glass to her lips.

  “Drink this.”

  Mrs. Vandemeyer complied. The brandy brought the colour back to her white cheeks, and revived her in a marvellous fashion. She tried to sit up—t
hen fell back with a groan, her hand to her side.

  “It’s my heart,” she whispered. “I mustn’t talk.”

  She lay back with closed eyes.

  Sir James kept his finger on her wrist a minute longer, then withdrew it with a nod.

  “She’ll do now.”

  All three moved away, and stood together talking in low voices. One and all were conscious of a certain feeling of anticlimax. Clearly any scheme for cross-questioning the lady was out of the question for the moment. For the time being they were baffled, and could do nothing.

  Tuppence related how Mrs. Vandemeyer had declared herself willing to disclose the identity of Mr. Brown, and how she had consented to discover and reveal to them the whereabouts of Jane Finn. Julius was congratulatory.

  “That’s all right, Miss Tuppence. Splendid! I guess that hundred thousand pounds will look just as good in the morning to the lady as it did over night. There’s nothing to worry over. She won’t speak without the cash anyway, you bet!”

  There was certainly a good deal of common sense in this, and Tuppence felt a little comforted.

  “What you say is true,” said Sir James meditatively. “I must confess, however, that I cannot help wishing we had not interrupted at the minute we did. Still, it cannot be helped, it is only a matter of waiting until the morning.”

  He looked across at the inert figure on the bed. Mrs. Vandemeyer lay perfectly passive with closed eyes. He shook his head.

  “Well,” said Tuppence, with an attempt at cheerfulness, “we must wait until the morning, that’s all. But I don’t think we ought to leave the flat.”

  “What about leaving that bright boy of yours on guard?”

  “Albert? And suppose she came round again and hooked it. Albert couldn’t stop her.”

  “I guess she won’t want to make tracks away from the dollars.”

  “She might. She seemed very frightened of ‘Mr. Brown.’ ”

  “What? Real plumb scared of him?”

  “Yes. She looked round and said even walls had ears.”

  “Maybe she meant a dictaphone,” said Julius with interest.

  “Miss Tuppence is right,” said Sir James quietly. “We must not leave the flat—if only for Mrs. Vandemeyer’s sake.”