The Big Book of Female Detectives

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

  Second; an operative (this one a woman) was sent to interview Miss Beatrice Dufaye, the well-known cinema star, in the guise of a representative of some mythical magazine. Miss Dufaye was the star of “Ashes of Roses,” a picture which was the sensation of the moment, and at present she was resting at her country place at Glen Cove before starting work on her next picture. Among other things, this operative was instructed to ask certain questions relative to the private showing of “Ashes of Roses” on September 11th. This had been made a great social occasion in theatrical circles.

  A third operative was instructed to learn the present whereabouts of Mr. Frank Esher. Esher, you will remember, was the young man who was deeply in love with Fay Brunton, and for whom we suspected she had a tenderness in return. After a quarrel or a series of quarrels, he had flown off to parts unknown. This operative was furnished with the address of his last employers, his club, and his last home address.

  Finally I received my assignment. “Bella,” said my mistress, “I want you to go to Tiffany’s with me, to help choose Fay’s wedding present.”

  It struck me as very strange that we should spend our time this way when matters were at such a critical juncture; and especially as we were determined to prevent this wedding if we could. However, I said nothing. We used up a good hour choosing the most beautiful amongst all the tiny platinum and jewelled watches they showed us.

  “Take it to the hotel,” said Mme. Storey, “and give it to her maid to keep until Fay returns from the theatre. You may let the maid have a peep at it as a great favour. This ought to put you on an intimate footing at once. You will no doubt find her packing her mistress’s things for the journey tomorrow. It will seem quite natural for you to show curiosity in Fay’s pretty things. Take plenty of time. Fay cannot get home until nearly six if she comes at all. Ordinarily, on matinée days, she has dinner in her dressing-room. I want you to find out what Fay was doing on the night of September 11th.”

  “What Fay was doing?” I echoed, greatly disquieted.

  Mme. Storey looked at me in a way which did not allay my uneasiness. “Have patience, Bella. I cannot yet foresee how all this is going to turn out.”

  She drove off up to Riverdale again with the object of recovering the gun which Whittall had presented to the Captain of the precinct. It was from this gun that the fatal shot had been fired.

  I proceeded to the Madagascar, that towering palace of luxury. Fay, like most women in her position, had two maids, one of whom waited upon her in the hotel, and one at the theatre. I was already slightly acquainted with Katy Meadows, her hotel maid, and of course the nature of my errand immediately broke the ice between us. Katy was a pretty, vivacious Irish girl with naturally rosy cheeks. Fay spoiled her. Katy looked on me as a sort of superior servant like herself, and was quite free with me. She went into raptures over the watch.

  Just as Mme. Storey had said, I found her packing. Fay’s things were spread over the whole suite. I did not have to express any curiosity, for Katy insisted on showing me everything; hats, wraps, dresses, lingerie, shoes in endless profusion. It was immoral that one woman should possess so much, but oh! what a fascinating display! Unfortunately, I had something else on my mind, and was unable to give myself up to the contemplation of it. The suite consisted of three rooms; a corner sitting-room with Fay’s bedroom on one side and Mrs. Brunton’s on the other.

  After we had finished rhapsodising over the watch I lingered on. Katy was bustling from room to room bearing armfuls of Fay’s things that had to be packed. She was in a great state of fluster.

  “Four o’clock!” she cried. “Mercy! I must get a move on me! They’re going to have a supper party here after the show, and everything must be out of here before that, and the place tidied up….But don’t you go, Miss Brickley. Sit down and talk to me. It keeps me going….”

  In the end it was not at all difficult to get what I wanted. I led up to the matter as I had heard Mme. Storey do over the ’phone.

  “I went to see ‘Ashes of Roses’ last night. It’s a dandy picture. Have you seen it?”

  “No,” said Katy. “I must wait until it shows in the cheaper houses.”

  “That was a great party they had the night of the private showing last September,” I went on. “I suppose your folks went. They say all the famous people on Broadway were there.”

  “Mrs. Brunton went,” said Katy unsuspiciously, “but at the last moment Miss Fay wouldn’t go. Said she didn’t feel good.”

  “I thought she was never sick,” I ventured.

  “Oh, not sick,” said Katy. “Just wanted to stay quiet and read. I left her in bed reading. I remember that’s the night I saw A. J. Burchell, in ‘Well-Dressed Wives.’ Don’t you love him?”

  So much for that.

  While I was in the suite, things were still arriving from the shops. I remember I was looking at a marvellous négligée when the telephone rang. From Katy’s responses I understood that it was Fay calling from the theatre. Fay was evidently issuing somewhat complicated instructions, to which Katy returned breathless affirmatives.

  Katy finally hung up, and turned around with wide eyes. “What do you think!” she cried. “They’ve changed all their plans. They’re going away this evening instead of tomorrow morning!”

  I thought that was the end of everything. Mme. Storey had gone up to Riverdale, and I didn’t know when she’d get back. Luckily Katy was too much excited herself to notice the effect that her announcement had on me.

  “For the Lord’s sake,” she cried. “You never know what they’re going to do next!…I’m to pack the dressing-case and the small wardrobe trunk, and leave everything else to Maud. I’m to take the things to the —— Terminal—my own things too, and meet them in the Grand Concourse at six-thirty!”

  There was only one thing for me to do, and that was to get out as quick as I could. Which I did. What was I to do? I felt desperate. If I tried to go after Mme. Storey, likely I would only pass her somewhere coming back. I didn’t dare call up the police station at Riverdale, because I didn’t know if she would give her right name there, and if I mentioned it, I might upset all her plans. There was nothing for it but to return to the office and wait for her. At the worst, I was prepared to go myself to the Terminal, and denounce Whittall in public, though I died for it.

  To my great relief that was not required of me. At the end of an hour, Mme. Storey came into the office bringing a very pretty young lady whom I had not seen before. She introduced her as Miss Larrimore. I was too excited at the moment to remember that this was the name of Fay’s understudy.

  “Miss Larrimore wanted to see our offices,” Mme. Storey explained amiably.

  Perceiving from my face that something had happened, Mme. Storey allowed the girl to pass on into the long room, while she lingered in my office. I hurriedly made my communication. Mme. Storey was not in the least disturbed. Indeed, she laughed merrily.

  “I fancied that some such move might be made,” she said. “So I kidnapped Fay’s understudy. I expect they’re looking for her now.”

  “But…but where did you find her?” I asked, amazed.

  “Oh, I knew that after reporting at the theatre for every performance, she was free to go home if Fay had turned up in good health. So I went to her boarding-house, and asked her to go for a drive. We’ll take her back directly. It will be fun!”

  From her handbag Mme. Storey took an automatic pistol, and put a mark on it in my presence, before dropping it in the drawer of my desk. This weapon was identical with the one which had been recovered from the well at Oakhurst that morning.

  My mistress did not hurry herself at all. After showing Miss Larrimore her artistic treasures she announced that she would drive her uptown. “I’m going to drop in on Fay at the theatre,” said Mme. Storey. “You come along too.”

  It was not the fi
rst time that Mme. Storey and I had applied at the stage door of the Yorktown theatre, and we were admitted without question. The star of the company was allotted two rooms on the level of the stage; the outer was used to receive her friends in, while the inner was devoted to the mysteries of make-up and dress. When the outer door was opened we heard the voices of several people within. Mme. Storey slyly bade Miss Larrimore to enter first, while she hung back with a smile. Cries of relief greeted the understudy.

  “Oh, here you are!”

  Then Mme. Storey entered with me at her heels. They were all there; Whittall, Kreuger, Mrs. Brunton, and Fay. My mistress’s appearance created a startling effect. Whittall was arrested in full flight, so to speak. The man froze where he stood. His face turned livid. Kreuger was frankly terrified; while Mrs. Brunton was herself, for once. She snarled. She could not have known what had taken place that day, but she saw clearly enough that her darling scheme was endangered. Fay swam towards us, perfectly candid in her gladness. Whittall made an involuntary move to stop her—then he saw it was useless.

  “Rosika and Bella!” cried Fay. “What a lucky chance! I was just about to write you. Darius said it would sound too casual to telephone. I am afraid our little party for tonight must be off, my dears. But Darius says we shall have a big one as soon as we get back. Our plans are all changed. It turns out that the private car is required in New York on Tuesday, and we have to use it tonight or not at all. I suppose I am silly, but my heart was set on that private car. So we’re off at seven o’clock. Miss Larrimore will play my part tonight. We’ll be married in Pinehurst tomorrow.”

  Mme. Storey looked at Whittall with a cold smile. He visibly writhed under it. He had given her his word of honour, you remember. The tension of that moment was almost unbearable. Everybody in the room was aware of it except the two girls who were laughingly whispering about the night’s performance. There was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of their happy ignorance.

  Finally Mme. Storey spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve got the thankless job of throwing a monkey-wrench into the works,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Fay, laughing.

  “I can’t let Mr. Whittall go away tonight.”

  One can imagine what a hell of rage and frustration Whittall was undergoing during those moments. I don’t suppose that the arrogant millionaire’s will had ever been crossed before.

  “What!” said Fay, opening her eyes wide.

  “Some time ago,” said Mme. Storey coolly, “Mr. Whittall promised to back me in a scheme I was getting up to open a studio building for poor artists. My plans are ripe now, and I have called a meeting for tomorrow. I am counting on him.”

  “Oh, but surely,” said Fay, more and more surprised, “under the circumstances, can’t somebody appear for him? can’t it be put off for a few days?”

  “No,” said Mme. Storey with cold firmness.

  From astonishment Fay graduated to indignation. Suspecting enmity in my mistress, she turned from her. “Darius!” she said.

  What a bitter moment for him! He hesitated. His eyes glittered in the direction of my mistress with an expression of reckless rage. But upon meeting her cold glance they fell again. He knew that the word “murder” had only to be whispered to destroy his chances forever. “I gave her my word,” he mumbled, grinding his teeth. “I’ve got to stick to it.”

  Fay’s gentle eyes flashed. She could see now that there was much more in this than appeared on the surface. But pride would not allow her to ask any more questions. She was much angrier at her renegade lover than she was at Mme. Storey.

  “Oh, well, of course it doesn’t make any difference,” she said, tossing her head. She slipped her hand under Miss Larrimore’s arm. “I’m only sorry on your account, my dear.” She drew the other girl into the inner room.

  IX

  The events which succeeded this scene were simply baffling to me. Katy was ordered back from the station to the hotel, and told to unpack all her mistress’s things and put them away. The private car was cancelled. At this, Mrs. Brunton could no longer contain her feelings. She burst out at Mme. Storey wildly.

  “How dare you come here interfering in our private affairs! What does your silly meeting mean to us when Darius and Fay are going to be married! I never heard of such a thing….”

  The outburst was quite natural. Mrs. Brunton had had a hard life, and Whittall’s twenty millions blinded her to all other considerations. There is no doubt but she loved Fay as if she had been her own child.

  Now Whittall, when he heard this, executed a rapid volte-face. A moment before he had seemed absolutely suffocated with rage against Mme. Storey; now he turned against Mrs. Brunton, and roughly silenced her. “Mme. Storey is our friend,” he said. “You have no reason to speak to her in that manner. This is important. She knows what she is doing.”

  Mrs. Brunton didn’t know what to make of it, and no more did I. To my further astonishment, Mme. Storey allowed a reconciliation to be patched up, and when I left she and Whittall were chatting together as amicably as you please. Since Fay was to go on as usual, her supper had been ordered in. I can’t tell you what happened after that, because I had been sent to the office with private instructions to receive the reports of the various operatives who had been detailed on the case, and forward them to Mme. Storey at the theatre. I supposed that she and Whittall remained at the theatre throughout the performance, exchanging compliments—and watching each other.

  During the evening Mme. Storey called me up to say that the little party would take place in Fay’s rooms after the performance as at first arranged, and that I was to be there. She instructed me to get in touch with Inspector Rumsey, and to ask him to be waiting in the lobby of the Madagascar at quarter to twelve. I possessed no key to Mme. Storey’s plans, and this latter message caused a feeling of dread to weigh on my breast.

  In due course I went home to change my dress, and then proceeded to the hotel. I saw the Inspector waiting in the lobby, and nodded to him as I passed. When I was shown up to Fay’s suite I found that I was the first to arrive. Katy pounced on me to learn the inner reasons for her mistress’s second extraordinary change of plans, but I had no heart to gossip with the maid.

  There was a table ready set for six persons. It looked lovely with its snowy cloth set off with glass and silver and flowers. All around the white panelled walls relieved with an old messotint or two there were pink-shaded lights bracketed in threes, and casting down a pleasant glow on the comfortable furniture covered with crisp cretonnes. Only the most expensive places dare to be as simple as that. There were flowers everywhere in the room. To me there was a horrible irony in the sight of all this dainty preparation for such a scene.

  Fay, Mrs. Brunton, Darius Whittall, and Kreuger came in together. Their faces gave nothing away.

  “Where is Mme. Storey?” I asked involuntarily.

  “She’ll be up directly,” said Fay. “She met a friend in the lobby.”

  I supposed this was Rumsey.

  Fay and Mrs. Brunton disappeared within their respective bedrooms to remove their wraps. When Fay left the room something of the inferno of passion that was consuming Whittall broke through the mask he wore. He looked at me as much as to say: What the hell are you doing here? I paid no attention. Mme. Storey entered, and he smiled at her obsequiously. Mme. Storey lit a cigarette, and lingered in the sitting-room exchanging some trivial remarks with Whittall until Fay returned. She then said something about tidying herself, and entered Fay’s room alone.

  When she came back we sat down at the table, and the waiters entered. Mme. Storey, alone of the women, was not in evening dress, nevertheless by her mere presence she dominated the scene. Everybody else was trying to be funny. There was a ghastly hollowness about it. Whittall was the loudest of all. Fay seemed pleasant towards him, but I suspected that her pleasant m
anner concealed a certain reserve. Mrs. Brunton seemed to be satisfied that everything was going well, as long as there was plenty of noise.

  Fay occupied the place of honour at the head of the table, with Mme. Storey on one hand, and me on the other. Kreuger sat next to Mme. Storey, and Mrs. Brunton next to me. Whittall faced Fay across the table. Fay, I remember, was wearing a pale pink gown embroidered with self-coloured beads in a quaint design. It lent her beauty an exquisite fragility. When he thought nobody was looking at him, I would catch Whittall gazing at her like a lost soul.

  The meal, I suppose, left nothing to be desired. I cannot remember what we ate or drank. Someday I hope I may be invited to such a perfect little supper when my mind is at peace. This one was wasted on all of us. It was soon over, and the cigarettes lighted. Mrs. Brunton chattered on.

  “There was twenty-one hundred dollars in the house tonight. That’s a hundred and fifty more than capacity.”

  “How do you do that sum?” asked Whittall facetiously.

  “Standees,” said Mrs. Brunton. “…And what a house! So warm and responsive. I could have hugged them to my breast!”

  “Rather an armful,” put in Whittall.

  “And when she finished her waltz song, didn’t they rise to her! Oh, it was wonderful! Never have I heard such applause! And didn’t she look sweet when she came out to acknowledge it? I declare her pretty eyes were full of real tears!”