The Big Book of Female Detectives

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

  Your devoted husband,

  Carlton Dunlap

  Over and over again she read the words, as she clutched at the edge of the news-stand to keep from fainting—“wronged and deceived you,” “the double life I was leading.” What did he mean? Had he, after all, been concealing something else from her? Had there really been another woman?

  Suddenly the truth flashed over her. Tracked and almost overtaken, lacking her hand which had guided him, he had seen no other way out. And in his last act he had shouldered it all on himself, had shielded her nobly from the penalty, had opened wide for her the only door of escape.

  BAD GIRL: FIDELITY DOVE

  THE MEANEST MAN IN EUROPE

  David Durham

  FEW CRIMINALS ARE AS CHARMING as Fidelity Dove, the angelic-looking girl whose ethereal beauty has made emotional slaves of many men. She is a fearless and inventive crook whose “gang” consists of a lawyer, a businessman, a scientist, and other devoted servants. She always wears gray, partly because the color matches well with her violet eyes but also because it reflects her strict, puritanical life. She is committed to righting wrongs, to helping those who cannot help themselves, while also being certain that the endeavor is profitable to herself.

  She is the creation of William Edward Vickers (1889–1965) under the nom de plume David Durham, and appears in a single collection of short stories, The Exploits of Fidelity Dove (1924), one of the rarest volumes of crime fiction of the twentieth century; it was reissued eleven years later as by Roy Vickers.

  Her frustrated adversary is Detective-Inspector Rason, who, against his will, is fond of Fidelity, respects her exceptional intelligence, and seems bemused by her criminal endeavors. He finds greater success when he joins the Department of Dead Ends, Vickers’s other memorable series. This obscure branch of Scotland Yard has the unenviable task of trying to solve crimes that have been abandoned as hopeless. The stories in this series are “inverted” detective tales in which the reader witnesses the crime being committed, is aware when the incriminating clue is discovered, and follows the police methods that lead to the arrest. The department’s unusual cases are recorded in several short story collections, beginning with the Queen’s Quorum title The Department of Dead Ends (1947); the British edition of 1949 contains mostly different stories.

  “The Meanest Man in Europe” was originally published in The Exploits of Fidelity Dove (London, Hodder & Stoughton, 1924).

  The Meanest Man in Europe

  DAVID DURHAM

  I

  THE CASE OF MR. JABEZ CREWDE gives us another reason to believe that Fidelity Dove was at this time developing a conscience. She did not make very much money out of Jabez Crewde. True, she cleared her expenses, which were, as usual, on the grand scale, and she paid herself and her staff well for their time. It was the Grey Friars Hospital which benefited chiefly by this exploit. You, if you are of those who refuse to believe that she had a spark of goodness in her, you may say that she simply indulged her sense of humour in making the meanest man in Europe subscribe twenty thousand pounds to a hospital.

  Jabez Crewde deserved his title. He was worth close upon two hundred thousand pounds, which he had made as a financier—for which you can read moneylender, though he never took ordinary moneylenders’ risks. Moneylender’s interest—banker’s risk—that was the formula on which he had grown rich. He lived in a small, drab house in a drab quarter of Islington.

  Fidelity would never have heard of him if he had not had a very mild attack of appendicitis. Feeling unwell one day, he had gone in his shabbiest clothes to the surgery of a struggling slum doctor. The doctor diagnosed appendicitis, and recommended an operation. Jabez was no physical coward, but he expressed the utmost horror. An operation would ruin him. So the doctor, having been persuaded to accept half a crown instead of his usual fee of five shillings, recommended the meanest man in Europe for free treatment at the Grey Friars Hospital.

  It was a simple operation—the convalescence was short. It was during the latter period that Gorse, more or less by chance, got to know about it and related it to Fidelity. Fidelity crossed her hands across the bosom of her dream-grey gown and sadly shook her head.

  “Avarice is the very leprosy of the soul,” she said. “I am revolted, Cuthbert.”

  “For once I feel myself able to echo your sentiments,” said Gorse. “He’s worth about a couple of hundred thousand.”

  “Those poor, underpaid doctors!” said Fidelity. “And the overworked nurses! And the needy cases crying for admission—or is it perhaps a wealthy hospital?”

  “There’s a notice up saying if they don’t get twenty thousand in three months they will have to close a wing,” said Gorse.

  “They have given their skill unstintingly to a suffering fellow creature. They have but cast their bread upon the waters——”

  “Fidelity!” groaned Gorse. He would have died for Fidelity, as would any other member of her gang, but he alone believed her to be an utter humbug.

  “My friend, you are always cruel to me, though you love me,” sighed Fidelity. “And because I love you, I must please you. Listen, and tell me if this pleases you.”

  “I’m listening,” grunted Gorse, and waited.

  Fidelity’s voice, when she spoke again, held the low call of birds at dusk.

  “Tell Varley, our jeweller, to buy fifty thousand pounds’ worth of pearls from the best firms he can,” she said.

  Gorse brightened.

  “I thought you’d get down to brass tacks sooner or later, Fidelity!” he said, and left the room to carry out her order.

  II

  Jabez Crewde had the usual handful of spare-time agents, and it took no more than a few days for Fidelity to contrive that one of them should approach her. Within a week of her conversation with Gorse, she was sitting timidly in a dingy room in the drab house in Islington, which served Mr. Crewde for an office as well as a living-room.

  “I—I have heard that you were ill and I hope you are better,” said Fidelity in the tone of one who desires to placate a moneylender.

  “I have to be better, Miss Dove,” answered Crewde. “In these hard times I cannot afford a long illness. What do you want me to do for you?”

  “I—I understood you were a financier,” began Fidelity, “and I am in a difficulty which you will understand even better than I. A friend of mine, who knows all about stocks and shares, has told me that if I could invest five thousand pounds now it would be worth thirty-five thousand in a few days.”

  Jabez Crewde had no difficulty in suppressing a smile. It was a part of his profession to listen to fantastic tales.

  “Go on, Miss Dove,” said Crewde. “As long as you’re not going to suggest that I should lend you the five thousand.”

  “Oh, but I was going to suggest just that,” said Fidelity. “You see, I have not the five thousand pounds, and it seems such an awful pity to miss this chance. I don’t know anything about money, but with thirty-five thousand pounds I need never think about it again. That is why I am so anxious to avail myself of this opportunity.”

  Mr. Crewde’s eyes strayed to Fidelity’s bag. It was of grey brocade—a dainty, home-like affair that suggested knitting and mothers’ meetings and little rewards for good children.

  “Are you offering any security?” he asked.

  “You mean stocks and shares,” divined Fidelity. “I’m afraid I haven’t any. The only thing I have of any value is the jewellery my great-uncle left me. I must not sell it, and—in my sect we do not wear jewellery—so I thought that if I were to leave the jewellery with you and pay you back when I have the thirty-five thousand pounds——?”

  “Have you any idea what the jewellery is worth?” asked Crewde, while Fidelity produced and opened a number of leather cases.

  “It was valued at the time of my uncle’s deat
h,” said Fidelity. “The assessor said that it was worth a little over fifty thousand pounds. It seemed to me terrible that so much money should be spent upon adornments.”

  Mr. Crewde began an expert scrutiny of the pearls. He was inclined to agree with the assessor as to their worth. He was inclined to think, now that he had taken stock of Fidelity’s perfect grey tailor-made and her little white hat, that she was an extravagant and helpless fool.

  “They are good pearls, though they’re not worth anything like that at the present time,” he said presently. “And I don’t as a rule lend money upon jewellery. Have you no other securities?”

  “None whatever, I fear,” said Fidelity in dejection.

  That was what Mr. Crewde wanted to know. It is of little use to a moneylender to have a very valuable pledge on a small loan if the client has other securities, because the pledge can always be redeemed. But when the very valuable pledge represents the only security, it is reasonably certain to pass into the hands of the moneylender—especially when the loan is made for the purposes of a get-rich-quick scheme.

  “Oh, well, I don’t know I’m sure!” Mr. Crewde was muttering with professional reluctance. “Everybody seems to be borrowing money just now. How soon do you expect your—er—your profits to come in, Miss Dove?”

  “My friend said in six weeks’ time,” answered Fidelity.

  “Six weeks! H’m! I might just be able to manage it.”

  Fidelity began to thank him.

  “You’re quite sure you can pay it back in the six weeks, mind?” challenged Mr. Crewde.

  “Oh, perfectly sure,” exclaimed Fidelity. “My friend was most positive.”

  “Very well, then,” said Mr. Crewde. “I’ll put that into writing and I shall ask you to sign it. If you will come here tomorrow at this time, I’ll have the agreement ready for you, together with the money.”

  Fidelity barely glanced at the document on the following day. Its numerous clauses and penalties had no direct interest for her. She signed the document, gave a receipt for the cheque, took a receipt for her pearls, and left the dingy house in Islington.

  She had borrowed five thousand pounds at sixty per cent. interest on a security of pearls worth fifty thousand pounds.

  III

  The meanest man in Europe was very pleased at his latest deal. Twenty years’ experience had taught him that Miss Fidelity Dove would return in six weeks with a tale of misfortune and beg a renewal of the loan. In a year, with careful manipulation, he would be able to sell the pledge for his own profit without advancing any more money. He was elaborating a scheme by which he could save excise stamps on the numerous documents that would be used in the transaction, when his clerk brought him a card.

  “Mr. Abraham Behrein.” The address was in Hatton Garden.

  He nodded, and the caller was shown in. Behrein was a well-dressed man of Hebraic appearance, not a bit like Gorse to look at. He greeted Jabez with rather elaborate courtesy.

  “I have come to ask a favour, Mr. Crewde,” he began. “I have reason to believe that you had a business transaction yesterday with a lady—a Miss Dove.”

  “Well, what of it?” demanded Crewde. “She’s turned twenty-one.”

  “Quite so!” said Behrein. “I simply wished to ask if you would allow me to look at the pearls she deposited with you. I am aware that the request is most irregular, but—I have reasons.”

  “What reasons?”

  “I do not care to name them.”

  “Well, that’s an end of it. Certainly not!” snapped Jabez Crewde.

  “You refuse?” asked Behrein with an air.

  “Of course I do. Grant, this gentleman can’t find the door!”

  Jabez Crewde was more than a little disturbed by the incident. Not so Behrein. Behrein got into the taxi that was waiting for him and drove to Scotland Yard.

  Here he again presented his card, explained that he was a dealer in precious stones, and stated that he had been robbed. He wished to speak to a responsible official who would take up the case. There was a short delay, at the end of which he was shown into Detective-Inspector Rason’s rooms.

  “A short time ago,” explained Behrein to the detective, “I bought a parcel of pearls of an approximate value of fifty thousand pounds. It is a big parcel, Mr. Rason, in these days, and my purchase attracted a certain amount of attention. I had many opportunities of unloading, but I was not in a hurry. A lady, not in the trade, was introduced to me in the belief that she might purchase the entire parcel for her personal use.

  “The lady encouraged the belief. She came twice to my office to inspect the pearls and to discuss methods of purchase. Her last visit was on Monday of this week. She was a very pleasant, very well-bred lady, and when I was wanted on the telephone I had no hesitation in leaving her for a moment in possession of the pearls.”

  Detective-Inspector Rason grunted. He knew well enough what was coming. An oft-told tale!

  “My client,” continued Behrein, “renewed her expressions of approval, said that she had some final financial arrangements to make, and would call upon me in the following week. This morning I wished to show the pearls to another customer—I had not handled them since the visit of the lady—and I find—a parcel of pretty good imitations, worth possibly one hundred and fifty pounds. I cannot, of course, prove anything, but I am certain that the lady in the case made the substitution while I was answering the telephone.”

  “Did she give you a name?” asked Rason.

  “She gave me the name of Fidelity Dove,” said Behrein, “with an address in Bayswater, which I have no doubt is a false one.”

  “The address is right enough,” Rason rapped out. “She’s probably waiting for us to call. She’s the coolest crook in London and then some. She never bothers to run away. I’ve been on her track a dozen times and she always manages so that you can’t prove anything. In a way, she’s a great woman.”

  “That is not very consoling to one who looks like losing fifty thousand pounds as the result of her ingenuity,” said Behrein bitterly.

  “We shall take the matter up, of course,” said Rason.

  “Then perhaps I could help you,” said Behrein. “Chiefly by chance, I happen to know that this lady—if it be not absurd so to call her—borrowed money upon the security of pearls from a Mr. Jabez Crewde. I’m quite sure of my facts. Mr. Crewde underpays his staff, and—er——”

  “Quite so,” said Rason.

  “I was at his house in Islington half an hour ago,” continued Behrein. “I asked, with all civility I hope, to be allowed to look at the pearls. He received my request very ill-temperedly and refused it.”

  Detective-Inspector Rason made a note.

  “Did you tell him your suspicion?”

  “I would have explained had he given me time,” said Behrein. “As it was, I was being shown out of the place before I could explain anything.

  “I have here,” continued Behrein, “photographs of the pearls, together with an expert description. If you have means of forcing Mr. Crewde, these papers will dispose of any doubt.”

  “Of course, we could get a search-warrant if necessary,” said Rason. “But we always avoid unpleasantness of that kind if we possibly can. I think it very likely that I could persuade Mr. Crewde to show me the pearls of his own accord.”

  “Would it be possible for me to accompany you?” asked Behrein. “I could tell at a glance.”

  The detective agreed to this readily enough, and in half an hour Behrein was again at the house in Islington, this time accompanied by Rason.

  IV

  When Jabez Crewde found himself confronted with a police officer, he “saw the red light” and made no further bones about producing the pearls.

  He laid them out on the table, but before he had finished, Behrein intervened.<
br />
  “These are my pearls, Mr. Crewde,” he said. “I could produce a round dozen experts at an hour’s notice to identify them. If you care to peruse these documents, you will be satisfied yourself. I—I am very sorry for you.”

  “Your pearls! What the dickens do you mean?”

  Behrein, in his slow, heavy accents, re-told the story of the substitution of the pearls. The end of the story left Crewde babbling incoherently.

  “Given that Mr. Behrein can substantiate his account,” said Rason, “he will be able to obtain the pearls from you by an order of the Court, as they are stolen goods. Do you wish to take the matter up on your own account, Mr. Crewde?”

  “Yes, of course I’ll take it up!” snapped Crewde. “No, I can’t afford to pay a lot of thieving lawyers. It’s a matter for the Public Prosecutor. I’ll give evidence if you’ll pay me for my time.”

  “I take it, Mr. Behrein, that you will prosecute,” suggested Rason.

  “I have no alternative,” replied Behrein. “If you will tell me how to proceed——”

  Rason was about to speak, and checked himself.

  “If I were you,” he said instead, “I’d proceed very carefully, Mr. Behrein. It looks a clear-cut case. But there have been one or two cases before against this particular lady that have looked just as clear-cut. If you like to charge her, of course I must take the charge, but I suggest that you wait till I’ve seen her.”

  Mr. Behrein bowed.

  “As you please,” he said. “You understand these things and I don’t. I would like to have a private word with Mr. Crewde if he will allow me.”

  “Right!” said Rason. “I’ll get along to Miss Dove.”

  “It looks,” said Mr. Behrein when the detective had left, “as though you and I, Mr. Crewde, are going to be let in for a great deal of expense and a great deal of wasted time. Are you at all willing to discuss an arrangement?”