The Case of the Somerville Secret

by Robert Newman

  Sara and Andrew exchanged glances, then Andrew pushed back his chair and got up.

  The constable saluted as Wyatt and the sergeant who was with him pushed their way through the crowd. They both nodded, and Wyatt knocked on the door of number 62, then said, “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do about these people.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir,” said the constable. “Not unless we clear the street. And that’ll take more men than we have here right now.”

  “Not worth while. Word does get around, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wyatt turned back as the door opened. A tall, somewhat stoop-shouldered man in a Norfolk jacket stood there. He was probably in his forties, but it was hard to be sure for though his hair was only touched with grey, his face was drawn and deeply lined.

  “Good morning. I’m Inspector Wyatt of Scotland Yard.”

  “I’ve been expecting you—you or someone. I’m Somerville.”

  “Oh. How do you do, sir. Forgive me if I seem surprised. I heard you were away.”

  “I was, but I returned to London at the end of last week.”

  “I see.” Then, indicating the big man who was with him, “This is Sergeant Tucker of the Wellington Road police station. He’ll be working with me on this case.”

  “Sergeant.” Somerville nodded to Tucker.

  “My lord …”

  “Please come in.” Though it was clear that he was very distressed, Somerville was doing his best to observe the amenities. “I know you want to talk to me about what happened last night, but there’s someone else you should talk to as well. She’s in here.”

  He opened a door to the right of the entrance hall, motioned them in. They found themselves in a small, simply furnished parlor. Sitting in a straight-backed chair on the far side of the room was a middle-aged woman with strong, rather craggy features and piercing eyes. She had on a plain, dark dress and her hair was pulled back severely. She sat very erect and was quite pale, but that may have been because she was in pain, for she had an ugly bruise on her forehead, a cut over her eye and her right arm was bandaged and in a sling.

  “This is Mrs. Severn, my housekeeper,” said Somerville. “Inspector Wyatt and Sergeant Tucker.”

  They both bowed to her.

  “I’d like to tell you how sorry I am about what happened,” said Wyatt. “I should also tell you that I have a special interest in the case because I knew Sergeant Polk—knew him and liked him very much.”

  “Were you army, too?”

  “No, but the army is the connection. He was sergeant major in my father’s regiment.”

  “You’re General Wyatt’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew he had two sons who were in the army. I didn’t know he had one who was in the police.”

  “It’s not something he talks about,” said Wyatt dryly.

  “I see. That explains my feeling that you were not a ordinary policeman. Does it also explain your presence on the case?”

  “Probably. The superintendent saw your name on the occurrence sheet, called me in and asked me if I knew you. When I said I didn’t, but did know Polk, he told me to take over.”

  “That makes for an interesting coincidence. Because it was your father who recommended Polk to me.”

  “You and Father are friends?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’m not here enough to be friends with anyone. But we’re both members of the Travellers Club. And when I mentioned that I was looking for someone to keep an eye on the place while I was away, he suggested Polk.”

  “That was what he did, acted as caretaker?”

  “Yes.”

  “What other help do you have here?”

  “None.”

  “There was just Mrs. Severn and Polk? No cook or parlor maid?”

  “No. I’m away most of the time, and when I’m here, my wants are very simple and Mrs. Severn is able to take care of them easily. She’s been with me for a long time. About fifteen years, isn’t it?” he said, looking at her.

  “Sixteen this last February,” she said. Her voice was rather husky, but pleasant.

  “That long?” said Somerville. “Yes, I guess it is. She was with me, took care of things down at Ansley Cross before I closed the place, moved here to London.”

  “I see. Now will you tell us exactly what happened last night?”

  “I’ll try.” Somerville glanced at Tucker who had seated himself unobtrusively in the corner and opened his notebook, then said suddenly, angrily, “This is awful, terrible! You say you knew Polk, liked him. But I not only knew and liked him—I feel responsible for what happened to him! If I hadn’t engaged him, he’d still be alive, and …” He broke off. “I’m sorry, but it’s been very much on my mind.”

  “Yes, I can see it has.”

  “What was it you asked me?”

  “To tell us what you can about last night.”

  “Yes. Well, I had been here for several days and was going back to Paris. Mrs. Severn and Polk were coming with me.”

  “Just a second,” said Wyatt. “You said you were going back to Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was under the impression that when you were away you were in the Middle East.”

  “Most of the time I am—in Mesopotamia. But I also spend a good deal of time in Paris. I’ve been doing some work with Fauré, the French Assyriologist.”

  “Why were you taking Mrs. Severn and Polk with you?”

  “Because I expected to spend more time than ever in Paris now, and I didn’t like living in a hotel. I planned to take a house and have Mrs. Severn take care of it for me.”

  “With Polk’s help.”

  “I hadn’t made up my mind whether I wanted Polk to stay with us in Paris or come back here. But I wanted him to make the trip with us as a protective measure.”

  “Protective?”

  “Yes. I was taking some very valuable things back to Paris with me; some votive figures, early Kassite pottery and quite extraordinary jewelry I had dug up at Tell Iswah.”

  “I see. And how were you planning to travel?”

  For the first time Somerville hesitated. “I’m afraid that’s where I made a mistake. I was anxious about taking the train to Dover, so I arranged to have Polk drive us there.”

  “At night?”

  “Yes. I thought we’d be safe enough at this end, and of course it would be daylight by the time we arrived at Dover. But …” Again he hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I had planned to leave about midnight, but it took me longer than I thought to get ready and it was after three before I helped Polk carry the chest out to the brougham.

  “The chest with the valuables in it, the things you were concerned about?”

  “Yes. They were in a strongbox, which we put inside the brougham. Mrs. Severn got in, too, and I came back into the house to see if I’d forgotten anything and lock up. I was in here when I heard a noise outside—a shout, the sound of several blows, and a scream. I went running out, and there was the brougham going off up the street hell for leather. I coudn’t understand what had happened until I saw Mrs. Severn and Polk both lying on the pavement.”

  “Was Polk dead?”

  “No, not yet. I looked at Mrs. Severn first. She was unconscious, but when I started to pick her up, she opened her eyes, saw Polk and told me to take care of him. I went to him. His head was bloody and he was breathing very peculiarly. Mrs. Severn got to her feet and in spite of her injuries—her wrist was broken—she helped me carry him into the house. Then I went to get a doctor.”

  “What doctor was that?”

  “There’s one, a Dr. Davison, just up the street. I’ve never used him, but I knew about him. I woke him, told him he was needed, and he got dressed and came back here with me. By the time we got to the house, Polk was dead.”

  “What did he say was the cause of death?”

  “A blow on the temple with a club, or something of that so
rt. He said he thought the skull had been fractured.”

  “Our doctor is doing an autopsy, but that’s his initial opinion, too. Now will you tell us what you can about the incident, Mrs. Severn?”

  “Yes, Inspector. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure exactly what did happen. As Lord Somerville told you, I got into the brougham. Polk was with the horses, looking at their harness. He had said something about wanting to tighten one of the martingales. Suddenly I heard an exclamation and the sound of a struggle. There were several blows. As I started to open the door to see what was happening, it was opened from the outside, someone took hold of me and pulled me out, letting me fall to the ground. I put out my hand to break the fall—that’s how I broke my wrist—but my head hit the ground, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

  “Did you see the man who pulled you out?”

  “No, I didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and besides it was too dark.”

  “Can you tell us anything about him even though you couldn’t see him? For instance, was it your feeling that he was tall or short or particularly strong?”

  “No, I can’t tell you anything about him. I think he must have been fairly strong because he pulled me out without any trouble.”

  “Was it your impression that there was just one man involved in the attack, or were there more than one?”

  Mrs. Severn frowned. “I hadn’t really thought about that—I’ve been too shaken up. But now that I do … I think there must have been more than one.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, the door was opened at almost the same time as poor Sergeant Polk was attacked. Whoever attacked him wouldn’t have had time to come around to the door.”

  Wyatt nodded. “That was my impression from your description of what happened, but I wanted to make sure. Now can you tell us anything about the brougham so that we can institute a search for it?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Somerville. “Polk rented it from a livery stable somewhere near the Wellington Road.”

  “There’s just one in the neighborhood,” said Tucker. “In the mews behind Marlborough Place. I know the liveryman, and I’ll inquire.”

  “Good,” said Wyatt. Then, turning to Somerville, “Is it your feeling that the brougham was taken in order to get possession of the chest that was in it?”

  “I can’t think of any other reason.”

  “Who knew about it? Knew that you had valuable antiquities and jewelry in the house here and were planning to move them to Paris?”

  “Anyone who had read my monographs on the dig at Tell Iswah would know what I’d found there, and might suspect I had the items here in the house. But no one knew I was going to take them to Paris.”

  “No one?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Do you think there could be any connection between the killing of your watchdog and this incident?”

  Somerville frowned. “I never thought of that, but … what connection could there be?”

  “I can think of only one reason why anyone would want to kill a watchdog, and that’s because someone wanted to enter the premises and didn’t want to have to deal with the dog or have it give the alarm.”

  “But no one did enter the premises. At least, I don’t think anyone did.”

  “Would you know?”

  “Why, yes. I assume the purpose of breaking in would be robbery, and there was no robbery—nothing was stolen—until last night.”

  “Someone might have wanted to look over the place, see if there was anything worth stealing, and decided there was but that it would be better to wait for a more favorable occasion.” He turned to Mrs. Severn again. “Did Sergeant Polk have anything to say about the killing of the dog?”

  “Well, he was very angry about it. It was he who called the police. But he never said why he thought it was done.”

  “Do you by any chance know a dark-haired, gypsy-looking man with yellow eyes and a scar on his cheek?”

  Mrs. Severn stiffened. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because, when I ran into Polk last week and we went into a pub near here, the man I described came in and Polk had words with him. He told me afterwards that it was someone he’d had trouble with before.”

  Mrs. Severn hesitated, looking at Somerville. “Yes. I think I know who he is,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “My husband, Tom.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes. I hadn’t seen him for sixteen years, since before I went to work for his lordship down at Ansley Cross.”

  “Where has he been? Your husband, I mean.”

  “Where?” Her eyes blazed. “Where he belongs-in jail! At least, that’s where he was to begin with—for ten years. After that he left the country, and I heard he’d gone to Australia.”

  “Why was he in jail? What was the charge?”

  “Robbery and assault with a deadly weapon.” Then, as Wyatt glanced at Somerville, “His lordship knew about it.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Somerville. “He was a thoroughly unsavory and dangerous fellow. He’d been brought up several times for poaching and disturbing the peace and was finally sent away, as Mrs. Severn said, for robbery and assault.”

  “How did Polk know him? What was his connection with him?”

  “His only connection with him was when Tom showed up here,” said Mrs. Severn. “I don’t know why he came back from Australia. Maybe he got in more trouble there. When he got back, he must have gone down to Ansley Cross looking for me, heard I was here in London. Anyway, the first I knew about it was when the bell rang one morning and I opened the door and there he was.”

  “When was this?”

  “A little over a week ago.”

  “What did he want?”

  “What he always wanted, money. That’s not what he started with, of course. He began by saying he’d missed me, wanted to get together with me again. When I told him I wanted nothing to do with him, he said that, in that case, I should pay him to go away. He turned nasty when I said I wouldn’t do that either, but then Polk came to the door. He’d heard enough to guess what was going on, and he told Tom if he didn’t go, he’d call the police.”

  “And did he go?”

  “Yes, he did. He said he’d be back, but Polk told him he’d better not if he knew what was good for him.”

  “Could it have been he who was here last night?”

  “I don’t know. I told you I didn’t see either the man who pulled me out of the brougham or the one who attacked Polk. But I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Do you have any idea where I can find him?”

  “No, I don’t. I never asked him where he was staying, and he never said.”

  “Right.” Wyatt stood up. “You’ve both been very helpful, told us some interesting things. Are you still planning to go to Paris?” he asked Somerville.

  “No. Not after what’s happened. I shall remain here for at least the next few weeks.”

  “Good. Then I’ll be able to reach you if there’s anything more I need to know.”

  “I’ll be here or at my club. And I assume you’ll let me know if there are any developments; if you find out who killed Polk and made off with the brougham.”

  “Of course.” Wyatt bowed to Mrs. Severn and left the room followed by Sergeant Tucker. Somerville accompanied them to the door and let them out.

  The constable was still on duty, even though there were fewer people standing about and watching the house than there had been before. Among them, not gaping or staring but waiting patiently, were Sara and Andrew. Catching Wyatt’s eye, they came forward.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “We heard what happened, and we wanted to tell you how sorry we were,” said Andrew. “I know you liked Polk.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Wyatt quietly. “What else?”

  “Nothing else,” said Sara. “E
xcept that we wondered what you were going to do about lunch.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose we’ll go to a pub. The one I met Polk at is just around the corner, isn’t it?” he asked Tucker.

  “The Red Lion,” said Tucker.

  “Well, of course you can if you want to,” said Andrew. “But we heard a sergeant was with you, and we had a feeling you’d probably want to talk to him. And we thought, if you did, you might want to come back to Rysdale Road for lunch.”

  “And where would you be while we were talking?” asked Wyatt.

  “Why, no place,” said Sara. “I mean, if you didn’t want us around, we’d make ourselves scarce.”

  “I’m sure,” said Wyatt ironically. “These are two young friends of mine,” he said to Tucker. “Sara Wiggins and Andrew Tillett. Sergeant Tucker.”

  “How do.” said Tucker, shaking hands with them. “Seems to me I’ve heard of them. Very helpful in the Denham diamond case, weren’t they?”

  “Don’t think I’d have been able to solve it without them. What do you think of their offer?”

  “Well, they’d give us some sort of place at The Red Lion where we could be private. But we could never be sure someone wasn’t eavesdropping. Besides, the food’s been a little off there lately.”

  “In other words, you vote for Rysdale Road. All right.”

  He waved to a four-wheeler that was coming up the street, gave the driver the address, and they all got in. Wyatt said nothing during the drive to the house and, after an exchange of glances, Sara and Andrew remained silent, too. Matson, the butler, let them in and showed them to the dining room. He and Mrs. Wiggins had been told that there might be company for lunch, and after Mrs. Wiggins had greeted Wyatt and been introduced to Sergeant Tucker, lunch was served, and the four were left alone.

  “Well, Sergeant,” said Wyatt, helping himself to some mustard for the cold beef, “what do you think?”

  “This beef looks prime, sir. Much better than we could get at The Red Lion.”

  “I’m sure it is. But that’s not what I meant.”

  “No, sir.” Tucker looked at Sara and Andrew who were sitting there quietly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. “Well, there are several things that struck me as rather odd.”