The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9)

by Clara Benson

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Angela, ‘but of course you’re right.’

  ‘But who was it? Might it have been this friend of his at the club you mentioned? I don’t suppose he’s been asked to provide an alibi. I shall have to look into that.’

  ‘Do,’ said Angela, who for the first time was starting to take an interest. ‘He might have asked the friend to come and help him search my place.’

  ‘Yes, that seems possible. All right, then, we have our first suspect. Now, what about others? You say you don’t know of any other friends he might have had. Did he have family here?’

  ‘No,’ said Angela. ‘I expect there’s a woman somewhere, though. Davie always had a woman in tow. I never knew him to be without one.’

  ‘Oh, one of those types, was he?’ said Freddy sympathetically. ‘Poor you. He must have worked fast, though, to secure himself a willing female only a day or two after his arrival. Didn’t you say he’d only got here the day before he first turned up at your flat?’

  ‘That’s what he said, yes,’ said Angela, thinking. ‘As a matter of fact, Freddy, I wonder whether you mightn’t be on to something. Of course it’s too soon even for Davie to have picked someone up in the time, but he might have brought someone with him. Perhaps they came over together from New York. How can we find out?’

  ‘Well, I imagine the first step will be to take a look at the passenger lists,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Will you do that? I’d do it myself, naturally, but I’m engaged for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘No sooner said than done,’ said Freddy, pleased to see that his friend was looking more alive and much more like herself at the prospect of these new leads. ‘I shall go and bother the personnel at the White Star offices and refuse to leave until they give me what I want.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t know how you might find out a name, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

  ‘I only hope so,’ said Freddy under his breath as he left the prison shortly afterwards. It was a slim chance, but anything was better than nothing at this stage, and he was determined to do everything he could to get Angela acquitted of the charge against her.

  TWELVE

  Freddy’s first act on leaving the prison was to find a public telephone box, from where he called the offices of the Clarion to tell them that he had been struck down by a ghastly illness that might well prove fatal, and that as a consequence he would not be able to come in for a few days. Having convinced his editor that if he turned up to work he would most likely pass on scarlet fever, malaria, influenza and smallpox to everyone in the office, much to the disadvantage of the publication as a whole, he hung up and fished out his notebook, in which he had written a list, as follows:

  1. Taxi driver

  2. White Rabbit Ball party. Who saw the man?

  3. Chap at Burkett’s

  4. Who was the woman? White Star. Where was she staying in London?

  He frowned as he regarded the third and fourth points. It was not much to go on, but if they were right in their supposition that Davie had come to Angela’s flat in company with his killer—and it seemed likely that this were the case—then it was vital that he find out more about Davie’s movements in the days leading up to his death. Angela’s revolver had still not been found, and until it was they should never know whether it was the weapon which had killed Davie, or whether another gun entirely had been used. The second set of door keys was also still missing. If either or both of those things could be found in someone’s possession, then Angela would be in the clear. The police were not interested, and Angela of course could do nothing, so it was all up to him.

  His eye then fell on points 1. and 2. of the list, which related to Angela’s alibi. For the first time Freddy was struck by the absurdity of his determination to force an alibi on to someone who did not want it. Still, if he could find it then she should accept it whether she liked it or not. He was musing on this when an idea struck him, and he was surprised that he had not thought of it before. He took his pencil and added to the list:

  5. Marthe

  Of course Marthe would know who Angela’s mysterious man was, if anyone did. He would speak to her immediately. She was a little frosty, true, but she adored her mistress and Freddy was confident that she would speak if Angela’s life was at stake.

  He hailed a taxi and shortly afterwards was set down at 23 Mount Street. Marthe was there, and regarded him suspiciously through a crack in the door, but when he told her that he was investigating Angela’s case on her behalf she unbent a little and stood back to let him in. He could not help but glance about as he entered Angela’s spacious, well-appointed sitting-room. There, facing him, was the sofa behind which Davie had presumably met his end. It was a large chesterfield in green leather, and it was placed facing the door with enough space between it and the window to allow someone to pass behind it.

  ‘Do you mind if I have a look?’ he said to Marthe.

  She shrugged and he walked over to it and gazed at the spot where Davie Marchmont had lain. Of course, everything had been cleaned up now, and there was nothing at all to be seen.

  ‘What was he doing behind the sofa?’ he said. ‘It seems an odd sort of place to stand, don’t you think?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ replied Marthe. ‘I do not understand anything. It is all quite absurd.’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted to look out of the window,’ he said, ‘although there wouldn’t be much to see in the middle of the night.’ He gazed about him. ‘I take it the place has been searched. And I expect you’ve had a good look around yourself too, haven’t you, Marthe?’

  She said nothing, but merely regarded him politely with eyebrows raised, as though waiting for him to tell her what he would like to drink.

  ‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you’d found any evidence?’ he said, although he knew from Angela that Marthe was something of a law unto herself. He had no doubt that if she had found anything to her mistress’s disadvantage then she would have destroyed it immediately.

  ‘Naturally,’ said Marthe.

  They gazed at one another in silence, Freddy wondering how best to approach the subject he really wanted to discuss. In the end he decided to come straight out with it.

  ‘Listen, Marthe,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you want Angela to be released as much as I do, so you must tell me everything you know. It’s terribly important that you don’t keep secrets at a time like this. I need as much information as I can find out if I’m going to prove her innocence.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Marthe.

  ‘Then I should like you to tell me about the man I saw dancing with Angela on the night of the ball,’ he said. ‘They looked as though they were on rather close terms. I believe she was not here at all at the time of the murder, but was somewhere else with this fellow, and she won’t give him away.’

  ‘But monsieur, I was not here on the night of the ball,’ said Marthe. ‘I know nothing of whom she danced with.’

  This was prevarication at its finest, and Freddy had the sinking feeling that he should get nothing out of her.

  ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know very well what you meant,’ said Marthe. ‘And I tell you, there was no-one.’

  ‘Please, Marthe,’ said Freddy.

  Was it his imagination, or did a look of pity briefly pass across her face? She would not give way, however, for she was absolutely loyal to her mistress.

  ‘I have received a letter from Madame herself,’ she said. ‘She has assured me that she did not shoot her husband, and that she is absolutely certain that nobody of her acquaintance did it either, so I am not to worry myself about it.’

  Freddy stared at her in puzzlement. Why on earth should Angela have taken pains to assure her maid that none of her friends had killed Davie Marchmont? Then it struck him: of course, it was a warning to Marthe not to give away the man! Angela could not risk saying it plainly, but s
he had as good as told the girl not to reveal his identity to anybody, for he had had nothing to do with the murder.

  At that moment Freddy could have given Angela a good shake for her stubbornness in shielding this man. She was an intelligent woman, and had been perfectly right when she said that any alibi he provided was likely to be looked upon with suspicion by a jury, but still, he might be able to provide some proof of their having been elsewhere that night even if she could not.

  For a second, Freddy found his faith in his friend shaken. If she was so determined not to reveal the man’s identity, might that be because she was not, in fact, innocent? Might she have committed the murder after all? It was a brief jolt, but it soon passed and he was restored to all his usual optimism. Angela was not a murderer. Very well; if Marthe would say nothing, then he should find it out in some other way.

  He left 23 Mount Street and walked a little way until he reached the mews where Angela’s chauffeur, William, lived with the Bentley. If Marthe would say nothing then Freddy had little hope that William would be any more forthcoming, but he was determined to try, at least. Alas, his supposition proved correct, for William merely fixed him with a fierce stare and said that there was no use in Freddy’s asking him anything, for he had nothing to say and would never speak ill of his employer or give away any information that might have been entrusted to him in confidence. At that point, Freddy gave it up and left, marvelling that Angela had managed to find two such unswervingly loyal servants—even if their loyalty was something of a trial to him at present.

  His next stop was Burkett’s club in Pall Mall, where after a few minutes’ negotiation with the commissionaire, who regarded him askance, he was admitted and asked if they had seen Mr. Alfred Pearson that day. Mr. Pearson was there at that very moment, as it happened, and on hearing that a gentleman (the word was pronounced by the secretary with only a fraction of a second’s hesitation) wished to speak to him in connection with the death of his friend Mr. Marchmont, declared himself only too happy to talk to the fellow. Police, was it?

  Pearson was slightly taken aback when, instead of a police sergeant, he found himself face to face with a young man wearing an insouciant air and a slightly disreputable appearance. He was half-inclined to go back on his agreement, but Freddy was perfectly polite and respectful and so he hesitated and eventually invited the young man into the library, where they might converse in private.

  ‘So you’re here on behalf of Marchmont’s wife, eh?’ he said when they were seated. ‘I gather they’ve arrested her for his murder. Terrible business, what?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Freddy. ‘I know she didn’t do it, but I’m having the devil of a job finding out who did.’

  He had judged that the best approach was to be quite open with the man, for it would be difficult in the circumstances to question him without revealing what he was really looking for. If Alfred Pearson were the man they wanted, then he would be put on his guard, but that could not be helped. Still, Freddy’s first impression of the fellow was that he did not seem the type, for he was a bluff, open-faced sort with the air of one eager to please. He did not seem the kind of person to have a friend like Davie Marchmont, and Freddy wondered how the two of them had met. Pearson soon explained.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry the man’s dead, of course,’ he said, ‘but I should be lying if I said we were close pals. I met him when I was out in New York on business a couple of years ago. Got lost in a down-at-heel part of town late at night. I had my evening things on, and a couple of toughs started to give me some trouble, but then Marchmont came along and sent them packing. He thought it was a tremendous joke and took me off for a drink to recover my nerves, then he took it upon himself to act as my tour guide for the rest of my stay. Very kind of him, of course, but the sorts of places he visited weren’t the kind to appeal to me, since they all seemed to be illegal drinking dens—can’t remember what they call them—some odd name. I won’t say no to a drink or two myself, of course, but I was in New York on important business, and it wouldn’t have done to get myself arrested, so I was pretty nervous all the while I was with him, and I wasn’t sorry when I had to leave.

  ‘I’d given him my address in Aldershot and told him to look me up if he was ever in England, although of course, that’s the kind of thing one says. It doesn’t mean anything, and I never really expected he would turn up. But then I got a letter from him to say that he was coming over to London for a little while, and could I put him up? I wasn’t too keen on the idea, to be perfectly frank. I didn’t think my wife would take to him much, and truth to tell I hadn’t told her about those drinking dens in New York either. I was rather worried that he’d come out with the whole thing, and then I’d be in trouble. So instead of inviting him to Aldershot, I suggested that we stay for a few days at my club instead. He was all for that—he’d heard of these gentleman’s clubs, he said, and he’d like to have the opportunity to visit one. So that’s what we did. He arrived on the sixth of November—of course, you’ll already know that from the police—and came to stay at Burkett’s with me for a few days.’

  ‘Was he alone?’ said Freddy. ‘I mean, he didn’t have a woman with him at all?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Pearson uncomprehendingly. ‘Burkett’s doesn’t allow women.’

  ‘No, but I thought you might have seen him in company with one outside the club.’

  ‘No, no, nothing of the sort,’ said Pearson. ‘I never met his wife. In fact, he never mentioned her at all. That’s why I was so surprised when I heard what had happened.’

  Freddy gave it up, for it was perfectly evident that Pearson was an unsuspicious type who did not go around looking for bad behaviour in others.

  ‘So, then,’ he said. ‘You were in company with him from Tuesday the sixth until Saturday the tenth of November. Did you see anything in that time which might have indicated that he had an enemy?’

  ‘No,’ said Pearson. He looked a little uncomfortable. ‘As a matter of fact, though, I didn’t spend all the time in company with him, since by that time I’d rather realized that he wasn’t my sort of man at all, and so I’d begun to try and avoid him wherever possible.’

  ‘Oh? Why was that?’

  ‘Why, to start with the fellow never liked to pay his way,’ said Pearson. ‘Ducking out like that simply isn’t done, but he seemed to expect that I would cover all his expenses. You know, his bills here at the club and suchlike. He was playing cards one evening and he borrowed some money off me for that, too. I assumed he’d pay me back, but after a day or two he still hadn’t done it and I thought I’d better say something. I remarked upon it jokingly and he said something about settling up later, but when I reminded him of it the next day he laughed and said he’d thought I wouldn’t expect it of him, given the obligation I was under for his having saved me in New York that time. I thought that was rather a low thing to say, and I was so surprised at it that I said so. That just made him laugh all the more. Then he clapped me on the shoulder and said he was a little short of funds and he knew I wouldn’t mind subbing him while he was here, because we were pals, weren’t we? After all, we both knew I could rely on him not to mention anything to my wife about what we’d got up to in those drinking places in New York.’

  He paused, a worried expression on his face.

  ‘That sounds rather like blackmail to me,’ said Freddy.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ said Pearson. ‘And yet I never thought of it in that way at the time—I mean to say, he never said outright that I’d better pay for him or he’d tell my wife—but I did feel uncomfortably as though I had better watch my step. At any rate, I stopped mentioning the money and tried to distance myself a little from him for the next day or two. Of course, I couldn’t go home to Aldershot as I’d spoken for him at the club, but I said something about going to visit an old friend of mine who was sick, which gave me an excuse to get away for a day. He didn’t seem to mind—said he could amuse himself easily enough while I was aw
ay.’

  ‘What day was that?’ said Freddy.

  ‘That was the Saturday,’ said Pearson.

  ‘The day he died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you never saw him again?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Yes, I saw him again,’ said Pearson. ‘I returned early that evening and found him at the club, playing cards with some of the chaps.’

  ‘And how did he seem then?’

  ‘Oh, tremendously cheerful. He always had a smile on his face, you know. Nothing ever seemed to put him out. He greeted me as though he hadn’t noticed that I’d been trying to avoid him—although I’m certain he must have—and invited me to sit down and join in the game. I didn’t want to give him any more money and was about to refuse when he threw a bundle of notes at me and said it was by way of repayment, and that he’d had a stroke of good fortune and was feeling rather flush at present. He was intending to return to New York in the next day or two, he said, and I’d soon be rid of him. He must have seen me hesitate because he said, “Come on, old fellow. I’ve thrown down the gauntlet and you can’t say no.” Then he laughed uproariously as though he’d said something enormously funny, and kept on urging me until in the end I agreed to join in. There didn’t seem any harm in it—especially as he was paying his own way now and was going to leave soon. To be perfectly frank, it was idiotic of him to play that evening. He’d quite obviously been drinking, but he didn’t seem to care about the amount of money he was losing.’

  ‘Did he lose a lot, then?’ said Freddy, thinking of the five hundred pounds that Angela had given her husband only a few days earlier, thrown away in a drunken card game.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Pearson. ‘He seemed to be very much in funds that evening. I pointed out to him that perhaps he ought to give it up before he lost it all, but he just said I needn’t worry—that there was plenty more where that came from, and he was going to get it very soon. Then he said “I’m going to throw down the gauntlet again, Pearson, and then I’ll be set for life.” He seemed to think the remark was hilarious, although I haven’t the faintest idea why.’