Dr. Morelle and the Drummer Girl
Page 10
‘By the simple process of calling at the film-studio in question for a casual conversation with the commissionaire on duty at the studio entrance.’
Miss Frayle felt a little hurt. Even if he hadn’t sufficient confidence in her to send her on such an errand, he might at least have taken her with him. He knew how thrilled she would have been to visit a film-studio, though she would probably have caught only a glimpse of it from the outside.
‘It would appear impossible,’ Dr. Morelle was saying, ‘that he could have taken an active part in the abduction during the short time between leaving Hampstead and reaching the studio. I am, therefore, disposed to regard him as, at any rate, an unlikely suspect.’
‘Good!’ Miss Frayle exclaimed involuntarily. She had felt considerable sympathy for the young film-actor. Convinced as she was that he was deeply in love with Doone Drummer, it was fantastic to her that he had been involved in her disappearance. She caught the Doctor’s sardonic gaze and glanced in some confusion at her note-book.
‘How about Leo Rolf?’ she said, looking up.
Dr. Morelle’s eyes narrowed behind the cloud of cigarette smoke from his Le Sphinx.
‘I was not altogether impressed by him,’ he mused. ‘He was, upon his own admittance, the last person to see the young woman. At the same time he was unable to substantiate the story he told me last night. I have only his word that Miss Drummer left his house safely. I plan to pursue further enquiries regarding him. If necessary, through Inspector Hood.’
Miss Frayle nodded with a little smile.
‘He’d help us. I wonder how he is?’ she went on. ‘It’s about time we saw him again.’
‘It will be unnecessary for him to call and see me in person,’ Dr. Morelle said. ‘I shall be able to convey my requirements to him over the telephone.’
Little did Miss Frayle or Dr. Morelle realise that they were destined to meet Inspector Hood again not only within a very short time, but under dramatic circumstances.
‘I have already ascertained that Rolf has been far from fully employed since his return from America. He has apparently been engaged with writing only two films, his work on the last being so unsuccessful that his engagement was abruptly terminated. I am informed that his estimated earnings during the eighteen months he has been here could not have totalled more than one thousand pounds. Not, one would think, sufficient to maintain the mode of living to which he is obviously accustomed.’
‘One thousand pounds for eighteen months,’ Miss Frayle did some rapid mental arithmetic. ‘That’s only about twelve pounds a week.’
‘I often wonder, my dear Miss Frayle, how I should manage without your invaluable assistance on such problems as the one you have just solved.’
Miss Frayle, however, forgot to blush this time. She was wondering furiously how Dr. Morelle had managed to obtain the information he had about Leo Rolf. She recalled various occasions before when he had demonstrated that there was apparently no source of information to which he hadn’t access.
‘I am in fact assured,’ he was continuing, ‘that the man is in need of employment. Which in turn, of course, suggests that his financial resources are low. A large sum of money such as he might realise by holding Miss Drummer to ransom could prove more than acceptable.’
‘It seems,’ Miss Frayle put in, ‘he’s jolly well our main suspect.’
‘You remind me of an ingenuous member of a jury, persuaded first by counsel for the defence to believe the accused’s innocence, then swayed by counsel for the prosecution into believing the accused’s guilt. I feel confident, for instance, I could now proceed to convince you that Drummer’s secretary, Pearson, is equally suspect.’
‘There are his black gloves —’ Miss Frayle began, breaking off as she realised that her remark was justifying the Doctor’s observation.
‘On the other hand,’ Dr. Morelle said, ‘the fact that he has been long in his present employment and a recipient of Drummer’s confidence is not to be gainsaid.’
‘But,’ Miss Frayle pointed out, ‘Mr. Drummer said you shouldn’t take him at his face value, remember? Behind that nervous manner of his, Mr. Drummer said, he was a sharp little businessman.’
‘Such characteristics might just as easily speak in his favour as against him,’ Dr. Morelle replied. ‘That he is shrewd and capable suggests to me that in the position he holds he must have amassed a useful nest-egg for himself. Legitimately. It is hardly conceivable that he would jeopardise his career by involving himself in such a risky undertaking as abducting his employer’s daughter.’
Miss Frayle recalled the man in the pince-nez with the servile manner with a little grimace of dislike.
‘Supposing,’ she persisted, ‘he hadn’t kidnapped her for money? He may be madly infatuated with her, although she of course couldn’t possibly care for him, and he’s hidden her away so nobody else should get her.’
Dr. Morelle regarded her pityingly.
‘My dear Miss Frayle,’ he said, ‘cannot you for one moment forget your romantic vapourings? Adhere to the facts as we know them. The motive for kidnapping Doone Drummer is ransom to the tune of a ten thousand pound diamond bracelet.’
‘Yes,’ Miss Frayle muttered. ‘Of course.’ And she subsided.
‘In point of fact,’ Dr. Morelle pursued coolly, ‘the demand for the diamond bracelet could sharpen suspicion against Pearson. In his position of trust with Drummer, it is possible that he had also obtained inside information regarding the calling-in of the five-pound notes. If he is responsible for the young woman’s disappearance it follows he would have taken the very steps to protect himself from discovery as those which the kidnapper has in fact adopted.’
‘And there are those black gloves,’ Miss Frayle reminded him. ‘I’m sure they’ve got something to do with the mystery.’
‘Possibly,’ Dr. Morelle replied. ‘Though they are suspicious not because they are black as much as because Pearson would appear to be wearing them surreptitiously. Whether they are black, white, or red silk gloves is unimportant. However, the gloves are no more suspicious than another aspect of his personal appearance, which you have doubtless already noted.’
She blinked at him a little puzzled. Then she said: ‘You mean his curiously deformed hands?’
But Dr. Morelle made no reply. He merely gave her that irritatingly enigmatic smile. Tapping the ash off his cigarette, he left her desperately trying to recall what else it was about the secretary’s appearance that was so obvious but which she had failed to spot.
‘Before you reject our main suspect, Leo Rolf,’ Dr. Morelle continued, ‘in favour of Pearson, let us examine yet another candidate. I feel confident I can in turn persuade you to reject Pearson for her —’
‘Mrs. Huggins, you mean?’ Miss Frayle put in quickly. ‘She did lie about that film, of course.’
Dr. Morelle inclined his head.
‘In case you had misheard the information over the telephone’ — he gave Miss Frayle a smooth smile — ‘I personally checked with the cinema. They confirmed that the film Mrs. Huggins had described as having seen was not being shown at the time in question.’
You have been getting around, Miss Frayle thought to herself. First the film-studio, then finding out about Leo Rolf, and now checking up on the film. No wonder you didn’t have time to come back for tea.
‘The fact that the woman was lying in this instance,’ Dr. Morelle was saying, ‘does not necessarily mean she is guilty of, or implicated in, the kidnapping.’
‘Of course not,’ Miss Frayle agreed. ‘There might be two or three reasons why she lied.’
‘What reasons suggest themselves to you, my dear Miss Frayle? As one who has had occasion to concoct excuses of a similar nature, you should be able to supply me with some appropriate examples.’
‘You do love to nag over things,’ Miss Frayle protested. ‘In any case I didn’t tell you a lie; I explained to you how it came about.’
He regarded her, his expression frankly disbelieving.
‘Nonetheless I await suggestions from that inventive mind of yours.’
‘Well,’ she began vaguely, ‘there are a hundred reasons.’
‘I require only one,’ Dr. Morelle invited.
‘One very obvious reason,’ she said impulsively — then catching the Doctor’s expectantly glinting eye upon her, changed her mind in mid-sentence — ‘is that she had a relative in prison. A brother, for instance, whom she doesn’t want anyone to know about. Yesterday was the visiting day for her to go and see him.’
Dr. Morelle was eyeing her with a look amounting almost to admiration.
‘To my astonishment,’ he said, ‘you have put forward what might appear to be a perfectly plausible explanation.’
‘Shall I get you a glass of water?’ Miss Frayle said sarcastically. ‘Or don’t you think you’re going to faint?’
He ignored her thrust, however, and said thoughtfully:
‘I foresee the time when it will be necessary to question Mrs. Huggins somewhat more closely.’
‘There’s that business about her being able to put on a man’s voice,’ Miss Frayle added.
‘That is also receiving due consideration. It is indeed conceivable that she might be linked with Doone Drummer’s disappearance in some way.’
The telephone rang and Miss Frayle gave the Doctor a glance. He replied with a nod, and she lifted up the receiver.
‘It’s Mr. Drummer,’ she said, and he crossed and took the receiver.
‘Sorry to be ’phoning so late,’ Harvey Drummer apologised. ‘But I felt you hadn’t gone to bed yet.’
‘I am at this moment considering various aspects of your daughter’s disappearance.’
‘Here’s an item of news which I thought you ought to know about. It’s to do with the calling in of the five-pound notes. Afraid my banker friend’s intelligent anticipation had got a bit out of hand,’ Drummer confessed. ‘Been having a chat with him tonight, and he now tells me it turns out it was only a rumour. No basis in fact.’
‘As it happens it is of little consequence,’ Dr. Morelle said.
‘Except that it did give us the idea the kidnapper was somebody who had also got the same information. Remember?’
‘I remember.’
‘Now it seems,’ the other went on, ‘the kidnapper’s demand for the bracelet is nothing to do with having inside information, but sheer cunning. Such as anyone might have. Incidentally, I’ve bought the bracelet. Got it through a Hatton Garden friend. Secondhand, twenty stones and worth every penny of ten thousand. It’s in my safe now.’
‘You have not confided your purchase to anyone?’ Dr. Morelle queried.
‘No one,’ Drummer said promptly. ‘Even the man I bought it from is regarding it as strictly confidential. He added: ‘I shall have to make up some story to tell Pearson. I’ve had to do a bit of juggling with my investments to raise the money.’
Dr. Morelle said: ‘I have been considering the position of your housekeeper in relation to this affair.’
‘You mean about her lying about going to the cinema.’
‘That may be of no importance,’ was the reply. ‘I should like to know more about her husband.’
‘Her husband?’ Drummer sounded surprised. ‘But he’s dead.’
Dr. Morelle did not reply at once. Then:
‘On what sort of terms were they?’
‘All I can tell you is that they got on very well. She was terribly shaken by his death. As she said before you, if it hadn’t been that she liked her job here so much she couldn’t have stayed on.’
‘They came to you with impeccable references, of course?’
‘First rate,’ was the prompt reply. ‘From a chap in the north. Been with him several years, but they wanted to come to London for a change. Same reason as Brethers, as a matter of fact. He was with a retired cotton tycoon living in North Wales. By the way,’ he went on, ‘I’m afraid you upset Brethers by the questioning you gave him this morning.’
‘I am extremely sorry to learn that,’ Dr. Morelle replied. ‘My recollection of the questions is that they were fairly innocuous.’
‘He seems to have got the idea you suspect him of being concerned personally with your missing notes,’ the other explained. ‘After you’d gone he came and told me he’d picked up a letter someone had dropped at the party. He couldn’t remember who it was. Some young chap. He’d returned it to him all right. But as he’d forgotten to mention the incident to you he was wondering if you’d noticed it and thought that he wasn’t being frank omitting to tell you.’
‘You may certainly reassure him on that score,’ Dr. Morelle said.
‘I’ll tell him. He’s a decent sort of chap, as I think you’ll agree. No point in upsetting him for nothing.’
Miss Frayle pricked up her ears as she heard the Doctor say:
‘Miss Frayle was most impressed by him. Though I must mention,’ he added, ‘her predilections are not necessarily an infallible guide. It has been known in similar instances for her to be impressed by the guilty person.’
Miss Frayle pulled a face at Dr. Morelle from behind her note-book. I suppose they’re talking about Brethers, she thought. The quiet-spoken manservant with his unobtrusive, straightforward manner had appeared perfectly self-possessed under Dr. Morelle’s questioning.
‘Do you propose doing anything about Mrs. Huggins?’ Drummer was asking Dr. Morelle.
‘I shall wish to question her again. But for the moment I am anxious not to arouse her suspicions in any way.’
‘There’s Pearson, too. That business of his black gloves.’
‘He must also be handled carefully,’ was the reply. ‘I fancy he might jump to the correct conclusion about any closer interrogation unless his suspicions are carefully lulled.’
‘He’s not given me any hint he suspects what’s happened to Doone,’ the other replied. ‘I saw him before he went out this evening — gone to visit a cousin, I believe, in Fulham. He was his usual nervously chirpy self.’
A few moments later Harvey Drummer rang off. Dr. Morelle stared abstractedly at the spiral of smoke ascending from his cigarette. Miss Frayle watched him silently for several moments. Then she said:
‘Wasn’t Mr. Drummer your first suspect? Didn’t you think he might have kidnapped his own daughter for some mysterious motive?’
Dr. Morelle raised a questioning eyebrow in her direction.
‘It was a possibility which I naturally took into account,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘But the evidence so far appears to indicate that he could not have been in two places at once.’
‘You mean because he was with us when the kidnapper ’phoned?’ As the Doctor made no reply, Miss Frayle added: ‘But the person ’phoning could have been an accomplice.’
‘You think of everything, Miss Frayle,’ Dr. Morelle replied somewhat irritably. ‘Even the most obvious.’
At that moment the door-bell rang. Miss Frayle’s eyes widened behind her horn-rims. She asked:
‘Who on earth could that be?’
Dr. Morelle offered no suggestion and, putting down her notebook, she hurried out of the study.
The bell rang again as she reached the door. The caller, whoever it was, was certainly of an impatient nature. It was a man who stood before her swaying slightly against the darkness of Harley Street.
‘What d’you want?’
His only reply was to stagger towards her. She stepped back with a rising feeling of alarm. Was it some drunk who had rung the bell out of a perverted sense of humour?
Then she saw that his face, as the light from the hall shone on it, was a ghastly white; the eyes were half-closed. At once she realised he was not drunk, but desperately ill. There came a sudden gurgling sound from the man and, with a convulsive movement, he lurched forward and pitched headlong into the hall. Miss Frayle stifled the scream that rose in her throat as she stared down at the dark stain welling from the man’s back. She turned on her heel and ran back calling out for Dr. Morelle.
It was Leo Rolf.
Chapter Fifteen – The Man from Scotland Yard
‘Here we are again,’ the man in the raincoat said. ‘Bobbing up like the proverbial bad penny.’
He leaned his burly frame back in the chair in Dr. Morelle’s study, balancing carefully a somewhat ancient-looking trilby-hat on his knees and clamped his teeth over the stem of his short black pipe.
‘It’s very nice to see you again, Inspector,’ Miss Frayle replied. ‘Though I always think it’s a shame that the only times we meet is when something nasty happens.’
Detective-Inspector Hood chuckled, and the charred bowl of his briar bubbled like a witch’s cauldron as he drew at it. He blew a cloud of acrid tobacco-smoke ceilingwards and commented:
‘I’m a bit like the Doctor here. People only send for me when there’s trouble, just as they only send for you when they’re ill. Eh, Dr. Morelle?’ And exhaling another cloud of smoke he turned to the silent figure who sat a carved figure behind his desk, the tips of his fingers pressed together as he gazed abstractedly before him.
Dr. Morelle might not have heard the other’s little simile. He made no reply, and the Inspector turned back to Miss Frayle with a good-humoured wink.
‘Always get given a nice cup of tea, anyhow,’ he said, ‘when I do come here.’ And he took up the cup of tea which was on the desk at his elbow and drank it off appreciatively.
Miss Frayle gave him a wan but grateful smile. The other’s genial presence was helping her to wipe away the memory of those dreadful moments when she had answered that fateful ring at the door. The Scotland Yard man’s sturdy matter-of-factness had begun to erase some of the nightmarish picture of that ghastly figure stumbling into the hall and collapsing at her feet.
‘No doubt,’ Dr. Morelle murmured apparently taking a sudden interest in the conversation, ‘the reason doctors are not regaled with a cup of tea on their visit is that they are too busy to drink it.’