3 The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  'So you think your intruder was the person who killed Mrs Saunders?'

  'Search me. But if not, it means that two people were up to no good last night.'

  'For Alderley, that's nothing, I can assure you, miss. But when I wondered whether the intruder meant to harm you, I was thinking of something not quite so drastic.'

  'You mean one of the guys was after my virtue? Come off

  it!'

  'Is it beyond the bounds of possibility?'

  'I'd say yes. And I speak as someone not without experience. Tommy would be far too scared. I'd bet my bottom dollar that Timothy'd be absolutely horrified at the very idea. Gregory'd probably try it on if the time and place, and the woman, were right. He's quite a masher. But he's an MP, for Pete's sake! - and holding on by the skin of his teeth. He'd never risk the scandal. He'd be finished if it got out.'

  'He might have thought there was no likelihood of a scandal: that you'd welcome it.'

  For the first time, she looked doubtful. 'Well, I guess I did flirt with him a mite. But only for my own ends, though keep that under your hat.'

  'He couldn't have known your real reason.'

  'Well, if that was his motive, why would he have been messing around by the dresser?' She shook her head decisively. 'No, I'm sure that's not it. Think again, Mr Wilkins.'

  'Well, you're the expert, Miss Simmons. So we're no nearer an explanation. You said there was nothing worth stealing there, and nothing was stolen.'

  'Oh, but there was.'

  'Eh?' For the first time, Wilkins looked surprised. 'But you said last night—'

  'I know. I only discovered it this morning. I didn't have a chance to tell you before.'

  'So what was it?'

  'A tube of toothpaste,' Stella said.

  'A tube of toothpaste?' Wilkins looked totally bemused.

  'Yes, and I can give you a description. About six inches long by an inch wide. White, with blue lettering. Answers to the rather unfortunate name of Dentigleam. Value, hard to assess, as about half the paste had been used but, at an estimate, perhaps sixpence. I haven't decided yet whether to put in an insurance claim.'

  'Are you absolutely sure about this, Miss Simmons?'

  'Well it may have been slightly less than six inches long, and—'

  Wilkins flapped his hands, and she stopped. 'I mean, could you have just mislaid it?'

  'No,' she said firmly. 'It was in a little draw-string toilet bag, with my toothbrush. I used it last night and left it on the dresser afterwards, rather than put it in my case, because I knew I'd be using it in the morning. When I went to get it this morning, the bag was open, the toothbrush was there, but the paste was gone.'

  Wilkins shook his head. 'Rum. Most rum. It's not as though anybody could have mistaken it for something else, even in the dark. A tube of toothpaste doesn't feel like anything except a tube of toothpaste. However, again it doesn't seem to have anything obviously to do with the murder of Mrs Saunders. So let's move on to that. How well did you know her?'

  'I met her yesterday for the first time. We chatted, mainly about Florrie, for a few minutes in the afternoon. That's it. I'd heard about her, from Florrie, who saw her as the original wicked stepmother. I admit I thought she might be prejudiced, but after Clara's performance yesterday, I could believe anything of her.'

  'So when she said she knew something damaging about all of the other beneficiaries, what did you think she knew about you?'

  'Nothing. I've been in the country for less than six months. I doubt Clara even knew of my existence. She couldn't know any of my guilty secrets.'

  'So you do have some guilty secrets?'

  'That would be telling. No, my bet is that all that baloney, knowing things about all of us, was camouflage and she really had one of two people in mind.'

  'And which two would they be?'

  'You're the detective, Detective.'

  'Oh, I'm never too proud to ask for help, miss.'

  'No, I'm not saying: wouldn't be quite cricket, what? Anyway, it's only a hunch.'

  'I take it that yesterday was the first time you'd met any of the others?'

  'Apart from Jean Mackenzie and Tommy, yes. Tommy's my first cousin and I knew him quite well years ago, though he was only a kid then. Oh, and I met Gregory once, when I was in my teens.'

  'You must have felt a bit of an outsider.'

  'Not really. I'd kept in touch with Florrie by mail for years. When I came to . . . came home, one of the first things I did after I'd gotten settled in was look her up. She was as sharp as a needle and had a fantastic memory, and she filled me in on dozens of relatives. Also, of course, I'd read all about the earlier Alderley murders - they got pretty wide coverage in the New York papers, what with several big-shot Americans being mixed up in them, and there was quite a lot of stuff about the Earl and Countess and Gerry. So, all in all, I knew who I'd be meeting and just how we were related.'

  'So what can you tell us about last night?'

  'Zilch. I didn't see Clara after the time she blew her top. I went up to bed at the same time as Tommy and Penny. I went to my room, undressed, took off my make-up, brushed my hair, put on my robe, went to the bathroom, washed my face and hands, brushed my teeth and so on, returned to my room and got straight into bed. It had been a long day and I was asleep in five minutes. The rest you know.'

  Wilkins nodded absently. He looked depressed again. Stella seemed to feel responsible for this. 'Sorry,' she said.

  'That's all right, miss. I didn't really expect anything else. Oh, one more thing: does the name Miss Dora Lethbridge mean anything to you?'

  'Not a thing.'

  'Thank you. Would you ask Miss Saunders to come along next, please?'

  'Sure.'

  She went out.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tommy was sitting on the terrace gloomily going over in his mind his decidedly embarrassing interview with Wilkins, when he saw Lord Burford come round the corner of the house. The Earl was carrying what Tommy at first took to be a bunch of flowers, but then saw that there were no blooms on them; it just seemed to be a mass of greenery. Next Tommy noticed that he was wearing a pair of brown kid gloves. For the middle of August this seemed extremely odd. Tommy kept his eyes fixed on the Earl as he got closer and a few seconds later was able to make out that what his host was carrying was a large bunch of nettles. Tommy stared at him in amazement, and at that moment Lord Burford looked up and saw him. He stopped short. 'Ah,' he said.

  'Nettles,' Tommy said, intelligently.

  The Earl glanced down at them, as though until that moment he had been unaware of their existence. 'Oh yes, yes.'

  'I thought so. I mean, can hardly mistake them, can you?'

  'Suppose not. Make, er, excellent, er, soup - yes, soup, that's it.'

  'Really? Never tried it.'

  'Oh, you should. Very nutritious. I'm just going to give 'em to Cook.'

  'Give 'em a cook? Yourself?'

  'No, no - give 'em to Cook - our cook, Mrs Baldwin, to make into soup. Or something.'

  'Oh, right.'

  Lord Burford hurried off, moving more quickly than Tommy had yet seen him. He blinked. Very weird. He wondered if the strain was getting to the old boy. Perhaps he should say something. But to whom? Not the Countess. He couldn't face that. Gerry, perhaps. But it would need tact. Well, he had plenty of that. He got to his feet

  * * *

  Tommy found Gerry in the morning-room, writing furiously in a notepad. He sat down near her.

  'Another lovely day, what?' he said brightly.

  She nodded absently. 'Mm.'

  'Eat a lot of nettle soup, do you?'

  Gerry gave a little start. 'What did you say?'

  'Or should I say drink? Nettle soup. Like it, do you? Your family, I mean?'

  'Nettle soup? Certainly not. Why the dickens should you ask such a thing?'

  'Your papa. He says it's very good. Nutritious and all that sort of thing.'

  'Probably just so
mething he's read. I don't believe he's ever tasted it in his life, unless it was in France during the war.'

  'Well, you're going to be having some soon, apparently.'

  'What on earth are you talking about?'

  'He's just picked a big bunch of nettles, to give to your cook.'

  'Tommy, stop pulling my leg.'

  'I'm not, cross my heart and all that rot.'

  Gerry stared at him in bewilderment. 'But it doesn't make sense. He never takes the remotest interest in anything like that. Just eats what's put in front of him. Mrs Baldwin will probably give her notice in if he starts taking her peculiar things to cook.'

  'I did wonder if it was all getting on top of him, you know. All these murders. Quite natural.'

  'When was this?'

  'Just a few minutes ago.'

  She stood up. 'Then let's hope I can stop him before he gets to the kitchens. And, Tommy, if you are ribbing me . . .'

  'Gerry, if I wanted to, I could do a darn sight better than this.'

  'Yes, I imagine you could. Sorry. And, Tommy, keep your trap shut, OK?'

  'Oh, absolutely.'

  Gerry sped off.

  * * *

  There came a very timid knock on the door of the small music room. This time Wilkins got up and opened it. 'Ah, Miss Saunders. Do come in. Would you care to sit down?' He might have been a particularly unctuous head waiter welcoming an old and valued customer.

  Penny sat down. She looked terrified. She said: 'I didn't do it.'

  'Didn't you? I'm very pleased to hear it.'

  She stood up again. 'Can I go now?'

  'Just a few questions, if you don't mind.'

  'Oh.' She sat down again.

  'So, who do you think did do it?' Wilkins asked.

  'Gregory.' The answer came immediately.

  'Really? Why's that?'

  'Because of what Clara said. She was going to expose him.'

  'She threatened to expose lots of people. I mean, why do you think it was Mr Carstairs?'

  'He's a horrid man. Daddy hates him.'

  'I see.

  'And he's a Conservative.'

  'Is that bad?'

  'Daddy's a Liberal, and he says the Conservatives are' — she screwed up her eyes and concentrated hard - 'reactionary relics.'

  'Set a lot of store by your father's opinions, do you, Miss Saunders?'

  'No!' Penny looked quite indignant. 'I mean, not on important things like nail polish and cigarettes and night clubs. But he does know an awful lot about politics and things. And it was yummy when he threw Gregory down last night. Stella was really impressed.'

  'It didn't upset you too much, then, this murder?'

  'No. I think it's thrilling. It's not as though anyone nice was murdered. She was a horrid woman. And she was awfully old, so she'd have probably died soon anyway.'

  'No doubt. So Gregory murdering Clara was just about the best thing that could have happened?'

  'Well, I don't know about the best thing. But pretty good.'

  'But tell me, do you have any evidence that Gregory did it? Because, you see, we haven't, and we really need some.'

  'You can't just arrest him, then?'

  'Not without evidence.'

  'It seems so silly, when we know he did it.'

  'That's the law.'

  'I'll tell Daddy it ought to be changed.'

  'Yes, you do that, Miss Saunders. But you didn't see anything?'

  'I could say I did, if you like. Or would that be cheating?'

  'Yes, that would definitely be cheating.'

  'Well, then, no, I didn't see anything at all.'

  'In that case, we needn't keep you any longer.'

  'Really?' She looked disappointed.

  'I thought you wanted to leave.'

  'I did, but I didn't realise it was going to be such fun. Can I ask a question first?'

  'Oh, I've just got one more first: have you ever heard the name Dora Lethbridge - Miss Dora Lethbridge?'

  'I don't think so, no.'

  'Right, ask your question now.'

  'Do you think Peepshow might do another piece about this murder and put my photo in, as one of the Beauties Involved in Murder?'

  'I don't see how they can fail to, Miss Saunders.'

  An expression of deep happiness came over Penny's face and she gave a little sigh, before getting up and starting for the door. Then she stopped and turned. 'And it's OK if I tell everyone you know Gregory killed her, is it?'

  Wilkins gave a start. 'No! Definitely not, Miss Saunders.'

  'But I thought—' She stopped and a look of sudden understanding came into her eyes. 'Oh, I see! You think if he knows we know, he might get away.'

  'Yes. That's it. And heaven knows who else he might kill in the process. You, your father, Tommy.'

  'Oh, golly, I never thought of that. All right, I won't breathe a word.'

  'Thank you, Miss Saunders. Could you kindly ask your father if he could join us, please.'

  'OK.' She looked at Leather, who was still writing rapidly in his notebook. 'You're very good at that, aren't you?'

  Leather looked up. 'Pretty good, I reckon, miss.'

  'Do you think you might like to be a secretary, one day? To a career woman, running her own company?'

  'I don't think so, miss. I'm very happy in the police force.'

  'That's a shame. If you change your mind, let me know.'

  'I'll do that.'

  She smiled at them both radiantly and went out.

  'Talk about dumb blondes!' Leather exclaimed, as the door closed behind her.

  'Likeable, though.'

  'She's jolly pretty, I'll say that.'

  'I thought you would, Jack.'

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gerry went first to the kitchens. There was no sign of the Earl. She engaged Mrs Baldwin in conversation for a few minutes, on the pretext of seeking her advice about the menu for an imaginary proposed dinner party in her London flat. She cast surreptitious glances around, but nowhere was there any sign of nettles, nor did Mrs Baldwin seem in any way bemused or disgruntled, so presumably the Earl had been delayed en route.

  She thanked the cook and made her way to her father's study. She tapped on the door.

  There was a couple of seconds' pause before her father's voice called: 'Who is it?'

  Gerry raised her eyebrows. That was an unusual response, for a start. 'Me.'

  'Oh, hang on.'

  This time there was a full half minute's delay before he called: 'Come in.'

  Gerry opened the door and peered somewhat apprehensively into the room. The Earl was seated at his desk, which was covered by an open copy of The Times. He had quite a guilty expression on his face as he stared enquiringly at her. 'Er, what is it, my dear?'

  'Daddy, what is this nonsense about nettle soup?'

  'Oh. Well, supposed to be quite nice and good for one. Thought we might try it sometime.'

  'Tommy said you were going to take some nettles to Mrs Baldwin.'

  'Haven't got round to that yet.'

  'Thank heavens. She'd have thought you were absolutely doollally.'

  'Don't see why. Traditional British dish. We ought to keep up these old customs.'

  'But why bring the stuff in here? That is it, isn't it?' She reached out and removed the newspaper. A big pile of already somewhat wilted nettles nearly covered the desk top. There were also two kid gloves and a pair of scissors. Gerry stared. Many of the leaves had already been cut from the stalks and themselves further cut into small pieces. 'Why, by all that's wonderful, are you cutting them up?'

  'Er, just thought I'd save Cook the trouble. Get them ready for the pot. Didn't want her or one of the maids gettin' stung. I had to wear my gloves.'

  Gerry took a deep breath. 'Daddy, promise me one thing: don't take these to the kitchen. Mrs Baldwin really wouldn't appreciate it. You know she can be as temperamental as any French chef and she might well be insulted.'

  'Oh, if that's what you think
. I'll forget all about it.'

  'That would be a very good idea.'

  'Run along now, my dear. I've got a lot of things to do this morning.'

  Gerry refrained from asking what they were. She left the room with a baffled expression on her face.

  * * *

  Timothy came into the room without knocking, walked quickly to the empty chair and sat down.

  'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,' Wilkins said.

  'I imagined at first it was some kind of psychological ploy.' (Wilkins looked hurt.) 'Then after you asked to see Miss Mackenzie first, I decided you were taking us in the order of the degree of suspicion that is attached to us, working upwards. However, if that is the case, I fail to understand why you saw Lambert before my daughter. I cannot imagine that you consider Penelope a suspect in this case.'

  'Everyone is a suspect, Mr Saunders. Some, of course, are more, er' - he hesitated - 'more suspectable than others.' He frowned, as though unhappy with the word, before continuing. 'No, actually, we saw Miss Mackenzie first because she obviously had something she wanted to tell us. I understand you now know what that was.'

  Timothy nodded. 'Highly bizarre.'

  'We saw Mr Lambert next, as Miss Mackenzie informed us she had told him in advance of her plan, and we wanted his confirmation of that. Miss Simmons was possibly the only person actually to have seen the murderer, so it seemed sensible to talk to her next. In fact, it turned out she saw nothing. Then I spoke to Miss Penelope, as I imagined she might be nervous. Though that also turns out to have been wrong.'

  'I regret to say she seems to be quite enjoying the situation.'

  'Ah well, sir, the exuberance of youth, as they say. What a wonderful thing it is.'

  'I must say I never felt especially exuberant as a youth. May we get on now?'

  'Of course, sir. Well, I don't intend to start questioning the best cross-examiner in the country. So I'll just leave it to you to tell me anything you think may be relevant, though I may have one or two points to clarify when you've finished.'

  Timothy bowed his head slightly. 'Thank you, Chief Inspector, I appreciate the courtesy. I had best begin by saying that Mrs Saunders' statement at the reading of the will regarding having damaging information about each of us was, in my case, totally incorrect. I do not say my life is an open book - no man's is - but that she possessed knowledge which, as she put it, could ruin my reputation is simply not conceivable. I therefore had no motive for killing her. As to the crime itself, I can offer nothing of value. I retired to my room a minute or two before eleven. The next thing I can tell you is hearing the sound of the crash. I looked at the luminous dial of my watch. It was precisely 12:28.'