3 The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  'What did you talk about?'

  'I commiserated with her, said I didn't think Florrie meant to insult her, but was relying on the girls to see she was all right - nonsense, of course, but one has to say something - and that Florrie was very old and getting perhaps a little eccentric, and that she mustn't take it to heart. She thanked me, congratulated me on my few words at the funeral, said how kind Lavinia had been, and so on.'

  'Her threats at the reading weren't mentioned?'

  'No, I thought it was well to stay clear of them. As I was leaving, she did say she was very sorry about everything. A bit ambiguous, but that must have been what she was referring to.'

  'And this was at about ten or fifteen minutes past eleven?'

  'I suppose so. I couldn't say precisely.'

  'Why didn't you mention this before?'

  'Suppose I should have done. But I thought about it carefully and decided that it was quite irrelevant to your investigation. So I asked myself, why complicate things? Might look suspicious if I said I'd been to her room.'

  'Not nearly as suspicious as keeping silent about it, sir.'

  'I can't see it as suspicious. I went into her room while she was still up. I left openly, without even looking round to see if I'd been observed. I didn't creep into her room in the dark, for the purpose of leaving a frightening anonymous note, and then run like a scared rabbit back to my room and sit quaking in my shoes, without telling anyone, when I found her murdered — which is what Timothy says he did. He then goes on to say, simply on the grounds of seeing me leave her room half an hour earlier, that I was 'obviously' the murderer. This from a reputedly top rank barrister. Let's all hope to heaven he never sits on the bench. He'd be another Judge Jeffries! Worse, in fact: at least Jeffries never actually killed anyone with his own hands.'

  'How dare you!'

  Timothy positively bellowed the words. He jumped to his feet and strode towards Gregory, who took a hasty step backwards. Leather quickly and silently strode across the room, until he was standing a foot or two behind Timothy. Wilkins reached into his pocket, produced a boiled sweet, unwrapped it, popped it in his mouth, folded his arms and watched interestedly.

  'You murderer!' Timothy shouted, seemingly totally out of control. 'You did kill her, you blackguard! She knew all about your kept woman in St. John's Wood. She was going to tell the papers. You went to her room to try and threaten or bribe her out of it, and when you couldn't you killed her.'

  Gregory's face took on the colour of ripe beetroot. 'Liar!' he yelled. 'It was your drunken orgy she was going to tell about.'

  'Drunken orgy? What the devil do you mean?'

  'What else does that photo show?'

  Timothy's eyes bulged. 'How do you know what that picture shows? It was you - you sent it!'

  He started to make a lunge at Gregory. But Leather was quicker. In a flash his right arm had gone round Timothy's neck and his left under Timothy's arm and he had the lapels of his jacket in a firm grip. Timothy made a series of convulsive movements, desperately trying to break the hold, but without success. 'Give it up, sir,' Leather said quietly. 'I'm a fourth Dan.'

  Timothy tapped the back of Leather's hand, and Leather immediately released him

  Timothy coughed, then swung round to Wilkins. 'Ask him. Ask him how he knows about that photo.'

  'No,' Gregory positively snarled. 'Ask him why he's so desperate to pin the murder on me.'

  The next second they were shouting at each other again. Hardly a clear word could be picked out.

  Wilkins raised his hands. 'Gentlemen, please.'

  They ignored him. 'Please, please,' he repeated, but there was no effect.

  Wilkins took a deep breath, 'SHUT UP!'

  His low, resonant voice filled the room. Gregory and Timothy both gave a start and at last fell silent.

  'Thank you,' Wilkins said. 'I would remind you, gentlemen, that we are all guests of Lord Burford, whose daughter is at this moment lying unconscious upstairs, perhaps fighting for her life. Is this appropriate behaviour?'

  They both had the grace to look guilty.

  Timothy spoke first. 'No, it is not and I'm sorry. I rarely lose control, but the situation is somewhat exceptional.'

  'I apologise, too,' Gregory said. 'My only excuse is that it is hard to remain calm when you can see the possibility of being charged with murder.'

  'Very well,' Wilkins said. 'Let's see if we can get to the bottom of what did happen that night. Mr Carstairs, Mr Timothy has said he planted one cufflink in Mrs Clara's room. I suppose it was you who planted the other thirty-eight?'

  'Don't know what you're talking about, Wilkins.'

  'Then let me make it simpler. When did you first notice one of your cufflinks was missing?'

  'None of my cufflinks is missing. Only brought one pair with me and I'm wearing them. See.' He pulled down his shirt cuffs to reveal a pair of gold links.

  'I wonder if you would show those to Lord Burford, sir.'

  Apparently with some reluctance, Gregory crossed to the Earl and held out his wrists. Lord Burford peered at the links. 'Why, those are mine. Recognise them anywhere. But do hang on to them, by all means. Now, please all excuse me. I must get back to Gerry.' He hurried out of the room.

  'Seems pretty conclusive, sir,' Wilkins said. 'But before you comment, I want to say one thing to both you and Mr Timothy. You've both concealed things and hindered my investigation. If you hadn't done so, the case might have been solved before this. And I warn you that if there are any more lies or concealments I shall have no hesitation in charging you with obstructing the course of justice, which would do neither of your careers any good. Now, the full truth, if you please, sir.'

  All right.' Gregory seemed suddenly to have shrunk an inch or two. He sat down on the arm of an easy chair and ran his fingers through his rather sparse hair. 'I went upstairs about a minute after Timothy and stopped in to see Clara, exactly as I told you, and afterwards went on to my room. I got all ready for bed but I couldn't settle down and after about fifteen minutes I decided to go and help myself to a drink. I put on my dressing- gown and went downstairs. Geraldine and Dorothy were in the drawing-room but I didn't feel correctly attired to join them. I knew there were some drinks kept in the billiard-room, so I went there and had a Scotch and soda - well, two to be quite accurate - and smoked a cigarette. I stayed down there about fifteen or twenty minutes, and then started back upstairs. I had nearly reached the top when I saw Timothy in the act of closing Clara's door. He had his back to me and hadn't seen me. There were dim lights in the hall and in the corridor, but nothing on the stairs, so I retreated half a dozen steps, until I was more or less in shadow. The next second I saw him practically run across the top of the staircase, going towards his room. I imagined he'd been trying to persuade her to keep quiet about whatever it was she knew about him. Well, I wanted another word with her myself—'

  Wilkins interrupted. 'Why, sir?'

  'What?'

  'You'd had a reasonably pleasant conversation with her earlier, parted on good terms, so why did you want to see her again? Was it because your attempt to persuade her to keep quiet had failed and you wanted another go?'

  Gregory hesitated. 'Not exactly. I hadn't tried to persuade her to keep quiet earlier, but I admit I did try to pump her. She was like a clam, though. I don't believe now she knew anything at all, but at that time I was convinced she did, and I decided it would be worth one more try to find out what, and what she intended to do. I had assumed she'd be asleep, but now it seemed clear she wasn't. I tapped on her door but there was no reply. That surprised me, because it was less than a minute since Timothy had left. I knocked a bit louder and when there was still no answer I opened the door. The light was out and I began to think this was rum. I turned on the light and, well, you know what I saw. I needn't bother to tell you my emotions. I closed the door behind me but apart from that just stood there, more or less rooted to the spot, trying to think, for five or ten minutes. It was plain
Timothy had killed her - or else why wouldn't he have raised the alarm immediately? I was going to do so myself, but then I wondered if somebody might have seen me going in there earlier. I had absolutely no proof that I had left Clara alive and well, or that Timothy had been in there after me. What was more, as an MP, I would obviously be by far the most likely person to want to cover up any so-called guilty secret. But I just couldn't concentrate, with Clara lying on the bed like that, staring up at me. I had to go back to my room, to work out what to do.

  'Almost as soon as I got there, I noticed something. When I'm staying in a place for just the one night, I don't usually bother to put my clothes away overnight. I'd brought a clean collar for the next day, of course, but no spare shirt, and I'd thrown it over the back of a chair. My tie, this black tie, had been on top of it. Now it was on the floor. Somebody'd been in there. I had a look round, to see if anything was missing - and at once noticed that one of my cufflinks, which I'd left half in the cuffs, ready for the next day, was gone.

  'I realised in a flash what had happened. When I had seen Timothy leaving Clara's room, he had not at that moment killed her. He must have done it earlier, and then tried to think of a way to divert suspicion. He'd no doubt seen me going downstairs, slipped into my room, pinched one of my cufflinks and hidden it in Clara's room. When I saw him leaving, he'd just done that.'

  'This is the most—' Timothy began, but Wilkins silenced him. 'Mr Saunders, please, I'll come back to you in a moment. Let Mr Carstairs finish.' Timothy gave a resigned shrug and sat down again on the sofa.

  'For minutes I just couldn't think what to do at all,' Gregory continued. 'I couldn't go back and look for it. It might take half an hour, or I might never find it. But I couldn't let the police find one cufflink, my cufflink, in Clara's room. Then it came to me. If I could camouflage my link with lots of others, it wouldn't be recognised, wouldn't stand out. I remembered what George had been saying at dinner about having a good many pairs. So I went to his dressing-room and took them all - and gave the box a wipe over with my handkerchief. I kept the pair I'm wearing for myself, went back to Clara's room, opened the door and just threw them in. No doubt you think I've misled you, Chief Inspector, but I would say I was unmisleading you, even though it was confusing for you. If you had found that one cufflink by Clara's body, you would have been convinced I was the murderer. All I was doing was getting myself out of what I believe nowadays is called a frame-up. Well, that's just about it.'

  'I don't think so, sir.'

  'I'm sorry?

  'Didn't you attempt to do a little framing yourself?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'The photograph. Mrs Clara never stole that from Mr Timothy's room. She would have had no earthly reason to think he would be carrying anything compromising with him. Anyway, while she may not have been averse to a little bribery, I don't believe she was actually a thief. What do you say, ladies?' He looked at the sisters.

  Dorothy shook her head. 'No. Mother would never have done that.'

  'I agree,' Agatha said. 'Everyone knows I was under no illusions about her, but she wasn't a criminal, for heaven's sake. Besides, I think she would have been far too afraid of being caught.'

  'She knew she'd behaved very badly earlier,' Dorothy added, 'and she would never do anything that would make people think even worse of her, if it ever came to light.'

  'Thank you. My thinking exactly. No, you're the only one who could have done that, Mr Carstairs. Now please remember what I said: I want the full truth.'

  'All right. Yes, I did.'

  'Why, you unmitigated cad!' Timothy shouted.

  'Tit for tat, Timothy, tit for tat.' He looked at Wilkins. 'You must remember, Chief Inspector, that I saw him leaving Clara's room, and then discovered he had tried to frame me for the crime. I knew I had to put the police back on the right track. It was after I'd taken the cufflinks that it occurred to me to plant something of his in Clara's room. But it seemed impossible, as he was still in his room. But just as I was leaving George's dressing-room, I saw a shaft of light appear in the corridor from Timothy's door opening, and I dodged back in. I kept the door open a fraction of an inch, and watched him go past. I peered after him and saw that he went down the staircase. I guessed that, like me, he needed a drink. I knew that would give me a few minutes, so I hurried into his room. I couldn't see anything at first that would be suitable, on the dressing-table or bedside table. I had a quick rummage through his overnight bag, but there was nothing there, either. Then I saw his briefcase.

  'And you forced the lock,' Timothy interrupted angrily.

  'No, it was unlocked.'

  'It wasn't - oh.' Timothy stopped short. For the first time he looked a little awkward. 'I must have forgotten to lock it after I took my writing-case out. And later I had other things on my mind.'

  'Such as murder,' Gregory sneered.

  'Mr Carstairs, please!' Wilkins said exasperatedly. 'Just carry on with your story.

  'I had a rummage through the briefcase. And, no, I did not look at any of the papers in there. They were of no interest. I was looking for something like a fountain pen or propelling pencil, something that might easily fall out of a breast pocket if you were bending over somebody suffocating them with a cushion. But then I saw the corner of a photograph. I took it out and looked at it. I could hardly believe my luck. I hurried back to Clara's room and put it in her handbag. In my haste, I forgot the cufflinks, which were in my pocket, until I'd got back to the door. So, as I said, I chucked them from the doorway then went back to my room. It had only been about seven or eight minutes from the time I left it. And that, Wilkins, is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.'

  'Thank you, sir. Mr Saunders, do you have any comments?

  'At this time just one. When he saw me as he was coming up the stairs, I had not in fact been in Clara's room at that time. I had intended, as well as leaving the cufflink there, to retrieve the postcard, but as I was opening the door, I heard a slight sound from the east corridor, which could have been another door opening or closing. No doubt it was Miss Mackenzie, on her way to the art gallery, but I didn't know that then. So all I had time to do was throw the cufflink in blindly, before practically running back to my own room. When I got there, I suffered a quite severe attack of palpitations and had to sit down for five or ten minutes. Then I did decide I needed a drink, went downstairs and had a brandy, and then returned to my room, where I remained until I heard the commotion.'

  'And that is everything you have to tell us, Mr Saunders?'

  'Yes, but I do have a request.'

  'And what would that be?'

  'Perhaps this is not the best time, in the middle of your interviews, but I feel it may be the last opportunity, the last time we are all together. I would like you to show that photograph to everyone else.'

  Wilkins raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure, sir.'

  'Quite sure. I do not want everybody indulging in much fruitless speculation as to its nature.'

  'As you wish.' Wilkins looked round the room, then took a few steps towards Julie and held it out to her.

  There was a marked apprehension in her eyes as she took it and glanced down at it. Then her face changed. However, anyone who had expected an exclamation of disgust or horror was surprised.

  She looked up. 'Is this it? Is this all?' she asked blankly.

  'All?' echoed Timothy.

  'But it's totally innocuous!'

  She looked at it again. It showed Timothy lolling back in a chair. He was in evening dress, with his collar askew, and was wearing a barrister's wig sideways. He was holding an upturned champagne bottle to his mouth. On his lap, her arm around his neck, was an extremely attractive brunette.

  'Yes,' Julie said, 'I think everybody should see this.' She handed it back to Wilkins.

  He took it round the circle. Miss Mackenzie frowned with slight distaste, Agatha and Dorothy showed no emotion. Tommy started to give a grin, which he quickly stifled before handing it
back.

  Timothy meanwhile was talking, very quickly. 'I want to explain what happened, though I don't expect every one here will believe me. A few weeks ago, I went to a one-day legal conference in Oxford. It was to carry on into the evening, and I'd arranged to stay the night in my old college. After the events had finished, I was persuaded, somewhat against my better judgment, to go out for a drink with a few others to some club. It seemed a perfectly respectable place. I had one drink. And that is all I remember until I woke up in bed at home the next morning. How I got there from Oxford I have no idea. I must have let myself in, because none of the servants did; they were extremely surprised the next morning to find me home. They had heard nothing, perhaps not surprising as they sleep on the top floor, but neither had Penelope, whose bedroom is next to mine.'

  'Some dirty rat slipped you a Mickey,' Julie said.

  Timothy stared at her. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'A Mickey Finn. A drink spiked with some fast-acting sedative.'

  'Ah. Is that what they are called? Yes, no doubt. The photo arrived in the post a couple of days later. You will have seen that my eyes are closed. I realise it could be assumed that I was blinking, due to the flash. Actually, I was asleep or unconscious at the time. How it was arranged for my arm to be up, holding the bottle, I cannot explain. I was extremely perturbed. But I did not like to ask any of the fellows who were there what had happened, because I did not wish them to be aware of my ignorance. I was half-expecting some kind of blackmail demand, but there has been nothing. It has nonetheless caused me severe disquiet.'

  Wilkins was looking at the picture again. 'I think the business of your arm and the bottle can be easily explained. Someone crouching down behind the chair, holding your arm aloft. A piece of thread attached to the bottle and it being dangled by someone standing on a chair, so that your hand was actually merely resting against it. I daresay if the picture was enlarged sufficiently the thread might become visible.'

  'Do you really think so? I must certainly try that. It would prove, wouldn't it, that the whole thing was a frame-up. That would be wonderful . . .' His voice tailed away. Then he looked at Julie. 'You said it was quite innocuous. No doubt in theatrical or journalistic circles that would be the case. But imagine if a copy of that were sent to the Lord Chancellor, when he was considering my possible elevation to the bench. Or, almost worse, if it appeared on the front page of some scandal sheet immediately after my appointment was announced.'