“No, thanks very much.” What a comfort to be able to say it. “It’s very nice of you, but I’m going down to Featherstone Hall with Mrs Brigance tonight and I expect I can get an advance from her if it comes to it – but I hope it won’t.”
“You’re sure you’re all right for this afternoon? No Christmas shopping to do?”
“Nothing serious. There are some advantages about having no family, you see. No, I thought I’d go to a news theatre as a matter of fact – there is one round Oxford Circus somewhere isn’t there? I promised Mrs Brigance I’d pick up her fur coat at Gogarty’s and I’d like to leave that till the last thing – it seems a bit unsuitable to go swaggering about in mink all afternoon. Thank you so much for the lunch and all you’ve done.” She was suddenly tired of keeping up appearances for Paul’s benefit. After all, why bother? She held out her hand. “Let me know just how much I owe you, will you? I’m afraid it’ll have to be on the instalment plan.” On this practical note she left him and headed straight for her news theatre, where she sat for an hour staring not at the screen but at penury.
When she came out, she felt better. After all, she had a job, even if it could hardly be called an attractive one. And perhaps even that would not be so bad; perhaps all those cousins had mellowed with age. How she had hated them, Mark Brigance most of all. Turning into the side street that led to Gogarty’s she almost ground her teeth as she remembered the misery he and his twin sister Mary had made of her life when she had stayed with them as a child. Mrs Brigance had not mentioned Mary, it occurred to her, but then Mark had always been her favourite. It was bad luck on Mary that Mr Brigance had not lived to take her part.
In her private crisis she had forgotten about Christmas, but there was no mistaking the good-humoured chaos inside Gogarty’s. She hovered for a minute by a counter piled high with brilliant artificial flowers. Should she take down a present for old Mrs Ffeathers? She still had three pounds in her purse – quite enough for the fare down and a bunch of violets for an old lady’s coat. But no – she pushed on through the crowd – a present for Mrs Ffeathers meant presents for everyone, and that was impossible, even if she had wanted to give presents to Mark and Mary and the others. She must establish herself at once and firmly on an employee basis, then the problem would never arise. She cast a longing eye on the glove department – she had meant to buy herself some, but they would have to wait – hurried through a crowd of anxious husbands at the costume jewellery counters and made her way into the comparative tranquillity of the fur department. A bored and elegant young woman was showing off inexpensive fur scarves for the benefit of yet another harassed male. Her companion, wearier still, drooped over to Patience. “Mrs Brigance’s coat?” She became faintly animated at the name. “Oh, yes, we have it out for her. You’ll wear it?” She picked a glossy three-quarter-length cape from a nearby rack and draped it over Patience’s shoulders. “There, it suits you.”
Patience laughed. “It needn’t. I’m not going to be buying mink for a while.”
“Me neither.” The girl became almost human. “If you’ll just sign here, please. I’m glad you came for it; don’t tell Mrs Brigance, but it nearly got sold this afternoon. I’d been off the floor, see, and when I came back there was a customer trying it on, as pleased as punch. Said she thought of having herself one made like it when I told her it wasn’t for sale. Nice work, if you can afford it.”
“Yes, very,” said Patience, turning away. As she did so, she became aware of a figure hovering in the background, apparently acting as audience to the exhibition of fur ties that was still going listlessly on. Surely there was something familiar … Of course. He had turned and was approaching her. She held out her hand. “How nice to see you, Mr Crankshaw.”
Geoffrey Crankshaw shook her hand vigorously. “Nice to see you, Patience.” He used the Christian name with obvious intent. “I hope you don’t mind; I’ve been following you. I saw you in Gloves and wasn’t sure it was you – but I wasn’t taking any chances. I’m delighted to have run you to earth among the minks.”
She laughed. “Not my mink, I’m afraid. How are you?”
“Thank goodness for that – Oh, very well, and you?”
“Thriving.” How odd, she thought to herself, pausing in the exchange of banalities; that last time they had met they had been earnestly discussing the murder he had just solved with her help. “What are you doing these days?”
“Pounding a metropolitan typewriter mostly. I’m supposed to be cutting my teeth on routine at the Yard – and very dull most of it is, too. It’s pure luck, thank God for it, that I’m here this afternoon – I’ll bless Gogarty’s shoplifter till my dying day. But, damn it, it means I can’t even ask you to come out for a cup of tea – I’m very much on duty. When can I see you?”
“I’m afraid I’m going down to Sussex tonight – I’d love to have heard about Scotland Yard. Is it really so dull? I can’t believe it – not after last summer.” As they talked they had been making their way back towards the main entrance and now she paused to look at her watch. “Good lord, I must hurry; I’d no idea it was so late.”
His face was as engagingly young as ever under fair hair, but there was a new firmness about his manner. “I know it’s asking a lot,” he said, “but couldn’t you possibly think of an errand or two to keep you here till six? Then we could go out and have a drink somewhere.”
“I’m awfully sorry” – she really was – “but I’ve got to catch a six o’clock train.” She held out her hand. “It has been nice to see you again.”
“Well, promise you’ll call me up next time you’re in town. Whitehall one-two-one-two, extension five-three-six.”
“I ought to be able to remember that.” She smiled at him. “I’ll certainly ring you, but goodness knows when I’ll be in town again. Goodbye.” She turned and pushed her way through the heavy doors, furious with Josephine Brigance and her six o’clock train. As she emerged she felt a touch on her arm.
“Excuse me, miss,” said the shabby little man who had stopped her. “Might I just have a word with you?”
“With me? Why?” Inconspicuous though he was, she was certain she had never seen him before.
“You’re sure this is the one?” He turned to a girl who stood beside him.
“It’s her all right. She pointed her out ever so careful, and anyway you couldn’t miss that coat.” Coatless herself, she shivered as she spoke, and Patience, looking at her neat black dress and white collar, realised that she must be one of the shop assistants.
The man spoke again: “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step into the manager’s office for a minute, miss. If you’ll just come along quietly there needn’t be any unpleasantness about it.” He began to shepherd her back towards the doors.
“But what on earth’s it all about?” It seemed simpler to go with them, and Patience asked the question as she made her way back through the big doors. “Let go of my arm, please.” Something in her voice made him give her a quick, unhappy glance and drop the hand with which he had grasped her elbow.
“All right, so long as you’ll come quiet,” he said. “We don’t want any fuss in the shop.”
The manager was a worried-looking man in too beautiful a grey suit. “Yes?” He looked from Patience to her companions.
“Got her for you.” The shabby little man seemed to swell as he spoke. “I reckon you won’t have to bother with the Yard. Red-handed, thanks to this young lady.” The girl in black blushed and stammered something, but Patience interrupted her. “What on earth is all this about?” she asked. “I came here, because it seemed simpler than making a scene in the shop, but now I’d like to know what it means.”
“Listen to her,” said the little man admiringly. “Caught red-handed and lays it on like that. No wonder she’s got away with it so long.”
“Got away with what?” Patience was beginning to lose her temper.
“Want me to put it in words of one syllable, do you?” the little
man asked. “Well, shoplifting, then, since you’re so particular. Just feel in your left-hand pocket, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Left-hand pocket? What on earth are you talking about? I haven’t got any pockets. I think this has gone about far enough.” She turned to the manager, who stood, silent and anxious behind his desk, watching the scene.
The little man looked faintly worried and turned to the girl. “In the cape,” she said, “that’s what she told me. The pocket of the cape.”
Patience looked down at Josephine Brigance’s lavish fur cape. Then she investigated. Yes, surprisingly enough, there were deep pockets in the side seams. She put her right hand in; nothing.
“The left-hand pocket, she said.” It was the girl who spoke.
“Who’s ‘she’?” As she spoke, Patience put her hand in the other pocket, gasped slightly and drew out a long string of pearls.
“There you are.” The little man was triumphant. “What did I tell you? But I give it to her for acting; she had me scared there for a minute.” He held out his hand for the pearls and Patience automatically gave them to him. “Yes, there’s our ticket, all right. They’re off your counter, aren’t they, Miss Jones?” He handed them to the girl in black.
She looked at them and Patience saw the whisper of a puzzled frown cross her forehead. But what she said was definite enough. “Oh yes, they’re from my counter all right.”
“And no sales check on the ticket.” The little man was enjoying himself now. “You might as well give over,” he said to Patience, “we’ve got you clean.”
She was beginning to realise the full unpleasantness of the situation. “Look,” she turned to the manager who still stood, silent and grave behind his desk, “this is a ridiculous mistake. I don’t know how those pearls got there, but I certainly didn’t take them. It’s not even my cape; I just picked it up in the fur department for my cousin.”
The little man allowed himself a harsh laugh. “It’s a treat to hear her,” he said. “You’d better tell your story, Miss Jones.”
The manager was looking more worried than ever. “Yes,” he said, “I think we’d better hear what Miss Jones has to say.”
“Well, it was like this.” Miss Jones was somewhat abashed by her position. “I was ever so busy with a couple of gents after engagement rings, when this young lady comes up to me and says—”
“Just a minute,” the manager interrupted her, “do you mean this young lady?” He indicated Patience.
“Oh, no, sir.” She was amazed at his error. “Quite another young lady, tall and dark with a black coat and glasses. Anyway, she leans over the counter and says, ‘Excuse me,’ ever so nice and polite, ‘I know it’s none of my business,’ she says, ‘but I just saw a girl pinch a string of pearls from your counter. What d’you think I ought to do about it?’ So of course I knew all the trouble there’d been about shoplifting, and the Yard being called in and all” – Miss Jones preened herself – “so I rang my bell quick as I could for Mr Parry and asked the young lady to wait and speak to him. But she said no, she’d a train to catch, but it was a young lady in a mink cape with straight fair hair – ‘Look,’ she says, ‘there I see her now,’ and pointed to this young lady who was just coming through Gloves with a gentleman. ‘She put it in the left-hand pocket of her cape,’ she said, ‘a long string of pearls: I hope you catch her, but I must scoot.’ Or something like that, and of course I couldn’t make her stay, could I?”
“No, I suppose you hardly could,” the manager said regretfully, “but it’s a pity. Did you get her name and address?”
Miss Jones’s face fell. “No,” she said, “she scooted so quick I didn’t have time to say ‘Boo’ – if you’ll excuse me, sir.”
Patience had been collecting her wits. “Look,” she said, again to the manager, “there has been some mistake and I think I can prove it.” She turned to the girl. “You say she pointed me out to you when I was coming out of the glove department with a …” she hesitated.
“That’s right, miss, with a gentleman. Tall, he was, and fair.”
“Yes,” Patience said. “It was Mr Crankshaw. I believe he’s here on business and he’ll tell you I was with him from the time I picked this coat up in the fur department. I couldn’t have put those pearls in the pocket. I can’t think how they got there, but I couldn’t have done it.” Horrible to have to drag Crankshaw in, but better now than later. She stole an anxious look at her watch. Five fifteen; there should still be time to catch the six o’clock if all went well.
“Mr Crankshaw?” The manager looked surprised. “The policeman?”
“That’s right,” Patience relaxed into a smile. “He’s a friend of mine.” The look on her shabby little captor’s face was almost worth the whole episode.
There was an uncomfortable silence as they waited for Crankshaw. The manager acknowledged Patience’s changed position by offering her a chair, and sat down himself behind his desk, fidgeting with some papers. The little man – clearly the shop detective, thought Patience – and the salesgirl looked at each other unhappily and at Patience with obvious resentment. Then there was a knock at the door and Crankshaw appeared. “You wanted to see me, Mr Mallieson?”
“Yes.” The manager wasted no time. “Do you know this lady?”
Crankshaw turned. “Why, hullo, Patience, what are you doing here? Been shoplifting?” Then he saw the shop detective and the drooping salesgirl. “Good lord, what is all this?”
The manager explained about the accusation of the unknown young woman. “And now,” he concluded, “this lady says she was with you from the time she picked up the coat in the fur department till the moment she left the shop. Is that right?” They all looked hopefully at Crankshaw.
“Quite right,” said Crankshaw. “As a matter of fact, I first saw Miss Smith in the glove department, without the cape. I thought I recognised her, and followed her through to Furs to make sure. Then I waited while the assistant found her the cape and she put it on, and spoke to her as she came away. I was watching all the time.” He blushed slightly. “She couldn’t have put anything in the pockets.”
“I didn’t know there were pockets,” Patience said, “till I put in my hand. I don’t understand it at all.” But she was no longer worried. Geoffrey Crankshaw was here; he would take care of the situation.
He did. “It’s quite clear there’s not the shadow of a case against Miss Smith,” he said to the manager. “Not but that you were perfectly right to stop her.” The detective cheered up slightly. “I’d like to know what the young woman who started it all was up to, though. Too bad you didn’t get her name.” The salesgirl wilted visibly and he consoled her. “Never mind, she’d probably have given a false one if you’d asked her. What d’you say she looked like?”
“Tall and dark,” the girl repeated it, “and a black coat and glasses … I’m afraid I didn’t notice much; I was that rushed at the time; but she spoke ever so nicely.”
“Can you think of anyone who looks like that, who’d go to the trouble to play a practical joke on you?” Crankshaw asked Patience.
“Not a soul. And it’s not my idea of a very brilliant joke either.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “No, it isn’t. The cape was hanging on a rack in the fur department when you went for it, wasn’t it, so I suppose anyone could have taken the pearls and slipped them into the pocket.”
“Oh, goodness,” Patience said.
“What is it? Been noticing things again?”
She laughed, ignoring the three listeners in this sudden reminder of their previous intimacy.
“Yes, I remember now. The girl said she was off the floor for a while and when she got back there was someone trying the cape on … she was frightfully disappointed when she heard it wasn’t for sale and said she’d have to have one made like it.”
“That’s it,” said Crankshaw. “That’s how it would be done. Perhaps we should have a word with the girl from the fur department, Mr Mallieson. W
e’d better get this business cleared up as far as we can if you don’t mind waiting a minute, Patience.”
“Not a bit.” He was very much in command, she thought.
Another awkward silence fell as they waited for the arrival of this new witness. It was broken, surprisingly, by the salesgirl. “You know,” she said to no one in particular, “it’s a funny thing; I could have sworn they cleared those long strands of pearls yesterday. There were a lot Tuesday when I was on but I’m sure I didn’t notice any when I took over this morning.”
“You were off yesterday, were you?” Crankshaw asked.
“Yes. One day off before Christmas for shopping. It comes in ever so handy.” She looked at the manager a little anxiously.
A timid knock announced the salesgirl from the fur department. She at once confirmed that the fur cape had been hanging on a rack at the side of the department since Mrs Brigance had called up about it. Mrs Brigance had particularly asked for it to be ready. Yes; she had come back on to the floor in the course of the afternoon and found a young lady trying the cape on … a tall dark young lady with glasses – very disappointed she’d been when she heard the cape was not for sale.
“Well, there you are,” said Crankshaw, when she had been thanked and dismissed, “an obvious plant, but Lord knows why. You’re sure you can’t think of anyone with a grudge against you, Patience?”
“Not a soul. They must have mixed me up with someone else. Or could it be something to do with the shoplifting that’s going on? To distract your attention or something?”
“That’s an idea.” The manager came to attention at once and looked at his watch. “Just on closing time too – always their best time. Perhaps we’d all better get back to our posts.” At this cue the shop detective and the salesgirl, who had visibly been waiting for a chance, faded gratefully away. He turned to Patience. “I’m extremely sorry for the inconvenience we’ve caused you, Miss Smith, but you can see how it is; we’ve got to protect ourselves.”
A Death in Two Parts Page 2