The Case of the Diamond Shadow

by Sophie Masson

  ‘Miss Taylor, don’t be afraid. My name is Clara Ashfield. I’m an inquiry agent. An attempt was made on the Blue Moon Diamond this evening, and we believe Mrs Peabody may have been involved.’

  ‘Mrs Peabody? Involved? What do you mean?’ Irene said, in a strangled sort of croak.

  ‘Miss Taylor, how long have you been in Mrs Peabody’s employ?’

  ‘Only a short time. Six weeks, to be precise. She … she came to the agency whose books I’m on, and said she needed a maid, because her last one had left her in the lurch. She was willing to pay very well.’ She looked wildly at them both, and suddenly began to laugh, rather hysterically. ‘I always thought there was something rather odd about her! Something not quite real, if you know what I mean! And the pay — the conditions — it was all a bit too good to be true.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daisy, rather sadly, looking at her. ‘I know just how you feel.’

  Irene Taylor looked at her. ‘I suppose you must be angry with me too, Miss Miller. That job she hired you for … I knew there was something fishy about that.’ She flushed. ‘She told me she wanted a typist to rewrite a book written by her late husband. But she didn’t want that typist to know the book had already been published. She said she wanted to trick another publisher into issuing a new book without realising it … It all sounded strange to me, but she was a rich lady, and it’s been my experience the rich don’t think quite like you and me, and they have the oddest whims. And as I say my pay was very generous. I didn’t want to lose my job … So I had to hide the book, and make a fair copy of it in my own handwriting, for you to type up …’ She gave Daisy a rather hangdog look. ‘I’m so sorry to have been a party to deceiving you.’

  ‘Please. It wasn’t your fault. I was only too happy to be deceived,’ said Daisy, gently. ‘I suppose that’s why she employed me — because I’m young and don’t know much about the world.’

  ‘Come, come, Daisy!’ said Mrs Ashfield, robustly. ‘You were already on her track!’

  ‘Seeing her at the museum was just sheer luck,’ said Daisy, honestly. ‘That’s when I began to suspect her, you know, when I saw her all swathed up in her coat and hat, looking quite different from usual, and following Miss Marlow and her … Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘That reminds me. How odd …’

  ‘What’s odd, my dear?’ said Mrs Ashfield, gently.

  ‘Just now … Mr Golightly — the band leader, you know — he’s gone with her to the hospital, too … well, he had put on his coat and left with them. And it reminded me of something.’ They were looking at her, blankly. ’You see, I only saw the man Miss Marlow was with in the British Museum from the back … I saw his black coat and his very fair hair. And from the back, the band leader looked rather like him.’

  There was a silence. Daisy caught a look flashing between the two women. Embarassed, she said, ‘Oh, dear, that’s all rather silly, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t really fancy myself as a sleuth, Mrs Ashfield, that’s George’s territory, really, it’s just that I thought of it, and …’

  ‘Don’t apologise, child,’ said Mrs Ashfield. She was about to say more, when the door burst open and the three men came rushing in. They checked themselves when they saw Irene.

  ‘This is Miss Taylor, Mrs Peabody’s maid,’ said Mrs Ashfield, calmly, getting up. ‘She came to tell us her mistress was missing. I believe she wishes to make a statement to you, Mr Woodley-Foxe. He is the chief detective in this case,’ she went on, turning to the maid. ‘You must tell him all you know.’

  ‘Why … yes … yes, of course,’ said Irene Taylor. ‘I would like to do so as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Very well.’ The detective turned to Mrs Ashfield. ‘I’m afraid our bird had flown. He had left most of his things, but his attache case and everything in it had gone with him. Thank heavens you made a copy of that paper! Anyway, the receptionist said she hadn’t seen him leave, so he must have gone out the back way. Never fear, we’ll catch up with him.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. I suppose you’ll send a telegram to Amsterdam first thing tomorrow morning?’ said Mrs Ashfield. Woodley-Foxe nodded. ‘If that man was a real diamond merchant, I’ll eat my hat.’

  ‘Mrs Peabody said he was very soft-centred for a Dutch diamond merchant,’ said Daisy, remembering. ‘He talked a lot of what she thought was romantic guff, about the Blue Moon, and Miss Marlow …’ She smiled faintly. ‘I suppose that was part of Mrs Peabody’s act. She must have liked to make risky jokes. He didn’t look too happy about it, I have to say.’

  ‘She sounds a most cheeky sort of crook,’ said Woodley-Foxe, gravely. ‘The very kind we need to get safely under lock and key, before they make laughingstocks of us all. Now, George, get out that notebook of yours. And Miss Taylor, when you’re ready …’

  ‘Mr Woodley-Foxe, I think I’m going to have to leave you to your interview here, tell the Countess what’s happened, and get myself home,’ said Mrs Ashfield, getting up. ‘Perhaps Victor and Daisy, you might like to accompany me?’

  They nodded, eagerly.

  ‘Now, Mr Woodley-Foxe, we’ll get out of your hair right away. You know my office address. Do call on me at your convenience to let me know if I can help you in any way. I would of course be most interested to be kept in touch with the progress of your investigation.’

  ‘Of course, my dear Mrs Ashfield,’ said Woodley-Foxe, beaming. ‘Let me assure you that I will keep you well abreast of developments. Now, if you’re sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘Quite all right,’ said Mrs Ashfield, firmly. She turned to Irene Taylor. ‘And don’t worry, my dear. Just tell the truth. You have nothing to fear. Goodnight.’

  She left, Daisy and Victor in tow. When the door closed on them, Woodley-Foxe gave a great sigh. ‘Well! Mrs Ashfield is a fine woman, and an intelligent one, but she doesn’t see a great deal of the world, in that dusty little office of hers. And she doesn’t have the resources I have. She looked positively wistful when she asked if I’d keep her in touch with the progress of my investigation, did you notice that, George?’

  ‘I did, sir,’ said George, discreetly.

  Woodley-Foxe smiled. ‘What did I tell you, George, about Young Reporter? Why, they even publish criminals’ messages, these days!’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t know, sir,’ said George, stoutly. The detective looked grave. ‘Never jump to conclusions, George! Appearances can be deceptive. Now, then, that notebook!’ He turned back to the maid. ‘Miss Taylor, let us start at the beginning. When did you first meet Mrs Peabody?’

  Victor’s grandmother was perched in front of her dressing table. Her maid was brushing her hair but the Countess sent her out of the room, and listened patiently as Mrs Ashfield, interrupted at various times by Daisy and Victor, told her what had happened. When they’d finished, there was a small silence before the Countess said, sharply, ‘So, Clara Ashfield, it seems that a march has been stolen on you by this gentleman detective. He learnt who The Shadow was, before you did.’

  ‘That would appear to be the case,’ said Mrs Ashfield, meekly.

  ‘You do not wish to investigate further?’

  ‘I believe the culprits have been identified adequately. Further investigations are in Mr Woodley-Foxe’s hands, and those of the police now, Madame.’

  ‘By culprits, you mean this Meyer chap, and Mrs Peabody?’

  ‘Yes,’ broke in Victor, breathlessly. ‘Those two, and maybe others. Mr Woodley-Foxe thinks it was an international gang.’

  Daisy saw a puzzled expression cross Mrs Ashfield’s face again.

  ‘Ah well,’ said the Countess. ‘You will send me your final report soon, Mrs Ashfield,’ she said. It was a dismissal, and rather coldly delivered. It was obvious she was disappointed in the investigator.

  ‘Certainly, Countess. Goodnight.’ She went out.

  The Countess turned to Daisy with a rather frosty smile on her face. ‘My grandson and I are leaving first thing tomorrow,’ she said. ‘But perhaps we w
ill see you again some time. Perhaps when you take a holiday in France?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Daisy, wondering how on earth she could possibly afford to do such a thing now. Smiling at her, Victor said, ‘Why don’t we meet in Biarritz? In the summer?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Daisy, again. By hook or by crook, whatever it took, she’d get there, she thought.

  ‘Good. Now, then, said the Countess, briskly. ‘Victor, see Miss Miller out and come straight back. We’ve got to pack.’

  Mrs Ashfield was standing at the lift, looking rather more presentable with a smart grey coat over her trouser suit. She smiled at Daisy. ‘I’m glad the lift took so long in coming,’ she said. ‘I wanted to ask you, Miss Miller, if you’d be interested in coming with me tomorrow, to the hospital? I want to ask Miss Marlow a few questions, just to clear up a few things for my final report. Of course, it’ll be unofficial — Mr Woodley-Foxe and the police will be conducting much more thorough investigations.’

  Daisy met her eye. Again, there was something deep in those violet eyes, something that rang a bell at the back of Daisy’s mind. Slowly, she said, ‘Yes. Thank you. I think I would like that.’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ said Mrs Ashfield, arranging her hat on her head. ‘I will call for you here tomorrow at three o’clock.’

  Twenty-one

  Though her shoulder was bandaged, there were dark circles under her eyes and dabs of mercurochrome at the scratches on her throat, Olivia Marlow looked more beautiful than ever, sitting up in bed in her blue satin nightgown and bed-jacket. There were get-well cards and flowers everywhere, filling the hospital room with colour and fragrance.

  Outside, the excited young nurse had said in a whisper that, yes, the police had been in, and the detective gentleman, Mr Woodley-Foxe, who had come in this morning with his assistant. He’d taken a statement from Miss Marlow, and she’d been ever so helpful and nice. She’d even given that young man a signed photograph of herself, because he’d looked so star-struck … Ooh, and yes, there had been reporters and photographers, Miss Marlow had in the end consented to just a few pictures, they’d likely be in the papers tomorrow … and yes — there had been a telegram from the Prince of Luxenstein … But here, she was talking too much, the lady had to forgive her, it was just that things were pretty exciting, right now, she hadn’t seen anything like it in all her time nursing …

  Mrs Ashfield told her there was nothing to forgive, it was all quite natural to be interested. And was Miss Marlow awake, right now?

  She was indeed. Daisy looked at the young woman as she rested so prettily back on her pillows and thought, it’s not everyone who can manage to look photogenic after such an experience. Daisy listened as the actress told her a simple version of last night’s events. She couldn’t remember much and hoped other witnesses might be more helpful.

  Mrs Ashfield said, ‘Oh, I’m sure they will. For instance, I believe Mr Golightly’s been quite useful.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Olivia Marlow, absently. After a little pause, she said, ‘Mrs Ashfield, do you think these thieves will try again? I mean, after all, they didn’t get what they came for.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Mrs Ashfield.

  The actress’ big blue eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, do you really think so? Well, I will certainly put the Blue Moon away in a bank vault till they are caught!’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘It is, of course, a pity. I did so love wearing it …’

  ‘I do believe they make very good paste replicas, these days, for just such occasions,’ said Mrs Ashfield, thoughtfully. ‘Why, just the other day I was in Carter’s and …’

  The actress made a sudden movement. She stared at Mrs Ashfield.

  ‘Mr Carter told me that his firm often makes replicas when a valuable gemstone has to be kept locked away but the person has to be seen wearing it, nevertheless.’ Mrs Ashfield’s eyes narrowed. ‘He also said there were other, less reputable, jewellers who would undertake such work for other reasons. A piece would be sent in for ‘restoring’ by its owner, the real gem extracted, and a paste one put in its place. The real stone can then be disposed of, sold in secret.’ She paused. ‘He even sent me a list of such clients. It made for interesting reading.’

  The film star had paled. But she recovered, and laughed. ‘Why, what a preposterous idea! Why would anyone do such a thing, if they own the gemstone in question?’

  ‘Because they need ready cash. Because there’s no question of selling the jewel openly. Because they’ve been given the piece in question by someone who will be very angry if they discover it’s been disposed of.’ She leant forward. ‘Miss Marlow, I’d like to tell you a story.’

  ‘A story? What on earth do you mean?’ said the actress, rather wildly. Daisy looked from one to the other, her head whirling with thoughts. It wasn’t just the extraordinary idea Mrs Ashfield had come out with, it was something else, an idea of her own, something she’d half-suspected since yesterday, but now was sure of …

  ‘Perhaps you don’t want to hear it.’ Mrs Ashfield stood up. Her voice was rather stern. ‘In that case we’d better leave. I suppose I should tell the police and Mr Woodley-Foxe what Mr Carter told me. It might prove useful, don’t you think, Miss Marlow?’

  ‘No!’ The actress sat bolt upright. There were two red spots on her cheeks. ‘Please, sit down. What is this story you want to tell me?’

  Mrs Ashfield resumed her seat. Daisy held her breath.

  ‘Well, Miss Marlow, it’s a rather romantic story, rather touching,’ said Mrs Ashfield. ‘It starts with a successful young woman, an adopted child, who always wondered who her real parents were. One day, she finds out. Her father was a young gentleman from an old county family — terribly snobbish, her mother a little clerk from the nearby town. They fell in love and got married, in secret. The boy did intend to eventually tell his parents he was married. But his young wife died in childbirth, and he died not long after, from a broken heart. He’d always been a delicate young man. Their baby was now an orphan. She was adopted out …

  Now cut to the present. Our heroine discovers that most of her real father’s family is dead — except for an aunt, her father’s older sister. So she writes to her aunt, visits her, secretly, because she needs to make sure she really wants to be connected publicly to this family. And she finds out that she likes her aunt a great deal. She also falls in love with the family’s beautiful old estate. But alas! Our heroine also discovers the estate is in dire financial trouble. It will most likely be lost. She is not poor, but not so rich that she can afford to pay off all her aunt’s debts, and get the estate back to its former glory. She’ll need a real fortune for that.’

  Mrs Ashfield looked at Olivia and Daisy. Her voice sharpened. ‘How can she get her hands on such money? She thinks and thinks. And then she has an idea … a stunning, daring, brilliant idea. She knows nothing is more easily transformed into hard cash than rare gemstones. She researches the world’s most valuable diamonds and finds the perfect one. But it cannot just be stolen in the usual way. It is too well guarded. And so, with the help of her aunt, and a very good friend, she creates a myth. A daredevil thief out of a penny novelette, or a detective story magazine. A mysterious thief who calls himself The Shadow and who has an obsession with diamonds. The Shadow has his practice run — his first night, you might call it — in Biarritz, last September.’

  ‘They stole the Countess’ ring!’ breathed Daisy.

  ‘Yes. Because it’s only practice, they return the ring. Then they steal a few other jewels, here and there. They only take minor pieces. These they did not return — it would become too risky — but they do not sell them, either, because they want no links with the underworld, no-one who might betray them. They are building up an image. The thefts so far have only been a blind. Their real attention is focussed on that one very valuable diamond, you see.’

  ‘A very melodramatic story,’ laughed Olivia Marlow. But despite her words, there was real fe
ar in her eyes. Daisy held her breath, enthralled and astounded.

  ‘It’s not quite finished, yet, Miss Marlow,’ said Mrs Ashfield, calmly. ‘The diamond belongs to a certain prince. He is a rather poor specimen of a young man, under the thumb of a tyrannical mother. He often holidays in Biarritz. At the same time as The Shadow makes his practice run, our heroine sets out to dazzle the Prince. It’s almost too easy. He succumbs to her advances like a lamb and gives her the precious diamond, left to him by his father. His witch of a mother is deadset against the romance and furious that he has given away the diamond. She wants to blacken the girl in her son’s eyes. She wants to get that jewel back.’

  Daisy said, ‘But if the Prince gave the diamond — then why not sell it openly?’

  Mrs Ashfield looked at Olivia Marlow, who was very pale. ‘It cannot be sold openly. It is the property of the royal family. It would be a mortal insult to the Prince and all his family if his gift was sold. It can only be disposed of under the cloak of a robbery.’

  Olivia Marlow laughed. ‘Absurd! But do go on, I want to see how you resolve this silly pot-boiler.’

  ‘Our little gang has plotted its coup well. There are those minor thefts, and lots of clues. Cheeky calling cards, the smoke from an unusual brand of cigar (our heroine’s friend was given one of these cigars in Biarritz, by the Countess). Our heroine even writes a comic strip — you see, she wants to attract attention to the whole daredevil, mocking character of this master thief, this Shadow … It is fun, as well as risky. And these three rascals love fun and risk. So confident are they of their plan that our heroine even inserts hints into the comic strip, which is otherwise quite harmless. And so The Shadow grows as a presence, becomes solid. It’s all bait …’ She stopped as the door opened and Harry Golightly put his head around the corner.