“Never?”
“Well, in the late mornings, I think. But only for a bit. And he’s all wrapped up, like he’s ill.”
“Yes, I heard that he wasn’t feeling well. Have you been in there yet today?”
“Not yet. I couldn’t carry anything more, so I thought I’d take this lot down and then do the evens.”
“Is he out now?”
“Him and the gentleman with the mustache, yeah.”
“I see.” Drew smiled again. “What do you say we go take a quick look round number twenty-two, and then I’ll help you clear up the evens? How would that be?”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “If you take something, I’ll be the one getting the blame.”
Drew put one hand upon his heart. “Upon my word, Eddie, I won’t touch a thing. I’m just curious about how the gentleman knew there was a pound note up there, and I should think it quite worth another pound if you’ll let me have a look round. What do you say?”
“I dunno . . .”
“Just one little look. Help a fellow out.”
With a sigh the boy led him down the hall to the door labeled 22, and with a turn of the passkey they were inside.
The room was unremarkable as hotel rooms go. Situated in the oldest part of the inn, it was a corner room with two windows, one above the back garden, the other overlooking the roof of the new addition, and farther on, the churchyard and Holy Trinity itself. Under each window was a single bed and night table. Both beds were in need of making up. As explanation for the acrid odor in the air, the ashtray on one of the night tables was overflowing, and the other, though empty, was still grimed with recent ash.
On the table in the middle of the room was an assortment of dirty plates and cups, and a crumpled napkin lay on the floor under one of the chairs. Drew picked it up. There was a large water spot on one corner, and in the center of it, a tiny pinkish smudge.
“Tell me, Eddie, was there another napkin when you brought up breakfast today?”
“I dunno. There should have been, but I don’t bring up the breakfast unless Maggie’s sick. I just clear up.”
He started picking up the dishes, but Drew stopped him. “Just let me have a quick look first.”
One of the occupants of the room had been decidedly hungrier than the other, but of course anyone who was ill was likely to suffer a loss of appetite. Half a cup of cold coffee sat next to the nearly full plate, and Drew took a moment to examine it. Something had been wiped off the inner and outer rim of one side of the cup, something that had left a sticky, slightly greasy residue. There was nothing like it on the empty cup or plate.
Drew went to the window and looked down on the trellis he’d seen Eddie on a few days before. He’d certainly made a mess of the vine and the paint with his climbing. He’d scuffed up the sill, too.
“How far did you climb up here, Eddie? All the way to the window?”
“Oh, no, sir. Just enough to reach the money. I was standing just about where that drainpipe bends. Then somebody yelled at me from the street, and I nipped back down. That was when Mrs. Burrell caught me.”
Drew swallowed down a chuckle. “Bad luck, that.”
Eddie started to empty the ashtray that was full, but Drew stopped him and examined the remains.
“Hmmm. I say, Eddie . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“Does this room have a bath, or do they use the one in the hall?”
“No, sir. Mrs. Burrell said they was very particular to have a room with a bath. Can I take away the breakfast things now?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Drew pointed to a door across from the one that led to the hallway. “Through here?”
Eddie nodded as he began stacking dishes, and Drew pushed open the door. The bathroom was perfectly empty, including the little medicine cabinet, except for the towels and the sliver of soap provided by the hotel. Even the wastebasket, apart from a small paper bag, was unoccupied.
Drew opened up the crumpled paper and looked inside. It too was empty, but the inside was coated with what looked and smelled like cigarette ash. Drew smiled to himself. So that was it.
He walked back into the main room.
“I say, Eddie . . .”
The boy was in no position to answer any more questions. As it was, Mrs. Burrell had him by one ear, her face the picture of affronted authority.
“Mr. Drew!”
Drew smiled, the appealing, apologetic-but-mischievous smile that always softened the hardest of female hearts, especially the middle-aged ones. “Sorry, Mrs. Burrell. I know this doesn’t look exactly on the up-and-up and all, but well, you know, everyone’s been a bit curious about this Flesch chappie, and I didn’t think it would do any harm just to—”
“I don’t see as it matters, Mr. Drew, what you think, begging your pardon, sir, if our guests think they can’t leave their rooms and have us keep them private for them. Be still, you.” Her face red and shining from the effort, she shook Eddie by the ear, pinching a little harder to keep him from squirming away. “Now, Mr. Drew, sir, I think you’d best be going before Mr. Whiteside and Mr. Flesch come back and find there’s been goings-on in their room while they were out. And here I thought you were going to set a fine example for the boy.”
“I didn’t do nothing,” Eddie whined, and Mrs. Burrell shook him again.
“The blame is entirely mine, I assure you,” Drew said. “I was going to help him gather up the breakfast things so he could get them down to you quickly, as you asked.” He tried the smile again. “I’m a hopelessly curious creature. Anyone will tell you so. No need to take it out on him.”
Lips pursed, she pushed Eddie toward the little table. “You clear off those dishes and get them all down to the kitchen, and don’t you let me hear you say boo.”
He scrambled to do as she said and was out of the room in a flash.
“It really was all my doing,” Drew said once the boy was gone.
“Well, I can hardly be surprised to see that young scalawag up to mischief. I was taking a chance trusting him in here in the first place. I only did it long of his mother passing on and all. But you, Mr. Drew, and a gentleman born, as well! I hardly know what to say.”
“But I—”
“No, sir, I think there’s no need of saying anything more. If you’ll just leave me to my work as I try to put things right before the reputation of my hotel is put in further danger, I will thank you.”
Chastened, Drew made one last apology and then hurried out into the hallway and down the front stairs. He slipped a five-pound note into little Eddie’s hand as he passed him, and then he spied Maggie, the girl who did most of the scrub work at the inn, cleaning up at the bar.
“Hullo,” Drew said with a tip of his hat. “Has it been a busy morning?”
The girl gave him a shy smile. “Not really, Mr. Drew. Hasn’t been much of anybody round the place today. But then we haven’t started serving the drinks yet, either.”
She wiped down the bar and started cleaning the ashtrays. Only the one closest to the end had anything in it.
“Do you tidy up here every day, Maggie?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Burrell won’t have it no other way.”
“That’s a lot of ash for a slow day, isn’t it?” Drew asked, taking a quick look at the cigarette butts before she dumped them into her trash bin.
“Suppose it is. Some folk smoke one after another, you know.”
“Was there a lady in here today?”
Maggie frowned for a moment, thinking. “Not as I seen, Mr. Drew. ’Course, I was helping in the kitchen and taking up trays most of the morning, so I suppose there could have been. Why?”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m just a nosey Parker with too much time on his hands.” He gave her a wink and, setting his hat on his head at a jaunty angle, went whistling out into the street.
Drew pulled the Rolls into the garage at Farthering Place and switched off the engine. Before he could get out, Nick strolled up to him.
>
“There you are. Did you and old Birdsong turn up anything?”
“Not much,” Drew replied. “Just more Farlinford property being sold off. Bearer bonds this time.”
“The ones they took from Rushford?”
“No. This was before that. Seems all this has been going on for some time now.”
“Doesn’t selling something like that take high-up approval?”
“They were signed by two directors properly enough.”
“And the signatures are good?”
“The inspector and I drove up to Farlinford to verify just that. Lincoln’s was genuine. Rushford’s was not.”
Nick frowned, not saying anything.
“What is it?” Drew asked.
Nick didn’t answer for a long moment, and then he merely shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing yet.”
“Tell me.”
“Really, if it were anything worth mentioning, I would tell you.”
“Father Knox,” Drew cautioned him, snatching the well-worn list from Nick’s coat pocket. “See? Right here. ‘The stupid friend of the detective, the Watson,’ that’s you, ‘must not conceal any thoughts which pass through his mind.’ Now, my Watson, reveal all.”
He smiled when he said it, but he gave Nick a look that allowed for no begging off.
Nick ducked his head a little. “I’m not all that stupid.”
He said it with a laugh, but when he looked up again, Drew could see a flicker of pain in his eyes.
“I say, old man,” Drew said, flustered, “it was only meant to be a bit of a joke. I’d never really—”
Nick quickly shook his head. “Don’t be a cretin. I know all that. I just . . .” He blinked hard. “Mr. Parker’s been good to me and my dad. About as good as your father was. I don’t want to—”
“You don’t want to get him into trouble,” Drew finished for him. “Lincoln’s blatantly involved, Rushford’s been grossly made to look so, but where’s Mason in all this? Someone in authority has to be behind it.”
Nick sagged against the car’s fender. “More and more, I can’t help wondering. It’s an awful thing.”
“I know.” Drew started to pace again. “I’ve noticed things, just little things, things I wish I hadn’t seen. For Madeline’s sake. For mine.”
Nick looked up. “I didn’t think about her. She’s pretty stuck on him, isn’t she?”
“He’s like a father to her. I don’t know if she’d take it kindly if I were to prove he was a murderer.”
“But if he is, Drew . . .”
“I’ve thought about it a lot. At first, when we thought it was just Lincoln who had been killed, I tried to convince myself that it was all right, that the scoundrel got no more than he deserved. But the more I tried to think it, the more I couldn’t. Once a man has justified cold, willful murder, he can justify anything. And it’s not just one murder now. It’s Clarke and Constance and McCutcheon and maybe even that Chinese girl in Edmonton. If Mason’s the killer, or in league with him, he has to face the law for what he’s done. Madeline will just have to understand that.” Drew let out a slow breath and then slapped Nick on the back. “Come on, old man. Let’s go into the house and hash things out over some of Mrs. D’s cake. Whoever is in this with Lincoln, he’s bound to give himself away. We just have to catch him at it.”
“He can’t bally well get round us forever,” Nick said. “Especially not with Miss Parker helping out.”
Scowling, Drew pushed him out of the garage and along the walk toward the house. “You just carry on being clever, then, and I’ll keep my conclusions to myself.”
“I don’t know why she should upset you. She’s a good egg and not subject to the vapors and other annoying feminine maladies.”
“You remember how Diana Wheaton used to make you feel? If she was along, you’d five-putt every hole on the course.”
A look of wistful fondness came across Nick’s face. “Ah, Diana. I wonder how she and her aged captain of industry are faring these days.”
“She made her bed and no doubt must lie in it. You got off easy, if you ask me.”
“It never would have done to have her on an investigation like this one, I’ll give you that much. She’d have fainted dead away at the mere mention of murder. Never in a million would she have offered to help solve one.”
“True enough.” Drew smiled a little wistfully himself. “Madeline is a plucky one, isn’t she? You know, I really don’t mind having her along, even if it does muddle my thinking a bit.”
“Perhaps she’d like some cake along with us. It couldn’t hurt to have another brain churning away at the problem, could it?”
They went into the house and were immediately greeted by Dennison.
“Ask Mrs. Devon to serve us tea in the library, would you, please, Denny?” Drew said. “And invite Miss Parker to join us, if she will.”
“Very good, sir.”
“All right, Nick,” Drew continued as they headed toward the library, “let’s suppose Lincoln and his yet-unknown accomplice have decided to bankrupt Farlinford. Why would Lincoln’s ghost appear here at Farthering Place? It couldn’t have benefitted him to scare Anna out of her wits that night. What could he have been after?”
“Well, it couldn’t have been a ghost. Father Knox rules them out as a matter of course. Perhaps Lincoln didn’t find what he was looking for when he broke into Rushford’s office.” Nick opened the library door and stepped inside. “Perhaps he thinks Rushford brought it with him here, or perhaps . . .” He slowed to a stop, his voice trailing off.
Drew looked at him, puzzled. “What—?”
Nick cut him off with a quick gesture toward the draperies. There on the left side, just visible under the heavy gold fringe, were the toes of a pair of men’s shoes.
Drew motioned to him to keep talking.
“Of course, we don’t know that yet,” Nick said, quickening his stride once more.
“No, not enough evidence. Not to be certain.” Drew gestured with both hands, indicating that they should approach the intruder from opposite sides. “But there is always something that gives the game away, an inscription on a ring or a left-handed golf club, or perhaps a poorly concealed pair of shoes—”
They pounced at the same instant, and the lavish curtains and attendant lace sheers tumbled with them out the open window and into the damp flower bed. Drew thrashed in the near-blackness and caught hold of someone—a sturdy, flailing someone who seemed equally set on pinning Drew to the ground. Drew struggled under the heavy brocade, determined to keep his crushing hold on the lurker, but the other man struggled just as fiercely.
“Hold him! Hold him!”
Drew could hear Nick’s muffled voice somewhere beyond the sea of antique gold that blinded him and tightened his grasp in response.
“Ugh!” Nick huffed. “He’s got a grip like iron!”
With a sudden burst of realization, Drew threw his opponent onto his back and then shoved the suffocating draperies to one side. Blinking up at him was a startled-looking Nick.
“I thought as much,” Drew grumbled. “I knew he couldn’t be crushing the life out of us both at the same time.”
Nick sat up. “But where did he go?”
“I suppose he took himself off once he suspected we’d spotted him. Or perhaps . . .” Drew went back to the library window and looked down at the floor. The shoes were still there. Empty. “Perhaps he was never there.”
“That must have been quite a sight,” Nick said, rubbing his head as he leaned into the window beside Drew. “All that was missing was the amusing coconut-like sound when our empty skulls collided.”
“And I suppose we’ve rather neatly obliterated any footmarks that may have been left in the garden, as well,” Drew said. “I’m glad our Miss Parker wasn’t witness to our antics.”
“Who says?”
Drew looked up to see Madeline standing in the doorway, laughing silently. He drew himself up, a picture of wounded dignity.
>
“Madam, you are no gentleman . . . and for that I am profoundly grateful.”
With a smile of his own, Drew stepped back over the windowsill. Nick hopped into the library after him.
“Did you see anyone?” Drew asked.
“I’m afraid not,” she admitted, coming over to the window beside them. “I got here only in time to see the two of you beat the curtains into submission.”
“No, look here,” Nick insisted. “Someone was back there. Listening.”
“Maybe someone was back there,” Drew corrected.
Madeline examined the shoes, not touching them. “Do you recognize them?”
“Could belong to anyone,” Nick said, “but it wouldn’t be hard to compare them to anybody’s here.”
“True enough.” Drew glanced out into the garden once more. “If he’s staying here. Suppose it was Lincoln again, looking for whatever he was after in the first place. Where’s he been keeping himself all this time since he was ‘murdered’? We’ve searched the house, and he doesn’t seem to be here.”
“Perhaps he’s staying out in the wood somewhere,” Nick offered. “Or in one of our cottages.”
“Like Peterson’s, you mean.”
Nick shook his head. “No. I can’t see that in old Peterson. He’s not the kind to kill for money.”
“Maybe not for money,” Drew said, “but there’s no telling what a father might do because of his child. Of course, the only one he’d kill because of Opal would be Lincoln. It’s hardly likely he’d be hiding him, is it?”
“Well, he’s not registered at the Queen Bess, that’s for certain.” Nick sprawled out on a chair. “That would have helped enormously.”
Madeline’s face suddenly lit. “What if he is?”
Nick sat up straight. “What?”
“Why doesn’t anyone ever see this Mr. Flesch? And why would Mr. Whiteside, a man with connections to Farlinford Processing, just happen to come to Farthering St. John right now? And why . . .” She broke off when Drew grinned. “I’m not kidding.”
Drew squeezed one arm around her. “Of course you’re not, darling. I was thinking along those same lines myself earlier today. I even went to the Queen Bess to see what I could see.”
Rules of Murder Page 22