The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile

by Clara Benson

  ‘So you see,’ went on Jameson, ‘our investigations elsewhere reveal that the dead woman was indeed employed here as a dance hostess.’ He deliberately phrased it thus in order not to give away the fact that the staff had been talking without permission. ‘According to our information, her name was Lita de Marquez.’ He paused to see what reaction this got.

  Johnny Chang’s eyebrows rose in apparently genuine surprise and consternation.

  ‘Lita de Marquez! She did work here, yes—but she left of her own accord. That is why I didn’t mention her when you came here last time. I understood you were looking for someone who had gone missing, but as far as I was aware, Lita was alive and well and had merely gone to a new job.’

  Jameson felt that this was splitting straws, but made no remark, and Johnny Chang went on, ‘Is she really dead, then? That is most distressing.’

  ‘We haven’t formally identified the body yet, but we are working on the supposition that it was indeed Lita de Marquez,’ said Jameson.

  ‘Then I am very sorry,’ said the young man, ‘but I don’t see how I can help you.’

  This was clearly disingenuous, but again Jameson made no remark, and merely said, ‘We shall need somebody to make a formal identification, at least. Unfortunately, her face has been disfigured beyond all recognition, but there are other distinguishing features that you or one of your employees might be able to identify. She had a rather distinctive birth-mark on the inside of her left arm, for example. Somebody may perhaps have noticed it at one time or another.’

  Johnny waved his hand.

  ‘Yes, no doubt they did, if it is indeed she. I shall speak to them all and find out whether any of them are willing to identify her. I suppose they need not see her face.’

  ‘No, that will not be necessary,’ said Jameson.

  ‘Very well,’ said Johnny. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘We shall also need to speak to your staff,’ said Jameson.

  ‘But why?’ said Johnny.

  Willis shifted in his seat and Jameson sighed inwardly, seeing that the young man had determined to take refuge in polite but deliberate obtuseness.

  ‘Because we believe she was killed by someone she knew,’ he said, ‘and possibly even by someone she knew from the Copernicus Club.’

  ‘I can vouch for all my employees,’ said Johnny Chang. ‘I am not in the habit of employing murderers.’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Jameson with a slight touch of irritation. ‘They don’t exactly go about announcing the fact.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Johnny uncomfortably, ‘I know that. I merely meant that I only employ respectable people who come furnished with impeccable references.’

  The inspector passed over this and continued, ‘What about clients? Perhaps it occasionally happens that one of your girls becomes—shall we say attached—to a particular client? Please understand, Mr. Chang, that I am not in the slightest bit interested in anything your girls may or may not choose to do privately. That is not why I am here.’

  But Johnny Chang was already shaking his head with decision.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said firmly. ‘My mother and I do not allow anything of the sort. If a girl did happen to find herself—becoming attached—to a man, then we should ask her to leave, however honourable the association, since we run an honest establishment and do not wish to expose ourselves to charges of anything untoward.’

  ‘Apart from breaking the licensing laws,’ Jameson could not help saying.

  Johnny Chang smiled in dry acknowledgment.

  ‘There was some confusion over our licence,’ he said. ‘It was unintended on our part, naturally, and my mother is unfortunately paying the price for the misunderstanding. However, you will find that everything here is perfectly above-board now. You may come and raid us on any night you like, inspector. You won’t find anything.’

  ‘That is not my province,’ said Jameson. ‘I am concerned only with finding out who killed Lita de Marquez, and to do that I shall need to question your staff.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Johnny Chang. ‘I shall speak to them and instruct them to assist you as far as they can. I doubt very much whether any of them will be able to tell you anything, however.’

  ‘Of course they won’t, once he’s spoken to them and told them in no uncertain terms to keep their mouths shut,’ said Willis in disgust as they left the club afterwards.

  ‘I think you’re probably right,’ said Inspector Jameson. ‘The Changs have no intention of making things any easier for us, that’s certain enough.’

  The sergeant was right, of course. Two days later, Jameson sat in his office, sifting through various reports and his notes from the Copernicus. As he had suspected, there was not much to look at. Geraldine had been persuaded to identify the body and, red-eyed, had confirmed it as that of her former room-mate, Lita de Marquez. As for the staff, one or two of the waiters had been found to have criminal records for theft—although there was no history of violence in either case—and Jameson had received hints that a famous American gangster frequented the place, but since he had been on the run for years there was not much he could do about it except to keep an eye out. As for the rest of the clientele, many or most of them were well-known, or at least well-to-do, and it would be difficult to pin anything on any of them.

  He was just about to call Sergeant Willis and set him on to the task of looking more deeply into the records of the known criminals, when he received a call from downstairs informing him that a reporter named Pilkington-Soames wanted to see him.

  ‘Who?’ he said impatiently. ‘I don’t want to speak to any reporters. Oh, he’s a friend of Mrs. Marchmont, is he? I suppose you’d better send him up, then.’

  A minute or two later, Freddy Pilkington-Soames swung insouciantly into the room, introduced himself and threw himself into a chair without being invited. Jameson regarded him with polite suspicion.

  ‘How may I help you, Mr. Pilkington-Soames?’ he said. ‘I understand you are a friend of Mrs. Marchmont. Did she send you?’

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ said Freddy. ‘I came off my own bat, but I guessed that my handsome face alone would not be enough to get me past the guard dogs at the entrance, so I thought I’d better send up her name.’ He looked about him with mild interest. ‘I say, I’ve never seen inside Scotland Yard before. It’s all rather thrilling, isn’t it? Do you have a prison here, or is it all offices? I had the misfortune to spend a night in the cells on Bow Street a few days ago—an unlucky contretemps involving a sausage and an awkwardly-placed member of the local constabulary—I won’t bore you with the story—but my word, how uncomfortable it was! How do these criminal chappies put up with it?’

  ‘They don’t have much choice,’ said Jameson politely.

  ‘Well, I should revolt if I were in their position,’ said Freddy. ‘I believe I shall write a letter to the Home Secretary, to warn him of the danger of revolution within if standards of comfort and cleanliness are not improved in His Majesty’s prisons very soon.’

  ‘No doubt he will be very obliged to hear your thoughts on the matter,’ said Jameson. ‘Pardon me, but is this why you have come? To tell me your views on the British justice system and its operations?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Freddy, ‘although I’m quite sure you’d like to listen to them all day. No,’ he went on, ‘I have come to do my duty as a concerned citizen.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes. You look doubtful, inspector,’ he said. ‘I can see you thinking, “When on earth will the fellow get to the point?”’

  This was exactly what Jameson had been thinking, in fact, but he said nothing.

  ‘Then I shall keep you in suspense no longer,’ said Freddy. ‘I understand from our mutual friend Mrs. M. that you have a certain interest in a fashionable establishment known as the Copernicus Club. Is that correct?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Jameson cautiously, wondering how much the boy knew.

  ‘Oh, no need to be coy, insp
ector,’ said Freddy. ‘I can assure you I’ve promised Angela faithfully to keep the story out of the papers—for now, at least, although naturally I am hoping to get the scoop in return for my help, just as soon as you say the word. Very well, let us come to an understanding: I know that the woman whom Angela so carelessly almost ran over in her car was most likely a dance hostess named Lita de Marquez, and that she worked at the Copernicus until she went missing a few weeks ago. I also know that the staff at the Copernicus Club have been instructed not to say anything to the police, given the—let us say somewhat precarious existence of the club itself, and the very real possibility that talking to the Yard might land the whole boiling of them out on the street.’

  ‘You seem to know all about it,’ said the inspector dryly. ‘But tell me, are you here to try and find out more—in which case, you needn’t bother, or are you here to help?’

  ‘Oh, the latter,’ Freddy assured him.

  ‘Then would you mind getting to the point?’

  Freddy sat up. His affected carelessness was gone now, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I shall. I have done a little digging on my own account and found out all about the man Lita was seeing.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said the inspector, suddenly alert. ‘Who is he? Do you have a name?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Freddy, ‘and it’s one you know. His name is Johnny Chang.’

  EIGHTEEN

  He sat back to observe the effect of his words on the inspector. Jameson regarded him in some surprise.

  ‘Are you sure of this?’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Freddy. ‘I can produce a witness, in fact. He worked at the club but was sacked a week or two before Lita disappeared, although he didn’t say what for.’

  ‘Hmm, he may be holding a grudge, then,’ said Jameson. ‘Who is this witness, and what exactly did he tell you?’

  ‘His name is Cyril,’ said Freddy, ‘and he says that everybody most likely knew what was going on even if they pretended they didn’t. Apparently it’s not uncommon for young Master Chang to—er—avail himself of the services offered at his own club, although this one seemed a little more serious than the others.’

  ‘How did you find this chap, exactly?’ asked Jameson.

  ‘I have my methods, Watson,’ said Freddy mysteriously. Seeing Jameson’s expression he went on quickly, ‘I used to be rather an habitué of the Copernicus, and was pretty pally with most of the waiters. When I went to the club that night with Angela, I asked after Cyril and was told that he had left, so I tracked him down as I thought he might be prepared to talk, since he’d lost his job anyway. It turns out I was right.’

  ‘Yes, well, that would have been our next step,’ said Jameson with a cough, ‘but you seem to have anticipated us.’

  ‘Far be it from me to tell the police how to do their job,’ said Freddy sententiously, then turned suddenly serious. ‘I say, though, I do hope it’s of some help. This is a nasty business. Murder is bad enough, but then deliberately to smash the poor woman’s face in—it makes me feel rather sick, quite frankly.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the inspector, ‘it does leave an unpleasant taste in one’s mouth.’ He found himself rather liking the young man despite his affectations. ‘By the way, does Mrs. Marchmont know you are here?’

  ‘No, although I dare say I shall tell her sooner or later,’ said Freddy. ‘I wanted her to introduce me to you, you know, but in the end I was too impatient and decided to shift for myself.’

  ‘Why on earth did you want an introduction?’ asked Jameson, surprised.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Freddy uncomfortably. ‘I don’t like to say it, since Mother found me the job, and I secretly rather expected them to chuck me out after the first week, but I find myself unaccountably drawn to the work, and if I’m going to make a success of it, then I shall need a tame policeman or two to give me the official angle on things. A reciprocal arrangement, of course,’ he went on hurriedly. ‘I don’t want you to think it would be all one way.’

  ‘Well, we shall see,’ said Inspector Jameson non-committally. ‘I don’t say we don’t occasionally make use of reporters when it suits us. But to return to this fellow Cyril—what else did he tell you? Does he know anything about Lita’s disappearance?’

  ‘No, I told you—he left before she did,’ said Freddy, ‘but he said he had begun to wonder whether she wasn’t rather tiring of Johnny. There was nothing definite, he said, but things did seem to have cooled a little between them. If you ask me, Cyril was sweet on Lita—at least, he certainly seems to have paid a good deal of attention to her personal affairs, but as it happens, that makes him rather a useful witness, don’t you think?’

  ‘Always assuming that he is telling the truth, and that his judgment has not been clouded by his feelings,’ said Jameson practically. He saw Freddy’s face fall, and said, ‘We see it a lot in this line of work, I’m afraid. Very few people are able to give a completely objective account of things. Everyone has their own opinion, or their own view of an affair. That doesn’t mean everything this chap says is wrong, but we will do well to take it with a grain of salt and seek confirmation elsewhere.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m sure he was telling the truth,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m rather good at spotting when people are lying.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a moment,’ said Jameson, ‘but perspicacity is not enough when one has to make a case before a judge. It’s not sufficient to say “I know he was telling the truth”—one has to demonstrate it beyond reasonable doubt, and that is not always so easy. I can’t tell you the number of guilty men I have seen allowed to go free because their guilt could not be proved.’

  ‘Well, I shall give you Cyril’s address and you shall judge for yourself,’ said Freddy, scribbling something down and handing it to the inspector. ‘Perhaps you will find someone who can confirm what he says—I can’t believe he is the only person ever to have been sacked by the Changs. Or perhaps someone who works there now can be persuaded to talk.’

  ‘Hmph,’ said Jameson. ‘We haven’t had much success so far. Even when Mrs. Marchmont spoke to one of the dance hostesses the girl denied all knowledge of any men-friends. They know how to keep their mouths shut in that world, right enough.’

  ‘That’s why you need me, inspector,’ said Freddy. ‘I can wriggle into confidences that would be denied to a mere policeman.’

  ‘Well, then, let’s see what you’re made of,’ said Jameson. ‘I shall go and pay this Cyril chap a visit. If he really is prepared to give up the goods on Johnny Chang and can be shown to be a reliable witness, then this may well prove to be a big step forward in the case.’

  ‘I should jolly well hope so,’ said Freddy. ‘I should hate to think I was wasting my efforts.’ He stood up, seeing that the interview was over. ‘You will let me know what comes of it, won’t you, inspector? I should like to be the first to get the story—when I’m allowed to write it.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Jameson, ‘and thanks for the tip-off. If you find out any other information do give me a call.’

  He got rid of Freddy and called for Sergeant Willis, and they went out in search of the sacked waiter, hoping that they might be getting somewhere at last. To Jameson’s mild surprise, Freddy’s witness turned out to be a good one. Cyril was a mischievous young man who had been sacked for larking about when he ought to have been working, as well as for being over-familiar with the customers. He freely admitted it was all his own fault, and insisted that he bore no grudge against the club or against the Changs. He was now engaged to be married, he said, and was working hard in his new job to save up for the wedding. He came across as honest enough, in Jameson’s view.

  According to Cyril, Johnny Chang was often seen out and about with one or other of the girls from the Copernicus Club, although he generally picked the prettiest ones. There was never anything serious in it—the girls were given generous gifts and Johnny got to display himself to advantage
about the town, and everyone was happy. The thing with Lita had been going on for a bit longer, though, and Cyril had on occasion wondered whether Johnny hadn’t been rather soft on her, although as far as Cyril could tell, it was never a big thing to Lita—as a matter of fact, he rather thought she had tired of Johnny. He’d heard them having a row once. No, he didn’t know what it was about: he wasn’t the type to eavesdrop on other people’s arguments, but he did see her storm off, and heard Johnny shout after her that she would regret it.

  Inspector Jameson made a note here.

  ‘He said she would regret it?’ he repeated. ‘Did he say anything more specific than that? Did he say why she would regret it?’

  ‘No,’ said Cyril. ‘It didn’t sound like he meant anything much by it. It was just the kind of thing one might say during a row. I’ve probably said it myself, before.’

  ‘Did anybody else see this argument?’ asked Jameson.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Cyril. ‘There were other people there at the time. I can’t remember who, though.’

  The two policemen thanked him and returned to Scotland Yard.

  ‘It looks as though the only thing for it is to go back to the Copernicus and its unhelpful staff,’ said Jameson with an exasperated sigh. ‘Are you ready to beat your head against a brick wall again, Willis?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said the sergeant. ‘My head’s taken enough knocks over the years. I’m sure it can take a few more.’

  They were just about to leave when the telephone-bell rang. Jameson answered it. He spoke in short syllables, but his face gradually took on a look of excitement as he listened to the person at the other end, who evidently had something of interest to report. Eventually, he put down the phone and turned to Willis.

  ‘They’ve found a witness who saw Lita at Charing Cross station on Wednesday the 7th of September—and she was with a young man of Chinese appearance who had an educated English accent.’

  ‘Indeed?’ remarked Willis. ‘Who is this witness?’