‘Oh, thank you, sir, how very kind of you to say so. I don’t normally serve drinks but Mr Robertson – that’s the butler, had gone down with something and really wasn’t up to serving and so I was asked to take his place for the evening. What I wanted to say was this; I came down into the hall this morning – from the top landing which emerges into the back hall and where the memory tray was laid during the game. Do you remember, Constable Boase?’
Boase nodded.
‘I had just bent to tie my shoelace when I saw a couple of scratches on the skirting board. I pulled out my handkerchief to try to remove them – you see they just looked like dirt. Well, as I got down to the level of the floor, that’s when I noticed.’
‘Noticed what?’ Bartlett and Boase spoke in unison.
‘The small door at the rear of the hall is never used – and I mean never. Mrs Cornelius is very fussy about security and she never allows that door to be used. It would be quite useful at times but, no, she is most insistent. It is always firmly bolted. Today, however, the bolt was drawn back. That has never happened in my time at the house.’
Boase sat on the corner of Bartlett’s desk and looked at the man.
‘Do you mean that the back door was unlocked? That it could have been unlocked on the night of the party?’
‘Yes, sir, I suppose I do – I only noticed it this morning so I have no idea how long it’s been unlocked.’
‘That’s very helpful, Mr Carlton – thank you. We shall undoubtedly be paying another visit to the house … just for another look. If you see anything else – anything unusual, please let us know won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I will. I hope that this may have been of some help. Thank you. Good day gentlemen.’
Bartlett leaned against his chair and looked out of the window.
‘You were messing about in the hall when we went to the house, Boase – didn’t you notice the bolt?’
‘No, sir – but then, I don’t suppose I would have thought anything of it if I had noticed. So, it’s perfectly possible for someone, using that unlocked door to have slipped in, put the finger on the tray and left again.’
‘Well, I suppose so, but wasn’t the tray minded all the time?’
‘I assumed it was but I didn’t go out there that evening. I played my turn at the game but that didn’t involve leaving the room.’
‘We need to have another look, my boy. Let’s go now. If someone did use that door to come in then it’s either someone who knows their way round or …’
‘Or what, sir?’
‘Or someone was let in by a person already inside.’
An oppressive and thundery late summer storm was brewing up as Bartlett and Boase headed for the sea front and to the Cornelius house. The door was answered by the butler.
‘Is Mrs Cornelius in, please?’
‘I’m sorry sir, Mrs Cornelius is out. Her daughter is here if she can help you?’
Bartlett removed his hat and stepped inside.
‘Yes, thank you, that would help. Please tell her Inspector Bartlett and Constable Boase would like to see her.’
A minute later, Jane appeared in the hall. She was dressed in riding clothes.
‘Hello, Jane. I’m sorry – are you about to go out?’
‘Well, yes, but I’ve got ten minutes to spare.’
‘I’m so sorry to bother you again like this but Archie and I would like to have another look in the back hall by the small staircase – if you don’t mind?’
‘No, of course not. If that’s all you want then is it all right if I leave? You don’t need me?’
‘If that’s all right with you then you cut along. I don’t wish to delay you any further. We will only be a few minutes. Have a pleasant ride.’
‘Thank you – Robertson will show you out when you’ve finished. Bye.’
Bartlett and Boase headed to the back of the house and the rear hall with the small staircase. Bartlett looked at the door.
‘Well, it’s bolted firmly now – that must have been Carlton. So, Boase, what we have to imagine then, is that someone came in through this door – or was let in through it, had enough time to put the finger on the memory tray and then leave again. That’s a bit much to believe, isn’t it?’
Boase was looking at the floor near the stairs.
‘What’s harder to believe, sir, is that no one saw anything. It’s impossible. We must have it all wrong.’ The small hall suddenly went very dark and then brightened again as it was illuminated by a tremendous flash of lightning. A huge clap of thunder followed, bellowing over the house. Bartlett was staring at the frosted glass in the rear door.
‘Did you see that, Boase?’
‘No, what, sir?’
‘Someone’s out there – by the door … quick, open it!’
Boase withdrew the bolt and pulled on the doorknob. Nothing happened.
‘Quickly, Boase – open it.’
‘Can’t, sir, it’s been locked with a key.’
‘Then go out and run round the back as fast as you can.’
Boase left by the front door almost knocking Robertson to the floor, the butler having come to offer them some tea. He ran round the side of the house and stopped at the corner. The house being L-shaped, he could see across the lawn to the small hall door. There was no one there. He walked on into the garden. Nothing. He crossed to the hall door and knocked.
‘That you, Boase?’
‘Yes, sir – no one here.’
‘Right, I’ll meet you at the front of the house.’
The pair made their way back to the police station, dejected.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot, my boy – Mrs Bartlett was wondering if you’d like to have supper with us tonight?’
‘Are you sure that’s all right, sir?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t – come over about half past seven?’
‘Yes, thank you very much, sir. I will.’
Boase left the station that evening walking on air – soon he’d be sitting next to his favourite person in the whole world.
Caroline Bartlett answered Boase’s knock at the door.
‘Hello, Archie. Come in, you’re just in time – supper will only be about five minutes, Irene’s just putting out the plates. How are you keeping?’
‘Oh, I’m very well, thanks, Mrs Bartlett – you?’
‘Yes, I’m well too, but I wish you’d call me Caroline.’
Boase still thought calling her by her Christian name sounded too familiar but he would try to remember. Irene came out into the hall, closely followed by Topper who was licking his lips.
‘Hello, Archie. I’m so pleased to see you. Irene reached up and kissed Boase. He, in return stroked her cheek. Topper sighed and nudged Boase’s hand.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Topper boy – I didn’t say hello to you first. Here, let’s have a hug.’
Boase bent down and put both arms around Topper’s neck. Topper sighed again and returned to the kitchen.
‘Archie, you’re very silly with Topper. Come in and see Dad.’
Bartlett had a bottle of Leonard’s ready for Boase and they each poured one into a glass.
‘Come on, you two – no time for sitting around. Supper’s ready.’
‘Coming, Princess.’
The two went into the dining room and sat down to a meal of cod, potatoes, and peas followed by a raspberry tart made by Irene. She glanced at Boase’s empty pudding plate.
‘Food all right, Archie?’
‘It’s more than all right – it’s excellent. You’re such a good cook, Irene.’
‘Talking of cooks, my boy, who do you suppose was in the garden by the rear hall today?’
‘I have no idea, sir, really I don’t. If it was just a gardener or something then he would still be there when I got outside. No, it was definitely someone in a hurry who didn’t want to be spotted.’
‘Well, tomorrow we’ll find out if the family was expecting anyone. We’ll check the staff l
ist too. Another beer?’
‘Well, yes – I think I will, thank you. This Leonard’s London is growing on me a bit.’
‘And it’s about time I should say. You’ve been drinking it nearly as long as I’ve known you. Cheers.’
All too soon the evening came to an end and Boase and Irene were once more on the small step at the front of the house.
‘It’s so nice to see you again, Irene. It’s lovely to spend time with you.’
‘I’ve really enjoyed it too, Archie. I hope you’ll come again soon?’
‘I’d like that.’
Boase took Irene in his arms and kissed her and, as always, it was over too soon. He left her on the step and waved until he was half way up the road. He felt another sleepless night beckoned.
Chapter Nine
As Ernest Penhaligon came in with two cups of tea he closed the door behind him and spoke in a hushed voice.
‘ʼE’s ʼere again, sir.’
‘Who is?’
‘That Rimanev … you know, sir – the one from the other day. I mean Roomonev.’ Penhaligon placed the two cups down on Bartlett’s desk.
‘I think you mean Romanov.’ Boase chuckled.
‘All right, all right – whatever ʼis name is, ʼe’s ʼere.’
‘I’ll see him shortly. Tell him he’ll have to wait five minutes.’
Penhaligon left.
‘Oh, no – what does he want?’ Bartlett sipped his tea and in unison both he and Boase put their cups into the top drawer of their desks and closed them.
Leon Romanov sat by the window and propped his cane up against Bartlett’s desk.
‘Inspector Bartlett, I am a great admirer of the St John ambulance.’
Bartlett stared at the man sitting opposite. This was still early in the morning and he didn’t feel like playing games at this hour.
‘Uh, is that supposed to have some sort of relevance?’
‘Perhaps. I have an acquaintance through whom I gift money to the St John ambulance.’
‘Go on.’
‘Her name is Mrs Agnes Cornelius.’
‘You know Mrs Cornelius? How?’
‘I have known her for several years through her good work and through my donations. I have money to spare and I like to put it to good use.’
Bartlett had no quarrel with that particular idea but he was worried about what was coming next.’
‘Yesterday I had been taking tea with Mrs Cornelius – she had heard I was in the town and invited me. We have never met before and she wanted to thank me personally for what I have done in the past. When I was there I took the opportunity to have a look for clues relating to the party.’
‘You did what? How did you know about all that?’
Bartlett was beginning to feel angry and undermined.
‘Don’t get upset, Inspector Bartlett. I may have information which could help you.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as this.’
Romanov leaned forward and opened his hand. He was holding a small tortoiseshell comb. Bartlett took it from him.
‘What is this?’
‘Well, you can see, Inspector. It’s a comb.’
‘Yes, I can see that. I mean, where did it come from?’
‘I found it outside the back door of the small hall.’
‘You!’
Bartlett leapt up from his chair, his face now very red.
‘It was you that we saw at the house yesterday, snooping around in the garden. Why did you run off?’
‘I didn’t run off, Inspector. I found what I found and then I left the garden.’
‘You have no business to be meddling in this case. If my boss found out about this, well … I don’t know what he’d do. You’d better leave.’
‘I can assure you, Inspector, I am merely trying to find out what happened to my good friends, Donald and Desmond. You may keep the comb. Goodbye. Goodbye, Constable Boase.
Romanov left.
‘What a blasted cheek!’
‘Calm down sir, you’re getting too worked up.’
‘You’re right I’m getting worked up. How dare he interfere in police work to this extent! It’s none of his damned business. Oh, I’m sorry, Boase. Take no notice. But he shouldn’t be meddling in this. It’s just making things worse.’
‘Well, you know what they say sir?’
‘What?’
‘Too many cooks spoil the broth.’
‘That supposed to be funny?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose.’
‘You’re really childish sometimes, Boase.’
At that, Bartlett couldn’t contain himself any longer. He laughed out loud. And he kept laughing. Boase started too until both were in fits of laughter causing Penhaligon to knock and come in. He looked startled.
‘Yes, Penhaligon?’
Bartlett was mopping his eyes with his handkerchief.
‘Sorry, sir. Superintendent Greet asked me to find out what all the noise was.’
Bartlett laughed again and Boase snorted.
It’s nothing, Penhaligon. Nothing at all.’
‘Right-o, sir.’
The door was shut.
Bartlett and Boase looked at each other, somewhat relieved and feeling better for their uncommon outburst and lack of self-control.
‘So. What of this comb then?
Boase took the comb from Bartlett and looked hard at it, frowning and remembering.
‘We’ve seen this before, sir. I’m sure. Do you remember?’
‘No. Can’t say I do.’
‘Remember when Sheila Parsons first came here and she showed you her glove?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think when she pulled the glove from her pocket, this fell out – or one exactly like it.’
‘No! Oh, not her again. So are we saying that she hid outside the back door and came in just in time to put the finger on the memory tray?’
‘No, she was with us at the time of that particular game. But I noticed something else at the house, sir. I was going to talk to you about it this morning but then Romanov turned up.
‘What?’
‘When we were examining the rear hall I looked inside the little cupboard under the stairs. That would make a good hiding place, wouldn’t it?’
‘It certainly would. Bit small though.’
‘Well, it was empty. I couldn’t fit in it but someone small could.’
‘Like a woman?’
‘Or a small man, I suppose, sir. But that doesn’t make sense either. Sheila Parsons came in through the front door making a huge show of herself – just about everyone saw her. She wasn’t in the back garden or the hall when we were playing the game. She stayed in the room with Irene and me all the time.’
‘All the same, get her in again, Boase.’
Boase finished the cup of cold tea which was in his desk drawer and, grabbing his coat, went to the door. Just at that moment, the desk sergeant knocked and came in.
‘Sorry to interrupt but I might have some good news for you both.’
Boase went back into the office.
‘We could certainly do with some.’
The sergeant handed him an envelope and left. Bartlett tore it open and read the contents.
‘That’s very interesting.’
‘What, sir?’
‘The finger … it had a scar on it. Look at this diagram – it’s a rather unusual scar. Yes, very distinctive. Time to find out if either of the Cooks had one like this, I think. But the park body had all its fingers, didn’t it? How very helpful. Come on. Time to go. You get Sheila in and I’ll try to speak to Dr Cook. See you back here later on.’
Sheila sat in the garden at Bar Terrace. Stephen had got the bicycle this time and Angela was bathing a doll in the fish pond.
‘Angela, dearie. Yer Dad’ll be back any minute and ʼe’ll ʼave a right fit if ʼe sees you upsetting ʼis fish, make no mistake. Stop it now before ʼe gets back.’
Angela threw the doll
on the floor and scowled at Sheila.
‘Da always lets me bathe Dora in the pond.’
‘Well, it’s almost time to go in for something to eat now anyway. I’m sure Dora is due a nap. Stephen, be a good boy and put the bike away now. Who fancies a sandwich?’
Sheila went into the kitchen. Hearing a knock at the front door she went into the front room and peered cautiously round the curtain. Inspector Bartlett said she should be very careful. There was no one there. Thinking it was the very badly behaved children who lived next door, she returned to the hall. As she passed the front door she saw a piece of paper on the mat. She bent down and picked it up. It was folded into four with no name on the front. She unfolded it and read:
I saw you at the police station. I want the ring.
I heard that young policeman talking to his boss outside.
He said you’d be safe now that they had it.
Get it back or you’ll be sorry.
The note wasn’t signed but Sheila knew exactly who had sent it. She hurried back to the front room and looked out again. She was surprised to see Boase standing on the step and ran to open the door, pushing the note under the large plant pot beside the hall window.
‘Hello, Constable Boase. See, I ʼaven’t gone anywhere – just as you said. What brings you ʼere?’
‘Inspector Bartlett would like me to take you to the station. He wants to speak to you.’
‘Well, no. I can’t. I can’t leave Stephen and Angela on their own.’
At that moment, Jim Penfold came up the garden path.
‘What’s goin’ on ʼere? Sheila?’
‘Constable Boase wants me to go to the police station and I was just tellin’ ʼim that I can’t leave the kids.’
‘What now, Constable Boase? Haven’t you pestered Sheila enough yet?’
‘I’m very sorry, Mr Penfold but Inspector Bartlett has given me strict instructions to take Miss Parsons back with me.’
‘I’m sure I won’t be very long, Jim. I was just cutting some sandwiches. There’s some fish paste if you want to finish it for me – the kids are starvin’.
‘OK – but come straight back. You know Mr Bartlett told you not to be ʼangin’ round on yer own.’
‘I promise, I’ll come straight back.’
Sheila kissed Jim Penfold on the cheek and went down the front garden with Boase.
Too Many Cooks Page 11