‘My poor darling.’ He caught her in his arms. ‘You’ve been so wonderfully brave. Freda–darling angel–could you ever–I mean, would you–I love you, Freda. Will you marry me?’
After a suitable interval, highly satisfactory to both parties, Major Wilbraham said, with a chuckle:
‘And what’s more, we’ve still got the secret of the ivory cache.’
‘But they took it from you!’
The major chuckled again. ‘That’s just what they didn’t do! You see, I wrote out a spoof copy, and before joining you here tonight, I put the real thing in a letter I was sending to my tailor and posted it. They’ve got the spoof copy–and I wish them joy of it! Do you know what we’ll do, sweetheart! We’ll go to East Africa for our honeymoon and hunt out the cache.’
III
Mr Parker Pyne left his office and climbed two flights of stairs. Here in a room at the top of the house sat Mrs Oliver, the sensational novelist, now a member of Mr Pyne’s staff.
Mr Parker Pyne tapped at the door and entered. Mrs Oliver sat at a table on which were a typewriter, several notebooks, a general confusion of loose manuscripts and a large bag of apples.
‘A very good story, Mrs Oliver,’ said Mr Parker Pyne genially.
‘It went off well?’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘I’m glad.’
‘That water-in-the-cellar business,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘You don’t think, on a future occasion, that something more original–perhaps?’ He made the suggestion with proper diffidence.
Mrs Oliver shook her head and took an apple from her bag. ‘I think not, Mr Pyne. You see, people are used to reading about such things. Water rising in a cellar, poison gas, et cetera. Knowing about it beforehand gives it an extra thrill when it happens to oneself. The public is conservative, Mr Pyne; it likes the old well-worn gadgets.’
‘Well, you should know,’ admitted Mr Parker Pyne, mindful of the authoress’s forty-six successful works of fiction, all best sellers in England and America, and freely translated into French, German, Italian, Hungarian, Finnish, Japanese and Abyssinian. ‘How about expenses?’
Mrs Oliver drew a paper towards her. ‘Very moderate, on the whole. The two darkies, Percy and Jerry, wanted very little. Young Lorrimer, the actor, was willing to enact the part of Mr Reid for five guineas. The cellar speech was a phonograph record, of course.’
‘Whitefriars has been extremely useful to me,’ said Mr Pyne. ‘I bought it for a song and it has already been the scene of eleven exciting dramas.’
‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘Johnny’s wages. Five shillings.’
‘Johnny?’
‘Yes. The boy who poured the water from the watering cans through the hole in the wall.’
‘Ah yes. By the way, Mrs Oliver, how did you happen to know Swahili?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘I see. The British Museum perhaps?’
‘No. Delfridge’s Information Bureau.’
‘How marvellous are the resources of modern commerce!’ he murmured.
‘The only thing that worries me,’ said Mrs Oliver, ‘is that those two young people won’t find any cache when they get there.’
‘One cannot have everything in this world,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘They will have had a honeymoon.’
Mrs Wilbraham was sitting in a deck-chair. Her husband was writing a letter. ‘What’s the date, Freda?’
‘The sixteenth.’
‘The sixteenth. By jove!’
‘What is it, dear?’
‘Nothing. I just remembered a chap named Jones.’
However happily married, there are some things one never tells.
‘Dash it all,’ thought Major Wilbraham. ‘I ought to have called at that place and got my money back.’ And then, being a fair-minded man, he looked at the other side of the question. ‘After all, it was I who broke the bargain. I suppose if I’d gone to see Jones something would have happened. And, anyway, as it turns out, if I hadn’t been going to see Jones, I should never have heard Freda cry for help, and we might never have met. So, indirectly, perhaps they have a right to the fifty pounds!’
Mrs Wilbraham was also following out a train of thought. ‘What a silly little fool I was to believe in that advertisement and pay those people three guineas. Of course, they never did anything for it and nothing ever happened. If I’d only known what was coming–first Mr Reid, and then the queer, romantic way that Charlie came into my life. And to think that but for pure chance I might never have met him!’
She turned and smiled adoringly at her husband.
The Case of the Distressed Lady
I
The buzzer on Mr Parker Pyne’s desk purred discreetly. ‘Yes?’ said the great man.
‘A young lady wishes to see you,’ announced his secretary. ‘She has no appointment.’
‘You may send her in, Miss Lemon.’ A moment later he was shaking hands with his visitor. ‘Good-morning,’ he said. ‘Do sit down.’
The girl sat down and looked at Mr Parker Pyne. She was a pretty girl and quite young. Her hair was dark and wavy with a row of curls at the nape of the neck. She was beautifully turned out from the white knitted cap on her head to the cobweb stockings and dainty shoes. Clearly she was nervous.
‘You are Mr Parker Pyne?’ she asked.
‘I am.’
‘The one who–advertises?’
‘The one who advertises.’
‘You say that if people aren’t–aren’t happy–to–to come to you.’ ‘Yes.’
She took the plunge. ‘Well, I’m frightfully unhappy. So I thought I’d come along and just–and just see.’
Mr Parker Pyne waited. He felt there was more to come.
‘I–I’m in frightful trouble.’ She clenched her hands nervously.
‘So I see,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘Do you think you could tell me about it?’
That, it seemed, was what the girl was by no means sure of. She stared at Mr Parker Pyne with a desperate intentness. Suddenly she spoke with a rush.
‘Yes, I will tell you. I’ve made up my mind now. I’ve been nearly crazy with worry. I didn’t know what to do or whom to go to. And then I saw your advertisement. I thought it was probably just a ramp, but it stayed in my mind. It sounded so comforting, somehow. And then I thought–well, it would do no harm to come and see. I could always make an excuse and get away again if I didn’t–well, it didn’t–’
‘Quite so; quite so,’ said Mr Pyne.
‘You see,’ said the girl, ‘it means, well, trusting somebody.’
‘And you feel you can trust me?’ he said, smiling.
‘It’s odd,’ said the girl with unconsciousness rudeness, ‘but I do. Without knowing anything about you! I’m sure I can trust you.’
‘I can assure you,’ said Mr Pyne, ‘that your trust will not be misplaced.’
‘Then,’ said the girl, ‘I’ll tell you about it. My name is Daphne St John.’
‘Yes, Miss St John.’
‘Mrs. I’m–I’m married.’
‘Pshaw!’ muttered Mr Pyne, annoyed with himself as he noted the platinum circlet on the third finger of her left hand. ‘Stupid of me.’
‘If I weren’t married,’ said the girl, ‘I shouldn’t mind so much. I mean, it wouldn’t matter so much. It’s the thought of Gerald–well, here–here’s what all the trouble’s about!’
She dived into her bag, took something out and flung it down on the desk where, gleaming and flashing, it rolled over to Mr Parker Pyne.
It was a platinum ring with a large solitaire diamond.
Mr Pyne picked it up, took it to the window, tested it on the pane, applied a jeweller’s lens to his eye and examined it closely.
‘An exceedingly fine diamond,’ he remarked, coming back to the table; ‘worth, I should say, about two thousand pounds at least.’
‘Yes. And it’s stolen! I stole it! And I don’t know what to do.’
‘Dear me!’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘This is very interesting.’
His client broke down and sobbed into an inadequate handkerchief.
‘Now, now,’ said Mr Pyne. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
The girl dried her eyes and sniffed. ‘Is it?’ she said. ‘Oh, is it?’
‘Of course it is. Now, just tell me the whole story.’
‘Well, it began by my being hard up. You see, I’m frightfully extravagant. And Gerald gets so annoyed about it. Gerald’s my husband. He’s a lot older than I am, and he’s got very–well, very austere ideas. He thinks running into debt is dreadful. So I didn’t tell him. And I went over to Le Touquet with some friends and I thought perhaps I might be lucky at chemmy and get straight again. I did win at first. And then I lost, and then I thought I must go on. And I went on. And–and–’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘You need not go into details. You were in a worse plight than ever. That is right, is it not?’
Daphne St John nodded. ‘And by then, you see, I simply couldn’t tell Gerald. Because he hates gambling. Oh, I was in an awful mess. Well, we went down to stay with the Dortheimers near Cobham. He’s frightfully rich, of course. His wife, Naomi, was at school with me. She’s pretty and a dear. While we were there, the setting of this ring got loose. On the morning we were leaving, she asked me to take it up to town and drop it at her jeweller’s in Bond Street.’ She paused.
‘And now we come to the difficult part,’ said Mr Pyne helpfully. ‘Go on, Mrs St John.’
‘You won’t ever tell, will you?’ demanded the girl pleadingly.
‘My clients’ confidences are sacred. And anyway, Mrs St John, you have told me so much already that I could probably finish the story for myself.’
‘That’s true. All right. But I hate saying it–it sounds so awful. I went to Bond Street. There’s another shop there–Viro’s. They–copy jewellery. Suddenly I lost my head. I took the ring in and said I wanted an exact copy; I said I was going abroad and didn’t want to take real jewellery with me. They seemed to think it quite natural.
‘Well, I got the paste replica–it was so good you couldn’t have told it from the original–and I sent it off by registered post to Lady Dortheimer. I had a box with the jeweller’s name on it, so that was all right, and I made a professional-looking parcel. And then I–I–pawned the real one.’ She hid her face in her hands. ‘How could I? How could I? I was a low, mean, common thief.’
Mr Parker Pyne coughed. ‘I do not think you have quite finished,’ he said.
‘No, I haven’t. This, you understand, was about six weeks ago. I paid off all my debts and got square again, but, of course, I was miserable all the time. And then an old cousin of mine died and I came into some money. The first thing I did was to redeem the wretched ring. Well, that’s all right; here it is. But, something terribly difficult has happened.’
‘Yes?’
‘We’ve had a quarrel with the Dortheimers. It’s over some shares that Sir Reuben persuaded Gerald to buy. He was terribly let in over them and he told Sir Reuben what he thought of him–and oh, it’s all dreadful! And now, you see, I can’t get the ring back.’
‘Couldn’t you send it to Lady Dortheimer anonymously?’
‘That gives the whole thing away. She’ll examine her own ring, find it’s a fake and guess at once what I’ve done.’
‘You say she’s a friend of yours. What about telling her the whole truth–throwing yourself on her mercy?’
Mrs St John shook her head. ‘We’re not such friends as that. Where money or jewellery is concerned, Naomi’s as hard as nails. Perhaps she couldn’t prosecute me if I gave the ring back, but she could tell everyone what I’ve done and I’d be ruined. Gerald would know and he would never forgive me. Oh, how awful everything is!’ She began to cry again. ‘I’ve thought and I’ve thought, and I can’t see what to do! Oh, Mr Pyne, can’t you do anything?’
‘Several things,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
‘You can? Really?’
‘Certainly. I suggested the simplest way because in my long experience I have always found it the best. It avoids unlooked-for complications. Still, I see the force of your objections. At present no one knows of this unfortunate occurrence but yourself?’
‘And you,’ said Mrs St John.
‘Oh, I do not count. Well, then, your secret is safe at present. All that is needed is to exchange the rings in some unsuspicious manner.’
‘That’s it,’ the girl said eagerly.
‘That should not be difficult. We must take a little time to consider the best method–’
She interrupted him. ‘But there is no time! That’s what’s driving me nearly crazy. She’s going to have the ring reset.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Just by chance. I was lunching with a woman the other day and I admired a ring she had on–a big emerald. She said it was the newest thing–and that Naomi Dortheimer was going to have her diamond reset that way.’
‘Which means that we shall have to act quickly,’ said Mr Pyne thoughtfully. ‘It means gaining admission to the house–and if possible not in any menial capacity. Servants have little chance of handling valuable rings. Have you any ideas yourself, Mrs St John?’
‘Well, Naomi is giving a big party on Wednesday. And this friend of mine mentioned that she had been looking for some exhibition dancers. I don’t know if anything has been settled–’
‘I think it can be managed,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘If the matter is already settled it will be more expensive, that is all. One thing more, do you happen to know where the main light switch is situated?’
‘As it happens I do know that, because a fuse blew out late one night when the servants had all gone to bed. It’s a box at the back of the hall–inside a little cupboard.’
At Mr Parker Pyne’s request she drew him a sketch.
‘And now,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘everything is going to be all right, so don’t worry, Mrs St John. What about the ring? Shall I take it now, or would you rather keep it till Wednesday?’
‘Well, perhaps I’d better keep it.’
‘Now, no more worry, mind you,’ Mr Parker Pyne admonished her.
‘And your–fee?’ she asked timidly.
‘That can stand over for the moment. I will let you know on Wednesday what expenses have been necessary. The fee will be nominal, I assure you.’
He conducted her to the door, then rang the buzzer on his desk.
‘Send Claude and Madeleine here.’
Claude Luttrell was one of the handsomest specimens of lounge lizard to be found in England. Madeleine de Sara was the most seductive of vamps.
Mr Parker Pyne surveyed them with approval. ‘My children,’ he said, ‘I have a job for you. You are going to be internationally famous exhibition dancers. Now, attend to this carefully, Claude, and mind you get it right…’
II
Lady Dortheimer was fully satisfied with the arrangements for her ball. She surveyed the floral decorations and approved, gave a few last orders to the butler, and remarked to her husband that so far nothing had gone wrong!
It was a slight disappointment that Michael and Juanita, the dancers from the Red Admiral, had been unable to fulfil their contract at the last moment, owing to Juanita’s spraining her ankle, but instead, two new dancers were being sent (so ran the story over the telephone) who had created a furore in Paris.
The dancers duly arrived and Lady Dortheimer approved. The evening went splendidly. Jules and Sanchia did their turn, and most sensational it was. A wild Spanish Revolution dance. Then a dance called the Degenerate’s Dream. Then an exquisite exhibition of modern dancing.
The “cabaret” over, normal dancing was resumed. The handsome Jules requested a dance with Lady Dortheimer. They floated away. Never had Lady Dortheimer had such a perfect partner.
Sir Reuben was searching for the seductive Sanchia–in vain. She was not in the ballroom.
She was, as a matter of fact, out in the deserted hall near a small box, with her e
yes fixed on the jewelled watch which she wore round her wrist.
‘You are not English–you cannot be English–to dance as you do,’ murmured Jules into Lady Dortheimer’s ear. ‘You are the sprite, the spirit of the wind. Droushcka petrovka navarouchi.’
‘What is that language?’
‘Russian,’ said Jules mendaciously. ‘I say something to you in Russian that I dare not say in English.’
Lady Dortheimer closed her eyes. Jules pressed her closer to him.
Suddenly the lights went out. In the darkness Jules bent and kissed the hand that lay on his shoulder. As she made to draw it away, he caught it, raised it to his lips again. Somehow a ring slipped from her finger into his hand.
To Lady Dortheimer it seemed only a second before the lights went on again. Jules was smiling at her.
‘Your ring,’ he said. ‘It slipped off. You permit?’ He replaced it on her finger. His eyes said a number of things while he was doing it.
Sir Reuben was talking about the main switch. ‘Some idiot. Practical joke, I suppose.’
Lady Dortheimer was not interested. Those few minutes of darkness had been very pleasant.
III
Mr Parker Pyne arrived at his office on Thursday morning to find Mrs St John already awaiting him.
‘Show her in,’ said Mr Pyne.
‘Well?’ She was all eagerness.
‘You look pale,’ he said accusingly.
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I was wondering–’
‘Now, here is the little bill for expenses. Train fares, costumes, and fifty pounds to Michael and Juanita. Sixty-five pounds, seventeen shillings.’
‘Yes, yes! But about last night–was it all right? Did it happen?’
Mr Parker Pyne looked at her in surprise. ‘My dear young lady, naturally it is all right. I took it for granted that you understood that.’
‘What a relief! I was afraid–’
Mr Parker Pyne shook his head reproachfully. ‘Failure is a word not tolerated in this establishment. If I do not think I can succeed I refuse to undertake a case. If I do take a case, its success is practically a foregone conclusion.’
‘She’s really got her ring back and suspects nothing?’
Parker Pyne Investigates Page 4