“No, that’s all right,” said Sir Gideon dully. “If you’re right, anything I can do to help the police goes without saying, but, poor woman, she’d not got an enemy in the world—it’s incredible.”
“Thank you, sir,” Marrofat stepped to the door and sent the constable for Gartside. “You won’t mind my having my right-hand man present, will you, Sir Gideon?” he asked. “I might get taken off this case for something else, then Inspector Gartside would carry on, and we won’t want to bother you more than necessary.”
Sir Gideon Shoesmith gave a short nod of consent, and sat staring at the fire while Gartside, who had joined them, settled himself unobtrusively, with his note-book, in a corner.
“Now, sir,” the Superintendent began, “I understand Lady Shoesmith and yourself have not been married very long?”
“No—just over eight months.”
“She was married before, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“And yourself, Sir Gideon?”
“No, I’ve led a very strenuous life with little time for marriage, but now I had hoped to take things easier and settle down.”
“Quite so, sir; a terrible blow for you, I’m sure. Lady Shoesmith had children by her first marriage, I think?”
“Yes, there is one boy.”
“That would be Richard Eaton, I presume.”
“Yes, Richard.”
“Have you any reason to suppose, Sir Gideon, that there was any trouble between the boy and his mother?”
Sir Gideon lifted his hard eyes to the Superintendent.
“No,” he said slowly. “No, they were very fond of each other, I think.”
“And Miss Eaton—what were her relations with her sister-in-law?”
“I agreed that she should live with us when we married—it was my wife’s wish—and she acts as a housekeeper to a certain extent. She has no money of her own, so it was a kindness on our part—and I must say she’s done everything to show her appreciation; we hardly know she’s in the flat.”
“I see. Sir Gideon. Now do you happen to know a young Jew, thin, with stooping shoulders, wears pince-nez, very polite and well-dressed?”
“I might, a man in my position meets so many people.”
“This man has come to your flat?”
“No, don’t know him, he hasn’t been here.”
“Well, he has tonight, and he let himself in. I gather what he told Miss Eaton must have been a blind—I don’t doubt he’s the man we’re looking for.”
Sir Gideon sat up suddenly. “Is anything missing—what about my wife’s jewels?”
The Superintendent nodded. “I was coming to that, but we’ve been pretty fully occupied during the twenty minutes we’ve been here, in a moment we’ll ascertain if anything has been taken. Were Lady Shoesmith’s jewels valuable, Sir Gideon?”
“They’re insured for fifteen thousand—and worth every penny of it,” returned the heavy-faced man in the chair.
“Just one more question, sir. What time did you go out?”
“Ten minutes past seven—I attended the annual dinner of the London and Sheffield Commercial Association at the Park Lane Hotel in Piccadilly, and I returned here—to find—” he broke off suddenly, and stretched out a hand for his glass on the mantelpiece.
“All right, sir, thank you,” said Marrofat briskly. “Now if you don’t mind we’ll just look around and see if anything is missing.”
“I would rather”—the elderly man looked tired and grim—“rather—not see my wife with strangers—this has been a great shock.”
“No, sir, I don’t mean that, just the other rooms.”
“All right.” Sir Gideon heaved himself up out of the arm-chair, took a drink from his glass, then bracing himself led the way out into the passage.
Their first visit was to the bedroom, a spacious room, expensively furnished in the modern style; two doors led out of it, in addition to that from the corridor, one to the bathroom and the other to Sir Gideon’s dressing-room.
Upon the wide bed a dress of gold tissue had been carefully laid out, and various feminine garments lay scattered about the room.
“The safe’s in my room,” said Sir Gideon briefly, and the two police officers followed him into the dressing-room. A brief survey showed them that nothing had been touched, the door of the small, white-painted safe, which served as a pedestal for a square cupboard, was fast shut.
Gartside carefully wrapped his handkerchief round the handle and tried to turn it gently, but it proved to be locked.
“Better see if the contents are all right,” suggested Marrofat, “they might have used the lady’s keys.”
With an effort Sir Gideon knelt down and, producing his key-chain, unlocked the safe. The Inspector turned the handle as before, and the door swung silently open.
Inside there were several packets neatly tied up in brown paper, some bundles of letters, and a thin wad of treasury notes, kept together by a rubber band. Upon the lower shelf was a fair-sized jewel case, securely locked, and quite a number of individual jewel-cases, ranging in sizes from small ones, obviously made to hold a single ring, to others of a considerably larger size for necklaces and pendants.
“No,” said Sir Gideon. “Nothing’s been disturbed.” He opened one or two of the cases, and the jewels sparkled from their velvet cushions. Then he opened a big flat case that lay at the bottom—it was empty, but he did not seem surprised. “Those would be her pearls,” he said, “but I expect they’re in the bedroom, she always wore them.”
He shut the case with a snap, pushed it in, and swung the door of the safe to, locked it, and rose stiffly to his feet.
Marrofat grunted. “Not like a professional job, to leave that lot, and with the keys in the bedroom, too. They’d have a pretty shrewd idea what’s in that safe, and know its position to an inch. That puts me out a bit, I thought I knew that young Jew.”
“Yes,” Gartside agreed. “I had the same idea, but it would have been out of character for him to have done this job.”
Sir Gideon having passed again into the bedroom, the Inspector added in a low voice; “Silky’s no killer.”
“No, but he might have thought the flat empty,” replied his chief, with some asperity. “Plenty of busters have made a killing before now when they’ve been caught out in the act. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
The two officers rejoined Sir Gideon in the bedroom, he was standing with lowered head near the bed, looking fixedly at his wife’s evening shoes.
Upon the glass top of the elaborate dressing-table were scattered several beautiful rings. The Superintendent recalled Sir Gideon’s attention.
“Would you mind seeing if all Lady Shoesmith’s things are here, sir?”
The big man turned slowly, walked over to the table, and began idly to finger the rings. “Yes, they’re all right,” he said slowly. Then, suddenly, becoming alert—“But the pearls—where’re the pearls?” And he began to rummage the drawers below.
Marrofat and Gartside went carefully round the room searching with practised fingers any other places that seemed likely, but the pearls were not forthcoming.
“Bathroom,” suggested Gartside, in a low voice to his colleague.
“Not there,” said the other. “I couldn’t have missed them if they’d been about; but you can have a look.”
With Sir Gideon he continued to search the bedroom until Gartside returned with a shake of his head.
“Let’s go back to the other room,” said the Superintendent. And they followed Sir Gideon to the sitting-room. “What were they worth?” he inquired, as he closed the door behind him.
“Seven thousand,” replied Sir Gideon, “perhaps more today despite the fall of the market. Old Eaton knew pearls, and they were well bought.”
“Well, it’s pretty clear,” the Superintendent ran his thick fingers through his mop of ginger curls, “it was the pearls he came for. But there’s one thing, sir, I think I know our man. That’s a big hel
p, he hasn’t got time to get out of the country, and my name’s not Marrofat if I don’t bring him in.”
Sir Gideon sank heavily into his arm-chair once more, but he seemed to have recovered from the first shock, and lit a fresh cigar. “Well,” he said firmly, passing the box to the two detectives, “if there is anything which I can do to help you, let me know—money’s no object, and I’ll spend anything, anything, you understand—to ensure that the man who did this ghastly thing meets with his deserts.”
“You can rely on us, sir,” Marrofat nodded. “We shan’t waste any time, in fact, we’ll get right back to the Yard now, if there is nothing further which we can do for you first? Would you care for us to ring up Mr. Eaton, to come round here, or any friend of yours?”
“No—very good of you, Superintendent, but I think I’d rather be alone. Plenty of time for Richard to learn this sad news in the morning.”
“Very good, sir, we won’t trouble you any more, then. The inquest will be on Monday, and I’m afraid you’ll have to attend. It should be purely formal, and I’ll let you know the time.”
Sir Gideon made a movement to show the two officers out, but Marrofat stopped him. “I’ll take a last look round before I go,” he said, “and I expect the doctor’s waiting to report. We’ll have to lock the bathroom up, of course, and my man will remain on duty, but he won’t trouble you, you’ll hardly know he’s here. Good night, Sir Gideon.”
Outside, in the hall, the police surgeon was waiting, a lean Scotsman. In a few brief sentences he stated the cause of death, and his statement bore out De Richleau’s view. Lady Shoesmith had died from a number of blows upon the back and base of the cranium, which had rendered her unconscious—she had then slipped underwater.
The Superintendent asked him if he thought the blows alone had brought about her death, and he replied:
“I’d not like to insure the life of ony puir pairson who’d been hit about the heid like that—but—I am of the opeenion that she was still alive when she slippit under water.”
“Any idea about the thing she was hit with?” Marrofat inquired. The Scotsman shook his head.
“’Twas the usual blunt instrument that the papers all haver about, but what that might be I haven’t an idea. ’Twas sideways the puir thing was struck, and ye shall have a diagram in the morning, but noo I’ll be off to my bed.”
“Not a doubt of it,” Marrofat said to his junior, when the doctor had gone. “This is Silky’s job; he came for the pearls, and he got ’em. Knew that they were only off the woman’s body for perhaps a quarter of an hour in the day—and most of the time when they were off her neck Sir Gideon was about. He watched the place for weeks, maybe, and made his run tonight. Then when he got in, the poor lady heard something, or came back into the bedroom to fetch something she’d forgotten—ran right on to him, as like as not—and he coshed her, slipped her back in the bath, and made a bolt for it. That explains his not monkeying with the safe. He was jumpy—jumpy as hell—and he beat it. But what a nerve to stop and talk to the old sister like that. Anyhow, thank God we’ve got three witnesses to identify—her and the two next door. What a bit of luck, and he hasn’t time for a getaway. We’ll pull him in before the morning.”
“No chance of picking up any prints on the dressing-table, I suppose,” suggested Gartside.
“Not a hope.” Marrofat shrugged his shoulders. “I let Sammy clear out directly I heard that Silky was wearing white kid gloves.”
6
Mr. Rex Van Ryn Also Becomes Inquisitive
The Duke de Richleau sat with one of his slim legs crossed over the other in a deep arm-chair. He was beside the fire in the sitting-room of his own flat.
Van Ryn occupied another equally comfortable chair, and upon a small table placed between the two stood a couple of brandies and soda, and a box of cigarettes.
They had just returned from the opposite flat. After Sir Gideon’s arrival they had felt that, since they could be of no more use, courtesy required that they should retire; and the Duke, having assured Miss Eaton that should she or Sir Gideon be in any need of assistance they had only to send across, both had wished the timid, frightened lady good night.
Rex Van Ryn was terribly intrigued that unforeseen circumstances should have made him a witness, at first hand, of a recent murder. From what the Duke had just told him, he no longer doubted that Lady Shoesmith’s death was by no means the tragic accident which it had at first appeared. When the Duke suggested that he should have a brandy and talk things over before going on to the dance, he had at once accepted.
“A strange word, murder,” the Duke was saying. “Unlike so many other crimes, it expresses such a variety of actions: to kill, from a long hidden desire for revenge, secretly, plotting the death of your enemy—watching him die perhaps—increasing the dose of poison day by day. That is murder. Yet equally, if one of us normally reasonable human beings drank four times as much of this brandy as it is likely that we shall, we might become just the slightest bit mentally unbalanced, and on account of some obscure, imagined insult, take such incredible offence that one of us might seize that jewelled crucifix upon the table beside you and dash out the other’s brains. That would be murder too.”
“I’m terribly interested in that case across the hall. Since you’ve put me wise that it really is murder, I’d give a heap to know who did it—and just how, and when.” Van Ryn sat forward eagerly in his chair.
“Yes,” the Duke smiled, “murder and sudden death—they are always interesting. It is absurd, because, after all, sooner or later we all have to die. There are hundreds of people dying every minute while we sit here. I myself have never lost the thrill that such a thing always brings upon the spectator, although up and down the world I have seen much death in one form or another. It is perhaps the unexpectedness which holds the mind. We are all so secure in ourselves. We live on, and it is unthinkable to a healthy man that he should not be here next week; then when, without warning, we are brought into contact with death, it is as a writing on the wall, and we are frightened—just a very little frightened—that our own time might come before we are prepared—and it nearly always does!”
Van Ryn nodded. “That’s just about it, I’ll allow, but I’d certainly like to be that big police boss next door—getting all the dope, and figuring out who did that woman in.”
“An opportunity, my dear boy, for you to use your intelligence. Who could have done this thing? There is Miss Eaton, poor creature; there is the housemaid, and that formidable old cook; also we have young Monsieur Richard, and the Jewish young man whose visit has yet to be explained. And then there is a factor which we will call ‘X’—an outside personality of whom we have as yet heard nothing, possibly only a burglar after loot.”
“I’d say it was the Jew every time. How did he get in, anyway? You know, I can’t get out of my mind that I’ve seen that fellar somewhere before.”
“Well, in that case, try and remember where. From what little we know, I agree, a visit so unexplained is most suspicious. But where can you have seen him?”
Van Ryn lay back in the arm-chair, and closed his eyes for a few moments, then he sat up again. “No,” he said, “I can’t fix it. I’m sure I’ve seen him some place, and more than once—but where?—that’s got me beat. I’ll remember maybe in my bath one day next week!”
“Come now,” De Richleau urged. “Next week—that is no good. If it was he he will be in Spain or Poland by that time. Think, my friend. Is it in America that you’ve seen this face?”
“It’s right here in London.”
“Is it in your office in the city that you’ve seen him?”
“No.”
“Is it in the house of one of your friends here?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Is it perhaps at your club?”
“No, it’s not that either.”
“Is it, then, at a restaurant?”
Rex grinned. “That’ll be more like it. There’s one th
ing certain, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him out of evening dress.”
“Tell me the places that you go to in London.”
“The Embassy quite a bit, the Ritz for luncheon, if I’m in the West End, and the Savoy at times. Listen here,” he stood up suddenly, “I’ve got it—supper at the Berkeley.”
“Monsieur Le Coq, I salute you,” the Duke waved his slim hand. “But, seriously, this is interesting. Are you quite sure?”
“I certainly am.” Rex took a long pull from his glass. “He goes there every night—that is, every night I’ve been there, anyway—sitting right at the same table in the corner. I knew I’d seen him before some place the very moment I took a look at his face.”
For a moment they sat in silence, and then the Duke asked with a little smile: “And are you really eager to follow up this little drama?”
“I am that. I’ve never been so near mixed up in a murder crime before. I’d certainly like to see the end of it.”
“In that case, let’s see what we can do. I have an idea, and I will endeavour to arrange something.”
“Do you mean you’re able to fix it so that we can follow the case from the inside, and get to know just what the police really think, apart from any fool stuff they let get put in the news-sheets?”
“That is what I should like to achieve. Not an easy matter, perhaps. The police have very strong objections to letting outside people participate in any special knowledge which they may secure. And they’re right. It’s when a criminal thinks himself safe that he is most likely to give himself away. Were they to take every Peter and Paul into their confidence, who knows but what the criminal might learn of their suspicions, and get away? Again, such special knowledge might encourage others to try their hand at detection, and that is the one thing above all others that the police abhor. The amateur does not understand police methods, and by rash enthusiasm may ruin a coup which has cost them weeks of careful work. That’s an additional reason why they like to keep their conclusions to themselves.”
“How do you figure to fix it, then? Through your pull with the Assistant Commissioner?”
Three Inquisitive People Page 4