‘Oh, yes; I saw them go.’
‘Will you tell me the happenings here the rest of the evening?’
‘Why, yes. I sat in the library and read a magazine. A telephone call came from a friend and I talked quite a long time with her. A friend who lives in this building dropped in for a little call and Mr Sewell also called. Mr Sewell seemed anxious to see Mr Balfour and I asked him to wait as I expected my husband home soon.’
‘And Mr Sewell waited?’
‘Yes, until called away by telephone. Then he left the house, seeming a little preoccupied, I thought.’
‘And this was about what time?’
‘Why, I don’t know. Somewhere around eleven, I should say. But I’m not at all certain, I never know the time.’
‘Your other caller was still here?’
‘When Mr Sewell left? Yes. He went away shortly after.’
‘He lives in this house, you say? What is his name?’
‘Yes, he has an apartment on the second floor, I think. His name is Mr Swinton and he is a long time friend of Mr Balfour and myself.’
‘Well, now, Mrs Balfour, this may sound a hard question, but I must ask it. Do you know of anyone, anyone at all, who would have any wish to kill Mr Balfour?’
‘Certainly not!’ The brown eyes blazed. ‘He was a man friendly to all. He had few intimate friends, but he had a very wide circle of acquaintances and I am perfectly sure no one of them would wish him the slightest harm.’
‘He was on friendly terms with Mr Ramsay, his librarian?’
She smiled faintly. ‘Indeed, yes. I often told him he spent more time with Mr Ramsay than he did with me.’
‘You helped him with his books?’
‘I couldn’t really help him, but I often sat in the library while they discussed the books and I learned more or less about them.’
‘Did you know that Mr Balfour had bought or was about to buy a book from Mr Sewell that would cost something like a hundred thousand dollars?’
‘Oh, yes, I know all about that. Did you get it, Mr Sewell?’
‘The deal is still hanging fire. I can’t yet give a final report.’
‘It is probable, Mrs Balfour,’ Burnet put in, ‘that your husband’s death is due to his possession of that book, and—he was possibly killed by a member of this household.’
CHAPTER III
GUY DEMANDS HIS RIGHTS
IF Captain Burnet expected to shock Alli Balfour, he must have been disappointed.
She sat up straight, resting her hands on the arms of the high-backed chair, and said in a gentle voice:
‘Don’t talk in riddles, Captain. What do you mean by household? We are only three here. My husband, myself and Mr Ramsay. Do I understand you suspect Mr Ramsay—or me?’
‘Not you, madam, certainly not.’ This from Manton. ‘But there are circumstances that make us feel that your husband’s librarian must be asked a few questions.’
‘Ask him, then, by all means. He was a great favourite with my husband. Mr Balfour depended on him for all matters connected with the library. The slightest suspicion of Mr Ramsay’s guilt is too absurd. But I hope you will prove this to your own satisfaction.’
‘We sure will,’ Burnet told her. ‘Now, Mr Ramsay, where is this very valuable book that has been spoken of?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Ramsay declared. ‘It was Mr Balfour’s errand tonight to get the volume from Mr Sewell, who, Mr Balfour supposed, had it ready for him.’
‘Where was this marvellous volume to come from?’ and the Captain turned his inquiring glance on Sewell.
‘That information is entirely unnecessary to your work, Captain Burnet, and I don’t care to give it. Transactions in the more valuable rare books are, as a rule, confidential among the parties concerned. However, the book has disappeared and if you can find it in the course of your investigation, I shall be glad indeed to see it again.’
‘How large is the book? Could Mr Balfour have found it and put it in his pocket?’
‘In an overcoat pocket, yes. Not easily in a coat pocket.’
‘You don’t care to tell me the name of the book?’
‘I don’t, and I’ll tell you why. The book itself is not the treasure. It is the fact of the owner’s signature on the fly-leaf and some other points, not of any meaning to the man in the street, but significant to collectors. It is quite possible that Mr Balfour found it on my shelves. If so, he had every right to take it, for I bought it for him and should have given it to him at the first opportunity. If there’s a chance that it was in his overcoat pocket, will you not telephone the morgue and find out? His clothing will be cared for there.’
‘I’ll do that,’ and Burnet rose and left the room.
‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about,’ said Gill, who had been listening with a perplexed air. ‘If a bad man came in and killed Mr Balfour and knocked out Ramsay, why consider any other possible criminal, and why not assume he has the rare book and set to work to get it back?’
‘It is not so easy as that, Mr Gill,’ and Manton looked at him closely. ‘There are many angles to be considered. For instance, you will probably be asked to give a more definite report of how you spent this evening than you have yet done.’
‘Rubbish! I was miles away at the time the killing took place.’
‘At what time did the killing take place?’
‘Lordy! don’t you know that? And you an Inspector! I thought you nailed down the time the very first thing.’
‘I’d be glad to. But nobody seems to know anything about it. When did you leave the shop?’
‘About eight. And as I was back there something like half-past eleven, I’m assuming Mr Balfour was attacked between those hours. Now who did it? For if it was someone who wanted that book, it is conceivable that was the motive for the crime; but if the murderer was someone who knew nothing of rare books, then we have two criminals to look for.’
‘Where was the book?’
‘Like Mr Sewell, I can’t consider that question relevant. I will only say that it was in the shop when I left there, and when I returned it was not there.’
At this moment, Captain Burnet came back. He looked a little excited.
‘I called the morgue,’ he said, ‘and they will look for the book. It hasn’t been noticed so far. But I learned some more vital evidence. May I ask, Mr Ramsay, why your belongings are all packed up? Your clothes in trunks and suitcases, your books in boxes and your rooms partly dismantled?’
‘Yes,’ and Ramsay spoke indifferently. ‘I planned to go away—on a trip.’
‘A longish trip, I take it, from the amount of luggage made ready. I fear we cannot let you go tomorrow, Mr Ramsay. What was to be your destination?’
‘I planned a short stay in Boston where I have some business, and then I expected to go abroad.’
‘On a book-buying trip for Mr Balfour?’
‘No, on business of my own.’
‘Then, you were leaving Mr Balfour’s employ?’
‘I had intended that, yes.’
‘Did Mr Balfour know of this move?’
‘He did.’
‘And approve of it?’
‘No, he did not approve of it,’ Alli broke in; ‘Philip didn’t want him to go at all. In fact, he wouldn’t agree that Mr Ramsay was going. He just said, “Oh, nonsense,” whenever it was spoken of.’
‘Will you explain this situation, Mr Ramsay?’ Inspector Manton asked. ‘Your belongings all packed to go away, yet your employer did not want you to leave him. What was luring you away from this position, which seems ideal for a man of your tastes and ability?’
Keith Ramsay hesitated. Then he said, slowly, ‘I had the offer of a more advantageous position.’
‘More lucrative?’
‘No, not that. But more desirable for other reasons. I cannot feel, however, that these queries have anything to do with the crimes we are considering. Mr Balfour wanted me to stay on here because I can be of help to him in h
is library. But that has nothing to do with the matter of his murder or with the disappearance of his rare book.’
‘We are not entirely sure of that.’ Manton looked grave. ‘A book that is worth anything like a hundred thousand dollars is as much a motive for crime as a great diamond or emerald.’
‘That is true, Inspector, but as I am innocent of murder or theft, I cannot see why I am, or seem to be, under suspicion.’
‘I do not say you are under suspicion, Mr Ramsay, but I do want you to defend your actions. The question, at present, centres round your visit with Mr Balfour to the Sewell bookshop this evening. I still feel you have not made clear the reasons for your getting in by the window.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Sewell declared, ‘my customers are welcome to come in by the window if they like. I wish I had been there when Mr Balfour came.’
‘Where was this wonderful book you are talking about? Was it hidden in your shop?’
‘Now, Inspector, don’t talk like that. What’s the use of my having a snug hidy-hole, if I tell where it is? I have several rather clever places of concealment for books that I want to conceal. But if I tell of them, they are secret no longer. But the book was hidden in my shop and now it is missing. And it must be found. I am sure it was stolen by the murderer of Mr Balfour, so I think the two mysteries may be treated as one.’
‘How many people knew of this rare volume?’
‘Not many,’ Sewell returned. ‘I heard about it and had to have a long correspondence with its owner, before I could induce him to part with it.’
‘My good Heavens!’ exclaimed Alli Balfour, ‘we must notify Guy.’
‘Who is Guy?’ Manton inquired.
‘He is Mr Balfour’s son, the child of his first wife.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the city. He lives down in Greenwich Village somewhere. We must let him know about his father. Keith, will you see to it?’
‘It will be attended to,’ said Manton. ‘Captain, you telephone, will you? What is the address, Mrs Balfour?’
She told him, and he asked a few questions about the young man.
‘No, he doesn’t live with us,’ Alli told him. ‘Oh, yes, we are all friendly, perfectly so. But Guy belongs to the younger set—not exactly Bohemian, but modern and—er—informal. The sort of people Mr Balfour didn’t enjoy. So it was arranged that Guy should live by himself. His father gave him a liberal allowance.’
‘And is young Mr Balfour interested in rare books?’
‘More or less. It is difficult to be in the house with an enthusiastic collector and not fall under the spell of the old volumes. I knew almost nothing about it when I married Mr Balfour, but I have learned a little, and now that the library is mine, I want to keep it up and care for it and add to it, as my husband would have done had he lived. I sincerely hope Mr Ramsay will stay for a time and advise me about the collection.’
‘You know then the conditions of Mr Balfour’s will? The great library will be yours?’
‘Yes; with the exception of his son, and some charities and minor bequests, I am the sole legatee.’
‘Mr Guy Balfour is in the habit of coming here often?’
‘Yes, he is frequently here for dinner or to spend the night. He and his father were congenial in many ways.’
‘How old is the young man?’
‘About thirty-five.’
‘You are not as old as that yourself?’
‘No, I am twenty-five. Mr Balfour, my husband, was nearly fifty-six. But the difference in our ages seemed negligible, we were so at one in our interests and in our tastes and temperament.’
In response to Burnet’s call, Guy Balfour came.
Of medium height and graceful carriage, he entered the room and, seeing no vacant seat near Alli, fetched a chair from the other side of the room and placed it beside her.
Then he sat down, took her hand in his, and said, ‘Tell me all about it.’
He took no notice of the others and leaned toward his step-mother, awaiting her response.
A handsome chap, with fair hair that curled and dark blue eyes that seemed both wise and mysterious. Yet his aplomb bordered on insolence and did not at all please Inspector Manton.
‘I will give you the details, Mr Balfour,’ he stated firmly. ‘You must realize that this is an official inquiry, not an informal gathering. When did you see your father last?’
‘Why, I don’t know—a few days ago, I guess. When was I up here last, Alli?’
‘Wednesday night, I think. Or maybe Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday it was. And now it’s Friday. I think that’s the way of it, Inspector.’
‘You were here, then, last Tuesday evening?’
‘To the best of my memory and belief, yes.’
Guy’s tone was not really sarcastic, but it gave an impression of superiority and sounded as if he were patronizing his questioner.
Manton realized this but imperturbably forged ahead.
‘You’ve not seen him this evening, then?’
‘Certainly not. What has happened? Has Dad committed some crime? Or why are the police present?’
He still showed no serious concern, but when Manton said, gravely, ‘Your father is dead, Mr Balfour,’ he voiced an explosive ‘No!’ and became eagerly inquisitive.
‘Tell me about it,’ he cried. ‘Somebody called up and ordered me to come here at once. Gave no reason. Now you tell me this! Where is he? Who did it? What happened?’
‘Hold on there, Mr Balfour,’ Burnet said, sharply; ‘if you didn’t know your father was dead, why do you say, “Who did it?” implying that your father was killed—?’
‘Killed? Of course, that is plain on the face of things. My father has not been ill. I come here on an order that gives me no reason for the call. I get here and find my father absent, the police here, and my father’s wife pretty much all gone to pieces, what else can I think but that my father was done in by somebody?’
‘Can you not think that your father may have been the aggressor and may have been—say, arrested?’
‘No! I can’t think anything like that of Philip Balfour! But you’ve no right to bait me. Tell me the truth.’
‘I think you should know the truth, Guy,’ and John Sewell’s voice was stern and positive. ‘Your father was killed this evening down at my shop. The criminal was some unknown person who came in, masked, and stabbed him.’
‘Who was he? Who did such an awful thing? You must find out, you police fellows; if you don’t, I’ll find out myself!’
‘I wish you could, Mr Balfour. But ranting and railing are to no effect. Can you tell us anything helpful about the circumstances? Had your father a fear of anyone? Any thought that he might be molested or attacked?’
‘Why no, of course not. Father was afraid of nobody! How ridiculous! He took the greatest precautions about the safety of his books but I never heard him express any fears for his life.’
‘You live down in the Village?’
‘Yes; Washington Square, South. But I shall move up here at once. You’ve no objections, have you, Alli? I am now, of course, head of the family, I shall take my father’s place in the house and look after the library.’
‘You are familiar with the contents of your father’s will?’
‘N-no, not exactly. But I am his only son, and naturally I inherit the estate.’
‘Don’t bank on that, Guy,’ Alli advised him; ‘you know that your father was very fond of me.’
‘Yes, and I suppose you wheedled him into leaving you a lot of property that should by right be mine? Oh, I’m not complaining, but though you are Dad’s present wife, I am his only child and I must have my rights.’
‘If you please, Mr Balfour, keep your attention on the subjects in hand. We have no knowledge, as yet, of Mr Balfour’s disposition of his estate. Who are his lawyers—or his trustees?’
‘I don’t know; you must get all that from his wife.’
‘I shall do so. And now, wil
l you give me an account of how you spent this evening, before you came here?’
‘Well, no, I’d rather not.’
‘And I’d rather you would. Besides it will save you trouble to do so. For otherwise we shall have to find out for ourselves, and though we can easily do that, it would mean more or less unpleasantness for you as we should have to inquire among your friends and that would look as if you were an object of suspicion.’
‘Suspicion! Of killing my father?’
‘Not necessarily that, but there was a very valuable book stolen tonight from Mr Sewell’s shop and—I understand you are a collector.’
‘Collector? Bah! I have a few odd volumes that my father gave me now and then. He said I’d better save them up for a rainy day, as they would always sell for a goodish bit. But I say, Mr Sewell, did you get the Taxation book?’
‘What is the Taxation book, Mr Sewell?’ asked the Inspector, quickly, before Guy could be answered.
‘Please don’t discuss that this evening,’ Sewell said; ‘I don’t want to divulge its title at this moment. You shall learn all about it in due time, Inspector Manton. Meanwhile, if I can be of no further use, may I be allowed to go home? My wife will be getting anxious.’
‘Yes, you may go, Mr Sewell, also Mr Gill. Since Mr Balfour plans to stay at this house, I shall adjourn this inquiry until tomorrow morning, when we will resume it. I shall then want to see the lawyer and also the servants of the house as well as the principals. Mrs Balfour, what are your wishes concerning the immediate disposal of your husband’s body?’
Alli raised imploring eyes to him, as if this brutal question were the last straw.
‘I—I—’
Keith Ramsay spoke for her. ‘I think, Inspector, Mrs Balfour can better decide that in the morning. Can it not be left where it is until then, when arrangements can be made for the funeral?’
‘I’ll see to those things,’ Guy volunteered. ‘Mrs Balfour and I will look after the family details. I’m your right-hand man, Alli, and you can safely trust everything to me.’
She said, ‘Yes, Guy,’ and gave him a small smile that might mean anything at all and that did mean nothing.
She looked relieved as Guy seemed about to leave them.
Murder in the Bookshop Page 4