The Daffodil Mystery

by Edgar Wallace

  CHAPTER VI

  THE MOTHER OF ODETTE RIDER

  The two men looked at one another in silence.

  "Well?" said the Commissioner at last.

  Tarling shook his head.

  "That's amazing," he said, and looked at the little slip of paper betweenhis finger and thumb.

  "You see why I am bringing you in," said the Commissioner. "If there is aChinese end to this crime, nobody knows better than you how to deal withit. I have had this slip translated. It means 'He brought this troubleupon himself.'"

  "Literally, 'self look for trouble,'" said Tarling. "But there is onefact which you may not have noticed. If you will look at the slip, youwill see that it is not written but printed."

  He passed the little red square across the table, and the Commissionerexamined it.

  "That's true," he said in surprise. "I did not notice that. Have you seenthese slips before?"

  Tarling nodded.

  "A few years ago," he said. "There was a very bad outbreak of crime inShanghai, mostly under the leadership of a notorious criminal whom I wasinstrumental in getting beheaded. He ran a gang called 'The CheerfulHearts'--you know the fantastic titles which these Chinese gangs adopt.It was their custom to leave on the scene of their depredations the_Hong_, or sign-manual of the gang. It was worded exactly as this slip,only it was written. These visiting cards of 'The Cheerful Hearts' werebought up as curios, and commanded high prices until some enterprisingChinaman started printing them, so that you could buy them at almost anystationer's shop in Shanghai--just as you buy picture post-cards."

  The Commissioner nodded.

  "And this is one of those?"

  "This is such a one. How it came here, heaven knows," he said. "It iscertainly the most remarkable discovery."

  The Commissioner went to a cupboard, unlocked it and took out asuit-case, which he placed upon the table and opened.

  "Now," said the Commissioner, "look at this, Tarling."

  "This" was a stained garment, which Tarling had no difficulty inrecognising as a night-dress. He took it out and examined it. Save fortwo sprays of forget-me-nots upon the sleeves it was perfectly plain andwas innocent of lace or embroidery.

  "It was found round his body, and here are the handkerchiefs." He pointedto two tiny squares of linen, so discoloured as to be hardlyrecognisable.

  Tarling lifted the flimsy garment, with its evidence of the terriblepurpose for which it had been employed, and carried it to the light.

  "Are there laundry marks?"

  "None whatever," said the Commissioner.

  "Or on the handkerchiefs?"

  "None," replied Mr. Cresswell.

  "The property of a girl who lived alone," said Tarling. "She is not verywell off, but extremely neat, fond of good things, but not extravagant,eh?"

  "How do you know that?" asked the Commissioner, surprised.

  Tarling laughed.

  "The absence of laundry marks shows that she washes her silk garments athome, and probably her handkerchiefs also, which places her amongst thegirls who aren't blessed with too many of this world's goods. The factthat it is silk, and good silk, and that the handkerchiefs are goodlinen, suggests a woman who takes a great deal of trouble, yet whom onewould not expect to find over-dressed. Have you any other clue?"

  "None," said the Commissioner. "We have discovered that Mr. Lyne hadrather a serious quarrel with one of his employees, a Miss OdetteRider----"

  Tarling caught his breath. It was, he told himself, absurd to take sokeen an interest in a person whom he had not seen for more than tenminutes, and who a week before was a perfect stranger. But somehow thegirl had made a deeper impression upon him than he had realised. Thisman, who had spent his life in the investigation of crime and in thestudy of criminals, had found little time to interest himself inwomanhood, and Odette Rider had been a revelation to him.

  "I happen to know there was a quarrel. I also know the cause," he said,and related briefly the circumstances under which he himself had metThornton Lyne. "What have you against her?" he said, with an assumptionof carelessness which he did not feel.

  "Nothing definite," said the Commissioner. "Her principal accuser is theman Stay. Even he did not accuse her directly, but he hinted that she wasresponsible, in some way which he did not particularise, for ThorntonLyne's death. I thought it curious that he should know anything aboutthis girl, but I am inclined to think that Thornton Lyne made this manhis confidant."

  "What about the man?" asked Tarling. "Can he account for his movementslast night and early this morning?"

  "His statement," replied the Commissioner, "is that he saw Mr. Lyne athis flat at nine o'clock, and that Mr. Lyne gave him five pounds in thepresence of Lyne's butler. He said he left the flat and went to hislodgings in Lambeth, where he went to bed very early. All the evidence wehave been able to collect supports his statement. We have interviewedLyne's butler, and his account agrees with Stay's. Stay left at fiveminutes past nine, and at twenty-five minutes to ten--exactly half anhour later--Lyne himself left the house, driving his two-seater. He wasalone, and told the butler he was going to his club."

  "How was he dressed?" asked Tarling.

  "That is rather important," nodded the Commissioner. "For he wasin evening dress until nine o'clock--in fact, until after Stay hadgone--when he changed into the kit in which he was found dead."

  Tarling pursed his lips.

  "He'd hardly change from evening into day dress to go to his club," hesaid.

  He left Scotland Yard a little while after this, a much puzzled man. Hisfirst call was at the flat in Edgware Road which Odette Rider occupied.She was not at home, and the hall porter told him that she had been awaysince the afternoon of the previous day. Her letters were to be sent onto Hertford. He had the address, because it was his business to interceptthe postman and send forward the letters.

  "Hillington Grove, Hertford."

  Tarling was worried. There was really no reason why he should be, he toldhimself, but he was undoubtedly worried. And he was disappointed too. Hefelt that, if he could have seen the girl and spoken with her for a fewminutes, he could have completely disassociated her from any suspicionwhich might attach. In fact, that she was away from home, that she had"disappeared" from her flat on the eve of the murder, would be quiteenough, as he knew, to set the official policeman nosing on her trail.

  "Do you know whether Miss Rider has friends at Hertford?" he asked theporter.

  "Oh, yes, sir," said the man nodding. "Miss Rider's mother lives there."

  Tarling was going, when the man detained him with a remark which switchedhis mind back to the murder and filled him with a momentary sense ofhopeless dismay.

  "I'm rather glad Miss Rider didn't happen to be in last night, sir," hesaid. "Some of the tenants upstairs were making complaints."

  "Complaints about what?" asked Tarling, and the man hesitated.

  "I suppose you're a friend of the young lady's, aren't you?" and Tarlingnodded.

  "Well, it only shows you," said the porter confidentially, "how peopleare very often blamed for something they did not do. The tenant in thenext flat is a bit crotchety; he's a musician, and rather deaf. If hehadn't been deaf, he wouldn't have said that Miss Rider was the cause ofhis being wakened up. I suppose it was something that happened outside."

  "What did he hear?" asked Tarling quickly, and the porter laughed.

  "Well, sir, he thought he heard a shot, and a scream like a woman's. Itwoke him up. I should have thought he had dreamt it, but another tenant,who also lives in the basement, heard the same sound, and the rum thingwas they both thought it was in Miss Rider's flat."

  "What time was this?"

  "They say about midnight, sir," said the porter; "but, of course, itcouldn't have happened, because Miss Rider had not been in, and the flatwas empty."

  Here was a disconcerting piece of news for Tarling to carry with him onhis railway journey to Hertford. He was determined to see the girl andput her on her guard, and
though he realised that it was not exactly hisduty to put a suspected criminal upon her guard, and that his conductwas, to say the least of it, irregular, such did not trouble him verymuch.

  He had taken his ticket and was making his way to the platform when heespied a familiar figure hurrying as from a train which had just come in,and apparently the man saw Tarling even before Tarling had recognisedhim, for he turned abruptly aside and would have disappeared into thepress of people had not the detective overtaken him.

  "Hullo, Mr. Milburgh!" he said. "Your name is Milburgh, if I rememberaright?"

  The manager of Lyne's Store turned, rubbing his hands, his habitual smileupon his face.

  "Why, to be sure," he said genially, "it's Mr. Tarling, the detectivegentleman. What sad news this is, Mr. Tarling! How dreadful for everybodyconcerned!"

  "I suppose it has meant an upset at the Stores, this terrible happening?"

  "Oh, yes, sir," said Milburgh in a shocked voice. "Of course we closedthe Store for the day. It is dreadful--the most dreadful thing within myexperience. Is anybody suspected, sir?" he asked.

  Tarling shook his head.

  "It is a most mysterious circumstance, Mr. Milburgh," he said. And then:"May I ask if any provision had been made to carry on the business in theevent of Mr. Lyne's sudden death?"

  Again Milburgh hesitated, and seemed reluctant to reply.

  "I am, of course, in control," he said, "as I was when Mr. Lyne took histrip around the world. I have received authority also from Mr. Lyne'ssolicitors to continue the direction of the business until the Courtappoints a trustee."

  Tarling eyed him narrowly.

  "What effect has this murder had upon you personally?" he asked bluntly."Does it enhance or depreciate your position?"

  Milburgh smiled.

  "Unhappily," he said, "it enhances my position, because it gives me agreater authority and a greater responsibility. I would that the occasionhad never arisen, Mr. Tarling."

  "I'm sure you do," said Tarling dryly, remembering Lyne's accusationsagainst the other's probity.

  After a few commonplaces the men parted.

  Milburgh! On the journey to Hertford Tarling analysed that urbane man,and found him deficient in certain essential qualities; weighed him andfound him wanting in elements which should certainly form part of theequipment of a trustworthy man.

  At Hertford he jumped into a cab and gave the address.

  "Hillington Grove, sir? That's about two miles out," said the cabman."It's Mrs. Rider you want?"

  Tarling nodded.

  "You ain't come with the young lady she was expecting?" said the driver

  "No," replied Tarling in surprise.

  "I was told to keep my eyes open for a young lady," explained the cabmanvaguely.

  A further surprise awaited the detective. He expected to discover thatHillington Grove was a small suburban house bearing a grandiose title.He was amazed when the cabman turned through a pair of impressive gates,and drove up a wide drive of some considerable length, turning eventuallyon to a gravelled space before a large mansion. It was hardly the kind ofhome he would have expected for the parent of a cashier at Lyne's Store,and his surprise was increased when the door was opened by a footman.

  He was ushered into a drawing-room, beautifully and artisticallyfurnished. He began to think that some mistake had been made, and wasframing an apology to the mistress of the house, when the door opened anda lady entered.

  Her age was nearer forty than thirty, but she was still a beautiful womanand carried herself with the air of a grand dame. She was graciousnessitself to the visitor, but Tarling thought he detected a note of anxietyboth in her mien and in her voice.

  "I'm afraid there's some mistake," he began. "I have probably found thewrong Mrs. Rider--I wanted to see Miss Odette Rider."

  The lady nodded.

  "That is my daughter," she said. "Have you any news of her? I am quiteworried about her."

  "Worried about her?" said Tarling quickly. "Why, what has happened? Isn'tshe here?"

  "Here?" said Mrs. Rider, wide-eyed. "Of course she is not."

  "But hasn't she been here?" asked Tarling. "Didn't she arrive here twonights ago?"

  Mrs. Rider shook her head.

  "My daughter has not been," she replied. "But she promised to come andspend a few days with me, and last night I received a telegram--wait amoment, I will get it for you."

  She was gone a few moments and came back with a little buff form, whichshe handed to the detective. He looked and read:

  "My visit cancelled. Do not write to me at flat. I will communicate with you when I reach my destination."

  The telegram had been handed in at the General Post Office, London, andwas dated nine o'clock--three hours, according to expert opinion, beforethe murder was committed!