by Emily Organ
“You think I somehow knew who the murderer was and gave him permission to hide the weapon in my room? How ridiculous!”
“It had to be hidden somewhere, didn’t it?”
“But why would I ever agree to it?”
“Perhaps you were pressured into it. Bribed, perhaps. Or blackmailed. Or threatened in some other way.”
“No, absolutely not. I don’t know how the murderer discovered that my door was unlocked, but discover it he did. And now I am having to answer for it.”
I thought of everyone who had attended the dinner and wondered who could possibly have carried out this act. Had the murderer known the bedchamber was mine when the knife was planted, or had it simply been chanced upon? Had someone deliberately wished to frame me? If so, who might have known that I was staying in that room?
Chief Inspector Fenton nodded once again at the constable, who lifted another bag onto the table. This time he pulled out a heavy brown overcoat. It smelt of damp wool and the same metallic smell that had made my stomach turn on viewing the knife.
The overcoat was laid out across the table. I could see dark staining on its cuffs, and dark spatters on its sleeves and front. I didn’t need to be told what the stains were. I quickly looked away again.
“Do you recognise this overcoat, Miss Green?”
“Of course not,” I responded emphatically.
“Have another look at it. Can you be completely sure?”
I glanced quickly again at the coat, with its large collar and scuffed, leather-covered buttons.
“Of course I’m sure. It’s a gentleman’s coat.”
“Have you ever seen anyone wearing a similar overcoat?”
“I must have done, I suppose. It is a fairly ordinary-looking coat, though I cannot recall seeing any of the other guests wearing a coat such as this. In fact, I didn’t see any of them wearing an overcoat at all. We were inside all the time, so there was no need for anyone to wear anything of the sort. If this is the coat the murderer wore, it would suggest that he came from outside the building.”
“He could have put it on specifically to carry out the murder,” replied the inspector. “It would have prevented the clothes he was wearing from becoming bloodstained, and would have been quick and easy for him to dispose of. Can you show her the gloves, please, Constable Granger?”
The constable placed a pair of black leather gloves on top of the overcoat.
“These had been placed in the pockets of the overcoat,” Chief Inspector Fenton explained. “No doubt they protected the murderer’s hands as he inflicted those terrible injuries on his victims. Quite a lot of planning went into this crime. Do you recognise these gloves, Miss Green?”
“No. Perhaps you could show them to the other guests,” I suggested. “Or find out which of them is missing an overcoat and a pair of gloves.”
“Rest assured that we will be conducting full enquiries,” replied the inspector.
“You still haven’t told me whereabouts in my room the knife was found,” I said.
“That’s a piece of information we were hoping you could furnish us with, Miss Green.”
“But I have no idea!”
Chief Inspector Fenton gave an odd smile.
“The only person who knows that information, other than you, is the murderer,” I continued.
“Exactly. So we must bide our time and wait until someone accidentally lets it slip.”
“And what am I to do in the meantime?” I asked.
“You must remain inside this hotel, Miss Green.”
Chapter 15
I reluctantly returned to the Chinese Dining Room. The staff had cleared away the plates from lunch and I found Mrs Mirabeau sitting at the table smoking a cigarette. She wore a black satin dress with a bodice that was rather low cut for daytime wear. Captain lay curled in the corner of the room, his sad face resting on his paws.
“You must be in a dreadful shock from all this,” I said as I joined her.
She gave a shrug and blew out a plume of smoke. “I just don’t understand it.”
“Have the police told you where they found the murder weapon?”
“No. Do you know?” Her eyes widened with interest.
“It was in my bedchamber.”
“Your bedchamber?” Her scarlet mouth hung open.
“The murderer must have placed it there, unless the police are mistaken. But they are adamant that it was in my room. I left the door unlocked when I came down for breakfast, and somehow the culprit took advantage of that fact.”
“Well, it’s quite simple in that case. Whoever you breakfasted with can be ruled out of the investigation and everyone else must be considered a suspect.”
“I sat with Mrs Mortimer and Mr Wentworth,” I said. “And before that I encountered you and Mr Bolton, and Mr Somers and Mr Blackstone. I’m quite sure that Mr Somers and Mr Blackstone entered the dining room shortly after I did.”
“Mr Bolton talked to me for some time,” said Mrs Mirabeau. “I don’t know how he would have found time to hide the weapon while you were at breakfast.”
“So that leaves Mr White, Mr Goldman and Mr Hardy,” I said. “Can you remember seeing them at breakfast this morning?”
“They were certainly present, but when it comes to vouching for the time they were here, I cannot be sure.”
“It is not only the guests we need to consider, either,” I said. “The staff must also be included in the list of possible suspects.”
“About twenty of us stayed here last night.”
I sighed. “And to think that it could have been any one of them! Perhaps it’s not as simple as we think. How easy would it have been for someone to get inside the hotel at night?”
“Not at all easy. The front door is locked at eleven every evening, and I personally have to let anyone in or out after that time. I don’t usually retire until midnight or one o’clock. If any of our guests are still out at that time I ask one of the maids to wait up and let them in.”
“How did Mr Gallo’s companion enter the building?” I asked.
Mrs Mirabeau gave me a sidelong glance and inhaled deeply on her cigarette before replying. “I let her in.”
“You knew her?”
“Not well.”
“But you were expecting her?”
“Yes.”
“You had seen her before?”
“Yes, I had.”
“Who was she?”
“A lady he liked.” The general manager sucked on her cigarette again.
“Did you know her name?”
“Miss Hamilton is all I know.”
“And did he tell you anything about her?”
“Of course not!”
“Why not?”
“What is there to tell? You understand what the woman’s profession was, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. And presumably that means he didn’t discuss her much with anyone.”
“Of course he didn’t. Besides, it was none of my business.”
“Did you speak to her last night?”
“Just the usual greeting, and I told her how to get to the Venetian Suite. That was it. Off she went, and she used the back staircase.”
“When did you first meet her?”
“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you, Miss Green?” Her face stiffened. “It was about two months ago. Mr Gallo instructed me to let her in when she called at the door. She visited every Tuesday evening and always came knocking at half-past eleven. Had you been in an observant mood at that hour last night you would have noticed me leaving the room to admit her. I was a minute late in doing so, as I had lost track of time.”
“What was she like?”
“I didn’t know her at all, really. She was always polite and well-mannered. Tall with dark hair. And of a good background, I would say, from the way she spoke. More of a courtesan than a common prostitute, and certainly not the sort of lady who would be plying her trade on the streets. She and Mr Gallo must have met each o
ther through some sort of introduction, but I couldn’t tell you who was behind it or when it was arranged.”
“What about his wife?”
“She must never find out. And you reporters,” she said, pointing her cigarette at me, “must never mention it in your publications. You understand that, don’t you?”
I didn’t like the admonishing tone of her voice. “I have no wish to upset Mrs Gallo and her daughters any further.”
“Good.” She extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray beside her. “And will you publish the fact that the murder weapon was found in your bedchamber?”
“No, of course not.”
“It’s rather interesting,” she continued. “The murderer either placed the weapon there opportunistically, or he put it there with malicious intent. Which do you suppose it to have been?”
Her dark eyes fixed on mine, and I returned her stare. “It could have been either,” I replied. “But I can’t imagine why anyone should wish to frame me for this.”
The sound of the door opening startled us, and I stood to my feet, relieved that the conversation with Mrs Mirabeau was at an end. I didn’t know what to make of her.
A clean-shaven man with blue eyes and a square jaw stepped into the room, bowler hat in hand.
James.
I dashed over and embraced him, ignoring the fact that Mrs Mirabeau would likely deem my actions inappropriate. I breathed in the scent of his eau-de-cologne and immediately felt better.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Tired,” I replied, releasing myself from the embrace. “I cannot believe what has happened.” I took a step back. “This is Mrs Mirabeau.”
She gave each of us a bemused smile as James introduced himself.
“I hadn’t realised you were on such good terms with Scotland Yard, Miss Green,” she said.
“Inspector Blakely and I have worked on a number of cases together,” I replied, aware that this did nothing to explain our intimacy. I turned to face James again. “Have you spoken to Chief Inspector Fenton?”
“I’ve spoken to his men, and they told me all the details, including that of the knife being found in your bedchamber.”
“And now he wishes to detain me here indefinitely!”
“I’m sure he won’t, Penny. Just make it clear that you will co-operate fully, and he will trust you enough to let you out of here.”
“He probably thinks I’m the murderer!”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.”
“Then why does he speak to me as though I am?”
“He has to ask a lot of routine questions, just to be certain.”
“I don’t like the way he goes about it. Everyone else has been allowed to walk free, and one of them may be the actual murderer!”
“Hopefully you’ll be able to leave as soon as Fenton has all the information he needs.”
“Well, there’s nothing else I can tell him. I heard a door slam in the night, and I’m quite sure that it was the door to the Venetian Suite, although it was found open, so I don’t know how that could be. I wonder how the intruder even got into the room. Presumably Mr Gallo had locked it from the inside.”
“He had a key,” said Mrs Mirabeau, lighting another cigarette.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“A key was found on the floor inside the room.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that Mr Gallo locked the door when he retired for the night and left the key in the lock. The intruder must have poked something through the keyhole to knock the key out and then inserted a second key to unlock the door. That key was left in the door.”
“So he somehow obtained a spare key to the Venetian Suite. But how?”
“He took it from my office,” she replied. “Don’t ask me when or how, because I really couldn’t tell you. I look after all the spare keys, and it wasn’t until the police asked me to check for it in my office this morning that I noticed it was gone.”
“Was your office locked overnight?” asked James.
“Yes. I lock it every night before retiring.”
“At what time did you retire last night?”
“About half-past midnight.”
“And until that time the room was left unlocked?”
“Yes, it was rather remiss of me, in hindsight. My office is normally in fairly constant use, but I didn’t use it as much as usual last night because we were busy with our guests. I didn’t expect anyone to enter my office and steal a key.”
“It sounds as though there was quite a bit of planning behind this murder,” said James. “A blacked-out lantern was found in the room with three of its sides obscured to help avoid detection. You say you heard the door slam, Penny, but did you hear any raised voices?”
“Only a brief shout after the door was slammed.”
“If Mr Gallo and his companion had been awake there would have been a confrontation with the man who had just sneaked into their room. I’m certain you would have heard snippets of that confrontation.”
“Mrs Mirabeau says that her name was Miss Hamilton.”
“That’s a useful piece of information. Have you informed Chief Inspector Fenton of her name, Mrs Mirabeau?”
“Yes.”
“The presence of Miss Hamilton may have come as a surprise to the killer,” continued James. “The culprit expected to find Mr Gallo alone, and unfortunately for Miss Hamilton he killed her because she had seen his face. Everything had been carefully planned up to that point. He had procured the weapon from somewhere, then dressed himself in an overcoat to protect his clothing and gloves to protect his hands. He had a lantern adapted for secrecy and somehow managed to obtain the spare key from Mrs Mirabeau. He also knew which suite Mr Gallo would be sleeping in that night.
“However, despite all this preparation, I am not convinced that he was a practised murderer. Although the lady had her throat cut, the police surgeon who examined her says that it took several attempts for the assailant to inflict the fatal wound. It was the work of someone who was ill-practised at performing such a gruesome act. If the murderer had planned it better he would have incapacitated one while he killed the other, just so that no one could escape and raise the alarm.”
“Incapacitated?”
“With a blow to the head, perhaps.”
I shuddered.
“These are not nice thoughts, are they?” he continued. “But at times like this we must try to understand the mind of the murderer. Why a knife? A gun would have made too much noise, I suppose. But what about bludgeoning?”
I shuddered again. “That would have been just as unpleasant as using a knife.”
“Smothering? Chloroform? There are other alternatives. Why a knife? There is something rather impassioned about the choice of weapon.” James paused to consider this before continuing. “The first thing Mr Gallo did when the killer struck was attempt to escape with his life. He would have run toward the door, which the murderer may well have closed behind him when he entered the room. Gallo would have pulled open the door and then slammed it shut as he escaped to give himself a little extra time to get away. That was presumably the door slam you heard, Penny.
“Then the murderer opened it again and left it open as he chased Mr Gallo along the corridor. It’s likely that Gallo headed for the main staircase in the hope of finding someone else there; perhaps another guest or a member of staff. Unfortunately for him there was no one else about at that time, and in his hurry to run down the staircase he tripped and fell. That gave the murderer the opportunity to catch up with him and finish him off.”
“And then the murderer returned to his own bedchamber, did he?” I asked.
“We don’t know where he eventually went, but we do know that he threw the bloodstained overcoat and gloves from a window on the back staircase. The windows on that side of the building overlook Milford Alley, where the coat and gloves were found. Fenton has men examining the window frames to see whether they can ascertain which was op
ened most recently. Small splinters of paint may have been disturbed. Fenton tells me the culprit seems to have used the gentlemen’s cloakrooms on the ground floor to wash himself and the knife afterwards, as there are splashes of bloodstained water on the floor. The culprit also took a towel from there to wrap the knife in.”
“He took a big risk,” I said. “He could have bumped into anyone at any time. Then he somehow managed to hide the knife in my bedchamber while I was at breakfast.”
“He was unlikely to have known that it was your room. I imagine he just walked along the corridor trying door handles. He must have been delighted when he came across the unlocked door, and when he saw that the room was empty he quickly hid the knife, still concealed in its towel, beneath your bed.”
“So that’s where he put it. Chief Inspector Fenton wouldn’t tell me.”
“Pretend that you haven’t been given that piece of information, in that case,” replied James.
“So was the culprit a guest or an intruder?” I asked.
“There is quite a lot of work to be done on that front,” replied James. “At this stage I would like to learn a little more about Mr Gallo. Mrs Mirabeau, we need to look around his attic apartment. Would you mind taking us up there?”
Chapter 16
We took the elevator up to the top storey of the hotel and followed Mrs Mirabeau and Captain along the corridor to a door that was so plain and unremarkable I would have expected it to lead to nothing more than a cupboard. She unlocked the door and led us up a steep flight of wooden stairs and into a narrow corridor with a pitched ceiling.
“We must be in the eaves up here,” said James.
“We are,” she replied.
Our footsteps echoed on the bare floorboards, which offered a marked contrast to the thickly carpeted floors found elsewhere in the hotel.
“These are the staff quarters,” she said as we followed her past a number of doors. “Mr Gallo occupied these rooms at the end.” She unlocked the door.
“He allowed you to have a key?” asked James.
