Mrs. Vanderstein's jewels

by Mrs. Charles Bryce

  CHAPTER XXII

  "What do you think about going over to Boulogne, Mr. Gimblet?"

  It was the following morning, and Jennins was sitting in Gimblet'srooms. He had come round to talk matters over and discuss plans andmethods of carrying them out.

  "I think I may be more useful if I stay here," Gimblet said, in answerto his question. "Your fellow, Burford, who is over there, is a goodsound man who will, at least, not overlook the obvious, and Bonnot, theFrench detective, who is said to have been summoned, is a master of hisprofession. These murders are certainly the work of the same gang, andit may be easier to trace them here in London, if it is, as it appearsto be, their starting point, than it will be to do so in a foreigncountry. There is no more news from Burford, I suppose?"

  "Nothing new since last night. And no more than the papers have, anyhow.These reporters are the deuce."

  "They are," Gimblet agreed. "Let's see again what they say about it." Hetook up a paper, turned to the sinister headline, and read aloud:

  "A startling sequel has followed the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Vanderstein and Miss Turner, who left their home early in the week and whose whereabouts were only yesterday discovered. One of these ladies, Mrs. Vanderstein, who, it will be remembered, we ascertained to be staying at Boulogne, was found dead in her room at the Hotel de Douvres yesterday afternoon, and foul play is strongly suspected. Traces of violence were plainly to be seen and it is thought likely that the poor lady was strangled to death. A curious feature of the affair is that though Mrs. Vanderstein had with her a large quantity of her valuable jewellery, some of which was actually lying on the table at the time, so far as is at present known none of it has been stolen.

  "A page in the service of the hotel reports that he showed a visitor to Mrs. Vanderstein's room soon after luncheon, and this stranger, who is described as a tall man with a black beard, left the hotel shortly before three o'clock, after delivering a message from the lady to the effect that she did not wish to be disturbed again that day. The order was duly given to the domestics of the hotel, and if a messenger from London had not arrived by the five o'clock boat on important business and insisted on penetrating to Mrs. Vanderstein's presence, it is probable that the murder would not have been discovered until to-day. The authorities are investigating the affair with the utmost energy, and it is believed that they are on the track of the man with the black beard."

  Gimblet put down the paper. "There are various other paragraphs sayingthe same thing in different words," he remarked.

  "It certainly looks as if you were right again," observed Jenninsreflectively, "about all this being the work of the same gang, I mean."

  "There's not a doubt of it," said Gimblet. "I was sure of it from thefirst, though I admit that I had not much to go on. A mere whiff ofperfume. Let us see how much we know now. To go back to Monday night,Mrs. Vanderstein and Miss Turner voluntarily entered the house inScholefield Avenue, though whether in response to an invitation from theso-called West or not we do not know, in spite of a theory I have on thesubject. They then presumably separated, Miss Turner being imprisonedin the room on the ground floor, very much against her will and to heralarm since she broke a window in the hope of escaping, and when thatattempt failed wrote a despairing message on the wall, in which shestated her fear that something dreadful was being done to somebody inthe drawing-room. You will, I am sure, agree with me that, though themessage says that her alarm was for 'Mr' and then stops, an s wouldhave been added if Miss Turner had not been interrupted, and it was herintention to write 'Mrs.' But whether this would have referred to thewoman who was buried in the flower stand or whether she was thinking ofher friend, Mrs. Vanderstein, is not clear.

  "Was Mrs. Vanderstein in the drawing-room at the time of the murder,and if so what was her business there, is the next question whereour knowledge fails us. We know she was in that room at some timeor other--I knew that the moment I smelt her perfume on the powderpuff and note--but whether or no she was there at the moment of thecrime we cannot tell. In either case her subsequent proceedings areextraordinary. If she was detained in the house against her will andmade her escape by some unknown means, why did she fly to Boulogne,instead of to her own house or to the nearest police station? Why, whenshe got to Boulogne, did she not communicate with her friends untilyesterday? It is true she said she had written previously, but it wouldhave been more natural if she had telegraphed, and if she received noreply had telegraphed again. Why did she display no anxiety on MissTurner's account? Her actions seem at present to be inexplicable andstrange to the last degree. Had she suddenly gone off her head? That isthe most probable solution, to my mind. If so, it may well be that itwas she who committed the terrible crime I discovered in ScholefieldAvenue, and then, with the mixture of cunning and recklessness commonto lunatics of a criminal type, retired to Boulogne to wait till theaffair should have blown over. There are, however, several drawbacksto such a theory, and one of them is that it does not account for theblack-bearded man, unless he was a lover, and indeed it seems mostlikely that he was.

  "We don't know what was the part he played on Monday night. Perhaps hehelped Mrs. Vanderstein to escape more effectually than he did MissTurner, in spite of his promise to her.

  "All we know is that he took the girl out of the house on Tuesday nightor Wednesday morning and that they went together to the bank of thecanal in Regent's Park, where Matterson came upon them. We know that'black-beard' carried a heavy spade with him. What for? Not to use it ashe did, I think; neither was it to dig a grave with after Miss Turnerhad been disposed of in some other way. Think, Jennins, there was acord attached to the handle, and the canal was within a few yards ofthem. Do those two facts suggest nothing to you? Surely it is obviousthat his intention was to throw the young lady into the water, havingpreviously tied the spade to her so as to make sure she would sink. Nodoubt she guessed what was in his mind, and that was why Matterson sawher defending herself, poor girl, and heard her scream. Such at least ismy opinion."

  "I shouldn't wonder if you've hit the nail on the head this time,"agreed the inspector. "The question is, what's the next thing to bedone?"

  "It's high time I followed up a clue contained in the letter purportingto come from Prince Felipe," replied Gimblet. "I should have done solong ago, if I had not waited for Mrs. Vanderstein's version of theaffair. You remember a Madame Q. is mentioned as the bearer of thenote. Well, who is Madame Q.? I telegraphed early yesterday to Mrs.Vanderstein saying, 'Were you at 13 Scholefield Avenue on Monday night,and who else was present? Letter has been found there apparentlyaddressed to you by Prince F. mentioning Madame Q. Please wire veryfully, and give Madame Q.'s full name and address. Very grave mattersinvolved.' If the lady had replied to my wire we should doubtless havebeen spared a lot of trouble, though we might not have been able to saveher life; but, as things are, I propose to try and sift the question ofMadame Q.'s identity for myself."

  Jennins went away; and Gimblet, after being detained by a short visitfrom Sidney--who was on his way to catch the eleven o'clock train toBoulogne--also took up his hat and left the house.

  A quarter of an hour later he was standing on the doorstep of Mrs.Vanderstein's Grosvenor Street house.

  He found, as was natural, a shocked and dislocated household. Thecook and Blake were seated in the morning-room, where the cook wasflourishing a handkerchief, and reiterating observations to the effectthat she had always known something terrible was going to happen eversince the second footman had broken the looking-glass in the pantry;while the young man referred to was standing just outside the door, andputting his head into the room every few minutes to remark defiantly,though with a certain uneasiness, that it wasn't in nature for sotremendous an event to be brought about by such an insignificantpiece of glass as the one he had had the "misfortune" with. Fromthe drawing-room came the penetrating shrillness of Amelie's voice,apparently filling in the newspaper account of the murder, with all theembellishing de
tail an unshrinkingly gruesome imagination could suggest,for the benefit of the rest of the maids, whose chorusing groans couldalso be distinguished. But, on the whole, there was more perturbation asto the effect the tragedy would be likely to have on their own futuresthan distress at the dreadful fate of their mistress; and Gimblet, if hehad to listen to much lamentation, found himself also beset with manyanxious questions.

  It was some minutes before he was able to introduce his own object incoming there; but at last he drew Blake to one side, and asked him ifMrs. Vanderstein had kept a visiting book with a list of the people shecalled on.

  She had done so, and it was produced, but to Gimblet's disappointmentcontained no name beginning with the letter Q. There were, however, thenames of two or three French ladies, and he wondered whether Q weremerely a cipher for Gerady or Kerigoet. Blake, cross-questioned, couldthink of no foreign lady with whom Mrs. Vanderstein was on familiarterms.

  Gimblet remembered Amelie's thorough knowledge in the matter of hermistress' correspondence, and called to her to come and speak to him.

  "Had Mrs. Vanderstein a friend of your nationality?" he asked. "Wasthere any French lady whom she knew well, and whose name, perhaps, beganwith a Q?"

  "A lady? No," said Amelie. "A friend? Hardly! Il ne manquait plus quecela! But she was acquainted with a French woman, whose name begins withQ. Without doubt, it is of that Justine you speak."

  "Justine?"

  "Eh! Yes. Justine Querterot. Madame Querterot, as she calls herself,though, for me, I never saw that she had a husband. It is said that heshot himself, the poor man, and I do not see what he could have donebetter with a wife like that one! Ah, monsieur, a nasty, bad woman!"

  "There are people like that," Gimblet agreed diplomatically; "but tellme, how did Mrs. Vanderstein know this Madame Querterot?"

  "She came for a time to _coiffer_ Madame, and to rejuvenate hercomplexion, which needed nothing of the kind, I assure you. But she hadthe idea to be massaged, and for some months that woman was daily in thehouse. Never did I comprehend how Mrs. Vanderstein could tolerate her. Awoman so vulgar, so familiar, and who never ceased to talk and talk andtalk!"

  Amelie spoke with virtuous indignation, as one to whom the gift ofsilence has been vouchsafed.

  "She is a masseuse, then?"

  "Not a real masseuse, though so she calls herself; but, to say thetruth, she is just a hairdresser who tries to make people believe sheknows something of the care of the skin. For some reason she appeared toamuse Madame, and I think it was chiefly for that reason that she lether come."

  "Did she come every day, and has she been here since Mrs. Vandersteinleft home?"

  "For two or three months she came every day," replied Amelie bitterly."Indeed I thought she was coming always, but only last Monday--the veryday Madame went away--I heard la Justine say that it was her finalvisit; and, in truth, she has not been here since, I am very happy tosay it."

  "Ah," said Gimblet. "Well, I shall have to go and see her. Let me see,you said she is a tall, dark woman, did you not?"

  "But no," cried Amelie, "on the contrary she is short, and has yellowhair in the worst possible taste."

  "What makes you dislike this woman so much? Do you know anything againsther, by any chance?"

  But it appeared that Amelie knew nothing against Madame Querterot. Vagueaccusations and dark charges of a general character were all she had tobring; and, after listening to a tirade of this kind for a considerabletime, Gimblet cut it short by asking for the masseuse's address.

  "Your mistress left a letter for her," he said, "which has been sentover to us by the French police. It is of no importance, and contains, Ithink, only a reference to Madame Querterot's account, but I am anxiousto deliver it; and, as the poor lady had got no further with the addressthan Madame Q, without your assistance it would have been a matter ofsome difficulty."

  It was unfortunate that the detective should have hit upon this excuseto explain his interrogations, for the idea that even death had not puta stop to intercourse between Mrs. Vanderstein and her enemy nearlysuffocated Amelie, whose jealous suspicions woke again at the challenge.

  "This is the address, monsieur," she said, as she gave it to him,"but I would not count on finding the bird in the nest. It is in theneighbourhood of Boulogne that you should look for that infamous woman.One of her kind is capable of everything; and, in my opinion, nothing ismore probable than that it is she who is the real assassin of my poorMadame! A black beard, indeed! Is she not a hairdresser?"

  Gimblet fled before the storm of words he had provoked, and hurried tothe Pimlico address that he had obtained.

  In spite of himself, Amelie's words echoed in his ears: "Is she not ahairdresser?" A black beard was a simple enough disguise, and fair hairmay be covered. But he had been told also that the masseuse was a shortwoman, and height is not so easily simulated. Such were his thoughts ashe turned the handle of the shop door.

  There was no one inside, and Gimblet had time to remark the emptyshelves and forlorn look of the window--which the waxen lady no longergraced with her presence--before, in answer to the rapping of his handon the counter and his repeated cry of "Shop, please," the door leadingto the back room opened and Julie Querterot made her appearance.

  It was a sad enough figure she presented to him that day: paler,thinner, more tired-looking than ever. There was a scared look in hereyes now, and black lines under them. She came forward slowly, almosttimidly.

  "Did you want anything?" she said. "I am afraid our stock is nearlyall--sold out."

  "Thanks," said Gimblet. "I called to see Madame Querterot--is itpossible that I am speaking to her?"

  "Oh no," said Julie with a little smile. "I am her daughter. But I fearyou cannot see my mother just now. She is--out."

  "Never mind," returned Gimblet. "I will wait. Perhaps she will be in byluncheon-time? I have a message for her."

  "I do not know when she will be back," said the girl. "Can you not leavethe message with me?"

  "It is for her own ear," said Gimblet. "If you don't mind, I will wait alittle."

  He sat down as he spoke, and Julie, after a hesitating glance, went backto the inner room, leaving the door ajar between the two.

  Gimblet, left to himself, was surprised to notice again how very fewwere the articles exposed for sale. Bare as the shop had looked when hefirst entered, he now saw it to be even emptier than he had thought. Atradesman's almanack on one wall, a picture from an illustrated paperon the other, two or three bottles of hair-wash and a few packets ofhair-pins seemed to constitute the whole stock in trade.

  Gimblet was still wondering whether the massage was in as bad a way asthe hairdressing side of the Querterot business, when a subdued soundcoming from the next room drew his attention.

  What was it, that sort of low, muffled panting?

  The detective got up softly, and stole to the door.

  Peeping shamelessly through the crack, he saw that a chair had beendrawn up to the table and that Julie sat there with her head bent andresting on her hands. It was from her that the sound came which hadcaught his ear, for her whole body was shaking with the sobs which shetried in vain to stifle.

  Gimblet opened the door and passed boldly through.

  "I am so sorry," he said, "to have come at a time when you are unhappy.But won't you tell me all about it? Who knows, I may be able to helpyou."

  At sight of him the girl started up, with a renewed effort to get thebetter of her grief; but the kind tone of Gimblet's voice put thefinishing touch to her emotions: losing all attempt at self-control, shelaid her head down on the table before her and gave way to unrestrainedand passionate tears.

  Gimblet let her weep for a while, then he sat down near her and triedto comfort her. He took one of her hands and patted it gently, as if shehad been a child.

  "There, there," he said, "don't cry any more. Tell me what's the matterand let's see if something can't be done about it."

  Gradually her tears came more slowly;
the convulsive sobs that hadshaken her died away, and she sat up and dried her eyes, looking at himfrom time to time with furtive shyness.

  "You are very kind, sir," she said at last, succumbing reluctantly tothat feeling of confidence which Gimblet always succeeded in inspiringif he tried. "It was--it was only because you asked to see my mother."

  "How's that?"

  "She--she--I don't know where she is."

  "No? But never mind. You will hear where she has been when she comeshome."

  "You don't understand. She hasn't been home for four days, and I have noidea when she is coming back. She did not tell me anything."

  "Dear me!" Gimblet looked grave. "When do you say you saw her last?"

  "It was on Tuesday morning," said Julie. "She came and woke me veryearly; she seemed to have been out, for she still wore her hat, and inher hand she had a black bag. After that she went away. I heard hermoving about for some time, till at last she went downstairs and I heardthe front door slam. I jumped out of bed and looked out of the windowand saw her going down the street with a big bag in each hand. And Ihaven't seen or heard anything of her since. But I am sure, oh, I _know_she did not mean to come back!"

  "How do you know that?" Gimblet asked.

  "I know it from what she said, and from what she did, before she went."

  "Won't you tell me?"

  Julie looked at him doubtfully.

  "Bert--that is a friend of mine--tried to make me promise not to sayanything about it, but I told him I should go to the police if I didn'thear soon. And I feel I must tell some one, for something dreadful mayhave happened to her," Julie added, half to herself. "Have you anythingto do with the police?" she asked.

  "Well, yes, I have, as a matter of fact; in an indirect way."

  "You will know what to do then, if I tell you. Bert doesn't seem to knowwhat to do; he only rages. Well, I think my mother has gone away forgood, because, before she went, she got a man to come to the house andbuy nearly every portable thing in it. There is hardly anything leftbesides these chairs and table, and my bed upstairs. Soon after she hadgone they came and took away the things."

  "Did she leave you no money?"

  "No, but she left me the house, you see; only the rent is due and I havenothing to pay it with. And she told me to collect any bills that weredue for her services, and that she made me a present of the money. Sowhen she was gone I looked in the ledger and found that everything owingto her had been paid up during the last few days, except one account. Itwas that of Mrs. Vanderstein, the poor lady who was murdered at Boulogneyesterday, as perhaps you have seen in the papers?"

  Gimblet inclined his head gravely, and she went on.

  "My mother used to go to massage the complexion of Mrs. Vanderstein, andthe amount owing was large, over twenty pounds. I was grateful that sucha sum should be given to me; but, when I saw the next morning that thelady had disappeared, I made sure it was because she was unable to payher bills, and it seemed likely that my mother had known this when shewas so generous to me. I made sure I should never see a penny of thatmoney, and I was in despair, as I didn't know what to do about the rent,or even how to live in the meantime. I went up to Mrs. Vanderstein'shouse to see if she had really gone, and a kind old gentleman told methe bill would be paid all the same. That was a great comfort, but Iknew it would not be for some time, at any rate, and perhaps not tillI was starving. It did not really matter so very much," Julie addedloyally, "for I am anxious to enter a religious sisterhood, and theywill take me, I am sure, even if I have nothing to bring them. But Ican't bear to go to them as a beggar, and I wish, I wish she hadn't leftme quite destitute without any warning," she concluded, her eyes fillingwith tears again.

  "Then what did she wake you up to say, early on Tuesday morning?"

  "I told you she had a bag in her hand? She took some clothes out of itand gave them to me. She told me to burn them and that she would explainwhy when she came back. But she said I might keep the linings to makemyself petticoats. Such fine petticoats would be no use to me. Still,it was kind of her. And then she took out this and gave it to me totake care of"--Julie put her hand to her neck and pulled out from underher blouse a long string of enormous pearls. "She said that one of hercustomers had asked her to look after them while she was travelling,"continued the girl, lifting the necklace over her head and holding itout to Gimblet. "I don't know if they are real, though she told me to bevery careful of them and to wear them always. But I think if they hadbeen real she would not have left them."

  Gimblet took the necklace without a word. He was for the momentincapable of speaking.

  "That was all my mother said to me," went on Julie, "but she seemedvery pleased about something; and at the same time excited. When Ilooked out of the window and saw her walking away, she was wearingclothes I had never seen before; they must have been quite new. Theywere simple, certainly, just a coat and skirt and a small hat; but theywere beautifully made and fitted her so well, not at all like what shegenerally wore. There is something about expensive clothes that makespeople look so different. I should hardly have known her if it had notbeen for a way she has of walking. I could only see the top of herhead, but the hat was a very smart one, with a beautiful osprey in it.Somehow she had the air of a person going to a wedding, and I can't helpthinking that perhaps it was her own wedding she was going to. She mayhave married some one above us in station and not have wanted him toknow of my existence. That is what I think, but Bert says not."

  Gimblet cleared his throat. "I wonder," he said, "if you would mindshowing me the clothes you spoke of that your mother gave you before sheleft."

  "I'm afraid I can't," said Julie. "I--you see I had no money--I soldthem to a second-hand clothes shop in Victoria Street. Bert wanted tosee them too. He thinks my mother must have had some special reason forsaying they were to be burnt, but I don't believe she would have told meI could keep the linings if they had been infectious."

  "What were they like?" Gimblet asked. It needed all his self-control tokeep the eagerness out of his voice.

  "Two beautiful white evening dresses," said Julie, "and two opera cloaksof red and mauve silk all covered with lovely embroidery and lace. Ofcourse I could never have worn them and it seemed a pity to cut them up.I simply couldn't have burned them. The shop only gave me five poundsfor the lot, but that will keep me for some time till I have decidedwhat to do. Still, Bert says I ought not to have sold them."

  "By the way," said Gimblet, "who is Bert?"

  The girl flushed. "He's just a boy I know," she said. "He used to goto school with me, and he is always good to me. I shouldn't like toannoy him or to hurt his feelings, and I ought not to have spoken ofhim, because when he advised me not to go to the police, and I wouldn'tpromise, he said that I should see that harm would come of it. And soI told him that if my mother came back and blamed me for having spokenof her absence, as he seems to think she would, I would say that he hadurged me not to. And then he got quite angry and told me to do as Ipleased, but not to mix him up in it, and so I said of course I'd nevermention his name if he didn't like; but now I've done it." She stopped,breathless.

  "Well, give Bert a message from me," said Gimblet; "tell him I agreewith him so far, and think you have no need to go to the police yetawhile. But you had better not tell him I have anything to do with them,as he seems to dislike them so much. Shall you see him soon?"

  "Yes, I expect he will come this evening when he leaves off work; hegenerally does. And I think I shan't tell him anything about you.Really, it isn't his business and I don't like being always lectured."

  "I think you are quite right," said Gimblet. "Now one question. Haveyou any idea as to the man with whom you think your mother may havegone off? Had you any suspicion before that she was thinking of marryingagain?"

  The girl hesitated a moment. "No," she said, "I have no idea at all whoit could be."