Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels)

by Alice Simpson

  “I thought you might have seen a man who came down the fire escape a moment ago.”

  “Sure, I seen him. Are those cops lookin’ for someone?”

  “Yes, for Silva, the medium.”

  “Oh, I know that guy. It wasn’t Silva who came down the escape.”

  “Can you describe the person you did see?”

  “He was regular baby grand.”

  “He was big?”

  “This big,” the boy demonstrated the size of the man, by measuring with his hands.

  “Not terribly tall, then,” I said. “but big.”

  “He had lots of muscles.”

  “I wonder if it could have been Spider, Mr. Silva’s assistant?”

  “Oh, I know that hunchback, too! It wasn’t Spider. This man was carrying a heavy sack.”

  “A big sack?” I asked.

  “Sure, it was a real big one.”

  “And you’re certain it was heavy?”

  “Sure, the man couldn’t hardly carry it. He dumped the sack into the back of a big black car and drove away.”

  I hurried back to the detectives and told them what the boy had said. They called the boy over to question him.

  “Did you notice in which direction the car went?” Simmons asked the boy.

  The urchin thought that it had turned left from the alley, but he could not be certain. He could add very little to what he’d already told me.

  “This looks serious,” Simmons said. “I don’t know what to make of it. At first, I assumed Silva had tricked us.”

  “Couldn’t he have met with foul play?” I asked. “That scream of terror—”

  “Just as I was about to say,” Detective Simmons interrupted. “Someone bent upon vengeance may have spirited Silva out of that room—a real flesh and blood spirit, too!”

  “The only exit was through the cabinet,” Dad said. “Could anyone have known about it, except Silva?”

  “His assistant, Spider,” I said.

  “Yes, I imagine he must have known about it.”

  “Spider hated Silva.”

  “Why do you say that, Jane?” Dad asked. “That’s a strong accusation. Do you have any evidence?”

  “I could see it in his eyes.”

  Both Dad and the detectives looked unconvinced, but Simmons said, “I made up my mind to check up on the assistant even before all this happened tonight. Still, I don’t see how he could have spirited Silva away.”

  “The urchin claimed the man he saw wasn’t Spider,” Dad said. “Would it have been physically possible for anyone to carry Silva down the fire escape?”

  “Well, the medium was bound,” Detective Simmons said. “Yes, it would have been possible, though I grant you, highly improbable.”

  “I believe Leo Silva feared something like this might happen,” I said. “Ever since that warning voice cried out in the dark, he has seemed very subdued.”

  “He was nervous this evening,” agreed Simmons. “I noticed it right away. I’m beginning to think his disappearance is all part of a diabolical scheme, but who planned it, I can’t say. Our work is cut out for us.”

  “Well, I wish you luck,” Dad said. “If I can do anything to help, let me know.”

  “Just keep this out of the papers for twenty-four hours,” Simmons said. “If you will, I believe I can promise you a big story.”

  “You may depend upon me to cooperate,” Dad agreed. “I am more interested in solving this case than in getting a scoop for the Examiner.”

  I went back into the building for my wrap. Detective Simmons accompanied us, locking all the doors behind us. He then declared he must get back to the police station.

  “If anything develops, I’ll let you know,” he promised.

  I waited until the detective had left, and then I said to my father: “Dad, there is one person who might throw light on Silva’s disappearance.”

  “You mean Miss Barnett?”

  “Yes, let’s go to her hotel now and learn what she may know about this affair.”

  “You took the thought right out of my mind. Jane, we’ll do a bit of sleuthing on our own!”

  CHAPTER 21

  It was nearly eleven when we reached the Seville Hotel. Miss Barnett and her maid had returned from the Pink Lotus only a few minutes earlier.

  “We are sorry to disturb you,” Dad apologized. “But something important has come up. Will you see us in the lobby?”

  “Yes,” agreed the dancer. “I will join you immediately.”

  Miss Barnett sent Pauline up to her room, and we found a secluded alcove where our conversation could not be overheard.

  “What has happened?” Miss Barnett asked.

  “Prepare yourself for a shock.”

  “Something has happened to my brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “He has been arrested?”

  “It is more serious than that,” my father said. “Your brother has vanished.”

  Miss Barnett’s face turned pale, and she gripped the edge of the table.

  “Please don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me just what has happened.”

  Dad told her everything that had happened, omitting nothing.

  “Oh, how dreadful,” she said, her voice trembling. “Leo was afraid something might happen to him. He feared for his life.”

  “Did your brother have any enemies?” I asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. But ever since Leo received that strange warning, he had a premonition harm would befall him. Have the police no clue?”

  “A very slender one,” Dad said. “We hoped that you might be able to throw light on the situation. You are certain your brother had no enemies?”

  “He did have one person who hated him,” the dancer said. “But that was so long ago, and the man is in prison now.”

  “Tell us about it,” I urged.

  “While my brother and I were living in New York with our parents, this man stole money from Father. Leo secured proof of it and had the man arrested. The man was tried, and largely due to my testimony, and that of Leo, the thief was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.”

  “How long ago was that?” I asked.

  “Not more than seven years. The man would still be in prison. He could have had nothing to do with Leo’s disappearance.”

  “It doesn’t seem very likely,” Dad agreed. “What was the fellow’s name?”

  “Leonard Henderson.”

  “Henderson!” my father said. “Haven’t you heard? He escaped from the penitentiary about six months ago and was never captured. We ran a story on his escape.”

  “No!” Miss Barnett turned a shade paler.

  “That doesn’t prove that Henderson had anything to do with your brother’s disappearance,” Dad said. “In fact, the evidence rather points toward that hunchback assistant.”

  “Could you tell us anything about Spider?” I asked.

  “I knew very little about him. My brother engaged him some months ago when his regular assistant entered a different line of work.”

  “Your brother trusted him?” Dad asked.

  “I think so.”

  “It occurred to me that Leonard Henderson might have passed himself off as Spider,” I said. “Apparently, such wasn’t the case.”

  “Oh, I knew Henderson well,” Miss Barnett said. “My brother was living on his own, then, but I still lived at home with our parents. Henderson was a frequent visitor. He was a thin blond man, always a bit on the sickly side. He did not resemble Spider in any respect, except perhaps in height.”

  We talked to Miss Barnett for a few minutes more but found out only one additional fact of interest. Leo Silva and Spider both had known and made use of the secret exit from the séance parlor. To Miss Barnett’s knowledge, no other person had shared the information.

  “The police are doing everything in their power to trace your brother,” Dad said. “I have confidence he will be found soon.”

  “I blame myself for all that has happened,” Mis
s Barnett said. “If I had told the truth in the first place, this dreadful act might have been prevented.”

  I took Miss Barnett up to her room, turning her over to the indifferent care of Pauline, then returned to the lobby.

  “We didn’t learn a great deal,” my father said. “However, there may be more to this Leonard Henderson affair than Miss Barnett suspects.”

  “I wonder if the police have a picture of the man?”

  “Unquestionably, Jane. For that matter, I imagine we have one in the Examiner’s morgue. I’ll run down there now and see. Do you mind going home alone?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You take the car, and I’ll ride a bus home,” Dad said. “It is too late for you to be on the streets.”

  Dad walked me out to his automobile and waited on the sidewalk until I pulled away.

  It was a moonless night, and I had not driven three blocks before it started raining pitchforks and hammer handles. During the past week, there had been several storms. I turned on the windshield wiper, thinking of my father out in the rain without an umbrella.

  When I passed the Radcliffs’, all the windows were dark. I drove on toward home, my thoughts turning from the events of the evening to Clara Jenson. I wondered what the girl had started to tell me at the Smith cottage. Who could have thrown that rock through the window?

  The more I thought about everything that had happened, the more I became convinced that Clara could explain many baffling matters if only she chose. To all appearances, there was no connection between the witch doll and Leo Silva’s strange disappearance, yet I was convinced that a connection must exist. I made up my mind to make another attempt to win Clara’s confidence.

  When I pulled into our driveway, it looked like every light in the place was burning. Clearly, someone was still awake. I hoped Clara hadn’t fallen ill. She was in a fragile state. Perhaps, I should have insisted that she see the doctor. I left the car in the garage, and without even taking time to close the doors, hurried into the house.

  “Is that you, Jane?” Mrs. Timms called from the basement.

  It was far past the hour when Mrs. Timms usually retired to her room with a copy of National Geographic and a cup of chamomile tea.

  “Yes, Mrs. Timms. Dad went back to the office, so I came home alone.”

  “I am so relieved you are here, Jane. I waited up for you.”

  “Is anything wrong? Clara isn’t feeling worse?”

  When Mrs. Timms did not reply, I ran to the guestroom. A light burned inside. I moved to the door which stood half open. The room was deserted.

  “Mrs. Timms, where are you? What has happened to Clara?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Mrs. Timms came down the hallway, her arms loaded with clean linen.

  “I was just down in the basement getting sheets to make up the spare bed,” she explained.

  “Where is Clara? You didn’t send her to a hospital?”

  “Oh, no, your friend seemed somewhat improved. She just went away.”

  “I don’t understand, Mrs. Timms.”

  “Well, I was worried about it,” the housekeeper admitted, “but there was nothing I could do. The man claimed to be a relative.”

  “What man? Do you mean Clara went away with someone?”

  “Yes, this person came about twenty minutes ago. I was in bed. He kept ringing the doorbell until I dressed and answered it.”

  “Who was the man, Mrs. Timms?”

  “He refused to give his name but insisted upon seeing Clara.”

  “At this time of night?”

  “Yes, he pushed his way into the house and refused to leave. Clara finally came out and talked with him.”

  “She knew the man?”

  “She appeared to, but at first she was greatly upset. Later, after they had talked, she went away with him.”

  “She went willingly?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Timms replied. “It struck me as peculiar because she had acted afraid at first, then her attitude seemed to change.”

  “Can you describe this person who called for her?”

  “He was common and coarse looking. Coal black hair and blue eyes. Not terribly tall, but very muscular. I didn’t like the looks of him.”

  “I can’t understand why Clara would go away like this without a word of explanation.”

  “She left you a note.”

  Miss Timms brought a sealed envelope and gave it to me.

  Clara had written: “Forgive me for going away without a word of gratitude. It is best for both of us that I leave now. Please do not try to find me.”

  “This doesn’t explain a thing,” I said. “If anything, it leaves the matter in a worse tangle. What could Clara mean by saying it was best for both of us that she goes away? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “The poor girl couldn’t have been herself.”

  “Did she seem in a dazed condition?”

  “Well, she acted very peculiarly.”

  “I suppose she gave you no hint of where she was going, Mrs. Timms?”

  “Not the slightest.”

  I folded the note and put it in my pocket.

  “Did I do wrong in allowing her to leave?” Mrs. Timms asked.

  “I don’t see what else you could have done,” I said. “Clara’s a grown woman and can come and go as she pleases, but I’m still worried. I have a feeling that Clara, in the false belief she could spare me in some way, walked straight into trouble.”

  “Oh dear, what shall we do? Notify the police?”

  “Not yet, at least. I’ll ask Dad’s advice when he comes home.”

  When Dad returned home shortly after midnight, I was curled up in an armchair in the living room, fast asleep. I woke up immediately and helped him off with his damp overcoat.

  “Still raining?”

  “Yes, quite hard. If this continues all night, we may have a flood. They’ve had heavy rains all around us, and the river is above normal level now. You shouldn’t have waited up for me, Jane.”

  “I had something to tell you, Dad. Clara went away with a stranger who came here after we left. She was in no condition to go anywhere in this rain. Her bad cold easily could develop into something more serious.”

  “Who was the man?”

  “Mrs. Timms doesn’t know. He claimed to be a relative, but I wonder—”

  “Aren’t you inclined to be overly suspicious? From what you have told me, Clara Jenson always acted rather strangely.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “If I remember correctly, she rebuffed your friendship once before. Since she left our home by choice, I would forget about her.”

  I frowned. I did not agree with my father. I could not believe that Clara had deliberately intended to repulse my friendship.

  “Did you learn anything more about Leonard Henderson?” I asked.

  “I dug up a photograph in the morgue.”

  Dad removed the picture from his pocket and offered it to me. Leonard Henderson had a thin sullen face. In a black and white photograph, it’s hard to tell the exact shade of hair, but he appeared to be blond and pale, just as Helene Barnett had described him.

  “Recognize him?” Dad asked.

  “No, but I feel as if I should. Those eyes—Spider had similar eyes.”

  “Spider may have had similar eyes, but that doesn’t prove he is Leonard Henderson. Remember, the man is a hunchback.”

  “Just the same, I believe he had something to do with Silva’s abduction,” I insisted. “Have the police found any new clues?”

  “Not that our reporters have been able to learn. The case is proving baffling. Simmons is afraid he’ll be demoted if he fails to solve it soon.”

  “I hope for Miss Barnett’s sake that he does.”

  “Yes.” Dad yawned and glanced at the clock. “It’s late. Suppose we turn in.”

  The patter of rain on the roof lulled me to sleep.

  When I came downstairs for breakfast, Mrs. Timms told me Dad had left the h
ouse early. It was still drizzling, and great puddles of water stood on the lawn.

  “Such a day,” I complained. “Why does it always rain when I’m feeling grummy?”

  “Perhaps it might be the other way around,” said Mrs. Timms.

  “No, it takes more than rain to depress me usually, but practically everything has gone wrong.”

  “You’re out of sorts because Clara went away.”

  “Yes, I am. If she had stayed one more day, I believe the witch doll mystery could have been cleared up.”

  “Well, the girl is gone, so you may as well make the best of it. You said you were caught up on writing your serial. Why not go to a movie today?”

  “They don’t make good pictures anymore, despite how Flo may gush about any celluloid dream containing Rudolph Valentino,” I said.

  “You are in a blue mood, I must say.”

  I helped with the breakfast dishes and cleaned the spare bedroom. I set Miss Barnett’s witch doll on my bureau and gave it a piece of my mind.

  “You let me down shamefully,” I taunted the ugly thing. “For two cents I’d burn you in the furnace.”

  Jamming the doll down in the bureau drawer again, I went on tidying. Usually, a bit of tidying calms my nerves, but when I had finished my room, I was still out of sorts, so I went downstairs.

  As I cleared papers from the living room table, I came upon the photograph of Leonard Henderson which Dad had tossed there the previous night.

  I picked up the picture and rushed to the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Timms! Did Dad show you this picture?”

  Mrs. Timms wiped her hands on her apron and came over to look.

  “What picture, Jane?”

  “Oh, my latest boyfriend,” I said, suddenly feeling better. “Just an escaped convict.”

  Mrs. Timms ignored my kidding and took the picture from my hand.

  “Oh, dear!”

  “Do you recognize him?”

  “Let me take the picture to a better light.”

  Mrs. Timms moved to the window and studied the photograph.

  “Yes, I was right! He wasn’t nearly so thin as he is in this picture, and his hair is much darker now, but this is the same man who took Clara away last night!”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Are you quite certain, Mrs. Timms?” I asked.