by Lee Strauss
“It’s not so uncommon for passengers to have identical luggage,” Burgess said. “There are only so many types in circulation. We see it all the time.”
“Yes, but how often do you see identical jewellery boxes where one has been subject to theft?”
Burgess swallowed hard again. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“We need to see what’s in that case,” Sullivan said.
“Agreed,” Basil said. “Mr. Burgess, would you please summon Miss Dansby? Oh, and Mrs. Reed, if you don’t mind.”
Basil caught Ginger’s eye as she and Miss Dansby were ushered in, and trusted his wife would quickly catch on to the matter at hand.
“I suppose you are wondering why we’ve asked to see you, Miss Dansby,” Basil began.
“Of course, I am! I’m extremely put out, and I’m beginning to feel that this is police harassment.”
“Let me explain the reason,” Basil continued. “We’ve discovered that you have brought a jewellery case on board that is an exact copy of Lady Pennington’s.”
“What of it? It’s not a crime for one to have similar tastes to another.”
“It all depends if one’s similar tastes continue on to the contents. Would you please open your case?”
Irene Dansby blanched. Her fingers trembled slightly as one hand reached for the scarf around her neck. “I don’t understand why I must.”
“Lady Pennington’s jewels have been stolen.”
“And you think I took them? I demand to see my solicitor!”
“Are you refusing?” Basil asked.
Irene shot Ginger a fleeting glance, a plea. Ginger encouraged her with a nod.
“I c-can’t. The key is lost. I was going to take the case to a locksmith later this week.”
“I see,” Basil said. Then to Burgess, “Please escort Miss Dansby back to her compartment.”
“That’s it?” Sullivan said, once Miss Dansby was out of earshot.
“If she refuses to produce a key,” Basil said, “we’ll have to open it another way.”
“As much as I hate to hold those people any longer,” Sullivan said, “I guess they’ll have to wait until we can bring in someone who can pick open that case.”
“Unless—” Basil said.
“Unless?” Sullivan prompted.
“Unless there’s someone on board who could do the job.”
“And you know someone like that?”
Basil grinned. “I do.” He looked at Ginger. “Such a nice hat you have there, my dear.”
Ginger laughed and removed two long, pointy hatpins.
Among other things, lock picking was a skill Ginger had acquired during her time with the British Secret Service in the Great War. However, it’d been a while since she’d been tasked with this kind of job, and it took her a mite longer than normal to manipulate the gear mechanisms in the small, but well-built lock. When the lid finally popped open, silent awe filled the room.
“Blimey!” Mr. Carney said.
“Now I understand why Lady Pennington was so sure the others were fake,” Sullivan said. “These are spectacular.”
“Stunning,” Ginger agreed. Even in the dim lighting of the luggage van, the pristine cut of the jewels reflected the light fantastically.
Mr. Burgess returned in time for Basil to give him another task. “Mr. Burgess, please ask Constable Mulgrew to escort Miss Dansby to the dining carriage.
Mr. Burgess returned a handkerchief to his pocket before saying, somewhat grudgingly, “Yes, sir.”
“Is it my imagination,” Ginger said quietly to Basil, “or is Mr. Burgess the nervous type.”
“He has been mopping his brow rather frequently,” Basil replied. “It’s not exactly hot in here.”
“Mr. Carney,” Basil said, raising his voice. “How long have you been working on this route as the luggage attendant?”
“Three years, sir. Since before the train was christened The Flying Scotsman.”
“And has Mr. Burgess been head conductor all that time?”
“Yes, sir.”
Basil turned his back on Mr. Carney and spoke in a lower tone to Sullivan. “We’ll need your office to do a check on Mr. Burgess and Mr. Carney as well,” he said. “Once I get to a telephone, I’ll ring the Yard to see if they have anything on them.”
Ginger turned to Mr. Carney and asked, “Did you notice anything unusual this morning whilst loading the luggage? Take some time to remember. The smallest oddity could be important.”
“Well, let me see.” Mr. Carney’s brow furrowed as he concentrated. “Well, now that you mention it, someone bumped into Lady Pennington, and she dropped her handbag. I quickly picked it up, and that was the end of it.”
“Was Lady Pennington’s maid carrying her jewellery box or was it placed on the trolley with her other bags?” Ginger asked.
“It was on the trolley. On the top. Lady Pennington walked alongside the porter the whole time, with her hand resting on the box when the cart came to a stop. Very protective-like.”
It appeared the lady didn’t trust her maid.
“Even when she dropped her handbag?” Ginger pushed.
“Oh, well, there might’ve been a moment there, I suppose.”
Ginger glanced up at Basil. “Time to swap one for the other?”
“Indeed.”
“I’m staying here with Mr. Carney and the jewels,” Sullivan said, “until we can get them reunited with their owner. I’ll send word to Lady Pennington that they’ve been found.”
“I’m sure she’ll be relieved,” Ginger said.
Basil asked PC Mulgrew to escort the first-class passengers into the dining carriage. Low murmurs erupted into loud protests the second Basil and Sullivan entered.
“Are you going to release us now?”
“We demand an explanation!”
“You’ve got no right holding us like this!”
Sullivan waved meaty palms. “Calm down, everyone. A new situation has arisen. I’ll let Chief Inspector Reed explain.”
Basil looked out at all the eager faces, letting his gaze rest on Ginger who’d found Felicia at a table and had slipped in beside her.
When their eyes met, he was relieved to see one reasonable and supportive person. His lips pulled up slightly, a small smile just for her, before he focused on the whole group with a tone and look far more serious.
“If you haven’t yet heard, we’ve discovered a second crime on board this section of the Flying Scotsman.” He paused to take in the myriad expressions. Disbelief tinged with frustration (Whitley and Murray); surrender (Mr. and Mrs. Fisher); and in some, amusement (Mrs. Griffiths, for one). Basil imagined that many people had lived out their days without ever having an exciting day in their lives until this one.
“Another murder?” Whitley called out. “You can’t be serious.”
“No, not a murder,” Basil said, but his thoughts went to the missing Mrs. Simms and wondered if there was yet another body to be soon discovered. “A theft. Precious jewels belonging to the Pennington family estate. I know we’re all anxious to be ushered off this carriage—and rest assured, a bus is on its way—so to save time, may I have a show of hands, everyone who attended Lady Pennington’s opera performance in London last night?”
Slowly, hands reached up as heads spun like owls to witness the performance. Four hands went up belonging to the Fishers, Miss Dansby, and Pierce.
Basil scoured the rest of the faces. Lady Pennington was a big draw, and she had had her jewels stolen. Basil expected more. “Is that all? Rest assured, you are all being investigated, and the truth shall be discovered.”
“Blimey!” Whitley spat out. Reluctantly, his hand went in the air, along with Murray’s. “I suppose we’ll have to stay behind when the others go?”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Basil said. “We’ll proceed as quickly as we can. You may return to your compartments until the bus arrives. And, Miss Dansby? Please stay behind for a few moments once the o
thers have gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
Irene Dansby looks a sight, Ginger thought, as she and Basil joined her.
“Someone bumped into Lady Pennington whilst she was preparing to have her luggage loaded,” Basil said. “Was it you, Miss Dansby? Or are you working with someone?”
“Like I said before, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lady Pennington’s jewels were found in your case,” Ginger said.
“You opened it?” The colour of Miss Dansby’s eyes darkened with panic. “Isn’t that against the law?”
“Not when a crime is suspected,” Basil said. “Now, is someone working with you, Miss Dansby? Or did you cause a diversion yourself? Mr. Carney has given evidence that a disturbance large enough to divert his attention from his task, happened whilst you and Lady Pennington were standing in the queue to register your belongings.”
“You should ask Mr. Carney then,” Irene said. “He must’ve swapped the pieces. Certainly, it happened without my knowledge.”
“Did it?” Ginger said. “If Mr. Carney was involved, he had to know about the jewels in each of your bags somehow? And since you, only, would know for sure. . .”
“Or perhaps it was Mr. Pierce who packed the case,” Basil offered.
“Stop, stop! I implore you.”
“Was it Mr. Pierce?” Ginger asked.
Fear flashed behind Irene’s eyes. “No. It was me. I acted alone. Created the disturbance, made the exchange. I did it myself.”
Basil leaned back against his seat, his eyes never leaving Miss Dansby. “You’re confessing to manufacturing pastes, arranging possession of a case that is the duplicate of Lady Pennington’s, creating a distraction, and making the exchange all on your own?”
“I am. And if there hadn’t been that rotten murder to stop the train, I would’ve got off at York, and Lady Pennington would’ve been none the wiser until she returned to her home in Edinburgh.”
“It’s rotten luck,” Ginger said. “But, why, Miss Dansby? Your family is well off, surely?”
Irene shrugged a slender shoulder. “Just to see if I could. I was bored, you see. This was a challenge.”
“Very well,” Basil said. “Miss Irene Dansby, I am arresting you on suspicion of theft.”
Irene gaped. “But I didn’t actually steal them! They’re still on board this train and easily returned to Lady Pennington.”
“The intention is there,” Basil said. “We’ll let a jury decide your fate.”
“Unless,” Ginger said, “you want to tell us the truth.”
“All right!” Irene said. “I just need a moment to think.”
Ginger inclined her head. “The truth should be rather straightforward.”
“Could I please have a glass of water?” Irene coughed politely into a handkerchief.
Basil rose from his seat to retrieve the water from the kitchen’s pantry.
Ginger leaned in and sputtered. “If you tell the truth now, the courts may go easy on you. If you lie again, all hope of that is gone.”
Basil returned, and Irene made a performance of taking a long drink. Ginger could see the wheels turning behind Irene’s heavily made-up eyes.
Calculating her next move, Ginger thought.
“Thank you,” she said, setting the glass down on the table that separated them.
“Are you ready, Miss Dansby?” Basil asked. “And please don’t insult our intelligence. As bright as you might be, I don’t think you pulled this off alone.”
Irene snorted. “I was approached by someone, and a deal was offered. The idea and execution came from this secondary party. We were offered a generous cut once the jewels were sold.”
“We?” Ginger said.
“I,” Irene said quickly. “I mean I. Anyway, as I told you, there is a secondary party.”
“Someone on this train?” Basil said. “George Pierce perhaps? You know we shall interrogate him until he confesses.”
“Fine. George and I were approached. And not only us. There is one other.”
“Who?” Ginger asked. “Is he or she on this train?”
Irene nodded. Now that she had given herself and her fiancé up, it seemed she was willing to spill the beans on the others. “It’s Mr. Burgess.”
Ginger glanced at Basil. Mr. Burgess made sense. He had worked on the route for years, probably looking for a way to get up in the world.
“Not Mr. Carney?” Ginger confirmed.
Irene scoffed. “That bumbling idiot? No.”
“Tell us exactly how the theft was to be executed?” Basil said.
“Our task was to learn as much as possible about Lady Pennington and the family heirloom jewels. Where she went, how she dressed, her performance schedule, that sort of thing.”
So, Lady Pennington hadn’t been paranoid. She had, indeed, been followed.
“We learned about her luggage brand and how she transported her jewels. Quite carelessly, I would add.”
Irene Dansby paused to take another quick sip of water before continuing.
“George and I went to her performance last night—we needed a reason to come to London, so why not? We stayed at the same hotel, followed her to the station the next day. We needed to make sure she brought her jewels on board.
“George distracted Lady Pennington. At the same time, Mr. Burgess distracted Mr. Carney. I made the exchange. Like I said before, we were to get off at York before anyone knew any better. Such blasted bad luck someone chose this train to knock someone off.”
“Yes,” Basil said wryly. “The man’s murder is such an inconvenience to us all.”
“So, I’ve told you the truth,” Irene said. She leaned back and crossed slender arms. “You promised the courts shall go easy on me.”
“We’ll put in a good word,” Basil said.
“Who approached you in the first place?” Ginger asked. “Who’s the mastermind?”
“Some nutty, odd-looking old lady. I laughed at first, thinking she was off her rocker when she called us together for tea. But,” Irene sighed, “obviously, she convinced us.”
“Who was the lady?” Basil asked.
Ginger answered. “Mrs. Simms.”
Irene stared back in surprise. “How did you know?”
Felicia almost sprang on Ginger when she returned to her seat in the passenger carriage.
“What’s going on, Ginger?”
Boss looked up drowsily then promptly closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
“Where’s Irene?” Felicia demanded.
“I’m afraid my news isn’t good, love,” Ginger murmured. She sat and lifted her drowsy pet onto her lap. “Irene has confessed to the attempted theft of Lady Pennington’s jewels.”
Felicia blinked back in shock at the news. “I can’t believe it! I thought I knew her.”
“I’m afraid it’s true. Mr. Pierce and the railway security chap, Mr. Burgess, have all been implicated. Along with Mrs. Simms.”
“Ginger, you’ve no shortage of shocking news. Mr. Pierce must’ve compelled Irene somehow. Blackmail, perhaps. But, Mrs. Simms, as well? It just doesn’t make sense. Have you located the morose old lady?”
“No, she’s still missing, but at least now you can rest assured that we weren’t entertaining a ghost earlier,” Ginger said.
“Unless a ghost had entertained Irene and the others.”
“Now, why would a ghost be interested in jewels? It’s not like an apparition can wear them to a ball.”
“True, but it could just be a matter of spite,” Felicia said, as she smoothed out the folds of her chemise day frock and adjusted the large velvet ribbon at her hip. “Ghosts can hold a grudge, I’ve heard.”
“From whom?” Ginger patted at her red bob, having removed her hat when the pins came out. “Really, Felicia, I’m concerned about the company you keep.”
“Well, you can’t blame me. I thought Irene Dansby to be entirely suitable.”
Ginger sighed. She’d thoug
ht the same thing only hours ago.
“I hope this means we can get off this wretched train now,” Felicia said. She shifted awkwardly in her seat. “My back and behind can’t take it anymore.”
Ginger laughed. “I believe the bus is on its way.”
Felicia folded her arms across her chest. “Jolly good.”
“I’m going to visit the lavatory,” Ginger said. She intended to do her own search for Mrs. Simms, and she didn’t want Felicia dragging along. “I’ll be back shortly. Please keep an eye on Boss.”
Ginger shifted Boss off her lap, bent to retrieve her handbag, and took a moment to search around the seat where Mrs. Simms had sat. She found nothing untoward. The lady had entered the carriage from the south end, and Ginger took extra care to scan the aisle and steps around the door. There was the usual amount of dirt that could’ve been tracked in by anyone but nothing else out of the ordinary.
She hadn’t seen Mrs. Simms attempt to reach the north end of the carriage or make her way to any of the other carriages, and her enquiry earlier proved that none of the other passengers had either.
The lavatory was small with just enough room for a larger person to turn around uncomfortably. There were a small sink and mirror, but the lighting came from a small window, too small for a normal-sized person to escape through.
Something on the floor beside the toilet caught Ginger’s eye. With a gloved hand, she retrieved it—the rubber tip found on the bottom of canes for grip. Ginger rechecked the window. It opened easily. A quick way to dispose of a cane should one care to be rid of such a thing.
Chapter Seventeen
Two buses arrived, one for passengers and one for the police. The police bus was loaded first.
Once Miss Dansby, Mr. Pierce, and Mr. Burgess were led off the carriage wearing handcuffs, the other passengers disembarked. The winter winds blew cold, and storm clouds gathered angrily overhead.
“One case solved,” Basil said, “but still another beckons.”
Ginger showed him the rubber tip she’d found in the lavatory. “I think Mrs. Simms was someone else in disguise.”
