The Twenty-One Clues

by J. J. Connington

  He almost broke down as his own reference brought up the matter of his wife’s fate. Rufford hastened to switch the conversation to less painful subjects.

  “In that wire of hers, Mrs. Longnor asked your wife to drive her home to Toynton Lacey,” he reminded Callis. “Have you one car only, or two?”

  “Just one.”

  “It isn’t in your garage now, I noticed as I came in. The garage door was open and the place was empty.”

  Callis nodded.

  “It wasn’t there when I came home last night,” he said, and then with a change of tone he added: “I see what you’re after. If she took our car to meet Mrs. Longnor, then the car must be somewhere; and that ought to throw some light on things.”

  He broke off, apparently perplexed by following this idea further.

  “But if she met Mrs. Longnor, why didn’t she carry on and drive to Toynton Lacey? I don’t see my way through it.”

  Again he fell silent and his face showed that he was thinking hard. Rufford himself was in no better case at the moment. But, he assured himself, the car was bound to be identified, and when it was found, its position could not but help to carry things a stage further towards elucidation. And, besides, he had Mrs. Longnor still in hand, with her evidence.

  “Just a question or two more, Mr. Callis. You can tell me something about this man Barratt. Where did he live?”

  “At 38 Granville Road.”

  “Was he married or single?”

  “Married, been married for years.”

  “A man of between thirty-five and forty, by the look of him. Any children?”

  Callis shook his head, and this seemed to give the inspector a fresh idea.

  “What’s his wife like?—in appearance, I mean.”

  Callis seemed rather taken aback by a question of this kind.

  “Oh, I don’t know—how to describe her, I mean. About medium height for a woman. Dark-haired. Some people think she’s very good-looking. She probably is, but not in my style. She’s got a nice voice. I really can’t think of anything else.”

  “Is she much younger than Barratt?”

  “I don’t really know. She looks it, but you never can I tell, can you, nowadays?”

  Rufford reflected that the average person had no notion whatever of giving a useful description, even of a friend. The man in the street didn’t even know what were important details, like eye-colour. All he could do for you was to make a guess at height, hair-colour, and possibly good looks or bad—factors which depended purely on his own personal likes and dislikes.

  “When did you last see Barratt?” he inquired.

  “I saw him at church last Sunday, in the morning,” Callis replied. “But I didn’t speak to him then. But here’s something which may be important, Mr. Rufford. I told you I’m treasurer of the church, didn’t I? As it happened, I’d some points I wanted to discuss with Barratt this week. Nothing important, just about some organ repairs. So, after a cold supper, I walked round to his house last night to talk them over. He wasn’t in. Mrs. Barratt told me he’d gone to a meeting of some committee in the church hall and would probably be back soon, when it was over. I waited for a good while, till about a quarter-past ten or so, but he didn’t turn up; and I didn’t like to be keeping Mrs. Barratt talking any longer, so I came away without seeing him. Mrs. Barratt thought that he must have gone to pay a sick-call after the meeting was over, so there was no telling when he’d get home again.”

  The inspector did not press for details. He could get them from Mrs. Barratt, who would know more about Barratt’s normal routine than Callis did.

  “That finishes my business with you, Mr. Callis. For the present, at least, for if anything fresh turns up that you know about, I may have to see you again.”

  He added a word or two of sympathy, which Callis received gratefully, though he was obviously still stunned by the tragedy.

  “Just one thing more,” Rufford added as he rose to his feet. “I’d like to see your maid for a moment or two. Would you send her in, please?”

  “I’ll ring,” said Callis obligingly.

  Rufford had meant to interview the maid alone, but he did not object when Callis reseated himself after ringing the bell. It would be easy to summon the girl to the police station if he needed to ask any questions about the relations between husband and wife. She would probably be more communicative in strange surroundings. In about a minute she came into the room: a neat, smartly-dressed girl.

  “Not bad-looking,” mused the inspector, committing the very fault he had attributed to the man in the street.

  Callis saw the girl’s hesitation as she glanced from one face to the other, and he hastened to reassure her.

  “Inspector Rufford wants to ask you a question or two; but they have nothing to do with your own affairs, so you needn’t be frightened.”

  “First of all, I’d like to know your name,” said Rufford with a smile which put the girl more at her ease.

  “Maud Endell.”

  “No need to get flurried,” Rufford told her. “Now just cast your mind back to yesterday. You were in the house during the morning. Can you remember when Mrs. Callis went out?”

  “It would be about half-past ten, or between that and eleven. She told me she was going out shopping and I reminded her to call at the greengrocer’s.”

  “That’s the way I wish most people would answer,” praised Rufford. “Now, during the morning, do you remember any phone calls, either before or after Mrs. Callis went out?”

  “I remember one. I’m sure there were no more. That one came about eleven o’clock. Mrs. Barratt rang up and wanted to speak to Mrs. Callis; and when I told her Mrs. Callis was out, she said ‘Never mind’ and then she explained it was some message from Mr. Barratt about some church business, but it didn’t matter, for she could ring up later on in the day. That’s the only phone call I can remember, except that one of my own friends rang up to make an appointment with me in the afternoon, since it was my afternoon off.”

  “That’s just what I want,” said Rufford, encouragingly. “Now can you tell me anything about a telegram?”

  “There was a telegram came yesterday morning, about half-past twelve, as near as I can remember. I put it on the hall table, and Mr. Callis picked it up when he came in.”

  She glanced at Callis as she spoke, as though doubtful whether he would be pleased or not by this. His nod evidently reassured her.

  “You didn’t see the actual contents of the wire?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Mr. Callis put it in his pocket after he’d opened it.”

  “That’s all right. Mr. Callis has shown it to me himself,” Rufford explained, apparently to the girl’s relief. “Now can you remember when Mr. Callis came in at midday?”

  “It would be close on one o’clock, I think. He usually comes at between ten and a quarter past—don’t you, sir?—and lunch is at half-past. Mrs. Callis came in about twenty past and went straight upstairs to take her hat off.”

  “Does Mrs. Callis usually go out shopping in the morning?”

  “Not regularly, not every day, I mean. Just from time to time. I heard her yesterday telling Mr. Callis that she’d call at Winterwell’s and get something he’d asked her to buy there, so I knew she was going out and that was why I reminded her about the greengrocer.”

  “And she usually comes back just in time for luncheon, when she does go out shopping?”

  “Oh, yes. At least, generally. Mostly, I’d say.”

  “It was your afternoon off, you said. When did you leave the house yesterday afternoon?”

  “About three o’clock, same as usual.”

  “Had Mrs. Callis gone out again before you left?”

  “Oh, no. She was in the drawing-room, reading, I think.”

  “You didn’t see her packing a suit-case, did you?”

  The maid shook her head decidedly.

  “And you didn’t see a suit-case left in the hall, or anywhere about the premises?”


  “Oh, no. I’d have noticed it, if it had been in the hall.”

  “Do you know the look of Mrs. Callis’s suit-cases? I suppose you see them when you clean out the box-room or wherever they’re kept?”

  “Oh, yes, I know them quite well. There’s a small leather one, and an expanding one, and another bigger leather one, a bit old and used, but it’s one that Mr. Callis generally uses f himself, and then there’s a cabin trunk. . . .”

  “Never mind about trunks,” interrupted the inspector. “I want to know about the suit-cases. Suppose you take me to this box-room and show me them, please.”

  Again the maid consulted Callis with a glance and seemed relieved by the expression on his face.

  “If you’ll come with me, sir, I’ll show you them now,” she agreed, leading the way to the door.

  They went upstairs, with Callis following in the rear, and the maid opened the box-room door.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, in evident surprise. “The small leather one isn’t there.”

  Then she recollected, apparently, that Mrs. Callis had not returned home, and drew the natural conclusion:

  “Mrs. Callis was away last night. She must have taken it with her. It’s the one she usually takes away for a day or two, when she goes.”

  “Can you describe it?” demanded the inspector.

  “Well, it’s pretty new, hardly scratched, and it’s about this length and that deep.”

  She illustrated the dimensions with her arms.

  “Any labels on it that you remember?”

  “I do remember one, because the name on it was funny: ‘Strathpeffer’.”

  The inspector turned to Callis, who explained.

  “That’s quite right. My wife and I were up at Strathpeffer at Easter.”

  The inspector seemed satisfied by this, but as they turned away from the box-room he put another question to the girl:

  “I suppose you know what dresses Mrs. Callis had? I want to know what she took away with her in that suit-case.”

  By this time, it was plain, Maud Endell’s original coolness was wearing off despite Rufford’s matter-of-fact methods. She had begun to see that there was something more than odd about all this inquiry, and her expression showed this more and more clearly. Finally, her curiosity grew too much for her.

  “Has anything happened, sir?” she demanded, turning to Callis. “There’s nothing happened to Mrs. Callis, has there. . .?”

  “Never mind about that just now,” intervened the inspector, a shade brusquely. “Just answer any questions first.”

  “But has anything happened to her?” the girl persisted stubbornly. “She’s always been very nice to me, Mrs. Callis; and I hope nothing’s gone wrong. She wasn’t home last night, I know that. She’d gone to stay at Mrs. Longnor’s, Mr. Callis told me, same as she often does.”

  “There’s been a mishap,” Callis intervened. “Just tell Mr. Rufford what he wants to know.”

  The inspector was not pleased by this intervention. However, in a way it simplified his task. But before he could ask another question, Maud Endell supplied him with some unsolicited information.

  “That’s funny,” she said, doubtfully. “When I went into the bath-room yesterday morning I just noticed a box of bath salts, verbena, the kind she always uses; and it was full except for one cube, same as it was in the morning; and she always takes some cubes with her when she goes away to stay with anyone. There’s only two cubes missing now.”

  Rufford pricked up his ears at this. Evidently this girl was sharper than he had imagined.

  “Did you notice anything else?” he demanded.

  “Not last night, because then I didn’t know she was going away. But this morning, knowing she was gone, I did notice that she’d left her tooth-brush behind.”

  “People often forget a tooth-brush in packing. You can always buy a new one at the nearest druggist’s,” said the inspector, unimpressed.

  “Yes, but it’s not many people forget a brush and comb,” retorted the maid triumphantly. “And her brush and comb are on her dressing-table.”

  “They are, are they?”

  “I’ll let you see them, if you’ll come along here,” said Maud, leading the way. “This is her bedroom. There they are, on the dressing-table.”

  There they were, undoubtedly: a silver-backed brush and a silver comb, lying beside a hand-mirror. Rufford’s opinion of the maid went up several points.

  “Now we are here,” he said, with less asperity in his tone, “perhaps you can tell us something more. I want to know what Mrs. Callis packed in that suit-case she took away with her: handkerchiefs, stockings, evening shoes, and all that kind of thing. You must have some idea of what she had, and you can tell us what’s missing, I suppose?”

  “Not handkerchiefs, nor stockings, nor anything like that, I couldn’t,” Maud declared flatly. “I’m not one to go prying amongst a mistress’s things and counting her handkerchiefs. But if she was going away for a night or two, she’d need some sort of frock for the evenings, and I do know what dresses she had. Do you want me to look?”

  Rufford nodded, and without more add Maud threw open the door of a large cupboard, recessed in the wall, which served as a wardrobe. On a shelf below the dresses stood a row of shoes, each with its tree inside. The girl began a systematic search amongst the dresses, and in a few seconds had discovered what was required; but the result seemed to puzzle her a little, as the inspector inferred from her expression as she turned round again.

  “There’s just one dress missing,” she explained. “It’s a black silk one, with a bunch of some sort of flowers on it, to relieve the black. Artificial flowers, I mean. And it had a belt to match, with one of these diamantée clasps. The belt would be in this drawer here.”

  She opened the drawer as she spoke, and showed a number of belts of different types.

  “Here’s the one I mean,” she said, pointing to it.

  Rufford, thinking of something else, did not notice the puzzled look on her face. Women’s clothes were not a subject of much interest to him.

  “Have a look at the shoes, will you?” he suggested. “See if you can tell what she took away with her.”

  Maud closed the belt-drawer and went back to the wardrobe.

  “She’s taken just one pair,” she announced, after a glance along the row. “Glacé, they were, with Louie Kangz heels. I remember them quite well.”

  Rufford was jotting down some notes in his book.

  “Black silk dress, with bunch of flowers . . .” he murmured as he wrote.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Maud confirmed. “It wasn’t one she wore often. I got the idea, somehow, that she didn’t like it much; but maybe I was wrong, there. You can see by the empty hanger how it was put away behind the others, the ones she was more likely to be wearing.”

  “Anything else missing, that you can think of?” demanded the inspector.

  Maud considered for a moment or two, pinching her lower lip in a pose of perplexity. Then her face brightened; and she went over to the tallboy, pulled out a drawer and took from it a pair of pyjamas.

  “These are what she wore last night,” she explained. “If she’s gone away and left these behind, she must have taken another pair with her. I do know how many sets of pyjamas she had. Just a moment. . . .”

  She pulled out another drawer, made a rapid search, and then turned to the waiting inspector:

  “Yes, there’s a pair missing. Nearly new, they are: white silk ones with coral facings. They ought to be here, but they aren’t.”

  Rufford went through the drawer himself to confirm her statement. Then, after making a note, he turned again to the girl with a further question:

  “When did you come in last night?”

  Maud considered for a moment or two before answering.

  “I caught the last tram. It would be about twenty past eleven when I got back here.”

  “Mr. Callis was in, then, was he?”

  “Oh,
yes. I saw him in the sitting-room as I passed the window, going to the front door. He hadn’t drawn the curtains. You were reading a book, weren’t you, sir?”

  Callis confirmed this with a nod, and Rufford put another question.

  “Have you a latch-key?” he asked the girl.

  “No, I don’t need one. The front door’s always on the latch till the last person happens to go to bed. I just came in and went straight upstairs.”

  “You didn’t wash up the supper things?” demanded the inspector.

  “Oh, no. I left them till the morning. There was only Mr. Callis’s dishes, and he’d had only some cold fowl, salad, and an apple pie. It wasn’t worth while washing up four or five dishes at that time of night. I just left them, and washed them up with the breakfast things this morning. I didn’t even go into the kitchen last night.”

  The inspector glanced at Callis, who nodded again in confirmation.

  “I heard her come in,” he said. “I sat up until about midnight, myself, and I released the catch on the Yale lock before I went to bed. That’s all right.”

  “Very well,” said Rufford, turning back to the maid. “I suppose you’d recognise that dress and these shoes, if I happened to show them to you, by and by?”

  “Oh, easily,” she declared, confidently. “I couldn’t mistake them if I saw them.”

  “Well, say nothing to anyone about what I’ve been speaking about,” Rufford cautioned her. “Don’t go chattering, see? Mrs. Callis has come by a mishap, and the less said about it the better, till we get hold of the right party.”

  “A motor smash, is it?” asked Maud, obviously much concerned at the idea that her mistress had been hurt. “I do hope it ain’t serious. I mean, I hope she’s not crippled or disfigured, or anything; for she was always very kind to me, she was, and very nice-looking, too. I couldn’t bear to think she was badly hurt.”

  “She’s had a nasty knock,” Rufford admitted, with apparent candour. “We’ll just hope for the best.”

  Maud turned to Callis.

  “Indeed I am sorry to hear that, sir,” she said, with genuine feeling. “I’m sorry for her and for you, too.”

  Rufford felt that this was none of his business. He dismissed the maid with a gesture and, going downstairs, led Callis into the sitting-room.