by E.
The eight players, having recovered from the exertions of an earlier performance, broke into another cachination of sound. A dozen or so of the couples present rose, and broke into the steps of a Rumba on the pine floor.
Inspector Kenway rose in his place and passed unobtrusively through the curtained entrance to the office. His eyes took in the gathering; he nodded to Bradley and then sent an inquiring glance at Doctor Manson.
An answering nod; and he straightened his tie, pulled the points of his waistcoat into place and, turning, brushed aside the curtain and stood looking into the club.
His eyes passed to the waiting woman—and stayed. Slowly he walked across the floor and stood in front of her. He bowed.
“Mr. da Costa has been detained, madam,” he said. The phrase brought a slight smile to his lips. It was, he soliloquized, about the first time it had been used in the circumstances with absolute truth.
“He may be some time before he can join you. I offer my services until he can do so. Shall we dance?”
“Detained—at this hour. How extraordinary.” Her lips formed into a moue. She looked at the tall figure of the well-groomed man in front of her, noted his air of breeding, his good looks. She rose and, placing her bag on the table, moved towards the floor.
“Might I suggest, madam, that you carry your bag. It is a tempting bait.”
“Oh, perhaps you are right. I heard that one was stolen from the club the other night.” She slipped it over an arm.
Together the inspector and the woman moved into the dance. Twice they completed the circuit of the floor and then Kenway steered his partner towards the entrance.
Feeling the carpet beneath her feet the woman looked up in surprise. Her mouth opened, but before she could frame the obvious question the inspector proffered his explanation.
“There are three friends of mine who I particularly want you to meet,” he said.
“It’s a little unusual, surely. I do not even know you,” the woman insisted.
“Nevertheless. . . .” He took an elbow and ushered her, protestingly, through the curtain, across the tiny foyer, and into the office of Signor Pepi (born Weinberger).
Doctor Manson and Inspector Bradley rose. The woman eyed them in mute inquiry. Doctor Manson turned to the passenger whom Inspector Bradley had brought up from Burlington.
“Do you know this lady?” he asked her.
He waited for her reply, a marked anxiety in his face. He was satisfied in his own mind that his deduction was correct. But it was, after all, deduction. None knew that better than he; and none knew better that he had no evidence which would satisfy a jury as to the accuracy of that deduction. One word from Bradley’s passenger could produce that evidence—or destroy it.
The word came.
“Yes. She is the lady who took the place of Mary Sinclair in the pantomime on that night.”
“Thank you.” Doctor Manson nodded towards the door and Inspector Bradley took the Burlington girl by the arm and shepherded her into the foyer.
“Sit there for a few minutes, will you?” he asked, and returned to the office.
The three figures stood silent, awaiting him. The smooth whiteness of the woman’s face had changed to a haggard grey. Her eyes were opened in dilation, and her hands were clenched so that the whites of the knuckles showed plainly through the skin.
At a nod from Doctor Manson Inspector Bradley stepped forward. He raised his voice.
“I am Inspector Bradley, of the Burlington-on-Sea Police Force,” he said. “These gentlemen are detective-officers from Scotland Yard. I am arresting you, Nina Francetti, on a charge of being concerned in the murder of Norma de Grey on the stage of the Pavilion Theatre at Burlington, on the night of . . .”
“Catch her, Kenway,” said Manson sharply.
The inspector supported the fainting woman, and laid her on the settee.
“You will have to warn her when she comes round, Bradley. Fetch her cloak.”
Five minutes later Nina Francetti left for the last time the club where her nights had been spent in song and dance. The strain of ‘You’ll Miss me Sometimes’ from the swing band ushered her departure. The shuffling of feet on the dance floor sounded to her ears like the rustling of a shroud.
* * * * *
At 1 a.m. Raoul da Costa was roused from his bed in his cell. Inspector Kenway accosted him.
“We have just arrested Nina Francetti on a charge of being concerned in the murder of Norma de Grey,” he said. “I am now adding to the charges already made against you a further charge of being an accessory before and after the fact of the murder of Norma de Grey.”
The man rose in terror.
“It’s a lie,” he shouted. “I knew nothing whatever about the death of Norma until afterwards. I’ll make a statement. I’m not going to swing for a damned woman.”
“You are not bound to make a statement, but—” began Kenway.
“I know all that jumble,” was the retort. “I’m telling you what happened.”
He began to speak in a high-pitched, frightened voice. . . .
* * * * *
In Doctor Manson’s room in Scotland Yard, the scientist, Kenway, Bradley, and Merry sat drinking coffee. Inspector Bradley’s passenger had been made comfortable for what remained of the night in the women police quarters of the Yard. The inspector himself now congratulated the scientist on the completion of the case.
“Though, how you came to suspect that damned girl, I’m hanged if I know,” he announced to the company at large. “It’s genius.”
“The completion of the case?” Doctor Manson repeated the words after him. “We haven’t completed the case, Bradley. Far from it.”
“B—b—but—” began Bradley.
Doctor Manson interrupted.
“You arrested both Nina Francetti and da Costa on charges of ‘being concerned in the murder’ and with being an accessory before and after the fact, Bradley. We have not charged either of them with being the actual perpetrator of the deed. Neither were they. That is why I suggested the wording of the warrants. We have still to arrest the actual murderer.”
“N—n—not the Cat?” asked Bradley.
Doctor Manson smiled.
“Neither of the cats, Bradley, I promise you,” he said.
“The Francetti girl was on the stage, Doctor. And at the time. She had Mary Sinclair kept away on purpose—”
“Agreed, Bradley. That is part of the conspiracy. She went there, I think, with the intention of murdering Miss de Grey. But she was stopped by someone or something, and somebody else did it. She did not commit the murder because the murder was committed by the Cat. Now, Miss Francetti was not the cat. She couldn’t have been the cat, because she was dancing in the ballet scene when the Cat was lying with Whittington on the Hill. Wasn’t she?”
Inspector Bradley reluctantly agreed that it appeared that way.
“Then who the hell did do the murder, Doctor,” burst out Kenway. “I was banking on Nina Francetti from the inquiries we’ve been making. Where do we look for the murderer now?”
“I think, perhaps, the murderer will come to us, Kenway,” was the reply. “Which reminds me. I want the arrest of Nina Francetti put in the papers. See the Press Bureau and ask them to request the Press as a favour to the Yard to give it prominence. Get it to the Press Association and the Central News, too. Here, I’ll draft the paragraph.”
He wrote for a few moments and then read out the result:
Miss Nina Francetti, dancer and actress, was arrested early today, charged with the murder of Miss Norma de Grey on the stage in the ‘Dick Whittington’ pantomime at Burlington-on-Sea. She will appear in court today. A sensational story is likely to be told by detectives engaged in the case.
“But, Doctor, she wasn’t charged with the murder,” said Bradley. “Only with being concerned in.”
“I know, Bradley. But this paragraph is designed for a purpose. Just let it go this way.”
It was at nin
e o’clock the same morning that the case was completely solved to the satisfaction of Inspector Bradley. At that hour the telephone bell rang in Doctor Manson’s flat. He answered it.
“Kenway here at the Yard, Doctor. There is a woman here to see you. Says she must do so at once. It’s a matter of life and death, according to her. She won’t give a name. . . .”
“She doesn’t need to, Kenway. I know her. I’ll be round at once. Put her into my private room, will you, and get Bradley to join you.”
A quarter of an hour later the three men entered the room. A woman sat hunched in an armchair; and the face that stared at the three men was ashen and dead. She glanced from one to another and whispered a query. “Doctor Manson?” she asked.
The scientist stepped forward.
“I am Doctor Manson,” he said, “and you, of course, are Helen Brough, who dressed Miss de Grey at Burlington.”
She nodded, and held out a newspaper, folded at a column.
“Is this true, sir?” she asked.
The scientist nodded.
“It is true that Miss Francetti has been arrested, yes,” he replied.
“She didn’t do it, sir. I killed Miss de Grey. I played the Cat—for the last time.” A thin smile showed for a moment on her face. “I doped Enora, and used his skin."
“So I supposed.”
The scientist spoke gently.
“I expected you here this morning. I knew that you would have to come; that you would not be able to help it.”
Gently, he charged her.
* * * * *
At eleven o’clock Nina Francetti and Raoul da Costa were placed in the dock on the charges made against them.
Inspector Kenway stepped forward and addressed the magistrate.
“A third person has been arrested this morning and charged in this case,” he explained. “I ask that all three shall appear together. I shall ask for a remand.”
The magistrate nodded.
Helen Brough was brought up from below into the dock. Nina Francetti looked at the bowed figure.
“Mother!” she screamed. “Oh. . . . Oh. . . . MOTHER!” She collapsed.
CHAPTER XXIII
DÉNOUEMENT
The Pavilion Theatre at Burlington-on-Sea was ablaze with twinkling lights which flickered with pleasing warmth from the revolving ball at the top of the theatre to the colours which ran round the illuminated sign telling from the front of the building the programme that was within.
Beneath the lights, the dark streets were thronged with advancing columns of people jostling one another in a jolly and friendly way as they converged from various directions on the square of pavement that gave way to the vestibule of the theatre. It was the opening night in Burlington of Mr. Henri de Benyat’s new musical comedy, Dolores, which had been produced in Wimbledon the week before. The visit was of especial interest to Burlington, for it contained leading members of the cast, as the posters put it, “after their phenomenal success in the pantomime Dick Whittington”.
Miss Prue, who had been Alice Fitzwarren, was now in the leading role of Dolores. The Glee Brothers provided the comedy motif; and King Rat, in other words Mr. Frederick Barnson, was the villain of the piece. Enora, the Cat, now happily recovered from his pantomime experience, had a new animal role, specially created; and the secondary lady was Miss Heather Low who, in the pantomime, had played the Fairy Queen. Mr. Trimble was once again Mr. Henri de Benyat’s stage-manager. The dancers and chorus were substantially the same as in the pantomime.
A slight air of restraint made itself felt among the crowd. Rather unusually the ladies and gentlemen of the company were gathered in the Green Room some eighteen or twenty minutes before the curtain was due to ring up. Mr. Frederick Barnson had slipped, in make-up, through the stage door to the Green Man. He now reappeared, a newspaper, folded, under one arm.
The chatter died into silence as he entered.
“Any news, old man?” asked the Captain of the Glee Brothers.
Mr. Barnson nodded. “All found guilty,” he announced.
“Never thought they would be, from what we knew,” opined Miss Low.
“That fellow Manson got ’em clicked,” explained Mr. Barnson. “Remember him coming to us?”
Supporting nods from a dozen heads acknowledged the recognition.
“Marvellous stories the papers have of him.”
“What’s he say, Freddie?”
Freddie opened his paper. “We’ve got a bit of time,” he said. “I’ll read his bit out.” He cleared his throat and began.
Chief Detective-Inspector H. Manson, D.Sc., the eminent scientist, told a remarkable story of the investigations which led to the arrest and conviction of the accused. He described the conditions in which Miss de Grey was found dead on the stage of the theatre at Burlington, and the Cat, Enora, was found poisoned in his dressing-room. “There was evidence of bad feeling between the Cat and the dead woman,” he said, “and the Cat was the only person at the side of the dead woman during the fatal few minutes on the stage.
“It was obvious to me from the start,” he continued, “that the murder could only have been carried out by the Cat; it was obvious also that it had been carefully planned. The Cat was seen to leave the stage immediately after the curtain had been rung down.
“It seemed a reasonable supposition from the appearances that the Cat had injected the poison from which Miss de Grey died and then, knowing that there was no prospect of his escaping the penalty, had taken the same poison in his dressing-room, immediately afterwards. It was when I inspected the dressing-room that I became convinced that this supposition could not be upheld.”
The Attorney-General (prosecuting): “Why not?”
Doctor Manson: “Because of three rather curious circumstances. In the first place there were no make-up materials in the room, although Enora not only had to make up the lower part of his face for his part, but was, in fact, actually made up at the time of his poisoning. Secondly, he had drunk a liquid in which the poison had been contained. Now, the action of this particular poison is so rapid that the man would be unconscious within a few seconds of taking it. He would not, therefore, have had time to dispose of the vehicle from which he had drunk. The third circumstance was the complete inability to find the hypodermic syringe which had been used by the murderer.”
The Attorney-General: “I take it that that led you to discard the theory of murder and suicide on the part of the Cat?”
Doctor Manson: “On the part of Enora, the Cat, sir, yes. I had, accordingly, to start again. The Cat had, of course, an understudy. The question arose as to whether the original Cat had been poisoned by the understudy, who had then carried out a revenge for wrongs on Miss de Grey. There was, however, no evidence of any ill-feeling between Miss de Grey and the understudy either during the run of the pantomime, or in any period before. In addition, the understudy had an alibi that was cast iron, to quote a popular description.”
Doctor Manson then described what he said was another curious circumstance. The stage-manager in the scene in which the Principal Boy died, stated that Miss de Grey’s cue to the Cat was not at once taken up, and that he leaned forward to see what had happened. “Where’s the blasted cat?” he asked, and then, after a short interval, saw the animal enter the stage but rather further back on the stage than usual.
“Now this, to me,” said the Doctor, “was very interesting, for entrances once made by an artiste are seldom changed except at the request of the management for matters of policy or convenience. There were no such reasons in this case. In fact, the place of entrance was actually in the script.”
The scientist described how he returned to London with the skin of the Cat and examined it under a microscope. “I found a number of hairs,” he explained. “I had obtained through Inspector Bradley, of the local police, hairs from the head of Enora. Most of the hairs from the interior of the Cat’s head mask corresponded with, and were identical with, those of Enora. The shape of the
ends of the hairs corresponded with the natural growth after a hair-cut which it was proved that Enora had had a day or so previously.
“There were, however, a few other hairs which were foreign to Enora. These I plucked from the canvas lining, evidence that they had been caught there and pulled from the head of a wearer. That was further evidenced by the fact that each of these hairs had a living root. The code measurements of Enora’s identified hairs were 1/350 and the sedullary index 0.132. The hairs for which I had no known owner measured 1.450 with a sedullary index of 0.148.
“These are the measurements of the hairs from the head of the average woman. They were not, however, the long strands of hair which are usually associated with a woman’s hair. I was forced to the conclusion by careful examination, that these hairs had come from the head of a woman who affected what is known as an Eton crop. From the evidence then before me I arrived at the decision that, since Enora could not have been the poisoner, and the deputy Cat had an alibi that held up against all investigation, some person other than these two had played in the Cat’s skin during that fatal scene, and that the person who had done so was a woman.”
The Attorney-General: “In fact, one of the two women prisoners at the bar?”
Doctor Manson: “At that time I had no knowledge of the existence of Nina Francetti or Madame Scarlatina. I knew only that some woman had been in the skin.”
The Attorney-General: “Will you tell the jury, Doctor, how you came to associate the women prisoners with the skin.”
Doctor Manson: “When I began to investigate the past life of Miss de Grey I found out that she was, or had been, the mistress of the male prisoner, Raoul da Costa. I was already inquiring into the activities of da Costa in connection with another case. . . .”
