“In the case of Margaret Gask no bullet was found, which is not surprising, but in a later search of Fredman’s room a flattened bullet was found which corresponded to an indentation in the brick wall at a height of five feet four and three quarter inches from the floor: this must have been the bullet which traversed Fredman’s head.
“At this stage of the enquiry I did not think it wise to interview any of the persons who were staying at Scudamore Hall, for fear of alarming them. Mr Forge consulted me confidentially about engaging a private detective as one of his servants and I undertook to find him a man who could be thoroughly relied upon. Accordingly I engaged a retired detective inspector who undertakes private enquiries—ex-inspector William Spofforth—who is in the house now as an under butler. He fully understands the need for circumspection and he is not personally known to Alfred Curtis. I shall receive from him reports at two-day intervals. Mr Forge has promised solemnly that he will not divulge either to any of his guests or his servants the identity of ex-inspector Spofforth.
“In the meantime there has been an addition to the party at Scudamore Hall—a young French lady who had been an intimate friend of Margaret Gask. Though Mr Forge did not altogether approve I took an opportunity of interviewing this young lady in order to find out what she knew about the dead woman. At first she was reluctant to discuss her but at a second interview she was more forthcoming and gave me the following information: six months ago this lady, Mlle Coulon, entered the service of the Henri dressmaking firm in the Rue Royale, Paris, as a mannequin. The star mannequin in this establishment was, she said, Margaret Gask. On pressing her for further particulars she told me in confidence that Margaret Gask appeared at big social functions beautifully dressed by Henri with jewellery on loan from Messrs Fournier, Rue de la Paix; that she was wearing at a ball at the Opera House a valuable diamond clip which she ‘lost.’ On this she was discharged. I begged Mlle Coulon to tell me in confidence whether there had been any doubt about the loss being genuine and she admitted rather evasively that this had been the case. I asked her whether she had kept in touch with Margaret Gask after her dismissal from the firm and she admitted that she had. It was about that time that Margaret met Mr Forge; Mr Huskisson was also in Paris.
“All this goes to confirm our belief that Margaret Gask was a woman who lived on her wits and was probably concerned with others in thefts. One point that we have not yet cleared up is how she came into contact with Hyam Fredman. This point we are now working upon.
“ALBERT DALLAS, Detective Inspector.”
Richardson had scarcely finished his perusal when his clerk returned with a typed copy of Dr Smithers’ report.
“You’ve been very quick. I suppose long practice of deciphering difficult handwritings has made you an expert.”
The clerk smiled. “I had very useful help, sir. Detective Sergeant Lomax was working in this department during the last days of the war and told me that he had had to decipher far worse scripts than this. Four words puzzled even him and we were going to leave them blank but in the end the context supplied the missing words.”
“Thank you,” said Richardson; “that is all for the moment.” He picked up the typed copy of the report and read as follows:
“I have this day made an examination of the body of Hyam Fredman. He appeared to be a man of a little over forty, well nourished and inclined to corpulence. All the organs were healthy. The cause of death was a bullet wound which had traversed the brain from left to right. The man must have been standing at the time, for the orifices of entry and exit were placed horizontally. I made a search for this bullet: it was not there. There was, however, on the brick wall a mark as if a bullet had flattened itself against the brickwork: the flattened bullet must have been carried off by the murderer. The weapon found within reach of the murdered man’s hand could not, in my opinion, have been the one used by the murderer: the orifice of entry was too small to have been made by a bullet of the calibre of the Colt revolver found on the floor near the body.
“J. SMITHERS.”
Richardson took the report in his hand and went with it to the door of one of the luminaries of the legal department, which had lately been taken over by the commissioner’s office at New Scotland Yard. He was a keen-looking solicitor of about forty with a long experience of preparing briefs for the Criminal Bar. Richardson had acquired the habit of consulting him on the general principle that two heads are better than one.
“Look here, Mr Jackson, would you run your eye over this last report of Dallas’ and the medical report attached; both bear upon that murder case in Crooked Lane.”
“What I should like to know,” said Jackson when he had finished reading the report, “is what valuables this man Forge keeps in his house. He seems to have a little gang of suspects about him: they can’t all have been after a single emerald, however valuable.”
“Dallas put that question to him and was invited to look over the house. He says that it was handsomely furnished in a modern way and that there were a number of silver ornaments of no great value but the plate was not solid silver.”
“Is he a collector of pictures, china or anything like that?”
“I believe not.”
“What’s your opinion as to why these people have collected at Scudamore Hall for Christmas?”
“In my opinion they belong to the sort of gang that is glad to batten upon any rich man and get the run of their teeth during what is commonly described as the festive season.”
“Well, I can’t give you any theory regarding the identity of the murderer without getting a good deal more information about the people than appears in Dallas’ reports but my own feeling is that the motive for both murders was not robbery, but revenge or fear.”
Chapter Eight
AT FIVE O’CLOCK on the second day after Christmas Mr Forge entered his house and made for the drawing room, as being the place where he was most likely to find his guests assembled. He found only one—Mlle Coulon seated at a well-furnished tea table. He paused on the threshold to admire the very attractive picture that she made.
“See how I am being spoiled,” she cried gaily. “Your butler insisted that I must have tea at five o’clock. He said that all ladies in England drank tea at five and that you would never forgive me if I did not conform to the custom of the country. I reassured him. I told him that in Paris it had been the custom, too, for many years. So here I am with the teapot ready before me and only lacking congenial company. That you have come in time to supply. Do you like your tea weak or strong?”
“Strong, please,” said Forge, taking the vacant chair opposite to her. “I suppose that the other men are out, though they are not tea drinkers.”
“Your butler told me that you were all out; that is why I did not wait.”
“I’m afraid that you are having a very dull time, mademoiselle.”
“Oh, not at all. I have always longed to see English life: it is so little understood in France.”
“I’m afraid you are not seeing an English Christmas at its best. I had arranged for a house party with all the old Christmas merrymaking but then came this sad business of poor Margaret…”
“I am so sorry for you, monsieur. This tragedy must have upset all your plans. No doubt you had arranged to welcome your relations…”
“I have none, or at any rate relations so distant that I do not know them. No, I was looking forward to a Christmas party of friends. The fact is after wandering about and staying in foreign hotels and rooms in London I began to think that it was time for me to settle down and that is why I built this house.”
“It’s a charming house on the edge of this lovely moor and now your plans are all being spoiled. I understand.” She nodded sympathetically.
“Sometimes I toyed with the idea of marrying. I’m very lonely.”
“I see,” she said again and added softly, “To Margaret perhaps.”
“Well, I must confess that the idea had crossed my mind.” He sighed;
the ready sympathy of this attractive girl and the intimacy of the tea table seemed to warm him into confidences.
“I am not surprised; lots of men fell in love with Margaret.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Well, there is not much to tell. When I first met her she was the star mannequin at Monsieur Henri’s establishment. We others were almost jealous of her because it was she who wore the newest creations and the jewels and I can assure you that when dressed for a show she was a dream.”
“When I first met her in my hotel in Paris she was not employed anywhere.”
“And so she became your guide and interpreter, yes?”
“Well, in a sense, yes. You knew her well. Tell me why she quarrelled with Monsieur Henri?”
“Oh, they had a difference of opinion about the clothes she was to wear and she was very high spirited and left him.”
“Did you know many of Margaret’s friends?”
“Some of them, yes.”
“Did she ever speak of a Mr Oborn?”
“Never. Why do you ask?”
“Well, when she heard that he was one of my invited guests she said that he was an old friend and that she would be pleased to meet him again and yet Oborn himself declares that he never met her.”
“That is strange. Of course I didn’t meet all Margaret’s friends. Mr Huskisson knew her well and spent a lot of time in Paris this autumn. Have you asked him to explain this little mystery?”
“Yes, and he says, like you, that he never heard Margaret speak of Mr Oborn.”
At this moment the person they were speaking of made his appearance.
“Ah!” he said gaily. “This is where you are. Huskisson is looking for you, mademoiselle. He says that he promised to give you a lesson in billiards.”
She jumped up. “Ah! I had quite forgotten I promised to be in the billiard room at half-past five.”
When the door was shut behind her Oborn remarked, “Perhaps this is a budding romance. Huskisson seems very much taken with her.”
Forge took him up rather indignantly. “What do you mean? Huskisson was in love with poor Margaret ; he could not have forgotten her in four days.”
Oborn shrugged his shoulders. “Of course I never had the opportunity of seeing the two together, but he seems quite to regard Mademoiselle Coulon as his particular property.”
“Well, that’s quite natural. He knows her better than we do and they were friends in Paris.”
“Is Mademoiselle in a position to clear up the mystery of Miss Gask’s friend, my namesake?”
“It’s funny you should ask me that. I had just been questioning her on that very subject. She had never heard Margaret mention anyone of your name.”
“Ah well!” responded Oborn; “then that little mystery goes to the grave with her.”
“The mystery of her death also seems equally unlikely to be solved. Would you like to know my own opinion? It’s this. We all know that she had many admirers. I think that some jealous blighter followed her over from Paris, made this rendezvous with her at midnight, shot her and bolted back over the Channel by the very next boat.”
“My view is less romantic than yours. I think that some blackguard killed her for the sake of her coat and perhaps jewels—if she was wearing any.”
“But that does not explain why she was in Crooked Lane at midnight. She must have gone there of her own free will.”
“True; your idea of a rendezvous must be correct but a lover would never steal her fur coat.”
“Well, we’ll have to leave it to the police to unravel the mystery. After all, it isn’t our job.”
Meanwhile the lesson was proceeding in the billiard room but there were gaps in it for conversation.
“Ah!” exclaimed Pauline after missing an easy shot. “I shall never have time to learn this difficult game before I go back. You see in France our billiard tables have no pockets.”
“But the pockets are a help to the beginner.”
“Yes, but I have to go back so soon there will be no time to practise…”
“Why must you go back? I know that our host wants you to stay and no business engagements are made at Christmas time.”
“You forget that our great fête is New Year’s Day and I must be back for that.”
“Pauline, are you still employed by the Henri establishment?”
“Yes, I’m not yet among the unemployed.”
He spent a few seconds in chalking his billiards cue and then went on, “Tell me, Pauline: you know as well as I do, don’t you, that Margaret left Monsieur Henri under a cloud?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Do you know why the matter was hushed up?”
“For many reasons. Publicity of that kind does no good to a firm. Also, Monsieur Henri, like most men, had a soft corner in his heart for Margaret.”
“But who paid the jeweller’s firm for the loss?”
“Monsieur Henri had to stand that but you must remember, my friend, that according to Margaret’s story the jewel was lost in the Opera House. No one could prove that the loss wasn’t genuine. It was never recovered, although the police had the matter in hand.”
“Then if it wasn’t proved there was no sufficient reason for dismissing Margaret. You must not think that I wish to blacken her memory now that she is dead but I think that Monsieur Henri had a stronger reason. Was it not in connection with the sale of his new models to American buyers?” She was silent and he went on, “Believe me, I am not asking out of idle curiosity.”
“In that case, and knowing that you were Margaret’s friend, I can say that your guess is correct.”
“And the fur coat which is now missing, did that not belong to Revillon?”
“That, my friend, cannot be proved, as the coat is missing. If it were recovered…”
“But it is true that a valuable mink coat has been lost by Revillon and Margaret was never employed by that firm.”
“That coat had been bought by Henri and mysteriously disappeared from his workroom: all the workers are beyond reproach.”
She put her finger on her lips because at this moment the new under butler, Spofforth, opened the door noiselessly and brought in a coal scuttle for making up the fire. As soon as he had retired Huskisson returned once more to the subject of Margaret Gask.
“Tell me one thing while we are alone: had Monsieur Henri any suspicion against Margaret over that jewel?”
“Do you know what the jewel was?”
“A diamond brooch, I believe.”
“It was—a very valuable one—with a special safety device that could not be released except by someone who knew the secret. Monsieur Henri and the jeweller had themselves fitted it into Margaret’s corsage.”
“I see,” said Huskisson gravely.
Pauline looked at him while his face was averted; there was a look of conjecture in her expression.
“I can see what you are thinking,” she said. “You believe that Margaret may have succumbed to the temptation to possess herself of Mr Forge’s emerald: he told me about it.”
Before he had time to answer she darted noiselessly to the door and flung it open. This brought her face to face with the under butler: clearly he had been eavesdropping but he was in no wise disconcerted. He smiled at her deferentially and said, “I have just come to give Mademoiselle a message from Mr Forge; it was to know if you would care for a game of bridge before dinner.”
She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’m afraid there’s barely time.” She turned to Huskisson with a smile. “Mr Forge has not yet learned how long it takes a lady to dress for dinner. If I’m not to be late I must go to my room now. Our host looks like a man who would hate to be kept waiting.”
She was about to enter her own room when she looked back and saw that Spofforth had stopped to set his watch by the clock on the landing. With a mischievous smile she turned from the door of her own room and dashed across the landing to the room that Margaret Gask had occupied. She swit
ched on the light, shut the door behind her and after opening wide the wardrobe stood there waiting for the knock that she felt sure would come. It came almost instantly. She opened the door and gave a realistic start on seeing Spofforth.
“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said politely, “but Mr Forge has given directions that this room is not to be entered.”
“I did not know. All I wanted was to see the room my poor dead friend occupied but I will leave it and not enter it again without Monsieur Forge’s permission. You are a new servant, are you not?”
“All the servants in this house are new, mademoiselle,” he responded, moving aside for her to pass out.
She left with a quite natural air of meekness.
Chapter Nine
REPORT from Detective Inspector Dallas, December twenty-eighth.
“THE ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER, C.I.D.
“SIR,
“In continuation of my report of the 26th inst. I have to add the following. Discreet enquiries regarding the movements of Arthur Graves have disclosed that he made frequent visits to Paris; on his return from each of these visits he changed his address in England, putting up at country hotels in the southern counties more often than in London. In view of facts that have come to light during the course of our enquiries I think it essential that a French-speaking officer like myself should go over to Paris to make further enquiries about Arthur Graves and certain persons now staying at Scudamore Hall. Speed is essential in order to circumvent attempts from the guilty person or persons to defeat the course of justice and therefore I am asking your permission to cross to Paris tomorrow evening.
“I attach hereto a report from ex-inspector Spofforth, who is now acting as under butler at Scudamore Hall.
A Murder is Arranged Page 6
