The Secret Search: A Bobby Owen Mystery

by E. R. Punshon

  Bobby had picked up the sheets of paper on which Miller had been collating the times of the rain-storms reported with the times shown in Bradshaw. Rather different, he reflected again, from the popular notion of the detective with a powerful magnifying-glass discovering almost imperceptible clues in almost invisible dust and deducing therefrom precise and conclusive detail. Yet this work of collation that any competent clerk could have performed had its own dramatic significance as it helped to draw ever tighter and closer the widespread net of justice.

  The door opened and the Assistant Commissioner put his head in.

  “I heard you were back, Owen,” he said. “Any news?”

  “We brought the sham Betty Smith back with us,” Bobby said. “Her real name seems to be Ada Day, but she doesn’t seem anxious to claim Mrs Day as her mother. She says she is willing to talk. She’s badly frightened, both of us and of her friends. Says they’ll kill her if they get hold of her.”

  “Quite likely,” agreed the Assistant Commissioner. “They’ve killed once at Seemouth, and it often seems to come easier the second time. What about Mrs Day?”

  “I left her in possession,” Bobby said. “I hope she’s busy ’phoning that we aren’t sure if there is a real Betty Smith and that we are sending to Canada to find out. That’s what I tried to get across. Cy King is sure to hear we’ve picked up the Ada girl, and then he and his friends might panic and decide their only chance was to get rid of the genuine Betty at once. But if they hear too that it’s the Seemouth murder we are working on, and we don’t even know if there is any other girl, they may be more likely to continue holding her as a kind of hostage till they see how things are shaping. Contrawise, I hope when Tiny Garden and his lot hear we’ve picked up Ada they may panic and then their panic may prevent them from going on trying to find out where Cy has got the genuine Betty.”

  “A sort of two-way panic,” the Assistant Commissioner remarked. “No panic for Cy in case he acts in a hurry. Panic for Tiny to stop him from acting at all. Quite subtle, Owen.”

  “All I could think of,” Bobby said, somewhat dejectedly. “Heavy odds against us. We are walking in the dark, and the least slip may be fatal.”

  “Yes, I know,” agreed the Assistant Commissioner gravely. “What’s all this about heavy rain-showers yesterday near railway stations? I’ve been reading your report, and I don’t quite see where you get that.”

  “Well, I didn’t at first,” Bobby said, “and so I didn’t stress it. I did just mention Gladys had a bad cold and kept sneezing and that when Cy grumbled at her she said it wasn’t her fault, it was because of getting wet through. The point is that a cold does take some time to show itself. Therefore it’s a fair guess Gladys got her wetting earlier in the day, that she had come out without an umbrella or mac because it looked settled till a sudden storm blew up, that it was in the country with no taxi or bus at hand, and that she couldn’t shelter or turn back because she had a train to catch.”

  “Rather a lot to build upon a sneeze,” the Assistant Commissioner said doubtfully.

  “Oh, not a sneeze,” Bobby protested. “Volleys of ’em.”

  “Never heard before of sneezes helping to solve a case,” the other remarked. “Or save a girl’s life, perhaps.” He went on: “There’s another thing. I didn’t quite get what you mean by the account you overheard of the Seemouth murder. Sounds as if you thought it was made by an eye-witness?”

  “That was what was claimed,” Bobby answered. “But what eye-witness can have been there likely to tell Gladys in such detail exactly what did happen?—according to her story at the moment it was actually happening many miles away.”

  “Well, what do you make of it?” the Assistant Commissioner asked.

  “One of them made enough of it to faint,” Bobby answered. “That is all that I can say.”

  “It comes to this,” insisted the other. “Some one must have been watching. Stands to reason.” Bobby said nothing. The Assistant Commissioner said: “As for ghosts or clairvoyance or this thought-reading business that’s all the fashion, I don’t believe a word of it. Poppy-cock.”

  “In any case,” Bobby pointed out mildly, “no use to us. Hearsay evidence only.”

  The Assistant Commissioner grunted. He was a plain man with a strong sense of discipline, and he only accepted facts that fitted into the accepted scheme of things—if they didn’t he didn’t believe they were facts and anyhow were an offence to discipline and best ignored. In a somewhat discontented tone, he said:

  “What are you thinking of next?”

  “Well, I’m thinking of lunch at the moment,” Bobby explained. “I haven’t had it yet. I’ll leave Miller in charge, in case anything turns up.”

  “Oh, lunch,” said the Assistant Commissioner in a somewhat deprecatory tone, for he had had his, and a good one. But Miller looked wistful, for he hadn’t, either good or bad. “Let me know if there are any developments,” the A.C. added.

  Therewith he went away, telling himself discontentedly that police work was coming to a pretty pass when suggestions about thought-reading and all that sort of thing could make their appearance in an official report.

  “Be a psychic department soon,” he grumbled to himself, “with a medium as Superintendent-in-Charge.”

  CHAPTER XXIX

  “IT WAS FUNNY IN A WAY”

  PUNCTUALLY AT four, Sergeant Kitty Yates brought Ada, the erstwhile Betty, to Bobby’s room, where he had a tempting tea waiting for them. Ada had taken full advantage of those amenities which Bobby in a lordly sort of way had simplified under the general heading of ‘powdering your nose’. But her eyes were still red and bloodshot, and in them showed all the restless fear she felt, nor could all the lip-stick in the world disguise the nervous trembling of her lips.

  She accepted the cup of tea and one of the cakes Bobby offered, but at this she did no more than nibble, and soon it was lying neglected on her plate. The tea she drank thirstily, and asked for another cup. When Bobby said something trivial by way of starting her talking, she made no attempt to answer, only looked at him doubtfully and then towards the door, as if instinctively wondering whether even at this late hour she might not somehow manage to escape. Sergeant Yates said:

  “Ada has been telling me about herself. When she was very little she lived with a woman she called Auntie Jane, who made her living partly in Piccadilly and partly shop-lifting. She used to send Ada out to see what she could get in the open-access stores.”

  “It’s easy,” Ada said. “When they are busy. Saturdays chiefly. Even if they see you, you can get away in the crowd. They don’t make a fuss if they can help it. You get caught in the end, but you say it’s the first time, and you cry a lot, and as often as not they let you off. I was pretty good at it. I had to be, or I got a thrashing at home if I couldn’t show anything worth while. Then Ma Day came and took me away.”

  “What happened then?”

  “It wasn’t so long before she had me on the street,” Ada answered simply. “I ran away once, but what was the good? There was nowhere to go. I didn’t see much harm in it, anyhow, and then Ma fell ill and we had to have money somehow. It wasn’t much fun, and your man beat you up if you didn’t bring back enough. A girl has to have a man behind her. Then you got drunk to forget it, and you feel awful bad next day and don’t want to turn out and you get beaten up again. Ma told me to get another man, but the one I had said he would cut my nose off if I did, and I expect he would. Then he and Ma got mixed up in a big bank job that didn’t come off and he was killed when the car crashed he was trying to get away in, and Ma Day never came home. I didn’t hear of her for nearly a year, and then she sent to say I was to come to Jimmy Joe’s place. Tiny was there and a boy Ma said was my brother.”

  “Was that true, do you think?” Bobby asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ada answered. “I had never heard of him before. I don’t know if she was my Ma. When she had been having a drop she used to say she wasn’t sure I was the s
ame kid she gave Auntie Jane to look after, or whether that kid hadn’t died and Auntie got me instead so as Ma would go on paying. Auntie Jane’s dead, so no one will ever know.”

  It was a sad and pitiful little story, but one that in its essentials both Bobby and Kitty Yates had heard before. Bobby said:

  “There is a sort of family resemblance between you three—not very strong, but it’s there.”

  “Ma asked Auntie once if that was why she picked me when the other kid died? If that’s what happened,” Ada said. “Ma may have been only talking. She hadn’t paid what she promised, and Auntie Jane said she was making it all up for an excuse, because of being behind. But they both lied natural like, so you couldn’t ever believe anything. It’s no catch belonging to Ma and Sunday, but it’s better than nothing. You don’t feel so lost like.”

  “What was it they wanted when they sent for you at Jimmy Joe’s?” Bobby asked.

  “It sounded a bit of all right,” Ada said, “and no harm to no one, seeing as no one wouldn’t ever know. Ma was being housekeeper to an old gent, because of having to lie low after the bank raid hadn’t come off, and the old gent—it was Mr Smith—hadn’t any one belonging to him, only for a niece in Canada he hadn’t ever seen and didn’t know anything about, so why couldn’t I be the niece? Ma had been trying it out already, she said, saying how nice it would be if he had his own flesh and blood to look after him and how he didn’t ought to be all alone with no one of his own with him. Ma said it was beginning to work, and how about me going over to Canada and writing him from there about being his niece and I was coming to England on a visit and might I come to see him while I was here?”

  “What did you say?” Bobby asked when she paused.

  “Well, it sounded a bit of all right and dead easy,” Ada answered. “You see, I never reckoned on getting to like him. Him and me, we got on a treat. He was ever so good to me.” There were tears in her eyes again now, but slow, reluctant tears, very different from her former violent, unrestrained sobbing. “Nobody had ever been good to me before,” she said simply. She added after a pause: “It made me want to be good to him, too, only I wasn’t let.”

  “You agreed to go to Canada?” Bobby asked.

  “Ma had it all worked out,” Ada explained. “She said he had written to the Mayor of the town where his niece had been years before and asked if he could give him her address or any news of her, only Ma got hold of the letter and tore it up, and instead she and Tiny wrote themselves to the Mayor to ask about something or another, and she said when they got an answer they would have note-paper printed just the same and a faked letter to say his niece had been found and she was writing to him. That was me, of course, I was to write as soon as I got there, and say how nice it was to hear from him, and I was coming over to England to see him, only I shouldn’t be able to stay long because of having such a good job in Canada, and all my friends I didn’t want to leave. That was to make him keen, and not suspect anything, and Ma said it was up to me to make him want me to stay on. Ma had had a look at all his letters and things to find out all she could about him, and I was to study up all about Canada and everything when I was there so I could talk about it convincing like.”

  “A clever little scheme,” Bobby said. “Did you never think of what it might lead to?”

  “No—not what happened,” she answered in almost a whisper. “I swear to God I never did—not for ever so long I didn’t. I wouldn’t have stood for that, not ever. I don’t think at first they meant—that. Not at first. The idea was to get money from him to start me in business here so I wouldn’t go back to Canada, or to make up for what I was giving up there or something like that. Ma kept saying we ought to be able to get a thousand or two out of him quite easy like and even if he found out he wouldn’t ever want to prosecute because of looking such a fool. I don’t think they meant more than that—not at first. I’m sure Ma didn’t. Not at first.”

  “Not at first,” Bobby agreed. “It’s always such a lot easier to start than to stop.”

  “It’s always like that,” Kitty Yates said. “You don’t mean to and then you think you must.”

  “I never thought what it might mean,” Ada went on, “when Mr Smith said he would make a new will and leave me all his money if I would promise to stay on. I only thought it would make it easier still, only just waiting a little. I told Ma, and I remember now she did look queer like, and she went to tell Tiny, and he came one night and asked questions and I think that was when I began to be afraid. Only I wouldn’t let myself think, and I asked Ma, and she said I was a fool. All we had to do was to wait and we should get it all without any risk or bother at all. She said it was big enough even for Tiny to be willing to wait, and he came special to say the same. But I was still being frightened underneath, only there wasn’t anything I could do.”

  “You could have told the truth,” Bobby said.

  “I never thought of that,” Ada said as simply as before. “Besides, I knew they would get me if I tried. And then Cy came into it.”

  “How was that?” Bobby asked.

  “Sunday talked,” answered Ada. “It was too much for him, see? Went to his head like, all that money we were going to get so easy. He got dropping hints about the big job we were going to pull off, and if you talk like that, there’s plenty want to find out what it is, so they can share, only most were too afraid of Tiny to try. You got yours quick if you got across Tiny. Only there was Cy King, and he and Tiny always hated each other like poison and Cy soon knew it all. He’s clever. He sent Gladys to Canada to find out. It was funny in a way. He told her to go straight to the police. She didn’t want but he said she had to.”

  “And did she?” Bobby asked. “Bit of cheek, too. Getting the police to help.”

  “It was funny in a way,” Ada repeated. “She let on she had a cousin, Betty Smith, she thought lived there and could they help her find her? And they said maybe it’s the Miss Betty Smith who works with the Turner law firm. Very nice young lady, they said, and they would ring her up at once. Gladys didn’t want that of course, but she didn’t see how to stop them, and they did and it was her, the real Betty Smith, I mean and she said how exciting it was and she would come right over and Gladys must lunch with her and tell her all about it. Gladys couldn’t get out of it, and Betty asked her a whole heap of questions, and Gladys had to answer them all, and Betty got more and more excited and said it was near her vacation and she would ask if she could have a week or two extra and come to England because she had always wanted to find her uncle. It put Gladys on the spot all right and she didn’t know what to do so she let on she had to go to New York on business, and she wrote to Cy to tell him Betty was coming to England to see her uncle and it was all up. But Cy got the idea of getting hold of Betty as soon as she landed and only letting her go when Tiny had shared equal like. Only now I don’t think perhaps he ever meant to—let her go I mean. Because of it’s being such a lot of money and enough for all without working any more, and it went to their heads like with Sunday, so there wasn’t anything they weren’t ready for. And Cy got up a pal of his to look like you and they went to Mr Smith’s to find out more and let Tiny see they meant to join in and have their share.”

  “Why like me?” Bobby asked, very indignantly indeed.

  “It was a line Cy had been working quite a while,” Ada explained. “One of Cy’s gang, Bill Bright was his name, he really was like you and a lot more when made up. When Cy knew about some blokes had pulled off a good thing, Bill would go along, got up as you, to make inquiries like, and then, when they were in a bad scare, Cy would tell them that if they would share up equal with him, he knew how he could switch you off, because of having a pull with one of your men who could work it with you.”

  Bobby got very red and so angry he would have liked to kick something round and round the room for quite a long time.

  “I’ll take jolly good care I’ll settle up with Mr Cy for that,” he growled. Then he added: “Only fools wou
ld fall for such a cracked yarn.”

  “Well, they mostly are,” Ada said. “That sort. Fools I mean. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be what they are. If you see what I mean. But it generally worked. First there was you as they thought nosing around and then there was you again, saying there wasn’t evidence and you would have to shut down on the case. It seemed O.K. Cy didn’t get much out of Mr Smith though. He was only grumpy with them. And I don’t think it turned out with Tiny the way Cy wanted. Tiny began to say now Cy was trying to push in, there wasn’t any time to lose and no good waiting, and he talked about finding out where Cy had Betty hidden. And I asked Ma about it and Ma said to shut up. She didn’t know anything and I had better not either. And she said it didn’t matter anyhow, what Tiny meant, because he would never find her, Cy being much too clever, and it looked as if the whole thing was going to be a wash-out. I was glad, only sometimes I was frightened, too.”

  “You have no idea where Betty can be?” Bobby asked.

  “No,” Ada answered. “Maybe she isn’t anywhere any more. Russky might be able to help.”

  CHAPTER XXX

  “SHE’S RUN AWAY”

  “RUSSKY?” BOBBY repeated. “Russky?” he said again, startled, vaguely uneasy.

  It was the name, he remembered, by which was known the strange old man whose patronage of his café had at one time made Jimmy Joe so uneasy that he had appealed for police help—an assistance which the police, though highly amused at the request, had been unable to accord. For there was no complaint against the old man’s behaviour. All he did was to ask for some modest refreshment or another and to sit quietly consuming it. He could hardly be held responsible for the behaviour of other customers, who, when he appeared, tended to depart forthwith or, if they saw him already there, to retire with some promptitude.