As if by Magic

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

‘Why don’t you speak to her?’ asked George. He glanced at the letter again. ‘It’s what she wants.’

  The grandfather clock in the hall had chimed half past nine when Jack opened the door to Anne Lassiter. Peggy Culverton was with her and, looking very pleased with himself, David Lassiter. ‘Come in,’ said Jack, taking their coats. ‘I asked Bill Rackham and Dr Kincraig to join us, as they can explain parts of the story far better than I can. You’ve eaten, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve had dinner,’ said Anne. ‘Grandfather thought of coming, but I managed to persuade him to stay at home.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Better. He’s still knocked out about Nigel, but David’s news cheered him up.’

  Jack looked inquisitively at David Lassiter.

  ‘Peggy and I are going to be married,’ said David with a broad grin. ‘We announced the news at dinner tonight.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Jack turned to Peggy Culverton. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy. I’m sure you will be.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked radiant. All the wariness which he had come to associate with her had gone. She reached out her hand to him. ‘We’ve got you to thank, I know. If you hadn’t managed to work things out, it would have all ended very differently. There aren’t really words for this sort of thing. You can only guess how grateful I am.’

  He smiled warmly at her. ‘I didn’t do it by myself, you know, but thanks.’ He showed them into the sitting room where George Lassiter, Bill Rackham and Dr Kincraig were waiting. ‘Make yourselves at home. This calls for something special,’ he said, once everyone had sat down. ‘Hang on. I won’t be a jiffy.’

  He was back in a few minutes, holding three dusty green bottles. ‘Moët et Chandon,’ he explained. ‘I’ve got a case in the cellar.’ Anne helped him fetch glasses from the sideboard. ‘To the happy couple,’ he said, pouring out the champagne. ‘You deserve it.’

  They drank the toast then Anne looked at him over the top of her glass. ‘Will you tell us the story? None of us know what happened.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Peggy Culverton. ‘Major Haldean, there’s something I must know. Was I right about Alexander? Was he the Ripper? I was certain he was but then, when that other murder happened, it seemed as if I’d been wrong.’

  Jack took a deep breath. ‘You weren’t wrong, Mrs Culverton,’ he said gently.

  She flinched. ‘I knew it,’ she muttered. ‘So he was the X man. In the end I was terrified of him. I seem to have been frightened for so long.’

  David Lassiter covered her hand with his. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of now.’ He gave Jack a puzzled look. ‘I still can’t work it out. I know Nigel was involved but not what he actually did.’

  ‘Nigel, I’m afraid,’ said Jack, ‘was as guilty as Roger Maguire and Stella Aldryn. The three of them were in it up to their necks.’

  David Lassiter and Anne exchanged looks. ‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ said David after a pause. ‘He might have been my brother but he was a callous devil. How did it all start?’

  ‘It started,’ said Jack, taking a cigar from the box and lighting it, ‘when Stella Aldryn met Roger Maguire. That was about three years ago. That they had an affair was obvious, but they had something else in common and that was greed.’

  Anne stared at him. ‘Roger had an affair with Stella?’ Jack nodded.

  ‘It came as a shock to me as well,’ said George quietly.

  ‘But why?’ demanded Anne. ‘If he was having an affair with her, why did he bother with me?’

  Jack hesitated. ‘I think I know the answer but I’ll come to it in its proper place. It might make more sense, then. Incidentally, when did Nigel meet Maguire for the first time?’

  David Lassiter shrugged. ‘Nigel had known Maguire for years. I’d met him occasionally. Naturally I met him a great deal more often after he started seeing Anne.’

  ‘Which makes,’ said Jack, staring at the end of his cigar, ‘it all easier to understand. You see, what happened was this. Stella was employed as a clerk at Marchbolt’s, the solicitors who dealt with George’s legacy.’ He paused and looked at Rackham. ‘We knew that the information about George’s legacy more or less had to come from either George himself or the solicitors but what puzzled Bill and me was that the solicitors seemed so honest. Once we knew Stella Aldryn was implicated, it was easy. Bill showed them her photograph and they recognized her at once. She’d changed her name since she worked for them but it was Stella, all right.’

  ‘It explained a lot, didn’t it, Jack?’ said Rackham. ‘For instance, Marchbolt’s had apparently written to Mr Lassiter at Eden Street but never got a reply. Stella actually typed that letter – I’ve seen the carbon – and I imagine she saw it never got near the post-box.’

  ‘It was during the course of her work that she came to hear of the whacking great sum of forty-six thousand chasing a missing legatee,’ said Jack, ‘and, naturally, she was able to look at the file to discover all sorts of interesting facts about your mother, George. She probably recognized the surname, Lassiter, as belonging to one of Maguire’s friends. Anyway, the three of them, Maguire, Nigel and Stella, got together and stole the money.’

  ‘Devils,’ muttered George.

  ‘Relax,’ said Jack. ‘After all, you’re getting it back, isn’t he, Bill?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Lassiter,’ said Rackham. ‘You were clearly defrauded. Both Maguire and Stella Aldryn had a great deal of money salted away abroad. I imagine it was their intention to run for it, should it ever look as if the game was up. I’m happy to say there’s more than enough to make good your loss.’

  ‘I told you that, George,’ said Jack.

  George shifted in his chair. ‘I know you did but I’m still hopping mad about it, to say nothing of being taken in by Stella. She must have laughed herself stupid to see what an impression she’d made on me.’

  ‘Grandfather always disliked Stella,’ said Anne.

  David nodded. ‘I never cared for her much, either. She was too wide-eyed and innocent for me. It seemed unnatural sometimes but what really got to me was the amount of time she had off. Nigel didn’t seem to notice. I thought it was because he was so absorbed in the Pegasus.’

  ‘There was a much simpler explanation,’ said Jack. ‘Stella Aldryn was supposedly employed by your firm but the life she lived bore no relation to an ordinary clerk’s. She had an eye-wateringly expensive flat in Knightsbridge – where, incidentally, Maguire was a frequent visitor – and lived the life of a wealthy woman of fashion. Naturally enough, she took care that George never saw the flat.’

  ‘So what was she doing in the firm at all?’ asked David. ‘She must have had some reason.’

  ‘We think she was keeping an eye on Nigel,’ said Jack. ‘It’s a guess but it fits the facts. You see, of the three of them who conspired to pinch George’s legacy, Nigel was the one who, from their point of view, was the weak link. He wasn’t motivated entirely by greed. He wanted, wanted more than anything in the world, to design and build aeroplanes.’

  ‘He certainly wanted that, all right,’ agreed David. ‘So what did they do? How did they steal George’s money, I mean?’

  Jack looked at Rackham. ‘Do you want to explain this bit? After all, you’re the one who’s talked to the solicitors.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rackham sitting forward. ‘We can assume that Stella Aldryn told Maguire about the legacy. What we think happened then was that Nigel Lassiter took the birth certificate from the desk in Eden Street and gave it to Maguire. It must have been Maguire who travelled to South Africa, as both Nigel and Stella were in England when the legacy was claimed. Maguire gave up general practice about that time and went abroad for a while. In South Africa I believe he booked into the Faulkner Hotel in the name of George Lassiter, made the claim, and came home the richer by forty-six thousand pounds. It’s easy enough to open a bank account in a false name, especially armed with a birth certificate, and it wasn’t long before the money was
divided out between the three of them. We know that,’ said Rackham, holding out his glass for Jack to refill it, ‘because we’ve been able to get at their bank accounts.’

  David Lassiter’s expression was bitter. ‘It all rings true. Nigel would have done anything to get his hands on that sort of money. It’d never occur to him to think of Charles’s son – you, George – in all this. It was all about the Pegasus, wasn’t it, Haldean? He wanted the money to build the Pegasus. Nothing else mattered to him.’

  ‘I think so, yes,’ said Jack. ‘Anyway, with the money Nigel was able to start work on the Pegasus, Maguire moved from general practice to psychoanalysis and Stella Aldryn left the solicitors, began work as Nigel’s clerk and moved into her flat in Knightsbridge. They also opened the Continental, and, in addition, Paris.’ He took a long drink and looked into the fire.

  ‘The restaurant, a perfectly good restaurant, probably made money but the real money-spinner was Paris. There are records at the club of who the clients are and who introduced them. Stella, who was very far from the wide-eyed innocent she seemed, found some customers and Maguire channelled his more likely patients towards Paris. Nigel picked a few of his friends. Maguire also supplied dope, which, as a doctor, he could obtain fairly easily. The secrecy surrounding it was absolute. The staff were all hand-picked by Maguire for their broad-mindedness and were ridiculously well-paid to keep quiet. They knew about the dodgy goings-on in Paris, but nothing about murder.’

  ‘The staff might not have known about the murders,’ put in Rackham, ‘but we think our three had murder in mind from the beginning. The first death happened very soon after the club opened. Jack tells me that this sort of murder club exists in Paris. The name Paris, we thought, was significant.’ He looked sympathetically at Peggy Culverton. ‘Your husband was one of their first clients. Maguire, who’d been his doctor, introduced him.’

  David made a noise at the back of his throat and covered Peggy’s hand with his.

  Jack looked at her. ‘You sensed, didn’t you, when he became a killer?’ She nodded, unable to speak. David Lassiter squeezed her hand once more. ‘You see,’ said Jack, apparently intent on blowing a smoke-ring, ‘that’s what Culverton wanted and he paid – my God, he paid – to do it. The murders threw the police, didn’t they, Bill?’

  Rackham lit a cigarette. ‘They did. For one thing they were so spread out. Culverton was sane, horribly sane, and his urge to kill was controlled by his wallet. Maguire would pick up a likely girl from anywhere in London and take her to the club. One of the bedrooms – the middle floor was given over to bedrooms – was very well insulated. No sound can escape from it.’ Peggy Culverton made a little choking noise. Rackham glanced at her then looked away, avoiding her eyes. ‘You see, a murderer usually has to dispose of the body but that was all taken care of by Maguire. When the tides were right, the bodies were simply dropped into the tunnel by the kitchens and were washed into the Thames.’

  Anne Lassiter’s face was white. ‘I asked you before but I need to know. Why, with all this going on, did Roger want anything to do with me?’

  Jack took a drink. ‘I wondered about that. Practically speaking, it gave Maguire another opportunity to keep an eye on Nigel. He was always the most unstable of the three. However, Dr Kincraig has another explanation.’

  Dr Kincraig leaned forward in his chair. ‘You’re probably right about the practicalities, Major, but I think there’s a deeper reason why a man of Maguire’s type should take up with –’ he nodded to Anne – ‘a lady such as Mrs Lassiter. You see, he had attracted Stella with little trouble and obviously had no problem in attracting others of her ilk. But to attract a woman such as Mrs Lassiter? Maguire thought the devil of a lot of himself, and to live two lives, one good, one bad, and excel at both . . . man, it’s the basis of a deal of psychology and a heap of literature. D’ye never read Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde? It’s all there.’

  ‘So I was part of his pretence,’ said Anne bitterly. ‘I wondered, you know. Even at the time I wondered. And I was flattered, too,’ she added. ‘I hate to admit it, but I’d never met anyone like him before.’

  ‘Alexander was like him,’ said Peggy Culverton. ‘Not to look at, I mean, but there were occasions when I caught an expression on his face that reminded me of Alexander.’ She shuddered. ‘By then I’d started to mistrust my reactions, though. I wondered at one time if I was going mad, seeing the worst in Alexander and seeing Alexander in others.’ She looked at Rackham. ‘I said, didn’t I, that what he had done brought about his death? I was right, too.’

  ‘You were, Mrs Culverton.’

  ‘Who did kill him?’ asked David. ‘Maguire?’

  Jack laughed dismissively. ‘What, kill the goose that laid the golden eggs? No. Maguire didn’t have a shred of motive. Stella wouldn’t harm him and Nigel, as we know, was beside himself. The only people who had any motive were you, Mrs Culverton, and, because of you, David. And, as we know, you’re innocent.’

  ‘Despite your best efforts to convince us otherwise,’ put in George. David smiled ruefully and said nothing.

  ‘No,’ continued Jack, ‘Maguire didn’t kill Culverton. When he arrived at the club on the night of 31st October he had a problem, though. He had expected to dispose of the body of Bridget Flynn, the girl he had picked up earlier for Culverton’s benefit. What he found was that Culverton, who had a history of heart trouble, had not only killed the girl, but died of heart failure in . . .’ He paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘Well, in the aftermath,’ he finished.

  Although Anne Lassiter looked blank, Peggy Culverton’s reaction told him she knew exactly what he meant. He heaved a mental sigh of relief that he didn’t have to spell out the sordid details and hurried on.

  ‘Now it’s one thing disposing of the body of a Bridget Flynn, but Alexander Culverton was a well-known man. Maguire couldn’t risk the police looking around the Continental and to push him into the river must have seemed the obvious thing to do. Culverton was already naked and to cave his face in and make him practically unidentifiable must have seemed like the best option. It distanced Culverton from the other dead body and, with any luck, he might never be identified. It would certainly take the police some time to work out who he was.’

  ‘Did Nigel know what Maguire had done?’ asked David. ‘I can’t believe he did.’

  ‘No, neither can I,’ agreed Jack. ‘I think Maguire told Stella Aldryn, all right, but I can’t see him confiding in Nigel. If Nigel had known, he would have let it slip one way or another. He nearly let the cat out of the bag more than once. For instance, he threatened Michael Walsh on the day of his murder.’

  David Lassiter stared at him. ‘Michael Walsh’s murder? Michael Walsh wasn’t murdered. He can’t have been. He died of a heart attack.’ He paused. ‘Hang on. He wasn’t a part of this appalling club, was he?’

  Jack shook his head vigorously. ‘No, he wasn’t. Michael Walsh was exactly what he seemed to be, an inquisitive man with too much time on his hands. Nigel knew perfectly well that Walsh was looking into his affairs. He’d caught him out once and didn’t want him to try again. Stella Aldryn, too, had reason to be wary of Walsh. Walsh, as I was told, had quite a thing about Stella Aldryn. He followed her about, as George put it. Well, that wouldn’t have suited Stella at all. She had far too many secrets, including her flat in Knightsbridge. Walsh was a clever man. Stella Aldryn couldn’t risk him finding out that she was more than just a simple clerk.’

  ‘But they didn’t have to murder him,’ said Anne. ‘Surely they could have found another way.’

  Dr Kincraig cleared his throat. ‘You’re assuming, Mrs Lassiter, that murder is a thing to avoid. I’ve come to understand something of Dr Maguire’s psychology and a clever murder is something he would have relished. Major Haldean tells me that Walsh had been badly gassed in the war and that gave Maguire the weapon he needed. It was a very clever murder. I think Maguire must have derived considerable satisfaction from it, because, you see, not on
ly was it clever, it was safe. If it didn’t come off they could always try more direct methods.’

  ‘I’m sure there was a very direct method lined up and ready to use,’ said Jack. ‘I think Walsh should have been murdered the weekend you should all have gone away, but that had to be abandoned. It came off the night Nigel hosted a dinner in the Savoy.’

  ‘But how?’ demanded David Lassiter.

  Jack held his hand up. ‘Wait.’ He got up and, walking to the sideboard, stood with his hands in his pockets. ‘George, you told us what happened that evening you broke into the kitchen, I know, but it seemed as if you’d experienced a nightmare. You were ill, really ill, and when you told me about it later, you skipped a lot of the details.’

  ‘I was downright embarrassed by it,’ said George. ‘I thought it must have been a bad dream and I didn’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘It wasn’t a dream,’ said Jack.

  Anne gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘It really happened?’

  Jack nodded. ‘Yes, it really happened. The two men and the woman were, of course, Nigel, Maguire and Stella. You know when I cottoned on to the fact that George had been telling the truth?’

  Anne looked at him. ‘I think I do. It was that night you came to tell us about David being arrested, wasn’t it? I said we needed a miracle and you said they sometimes happened. Your voice sounded so odd – triumphant, somehow – that I allowed myself to hope without really knowing why.’ She smiled. ‘We got our miracle.’

  Jack laughed. ‘It wasn’t really a miracle, you know, it was a sort of magic. Earlier that evening George had told me and Bill a few more details of what had happened that night, such as the fact he could remember the pattern on the girl’s dress and, more importantly, what one of the men had said. He’s having a bath and she’s listening to the wireless. D’you see the importance of that? I didn’t right away because, George, I must admit that by then I’d started taking what you said and did with a pinch of salt.’ He grinned. ‘That was the evening you were chasing cats in St James’s Street, remember?’