And that made me open my eyes. Who would be more interested in a rare ring than Bertram Dane? The thought brought me to my feet and set me fumbling at my glasses again. Ideas came, and went, and circled, and then suddenly it seemed to me that I had heard of that French motto before. And in some context that had to do with a ring. That set me frowning and thinking again, and the more I concentrated the less I could remember. And then just as suddenly I was smiling to myself. Grace Allbeck might know. Indeed, if she didn’t know, who would.
I glanced at my watch and it was about half-past ten. Time to move on, I thought, and I could leave word at the exchange downstairs if a message from Wharton should come for me. And then just as I was having a look at the set of my hat in the glass, the telephone went.
It was Wharton, and the tone His urgent one.
“It’s you,” he said relievedly at my hallo. “I thought you might be out. I’m ringing from Pangley, by the way.”
“Anything happened?” I asked quickly.
“You’d never guess,” he said. “It’s that missing jewellery. It was sent by post addressed to Sir William, here at his house. Arrived this morning. Aldgate postmark, if that means anything to you.”
That last had been something of a hopeful question.
“I’m flummoxed, George,” I said. “Absolutely flummoxed.”
“Well, there we are,” he said. “Mavin opened the parcel and quite right too. He let me know and I got hold of Kenray. He’s now checking everything against the lists.”
“You don’t want me down there?”
“Don’t think so,” he said. “Look me up this afternoon at the Yard.”
“Oh, George,” I said quickly. “One small thing, but don’t ask me questions about it. I’ll explain later. But when Kenray’s checking that jewellery, make sure if there’s a ring with probably a goodish-sized diamond. It’ll have a French motto engraved inside. I’ll ring you about it later.”
“What’s the idea?”
“Tell you all about it later.” I said. “Don’t forget. A ring with a French motto inside the band.”
I’d had some facers in my time but that news about the jewellery seemed about the worst. Why in heaven’s name had it been returned? Had the thief got the wind up badly after learning through the papers that Pelle was dead?
That seemed a likely solution. Pelle had been knocked unconscious and then the thief had made off. By rights Pelle should have recovered in a few minutes and the affair would have been robbery with violence. Serious as that was, it was petty larceny compared with murder.
But whoever it was, the return of that jewellery seemed to me to let out Marion Blaketon. Somehow I couldn’t imagine her having several thousand pounds in her possession and then returning it to the owner. Indeed, if the situation before had seemed to me complicated, to say the least of it, it now seemed illogical to the point of chaos, and if I shrugged my shoulders with something like despair it was because three days of inquiry had landed us behind the point from which we had started.
And then I had a brainwave. It was more than that; it was something that made me heave a sigh of more than relief. Suppose, I told myself, that that ring was missing. Mightn’t that prove that Dane had been after it, and after nothing else? Once the ring was his, then the rest had been sent back.
I admit straightaway that I was jumping to conclusions, but at that particular moment I was ready to jump at anything. And it did seem a reasonable theory, and one that could almost be put up to Wharton. And I realized something else. If Kenray was examining the collection of jewellery, then there would be no need for me to question Grace Allbeck. Kenray would be the absolute last word. Even if that ring wasn’t there, he could deduce its value, and if it had any special history, then he would certainly know it.
With that I made my way out, and a dull muggy sort of morning it was. As I opened the door of Kenray’s shop I saw that the light was on. Grace Allbeck heard my entry and came in at once from the office. It was quite a moment or two before she smiled a welcome at me, and I was wondering if in some way I could have offended her.
“I’ve come on business,” I told her, and laid my little parcel on the counter. “Here it is, and I want you to send the cheque direct to my wife.”
She took down the address.
“You’re looking more yourself this morning,” I said. “The headache quite gone.”
“Quite gone,” she said.
“Good,” I said, and it didn’t seem too easy to make conversation. And then I thought of something.
“Tell me,” I said. “You remember when I brought that piece of jewellery in and how you asked if I’d mind telling you how it had come into my possession? Was that some sort of formula?”
“In a way, yes,” she said and her eyes seemed to be questioning me about something quite different.
“Then pardon my being importunate,” I went on, “but let’s imagine a concrete case. I come in here down at heel and I offer to sell you something which you strongly suspect has been stolen. What do you do?”
She looked relieved and I don’t know why. Then she was smiling to herself and looking as if trying to remember.
“I did have a case like that once,” she said. “The customer wasn’t really suspicious, as to circumstances, I mean, but her manner was. I took her name and address and then said I wasn’t able to purchase. She was most indignant and flounced out of the shop.”
“And what did you do then?”
“Nothing,” she said. “There was only my word against hers, and she looked the sort to make trouble.”
“Very interesting,” I said. “And very tactful on your part, if I may say so.”
“Please don’t repeat it,” she was telling me anxiously.
“I’d never dream of repeating it,” I assured her, and in the same moment I was realizing that there was one more question I simply had to ask her. And why I had to ask it I can’t quite say. She had mentioned a woman, and I was thinking of Marion Blaketon and how she’d maybe got hold of stuff that she’d try to sell.
“I know I’m unblushingly curious,” I said, “but tell me just one more thing, and in the very strictest confidence. Have you ever heard of a Mrs. Blaketon? Marion Blaketon?”
What I saw on her face was fairly staggering. She looked away and then she was smiling feebly, or trying to force a smile and shaking her head.
“I don’t think I have. But why?”
“No particular reason,” I said, and then she was changing the subject with a haste that couldn’t be concealed.
“But about the receipt. Shall I ask your wife to send it or would you rather give me one now?”
“I think I’d rather you let her send it,” I said. “She’ll love to handle things herself.”
Somehow I wanted to get quickly out of that shop and pass on what I knew to Wharton. But there was that other business to do.
“What I really came for,” I said, “was something semi-official. I’ve just learned from Superintendent Wharton that the missing jewellery’s been recovered. Or did you know?”
“Mr. Kenray did say something,” she said. “I’m afraid I was rather busy and didn’t gather more than you’ve just told me.”
“I’m glad things have turned out as they have,” I said. “I mean I’m glad that your brother is doing the job he was asked to do, and that everything will be cleared up before he leaves for the States.”
“It’s possible there may be an alteration,” she said, and she was giving me that queer, direct look. “I may be going myself.”
“But how lovely for you!” I said. “The change should do you all the good in the world. Get rid of those headaches for one thing.”
“But nothing’s settled yet,” she told me, and began moving towards the door. “I suppose you haven’t been to the Jugoslav Exhibition?”
“I ought to have gone,” I said, “but somehow I haven’t had time.” Then I gave what I hoped was my most bewitching smile, though to her it
was probably fatuous. “What about your going with me some afternoon? We could have lunch first?”
I could honestly say that that was the first moment that morning when she seemed really friendly. Somehow she was suddenly quite a different woman.
“I’d love to,” she said. “I’ve been once but it’s something one ought to see several times. I don’t mean that I’m accepting your kind invitation,” she added hurriedly. “Everything’s so rushed at the moment.”
“But you’ll keep it in mind.”
“Yes,” she said gravely. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Our eyes met in a good-bye smile and I was out on the pavement again. It was dull as ever overhead and everything about me was dull too. I had looked forward to that call on Grace Allbeck but everything seemed to have gone wrong, and with a chastened sort of irony I was wondering if I was the kind of person whom one could stomach only in small and rare doses. Even that dramatic discovery about Marion Blaketon wasn’t as cheering or even as important as it had first seemed. Maybe I had called rather too soon on the heels of the previous night, and with that I shrugged my shoulders resignedly and put an end to introspection. Grace Allbeck, I told myself, was a highly attractive woman, but that was no reason why I should make myself a pest.
Doris Chaddon opened the office door, gave a little gasp and then admitted me.
“Oh, it’s you!” she said.
“What’s wrong with me this morning?” I demanded humorously. “This is the second time I’ve had a cold reception.”
“You called here before?”
“Forget it,” I said. “And what about a cup of tea?”
“I was just making one,” she said. “It won’t be a minute.”
She left the door open as she went through.
“Heard about the jewellery?” I called.
“What jewellery?”
“My dear girl,” I remonstrated. “Your jewellery. Sir William’s jewellery. It’s been recovered. Arrived by post at Kalpoor this morning.”
“No-o-o!” she said, and appeared at the door. “Do they know who sent it?”
“Santa Claus,” I said flippantly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told me. “But do they know?”
“Not the foggiest notion,” I said. “It was sent back anonymously.”
She disappeared again at that, but only for a second or two. In came the tray and she was asking how I liked my tea. I said I liked it that way, sitting there with her.
“Can’t you ever be serious,” she told me, but not at all displeased. “Like a biscuit with it?”
We munched biscuits and sipped the hot tea and talked for two minutes about the weather.
“By the way,” I said. “Isn’t my old friend Bertram Dane some relation of yours?”
I saw her stiffen. It was at least ten seconds before she answered, and I knew that because I had suddenly remembered that I hadn’t mentioned him to Grace Allbeck.
“He’s my great-uncle,” she said off-handedly.
“Often see him?”
“Oh, sometimes.”
“How often’s sometimes?”
“Oh, just sometimes.”
“I only asked,” I said, “because I was wondering if he still had that wardens’ post under him.”
“Isn’t it too priceless?” she said. “Rather handy though.”
“I suppose he hasn’t his collection still in his house?”
“He had it moved as soon as the blitz started,” she said. “Poor dear! I believe he goes and moons over it sometimes. It’s in a strong-room somewhere.”
“I suppose you haven’t by any chance seen him quite recently?”
“On Sunday week,” she said, and then stopped short. “Why did you want to know?”
“Only that I hadn’t seen him about myself,” I said. “Give him my compliments when you see him next. I doubt if he’ll remember me though. It was my father he knew best.”
She poured me another cup of tea.
“You can be rather nice, you know, sometimes,” she said.
“Hallo!” I said in mock consternation. “What’s coming now?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, and gave me a coming-on look. At that moment I was sure that if I’d put out a knee, she’d have sat on it. “Only I’ve got rather to like it here. I’d hate going back, and I just wondered. You must know heaps of nice jobs.”
“Do I not!” I said, and was probably looking like a rather inebriated Don Juan. “But wait a minute, though. Aren’t you in a reserved occupation?”
“We can always get round that,” she said. “Besides, Daddy knows heaps of people.”
I gathered relievedly that it was not myself but her father to whom she was referring, but things were getting rather too intimate all the same.
“You leave it to me,” I told her. “It may take a little time but I’ll have a scout round.”
I got to my feet to make a more artistic switch to the conversation.
“But going back to that jewellery. You used to see it as it came in?”
“Why?” she said, and was on her guard at once.
“Something curious has happened,” I said. “I didn’t quite get the hang of it but there’s a ring or something with a French inscription inside. Nobody seems to know quite what it is.”
“I saw it,” she said, and looked quite relieved. “Sir William was awfully puzzled. Uncle Bertram—”
Then she stopped short. I didn’t look at her. It was best to pretend I hadn’t heard.
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” I said. “It’ll fetch what it’s worth at the sale. Those things always do.”
Then I said I’d really have to be going. I thanked her for the tea and said if she kept on being good she should make tea for me in heaven. She asked what I meant by good, and I said, “Just good,” and we left it at that. Down the stairs I went and she waved a good-bye from the top. A kiss was blown to accompany it and I blew one back. I suppose I must have walked a good few yards before I came to my better self. A hell of a game I was playing, I thought, and consoled myself with the knowledge that it was worth it. She had seen that ring and she had told old Dane about it. And that knowledge seemed so vital that I made for the kiosks in Piccadilly Station, for I simply had to ring up Wharton. I made a queue of one outside the likeliest box and in about a minute was ringing Kalpoor. George was at the other end.
“This is Travers, George,” I said. “Anything about that ring yet?”
“It isn’t here,” he said. “According to the list there’s only one article missing and that’s a ring, sent by an anonymous donor. What’s the idea?”
“I can’t tell you. I mean, over the ‘phone. But what about Mavin? He couldn’t have taken it?”
“Why should he?”
He gave a grunt, then said Mavin was at the funeral. And if he weren’t, what was the point of questioning if there was nothing to go on.
“Look here,” he said. “You’d better see me about it straightaway. We’ll be back in about an hour. Half-past one suit you?”
I said it would and added that I might also be able to tell him an interesting discovery about the Blaketon woman. And when I’d hung up, was I feeling pretty pleased with myself! Everything had turned out superbly, and if Dane wasn’t our man, then in Wharton’s words my name was Robinson. I looked at my watch and there didn’t seem time for a regular meal, even if I could get a table, so I went to a cafeteria and had a cup of coffee and an incredibly indigestible bun, and while I was tackling it I was thinking about old Bertram Dane. Eighty he would be, if a day, and as hale and vigorous as a man of sixty. A menacing-looking figure too, with his untidy beard and vastly bushy eyebrows and a hooked beak over his slit of a mouth. A law unto himself, like most eccentrics, for the essence of eccentricity is to damn the conventions. Unscrupulous and predatory, that was old Dane, and I remembered Wharton’s story of how he’d obtained a certain ring and then, when the pace of the law had got a bit too hot, had re
turned it anonymously, just as that jewellery had been returned.
But when I began thinking what I should say to Wharton I realized there was something that ought to be done at once, and I left that cafeteria before I should change my mind. It was something I didn’t like doing, and it seemed to me that my best policy was to make the visit official. By the time I was at the shop I thought I saw the best approach.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to Grace Allbeck, “but I’ve got to bother you again.”
“Why call it a bother,” she asked me, and her tone was much more friendly.
“Official business is always a nuisance,” I said. “I hate doing it but I must ask you to give me your word that you’ll regard what I say as highly confidential. In the same way I’ll assure you that whatever information you can give me will be in the strictest confidence too.”
It seemed to me she was looking a bit alarmed.
“I wouldn’t worry you,” I went solemnly on, “but in a few minutes I have to see Superintendent Wharton and your brother about that jewellery. It appears that a ring is missing.”
“A ring missing?”
“Yes,” I said, “and here’s where the pledge of secrecy has to operate. You give me your word?”
She nodded, but so disconcertingly direct was her look that I turned my eyes away.
“Good,” I said. “Then the fact is there’s reason to suspect Bertram Dane as having been concerned in it.”
“Bertram Dane,” she said, and almost to herself. Her eyes met mine again. “Won’t you tell me the reasons? Why should you suspect him, I mean?”
“At the moment things haven’t reached a sufficiently advanced stage,” I said. “We do know he knew of the existence of the ring, and it was probably one he would give a good deal for. We also know his little propensities, as you do.”
I ventured on a smile at that last remark. She smiled rather wryly too.
“What sort of a customer was he?” I said.
The Case of the Corporal's Leave: A Ludovic Travers Mystery Page 13
