“Oh, that must be a mistake,” she answered. “He wouldn’t be able to get away.”
But Bobby knew there was no mistake; inquiry had produced evidence confirming Charley Dickson’s story.
“Do you mind,” Bobby went on, “telling me if you are on friendly terms with Mr. Dickson?”
“He’s been making rather a nuisance of himself,” she answered, flushing a little, “that’s all.”
“There’s no ill feeling on your part at his having taken your post as secretary to the duchess?”
“Gracious, no,” she answered. “After the frantic row I had with her, of course I had to clear out in a hurry. We were nearly at the eye-scratching stage, I was so furious and so was she. I just bunged out as quick as I could, and the job was there for anyone to take – Mr. Dickson or anyone else. Nothing to do with me.”
“I am sorry to ask you private questions,” Bobby said, “but they are purely official, you understand. I gather both Mr. Dickson and Mr. Chenery would like to marry you. Is there any chance for either of them?”
“I shall never marry anyone,” declared Hilda with grave emphasis. “That is quite certain. Never.” Having registered this unalterable decision, she permitted her solemnity to relax into a smile. “And I don’t think Mr. Dickson really wants to,” she added, “only I think he seems to feel he ought to make up somehow for having my job. Besides, he never has any money; he’s always hard up.”
“Or Mr. Chenery?”
“That, of course, is entirely out of the question, after what the duchess said,” explained Hilda with cold dignity.
“Thank you,” said Bobby. “Have you any plans for the future?”
“I shall have to get another job,” she answered. “Why?”
“You are leaving Jessop & Jacks?” Bobby asked. “I don’t think you told me that before, did you?”
“The other night, you mean?” she said. “No. Why? There was no reason to, was there?”
“I think it was rather important,” he answered.
“Why? You told me Mr. Jessop had been shot, and you asked for Mr. Jacks’s address and I told you. I don’t quite see what my leaving had to do with it.”
“Was there any reason for your leaving?”
She hesitated for a moment or two.
“Mr. Jessop’s dead,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I think I must ask you to be perfectly frank.”
“Well, he was getting silly. If you are a girl,” she said moodily, “you may be in business, but you’re a girl just the same and you jolly well can’t help it. Some of them don’t try, either.”
“You mean?”
“You soon get to know the signs,” she said. “If you give them the letters to look at, they try to hold your hand. If you make a bloomer, they don’t get raggy. Tease you about it instead. Theatre tickets for you and a friend they can’t use themselves, and then presently they want to be the friend. Oh, it’s quite a technique. You can hold them off for a time, but when it gets too hot, the only thing to do is to go before they turn nasty and you’re reported for insubordination, or there’s a discrepancy in the petty cash or something like that.”
“Mr. Jessop was forcing attentions on you, and to avoid them you made up your mind to leave?”
“Yes. Sounds silly and prudish, but it’s just horrid when a man goes sloppy when you’re working for him – especially if he’s awfully old, like Mr. Jessop; over sixty. I just couldn’t stick it. And it wasn’t only that.”
“Please go on,” Bobby said. “You must remember there has been murder done. Any detail may give us the clue we want.”
“I don’t see that it can help, and I don’t think I ought to now the poor man’s dead so dreadfully. And then very likely there’s nothing in it, and I was nervy and fancying things. The firm’s been losing money for a long time – not so much in trading, but because of all the capital they have locked up. I think they over-bought before the slump set in. Mr. Jessop used to play cards a good deal, too, and I know he often lost a lot.”
“We knew that,” Bobby said. “Please go on.”
“Very likely he never really meant it. He was only joking, perhaps. But I did think he had some idea about selling the Fellows necklace for more than Mr. Jacks or Miss Fellows knew and keeping the extra for himself.”
“Rather risky,” Bobby suggested. “Might have got a stiff sentence.”
“I thought,” Hilda said uncomfortably, “he had an idea that if I helped him it could be done without breaking the law. Only I didn’t want to help. It wasn’t honest, really. It might have been legal, perhaps. I don’t know. And he said no one could possibly find out. He said even if it was – found out, I mean – the only thing that could happen would be his having to leave the firm. And he wouldn’t have minded that. They may have to close down soon anyhow.”
“I should have thought,” Bobby remarked, “they would be able to do a jolly sight more than asking him to get out. I think I should in their place.”
“It’s only what I – guessed,” she continued; “he kept on hinting. I think he was trying to find out what I thought. It frightened me. He was never plain about it; only hints and little jokes. Miss Fellows put a reserve price of £50,000 on her necklace. I think Mr. Jessop was going to say there was a good offer of £55,000 and it had better be accepted. Only the purchaser didn’t want his name known and I was to be a kind of dummy, a nominee, to act for him and to receive the necklace when the money was paid. We had Miss Fellows’s written authority to accept anything over £50,000, and Mr. Jessop thought Mr. Jacks and Mr. Wright would agree.”
“Was Mr. Wright’s consent necessary? I thought he was only the manager?”
“He has money in the firm – a mortgage or something. I don’t think he wanted to be a partner. If a smash came, he thought he would be better off as a creditor than being responsible for the debts. But they had to treat him as a partner because of the money he had put in the business. He might have drawn it out.”
“Do you mean Mr. Jessop had a genuine offer of £55,000?”
“Yes. But he didn’t want to sell on the firm’s account, because then the commission due would have gone to the firm – really to the firm’s creditors in the end. What I think is that really he had an offer for a very much larger sum – not £55,000, but £65,000.”
Bobby gave a low whistle.
“I’m beginning to see,” he said. “It might be worked like that. You mean his idea was that the firm was to sell to you, as nominee of someone else, for £55,000, and afterwards Jessop would have sold on his own for £65,000, pocketing the difference?”
“He thought it would be quite legal to do it like that,” Hilda remarked.
“I don’t know,” said Bobby doubtfully. “Of course, there’s a lot of sharp practice you can get away with in Big Business. Jessop’s dodge sounds a bit thick, though. Smart, of course.”
“He said no one could ever know.”
“Why not? The necklace would turn up somewhere, and then the purchaser would be known.”
“Mr. Jessop said not. I thought his idea seemed to be to say that the real purchaser had turned out to be another firm buying from us in order to sell to one of their own clients. Perhaps it wasn’t that at all, and I’m just putting two and two together and making five. Anyhow, I didn’t want to be mixed up in it, whatever it was.”
“Didn’t you say anything to Mr. Jacks or Mr. Wright?”
“No, I couldn’t. I didn’t know anything really. I hadn’t an atom of proof. Besides” – she hesitated – “I suppose I must tell you. Mr. Jessop got in first. He knew I was uncomfortable about the hints he kept dropping. And he saw I didn’t mean to fall for his theatre tickets or his dinners, or hold hands.” She hesitated again, and went redder still.
“They gave me a very good reference, so there was nothing I could do, but he told both Mr. Jacks and Mr. Wright I wasn’t trustworthy.”
“Did they say anything to you?”
“Oh, no. I only knew through Miss Ellison, one of the girls there I was rather pals with. She heard them talking. You see, it was my job to go out at night wearing the firm’s jewellery. He told them he had information I was planning to be run away with or kidnapped or something. If I had started accusing him after he had been accusing me – well, it wouldn’t have looked too good. And Denis said I must be careful or I might be let in for an action for slander or libel.”
“Denis? Mr. Chenery? You told him?”
“I had to tell someone,” she said. “I just had to. When you came Saturday night, I think we were both afraid for the moment Mr. Jessop had really said I was stealing things, and you meant to arrest me. I suppose it was rather silly.” Bobby supposed that explained the sense of strain and unease of which he had been aware in both Hilda and Denis that night. He said slowly:
“I dare say Mr. Chenery was very indignant?”
“Oh, he was furious,” she answered. “He wanted to go straight off. He said –”
“Yes?” prompted Bobby, when she paused.
“Oh, just talk,” she answered evasively.
“Threats?” Bobby asked.
“Oh, in a sort of way. Just for a minute, I was almost afraid.” She added slowly: “If you think Denis had anything to do with – with the murder – well, he hadn’t; he couldn’t have. Just for one moment after you told me about it, I panicked. But then I remembered he couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I was with him all afternoon and evening.”
“Could you tell me exactly where?”
“In his car – he has a garage business, you know. It’s a dreadful struggle to keep it going, but at any rate he always has a car to use.”
“Did you call anywhere? See friends, for instance?”
“No, we only went for a drive – in the country somewhere. I don’t know exactly where.”
“Wasn’t quite the weather for motoring, was it?”
“It wasn’t so bad when we started, and the paper said it would clear up. It didn’t, but we thought we would risk it.”
“You stopped somewhere for a meal?”
“Oh, no. I always take something to eat. It’s so much less expensive.”
It seemed then, Bobby noted, that, so far as an alibi for Denis Chenery existed, it depended solely on Hilda’s testimony. That did not disprove it, of course, but also was hardly conclusive.
“Mr. Chenery said rather violent things about Mr. Jessop,” Bobby went on. “Was Mr. Chenery ever armed? Did he carry a pistol, for instance?”
“No, never. I’m quite sure of that.”
“Mr. Dickson tells me he carries a pistol when he is in charge of the duchess’s jewels, and he thinks you used to do the same.”
“Oh, I never did,” declared Hilda. “I hate the silly things. If you just touch them they go off very likely. I think they’re dangerous,” she said with grave emphasis.
“So they are,” agreed Bobby. He was glancing through his notes, and now, looking up, he said: “There’s one point. Have you any idea of the identity of the person for whom you were to act as nominee in the necklace business?”
“No. Mr. Jessop hinted it was the duchess, but I knew that was nonsense. He was only saying that. She could no more have raised such a lot of money than – than I could.”
“I see,” said Bobby. “Has Mr. Wright been with the firm long? He seems rather rough to be a manager of a swell jeweller’s.”
“He is very clever with his hands and he knows a lot about jewels,” she answered. “He knows their value at once. I didn’t like him at all – he’s an awful bully. He used to be a prize-fighter, you know. They said in the office he killed a man once when they were fighting. I don’t know if it’s true. He’s really wonderful with his hands. I’ve seen him do things with a big pocket-knife he uses when anyone else would want all sorts of tools and things. He never had much to do with the selling end, so it didn’t matter about his being such a boor. I never liked him, and he just hated me. I believe he really thought I was planning to run away with their beastly stuff.”
“Do you mean after Mr. Jessop had been complaining about you?”
“Before that. He was always suspecting someone. He’s got mirrors fixed up so he can watch people without their knowing – the staff as well as customers. I think it’s horrid. Of course, some of the customers aren’t customers at all, only crooks. But he might trust the firm’s own staff; some of them have been there all their lives. Almost the first week I was there I had an awful row with him because a ring was missed and he wanted me searched, and it turned out it had just dropped down in the showcase, if he had only looked before being in such a hurry to be horrid. He did apologise that time. But you always knew he was suspecting you all the time, and I think that’s suspicious, too.”
“Quite true,” agreed Bobby. He began to look through his notes again. “Oh, yes,” he said, “there’s that I wanted to ask you. Can you say exactly when you saw the Fellows necklace last?”
She shook her head.
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “Not for some time, though. It was kept in the strong-room, and only the partners or Mr. Wright went there. And it was kept in a locked case and only taken out to show special people.”
“One thing more,” Bobby said. “Did Mr. Jessop seem odd or excited on Saturday? Did you notice anything unusual?”
“Something he saw in a copy of the Upper Ten upset him. He was looking at the photographs – it has splendid photographs – and suddenly he gave a sort of yell – not a yell, a sort of funny noise.”
“Yes?” said Bobby.
“I said, ‘Oh, what is it?’ I was quite startled, and he looked awfully funny, but he didn’t answer; I don’t think he heard. He let the paper drop, and then he picked it up and made a sort of run out of the room.”
“Have you any idea what he was looking at? Or what upset him?”
“Not the least. I couldn’t imagine.”
“There was a copy of the Upper Ten in the room where he was shot,” Bobby remarked thoughtfully. “I looked through it. I remember there was a photograph of the Duchess of Westhaven at the races.”
“I don’t see why that should upset him,” Hilda said.
“I’ve wondered why till I’m stupid with thinking about it,” Bobby said slowly. “You have heard there was a large sum in French and Swiss currency found in his flat. Have you any knowledge of any transaction to account for that?”
“No. Mr. Wright might know. I don’t. If it was in his flat, it would be something private, wouldn’t it? Nothing to do with the business.”
“I suppose so” agreed Bobby. “Well, Miss May, thank you very much. You’ve given some very useful information I’m sure my chiefs will be grateful for.”
With that Bobby closed his note-book and devoted himself to securing for her a taxi to take her back to her flat, where, however, he warned her she might find workmen still busy repairing her door.
When he had seen her off, he turned to the hospital porter.
“Pop-shop near here?” he asked.
The porter looked highly amused.
“Hard up?” he asked. “Looks bad so early in the week. Week-end natural enough, but at the beginning...!”
“That’s all right,” said Bobby good-humouredly. “I want to buy something this time. A watch.”
“Oh, yes,” said the porter, giving the required information but all the time looking hard at the watch on Bobby’s wrist. “Out of order?” he suggested.
“Oh, no,” Bobby answered. “That’s what I want – one that’s a bit out of order and needs putting right. I thought a pop-shop would be likelier than a jeweller’s.”
The porter evidently thought this a good joke, and chuckled over it immensely.
CHAPTER 23
THE POCKET-KNIFE
His way back from the pawnbroker’s, where he had somewhat astonished the assistant by his careful choice of a watch he was insistent must be out of o
rder, but not too much so, brought Bobby again past the hospital, where talking to the porter was a young man he recognised at once.
“Why, Mr. Chenery,” he said. “Luck to run across you like this. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“I’ve been in the country,” Denis said briefly. “On business. I heard you people had been asking for me. Look here, what’s this about Miss May? I heard she was in hospital, but they say she’s just gone out.”
“She insisted on it,” Bobby answered. “My chief wants to ask you about some pointers he thinks you might be able to give him. Do you mind coming along to the Yard now with me?”
“I must see Miss May first. I want to know what’s happened. Afterwards, if you like.”
“Police business comes first, if you don’t mind,” Bobby said. “Delay’s dangerous, you know, especially in our job.”
There was a brief argument that for a moment grew heated – so heated, indeed, Bobby felt had it not been day, and help within call, the other’s reluctance might have expressed itself more by deed than by word.
However, in the end Denis gave way.
“It’s a lot of silly rot,” he complained. “Just meddling, interfering official thick-headedness.”
“Red tape, we call it,” said Bobby amiably; “a strangling thing.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Denis, a little startled.
“A strangling thing, I said,” Bobby answered. “Red tape, I mean. But there you are. Much as my job is worth to go back and say I met you and you promised to come along presently. Vacancy in the force after that. No need to worry about Miss May either. She’ll be all right again in a day or two, and no thanks to whoever laid her out.”
“Who was it?” demanded Denis.
“Haven’t an idea in the world – yet,” answered Bobby. “There’s a motor-’bus somewhere along this way we could take.”
“Any objection to a taxi?”
“Not the least in the world – if you stand it,” answered Bobby. “Sergeant’s pay don’t run to taxis, and sergeants can’t wangle taxi fares through expense lists. Only the big hats can do that.”
Mystery of Mr. Jessop Page 20
