“I still fail to see,” said the duke resentfully, “why my name should have been made use of in this fashion.”
“Not only your name, sir,” said Bobby. “Hastley Court and your London flat as well. I expect what suggested the plan to T.T. was, first, the fact that the duchess is known to be interested in jewellery and precious stones generally, and occasionally to carry out deals in them; and, secondly, the fact that her former secretary was now in the employ of Mr. Jessop. The first thing done was to get you, sir, to show yourself interested in the necklace but hesitating at the price. Luckily for the conspirators, you did let the firm think you might reconsider your offer. The next step was to get a hint round to Jessop that the duchess was interested, which of course was true enough in a way. Jessop sent Miss May to show her the necklace. Naturally the duchess suspected nothing, and looked at the thing and talked about it and how much she would like it if only you, sir, didn’t think it too expensive. Next thing was a ’phone message to Jessop in her name to say she was still thinking of buying, and could the necklace be shown her again, only on the quiet, as she didn’t wish her husband to know. For that reason Miss Hilda May wasn’t to be told or brought along, as she was known at Hastley Court by all the staff – by you yourself, sir, too, of course – and her appearance there would be noticed. In the same way, the day chosen was the day of a big garden-party at Hastley Court, so that one or two strangers extra wouldn’t attract any attention. Instead of Miss May, Mr. Jessop took Mr. Wright, the firm’s manager, with him. They were to pretend to be guests – very likely they were not the only gate-crashers that afternoon.”
“I have long suspected it,” said the duke moodily. “It adds enormously to the expense. But what can one do? One can’t possibly know all the people who have to be invited, and those who are will forget their invitation cards. Besides bribery – half a crown to the lodgekeeper and so on. It’s most difficult.”
Leaving this problem unconsidered, since it was not his, Bobby went on:
“Wright and Jessop waited in the car-park. Wynne found them, and introduced himself as the duchess’s secretary. Up till then Dickson knew nothing of what was going on. It was his busy day, indeed; no time for conspiring so far as he was concerned; his absence for more than a minute or two would certainly have been noticed. Wynne took Jessop into the house, into a small empty room where a woman called Magotty Meg was waiting. Wynne had managed that by telling one of your staff that one of the guests, an elderly lady, had found the heat and excitement too much for her, and could she be given some quiet place where she could rest alone for half an hour. Naturally your people wouldn’t suspect anything; quite possibly a ten-shilling note changed hands, and there was this woman established in a room at Hastley Court as if she belonged there.”
“I-I-I-never,” said the duke, stuttering his indignation, “heard of such insolence in my life.”
“Oh, there’s worse to come,” said Bobby cheerfully.
The duke looked his entire conviction that that was not possible.
“Next thing,” Bobby explained, “was to get the use of your Park Lane flat. That wasn’t difficult. Easy to find out when you and the duchess and the servants were at Hastley Court. I believe when you and the duchess are not at the flat there is only one woman in charge.”
“There is no reason,” the duke pointed out, “to pay servants for doing nothing.”
“Of course not,” agreed Bobby. “She was got out of the way by a gift of two theatre tickets – good seats; stalls – for a matinee, and during her absence Wynne, a bit of an expert in these things, climbed the fire-escape as a workman, got into the flat, changed his clothes again, let in the woman whose job it was to personate the duchess, and, when Jessop arrived by appointment, admitted him.
The absence of servants was explained to Jessop by the necessity of keeping the business secret for the time being – it was always impressed on Jessop that you yourself, sir, were not to know anything about it till the transaction was completed, when the idea was it would be too late for you to object. I take it Jessop never suspected anything. If he had ever seen the duchess, it was only at a distance. The woman personating her was made up to resemble her – I’m told the duchess has a distinctive style of dressing.”
“I am glad to say,” remarked the duke, “she ignores modern fashion crazes.”
“So I was told,” Bobby went on. “Made Meg’s job a whole lot easier. Anyhow, Jessop was taken in all right. The ground had been so carefully prepared, almost anyone would have been. You yourself, sir, had been roped in to show an interest in the necklace. Miss May, who knew the duchess well, had reported how anxious she was to buy if only your consent could be got. Everyone knows the duchess is a connoisseur in all kinds of precious stones. Jessop had seen the same woman in a private room at Hastley Court, and now apparently in full possession at your Park Lane flat, and with what seemed a good reason for a certain show of secrecy – that for the time it was all to be kept from your own knowledge. Jessop probably argued that, once the necklace had been handed over and a payment made on account, it was quite safe. At the worst, he had only to fear the return of the necklace, when he would be the first payment to the good.”
“Was a payment made?” the duke asked.
“Five thousand pounds,” Bobby answered. “That was the amount found in French and Swiss currency in Jessop’s flat. Probably some plausible tale was told to explain the use of foreign money. Really, of course, the object was to prevent its being traced. I rather think Jessop was told that it was money deposited abroad during the 1930 crisis. The Stock Exchange advised many clients to take their money out of British securities at that time, you remember.”
The duke looked a little startled.
“As a matter of fact,” he admitted, “certain funds... it seemed... prudent... I believe some were in the duchess’s name... one had advice...”
“Quite so, sir,” agreed Bobby. “After all, dulce et decorum est doesn’t mean cash, does it?” And, before the duke had quite taken this in, he hurried on with his story. “I think it all fitted in quite nicely with Jessop’s own plans. The firm was in low water and he himself in difficulties. The reserve price for the necklace was £50,000. At the interview with the sham duchess, £65,000 was mentioned. It’s fairly certain Jessop intended to give a lower figure to his partner. I think he intended to report the price he had accepted as £55,000 – five thousand more than the limit – and keep the £10,000 extra for himself. It was quite possible for him to do that, as the whole thing was to be kept secret; his supposed client, the sham duchess, always stressing that, on the ground that you were not to know anything about it till it was too late for you to interfere.”
“As I understand it,” the duke said, “Mr. Jessop was being deceived by a gang of rogues impersonating the duchess and her secretary, Mr. Dickson, and actually having the audacity, the insolence, to make use of Hastley Court and our London flat?”
“Yes, sir; awful cheek,” agreed Bobby. “It’s cheek that does it,” he added thoughtfully, quoting a maxim that is no doubt the first in the Golden Book of the Wisdom of the World.
“But if Dickson was innocent of all this, knew nothing about it,” the duke asked, “why is he accused of the murder?”
“That’s another story,” Bobby answered.
CHAPTER 34
AND LAST
“To make that part clear,” Bobby continued, “I’ll have to go back a bit. You know the Upper Ten? High-class shilling weekly; goes in for photos of ‘leading personalities.’ Jessop knew the duchess was supposed to be at the races the day of the sham interview. It was put to him as part of the plan to keep you, sir, from getting to know too soon what was on. He would be told the plan was for her to show herself at the races, then drive up by herself to town, and then go back and show herself at the races again as if she had never been away. All that to keep Jessop from smelling a rat, as he might have done otherwise if he had heard of her being at the races that day.
But it just happened that the Upper Ten put under her photo the exact time when it was taken – at the finish of the three o’clock. Well, that made it plain she couldn’t also have been at Park Lane at three, when Jessop thought he saw her there. Naturally he got the wind up. Perhaps he had really been a little uncomfortable before about all the secrecy. Apparently he didn’t notice the Upper Ten photo for a time. The firm takes in some of the smart weeklies for customers to look at – the dentist and doctor idea, you know. It was only by chance Jessop happened to notice that photo Saturday morning. But it showed him at once there was crooked work somewhere, though he didn’t dare say too much for fear of his own little crooked game coming out – didn’t dare say a word to his partner or manager, for instance. In his first excitement he rang us up and said he had been swindled out of the Fellows necklace, though even then he rang up, not from his own place, but from the Cut and Come Again. But then he thought better of it and refused to tell us any more. Of course, our people said they couldn’t do much unless he gave full details. Whereon he rang off. But we had information T.T. was bringing off a big deal that same night. So it was decided someone should go along to Brush Hill and see if they could find out what was really on, and the super took on the job himself. Keen on bringing in T.T. if possible. There wasn’t much time to arrange anything, and it’s a bit of a job to get near T.T. when he has a big deal on. He takes precautions; puts scouts out. The best that could be thought of was the old furniture-van dodge and a faked accident. It didn’t work too well. T.T. got his warning, though he only had time to bluff us by pushing the necklace away in a locker in the van. He meant, if it was found, to say we put it there ourselves in an attempt to plant it on him. He has the cheek of the devil.”
“How did Dickson know all this?” interrupted the duke.
“He didn’t, not then,” answered Bobby. “He can only have tumbled to what was going on much later. Probably he knew of the rumours in the Cut and Come Again. At first he wouldn’t pay them much attention. You remember Jessop didn’t ’phone from his own place when the photo in the Upper Ten showed him there was something very wrong. Most likely he was afraid of being overheard. His first impulse was to rush round to the Cut and Come Again. He knew a lot of talk had been going on there. He would hope to find out something – to get T.T.’s address for one thing. He may have meant to tackle Wynne, too, if he could find him, as the originator of the stories. Jessop didn’t know Dickson, but Dickson knew him by sight. He saw how excited Jessop was; probably heard Jessop had been asking about T.T. and Wynne. He began to put things together. He knew Jessop had been at Hastley Court; he knew about the lady who had been taken ill and was allowed to sit by herself in a quiet room to recover, and of whose identity no one seemed sure; he knew the duchess was fond of carrying out deals in jewellery. So he thought he would visit Brush Hill, too, and, by way of precaution, he took with him a small automatic Denis Chenery had given Miss May and she had put away in a drawer and never thought of again. Also he provided himself with rubber gloves by way of extra precaution – precautions can cut both ways, though. If you’re straight, you don’t need ’em. And to screw himself up he drank rather a lot of whisky. He may even have had already some idea of establishing an alibi by showing himself at the Cut and Come Again. Drink affects almost everyone differently, you know. A glass of beer will knock some people off their legs. Whisky doesn’t affect Dickson’s legs. It does affect his judgment, his self-control; releases all his impulses, so to say. He was in that state, his mind, as it were, hanging on a hair trigger, when he got to Brush Hill. At first he was headed off by T.T.’s scouts. He waited, the whisky working on him all the time. He was smoking one of Mr. Patterson’s cigars, probably with some sort of subconscious idea of soothing himself down a bit. As it happened, he left the cigar behind him, together with his pistol he used. Next thing was that T.T.’s scouts cleared off, ‘according to plan,’ as soon as they had warned T.T. Dickson wouldn’t understand that, of course. He would just realise the coast was clear, and he climbed in by the study window where he had seen T.T. and Wynne talking. At a guess he meant to claim a share of the booty, but he found the room empty, and when he looked in the safe he saw what he thought was the Fellows necklace. Actually it was a replica made for film purposes T.T. had bought up on the chance, I suppose, of its being useful some day. It seems that, while he was looking at it, Jessop appeared. He may have seen Dickson climb in and followed him. Probably Dickson saw himself cornered. It was dark, and he may have taken Jessop for one of T.T’s bodyguard. Or he may just have lost his head, what with the whisky and being caught in the act and so on, and fired more or less at random. Most likely all he was conscious of was that he had the Fellows necklace and he meant to keep it. All that is certain is that the automatic went off and Jessop was hit – fatally. I should be quite willing to believe Dickson never meant to kill, only to make sure of getting away safely. Very likely it was a shock to him to realise what he had done. He dropped cigar and pistol and bolted, and, once outside, it must have been a still greater shock to him to realise that all he had was a worthless imitation. He threw it away. When, a few minutes later, as he was hurrying away in a state of great panic and excitement, he saw a uniformed policeman looking at him rather closely, he could think of nothing better to do than to dodge into a pawnbroker’s. Now the pawnbroker’s assistant has identified him, and we have found the rubber gloves he wore in the pocket of the coat he pawned.”
“Is that the raincoat I saw in your possession?” the duke asked. “I remember I saw you had one I thought was mine.”
“His was given him by the duchess,” Bobby answered. “I expect it came from the same shop as yours, and looked much the same.”
“Is all this why Dickson tried to shoot the – er – person you speak of as assistant to a pawnbroker?”
“Yes,” agreed Bobby. “Higson. As soon as he saw Higson with us, he realised what that meant, lost his head again, tried to silence him. ‘Suppress his evidence’ idea. Silly. We knew too much by that time. It was a great piece of luck, though, that Jessop put in his pocket that copy of the Upper Ten. It looked as if there must be some reason for his having it; his last words were something about ‘duke’ – and there was a snap of the duchess in the paper. I brooded over that photo for hours, but the only thing I could see distinctive was that it did give the actual time when it was taken – and that didn’t dawn on me for long enough. Even then, at first it didn’t seem much help. Only other things turned up – a woman named Magotty Meg, for instance, we began to think might have been used if personation had taken place. You see, sir, it was certain you and the duchess were in it somehow, but it was certain you couldn’t be knowingly, so that suggested conspiracy, and that suggested personation. At first we thought Dickson was in that part, too. But we couldn’t bring him in. There was no trace of any connection with either T.T. or Wynne. He had a clear alibi both for the Hastley Court business and for the Park Lane breaking in. So he was rather falling out of the picture till he brought himself in again by dropping hints about Chenery. Funny thing. No criminal can ever leave well alone. Against nature, I suppose.”
“Do you mean Dickson will be tried – hanged?” the duke asked, for once a little human emotion piercing the starched frigidity of his manner.
“Well, sir,” answered Bobby slowly, and in fact proving himself to be a good prophet, “there was no premeditation: he might even pretend he was only at Brush Hill to recover the necklace for its rightful owner. I expect something of the sort was in his mind when he persuaded you to come hunting the necklace with him – display of innocent intention. Then, when he saw Higson, he lost his head again. But they may even reduce the main charge to manslaughter. He’ll probably get off with a term of penal servitude.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said the duke.
“But all that,” continued Bobby, resuming his narrative, “didn’t help us much to find out what had become of the necklace. Then we found T.T. was talking a lot a
bout moving, and was nosing round trying to find out where the furniture van we used came from. Till then we had assumed Wynne had the necklace. T.T.’s inquiries made us guess it might have been hidden in the van. If it hadn’t been for the murder happening, and giving us plenty to think about, we should have spotted that at once; first thing we should have thought of,” declared Bobby with more confidence than he really felt. “Only then again, but for the murder, and for the way we kept T.T. under close observation, he would soon have found a chance to get hold of the thing again. As it was, in the excitement he didn’t even notice where the van came from. Other people began to get the same idea. I think you yourself, sir?”
“Dickson,” said the duke with dignity, “put certain suggestions before me. They seemed reasonable. I had no idea they were the result of guilty knowledge. I authorised him to take steps. I considered it was wholly proper to attempt to recover the necklace, though I did not wish attention to be drawn to efforts that might be entirely misconceived.”
Bobby was also privately of the belief that his grace had not been wholly indifferent to the prospect of pocketing a fat reward. Even to the wealthiest, £5,000 is £5,000, and the duke was far from enjoying a reputation for indifference to such considerations. Even the suggestion of buying the necklace he had only accepted when he believed there was a sure market in view.
Mystery of Mr. Jessop Page 29
