by ILIL ARBEL
Punctual as ever, a trait much appreciated by Madame Koska, Gretchen arrived a few minutes before ten o’clock. She was expected to sit at the telephone at ten o’clock, since many clients liked to call early, before starting their busy days. Gretchen always went to the wash room to fix her hair and reapply her lipstick, and then would sit at the front desk. They let her do so, and then Madame Koska called her to come into the office for a moment.
Gretchen came immediately, and seeing the company, stood at the door, immobile, staring at them and saying nothing. Madame Koska could see the fear in her eyes and felt sorry for the child. “Come in, Miss Van der Hoven,” she said kindly. “Ve need your help.” Gretchen did not move, her eyes darting from one person to the other, her hands clasped together in front of her breast.
“There is nothing to fear, Gretchen,” said Mr. Korolenko. “We must discuss your father.”
Gretchen emerged from her frozen terror enough to be able to talk. “Father,” she whispered. “Do you know anything new about him?”
“No,” said Inspector Blount. “But we were hoping you will tell us. Originally, when he disappeared, your family told everyone that he was dead. However, Mr. Korolenko does not believe it. He has heard that your father is alive.”
Gretchen slipped into a chair and started sobbing. “I don’t know, I don’t know…the man told me he was alive and that they would kill him…”
“What man?” said Inspector Blount, and pulled a notebook and pencil out of his pocket.
“The man I met on the train,” said Gretchen, sobbing.
“Gretchen,” said Mr. Korolenko, “pull yourself together. This won’t do. You have been living a lie and inventing tales and getting yourself deeper and deeper into trouble. Come clean, please.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Gretchen defiantly, seemingly alternating between fear and anger.
“But I do,” said Madame Koska. “A girl who keeps a book by a sixteenth century humanist by her bed for light bedtime reading, cannot pretend forever to silliness and flightiness.”
Gretchen looked at her, amazed. “How do you know…” she whispered.
“Because I vent into your room to spy on you vhen I stayed at your aunt’s and uncle’s house,” said Madame Koska.
“You went into my room…but why?”
“Because Mr. Korolenko told me that during your childhood you vere a little scholar, always at your books. I could not reconcile it with the girl who liked only fashion and dancing. And that same girl was in my atelier when the robbery occurred, so it vas very much my right to check.”
“You had no right to spy on me though…” said Gretchen. “I never suspected you would do that.”
“I was there too, Gretchen, with Madame Koska. We looked not only at Erasmus by your bedside, but also at your other books and the notes you took as you were studying other philosophers,” said Mr. Korolenko. “We had every right to do so, since you were misleading everyone, and your behaviour at work was quite suspicious. Not to mention the fact that your father’s life was at stake, and that a robbery happened at Madame Koska’s, which we strongly suspected was connected to your situation.”
“I never quite understood vhy you vanted to vork at the atelier, and I suspected you lied about something,” said Madame Koska.
Gretchen looked as if she were going to deny everything, stood up, and then sat down again and said, “Very well. I’ll tell you everything. But you must help me. You must help Father.”
“You should have done so right away, my girl,” said Inspector Blount. “It might have saved everyone much trouble, and for all I know, your father would have been released much sooner. You should have told the police.”
“But I couldn’t… They threatened to kill Father if I talked to the police.” said Gretchen. “When I was travelling on the train from school to my uncle’s house, it was rather empty. No one was sitting in my compartment, until a very well-dressed, middle-aged, respectable looking man came in and sat down. When the train was in motion for about ten minutes, he came over to me and said, ‘Miss Van der Hoven, please don’t be alarmed, I have something to tell you. Your father is alive.’ I was so stunned I could barely talk, since I was told he died in a train accident.”
“Did the man give any details about where your father was?” asked Inspector Blount, looking up from his notebook.
“He said he was kept prisoner in London, by an international gang who specialised in jewellery and opium and art theft. He claimed Father had worked with them but decided to stop it and they no longer trusted him. Not that I believe it… Father would not have worked with criminals.”
“Perhaps he was not aware of their crimes at the time,” suggested Mr. Korolenko. “And only found out later.”
“I really don’t know anything about Father’s business,” said Gretchen. “We used to spend our time together reading and studying and visiting art shows and theatres. We never talked about business. He dreamed about sending me to Oxford—you know they opened it to women in 1910, so it was possible… I wanted it too, so much; I keep up with my studies now in the hope that someday I could go there…even though it’s not the same without Father. Still, I feel that if I went to university, he would be so proud no matter where he is. But you don’t care about that.”
“I do care about it,” said Mr. Korolenko. “And I am going to speak to your uncle about it. I am sure something can be arranged so that your father’s wish will be honoured.”
Gretchen sent him a look of gratitude. “If they don’t arrest me first,” she said in a little voice, glancing at Inspector Blount.
“No one is arresting you, Miss Van der Hoven,” said Inspector Blount. “Yes, you have been very foolish, particularly for a well-educated young woman such as yourself, but you don’t strike me as a criminal.”
“Thank you,” said Gretchen very quietly.
“So please continue with what happened on the train,” said the inspector with tired patience.
“The man told me that unless I do exactly as I am told, they would kill Father. I was supposed to find a job at Madame Koska’s establishment, any job I could get. So I thought my experience as a mannequin for society fashion shows would help…and it did. Everyone believed it was my dream to be a mannequin, and they were so kind. But Madame Koska, I really enjoy working here. It is such fun, and I hope you believe me that just because I like studying philosophy, it does not mean I don’t love fashion, too.”
“Yes, I do understand,” said Madame Koska kindly. “And you are very good at it. I can see you as a highly successful and sought-after vendeuse, particularly if you get the proper higher education. You can go far in this field, unless you vill prefer to teach, of course. But vhat did the man vant you to do vhen you got the job?”
“Very little, really. I was to keep an eye for an opportunity to make it easy for the gang to break into the atelier, that is all. The great Russian jewel that everyone is talking about was supposed to be here, in Madame Koska’s safe. The man said that once they get it out of the safe, they won’t need Father and they would let him go.”
“But vouldn’t I know about it if it vere in my safe?” asked Madame Koska.
Gretchen looked embarrassed. “Well…they thought you had it through another agency, and were interested in selling it,” she said.
“So you believed them I vas a criminal?” said Madame Koska, slightly shocked.
“Not really… I could never imagine you stealing jewellery. But what could I do? I could not refuse them. Besides, I did not think any harm would come of it. I assumed they would come, break into the safe, and see that the jewel is not there, so they would let Father go free and that would be the end of it.”
“But they searched the entire atelier before even attempting to get at the safe,” said Madame Koska. “Vhy didn’t they go straight to the safe? Nothing makes sense here.”
“I know…” said Gretchen. “I had the same thought. They did not so much as touch the saf
e! And after it was all over, they never came back, and I didn’t hear another word about Father. I was getting really desperate.”
“So on the day of the robbery, you thought you had the opportunity to let them in. What happened during the day that prompted you to assume that?” asked the inspector.
“Madame Koska had a late appointment. She asked Miss Saltykov to lock up, and left the atelier’s key with her, so I decided it was the perfect opportunity. We keep our handbags in the same cabinet, away from the door so they are safe, and I knew which one was hers. I stole the key from her handbag, and called the number the man from the train had given me. Very quickly, the same man came to the atelier, disguised as a salesman. I gave him the key, and in an hour or so he came back and returned it, after making a copy that he planned to use later. I took the key and dropped it back into Miss Saltykov’s handbag.”
“I see,” said Inspector Blount. “Of course, you could not know that he made a mistake and gave you the copy instead of the original key…but Madame Koska recognised the change since she marked the original key with a dot of paint.”
“Whatever for?” asked Gretchen, confused.
“Because I mix my keys,” said Madame Koska. “I have so many of them. So I give them a colour code.”
“Very clever,” said Gretchen. “Well, that would have given you every right to suspect me, since I was at the desk all day.”
“Exactly,” said Madame Koska. “You were the only person who could admit the criminals—except of course for Miss Saltykov, who also had the key. But…”
“But you would not suspect Miss Saltykov since she is your friend’s niece,” said Gretchen. “I can understand that.” Madame Koska was no longer surprised by Gretchen’s quick insights, and just nodded, a little sadly.
“Now, Miss Van der Hoven, I have to ask you a very unpleasant question,” said the inspector. “You absolutely must tell me the truth, because by now you understand your father’s life depends upon it.”
“Yes, Inspector,” said Gretchen. “I no longer have any control. That is, if I ever had… Obviously I was used. I cannot believe how stupid I was.”
“That is what blackmail does to people, Miss Van der Hoven. Sometimes the fear is so great, even the most intelligent people lose their judgement when blackmailed.”
“Father would have scolded me for lack of judgement,” said Gretchen. “He told me to always use logic, not emotion, when making important decisions…but what is it that you wish to ask me, Inspector?”
“I need to know if your aunt and uncle are involved in any of that,” said the inspector. “Do you have any reason to suspect they know anything?”
“No, Inspector, I really don’t think they have any knowledge of it, but…” She stopped talking and looked very nervous.
“Yes?” said the inspector. “Come on, Miss Van der Hoven. We need to know everything.”
“It may sound a little strange, since I have no real reason to suspect them, nothing tangible,” said Gretchen. “But I am not so sure about the Misses Plimpton-Anderson. They always ask questions, spy and snoop. They pretend to be silly young things, and try to act as if they were my age when they talk to me, but you know they are much older and they are not as stupid as they want you to think. When they came here yesterday morning, I had a feeling that as we were giving them the tour, they were taking mental notes.”
“Yes,” said Madame Koska. “Inspector, Miss Van der Hoven is right; I had exactly the same feeling. They came suddenly, vithout making an appointment, requested a tour, ordered some expensive outfits…and the fact that it vas the same night I vas attacked makes it doubly suspicious.”
“You were attacked?” asked Gretchen, horrified. “What happened? Who attacked you?”
“We don’t know,” said the inspector. “Someone attacked Madame Koska last night. She was alone here, doing her accounts. I must question the Misses Plimpton-Anderson, of course.”
“It’s all my fault,” said Gretchen. “The criminals were probably still using the key…and they attacked you, you could have been killed…” she started crying again.
“No, no,” said Madame Koska. “The locks vere changed after the robbery, so yesterday’s attack vas not your fault at all.”
“Cheer up, Miss Van der Hoven. The matter is now in experienced hands, and you have a much better chance of seeing your father again.”
“Inspector, I would do anything to save him,” said Gretchen. “Madame Koska, I will always feel terrible about what I did to you. You should sack me.”
“Nonsense,” said Madame Koska. “I have no intention of doing so. All vill be vell, I am sure, and ve can rely on you to help now.”
“I just wish I understood the connection between Father and the Russian jewel,” said Gretchen. “They never explained to me what he had to do with it.”
“I am sure we will find out,” said Mr. Korolenko. “It’s all right now, Gretchen. In a little while, when you feel better, you will see that we have a chance now.”
“You can go back to work, Miss Van der Hoven,” said Inspector Blount. “Don’t talk about this business with any of the other women, please. We will keep you informed as we advance with the investigation about your father.”
Gretchen got up and left the room obediently, and they saw her sitting at the telephone and slumping forward, putting her head in her hands.
“Poor girl,” said Mr. Korolenko. “She loves her father so much.”
“Yes, we’ll do our best to save him,” said the inspector. “But she was very weak and foolish, succumbing to the blackmailers. People don’t understand that such criminals would not keep their word anyway. And now, Madame Koska, I need to speak to Miss Saltykov. I suggest you call Madame Golitsyn if we are to avoid hysteria and shock. Miss Saltykov does not strike me as a very strong person, and I am afraid we’ll have a scene.”
Madame Koska picked up the telephone and called Madame Golitsyn. When she put down the receiver, Mr. Korolenko said, “Madame Koska, I have another matter I need to discuss with you. I know you are under severe stress, but I think this is very important. I am going to stay for a few minutes, with your permission, after the inspector leaves.”
“Very vell,” said Madame Koska. What else did he have in mind at such a moment, she thought irritably. All this nonsense when she had to concentrate on the Mistral collection…
Madame Golitsyn walked in, and on her way, stopped and said something quietly to Natalya, who got up immediately and followed her aunt to Madame Koska’s office.
Natalya sat down quietly in Gretchen chair, folded her hands in her lap, and said nothing. Madame Golitsyn sat next to her.
“Miss Saltykov,” said the inspector. “You found Madame Koska yesterday on the floor when you came back to the atelier. Am I correct?”
“Yes, Inspector,” said Natalya.
“Do you remember what time it was?”
“About seven-thirty or so, I believe,” said Natalya.
“Madame Koska,” said the inspector. “Is it a regular occurrence for any of your employees to be here after six o’clock?”
“No, Inspector. Miss Saltykov and I stayed later than usual to organise a room dedicated to ironing special fabrics. She left about six-thirty or so.”
“Then why did you come back to the atelier, Miss Saltykov?” asked the inspector.
“I stopped on my way home to see if I could find some good ironing cloths, Inspector,” said Natalya. “I did find them, and since it was raining, I thought it was easier to take them back to the atelier rather than carry the heavy box home with me.”
“Do you have a key to the atelier?”
“No, but I knew Madame Koska was going to stay late, since she told me she was going to do the accounting, so I was expecting her to let me in.”
“Are you often involved with work after hours?” asked the inspector.
“Yes, often,” said Natalya. “I like taking little embroidery or beading projects home with me, like a
sleeve, or a collar, or a shawl. I enjoy doing them in the evening after dinner.”
“Miss Saltykov is extremely dedicated to our vork,” said Madame Koska. “She is my most reliable employee, and my chief beader, inspector.” Natalya smiled but said nothing.
“I see,” said the inspector thoughtfully. “But you don’t stay on the premises at night, do you?”
“No, I do the projects at home, Inspector. Madame Koska is very generous to let me do so and also pays me extra.”
“So that was the first time you were expected to be at the atelier at night. I see. Tell me what happened when you got back?”
“The door was ajar, so I came in, and as I turned on the light, I saw Madame Koska on the floor. I was terribly scared, I thought she had a heart attack, so I bent over her to see if she was breathing, and she opened her eyes. I was so relieved…”
“What happened to the box of ironing cloths?” asked the inspector.
“I don’t know, I think I dropped it when I saw Madame Koska on the floor,” said Natalya. “Why?”
“Because I wish to see it,” said the inspector. “I want to make sure you really carried a box of ironing cloths. You see, I placed a man across the street to watch the place, after the last robbery. I must ask him if he saw you carrying a large box.”
Natalya looked at him with a fixed stare. “What are you saying, Inspector? That I am lying about what happened? Why should I?”
“I don’t know, Miss Saltykov. If you are lying, you are the only one who knows why.”
Natalya’s face turned ashen grey. She got up, tried to say something, and fell down, fainting.
“Well, well,” said the inspector as Madame Golitsyn and Madame Koska rubbed Natalya’s hands, supported her head, administered smelling salts, and eventually managed to wake her up. She looked around her, confused.
“Inspector,” she said with great dignity. “If you suspect me of doing harm to Madame Koska, you are wasting precious time that should be spent on finding the real criminal. Nothing on the face of this earth would make me harm Madame Koska. She had been kinder to me than anyone I know other than my family and the Tzarina of Russia, may her soul rest among the angels. You can arrest me, interrogate me, or even execute me, but I will never change my story; it is the truth.”
