Everybody Always Tells: A Bobby Owen Mystery

by E. R. Punshon

  Mrs Findlay got up and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  “DEATH MAY COME AGAIN”

  FOR A MOMENT or two after this sudden and abrupt departure that was so like a flight, neither Lord Newdagonby nor Bobby spoke: the former lost in a kind of pale bewilderment, the latter hoping that just possibly this bewilderment might find relief in offering some sort of comment or explanation that might be of value.

  Then Lord Newdagonby spoke, and now with a certain dignity.

  “Was it necessary to say all this?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he went on: “I had no idea . . . I never . . . it never occurred to me that she had even heard of all that old business. It never entered my mind that she could know anything about it. Before she was born.” He paused and looked at Bobby: “Do you mean,” he asked, “that she deliberately planned to marry Ivor because she thought he was her half-brother?”

  “Yes,” Bobby answered. “She wondered why you were so interested in him. She got hold of odds and ends of the old story and put them together—wrong. Why in fact were you willing to help him if you knew—I suppose you knew?—he was no son of yours?”

  “Of course I knew,” Lord Newdagonby answered with something of his old manner of impatience. “He blackmailed me. He had letters I wrote to his mother. I did not wish them published. They could have been misunderstood.”

  “Did he give you back these letters you speak of?”

  “Yes, I burnt them. He made good use of the money I gave him. I got interested in him and continued my help. I didn’t blame him for using his opportunities. A clever lad.”

  “He made no further attempts to blackmail you?”

  “Certainly not. He had letters of mine, and I bought them. That’s all. The transaction was a simple one, and we never referred to it again. I am sure, he had no more idea than I had of Sibby’s most unfortunate misconception.” He saw how Bobby was looking at him, and he seemed suddenly to understand. “Good God!” he cried. “You aren’t going to suggest now that I murdered Ivor because of a bit of blackmail years ago?”

  “It is a possibility that might come to be put forward,” Bobby answered gravely. “At present there seems nothing to show that the blackmailing hadn’t continued. Nothing to show it had been, of course, but—”

  Before he could complete his sentence the door was thrown open and Kitty Grange came almost running in. She halted abruptly when she saw Bobby, and stood looking uneasily, with fear indeed, from one to the other of the two men. She said, speaking to Bobby:

  “What have you been saying to Sibby? Why is she so upset?” When he did not answer immediately, she turned to Lord Newdagonby: “Is he trying to make out it was Sibby?”

  It was Bobby who answered this, however. He said:

  “I am not trying to make out it was any one. What we are trying to do is to rule out the any one and find the some one.”

  “Why was Sibby so frightened?” Kitty demanded. “Because she was—she was awfully upset. I never saw any one look like that.” She turned again to Lord Newdagonby: “What has he been saying?” she asked.

  “Mr Owen,” Lord Newdagonby answered, “appears to have got hold of some old, forgotten story of something that happened when I was a mere boy. He thinks it shows that if it was not Sibby, then it was me.”

  “A suggestion of a possible motive, that’s all,” Bobby said. “Identity of time and place of course. As for others also.”

  “It’s only silly to suspect Sibby,” Kitty said as she had said before.

  “I hope it’s even sillier to suspect me,” Lord Newdagonby said; and Kitty gave him a sudden look that Bobby, watching them both, saw and remembered.

  “What made you think Mrs Findlay was frightened or upset?” he asked Kitty.

  “It’s how she looked,” Kitty answered. “It was awful. You must have said something awful. What did he?” she asked, appealing again to Lord Newdagonby.

  “I don’t think we can go into that,” Bobby interposed. “It is more or less confidential. It may have to be mentioned, but that’s not necessary yet. It’s not quite clear how it links up. You can ask Mrs Findlay about it if you want to. It concerns her.”

  “But she’s gone away, she said she wouldn’t be back for a day or two,” Kitty answered.

  “Gone away? Where?” Lord Newdagonby exclaimed.

  “I don’t know, she rushed out just as I got here,” Kitty told them. “She looked most awfully upset. I ran after her. There was a taxi passing. She stopped it and she was getting in. I asked her what was the matter, and she said she was going away and wouldn’t be back for a day or two, and the taxi drove off. Is it that silly story about her marrying Charley Acton?”

  “That wasn’t mentioned,” Bobby said. “I intended to, but she went off in such a hurry there was no chance. Did you hear what address she gave the taxi-man?” When Kitty shook her head, Bobby continued: “I hope she will let you know soon where she is. Or come back. We have to remember the renewed threats over the ’phone. Death followed those earlier ones, though not hers, and death may come again—and still not hers. Or it may be hers this time.”

  “She didn’t take anything with her, she can’t have, hadn’t time,” Lord Newdagonby said, but rather with an air of trying to reassure himself. “She can’t mean to be away long.”

  “She could buy what she wanted,” Kitty said, also with evident uneasiness. “She always has plenty of money with her—I’ve seen her take a great thick packet of notes out of her bag.”

  “We shall have to try to trace her,” Bobby said, “unless we hear very quickly.”

  Lord Newdagonby did not seem to like this remark, but, though he moved uneasily in his chair, he said nothing. Kitty seemed lost in her own thoughts, thoughts clearly by no means reassuring. Bobby got to his feet and said that must be all for the present. He asked, however, that if Mrs Findlay returned, or any communication from her was received, he should be informed at once. He reminded them again of the renewed threats made against her life. They suggested ugly possibilities. He added some conventional remark to the effect that the situation needed careful watching. Neither of the other two made any comment on these observations. Bobby moved towards the door. Kitty followed him. In the corridor outside she said with a sudden intensity of manner:

  “Unless you find out soon who it is, we shall all go mad.” With a little gasp, she added: “Everyone’s suspecting everyone else.”

  “Mrs Findlay told me she knew, but she wouldn’t say anything more,” Bobby said. “Have you any idea who it was she meant?”

  “No, I haven’t,” she answered. She went on, excitedly, almost hysterically: “She said that to me too. I asked her. She said Count Ariosto. I don’t think she meant it. It was only to put me off. I asked her why, and she said, well, he was an Italian, and it was a knife used. I don’t suppose she does know. It’s only that she suspects someone. We all do. That’s what’s so awful. There’s nothing to show, is there?”

  “There are pointers,” Bobby told her. “We are working on them. We have to clear them up, one by one. One of them is that you knew the exact amount of the offer made for the fur coat you wanted to sell. That was the morning of the murder. The offer was made to Mr Findlay in a letter. No one else knew of it apparently. Yet you knew the precise figure, though you told us you had not seen him or spoken to him.”

  “I hadn’t,” she exclaimed quickly. “It was the house ’phone. We have one, you know. It’s such a wilderness of a place, and then Lord Newdagonby loves fiddling about with gadgets and things. I heard it ring, and I went to answer it. I just said ‘Hullo’, and it was Ivor. I knew his voice of course, and he knew mine. He said: ‘One hundred and one guineas firm offer for that fur coat of yours. Come up and see me about it.’ I didn’t answer. I hung up and went away. I would rather have kept it than let him sell it for me. That’s all. You can’t call saying ‘Hullo’ on the ’phone when you don’t know who it is, talking to him, can you?”

&
nbsp; “Well, hardly,” Bobby agreed, and he thought to himself that the story, true or not, had to be accepted.

  No corroboration, of course. Only her own word for it. Plausible enough though, even probable. But also an explanation that could very well have been thought up to account for a knowledge that a guilty mind could easily have seen was extremely compromising. Evidently she guessed what was in his mind, for she said sharply:

  “I expect you think I’ve made that up?”

  “One has to think of everything,” Bobby answered. “You said yourself a moment ago that every one was suspecting every one else, and I think you still suspect Lord Newdagonby.”

  “Oh, I don’t!” she cried. “I told you so. Why do you say that again?”

  “I saw you look at him just now,” Bobby answered.

  “I didn’t,” she protested. “I never did. I mean not like that. You’ve no right to say I did. It’s not fair. If I did, it’s only because . . .”

  “Because what—”

  “He said once he thought it must be Noel—Mr Lake. I was afraid he might be going to say so again, and I didn’t want. But I expect you’ve thought about him, too.”

  “Well, of course,” Bobby agreed. “What did you say when Lord Newdagonby suggested it was Mr Lake?”

  “I expect I lost my temper,” she admitted. “It was so silly. I told him it was much more likely to be him. Every one knew how he hated Sibby marrying Ivor.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “I think it upset him rather, and then he got angry and he said most likely I knew it was Noel Lake and I was trying to cover up. So I got angry, too, and I said I would go and live somewhere else, and he said good thing, too. But Sibby said we were both fools, and so I never did, and uncle never said anything more either. I didn’t really want to go while all this is happening.”

  “It might be better not,” Bobby agreed gravely. “I don’t want to have two people to look for. And it’s no good giving the papers any sort of a handle—out of airy nothings they can build the most remarkable edifice. Are handles ever airy nothings? Never mind. I must be going.”

  “Tell me first. What did you say to Sibby to upset her so?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Policemen want to be told things. Not to tell them to others.”

  “Nobody understands Sibby,” Kitty persisted, as she had before. “She’s just got lost somehow. She’s all wrong on top, but she’s all right deep down inside her.”

  “I wish I could feel as sure of that as you seem to be,” Bobby answered, and now his voice was grim and hard again, and Kitty had both hands pressed over her heart as she said somewhat flutteringly:

  “You make me afraid, when you look like that. Like death,” she said.

  “Death has been here once,” he reminded her.

  “Well, it wasn’t Sibby,” she persisted stubbornly. “It’s only that she’s just all awfully puzzled inside herself. She thinks about things too much and too long ever really to do anything about it. If she ever wanted to kill any one she would think about it and think about it and never do it. It’s that silly gossip about her going to marry Charley Acton you’ve been asking her about, isn’t it? Enough to upset her or anyone else if you did.”

  “It’s upset me anyhow,” Bobby said, “that and these new threats some one has been making by ’phone.” They were standing in the entrance hall now. Bobby put out his hand to open the front door. “There’s no substantial evidence against any one yet,” he said. “Do you know, I’m inclined to think Lord Newdagonby is troubled because he is half afraid it may really have been his daughter?”

  “I’m quite sure he isn’t,” Kitty answered at once. “What he’s worried about is being afraid you may be going to try to make out it was her, when it never was. Isn’t Sir Wilkin Wiggins the lawyer who always gets people off when they’re being tried for murder? Noel says so.”

  “He doesn’t get them off,” Bobby explained. “It’s only that he shows the jury their innocence like that of the unborn babe.”

  “Oh,” said Kitty doubtfully, as if not quite sure where the difference lay. “Well, he’s been to dinner. Uncle got some awfully swell place to do it all—butlers and waiters and everything. It must have cost ever so much. He got some frightfully special wine back from the country, where he sent it to be safe during the war, because there’s none of it left anywhere else. I had a glass,” Kitty added. “You can’t think how horrid it was.”

  “Natural to take precautions,” Bobby observed. “I hope they will prove unnecessary. Do you know a Mrs Tinsley?”

  “Mrs Tinsley? Yes. No. I mean I’ve met her once or twice, but that’s all. I don’t like her much, and she hates me.”

  “Does she? Why?”

  “Oh, she hates any female who has anything to do with Ivor. And of course you never knew with Ivor. Not that he ever really meant anything very much, only it was so disgusting. She wanted to marry Ivor herself. I think she still hoped she might some day. She told every one that marrying Sibby must be like marrying a perpetual cross-examination, and she was sure Ivor would never stand it long.”

  “Do you suspect her?”

  “Mrs Tinsley? She wasn’t here. How could it be her? Besides, it was Sibby she hated, not Ivor. I did think sometimes it might be her making those ’phone calls, but it didn’t sound a bit like her. Noel Lake says Count Ariosto has been saying it was her—about the ’phone calls. And he says perhaps that’s why it was done, because some one was afraid Ivor was being egged on to kill Sibby and he had to be killed first to save her. I told Noel he ought to tell you, but he said it was no good repeating what was only gossip. Besides Count Ariosto had been drinking. I think that makes it worse.”

  “So do I,” agreed Bobby. “How did Mr Lake hear?”

  “It was one of his staff told him,” Kitty answered.

  “How did he know?” Bobby asked, and did not look much impressed.

  “There’s a club for hotel staff somewhere, only it’s for the very important ones, not ordinary staff. Head waiters at the big hotels and head chefs and porters and so on. Some of them make an awful lot of money, you know, and they elect a few proprietors as honorary members. It’s supposed to be a great compliment. Noel’s one. There’s one hotel in Scotland where the staff heads expect to earn a thousand pounds each just in the season. And sometimes they get Stock Exchange hints from visitors when they’ve had too much to drink. Noel goes to the club sometimes just to keep in touch, and it’s where he got his head waiter. Noel says he’s worth his weight in gold and ought to be running the Ritz, only he’s such a fool in everything except remembering you if you’ve ever been there before, and what you had for dinner, and what a clever choice it was, and that’s why he remembers you. Men simply lap it up. Noel says most men would rather be respected by a head waiter than loved by their wives. But, of course, that’s silly.”

  “Well, they aren’t,” Bobby observed. “I mean, respected by head waiters—a cynical race. Where does Count Ariosto come in?”

  “The club’s where he said it all,” Kitty explained. “I suppose he must be an honorary member, too. Noel says he has something to do with a small hotel in Mayfair somewhere, I think. Of course, all Mr Lake’s staff are awfully interested. They all know Noel was a friend of Sibby’s, and I expect they know Noel had a row with Ivor, and everything else as well. Noel says it’s terrifying what waiters know.”

  “Not as much as barmaids,” declared Bobby, jealous for a profession from whose members he had before now received much interesting and useful information. “Anyhow, I’ll have a talk with our Count and warn him against saying things like that. I wonder if the Coroner’s officer has seen him. I must ask. Mrs Jacks has been hinting he might be the man we want. And there does seem to be some ground for thinking Mrs Findlay had some sort of hold on him.”

  “How could she?” Kitty asked, surprised. “Sibby’s only known him quite a short time. There was a sort of fascination about Sibby every one f
elt, if that’s what you mean. But that’s not a hold. It’s only because people felt somehow she was trying so hard to find out. It frightened them.”

  “Find out what?”

  “The real difference between being good and being bad. Lots of people think there isn’t any, except what’s convenient. Uncle says all that matters is just ‘being’ by itself.”

  “Is that existentialism?” Bobby asked. “Well, that’s outside my job—or is it? I don’t know.”

  He went away then, wondering a little if what he had just earnt was going to prove of any value in solving the problem before him.

  CHAPTER XXV

  “SHEER DEVILRY”

  “IN MY VIEW,” declared Simons, returning after lunch for a final report to Bobby on the complete failure of what had at first seemed a promising line of investigation, “it’s plain as a pikestaff Lord Newdagonby’s our man. He hated to see his daughter marry out of her class. He was afraid those ’phone calls meant she was going to be bumped off unless he got in first, and so he did. Motive and opportunity, time and place, all fit in. And the murder weapon provided in advance, ready when needed. Pretty thin story he tells, too, to explain having a kitchen knife handy. To open envelopes. Well, I ask you. I call it a good sound case to take into court.”

  “So it is,” agreed Bobby.

  “And now there’s Mrs Findlay done a bunk,” Simons continued. “In my view, when any suspect does a bunk, it’s as good as a confession—better, because you can’t go back on a bunk and say it was all because of police bullying and thumbscrews and so on. A bunk’s a bunk.”