The Crime at the ‘Noah’s Ark’: A Golden Age Mystery

by Molly Thynne

  After lunch Stuart, hoping for a repetition of yesterday’s peaceful interlude in front of the fire, made his way unostentatiously to the billiard-room, only to find himself involved in an informal committee meeting, presided over, to his consternation, by Lord Romsey. His attempt to withdraw, unnoticed, was ruthlessly frustrated by Constantine, who had taken possession of the hearthrug, and had evidently been goaded by Lord Romsey into a state that could only be described as one of diabolical whimsicality. A glance was sufficient to show that the old man was enjoying himself thoroughly in his own queer way. Stuart was amused to see how the general uneasiness had served to lower all class barriers. Mrs. van Dolen was engaged in an animated discussion with Soames, and Lord Romsey, who, according to Constantine, had so far spent his time in writing wordy letters to the Times in the fastnesses of his own room, had apparently become hail-fellow-well-met with every member of the mixed caravanserai. It also struck him as significant that the only member of the party not present should be Melnotte.

  As Stuart sank meekly into a chair on the outskirts of the group, Lord Romsey, with a bleak stare that reduced even Mrs. van Dolen to silence, resumed his attack on Constantine.

  “If we accept your suggestion that this—er—person is endeavouring to obtain possession of the jewels that were stolen from Mrs. van Dolen on the night of the murder—and I think I may take it that we all agree to accept that view?” he paused and cast a coldly disparaging glance at his audience, which obediently emitted those nondescript sounds which may be taken to signify assent. “If, as I say, we agree to this assumption, I think you must admit that this second attempt on the room of one particular member of this household is not without significance.”

  He paused once more, and Constantine cut in sharply. “If you are suggesting that Melnotte’s adventure proves that the emeralds were hidden in his room, I entirely disagree with you,” he retorted. “You must remember that several other people’s rooms were very thoroughly searched yesterday evening.”

  “While those of certain members of the party were left untouched,” asserted Lord Romsey, with somewhat questionable taste. “I still adhere to my contention that the thief only looks in such places as may be expected to contain the emeralds.”

  “So that to be the victim of this persevering gentleman is, in itself, a suspicious circumstance,” submitted Constantine, his voice positively silky.

  Lord Romsey, who had been led away by his own eloquence, contemplated his audience and became aware of a certain restlessness, accompanied by frank indignation on the part of at least two of the ladies present. He hastened to amend his statement.

  “You must not take me too literally, Constantine,” he said with elephantine playfulness. “I am merely endeavouring to emphasize my contention that the mere fact that this young man Melnotte, who, I understand, occupies the bedroom next to that of the unfortunate Major Carew, has twice been the victim of the attentions of this person is in itself suspicious. That is to say, if he really was the victim. I must point out that we have only his own word for it!”

  “Your suggestion being that he deliberately manufactured this suspicious evidence against himself?” snapped Constantine.

  Lord Romsey permitted himself a bland smile.

  “He may not have realized his error. We cannot afford to overlook the possibility that Melnotte himself may have been the perpetrator of yesterday’s search, in which case his obvious course would be to pretend that he had been one of the victims.”

  “Which is as good as saying that he could not have been guilty of either the original theft or the murder,” pointed out Soames, who, for some time, had been holding his peace with difficulty.

  Lord Romsey assented graciously.

  “Exactly. I am simply pointing out that, whichever way we may elect to look at it, suspicion points to this young man of whom we know nothing, and who, if I may say so, belongs to a type that hardly inspires confidence.”

  Stuart, for the first time, was conscious of a distinct reaction in favour of the unfortunate Melnotte. Apparently he was not the only person thus affected. Angela Ford asserted herself suddenly.

  “Come to that, father,” she said, “there are hundreds of professional dancers exactly like him. If you went oftener to dance clubs you’d realize that, even if you don’t like the type, there’s nothing suspicious about it. I’m willing to bet he’s exactly what he pretends to be.”

  There was a short pause, during which her sister cast an agonized glance in her direction, and a slow flush mounted to Lord Romsey’s brow. He was clearly unaccustomed to such demonstrations on the part of his family.

  “I admit that my experience of such places is limited,” he informed the delinquent with heavy sarcasm. “But I do lay claim to some knowledge of human nature, and I repeat that the type to which this young man belongs is in itself an obnoxious one.”

  His daughter was not to be quelled so easily.

  “You said yourself that the obvious thing for the searcher to do was to pretend that his own things had been ransacked,” she pointed out ruthlessly. “Doesn’t that put us in rather an awkward position? Our rooms were never touched.”

  Lord Romsey’s colour deepened, and it seemed to the now interested audience that an explosion was inevitable. It was averted by an entirely unforeseen interruption.

  The door opened slowly, and Melnotte insinuated his body gracefully round it. He looked genuinely shaken by his experience of the night before. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his manner lacked its usual languid assurance, but his voice was as exasperatingly genteel as ever.

  “Does this belong to anybody here?” he asked.

  He held out his hand. The fire blazed up suddenly, and the diamonds in the brooch he held sparkled as the light caught them.

  Mrs. van Dolen rose ponderously to her feet.

  “That’s my brooch,” she announced grimly. “And it was among the things that were stolen the other night. May I ask where you got it, young man?”

  CHAPTER X

  The silence that fell on the room when Melnotte entered it had been ominous enough, but the dead hush which followed Mrs. van Dolen’s blunt question was even more fraught with meaning. He could hardly fail to recognize its significance.

  He stared in consternation at the brooch still lying in his hand, then his eyes travelled round the room. There was deprecation in them, and a quite genuine surprise.

  “I found it,” he stammered, “just now on the landing outside my room. It was caught in the window curtain. I—I thought some one had dropped it.”

  The silence remained unbroken, but Mrs. van Dolen’s attitude towards this somewhat halting explanation was plainly written on her features. Melnotte’s face whitened, and then grew slowly scarlet.

  “Then I’d better hand it to you, Mrs. van Dolen,” he said, making a painful effort to speak naturally. “It was a piece of luck, my finding it.”

  Constantine forestalled him.

  “Properly speaking, I imagine that it ought to go to Bates in the first instance,” he said, coming forward and taking the brooch from Melnotte. “You don’t mind, Mrs. van Dolen?”

  “Not in the least,” replied that lady grimly. “The police had better deal with both the brooch and Mr. Melnotte. It’s what they’re here for.”

  Her mouth closed like a trap, and she turned away as though to indicate that she had washed her hands of the whole business. Stuart, who was watching Melnotte closely, saw the dancer’s hands clench suddenly at his sides, and was seized with a horrified foreboding that, at any moment, he might burst into tears. He rose hastily to his feet and approached Melnotte with a friendliness that he hoped was not exaggerated.

  “What about getting hold of Bates—if he’s on the premises—and asking him to have a look at the place where you found the thing?” he suggested.

  Melnotte stared blindly at him.

  “If anybody thinks I’ve the remotest idea how it got there,” he began, in a high voice that
bordered on hysteria, “they’re mistaken …”

  Constantine slipped a hand through his arm.

  “You have just told us that you found it on the landing,” he said in his pleasant, even voice. “Surely that should be enough, though, you must admit, things have reached a point of absurdity sufficient to drive us all a little off our balance. As a matter of fact, we are all inwardly seething with suspicion of each other.”

  His smile robbed his words of all malice, and Stuart, with a view to lessening the tension, hastened to fill the silence that followed.

  “The question of the moment is, how the brooch got there,” he said. “And it’s Bates’s job to find that out. I vote we go and see that the local ratepayers get some value for their money.”

  Between them they drew Melnotte out of the room, and managed to get the door closed behind them before his nerve broke.

  “How was I to know the beastly thing had been stolen?” he raved. “I found it, like I said. I wish to goodness I’d left it lying there. If I’d known it belonged to that cursed old woman, I should have. I’ve had enough of their whispering and sneering! It’s bad enough to sleep next door to a drunken brute like Carew without being accused of goodness knows what! If they think I murdered him, why don’t they say so? It isn’t my fault that I had that room. There’s such a thing as libel—”

  “That’s enough!” cut in Constantine sharply.

  The man was literally sobbing with rage, and was fast working himself into a real fit of hysteria. Stripped of his carefully acquired veneer of gentility, he showed himself for what he was, a poor-spirited weakling. At the sound of Constantine’s voice he pulled himself up with a gasp and fell silent, his face a mask of misery and humiliation.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled at last. “I suppose I ought not to have said that about Carew. But if you’d had the rotten time I’ve had ever since I set foot in this beastly inn, what with the ghastly things that have been going on, and everybody looking down their noses at me, you’d understand. And now to be as good as told that I’m a thief and a murderer!”

  Constantine stepped squarely in front of him.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “I know you had nothing to do with either the robbery or the murder, if that’s any satisfaction to you. As far as that goes, we’re all under suspicion until the thing’s cleared up. Next time an ill-advised old woman sees fit to make an unpleasant exhibition of herself, remember that and don’t let your feelings get the better of you. But there’s one bit of advice I should like to give you, if you’ll take it.”

  Melnotte threw out his hands in a gesture of despair.

  “I’m grateful for anything, if I can only feel that some one believes in me!” he exclaimed, with so dramatic a self-pity that Stuart’s new-born sympathy died a sudden death.

  “It’s this,” went on Constantine, ignoring his outburst. “The roads will be clear probably to-morrow or the next day. Unless you have any very pressing engagement elsewhere, do as we propose to do, stay and see the matter out. I think I can promise you that the police will lay their hands on the culprit within the next week. Take my advice, and don’t be in too great a hurry to get away. Now let’s find Bates.”

  Steadfastly avoiding Stuart’s eye he led the way downstairs. The two men followed him, Stuart entirely at sea as to whether Constantine’s astounding statement had been made merely with the intent to soothe Melnotte’s ravaged nerves, or whether the secretive old man had really discovered something of sufficient importance to account for his change of manner the night before.

  For once Bates’s bucolic stolidity proved a Godsend. Whatever his opinion may have been concerning Melnotte, he gave no indication of it, but listened to his account of the finding of the brooch, and then, without farther comment, stumped off to inspect the place in which he had picked it up.

  The two men, neither of whom had any desire to rejoin the company in the billiard-room, settled themselves in the lounge by the fire.

  “What on earth Bates can find to do all day in this place beats me,” said Stuart, as he filled his pipe. “I will say this for him, he’s generally to be found when he’s wanted.”

  Constantine chuckled.

  “If one goes to look for him, yes,” he answered. “The truth is, I fancy, he’s afraid to go home for fear some sudden manifestation may take place in his absence! He never yet has succeeded in being on the spot when anything happened, though that’s hardly his fault, I suppose.”

  “He certainly wasn’t on the spot last night. Dozing in front of the fire in Girling’s office isn’t going to get him far.”

  “To do him justice, he had made the round of the house twice and found all quiet before he settled down. No doubt the gentleman in the mask had his eye on him.”

  Stuart looked the old man straight in the face.

  “Do you know who the man in the mask is?” he asked bluntly.

  Constantine shook his head.

  “I don’t,” he answered frankly. “I wish I did.”

  “But you do know something?” persisted Stuart.

  Constantine hesitated.

  “I’m sorry you asked that question,” he said at last. “I did make a discovery last night, a very astonishing one, and I am still trying to fit it in with the other facts in my possession. Until I’ve succeeded, I’d rather not say anything about it. But I can assure you that I’ve no idea who Melnotte’s visitor was last night.”

  “And the original thief?” asked Stuart shrewdly.

  “Was not Melnotte,” said Constantine. “I refuse to say more, but of that I am quite certain.”

  His voice was implacable, and Stuart realized that it was of no use to press him. He made a praiseworthy effort to swallow his chagrin, and looked up to meet an appreciative twinkle in Constantine’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I admit that I’m a pestilential old person. But I must solve my chess problem in my own way, and, though I’ve mastered one move, I’ve still got the others to deal with. To go back to Melnotte. Do you realize that we’ve very nearly driven that young man off the rails between us?”

  “I don’t see that we are to blame,” answered Stuart stubbornly. “Mrs. van Dolen’s attack was unwarrantable, and, of course, I don’t know what else may have happened during the day, but it struck me that he had let his imagination run away with him.”

  “Have you gone out of your way to see anything of him since we have been here?” asked Constantine. Stuart’s eyes fell.

  “I suppose I haven’t,” he admitted. “But there was nothing to bring us together.”

  “And that’s the seat of the trouble,” said Constantine. “He’s nothing in common with any member of the party, and he knows it. He’s suffering from an exaggerated sense of inferiority, of course, but it is a fact that we all do despise him; added to which, he has been left rather severely alone ever since he arrived. He has no doubt been brooding over it, and what happened to-night brought the whole thing to a head. We shall have trouble with him if we are not careful.”

  “I’ve only your word for it that he’s got nothing to do with this business. After all, we know nothing about him,” retorted Stuart.

  “And you call yourself a psychologist,” scoffed the old man. “However, so far as his record is concerned, I’ll undertake to convince you in a day or two. The morning after the death of Carew I telephoned to a friend of mine who runs a theatrical agency in London. He knew nothing about him, but then professional dancers are not in his line. He undertook, however, to find out if he was on the lists of any of the other agencies, and to let me know what he could find out about him. I’m willing to risk giving you a short resume of what his report will be, if you like.”

  Stuart gave a delighted chuckle. The old man was so magnificently cocksure.

  “I’ll spare you the trouble,” he said. “That’s to say, if you’re taking him at his face value, in which case I’m as good a psychologist as yourself. How’s this? The son of working people, who has
reached his present position by dint of sheer determination, and, as a consequence, is morbidly sensitive about his origin. In all probability is, ashamed of his family connections, and terribly afraid of giving himself away. Hence his outburst to-night. All that is plain enough for a child to read, but I still contend that you are taking a good deal for granted. You must admit that a clever adventurer, who wanted to get in touch with people like the egregious van Dolen, could hardly have chosen a better role. If things had gone according to schedule, and we had reached Redsands as we expected, he would probably be her favourite dancing-partner by now.”

  “My answer to that is that Melnotte is neither more nor less than what he appears to be, and, in a very short time, I shall produce convincing evidence that I am right,” was Constantine’s unperturbed rejoinder. “Meanwhile, I’ve a suggestion to make. In view of Bates’s predilection for slumbering in front of the office fire, it seems about time we organized some sort of defence league for ourselves.”

  Stuart nodded.

  “I had thought of keeping a watch myself,” he said, “though I must say I heartily dislike the idea of doing Bates’s work for him.”

  “Bates is outclassed,” stated Constantine, “and we’ve got to face the fact. It’s not his fault; nothing like this has ever come his way before, and he’s working single-handed. Between us we ought to be able to keep an eye on the stairs and the two corridors. And, if we can manage to remain unobserved, we may catch the man at work. There’s every reason to believe that he hasn’t achieved his object yet.”

  “Well, if he tries again to-night, we ought to get him,” rejoined Stuart cheerfully.

  The prospect of sitting up all night wore a very different aspect when viewed from a cosy armchair by the fire; but, as he spoke, he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to regret his compliance bitterly later.