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

by Molly Thynne

  When the door had closed behind him and his prisoner, Arkwright turned to Stuart.

  “Who has got the emeralds, Mr. Stuart?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Stuart laughed.

  “I wish I knew,” he answered ruefully. “I admit that that’s baffled us.”

  “‘Us’ being yourself and the big gentleman with the gimlet eyes?” suggested Arkwright.

  “It’s as good a name for him as any,” admitted Stuart. “What little I do know is certainly due to him.”

  “Has he got anything else up his sleeve?” asked the other.

  Stuart hesitated. He did not propose to put a spoke in Constantine’s wheel if he could help it.

  But Arkwright’s eyes were on him.

  “He has, eh? Where is he now?”

  “Keeping an eye on the landing outside my room,” answered Stuart, and immediately regretted it.

  “Then we may take it that he’s got a good reason for being there,” reflected Arkwright. “Who is on that landing? I’ve got a plan of the rooms upstairs, but I can’t place them off-hand.”

  “Miss Hamilton, the Misses Adderley, Constantine, Melnotte, Soames, Trevor, and myself,” answered Stuart.

  “And the emeralds, if your Dr. Constantine., is all I take him to be,” added Arkwright. “I don’t see him watching a mouse-hole unless there’s a very substantial mouse in it. Do you know, I think we’ll pay your friend a visit.”

  Stuart agreed with alacrity. He anticipated a considerable amount of entertainment from the interview.

  A chuckle from Girling, who had been once more dispersing his staff in the doorway, made them pause.

  “There’s the doctor himself,” he announced, as Constantine’s face appeared over his shoulder.

  “Dr. Livingstone, I presume? In other words, Detective-Inspector Arkwright,” he remarked, the wrinkles round his eyes deepening.

  This was more than Stuart could bear.

  “Dr. Constantine, how do you do it?” he murmured.

  “By the simplest of all methods, letting the other person talk,” answered Constantine. “I met Mrs. van Dolen in the passage upstairs. There was nothing, literally nothing, she did not tell me,” he finished meditatively, “except one thing.”

  “What was that?” asked Arkwright appreciatively.

  “When you were coming up to ask why I was playing Cinderella,” concluded the old man slyly.

  Arkwright chuckled.

  “I’m more interested to know why you have abandoned your post,” he said.

  Constantine turned up the collar of his greatcoat and buttoned it deliberately.

  “Because I have found another place more worthy of my attention,” he answered. “With your approval, we will now adjourn to the barn.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  With a whimsical glance at Stuart, Arkwright prepared to follow Constantine.

  “Do you know anything about this?” he asked in a low voice.

  Stuart shook his head, but his heart warmed towards the Scotland Yard man. There was nothing of derision in his attitude towards the old man, rather he seemed to appreciate his foibles and realize that they were but the natural manifestation of an unusual and interesting personality. It was evident that the fact that he chose to wrap his discoveries in an almost childish veil of mystery did not rob them of their value in Arkwright’s eyes.

  “So you’ve decided to abandon your post upstairs?” he observed, as they went down the passage. Constantine cast a glance over his shoulder.

  “I’ve left Soames in charge of a very interesting situation,” was all he would vouchsafe, and Arkwright did not press him further.

  Constantine opened the door into the yard, being careful to make as little noise as possible. He cast an eye on the yard, then beckoned to Arkwright.

  “Look,” he said.

  Stuart, peering over the other’s shoulder, could see light move inside the barn. Whoever was at work there was evidently carrying a torch in his hand.

  Constantine led the way across the yard. The crackle of their footsteps on the frozen snow made so light a sound that it was unlikely to carry through the heavy door of the barn. Half-way across the yard he paused and faced Arkwright.

  “May I give you a word of advice?” he asked.

  “Of course, sir,” was the answer.

  “Then I would recommend you to detain the person you find in there, no matter whom it may be. That is, if you want a full bag to-night.”

  “I do,” came back Arkwright’s emphatic whisper.

  He took an electric torch from his pocket, stepped swiftly across the intervening space to the barn door, and threw it open.

  As he did so, the light within went out.

  There was a moment of absolute silence while the inspector and Miss Amy Adderley faced each other. She stood, plainly revealed in the circle of light cast by the torch, her little round face utterly expressionless, her hands still clutching the oil-can from which she had been filling the tank of Stuart’s car. She wore the felt hat and heavy coat in which Stuart had first met her.

  Then Arkwright spoke.

  “May I ask what you are doing here, Miss Adderley?” he demanded.

  She came forward, blinking a little, as though blinded by the light.

  “It’s Captain Macklin, isn’t it?” she murmured vaguely.

  Then the heavy oil-can swept upwards, and Arkwright’s torch fell with a clatter to the ground, leaving the barn in darkness. It was a bold move, and might very well have succeeded if she had not been too dazzled by the light to observe the two men standing behind him. As it was, she ran full tilt into them.

  There was a short struggle, during which Stuart’s shins suffered surprisingly, before she stood passive, Arkwright’s hand gripping her cuff.

  “You’ve done it,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”

  On the way to the house she spoke again.

  “I never set foot in Major Carew’s room that night,” she said.

  “I’m inclined to believe you,” answered Arkwright. “Who put him out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That I don’t believe,” said Arkwright cheerfully; “but you can keep your information to yourself for the present. I’m bound to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you.”

  “I know all about that,” she answered, with a placidity that astonished Stuart. From their manner she and Arkwright might have been discussing the weather. “I’m British by birth, you know, though it’s a long time since I operated in this country. That’s why I wasn’t wise to you. I ought to have guessed that a split was about due by now. I’ll talk. May as well do it now as later.”

  Once inside Girling’s office, Arkwright planted her on the hearthrug, and, placing himself between her and the door, observed her closely. She bore the scrutiny with complete equanimity, though there was a hint of derision in her eyes. When he pulled out an official-looking envelope from his pocket and examined the photographs it contained, she smiled openly.

  “Well?” she asked.

  He grinned.

  “Got it, I think. Must have been a bit blind myself, but it’s a good make-up, and I’d never seen either of you. Belle Gearie, isn’t it? And the lady upstairs is Flo.”

  “All I’ll say to that is that it’s up to you to prove it.”

  “Flo must be feeling a bit neglected, by the way,” he continued. “It strikes me it’s about time I paid her a visit.”

  He dived into his pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs.

  “I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” he said; “but, as you see, we’re short-handed, and I shall have to leave you in charge of Girling. You wouldn’t like to tell me where the emeralds are before I go, I suppose?”

  She shook her head.

  “I should not,” she answered emphatically. “Even if I knew, which I don’t.”

  “I shall have to ask your mother, then. Here, Girling!”

  He snapped the cuffs rou
nd her wrists. Then he took the key out of the door and handed it to Girling.

  “Lock yourself in when we’ve gone,” he said, “and keep a close eye on the lady. This little job oughtn’t to take us long.”

  On the way upstairs he spoke over his shoulder to the two men.

  “They’re the Gearies, all right,” he explained. “The New York police notified us of their arrival, and we’ve been on the look-out for them; but I admit that I never expected to find them here. Must have been on their way to Redsands. Mother and daughter they are, and two of the cleverest operators in the United States, but they’re not known to us here. It’s possible we shall have trouble with the mother. She’s down in the report as ‘likely to carry fire-arms.’”

  “I don’t think so,” said Constantine mildly.

  Arkwright halted and swung round on him.

  “What have you been doing up there?” he demanded.

  Constantine looked the picture of innocence.

  “Nothing, I assure you. But Miss Connie Adderley was in the bath when I came down, and I can answer for it that she was carrying nothing but a sponge when she went into the bathroom.”

  “She’s probably out of it by now, and dealing with your friend Mr. Soames,” remarked Arkwright grimly.

  Constantine shook his head.

  “When I left them he was on one side of the door and she was on the other,” he said. “And I didn’t anticipate any trouble, as the key was in my pocket.”

  He held out his hand with the key lying in the palm.

  Arkwright stared at him, then he threw back his head and laughed.

  “You haven’t got the emeralds up your sleeve, by any chance, as well, sir?” he inquired.

  “Not exactly,” answered Constantine composedly; “but, if they’re still where I last saw them, I think I can hand them to you.”

  It was a comedy after his own heart, and he was playing it with a gusto that delighted Arkwright.

  “Lead the way, sir,” he exclaimed, stepping aside to let the old man pass. “You’ve stage-managed the affair so well up to now, that it’s only fair you should be in at the finish.”

  But Constantine drew back.

  “The fun is over, so far as I’m concerned,” he said, the glint of humour dying in his eyes. “We’ve arrived at a part of the business which I heartily dislike. I’ve got a genuine admiration for those women, you know, and when I compare them with the real owner of the emeralds, I could almost wish they had got away tonight. They’ve been up against a very dangerous antagonist, and their pluck and skill was amazing.”

  “I have your word for it that you won’t connive at their escape?” demanded Arkwright swiftly.

  Constantine smiled.

  “You’re crediting me with more ingenuity than I possess,” he said. “And, if it’s any comfort to you, though I may be a misguided old person, my instincts are generally on the side of the law. But I prefer the police to do their own dirty work, if I may say so without offence.”

  “It’s what we’re paid for,” answered Arkwright dryly, as he led the way to the second landing.

  They found Soames leaning stolidly against the bathroom door. His stolid face bore a look of perturbation, however, and he was unfeignedly glad to see them. There was not a sound from the other side of the door.

  “I say, you know,” he exclaimed doubtfully. “It was a bit strong, locking the old lady in like that. She all but had hysterics when she found she couldn’t get out, and she hasn’t made a sound for the past five minutes. I hope to goodness she hasn’t fainted.”

  “It’s all right, Soames,” answered Constantine. “Inspector Arkwright’s in charge now.”

  Soames’s face was a study as he stepped aside to let the inspector get to the door.

  Arkwright unlocked it.

  “You can come out, Miss Adderley,” he called out.

  The door opened slowly, and Miss Connie Adderley stood in the opening. She wore a dressing-gown and carried a sponge in one hand, a big jar of bath salts in the other.

  “What happened?” she asked in the husky whisper that was habitual to her. “Did the door jam?”

  Constantine stepped forward. He had meant to keep out of this final scene, but his sense of drama was too strong for him.

  “The door was locked, Miss Adderley,” he said. “Let me carry those for you.”

  He placed a hand on the bath salts, but she shrank from him, clutching them to her.

  “I can’t hear what he says,” she murmured, with an appealing glance at Stuart. “I’ve left my trumpet in the bedroom.”

  Arkwright, with a firmness that made resistance useless, took the sponge and the bath salts from her.

  “You won’t need your trumpet any longer, Mrs. Gearie,” he said briskly. “The game’s up. We’ve got your daughter, and now we’ll take you, if you don’t mind. Get a coat on over those things, and we’ll see what sort of accommodation Bates can rig up for you.”

  Constantine held out his hand, and, automatically, Arkwright handed him Miss Connie’s impedimenta, keeping a firm hold on her shoulder the while. She twisted under his grasp, realized his immense strength, searched his countenance to see if he were bluffing, and then suddenly capitulated. There was a business-like element about the Gearies that appealed to Stuart’s sense of humour.

  “All right,” she assented, in a voice totally unlike the one she habitually used. “I can put a few things in a bag, I suppose?”

  “Provided you do it in my presence,” said Arkwright, leading her down the passage and into her bedroom.

  It presented an unusually neat aspect, tidy though the Misses Adderley had always been. Their modest luggage was packed and strapped as for a journey, and Miss Connie’s coat and hat were placed ready on the bed.

  “Going away?” queried Arkwright, with a gleam of humour in his eye.

  “There was nothing to prevent our leaving, that I know of,” she snapped. “What you’re holding us for now, I don’t know.”

  “For being in unlawful possession of a car would about meet it, I think,” Arkwright informed her suavely. “There may be other charges of a more serious nature.”

  For a moment she looked nonplussed.

  “Mr. Stuart would have lent us his car if we’d asked for it,” she muttered.

  “The point being that you didn’t ask for it,” Arkwright reminded her. “Your daughter was taken in the act of removing it from the barn. Which of these do you wish to take?”

  He pointed to the two neat suit-cases standing by the bed, and waited with interest to see which she would choose. He was convinced that she would not leave without the emeralds if she could help it.

  Her only answer was to open one of the cases and remove her toilet articles from it. These she packed in the other, Arkwright watching her closely the while.

  “That’s got enough for the two of us,” she said, as she closed it.

  Arkwright picked it up and stood holding it while she removed her dressing-gown. As he had surmised, she was fully dressed, all but her shoes and stockings, underneath. He waited while she put them on.

  “Anything else you wish to take?” he asked.

  He was frankly puzzled. The fact that she had shown no perturbation when he took possession of the suit-case argued that the emeralds were not in it. It was beginning to look as though they had found a hiding-place for them so safe that they could afford to leave them in it until they were in a position to fetch them.

  She glanced at him with a look of real malice, very different from her daughter’s debonair humour, in her eyes.

  “Meaning those emeralds, I suppose,” she retorted. “If I’d got them, I’d take them all right.”

  They were leaving the room when her eyes fell on Constantine, still patiently holding the paraphernalia of her bath.

  “I’ll take those,” she exclaimed. “I suppose one can wash at your police station.”

  Arkwright nodded and put down the suit-case. Constantine obediently ha
nded her the sponge.

  She knelt down, opened the case and tucked the sponge into a pocket, then she held out her hand for the bath salts.

  “Those cost five dollars a jar, I’d have you know,” she said.

  But Constantine shook his head gently, and, with the jar still under his arm, drifted out of the room and down the passage.

  It was then that the scene for which Arkwright had prepared them earlier in the evening took place. The almost painfully correct little spinster from Tunbridge Wells became a spitting termagant, and Stuart marvelled at Arkwright’s forbearance as she writhed and twisted in his huge hands, employing language as forcible as that used by her sisters on this side of the Atlantic, but infinitely more picturesque. It ended by Arkwright’s picking her up bodily, carrying her downstairs, and depositing her beside her daughter in Girling’s office.

  He stayed long enough to arrange for their accommodation, pending their removal next day to London, and then made his way hot-foot to Constantine’s room.

  The old man was sitting by his bedroom fire, peacefully smoking his pipe, and delightedly parrying the questions of those of the house-party who had managed to crowd into the room. Mrs. van Dolen was the only one of them who might be said to have entirely lost her temper, but the baffled curiosity on the faces of most of his audience bore testimony to the amount of enjoyment the old man had been getting out of the situation.

  Mrs. van Dolen turned on Arkwright as he entered.

  “I suppose you consider yourself in authority here,” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with fury. “Perhaps you’ll kindly tell me whether my emeralds have been found or not, and whether it’s true that it’s this Dr. Constantine here that has found them?”

  Arkwright, who had already had his fill of Mrs. van Dolen that evening, set her gently aside.

  “You must ask Dr. Constantine that,” he said, his eyes on the old man’s face. What he read there told him that his suspicions were correct.

  “What about it, sir?” he asked; and Stuart realized gratefully that he was not going to clear the room and cheat Constantine of his dramatic moment.

  The old chess player rose, opened a cupboard; and took out the jar of bath salts. Untying the pink ribbon that held the glass stopper in place, he turned the jar upside down over the table.