The Case of the Magic Mirror: A Ludovic Travers Mystery

by Christopher Bush

  We got there at about ten and found the little shop without any trouble. As it sold stationery and cheap editions of books as well as wools and women’s oddments. I had a good excuse to go in. Matthews’s sister was much younger than he, but I saw a resemblance at once. After I’d paid for a bottle of ink and some notepaper, I mentioned that I had come from Brazenoak and was I right in thinking Matthews was her brother.

  “Yes, sir,” she said at once, her face lighting. “And you know the Manor, do you?”

  “Very well, indeed,” I said. “I knew it in the old Colonel’s time.”

  She was suddenly giving me a peering kind of look.

  “Forgive me, sir, for asking, but might you be Mr. Travers?”

  “I am,” I said, and smiled.

  “I’ve heard William mention you,” she said, and was shaking her head regressively. “Nothing like the old days when all’s said and done, sir. There wasn’t so much money but there’s nothing like working for real gentry. And only Mrs. Craigne left now.”

  “Yes,” I said, and heaved a sigh.

  “William has a great liking for Mrs. Craigne,” she went on. “And that reminds me, sir. William’s gone for his holidays, as you probably know, sir, and Mrs. Craigne sent over specially yesterday to know if he was here. I can’t understand him being so absent-minded as not to leave an address.”

  “I expect he’ll have sent one by now. But of course he isn’t here,” I added archly.

  “Not a whole holiday,” she said. “He likes to get right away. He generally goes to the Isle of Wight.”

  I said it had been a great pleasure to see her, and she said the same about me. It was only a quarter-past ten and Frank looked rather surprised when I said we were going straight back.

  “You’re going to the Manor this morning to do some reconnaissance work,” I told him. “We don’t want Queenie slipping away and neither of us knowing where.”

  He liked it no more than I had done when I told him about her having sent over specially to ask Matthews’s sister if her brother was at Bury.

  “It certainly makes it look as if his going was bona fide after all.” Then he cheered up a bit. “I don’t know, though. That’s just the sort of thing a smart dame like her would think of. She sure knows all the answers. But you’d better watch out, Mr. Travers. Suppose the old girl finds out that you’ve been making inquiries?”

  “Very unlikely,” I said. “Even if Queenie gets to hear, then I’ve only done a perfectly natural thing. I happened to be in Bury—taking you round the place as you wanted to see it—and I happened to remember Matthews’s sister.”

  I didn’t tell Frank that I wanted him at the Manor because I had a job to do of my own. What I intended to do was to see Harper, and as I didn’t know what might arise from the interview, I preferred to keep it to myself.

  The village of Brazenoak is crescent-shaped, and lies curled about the Manor, with the pubs at either end. The Lapwings, quite a nice little pub in its way, was slightly nearer to the Manor than the Oak was, and it had also a field-path running through its meadow that brought the Manor nearer still. I was lucky enough that morning to come across Harper weeding a flower-bed that ran along the pub’s south-east wall, and I couldn’t help thinking of Hercules among the women.

  “Morning, Harper,” I said genially.

  “Morning, sir.” He gave me as apprehensive look his fingers went to his cap.

  “Busy?” I smiled. “Or can you spare me a minute? Preferably where we can’t be overheard.”

  He took me through the meadow gate to a large open shed where apparently wood was sawn on wet days. I offered him a cigarette, held the lighter for him, and then stoked my pipe. When I went to sit on the sawing-horse he said he’d take that himself and I’d better have the box, and he dusted the top with his handkerchief. That showed we were getting on fine.

  “You don’t know me, I expect, Harper?”

  “I’ve been thinking, sir, and perhaps I do. Are you the Mr. Travers who was at the Manor the other day?”

  “I am. How’d you know I was there?”

  “Well, I didn’t see you yourself, sir, but you know how things get about. As a matter of fact one of the gardeners recognised you. He said you’d been there years ago.”

  “True enough,” I said, and then gently applied the screw. “Since then I’ve been doing a certain amount of work for Scotland Yard. Principally with Superintendent Wharton, who saw you yesterday afternoon.”

  I heard him shift uneasily but I didn’t look at him, and I was smiling as I contemplated the bowl of my pipe.

  “But I’m not on that business this morning. All I wanted was one little confidential word with you. Highly confidential, in fact, and it’s about something that’ll surprise you. Yesterday afternoon I heard you allude to Mrs. Craigne as a—witch, was it? . . . Why?”

  He gave a titter, which was queer in so big a man. Then he shook his head and scowled.

  “That just sort of slipped out, sir.”

  “But just between ourselves—you meant it?”

  He gave me a quick look, saw I was smiling, and then gave a sheepish smile of his own.

  “Perhaps I did, sir.”

  I nodded, then let my face sober. “I might be able to do you a lot of good, Harper What I’m wondering just now is whether or not I can trust you.”

  “You can trust me, sir,” he told me quickly. “I’ll swear to that. Nothing you say to me, sir, will ever go out of this shed.”

  “Very well then, listen to this. I’m supposed to be a friend of Mrs. Craigne, but like you I have my private opinions. As a matter of fact, when I heard you say what you did, I felt like slipping you a fiver.”

  He stared, then allowed himself to grin. “I wish to God you had sir.”

  “Right,” I said. “So much for me, and now what about you? Why did you call her that?”

  “Because that’s what she is, sir. There ain’t no dirty trick she wouldn’t get up to. And she’s what they call a tail-switcher.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Like to go into details?”

  His eyes shifted from mine, but he was giving a dour shake of the head.

  “I’d rather save it up, sir, if you don’t mind. I reckon it might come in handy one of these days. But one thing I will tell you, sir. Do you know Breddley Hall?”

  “What’s that? A place?”

  “About ten miles from here. Admiral Moblick has it, and his son. Commander Moblick, is an old flame of Mrs. C.’s. When he got home on leave just after I got down here, she used to slip out at night and drive that little car of hers over there. I know it wasn’t till three o’clock one morning when she got back. And now I’ll tell you a funny thing, sir. Last Saturday night I saw her going that way again. Just about dusk it was. What time she came home I don’t know, because she’d given me the push and a fortnight’s pay in lieu of notice. But this is the funny thing, sir. I happened to make an inquiry or two, and the Commander isn’t home on leave. He only had five days, the time I told you about; he’s been back a week or more.”

  “Did you actually see her in the car?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head.

  “I didn’t actually. But I knew the car all right, though. You can spot that little car of hers a mile off. I remember I said to myself: ‘Now where the hell are you off to?’ and then tumbled to it. Only I was wrong.”

  We had lunch in Frank’s room and I was full of my Harper story.

  “You think she had Matthews in the car with her?” Frank asked.

  “Put it all together and see how it adds up,” I said. “Matthews goes at dusk and one of the maids sees him sneaking off—that’s all you can call it. Queenie is at pains to tell me that she hid herself in a secluded part of the gardens that night to avoid the police.”

  He nodded. “She discovered what it was that the old boy wanted to tell you, and she smuggled him away. He’d do anything for her,” he went on with a reminiscent gaze at the ceiling
, “That means she could string him along just as she liked.”

  “I know where she took him,” I suddenly said. “To the crossroads to meet the late bus. There’s a late one to Ipswich on Saturday nights. That’s it for a fiver,” I went on. “She couldn’t have gone far because she was back questioning Mrs. Day and the maids about him that same night, and I guess that’d be before eleven. So there’s a job for you. Two jobs, in fact. Find out when she did question Mrs. Day, and also if Matthews took the late bus.”

  “I’ll do that myself,” he said. “Smith’s leaving for town after lunch. I want him to be there when Queenie arrives. That’ll be better than tailing her there. She might get suspicious. And that reminds me. I must ring our people the first thing after lunch. We might get someone planted where she’s going.”

  “You’re getting a bit ahead,” I said. “Where is she going?”

  He grinned. “Sorry. I guess I was anticipating a bit.”

  Then he told me everything that had happened at the Manor that morning. Queenie must have been up all night packing, he said, for there were stacks of luggage. In accordance with the terms of the will, she had taken over the Rolls, but he doubted if all the bags could be piled inside. She was proposing to leave at about four o’clock that afternoon, after an early tea, and her new address was 14 Aubrey Gate. Kensington, which was one of a series of palatial furnished flats. She’d taken it for three months, with option of renewal.

  “Then she paid a pretty stiff price,” I said. “I know that block of flats well enough.”

  “Give me fifty thousand and I’d hire the Ritz,” he said. “I’m due at this Aubrey Gate place at the end of the week.” He gave his usual cheerful grin. “Got an appointment with my tailors, so I’m ringing her up and taking her out to dinner.”

  “Then for God’s sake don’t make it the Ritz,” I said. “I’m the lad who’s footing the bill. But something I wanted to ask you. What’ve you been kidding her that she can do in Hollywood?”

  “The usual dope.” he said. “Film face and all that. Between ourselves I think she’d register pretty well. I’ve got her absolutely red-hot on it.”

  “Did she mention me at all this morning?” I asked.

  He gave me a quizzical sort of look.

  “Come on,” I said. “You won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “The employer’s always right,” he told me with a grin. “It was like this. I had to mention you and she wanted to know what I thought of you. I said you were obviously of good family but a bit on the heavy side. She said you were all that, and that stodgy was a better word than heavy. Inclined to platitudes and occasionally pious was the rest of it, and hardly the sort of company for a fine up-standing young fellow like me.”

  I had to chuckle, even if the chuckle was a bit ironical.

  “Perhaps she wasn’t too wide of the mark. As for the stodginess, well, we shall see.”

  It was striking three on the stable clock when I reached the Manor door, and I knew at once that Charlotte had intended to double-cross me, for the Rolls, loaded with baggage, was ready to move off, and when Mrs. Day unearthed her, she looked ready to move off too.

  “Franks tells me you’re going,” I said accusingly.

  “But, darling, I told you myself!”

  “I know you did, but you were very vague. And, frankly, Charlotte, you’re not giving me a square deal. You get me down here and then clear out yourself. Trouble and expense—”

  “Darling, must you brawl?” she asked pathetically. Then she was taking my arm. “Come in the drawing-room for a moment, and then I must fly.”

  She laid her bag on a side table and then remembered something.

  “Oh, you must have my new address. I’ll scribble it down for you. And the telephone number. Just a moment, darling. There’s paper in the study.”

  No sooner had she gone than that bag caught my eye. In a flash I was across at it, not that I hoped that she’d be carrying that boy’s photograph about with her. That was too wild a thing to hope, and yet there it was, tacked behind an inner flap. Into my pocket it went and I was back on the chesterfield and glancing at Punch when she came in.

  “Here we are, darling. Wasn’t I lucky to get it? I had a brainwave, and phoned. But, my dear, the price they made me pay!”

  “You can afford it,” I said curtly.

  “Darling, please! Must you be so—so—”

  “Truthful?”

  “Truthful!” Her lip curled. “Truthful Travers. Darling, what a lovely piece of alliteration! When I get to Hollywood I must induce them to put that into a film.”

  “Good,” I said serenely. “When it comes to England I’ll go and see it. But there was something I wanted to mention. Something purely personal. Joe sold me a mirror just before he . . . Sorry, I mean when I called to see him that day.” She was looking so blank that I added reminders. “You know, when we had duck and green peas for lunch. When he was going to Trimport.”

  “I know, I know,” she said impatiently. “But a mirror! What an extraordinary thing!”

  I patiently explained. I said, too, that the executors would have to take my word for it, but that if there was any fuss, then I’d relinquish my claim.

  “But, darling, of course you may have it,” she said. “Shall we go and see it?”

  I led the way along the corridor, and then when we got to the spot where that mirror had hung, there wasn’t a sign of it. I stared blankly.

  “But there isn’t a mirror here!” she said, and laughed. “Darling, you must have dreamt it.”

  I shook my head. “It was where this print is. Wait a minute!”

  I unhooked the print and there beneath it, large though it was, was the clear outline of where the mirror had hung.

  “Darling you were right,” she said, and looked at me with what I was supposed to take for bewilderment. Then she said: “I know. Ask Mrs. Day.”

  Ask was the word, if you know what I mean. There was a bell at hand, just inside the study door. But she didn’t push it. She had to go and see Mrs. Day personally, and she told me to wait where I was. That told me what had happened. Joe had mentioned the mirror to her, and as she was a bit of a jackdaw, and aware of his ability as a collector, she had guessed the mirror must be valuable, and one of her first tricks after Joe was dead had been to appropriate that mirror. Doubtless at that very moment it was inside one of the trunks in the Rolls. And since it would be too risky to hang it in the new flat, before another day was out it would be sold to a dealer.

  But she was coming back, and Mrs. Day with her.

  “Of course I remember the mirror, sir,” Mrs. Day told me. “Mabel says it was there when she dusted on Saturday meaning but she can’t remember if it was there on Sunday. What an extraordinary thing!”

  “I shouldn’t bother,” Charlotte told her. “It’ll probably turn up some time.”

  “I said that to get rid of her,” Charlotte whispered to me as the housekeeper went “But, darling, you were very foolish about that mirror. What you did was to arouse Joe’s curiosity. You know what he was like in money matters. He must have taken it somewhere himself. He probably sold it.”

  A glance at her watch and she was saying that she must simply fly. As I scurried after her she was calling back that I must tell Mrs. Day to give me tea, but I caught her up at the car.

  “Lucky woman!” I said.

  She smiled and her hand went to the clutch.

  “What’ll you give me for it?”

  “Two palatial for me,” I said.

  “I’ll leave it to you in my will, darling,” she told me sweetly, as the car moved off.

  Even while I was strolling back to the Oak I was already realising what an emptiness everything had now that that overwhelming personality had gone from the Manor. Then I saw things in a different way—that now the cat had gone the mice could play in peace. By some curious telepathy Frank must have become of the same mind, for I found him dozing in a deck-chair beneath the elm.

&n
bsp; “Hi, you,” I said, and gave him a shake. “Is this the way you earn my money?”

  He blinked a bit, then grinned.

  “Don’t tell me you just happened to drop off,” I said. “Take a look at this instead.”

  He had a look, grinned more widely than ever, and then was asking how I got it. When I’d told him, he had another and a closer look.

  “So this is Junior!” He held it at arm’s length, and then was giving a sideways look “There’s nothing of you here. The funny thing is there’s quite a lot like me.”

  “Why not make a clean breast?” I said, rather cock-a-hoop with the feat of having got possession of the photograph.

  “You haven’t a photograph of Mrs. Travers by any chance?” he was asking, seriously enough.

  I said I never travelled without one and I fetched it from my room.

  “What’s the idea?” I said. “It’s a photograph of Queenie you want.”

  “No, I’m quite serious,” he said. “I’ve tried the dodge before and it’s worked. Married people definitely do come to resemble each other. But I still can’t spot anything of the Travers family. As for Queenie, the boy’s got fair hair, and he hasn’t got her nose.”

  Then he was all at once rubbing his chin. “Like me to keep this? I think I can do something with it.”

  “What sort of something?”

  “Well, my girl’s private secretary to a she Nosey Parker on one of the fashionable illustrateds. The sort of dame who writes chatty notes about duchesses and knows when Lady So-and-so’s Peke has pupped. What about having a copy made and handing it over to her?”

  I said I thought it was a good idea. I also said it might be a good idea if Frank went to the Manor and fetched the walking-stick he’d left behind that morning, and so found an excuse to question Mrs. Day about the Matthews business.

  The late afternoon post brought me a letter from Bernice which Palmer had forwarded. Bernice was having quite a good time and said of course that the only thing lacking to make it a heavenly time was my presence. At the end, in fact as a postscript, she wrote: