These Names Make Clues

by E. C. R. Lorac

  Nadia Delareign (Madame de Sevigné)

  Denzil Strafford (Thomas Traherne)

  Andrew Gardien (Samuel Pepys)

  The four straight writers were:—

  Valerie Woodstock (Jane Austen) History

  Mrs. Louise Etherton (Anna Seward) Romance

  Digby Bourne (Ben Jonson) Travel

  Ashton Vale (Laurence Sterne) Economics

  Of all the guests, only two pairs were previously acquainted, Valerie Woodstock and Denzil Strafford; and Ashton Vale and Mrs. Etherton. (Macdonald was sadly out in his first estimate of that lady as a detective writer. Despite her pronounced profile and severe manner she was the most popular “heart-beat” romantic on the market). None of them had previously met Andrew Gardien, and none of them had guessed his identity. There was plenty of evidence to prove that Gardien had not moved out of the drawing-room until shortly before nine o’clock, when he had followed Valerie Woodstock down into the lounge. Concerning the matter of that meeting, young Denzil Strafford was perfectly explicit. The latter had gone into the telephone-room to ring through to a friend for information concerning the nature of a pseudocarp (which proved to be an apple) and on emerging into the lounge had heard Valerie Woodstock’s voice addressing Andrew Gardien. Strafford had got to the back of the stairs in time to see Gardien trying to kiss Valerie, and had promised to bash his face in at some future time. Gardien was a big fellow, and the manner in which he had got hold of Valerie made the younger man’s blood boil. “The blighter had been swilling cocktails ever since he came, and he reeked of whisky then,” said Strafford. “If it hadn’t been that we were guests in Coombe’s house, I’d have run him out on to the pavement and socked his jaw then and there. When the lights went out I thought at once that it was some low trick of Gardien’s and I made a dash for the stairs. That was when I collided with that tray of drinks. I thought Gardien was after Val again.”

  “After Miss Woodstock had gone upstairs, did you see what happened to Gardien? Did he move on, or stay in the alcove under the stairs?”

  “He stayed there. I went upstairs again—Coombe was just coming down—and I thought of telling him that Gardien was drunk—but I didn’t like to—I wish I had now.”

  “Yes. I wish you had,” said Macdonald.

  When Nadia Delareign appeared to be questioned, the first thing that Macdonald noticed was that she was no longer wearing her golden frock which had had a glass of wine upset over it. She wore an evening cloak over a dark blue silk frock.

  Macdonald expressed sympathy over the damaged gown, and she replied:

  “Very nice of you to be so sympathetic. Susan Coombe was a brick. She sent it off straight to the ‘day and night cleaners’—those people in Baker Street who advertise that they’re always open. She thought the stain would come out if it were cleaned immediately; but a little thing like that doesn’t matter. What a dreadful tragedy to have happened here when we were all so gay and thoughtless. Such a very fine-looking man Mr. Gardien was, too. His brow reminded me of Beethoven’s. I was just saying to Miss Coombe that some of the finest intellects among modern writers find satisfaction in the technique of the detective story. The problem…”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Macdonald dryly. “And I am very glad to have such experts to present the necessary evidence. Would you be kind enough to tell me when you last saw Mr. Gardien? We are trying to find who was the last person to see him.”

  “I was talking to him in the drawing-room for quite a long time. I found him most interesting and most sympathetic. We almost forgot the Treasure Hunt in discussing our experiences in the East. Indeed that was how I deduced that Samuel Pepys hid the personality of Mr. Gardien. His last book but one had India for its setting, and there was no mistaking the first-hand knowledge involved. As a matter of fact, I stayed a night at Colombo on my way home at the Galle Face, you know, and Mr. Gardien was staying there, too. A curious coincidence. I didn’t tell him, of course, but when I said, ‘Oh, you must be Andrew Gardien; I realise it from your knowledge of India,’ he just smiled and admitted it most charmingly. I think we must have been chatting for nearly an hour.”

  “Not quite, I think. Mr. Gardien was in the lounge at nine o’clock,” said Macdonald. “I think that you were downstairs when the lights failed?”

  “Yes. A most terrifying experience,” said Miss Delareign with a shudder. “We all have our weak points, and though I am generally a most fearless woman in the face of danger, I am very sensitive over darkness. Somehow I felt that something terrible was happening, and I was puzzled about that grey-haired man. Apparently Miss Rees and I were the only people who saw him, but I thought at the time it was very odd. I am sure that he was not among the guests when the first clues were distributed, and he did seem to move in a furtive way. When the lights failed some one knocked into me most violently, and I lost my balance and fell down. I thought at once of that peculiar-looking man. Have you found out who he is?”

  “I have heard nothing about him,” said Macdonald. “Where did you see him?”

  “At the far end of the lounge, just as I was going towards that bookcase under the stairs. I’m afraid that I don’t know anything about the popes, and it never occurred to me that Leo was just a joke and I was supposed to look for a lion, and I thought the History of the Papacy might help. As I went downstairs I said to Miss Rees—she was labelled ‘Fanny Burney,’ you know—‘Who is that man? I’m sure he wasn’t upstairs.’ He was just going into the telephone-room. It would have been about a quarter of an hour before the lights went out.”

  “Did you see him again?”

  “No. I was hunting for my clue, and I found a book of ghost stories, a most amusing book, and one of the stories gave me an idea. With a little manipulation it suggested an idea for a new plot— no plagiarism, of course, just a train of thought following on a particular incident. I’m afraid I forgot the time. I was so absorbed in my inspiration, and when I get an idea…”

  “Quite,” interpolated Macdonald. By dint of keeping the scatter-brained lady severely to the point, he arrived at the following facts:

  Miss Delareign had stayed in the large drawing-room until Andrew Gardien went downstairs. She had then moved into the small room which was connected with the drawing-room by folding doors and had talked to Janet Campbell (labelled as Mrs. Gaskell). She had gone downstairs a few minutes later, passing Miss Rees (labelled as Fanny Burney), and had commented to her on the grey-haired man. Miss Delareign had gone to the alcove of the lounge under the stairs some time after Gardien and Strafford had left it, and she was still there when the lights failed. Since it was half-past nine when the fuse occurred, Miss Delareign had presumably been in the alcove for twenty minutes by herself. When she was coming away a glass of wine or liqueur had been spilt over her frock. She accounted for this by saying that some one had left a glass of wine on the table, and that this had been knocked over when some one rushed violently into her in the darkness. Asked by Macdonald if it were a man or a woman who had thus collided with her, she replied that it was certainly a man; the force with which she had been flung over left no room for doubt.

  Breathing a sigh of relief when the verbose lady had been shown to the door, Macdonald asked next for Miss Rees. Miss Delareign was a confused and unreliable witness, but he had hopes of Miss Rees. Judging from her conversation at the opening of the evening, she was a logical and clear-headed woman who should be a reliable witness. Miss Rees was as explicit as any detective could wish, and set forth her own movements lucidly. She had been in the drawing-room or the lounge until eight forty-five, having then dealt with a cipher, a cross-word puzzle and an acrostic involving the names of towns situated on certain rivers. (General knowledge seems to be the lady’s speciality, Macdonald noted. She knew much more about rivers than he did, and quite as much about the sons of Israel and the jewels of the Apocalypse.) She was quite sure of the time, having a watch on her wrist, and was timing herself for the different clues. At eight-fifty she had gone
into the library to look in a dictionary of quotations. At nine o’clock she had entered the little book-room on the stairs to work out a numerical problem involving the dates of the Kings of England. (Macdonald felt that he was saved from an inferiority complex by her admission that she had borrowed a John Richard Green’s Short History from the library to refresh her memory.) At nine-ten precisely she had gone downstairs and rescued her next clue from the fruit bowl in the dining-room. On the way she had met Miss Delareign, who had drawn her attention to the grey-haired man walking into the telephone-room.

  “I put him down as the detective,” she said in her calm, matter-of-fact voice. “I had been told that a C.I.D. man might be present, and I thought that we were supposed to deduce him. I put you down as Andrew Gardien—which shows how misleading appearances can be. The man could certainly write,” she added, with an air of one offering a sop to Cerberus.

  “I suppose he could,” replied Macdonald with a smile. “Can you describe this grey-haired man more precisely?”

  “About five-foot eight in height, very broad shouldered and flat-footed,” she said. “His back was towards me and I did not see his face. He wore a dinner-jacket and his hair was rather short; I should describe him as bullet-headed. I can’t tell you any more than that. I came upstairs again then, and went into the drawing-room again. Miss Coombe was there and Laurence Sterne, whom I understand is Ashton Vale. Just about this time I realised that I had a bad headache coming on. I only mention this personal detail to explain why I went upstairs. I seldom go out in the evenings, and I had found this party a little exhausting. I had some aspirin in my bag, and I went up to the landing above, where there is a small settee, and I rested there for a while. I was still there when the lights failed. Quite honestly, I should have been glad to sit in the dark for some time, but I thought that I ought to come down. As I reached this floor some one struck a match by the drawing-room door. He was labelled Ben Jonson, I think. Another man was standing in the doorway here with a cigarette lighter in his hand, only I could not see who he was. Judging by their voices, Mr. Coombe was close to the library door at the time and Mr. Vale was on the staircase.”

  The pleasant deliberate voice ceased, and Macdonald saw with some sympathy the movement of the speaker’s hand across her forehead. Miss Rees looked tired, and her eyes gave evidence of the headache of which she had complained.

  “Thank you very much for the trouble you have taken,” said Macdonald. “You have been most helpful.”

  “I can’t see what difference it all makes,” she said wearily. “I understand that Mr. Gardien died of a heart attack. It is only to be hoped that he saw a doctor recently. If that is so, Mr. Coombe may be spared the distress of attending an inquest. If that is all the information you need from me, I should be very glad if I might go home. It’s a long time since I have been to an evening party, and it will certainly be a very long time before I go to another.”

  Macdonald murmured a word of sympathy and assured her that she could go home at once. He felt grateful to Miss Rees for her admirably explicit evidence, for he put no trust at all in the effusiveness of Miss Delareign.

  The story of the grey-haired man was the chief point which required elucidating at present, though Macdonald had had a hunch ever since he saw Andrew Gardien’s dead body that quite a lot of elucidation would be needed before a satisfactory explanation could be arrived at.

  Unofficial as his present inquiry was, he intended to pursue it before the small events of the evening could become confused in the minds of the guests.

  IV

  It was half-past eleven before all the guests had departed from Caroline House, leaving the Treasure unlocated. The key of the telephone-room was safe in Macdonald’s pocket when he was joined by Graham Coombe in the small library for a final conference. The publisher looked nervous and melancholy, but Miss Coombe—to all appearances—as placid as she had been when she received her guests. Macdonald got up to assist her with a tray which she was carrying, and she observed:

  “I belong to the old-fashioned school. A good strong cup of tea is more to my liking in times of emergency than gin or whisky. Will you have a cup, too? Well, Graham, I said beforehand that I disliked the idea of your party. Too clever by half. The only sensible thing you did was to ask the chief inspector.”

  “Really, Susan,” began Coombe irritably, but the lady went on firmly:

  “I’m only too thankful that somebody’s here who can get things straightened out. You are no good at all over complications of this kind.”

  She turned to Macdonald. “Sugar? I think I’ve got one point settled. If there were a stranger in the house this evening, I can tell you just how and when he got in. No grey-haired man was admitted at the front door, but there is a possibility that some one may have got in at the servant’s entrance. The housemaid, Gladys Smith, admitted that she slipped out just before nine o’clock to see if she could meet the postman; they are devoted to one another, it appears. Gladys walked to the corner of William Street, and left the back door opened while she was out. Obviously any one could have got in.”

  “Does Gladys make a habit of slipping out to meet the last post?” inquired Macdonald, sipping his tea, and Miss Coombe nodded.

  “She does. I asked that particularly. The cook knew she went and just let her, saying, ‘Girls will be girls.’ I don’t mind Gladys making a date with the postman, but I do object to her leaving the back door open. Of course, you’re thinking that some one could have watched the house and got to know that Gladys left the door on the crack, so to speak.”

  Macdonald nodded, and Miss Coombe went on:

  “Well, it’s all very odd and mysterious. I expect we shall find it boils down to common or garden burglary when we’ve had time to look into things, but I don’t see that there’s necessarily any connection between the intruder and poor Mr. Gardien’s death, do you?”

  “No, not necessarily, though there may be some connection between his death and the fusing of the lights.”

  “The fuse was burnt out, not removed,” put in Graham Coombe. “That is to say it was caused by an accident or some fault in the wiring. I’m of the opinion that Gardien’s death was due to shock. The lights failed, and he was so startled that he jumped up too quickly, or made some sudden effort, and just passed out, as heart cases sometimes do.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” observed Miss Coombe. “But all the same I should be interested to know if the inspector succeeded in locating everybody when the black-out occurred.”

  “Yes. I’ve got everybody accounted for,” replied Macdonald. “Oddly enough, no one seems to have seen Mr. Gardien since a few minutes after nine, when Mr. Strafford left him in the lounge. At the time of the fuse people were placed like this.”

  He held out a sheet of paper to his hostess, and she read it aloud as she studied it:

  Miss Woodstock and Macdonald.—Small library on first floor.

  Miss Delareign.—Alcove under the stairs, ground floor. Alone.

  Miss Rees.—Second floor landing. Came downstairs on to first floor a moment or so after the fuse, and met Macdonald.

  Mr. Strafford.—On the stairs between ground floor and first floor.

  Mrs. Etherton.—Upstairs in ladies’ dressing-room (alone).

  Digby Bourne.—In drawing-room annexe.

  Miss Janet Campbell.—In main drawing-room.

  Ashton Vale.—In dining-room (alone).

  Geoffrey Manton.—In study on first floor (alone).

  Mr. Coombe.—In library (alone).

  Miss Coombe.—In housekeeper’s room in the basement.

  Mr. Gardien.—In telephone-room (alone).

  “Thirteen in all,” observed Miss Coombe. “I’m not a superstitious woman, but I do prefer even numbers.”

  “Don’t talk rubbish!” snapped the publisher. “I should be glad if the chief inspector would answer one question for us.” He turned and glared at Macdonald. “Have you any reason for supposing that Gard
ien’s death was due to anything other than natural causes?”

  “Nothing so substantial as a reason,” replied Macdonald. “Two abnormal events happened, apparently simultaneously. The current failed, leaving the house in total darkness, and a man was found dead. Perhaps darkness makes me suspicious. We all react to it in some way. I felt that something was wrong. When you told me that Mr. Gardien had no clue which led him to the telephone-room, and certainly none which would have led him to open a closed bureau, I wanted to account for his presence in the room and for the opening of the bureau. Finally, an intruder was seen in the house shortly before the lights failed, and Miss Delareign was knocked down by somebody rushing across the hall just after the fuse. Taking things all together, I think an investigation is indicated.”

  “I quite agree with you,” said Miss Coombe. “I believe myself that the intruder engineered the fuse by interfering with the current in some way, and that Mr. Gardien saw something happen which caused a shock resulting in his death. He may even have got a real shock—an electric one—if he happened to have been touching any of the fittings when the fuse occurred. Wouldn’t that be possible?”

  “It seems quite reasonable to me,” replied Macdonald. “I have been very grateful to you and your brother for co-operating with me in a purely unofficial inquiry. I think you will find it justified in the event of a further investigation. I know just how difficult it is for people to be accurate over details some time after an event. They confuse what actually happened with what somebody else told them.”

  “Don’t I know it!” said Susan Coombe, in her deep, sensible voice. “How many people can give an accurate account of even the simplest transaction? One in ten? Take Miss Delareign—I wouldn’t believe a word that woman told me without some corroboration. She just gabbles, and she’s as blind as a bat and too conceited to wear spectacles. If the presence of the grey-haired man rested on her evidence alone, I should be inclined to disregard it; but Miss Rees—she’s a very different proposition. She struck me as a most able woman, quiet, level-headed, observant and intelligent. If she says she saw the man, then he was there.”