The House of Godwinsson: A Bobby Owen Mystery

by E. R. Punshon

  “It is the same man,” Bobby said. “I’ve seen him hanging about near Colonel Godwinsson’s place. A man named Cy King.”

  Mona seemed to make up her mind.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked, the words tumbling out as if they had to come in a hurry or not at all.

  “You see,” Bobby explained, “it’s all badly mixed up with these jewel robberies that have been going on. I haven’t had much to do with them myself, but I know our people began to suspect that the thieves were getting inside information. At first we thought it was servants. At present people are so glad to get domestic help they are inclined to take any one. Possibly sometimes it was like that. But overall study made it clear it couldn’t always be servants. The staffs were different each time, and it wasn’t likely any gang could always manage to plant an accomplice, and always a different one. Our people began to feel there must be some one else who was giving the information. Some one in society itself, some one who got invitations to big houses. Nothing to show who. Delicate, too, to accuse influential, well-connected people. A short list was drawn up. Not so short, either. Astonishing how many society people are living beyond their means—or on no means at all. One of the names was that of Lady Geraldine Rafe. Only on general principles. There was nothing definite against her. Only that she was living in good style and it wasn’t very clear where her money came from. But that is sometimes true of other good-looking young women, and nobody’s business but their own. Also she seemed rather rackety and it was noticed that she was on the spot when the loss of the Wharton jewellery was discovered. Now she’s dead.”

  “Yes,” Mona said in a whisper. “Yes,” she repeated.

  “We are fairly certain this man, Cy King, is the man who tried to make you tell him where Lady Geraldine was.”

  “I didn’t know,” Mona said.

  “The same Cy King broke into a house in Kilburn where a man called Joey Parsons lived—the man who was killed just about the same time as Lady Geraldine. Now I’ve seen him hanging about Ing Wain—Colonel Godwinsson’s place, you know. He seems to have been asking a good many questions in the village—some of them apparently about you.”

  “About me?” stammered Mona; and if she didn’t look even more frightened than before, it was because that was not possible.

  “It’s pretty clear,” Bobby continued, “that Cy King was on the track of the Wharton jewellery—other loot, too, perhaps. The difficulty is to know whether he was in on the theft itself or whether he was trying, so to say, to gate-crash. Hi-jacking, the Americans used to call it. That is, he may have been trying to grab for himself stuff that another gang stole in the first place. It happens. Rogues rob rogues soon enough if they see their chance. Or if he was one of the original thieves, it may have been the other way round. One of his pals may have thought it a good idea to try to make a get-away with all the stuff. Possibly that some one was Joey Parsons and that is why he was killed. All that is certain, or fairly certain, is that Cy King is in a very dangerous mood, threatening murder. We have to take that seriously. He is a killer by instinct. You don’t often get them, but you do sometimes. Nasty when you do.”

  “But why? Why should he want to kill any one?”

  “He thinks he has been what he calls ‘double-crossed’, and he wants his revenge. Vanity comes into it, too. He wants to let his pals see what happens to any one who gets in his way. I suppose it’s a form of the power urge that some psychologists tell us is the strongest motive of all, the most fundamental.” Mona was moistening dry lips, and, when she tried to speak, the words did not come very easily at first. The matron made sure that the kettle was boiling on the gas ring, the tea-pot warm, the tea-caddy close at hand. Mona said:

  “Who … ?” She said again: “Who … ?” Then she said “Who does he mean … want to … ?”

  “If we knew that,” Bobby answered gravely, “it would be much easier. We could take precautions. But it may be any one of half a dozen or more. It might even be me.”

  “Oh,” said Mona; and Bobby hoped he was wrong in thinking he detected a note of relief in Mona’s voice, or, alternatively, as the lawyers say, that it only meant she was sure he could look after himself.

  So was he, for that matter; but he saw no reason why others should be so cheerfully confident of the fact. Even though on occasion he wished Olive was, instead of sometimes appearing to regard him as a kind of half wit, unfit to be trusted out of her sight for more than an hour at a time.

  “I don’t think,” Bobby went on slowly, “that we can even exclude you. There has been one attack on you, and Cy was asking questions about you in the Ing Wain village. More probably it is one of the Godwinssons. There’s the attempt on Leofric. Then there’s a man called Stokes who is badly frightened in case he may be meant. Or there may be some one we’ve never even heard of. Or an old prize-fighter called Pitcher Barnes. Or even a wretched little guttersnipe, Eddie Heron, who has been trying to get himself locked up, evidently because he wants to be in a nice safe place. A wide choice, you see. For the moment it’s a more pressing problem than finding out who killed Lady Geraldine and who killed Joey Parsons, if it wasn’t the same murderer in each case. We are very much in the dark at present, except for two or three hints Colonel Godwinsson has given, and they may not mean much. If we can find out who Cy King wants to kill, it ought to help us to find out who did the other two killings—and why.”

  “What do you want to know?” Mona asked; and this time the matron made up her mind and went resolutely to make the nice, hot cup of tea she was sure would soon be wanted.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  MONA’S STORY

  “Well,” Bobby answered slowly, “I would like to say first of all that I’m not asking you to make a statement. This is unofficial in a way. If necessary, you will be asked to make a formal statement. It will be taken down in writing, and you will be asked to sign it. But that’s something for the future. What I want now is if you’ll tell me a few things that may help to give me an idea of the background, the general atmosphere of the thing. I shan’t try to take any note of anything you tell me.”

  He paused, wondering what the effect would be of this attempt to put their interview on the footing of a friendly chat. He was glad to notice that Mona looked immensely relieved. Putting things in writing often, indeed generally, has an intimidating effect. So much care is given to the effort to be precise that the undertones may get forgotten, and often there is more truth in undertone than in precision. Few things more deceptive than a fact. Mona did not speak, but she was plainly waiting for him to continue. He said:

  “Well, first of all, could you tell me how you knew about the rooms over the Yates shop?”

  “She took me there once,” Mona answered in a low voice. “It was horrid,” and she became very red, as if at the memory of what she had seen.

  “When was that?”

  “About two or three weeks ago. I’m not sure exactly.”

  “You realize,” Bobby said, “that you are making a very grave admission. If you knew where this place was, surely when Lady Geraldine disappeared—”

  “Oh, but I didn’t,” Mona interrupted. “That was what was so funny. I mean, know where it was. She took me in her car one night after we had had a most awful row, and it was pitch dark. I couldn’t see anything. Except when she used her torch to find the key-hole. She had been drinking rather a lot. She did sometimes. The torch showed up a shop window for a moment, and I remembered afterwards it looked like a grocer’s. And I thought it must be somewhere in the East End, because of some of the streets we had been through. That was all.”

  “But you went there to-day?”

  “That was Leofric. I told him how frightfully worried I was about Gerry. It was after that awful man tried to make me tell him about her. I began to wonder if she could be at that dreadful place where she took me. Only if she was, why didn’t she let us know? Leofric was worried, too. He said there had been a murder and it might be the same dis
trict. He went several evenings to look, and he rang up to say he thought he had found it. He said he couldn’t get any answer when he knocked, but when he had made sure it was the right place he would come to tell me and we would have to think what to do. But he never came. I thought I had better try to find out what had happened. So I went where he said he thought it was, only when I rang some men came and they said they were policemen and they said Gerry was dead. They brought me here.”

  Bobby made a mental note to emphasize in his next lecture that a detective’s business is to receive information, not to give it. Now he had no chance of seeing for himself how Mona would react to the news of Lady Geraldine’s murder. He said presently:

  “I think you were at school with Lady Geraldine, weren’t you?”

  “We were special friends. Gerry was lovely to me. I was older than most girls are when they go to boarding school, and awfully backward, and I was simply miserable. I think I might have tried to run away, or something, only for Gerry. When we left we both joined the Wrens; only I got pushed out to Ceylon, and Gerry was such a good driver they kept her at home to drive V.I.P.’s. When I was demobbed at last, long after she was, I suppose I did rather wish myself on her. I mean I didn’t give her much chance to say she didn’t want me. I wanted to be in London to look for a job, and I hadn’t anywhere else to go, and I suppose it seemed natural.”

  “Yes?” Bobby said when she paused.

  “I think she was glad to see me at first,” Mona went on, rather hesitatingly, “but after a time I began to feel there was something wrong.”

  “Was that when you had the quarrel you spoke about?” Bobby asked, and wondered again if she realized how damaging an admission that might seem.

  He felt she was either very simple or very cunning. He was not quite sure which. He knew extreme simplicity and candour can often seem extreme cunning, just as the innocence of the simple-minded and the uninstructed can often reach a truer conclusion than the wisdom of the scholar and the philosopher. His impression so far was that Mona was telling the truth, but how well he knew that sometimes the most innocent-looking, sweet-faced young girl can outlie the very father of lies himself. He suspended judgment. Mona was speaking. She said:

  “It was awful. You can’t imagine how ashamed I felt afterwards. It was almost worse than it was sometimes when our girls quarrelled in the Wrens. You couldn’t help picking up words, and we both began using them. Once you hear them you can’t forget them. I wish you could.”

  “What was it about?”

  “She said I was jealous. It wasn’t true a bit. Of course, she knew …”

  “Yes,” Bobby encouraged her.

  “You see,” Mona explained hesitatingly, “Leofric and I were in Ceylon at the same time. We didn’t see much of each other, because of course he was generally away in his ship, but we did sometimes, and once he had a long shore spell when he had a poisoned arm. Gerry said all I wanted was to use her so I could get my claws on him again. I told you we were saying the most awful things to each other. It was true I did want to see Leofric again so as to know if he still liked me, because he had said things in Ceylon. Only that’s different. Ceylon, I mean. I knew people often felt quite differently about each other when they got back home. I thought perhaps we might, too. That wasn’t being jealous.”

  “Was this before or after she took you to the Yates flat?”

  “It was why. Because of the things we said. I expect we both got a bit ashamed. I know I did. And I said so, and then she said there was only one man for her, and there would never be another. I told you she had had too much to drink. She said they weren’t married; it was better than that, grander than that. It was perfect freedom for both, and so it was perfect belonging, each to each. I told her that was what men said to our Wrens when they wanted to get their own way with them, and that made her cry. She was getting a bit maudlin, and she said I must come with her and she would show me. I didn’t want to, but she made me. It didn’t matter how much she had drunk, she could always drive, and she got her car out. She said I was a silly little school-girl straight from the kindergarten class, and now I was going to learn something. I told her there wasn’t much you didn’t know after you had served with the Wrens. It was an awfully dark night. I hadn’t any idea where she took me. She could drive better in her sleep than most people when they were awake. I told you all I noticed was the shop window when the light from her torch showed it for a moment. She took me upstairs in a room. It was … I can’t tell you.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Bobby said.

  “I never knew …” Mona began, and paused. In spite of her boasted Wrens and Ceylon experience, it was evident she had been thoroughly surprised and bewildered. She said: “I can’t think why … I mean what for … why should any one … ?” She paused again, searching for a word. She found it at last, and brought it out with emphasis. “Silly,” she said loudly.

  “So it is,” agreed Bobby.

  “She was laughing a lot, she kept laughing. She wanted to explain it all—all those things on the wall. I told her to be quiet. I said I was going. Then we heard the door open and some one coming up the stairs. Gerry seemed to go all sober all at once. She said to wait where I was, and she went out on the landing. I could hear them talking. Gerry came back. She said it was a man with a message from her friend to say he couldn’t come and she was to meet him at a night club, so I had better go home. The man who had come with the message could drive me home and then come back for her.”

  “Didn’t you ask her who her friend was?”

  “No. I knew.”

  “You knew? How? Who was it?”

  “Gurth.”

  “Gurth? Gurth Godwinsson?” Bobby exclaimed, and when she nodded he asked: “Are you sure? Did she say so?”

  “It was his umbrella,” Mona explained.

  “Umbrella?” Bobby repeated, puzzled.

  “It was almost the first thing I saw when we got there. In a stand on the landing. I knew it at once. It had a rather special gold-mounted handle. When I saw it, I said it was Gurth’s. Gerry didn’t take any notice. She began to show me that awful room, and I forgot about the umbrella. But of course then I knew.”

  “I see,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “Can you describe the man who came with the message to Lady Geraldine? He drove you home?”

  “I didn’t see him clearly. He was in the driver’s seat when I got into the car to go home, and I only saw his back. It was Gerry’s big car, you know. He had on a big coat. I didn’t notice him much. I was worried about Geiry and about Gurth. It all seemed—horrid. I heard the driver say to her: ‘Bad enough that other time. Worse coming in a car. Anyone may have seen it. A swell car like this. It would be noticed. You promised you never would again.’ It was funny the way he spoke. As if he were most awfully angry, but didn’t want to show it. Why should he mind if any one saw the car?”

  “Well, it does rather sound,” Bobby suggested, “as if he had been trying to keep their meeting-place a secret; and he thought a big car in a side street in a poor district like that might be remembered and set neighbours talking. There may have been—I think there was—something of the sort before and she had promised not to again. Did it seem a long drive home?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve thought afterwards that he must have been driving round and round. I don’t know. There was another thing.”

  “Yes?” Bobby said. “Yes. What was it?”

  “He stopped on a bridge. He said it was the back tyre, and he got down to look at it. I think it must have been Putney Bridge. I don’t know. I was thinking about Gerry and that awful place. I wanted to help her, and I knew I couldn’t. And then it was just like a voice, only of course it wasn’t one, only imagination, but it was just like a voice saying close by: ‘Well, you could say a prayer, couldn’t you?’ It was almost like telling me to. The voice said—of course not really, it was only my fancy. It said: ‘The car has stopped and the driver is attending to the back tyre, so no one would see you i
f you did it now,’ and I did. I got down on my knees and I began to say something out loud. I know it sounds awfully odd and silly.”

  “Go on,” Bobby said. “What happened next?”

  “It was the driver. He had finished with the tyre, and he came back and opened the door. It was very awkward. You see, I was on my knees. He said: ‘What are you doing?’ I said: ‘I am trying to say a prayer for Gerry and for the man she loves.’ He said: ‘Why?’ and I said: ‘I think they need it.’ Now, wasn’t that a funny way to talk to a strange man on Putney Bridge?”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No. Not then. He had a big sack he was carrying. He threw it inside on the floor. There was something awfully heavy in it. When he threw it down it shook the whole car. I asked what it was, but he didn’t answer. He just stood there. I heard a clock a long way off strike twelve.”

  “Did anything else happen?”

  “No. He shut the door and got back into his seat and we drove home. When we got there he said he was sorry he had been so long but he had missed his way. He said he began to think he would never get me home at all. It was funny the way he said that. I tried to find my purse to give him half a crown, and he began to laugh. He said: ‘Don’t trouble, miss. You’ve got here safe, and that’s the main thing.’ He drove away then, and after I got in the flat I began to feel most awfully frightened.”

  “Well, you were quite all right and safe there,” Bobby said brightly. “Have a cigarette?”

  She took it, but she did not light it, though he held a match for her till it began to burn his fingers. She said:

  “I dream about it sometimes. About the sack and there being something heavy in it.” Her voice sank to a whisper. It shook slightly and she was trembling. She said: “Do you think perhaps he meant to put me in it and drop me in the river?”

  “Well, he didn’t,” Bobby said still more brightly as he struck another match for her. “I shouldn’t think about it any more if I were you.”