The Murder on the Enriqueta: A Golden Age Mystery

by Molly Thynne

  As he went down in the lift Shand reviewed his evening’s work. He was not ill-satisfied, on the whole, for Piper had stated emphatically that he had never met Conyers, and he had as good reason to believe him as he had for doubting de Silva. For whereas Piper could have no possible object in denying his acquaintanceship with Conyers, seeing that his alibi on the night of the murder was firmly established, de Silva might have his own reasons for lying. What they might be was, for the moment, a mystery.

  Shand fingered the crumpled telegraph form in his pocket. His eye had fallen on it while he was questioning de Silva, and he had commandeered it on impulse, knowing that it is impossible to write on the uppermost form of a packet without making a fairly clear indentation on the paper beneath. These indentations had been plainly visible from where he stood, and it had seemed too good an opportunity to miss, though he had no reason to hope for any luck in that direction.

  Once back in his room at the Yard it did not take him five minutes to read the message. And when he had read it he made a jump for the telephone, and by sheer good luck managed to get on to Dalberry immediately.

  “Can I see you?” he said. “I’ve got something here that may interest you.”

  Dalberry had been on the point of going out, and his car was at the door. He suggested dropping in at Scotland Yard on his way.

  “I’ve got Mr. Mellish here with me. Shall I bring him along?” he added.

  “I think he ought to see this. It may be urgent,” was Shand’s answer.

  When they entered his room ten minutes later they found him engaged with two plain-clothes detectives.

  “Don’t lose sight of him if you can help it, and report to me here at the earliest opportunity,” he said, as he dismissed them.

  The door had no sooner closed behind them than he turned to Dalberry.

  “Have you ever been inside de Silva’s flat, Lord Dalberry?” he asked.

  Dalberry looked surprised.

  “Never. I hardly know the man.”

  Shand handed him a slip of paper.

  “To the best of my knowledge this telegram has been sent from his flat within the last few days. It was certainly written there.”

  Mellish peered over Dalberry’s shoulder and read the message. It was addressed to Mrs. Roma Verrall, The South Lodge, Berrydown, Sussex, and ran:

  “Necessary you should leave immediately travel by seven thirty-five a. m. will meet you Victoria. Dalberry.”

  Dalberry passed the paper to Mellish, his hand going instinctively to his hat, which he had thrown on the table as he entered.

  “I never wrote this,” he said decisively. “I’ll get down to Berrydown at once. I was going to-morrow, anyhow.”

  He had almost reached the door when Shand stopped him.

  “Just a moment,” he said. “Half an hour, one way or the other, won’t make much difference. Either this wire was sent some days ago, in which case we are too late, or it went today, which gives us till to-morrow morning. I’ve just put a couple of men on to de Silva, and he won’t get out of the flats without my knowledge. He was there less than half an hour ago when I interviewed him in his room. Lady Dalberry, according to the porter, is spending the evening at home. We’ve got them both bottled for the present, unless de Silva nipped out the moment my back was turned. There’s Bond, of course, but he wouldn’t be trusted with a job of any importance. You don’t happen to know if Mrs. Verrall has left the lodge?”

  “She was there two days ago,” answered Dalberry. “I told the lodge-keeper to report to me regularly, and I had her letter yesterday. If Mrs. Verrall had left yesterday morning early I should have heard from the lodge-keeper by now.”

  “That’s all to the good, then. If you can get down there in time to stop her from starting to-morrow morning we shall have done the trick. Of course, she may have gone this morning.”

  Mellish was staring thoughtfully at the paper in his hand. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I’m beginning to see a certain method in Lady Dalberry’s sudden desire to visit her husband’s grave to-morrow. It looks as if in some way she’d discovered that you were proposing to go to Berrydown, and was making plans to keep you occupied for the greater part of the day. What time were you due there?”

  “About lunch-time. I was going to take it easy.”

  “And the South Lodge isn’t on the way from the station?”

  “No. You turn into the park by the one on the Lewes road. I see what you mean. She was counting on my not looking up Mrs. Verrall till after lunch, which, as a matter of fact, is what I meant to do.”

  “If you hadn’t been fully occupied in entertaining Lady Dalberry and Carol,” Mellish reminded him.

  “Carol? Is she coming down too?”

  It was Mellish’s turn to look surprised.

  “Didn’t you get her wire? I asked her to keep me informed as to her movements, and she telephoned from the Carthews’ this evening to say that she and Lady Dalberry were spending the day at Berrydown to-morrow, and that she had wired to you asking you to give them lunch.”

  “This is the first I have heard of it,” said Dalberry grimly. “It seems to me it’s time I got on the job. I shall drive straight down there now and spend the rest of the night there. By the time Lady Dalberry arrives I’ll have Mrs. Verrall out of harm’s way.”

  “What do you propose to do as regards Mrs. Verrall?” asked Shand.

  “I shall take her up to the house early to-morrow morning. She’ll be safe enough there for the time being.”

  “If you take my advice, Lord Dalberry, you’ll bring her back to town with you to-morrow night. I’ll give you a safe address, where we can keep an eye on her. And get Miss Summers out of that flat as quickly as possible,” he added soberly.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Carol cast a side glance at Lady Dalberry and decided that the drive to Berrydown was going to be even gloomier than she had first thought. Her aunt had gone out early that morning—indeed, the girl was still dressing when she heard the hall door close behind her—and she returned soon after ten, her arms full of hot-house flowers to lay on her husband’s grave.

  Since then she had been silent and preoccupied, and Carol, while blaming herself for her own lack of sympathy, could not shake off the suspicion that her aunt’s attitude was one of annoyance rather than grief.

  They were now threading their way through the suburbs, and, so far, Lady Dalberry had vouchsafed only the curtest of answers to the girl’s tentative remarks. She was leaning back in the car, her eyes fixed on the fragrant heap of flowers that lay on the floor, her face so dark and brooding that Carol had not the courage to interrupt her thoughts. It was not until they were well out of London that she pulled herself out of her abstraction and made a determined effort to atone for her ungraciousness.

  “It is too bad of me to be so distrait,” she said, with an attempt at a smile. “You have given up your drive with Gillie to come with me, and it is ungrateful of me to behave so badly. The truth is that I find I mind this more than I had thought. Please forgive me, Carol.”

  “Of course!” exclaimed the girl. “I know how you must feel. Please don’t bother about me, Aunt Irma.”

  “But I do bother, as you call it. And it is better for me to make an effort. Tell me about Berrydown. I saw so little the day I was there.”

  She questioned Carol closely as to the house and its surroundings, and the girl, who loved the place, was glad to gratify her curiosity.

  “How do we arrive, coming from London?” she asked. “There are several lodges, are there not?”

  “Only two. One, the South Lodge, is on the Lewes road; the other, the one we turn in by, is at the end of the main drive. It’s a much prettier approach. The park’s really lovely when it’s at its best. Of course, it’s early in the year now.”

  “And the village? Is that on the Lewes road?”

  “No. We pass through it on our way. We don’t hit the Lewes road at all. I believe the South gates were on
ly put there after the railway came, and are hardly ever used except for the station.”

  Lady Dalberry relapsed once more into thoughtful silence, and Carol did not interrupt her. Except for an occasional question she did not speak again until they drew up at the gates of the little churchyard.

  “Would you like me to come with you, or shall I wait in the car?” asked Carol shyly.

  Lady Dalberry bent forward and gathered the flowers into her arms.

  “I will go by myself, if you don’t mind, my dear,” she said, with a little quiver in her voice.

  “Of course not,” answered Carol warmly. “If you don’t want me, I’ll leave the car and walk up to the house. I’d love it, and it isn’t more than three-quarters of a mile. Then you can follow when you feel inclined.”

  Lady Dalberry turned to her impulsively.

  “If it is such a little way, I too would love the walk. It will do me good after the long drive, and give me time to pull myself into a better frame of mind after my visit here. Go on in the car, my dear, unless you would really rather go on foot. In which case tell the chauffeur to drive on, and I will follow later.”

  In the end Carol drove on alone, and found Dalberry waiting on the doorstep when she got there.

  “Where’s our august relation?” he asked. He did not try to conceal his joy at seeing Carol alone.

  “Don’t be a pig, Gillie,” she exclaimed. “She really is upset and miserable, and you must admit it is pretty beastly for her. She’s coming on on foot from the churchyard.”

  Dalberry shot a quick glance at her.

  “Walking, is she? Why didn’t she keep the car?”

  “She seemed to think she’d rather walk. Honestly, Gillie, she is feeling it, and I think she wanted the time to pull herself together. Anyway, when I suggested that I should walk on, she told me to take the car and she would follow.”

  “I had an idea, somehow, that she might walk up from the church,” said Dalberry thoughtfully. “Come into the library, will you? I’ve had it put more or less in order. It’s time this house was lived in again, Carol.”

  “I know,” she said. “I hate to think of it standing empty after all the jolly times we’ve had here.”

  They went into the library, a long, low-ceilinged room, brown and mellow with age, leather bindings, and old oak.

  “Gillie! How lovely! Just look at the flowers. You didn’t arrange those yourself?”

  Dalberry was looking down into her face. At her words his eyes shifted suddenly.

  “No. I expect we’ve got old Gibbs to thank for that. She’s been beside herself since she heard you were coming. You’ll find her gibbering in the housekeeper’s room.”

  Carol turned quickly.

  “How horrid of me!” she exclaimed. “I ought to have looked her up at once.”

  Dalberry slipped cleverly round her and barred the way to the door.

  “Wait a minute, Carol,” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked, with mischief in her eyes.

  She had hardly let the words slip before she knew that they would prove her undoing. A second later she was in his arms, and he was kissing her as he had longed to kiss her ever since that day in Mellish’s rooms.

  When at last he released her there was a new look of hope in his eyes.

  “I’m not sorry,” he said, her hands held so closely in his that she could not have escaped if she had wished. But she did not try to draw them away.

  “Why didn’t you do it sooner?” she asked softly. “I might have given you your answer then.”

  “Is it ‘yes’?” he whispered.

  Her hands crept steadily up until they rested on his shoulders.

  “I might just as well have said it in the beginning,” she murmured. “I never really had a chance against you, you know.”

  It was some time before Carol paid her visit to the old nurse, Gibbs. When she did go she took Gillie with her, and they broke the glad news to the old woman together. Her reception of it was entirely satisfactory.

  “Good heavens, I’d forgotten our aunt!” exclaimed Dalberry, suddenly realizing how the time had flown. “She’ll be wandering forlorn among the dust-sheets.”

  They hurried back to the library, but, to their surprise, there was no sign of Lady Dalberry.

  “Do you suppose she’s lost her way?” asked Carol. “She can’t have gone astray between us and the church.”

  They strolled over to the window and looked out.

  “Here she is!” he exclaimed. “No wonder she’s late.”

  Lady Dalberry was walking quickly up the drive. She had just turned into it from the branch that ran down to the South Lodge.

  “Then she did lose her way,” said Carol. “How clever of you to see her. I was looking down the main drive.”

  “I had a kind of inkling she might come that way,” said Dalberry quietly. “I say, Carol.”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s keep this to ourselves to-day, at any rate, shall we? We don’t want a lot of congratulations and things over lunch, and old Gibbs won’t spread the glad news till we’ve had our food. With luck, Lady Dalberry won’t hear it till you get to London. What do you think?”

  “I’d much rather not tell her,” said Carol frankly. “She’s so queer and upset to-day, and I’ve got an awful feeling she might weep over us. It’s a hateful thing to say when I’m so happy, I know. And, Gillie, you must try to remember to call her ‘Aunt Irma.’ She’ll be so hurt if you don’t.”

  She spoke with genuine remorse, but as she watched the tall figure in its heavy black draperies approaching the house, she could not control a little shudder of repulsion. Dalberry tightened his grasp and drew her closer to him.

  “It’s all right, old thing,” he said gently. “That little episode in your life closes to-morrow, and after that I shall have a right to look after you.”

  He pulled her back behind the heavy curtain, and for a moment they clung to each other, then Carol freed herself.

  “This is where we dissemble,” she announced solemnly, as she led the way into the hall.

  As Carol had foreseen, Lady Dalberry was tired and depressed; but she seemed in a gentler mood, and laid herself out to be pleasant to Dalberry. Her appreciative interest in Berrydown went a long way towards disarming him, and Carol was amused to see these two more at ease with each other than they had ever shown themselves, the truth of the matter being that Dalberry found himself in a mood that made it impossible for him actively to dislike anybody.

  After lunch they sat for a time over cigarettes and coffee, after which Lady Dalberry expressed her desire to see over the house.

  Carol welcomed the suggestion. She had foreseen a rather deadly two hours of desultory conversation before it was time to drive back to town, and she was afraid that the latest antagonism between Dalberry and his aunt by marriage would come to the surface before she could decently find an excuse for departure.

  She swung herself eagerly out of the big chair in which she had curled herself.

  “Come on, Gillie,” she cried, “and do the honours; though I believe I know more about the house than you do.”

  Gillie rose lazily.

  “It’s not the best time to show the old place off,” he said. “It’s all in curl-papers, and it looks pretty dreary and unlived-in.”

  “The pictures, though. One can see those, I hope,” urged Lady Dalberry: “I have heard so much about the Berrydown collection.”

  “It’s a very unequal one, I believe,” answered Dalberry. “My grandfather took most of them over from the original owner, and they were a mixed lot, though they are historically interesting. Carol knows more about them than I do.”

  He led the way to the long gallery, and busied himself with opening and throwing back the shutters. The room, with its shrouded furniture, had a ghostly look, and their footsteps re-echoed eerily on the carpetless floor. The pictures were, for the most part, indifferent contemporary portraits of bygone owners of the
place, but here and there was evidence that the sitter had, by sheer luck, placed himself in the hands of one of the masters of his day. There were two Van Dycks, and a Romney that had been the bait of all the big dealers for many a long year. The first Lord Dalberry, who had been one of the few rich collectors justified in relying on his own taste and knowledge, had added to the collection, and it was in his purchases that its value really lay. Carol, who loved the pictures, was only too delighted to act as guide, and she found Lady Dalberry an intelligent, if not very knowledgeable, listener.

  When they had exhausted the gallery she led them to the long suite of rooms which, in old days, had been reserved for royalty, and showed them the famous tapestried bedroom where, needless to say, Queen Elizabeth was reputed to have slept during one of her many progresses through the country. According to Dalberry, his grandfather had never been able to find any proof that she had ever stayed in the house, though the original owners of the place, from whom he had bought it, had believed in the story implicitly.

  “There’s nothing else on this floor,” said Carol, as they emerged into the corridor, “except a few uninteresting bedrooms and the old nursery. You haven’t changed that, have you, Gillie?”

  “Rather not,” he assured her. “It’s the room I know best in the house. It’s where we had all our greatest fun when I used to come here in the old days. Let’s get back to the library and stir them up about tea; shall we?”

  “I should like to see this old nursery,” said Lady Dalberry. “I can imagine you and Carol playing there as children. Which of these doors is it? This one?”

  “No, the one at the end. I’ll show you,” said Carol.

  “I should give it a miss, if I were you,” urged Dalberry. “After we grew out of our nursery days it became the schoolroom, and it was always one of the shabbiest and untidiest rooms in the house. It must be looking ghastly now.”

  He was too late. Carol had run lightly down the corridor and thrown open the door at the end. Lady Dalberry followed her.

  But Carol didn’t go in. Instead, she halted on the threshold.