Prince of Secrets

by Paula Marshall

  Walker had made a little map which showed who occupied the rooms along the balcony wall. He was not at all surprised to discover that Mr Dilley was occupying the suite at the far end. He had discovered that Sir Ratcliffe had locked his door while he visited a lady—‘You won’t wish to know which one, I am sure, Inspector.’

  Walker said stolidly, writing in his little book, ‘It might be as well if you told me, sir. I won’t reveal her name, and her evidence would go to prove where you were when the crime was committed.’

  Sir Ratcliffe glared at him. ‘You surely don’t suspect that I’ve stolen my own diamonds, man?’

  ‘It has been done, sir, more than once. But, no, I don’t. On the other hand, if the thief is one of the party—’

  ‘Thief one of the house-party! Have you run mad, inspector?’

  ‘All eventualities have to be considered, sir.’

  ‘I have no intention of telling you where I spent the night. It’s none of your damned business and, until you can give me a good reason for me to oblige you, I’ll keep mum. Is that plain enough for you?’

  Walker smiled. He didn’t really suspect Sir Ratcliffe despite his dodgy reputation, but you never knew what you might discover if you pressed hard.

  He met Bates in the corridor. He had been talking to the servants. ‘It seems that virtually all the gents spent their night in the bed of another man’s wife, sir, if their servants can be believed. Sir Ratcliffe spent his night with Mrs Susanna Winthrop.’

  ‘Oh, they can be believed, Bates. I’ll make a note of what you tell me, and interview the lady myself. Now, his lordship and that Beauchamp fellow have suggested that we interview the guests in the Estate Office, one by one. He wants the women spared, if possible. He is willing to be the first one questioned.’

  ‘You don’t think that we’re making a mistake, sir, over thinking that it’s an inside job? Though I have talked to the servants, and they’re positive that it would be too difficult for a thief to come in from outside—for the same reasons as us.’

  Walker nodded. ‘All the same, I’ve telegraphed for Alcott to start making enquiries in the smoke to check whether any of the flash mob are missing from their usual haunts and whether the diamonds are being hawked round the usual fences. I’d have thought they’d be too hot for small fry.’

  ‘Taken to the continent, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He wasn’t giving away all his suspicions.

  Shortly after lunch it was Cobie’s turn to be interviewed. He strolled lazily into the office. He was as impeccably turned out as ever, damn him. He smiled at Walker, and said in his beautiful voice, ‘So, we meet again.’

  ‘Indeed, we do, sir. I said to myself, when I saw the list, here’s wicked goings-on, and here’s Mr Dilley sleeping only a few doors away from where the thief did his dirty work. Would you say that was a coincidence, sir?’

  Cobie was all languid charm. ‘Well, I don’t know what else you would call it, inspector.’

  ‘Well, I’d call it damned suspicious, Mr Dilley. Been doing some more of your magic tricks, have you? Caused a diamond necklace to disappear, did you?’

  ‘Now why should I do that? Has no one told you I’ve been a big investor in South African diamonds since I came to England, and could buy myself a dozen diamond necklaces—not so old and historic as Sir Ratcliffe’s, I do admit—so why should I need to steal one?’

  ‘You tell me, Mr Dilley. And tell me where you were last night.’

  Cobie smiled. ‘In my own dear wife’s bed, of course.’

  ‘You’re sure of that, sir? From what I’ve been hearing, most of the men at Markendale were in bed with other men’s dear wives. Were you playing musical beds too, sir? Can your wife—or anyone else—vouch that you were with her at the time that the theft was taking place.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her, inspector?’

  ‘Oh, you may be sure I will. She will be the next person I shall interview.’

  Cobie smiled at him, his best artless smile. He said, as languidly as he could, ‘I’d be interested to know why I’m being subjected to this inquisition. I understand that the ladder the thief used was found in place this morning, with other evidence to show that the house had been broken into.’

  ‘Oh, we have to be sure that no guest, or servant, was involved, Mr Dilley—I mean, Mr Grant—before I spend too much time looking for non-existent burglars coming in from outside. I shall be asking to search the guests’ rooms, if I think it necessary. You wouldn’t mind if your rooms were searched, Mr…er…Grant?’

  Cobie’s blue eyes hardened. He saw that the terrier opposite to him would like to have him by the throat. He sighed dramatically. ‘Only if mine were the only ones searched. That would be too partial, inspector. A man has to guard his reputation, you understand.’

  Will Walker did not know what he understood. Only that he knew in his bones that the man opposite to him had stolen the diamonds—and he had no means of proving his belief to be true. ‘I shall interview your wife immediately, Mr Grant, and I want you to be present when I speak to her. I don’t want you claiming that I bullied her into any admissions—you understand me, I’m sure. But not where she can see your face.’

  Inwardly Cobie was amused, but he said solemnly, ‘I would prefer to be present. My wife is young and tender. I wouldn’t like her to be distressed in any way—you understand me, I’m sure.’

  Walker smiled a smile nearly as secret as that of the man before him. ‘Oh, I think we understand one another. Never fear, Mr Whatever-your-name-is, I have a few magic tricks of my own.’

  Dinah was in a quandary. She was sitting in the big drawing room with the other women, waiting to be called in to speak to the Scotland Yard man if he wished to interview them. She had recognised him as the man who had come to Park Lane to question Cobie and who had been so harsh with him.

  This knowledge made her worry over her quandary even more severe. She had left the drawing room early on the evening of the theft. She had been tired and sleep had come soon. Her dreams had, as usual, been of her husband, and after one disturbing one where they had been together in some danger she had been jerked awake by a noise outside.

  She had put out a hand to touch him—he must have rolled away from her in the night—to discover that he wasn’t there. Puzzled and a little worried, she had picked up her fob watch from the bedside table. It was, she was surprised to see, gone three o’clock.

  Desolation swept over her. Had he gone to Susanna, after all? She knew, as who could not, that gossip had it that Susanna and Sir Ratcliffe were now a thing, but that might have changed again. Or perhaps, although he had spent every night with her since they had come to Markendale, he had gone to his own room to sleep.

  She had slipped out of bed to discover that he wasn’t in his own room, either. Perhaps he was with Susanna after all. She lay quiet for some time, her mind going round and round, but exhaustion finally claimed her, and she slept. To wake shortly afterwards to find him in bed with her, kissing and stroking her until they had come together in a mutual ecstasy so sweet that all her fears vanished. Surely he wouldn’t behave like that if he were betraying her with other women?

  But the robbery put a different light on things, allied as it was to her vague suspicions about him, those tenuous, cloud-like feelings which were no more than that. But it was stupid to think him a thief, surely? Ought she to answer truthfully if the Scotland Yard man asked her whether her husband had spent the night with her. He had certainly spent part of the night in her bed—and to good effect!

  When it was her turn to be faced with Will Walker, Cobie sat beside her. He said gently, ‘The inspector wishes to ask you some questions about the other night, Dinah. Don’t be worried, he is going to question all the guests. His sergeant is with the servants doing the same thing,’ which didn’t really help her at all, she was still unsure of what her answers ought to be.

  ‘I’ve very little to ask you, Lady Dinah,’ Walker began politely, and what a delic
ate little creature she was and no mistake. She deserved better than the devious brute she had married. ‘It’s simply that we need to check where everyone was during the time the theft probably took place. Did you and your husband retire together?’

  Well, she could be truthful about that. She shook her head vigorously. ‘Oh, no, I was the first to retire, before eleven o’clock. I was very tired.’

  ‘Did he come in later, and spend the night with you? I don’t like to ask such personal questions of you, Lady Dinah, but my duty compels me,’ for he saw that she had gone quite white, and her lips were quivering.

  ‘Of course, Inspector. I do understand. He came to my room not very much later. I was dozing, but I heard voices in the corridor, and then he was with me.’

  Now this was not all a lie. She had heard voices in the corridor, but earlier, before he had come to her, but it seemed a safe thing to say because she couldn’t lie directly, only by inference.

  ‘Would you know if he had left you during the night?’

  Now she could be truthful. ‘Oh, yes, I am a very light sleeper, you see—and…and…’

  ‘Yes, Lady Dinah?’

  She showed him a scarlet face. ‘We haven’t been married long,’ she whispered, apparently agonised at having to make such a confession.

  Will Walker’s gaze on her was steady. Something was odd here, his intuition told him, but he could hardly accuse her of being a liar. He was certain that she knew nothing of her husband’s double—treble—life.

  ‘You are sure of this, Lady Dinah?’

  ‘Quite sure, inspector.’ Now she had lied for him—and Cobie would never know! Did she want him to know?

  Cobie took her hand when they left, Will Walker’s baffled face causing him an unseemly amusement. He whispered into her ear, ‘How fortunate I am to have a light-sleeping wife.’

  He was uncertain whether she was mistaken, forgetful, or was simply saying what would make the police stop questioning him, not because she thought that he was guilty, but because she thought him innocent. He couldn’t ask her to explain, but he could be grateful.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dinah giving him a smile as blinding and as meretricious as the ones her husband frequently favoured the world with, ‘isn’t it?’

  After that, they had little chance to say anything. Their fellow guests crowded around them, Violet and Kenilworth among them, all deploring the manners of the police.

  Rainey said indignantly, ‘Is nothing sacred in these democratic days that the police have nothing more to do than persecute their betters instead of trying to track down the scum who actually carried out the crime?’

  Only Mr Hendrick Van Deusen was silent. He simply watched his friend Mr Jacobus Grant, also known as Jumping Jake Coburn, bank robber, thief, knave and liar, and wondered if anyone was safe from him if he thought it his duty to pursue them. His contemptuous pity was reserved for Sir Ratcliffe Heneage. He wondered what next trick Jake had in store for him.

  Dinah remained thoughtful. She pleaded a headache when most of the party went riding in the afternoon, and retired to her suite, to lie down, she said. Walker and Bates were comparing notes. Walker wanted to search the guests’ rooms, Bates advised caution. She knew nothing of this. She tried to rest, finally gave up and walked agitatedly round her quarters—they were beginning to feel like a condemned cell. She had lied: Cobie must know that she had lied, and yet he had said nothing.

  Moved once again by an intense curiosity about him, she pushed open the communicating door to his bedroom, to walk around it, as though looking at his possessions might give her some clue to him.

  She inspected his books. His sketch-book was flung down, open at a page where he had drawn her sitting on the lawn, doing her canvas work—and he had caught her to the life. His guitar was leaning against the wall.

  There was a tallboy on the wall facing the big four-poster bed. Some more of his books were piled neatly on it. In front of them was a silver-framed photograph of herself, in all her new finery, taken in Paris. Otherwise there was nothing to show that he had family or friends.

  Beside the photograph was a box, an elaborate one in which cigars were kept. Two things about the box intrigued her. One was that Cobie, unlike virtually every other man in the house party, never smoked. The other was that she had seen it before among the magic boxes in his secret cupboard.

  Her hand stole out of its own volition. She lifted the box down and opened it. Cigars, as she had thought, nothing but cigars, two layers of them. She shrugged, went to put the box back and as she did so noticed that one of the intricately carved panels on the side was a little loose. Trying to replace it, she somehow moved it in the opposite direction—and the whole side of the box fell away.

  To reveal that the bottom of it on which the cigars neatly reposed was a false one! Tucked away inside the space below was a black silk handkerchief, folded around—what?

  Dinah, her heart in her mouth, praying that Cobie would not return early from his ride, pulled the handkerchief out. She knew what it hid even before she extracted Lady Heneage’s diamond suite of necklace, ear rings, rings and brooch. White-faced, she sank on to the bed holding them to her, horrified to discover that what she had feared all along was true: Cobie had been the thief in the night, and had hidden the diamonds in his magic box.

  With trembling hands she put the box together again—now she knew its trick it wasn’t difficult.

  Then she picked up the diamonds, carefully folded them again inside the silk handkerchief and walked unsteadily back into her own room. There she picked up the tapestry bag in which she kept her canvas work, and opened it. There was a pocket inside where she stored her silks. She thought for a moment, substituted a white lawn handkerchief for the black silk one, then pushed it and the diamonds as far as she could beneath the silks, before taking herself and the bag to sit beneath the cedars in the open, a picture of innocence.

  Let Inspector Walker search their rooms as diligently as he might: by no accident or mischance would he discover that the magic box held anything but thin air!

  Cobie returned from his ride with a strong desire to be with his wife. Not to make love to her, not to talk to her, but to enjoy her stillness. He had watched how she kept herself aloof from the other men and women in the party, not unpleasantly, but firmly. She also, he noticed with some amusement, kept herself busy. She embroidered and read. She had made a friend of the Kenilworth’s librarian, Dr Madge. She walked around the grounds, eagerly talking to the gardeners. She rode occasionally: she had a good seat on a horse, and played cards when she felt like it, which wasn’t often. Best of all, she tried to please him and keep him happy.

  All this, in a girl of eighteen, he was beginning to find remarkable. She appeared to have more sense in her little finger than Violet had in her whole body. He particularly liked watching the way in which she handled the Prince— Madame’s training had certainly paid off there!

  So, after his mount was despatched to its stall, and a few words exchanged with the others, he went looking for her in the grounds instead of returning to the house. She had said that she would first rest, and then find some useful shade on the back lawn in which to do her canvas work. Yes, he desperately needed her tranquillity.

  He found her at last, seated in the shadow of a stand of cedars, quite alone. She was half dozing over a book. Her embroidery was carefully placed on a linen cloth on the grass, her bag and parasol were propped up against the large armchair which a footman had carried out for her. A tea tray stood on a small table, and she had obviously treated herself to a good selection of little cakes, for the cake-stand was half-empty.

  Cobie stood and watched her for a few moments. Her face was tranquil, but something told him that she was dreaming—or, rather, she was in that slightly hallucinatory state which exists between sleep and waking. He bent forward to kiss her gently on the cheek. He was beginning to worry even more about his feelings for her. They were like nothing he had ever experienced before in his te
n years of womanising. Before that he had been a puritan, and had led what was called a clean life, but the South-west had changed that, as it had changed everything else about him.

  He watched her slowly awake.

  She said, ‘You had a good ride?’

  He nodded. ‘You should have been with us.’

  ‘Too hot,’ she told him. ‘It’s pleasant here in the shade.’

  ‘So I can see,’ he replied, his feelings about her troubling him more than ever. ‘May I sit with you a little before I go in to change?’

  ‘There’s only the grass,’ she told him dreamily. Had she dreamed that Cobie had stolen Sir Ratcliffe’s diamonds? Had she dreamed that she had stolen them from Cobie, and that they were, unknown to him, not more than a foot away from where he lowered himself to sit on the grass beside her?

  ‘You would like some tea?’ she asked. ‘I think that it may still be hot enough to drink.’

  He smiled. He could see someone coming towards them from the house, plodding stolidly across the lawn. It was one of the local constables being used as a messenger by Walker. ‘I think that I may be wanted.’

  Dinah looked up. ‘Oh, surely not,’ she said, thinking of the diamonds sitting in her bag. Guilt made her wonder if in some mysterious fashion they were visible. Common sense said, no, but where was the common sense in this farrago in which she had involved herself with her husband?

  The constable said, ‘Mr Grant? Inspector Walker would like to search your rooms. He would prefer to do so whilst you are present.’

  ‘Room-searching time.’ Cobie’s voice was idle as he rose. ‘Am I the only guest favoured? Or are we all under suspicion?’

  ‘All the guests’ rooms, sir, are being searched. If you would come at once. The inspector says that time is precious.’

  ‘Sorry to have to leave you, my love, but the inspector calls, and I must answer.’