The Case of the Diamond Shadow

by Sophie Masson

  Woodley-Foxe twirled his moustache thoughtfully. ‘That is true. Criminals are so cocksure of their own cleverness that they often make grave mistakes. And then they get caught in the trap of their own over-confidence. Little do they know what science and imagination can do, together, when in the minds of truly exceptional detectives! We’ll catch this crook, George, and we’ll shout her identity to the world, Countess or no Countess — we will drag The Shadow into the light!’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir!’ said George, thrilled. Imagine what Daisy would say, when she saw him sweeping in, ready to unmask one of the boldest jewel thieves ever known! She wouldn’t think of him as just a stick-in-the-mud from Charlton Wells then, would she?

  Thirteen

  At breakfast the next day, Mrs Peabody plonked herself down, uninvited, at a table already occupied by Mr Meyer and another man, an Italian named Signor Felici. Both men looked dismayed at Mrs Peabody’s intrusion, but said nothing. Daisy wished her employer wouldn’t keep imposing herself. She appeared to have no idea as to how one should behave. At least today she looked reasonably presentable in a wavy chestnut wig, her tortoiseshell glasses matching the brown of her suit.

  Daisy sat eating her breakfast, listening vaguely to the others talk. She was thinking about what she’d seen yesterday. She still couldn’t work out what it might mean, but she was convinced it was most definitely fishy. George would know how to find out more information. She tried to remember what he’d told her about methods of investigation …

  ‘Daisy!’ It was Victor’s voice from close behind her. She turned around, surprised. The St-Remys never came down to breakfast, preferring to take the morning meal in their rooms. Victor smiled at her and bowed to Mrs Peabody. ‘Would you allow me, madame, to borrow your treasured secretary for a moment or two?’

  ‘I’m sure she’d rather go with you than sit with three old fogies, Count,’ said Mrs Peabody, winking at Daisy. ‘Eh?’ Ignoring the others’ frosty looks, she waved Daisy and Victor away, and returned to her interrupted monologue.

  Victor drew Daisy away from the dining room. ‘I just wanted to tell you we are leaving first thing tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘Something’s come up in France, at the estate, and we must go.’

  Daisy’s heart sank. All thoughts of Mrs Peabody’s suspicious behaviour fled her mind. ‘Oh, dear …’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t look so sad. We have all of today, Daisy. And tonight. Do you think Mrs Peabody would let you have the whole day off?’

  ‘Oh, I hope so! I’ll go and ask her now.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ His smile warmed her all over. ‘I’ll wait for you in the lounge. And then we can decide what we’ll do to make it an unforgettable day!’

  Please, Daisy thought as she approached Mrs Peabody, please let her say yes, and please, please don’t let her make a song and dance about it, I couldn’t bear it!

  Her employer was still holding forth to an increasingly frozen-faced audience, punctuating her chatter with loud laughter. ‘Why, Daisy!’ she shouted, breaking off, ‘what’s the matter? You look as if your last hour’s come!’

  Daisy felt desperate. The whole room was snatching glances at them. Hastily, she said, ‘Mrs Peabody, would you perhaps allow me to take this morning off? I will make it up tomorrow, I promise.’

  ‘Day off, is it? Swanning around London with the Count?’

  Daisy caught the sympathetic glances of the two men. She said, faintly, ‘He … they have to go back to France first thing tomorrow. We just thought …’

  ‘Oh, I understand now! Sure, sweetie, off you go and have fun! Just remember what I told you, eh?’

  Daisy turned scarlet. Before Mrs Peabody could enlighten the whole room as to her theories on whom you should ‘set your cap at’, she fled the room to tell Victor the good news.

  ‘Let’s plan the perfect day, then,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘What do you most want to do, Miss Daisy Miller?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Daisy, who would have been happy to sit and watch the grass grow, as long as it was with him.

  Victor smiled into her eyes. ‘Then how about we hire a car and drive out of London for the day? I thought perhaps we could head towards Windsor … I’ll ask the hotel to make up a picnic basket for us. Then we’ll come back in the early afternoon and go to a matinee performance at one of the music halls. There’s a rather good magic show on at Maskelyne’s at the moment. Then we can have high tea at the Ritz and come back here for dinner. There’s an excellent band playing tonight, the Harry Golightly Orchestra, I heard them last September in Biarritz. What do you say? Does that sound like a day you could bear to spend with me?’

  Daisy’s eyes were like stars. ‘Oh, Victor!’ was all she could say.

  ‘Wonderful, that’s settled then! Shall we leave in, say, an hour?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Daisy, unable to find words for the mixture of joy and sorrow that filled her to bursting. Today would be wonderful — but tomorrow … tomorrow … Would she ever see Victor again, after tomorrow?

  Back in her room she tried on everything she owned. She had to look perfect for the perfect day! In the end she decided on the cherry-coloured skirt and jacket. She teamed them with a cream satin blouse and her smartest patent leather shoes, but packed a pair of walking shoes too. A smudge of rouge, a touch of lipstick and mascara, a dab of perfume at wrists and neck, her golden waves neatly arranged under the cheekily-tipped veiled hat, and she was ready.

  Victor, looking debonair in white flannel trousers, navy jacket and two-tone shoes, a picnic basket at his feet, was already in the lounge, talking with Mr Meyer. They broke off as she approached, and stood up. ‘Charming,’ said Mr Meyer, bowing. ‘Absolutely charming.’ He turned to Victor. ‘You are a fortunate man, my friend.’

  ‘Oh, I know that,’ said Victor, smiling at Daisy in a way that made her blush.

  Mr Meyer tipped his hat to them. ‘Enjoy your day. May the sun shine brightly for you.’

  ‘He’s rather a dear,’ said Daisy, looking after him as he walked discreetly away. ‘Not at all what you’d think a dour old Dutchman would be.’

  ‘No,’ said Victor, a little absently. Then he smiled, and looked into her eyes. ‘But then people are often surprising. Now then, Daisy, are you ready? The car’s just outside. Will you take my arm?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Daisy as they headed joyfully out into the bright sunshine.

  Fourteen

  Woodley-Foxe and George finally reached London at four o’clock that afternoon. There was a lot of traffic and it took a while to negotiate their way through one-way streets and intersections, not to speak of getting lost once or twice. So it was just after five when they pulled up at the Brooks Hotel.

  The great detective’s entrance into the hushed atmosphere of the lounge would have made a magnificent scene if anyone had been watching. Alas, except for the receptionist and concierge busy at their counters, the place was empty. No matter. The detective strode up to the reception desk, took out his wallet and showed his calling card. George knew it was a most impressive card, with admiring endorsements from various famous people. The receptionist looked at it, but didn’t seem suitably impressed. In fact, she looked rather suspicious.

  ‘How may we help you, sir?’

  ‘Is Miss Olivia Marlow staying here?’ barked the detective.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said the receptionist. Her suspicious look deepened. She nodded discreetly at the concierge.

  The concierge smiled at them politely, but George could see his muscles rippling purposefully under his shirt. ‘Sir? What appears to be the trouble?’

  ‘Your trouble,’ began Woodley-Foxe, ‘is that you are not giving me the information I need on Miss Marlow and …’ But he got no further. The concierge took him forcefully by the elbow and, in a quick movement, marched him to the steps. ‘Excuse me, sir, but we do not tolerate intrusions by the press into our guests’ privacy,’ he said, very politely. ‘You will have to leave, sir, unless you wish us to go to the
police.’

  Woodley-Foxe’s face had turned a deep puce colour. ‘The press! How dare you!’ he spluttered. ‘How dare you! You fool, don’t you know who I am?’

  ‘A prying reporter,’ said the man, grimly.

  ‘No! No! You don’t understand! He’s Mr Woodley-Foxe, the famous detective,’ broke in George, anxiously. ‘Please, you must listen to us. You must!’

  The concierge nodded at the doorman, who came up the steps. He, too, was rather burly.

  ‘These gentlemen are just leaving,’ said the concierge, calmly. ‘Perhaps you could show them out, Henry?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the doorman, who took Woodley-Foxe’s arm. The detective shook it off. His eyes glittered like blue ice as he glared at the two men. ‘You are prize fools and idiots,’ he said. ‘You will be sorry!’ With that, he clapped his hat on his head and, signalling to George to follow, he strode with great dignity down the steps and into the street.

  The car was parked a short distance away. Woodley-Foxe didn’t speak at all on the way there, and George didn’t dare to say anything. He was not only dashed by their reception, but also by the fact he hadn’t seen a sign of Daisy. He’d expected she’d be there, watching them make their big entrance. Though come to think of it, in the circumstances, it was surely better she hadn’t!

  Woodley-Foxe was just unlocking the car when a scarlet and white Delage roared up the street, making George jump out of the way. He caught a glimpse of the driver, a beautiful young blonde woman in a blue dress. She gave George an apologetic smile in the rear-view mirror as she went past. He smiled back, dazzled. What a beauty! Longingly, he watched as she parked the car in front of the Brooks and nimbly jumped out. He saw her face properly then. He gave an exclamation and, without stopping to explain, ran back down the street, calling, ‘Miss Marlow! Miss Marlow! Please stop!’

  She turned. He got the full wattage of her dazzling smile. ‘Yes?’ she said, in a soft, seductive voice. George trembled.

  ‘Miss Marlow … we must tell you … that is, my …’

  ‘Miss Marlow,’ said Woodley-Foxe, hurrying up. ‘I am Philip Woodley-Foxe, and …’

  He got no further. Olivia Marlow’s eyes widened and she clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, my goodness! You are the greatest private detective in the world, sir! I have read several of your thrilling books — perhaps you’ll autograph them for me some day?’

  The detective looked highly gratified. ‘I would be only too delighted to oblige you, Miss Marlow. I am glad my small fame has reached you — you, one of the brightest stars of the silver screen!’

  ‘Now you are being too kind, Mr Woodley-Foxe,’ smiled the actress. ‘But what brings you here, sir?’ She clapped her hands excitedly. ‘Oh, Mr Woodley-Foxe, do tell me there is a daring, dastardly criminal you are hunting down, right on my doorstep! That would be too, too thrilling!’

  ‘I am afraid that is so, Miss Marlow,’ the detective said, gravely. ‘But I regret to inform you that the dastardly criminal in question intends you as his victim. In short, an attempt will be made on your diamonds, if it hasn’t been made already.’

  Olivia looked astonished. ‘Oh no! My diamonds are safe and sound in my own strongbox, to which only I have the key.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I believe an attempt will be made. There is a thief after your Blue Moon diamond necklace, Miss Marlow, a very clever and unscrupulous thief who goes by the name of The Shadow. It is usual for this thief to sent his victims an invitation …’

  ‘Oh!’ broke in the actress. She had suddenly gone very pale. ‘An invitation, did you say, Mr Woodley-Foxe?’

  Woodley-Foxe leant towards her. ‘A card in effect announcing that The Shadow will be stealing your diamonds!’

  ‘I … I suppose that’s what it must be,’ said the film star, faintly. ‘I … I thought it was something else … you see, I have an enemy who will stop at nothing to discredit me … And I thought — I supposed this was meant to frighten me … it was written like an invitation to a play, but I knew at once it referred to my jewels. But I could not quite believe in it — The Shadow is such a melodramatic name and …’

  ‘That’s what The Shadow banks on — his victims’ disbelief!’ said Woodley-Foxe, grimly. ‘Miss Marlow, I will need to see that card.’

  She nodded, opened her bag, and took out a small white card. ‘I … I’ve kept it with me. I wasn’t sure what to do … I didn’t want it to get to the ears of the Prince, you see. He … things aren’t altogether right between us, and …’ She broke off, looking away, but not before George had seen her eyes fill with tears. Indignation against the absent Prince filled him.

  ‘It’s quite all right, my dear,’ said Woodley-Foxe, patting her arm in a fatherly sort of way. He scanned the card, while George craned to see it. ‘Hmm. Rather similar to the others.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Oh yes, Miss, there have been several other victims. And they all received a similar card.’

  ‘Oh!’ Olivia Marlow sounded very surprised. ‘I thought … I thought it was something that was just meant for me … You see … there are those in Luxenstein who’d like to end my … my association with the Prince, and who think that he shouldn’t have given me the Blue Moon … I’m sure they’ve got spies on me already, and so I thought that perhaps …’

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Marlow,’ said Woodley-Foxe. ‘We can set your mind at rest on that score. The Shadow is a jewel thief, not a spy. He has no connection with Luxenstein at all. Why, only a few days ago, he stole a valuable diamond bracelet belonging to a very well-born lady, in the countryside miles from London!’

  The detective must be referring to The Shadow as ‘he’ and not ‘she’, George thought, because he didn’t want to reveal his suspicions about the Countess …

  ‘Oh, really?’ said the film star, with a darting smile. ‘I suppose it must seem a little odd, but this takes a weight off my mind. Give me a daring jewel thief over Princess Hildegarde’s goons any day! Especially since you’re here, now, Mr Woodley-Foxe. I’m sure my Blue Moon will be quite safe.’

  The detective tried to look stern, but couldn’t stop his smile from breaking out. ‘Miss Marlow, you do have to take this matter seriously. Have you had any further communications from The Shadow? There are usually two notices, one announcing the plan to steal the diamonds; the next giving the exact time and date.’

  ‘I haven’t had any more cards, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be a card, Miss Marlow. Last time, it was a phone call.’

  ‘A phone call!’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness! There was a call put through to my room last night. A very strange call, I couldn’t understand it. It was just a voice saying, till tomorrow evening on the dance floor, then. I thought it was one of my friends, arranging to see me tonight — there’s a big dinner-dance here, you see, with a wonderful band — but I couldn’t recognise the voice at all. And when I said, who’s this? There was just a little laugh, and then they hung up. It was most puzzling.’

  George’s heart raced. He met Woodley-Foxe’s eyes. The detective said, heavily, ‘That’s it, then. The Shadow will strike tonight, on the dance floor.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ repeated Olivia Marlow, opening her eyes very wide. ‘Are you sure? But how can he? It will be so public — isn’t he a kind of cat burglar? Oh, what will we do? I’d better put the Blue Moon in the hotel safe … or even take it to the bank … Maybe I ought not attend the dance …’

  Woodley-Foxe shook his head, knowingly. ‘No, Miss Marlow. You must not change your plans. With your permission, we will lay a trap for this criminal. You need not fear, as I am here to protect you and ensure The Shadow is caught red-handed.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Woodley-Foxe, what do you want me to do?’ breathed the actress. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes shone.

  The detective preened himself a little. ‘It is a simple plan, Miss Marlow. You will need to wear your diamonds tonight. They are the bait for The
Shadow, who is, I believe, masquerading as a guest at this very hotel … Yes,’ he added, as Olivia Marlow looked questioningly at him, ‘I have a very strong clue that points in this direction. I cannot say who yet, Miss Marlow, because you understand, it can be difficult for you to hide your reactions once you know, and that may warn the thief.’ He paused. ‘Now I must ask a favour of you, Miss Marlow. I’m afraid the hotel staff were very rude to me just now. They appeared to think I was a gutter journalist, trying to pester you! I shall need you to vouch for me.’

  ‘Pester me. The very idea!’ said the actress, hotly. ‘Well, I’ll make certain they are most polite now, Mr Woodley-Foxe. And …’ She looked questioningly at George.

  ‘George, Miss,’ he said, hastily. ‘George Dale. Mr Woodley-Foxe’s assistant.’

  ‘So pleased to meet you, George Dale. How lucky you are, to be working with the greatest detective in the country, perhaps even the world!’

  ‘Oh, I know, Miss Marlow,’ breathed George.

  The detective coughed, sharply. ‘Now then. We must make our plans. With your help, Miss Marlow — George and I will be inserted into the hotel as new guests. I will take on one of my aliases — James Ward-Lock.’

  ‘Like the guidebook,’ George couldn’t resist saying. The firm of Ward-Lock produced a popular range of travel guidebooks. You always saw them in the hands of tourists.

  Woodley-Foxe ignored him. ‘You, George, can keep your own name, it will be easier for you to remember. You are my nephew. My sister’s son. You live in the country. I’ve brought you to London to see the sights. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said George, meekly.

  ‘That way we can mingle naturally with the crowd tonight. We will not tell the hotel we suspect a guest — only that we expect a jewel thief to strike tonight.’

  Olivia Marlow looked a little anxious. ‘Oh, Mr Woodley-Foxe, are you sure this will work?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said the detective, grimly. He wore the expression of a keen hunting dog on the hot trail of prey.