The Case of the Diamond Shadow

by Sophie Masson

  Why, Irene is positively chatty, almost human tonight, thought Daisy, amused.

  The lift stopped. They got out. Giving a nod, and a friendly smile, Irene walked briskly towards the hotel entrance. Daisy could hear the noise coming from the dining room, the waves of chatter and laughter, the band playing vigorously. The place must be full to bursting. She took a deep breath. A sudden fright seized her. She must go in, yet she was nervous about walking in on her own … She clutched her evening bag. Maybe she should have a look at her face, make sure her lipstick wasn’t on crooked, or her mascara smudged. She opened the bag. Dash it! thought Daisy. She had left her powder compact, with its little inset mirror, upstairs. She looked uncertainly at the dining-room door. She should go in, Victor would be waiting … No, she couldn’t go in without her compact. She might need to powder her nose! She just had to have it! But she had to be quick!

  Nervously, she dashed back into the lift and jabbed at the buttons. The corridor on her floor was rather dim — the lights must not be working properly. She went to her door and, fumbling with the key, opened it — or tried to. The key did not want to open the lock. What was the matter with it? Her hands must be slipping. She tried again. It wouldn’t work. Bother, thought Daisy, crossly. What’s wrong with this infernal lock?

  She looked up — and only now saw that the number on the door wasn’t 38, but 28. She stared. What on earth … Oh, of course, she must have pressed the wrong lift button. That came of being in a rush. She’d go up again …

  At that moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a door opening down the far end of the corridor. Some instinct made her press herself back against an overhang in the wall. As she did so, a shadowy figure slipped stealthily out of the doorway. Daisy couldn’t see properly, but it appeared to be dressed in something dark and soft. The face could not be seen. Daisy held her breath. A thief, she thought at once. The Shadow!

  The intruder ran to the door that led to the back stairs. Without stopping to think, Daisy followed. Taking off her shoes, and holding them in her hand, she sprinted noiselessly along the passage to the stairs, taking just enough time to check the number of the room the shadowy figure had come out of. Number 21.

  As Daisy entered into the stairwell, she heard a door click below. It was the door that led to the third floor. Daisy followed. Silently, she opened the door and peered down the passage. The dark figure was at Daisy’s own door and appeared to be fumbling with the lock! Half a second later, her door opened and the intruder went in, closing the door behind them.

  Daisy burned with indignation. What did the thief think they would find in her room? Without stopping to think, she raced down the hall and quietly opened her door.

  She didn’t stop to think about what she would do if the intruder was in her bedroom. But the thief was not there. Instead, Daisy could hear a feverish rustling coming from the bathroom. What was going on? Her heart raced. She had to stop this person. But what if they attacked her? Looking around wildly, she snatched up her heavy silver-plated hand mirror from the dressing table and crept to the bathroom.

  The door was ajar. The light was not on. Through the gap, Daisy could make out a figure rummaging around in the bathroom cupboard. Her breath quickened. She raised her makeshift weapon …

  The intruder closed the cupboard door and swung around. Panicked, Daisy hit out wildly. The figure took a step back, stumbled, tripped, and went sprawling. There was an audible crack as their head hit the floor.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ shouted Daisy, excitedly. ‘Or I’ll …’

  The intruder didn’t move. The fall must have stunned him. Or was he … was he dead? Suddenly anxious, Daisy bent over the figure to feel for a pulse. It was still going. The intruder was just knocked out.

  Daisy turned on the light and there was revealed not a man but a woman: a small, solid woman in a dark, soft trouser suit, her head covered with a tight black pull-on hat and a grey scarf wound around the lower part of her face.

  Could it be Mrs Peabody? Heart racing, Daisy gently removed the hat and scarf. She was looking at the face of a stranger — a rather ordinary face, not made-up but with pale, rather freckly skin, thin lips, short, wavy brown hair going a little grey. The woman’s eyes were closed, and there was a trickle of blood on her forehead.

  Daisy sat back on her heels and considered what to do. She had to get help. But she couldn’t just leave the intruder on the floor. What if she woke up and escaped? I have to tie her up, Daisy thought. She looked around. There was no rope in the room, of course. But she had scarves and the cord from her dressing gown, plus a belt from a coat. Those would have to do. Now — what were those knots George had tried to teach her?

  Seventeen

  George was puzzled. He’d kept an eye out for Daisy, but he hadn’t seen her yet. He’d been sure she’d be at that oily French charmer’s table early. He fancied that the St-Remy’s looked rather anxious. And so they should — they were about to be unmasked as a pair of jewel thieves!

  He’d seen Mrs Peabody, from the back, swathed in some purple chiffon that clashed rather badly with her bright red wig. She was sitting at a table at the far right of the room, eating heartily, deep in conversation with her companions. His other suspects sat a few tables away, harmlessly engaged in chatter with a couple of ladies. And there, in the centre of the room, surrounded by a circle of adoring young men, was Olivia Marlow, looking like a Greek goddess in a simple white dress, her only ornament — and what an ornament — the Blue Moon diamond necklace, winking defiantly out from her delicate throat. She talked and laughed as if she hadn’t a care in the world, and George’s heart swelled with admiration for her nerve. It wasn’t every woman who’d consent to being the bait for a jewel thief who would stop at nothing!

  The band was quite as good as its reputation. The dance floor was filling up with couples. Still no sign of Daisy. George was beginning to feel a little worried. What had happened to her? Was she sick? Should he go and ask Mrs Peabody? He looked over at the St-Remys. Victor looked restless; his eyes kept roving from side to side. Ha! He’s obviously expecting her too, thought George, grimly. But she’s stood you up, my friend, and serve you right. Still, it did seem odd. Daisy had seemed to have eyes for no-one but Victor earlier …

  He got up and slipped through the tables to Mrs Peabody’s table. He cleared his throat. ‘Er, excuse me, Mrs Peabody …’

  The woman turned around and George gasped. This was not Mrs Peabody, but a complete stranger! From the front, she looked nothing like the Australian. She had a broad, haughty face and a pair of ice-blue eyes that looked very frostily at him indeed. ‘What do you want, young man?’

  The whole table was looking at him. George coloured. ‘Er … sorry … I made a mistake … I was looking for Mrs Peabody …’

  ‘This is the Duchess of Medlarshire, young man,’ snapped one of the men at the table. ‘Have you no manners, imposing yourself like this?’ The woman herself didn’t deign to say anything more, and after one haughty look, turned her back firmly on George. Scarlet, murmuring excuses, he backed away, feeling like a prize idiot. Oh, well at least now Daisy’s absence made more sense. Mrs Peabody must have kept her upstairs, working. Pretty mean, really, on a night like this, but there you go. It happened.

  The band took a break as a clatter of crockery announced the entry of the first course. Poor Daisy, George thought, she’s going to miss out!

  At that moment, the waiters who’d been hovering around the St-Remy table moved aside and George, to his horror, saw that Victor had vanished. He must have taken advantage of the commotion to slip out unobserved! Oh gosh, thought George in a panic, Woodley-Foxe told me not to let any of our suspects from my sight! The other three — the Countess, Meyer and Felici were still at their tables, but St-Remy was nowhere to be seen! I must find him, thought George.

  He sprang up, colliding with a waiter hovering just at his elbow. The man gave a surprised gasp and the dish he was holding went flying all over the peo
ple at the next table. Ignoring the shouts and protests, George fled the room.

  George caught sight of St-Remy immediately. He was about to step into the lift. ‘Wait!’ George shouted and dashed across the lounge. He fully expected Victor to just close the lift door, but he didn’t. Instead he stepped to one side to let George enter.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter, Mr Dale? You look as though the devil himself is after you.’

  George coloured. ‘I was just … just … er … going to see if Daisy was all right.’

  ‘What a coincidence,’ said Victor, coldly. ‘So was I.’

  They went up in an uncomfortable silence. On the third floor, Victor walked briskly to Room 38. George followed. They knocked. There was a little silence, then Daisy’s voice quavered, ‘Who … who is it?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said George before Victor could answer. ‘Oh, and Victor St-Remy,’ he added, grudgingly, as the door abruptly opened and Daisy appeared, looking rather flustered.

  ‘Thank heavens it’s you,’ said Daisy. ‘I thought it might be an accomplice of hers.’ Seeing their blank expressions, she pointed to the bathroom. ‘Have a look.’

  They went in. George knelt down beside the captive. ‘I’ve never seen this person before,’ he said. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I think it might be The Shadow,’ said Daisy.

  George whistled. Victor said, ‘What? What is The Shadow?’

  George and Daisy looked at each other. George tried to telegraph a ‘no’ with his eyes, but Daisy ignored it. ‘The Shadow is a thief who steals diamonds,’ she said.

  Victor smiled faintly. He looked down at their prisoner. ‘A hotel rat, you mean. I’ve heard of them. Often they’re women. They steal jewels from people’s rooms when they’re otherwise engaged.’ He looked at Daisy. ‘Did she have any loot on her?’

  ‘Not that I could see. She was rummaging about in my bathroom, but I couldn’t see anything missing. Not that there is anything to take!’ She paused. ‘I can’t understand what she thought she might find.’

  ‘Thieves are opportunistic,’ said Victor. ‘And they’re not often very bright.’

  George said, slowly, ‘If it is The Shadow, a lot of people will be greatly relieved. You’ve already caught the crook. Olivia Marlow’s diamonds are safe.’

  ‘What?’ repeated Victor. He looked from George to Daisy. ‘Would someone mind explaining to me what this is all about?’ he said, frostily.

  ‘Well,’ began George, ‘it’s confidential, really, and I …’

  Victor looked at Daisy. ‘But you knew about it.’

  Daisy could see he was upset. She felt bad. ‘I wanted to tell you,’ she said, ‘but …’

  ‘But you didn’t trust me. ‘

  Daisy went red. ‘Oh Victor, that’s not true! I didn’t know about The Shadow till this afternoon, when George told me. Then tonight I saw this woman sneaking in and out of people’s rooms, obviously up to no good. I thought at first it might be Mrs Peabody, but it clearly isn’t, and so I …’

  ‘Wait, wait,’ said George. ‘Why did you think it was Mrs Peabody?’

  Daisy looked quickly at Victor. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Something else you haven’t told me?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Victor, I …’

  ‘Oh stop it, St-Remy,’ said George, angrily. ‘Let her speak. This is important.’

  The two young men glared at each other. Then Victor shrugged. ‘Go on, then,’ he said.

  Daisy could see he was still annoyed. It was beginning to make her cross now, too. But she said nothing about it. Quickly, she told them what she’d seen, and what she suspected.

  George’s eyes widened. He nodded.

  ‘And she could very well have got into Charlton Hall, she was in the vicinity. All very odd,’ he said. ‘I can see why you were suspicious.’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘I won’t say I told you so …’

  ‘But you will, anyway,’ said Daisy, smiling. ‘All right, George, you can gloat to your heart’s content, but later.’

  ‘In any case, this isn’t Mrs Peabody,’ said Victor.

  ‘No, but Mrs Peabody’s not at the dance either,’ said George. ‘Is she in her room?’

  Daisy shook her head. ‘Irene — her maid — said she’d gone out.’

  Slowly George said, ‘I had a thought, earlier — maybe we’re not just dealing with one person, but a gang. An international gang of crooks. See, this person here — she might be part of it, but she can’t be the only one. Because the person who set upon my boss at Charlton Hall was bigger and stronger, and wearing a coat that stank of a certain cigar blend. It’s a very rare blend. My employer, Mr Woodley-Foxe, who’s made a study of such things, recognised it at once. It’s real evidence. You’ve got to take that into account.’ He gave Victor a sideways glance. ‘The … er … there’s a list of people who bought that blend. There was no mention of Mrs Peabody on that list.’

  Victor raised an eyebrow. ‘Why should it be someone who bought the cigars?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Daisy, eagerly. ‘Maybe it was someone who had a cigar given to them, or who was even in a house where one of them was being smoked? You know how clothes hold the smell of smoke, George.’

  George was crestfallen. ‘Oh Lord! Of course, you’re right! That rather widens our list, doesn’t it? I think we had better …’

  At that moment, the light went out and they were plunged into darkness.

  Eighteen

  For an instant, they stood frozen. Then they all leapt for the door, so quickly that Victor and George banged heads, painfully. Daisy opened the door and looked out into the passage. ‘Lights out here too!’

  Disentangling himself from Victor, George ran for the hall switch. He clicked it on, but nothing happened. ‘Quick!’ he said, ‘we’ve got to get downstairs!’

  He dashed for the lift — but it wasn’t working. ‘They must have cut all the electricity,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Then we’ll have to use the stairs! Come on!’

  It was pitch dark in the stairwell too, so they had to go pretty carefully, especially as Daisy had to hold up her long dress. But they soon reached the ground floor, and ran to the dining room which was also plunged in darkness. People were shouting and yelling. George felt the crunch of something underfoot. ‘Watch out,’ he said, ‘that’s broken glass!’

  At that moment, the lights came back on. There was a general gasp of relief, then a gasp of horror. Olivia Marlow was slumped on the floor near her table, a red patch on her white shoulder. There was a rush towards her.

  ‘Stay back, stay back,’ roared Philip Woodley-Foxe. ‘Is there a doctor in the house?’

  Harry Golightly stepped forward. ‘If it’s of any use, I was a medical student before I started the band,’ he said, a little hesitantly. He knelt down beside the actress. ‘I’ll need help to roll her over,’ he said. Volunteers crowded around him. ‘Gently does it,’ he said. ‘Gently.’

  Daisy felt a hand on her elbow. It was Mr Meyer. He looked pale and rather dazed. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

  She nodded. ‘What happened here, Mr Meyer?’

  ‘People were dancing … Then suddenly there was a sound — like a pistol shot — I think a chandelier exploded. Glass went everywhere. Then the lights went out … I heard Olivia Marlow scream for help … and that man’ — he pointed to Woodley-Foxe, ‘I could hear him shouting, stop thief, you’re under arrest!’ He groaned. ‘It was awful … they were after the Blue Moon Diamond, I suppose … and they got it …’

  ‘Yes,’ began Daisy, but she stopped suddenly as the crowd parted and she saw Olivia Marlow. ‘Look! Victor! George! Mr Meyer! She’s still wearing it!’

  It was quite true. The diamond necklace was still on the actress’ neck, but there were red scratches on her skin. Daisy whispered, ‘Look! They must have tried to rip it off her throat! She must have fought them!’

  Mr Meyer stared at the actress. ‘Goodness, how odd … how dreadful …’

  Olivia Marlow’s eyes o
pened. They were full of pain. ‘It hurts …’ she croaked.

  ‘Yes,’ said the band leader, gently. ‘Happily, Miss, the cut on your shoulder is not serious, just a flesh wound from where a flying bit of glass must have struck you. And those scratches are nasty, but they’ll heal quickly. We’ll get you to hospital and have you patched up in a jiffy …’

  She looked up into his eyes and tried to smile. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You are very kind.’ He patted her hand, gently. ‘Don’t think anything of it, Miss Marlow. Try to relax. You are suffering from shock and must rest.’

  He turned to the others. ‘She needs to be kept warm. Can I have some coats, please? Furs would be best.’ As people handed them to him, he tucked them around her. ‘Has someone called an ambulance?’ he said, over his shoulder.

  ‘I will,’ said George, hurrying out. Olivia Marlow closed her eyes, the long lashes lying on her pale skin. She looked very young and vulnerable. The band leader sat close by her.

  Woodley-Foxe cleared his throat and announced, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask everyone to stay here till I have taken down your names and addresses.’ He ignored the protests. ‘A crime has been committed — or at least attempted — and you are all witnesses.’

  ‘And just who are you to give such orders?’ That was the Italian, Felici, looking stiff and soldierly.

  ‘My name is Philip Woodley-Foxe, sir. I’m a private detective. Some of you may have heard of me …’ He paused for the murmur of surprise and recognition, which duly came. ‘My services have been retained by Miss Marlow. I believe that the sudden knowledge of my presence here, as well as Miss Marlow’s courage, may be one reason these criminals were foiled in their aim. Now, please, ladies and gentlemen, this won’t take much of your time at all.’

  ‘There is something I must tell you,’ said Mr Felici. He walked over to the detective, and said something in his ear. Woodley-Foxe’s eyes narrowed. ‘May I see your credentials, sir?’