The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  Leather crouched down for a closer inspection. 'Looks like a broken wine glass.'

  'Shall I take a photo?'

  'Might as well.'

  'Well, what do you think of it all, Wilkins?' asked the Earl.

  The Chief Inspector, who had apparently rapidly lost interest in their conversation and was paying more attention to a painting of some horses by Stubbs than to anything else, seemed to pull himself back with an effort.

  'I don't, my lord.'

  'Don't what?'

  'Think. About this. It's another rum thing, like the cufflinks. There'll probably be a third. But I don't reckon this one's going to help us catch the murderer, so I'm not going to waste my time racking my brains about it for now.'

  'Prints, sir?' Leather suggested. Smithson gave a low groan.

  'I heard that, Smithy,' Leather said.

  Wilkins shook his head. 'It'd take ages, all probably to no avail. After all, any one of the guests might have come in here, quite innocently, and touched the armour, during the afternoon. Quite right to suggest it, though, Jack. But better take a couple of shots,' he added, to the photographer, 'just for the record.'

  When the man had done so, Wilkins addressed him and Smithson. 'OK, you lads can clear off.'

  'Right, guv. Goodnight.' They started to move away.

  'I think,' Wilkins added. They froze in mid-movement. Wilkins concentrated for a moment, then he said, 'Yes, all right, go and get a bit of kip.'

  They hastily departed, before he changed his mind again.

  The Earl, Wilkins, Dobson and Leather followed them, Lord Burford this time locking the gallery doors. Then they made their way back to the main corridor. When they reached Clara's room, Wilkins said: 'Dobson, you can collect those damned cufflinks. Try and make sure you get them all. When you've done that, you can vamoose, too.'

  'Right, Chief Inspector.'

  'What about prints on them, sir?' Leather suggested.

  'They're so small you'd never get more than a tiny section of the print. Still, better be on the safe side, I suppose. Pick them up with tweezers, Dobson. I've got some here, somewhere.' He started to search through his pockets. 'Put them in a bag and give it to me or the sergeant. We won't bother to dust them yet, but we can if we need to later on. It'll mean, though, that Smithson'll have to take everyone's prints tomorrow, while he's here, just in case we do need them for elimination.'

  He found the tweezers and handed them to the constable.

  'I haven't got a bag, sir.'

  'Oh drat it. I should have got one from Smithson. Chase after him, Jack.'

  'Why not just put 'em back in the box?' Lord Burford suggested.

  'Good idea, my lord.'

  'I'll get it.' The Earl hurried off.

  'We can't do much more here now,' Wilkins said. 'But I suppose we'd better put the poor lady to rights. Come on, Jack.'

  They laid Clara straight in the bed, crossed her hands on her breast and covered her with the sheet. As they finished, the Earl returned and handed Dobson the box. Then the Earl, Wilkins and Leather went out, leaving Dobson to his task.

  'Now, my lord, I suppose I'd better come down and have a word with your guests.' The prospect seemed to depress him still further.

  They went down the staircase. In the great hall, Wilkins paused before a large gilt mirror and carefully straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair. Lord Burford opened the double doors to the drawing-room and entered, Wilkins and Leather on his heels. Everyone looked at them.

  The Earl said: 'Detective Chief Inspector Wilkins would like a word. Wilkins, you remember my wife.'

  Wilkins went forward and bowed over the Countess' proffered hand. 'Yes, indeed. How do you do, my lady?'

  'Chief Inspector. I am pleased it is you. We are relying on you.'

  'And my daughter.'

  'Lady Geraldine.'

  Gerry smiled up at him. 'Hello again, Mr Wilkins. We can't go on meeting like this.'

  The Earl introduced him to the others. When he got to Stella, Wilkins said: 'Ah, you're the lady who found an intruder in her room.'

  Stella nodded.

  'Must have been very frightening.'

  'Surprisingly, not really. I was angry, more than scared.'

  'Nothing taken?'

  'Not that I could see. There wasn't much of my stuff there, anyway: hairbrush and comb, make-up, sponge bag, things like that. Nothing remotely valuable.'

  'And that was just about the same time as the crash?'

  'I think so. I wasn't conscious of actually hearing the crash, but it has to have been that which woke me.'

  'I heard it,' Penny put in. 'But I'm a very light sleeper. It was hardly any time after when Stella started shouting.'

  'It must have been within eight or ten seconds,' Gerry added. 'Dorry and I heard the crash, rushed to the door, and heard Stella start to shout almost at once.'

  Lord Burford moved on. 'Miss Mackenzie, friend of my great aunt.'

  Jean Mackenzie took a deep breath. 'Chief Inspector, I—' She stopped, then said quietly: 'How do you do?'

  The Earl completed the introductions, then said: 'Right, Chief Inspector, if there's anything you want to say, the floor's yours.'

  Wilkins cleared his throat. 'Just to confirm, ladies and gentlemen, that there seems no doubt Mrs Saunders was indeed murdered.'

  There was little reaction to this until after a few seconds Stella spoke: 'And by one of us, right?'

  There was a gasp from the Countess. Gerry though shot an admiring glance at Stella. Miss Mackenzie gave a little cry of dismay.

  Gregory said: 'I say, steady on.'

  Timothy said: 'A perfectly logical deduction.'

  Penny uttered a reproachful wail. 'Daddy!'

  Tommy assumed a sepulchral voice. 'So who done it? Who done the foul deed?' He fell on his knees in front of Wilkins and held up clasped hands. 'I am innocent, Inspector, I swear I am innocent. Have mercy. Think of my two wives and ten helpless children.'

  'Oh, stop playing the fool, man!' Timothy snapped irritably. "Ibis is serious.'

  'Yes, I know. Sorry.' Tommy sat back down, looking a little embarrassed.

  Wilkins said: 'There is at least the possibility that the alarm system is faulty and that an intruder did manage to escape without setting it off. We cannot get an expert to check it until tomorrow. There's not much point in doing anything further tonight, so as far as I'm concerned you can all go to bed now, unless there is anything any of you wish to tell me tonight.'

  He looked round. Miss Mackenzie opened her mouth as if to speak, then obviously changed her mind and closed it again. The others shook their heads. 'Very well. I will, of course, be wanting to speak to you all later in the day. I trust there will be no problem for anyone in remaining here?'

  There was a general shaking of heads. 'It's confoundedly inconvenient,' Timothy said, 'but it is plainly unavoidable.'

  'And I'm afraid we're going to have to take your fingerprints tomorrow, for the purposes of elimination. They will, of course, be destroyed when the case is closed. Good night.'

  Wilkins backed towards the door, giving little nods of the head to everybody in turn, as if exiting from the presence of royalty. He went out. Leather, who had remained just inside the door, followed him. Lord Burford went out after them.

  'That's a remarkable young lady, my lord,' Wilkins said.

  'Miss Simmons?'

  'Yes. Just coming out like that with what everybody was thinking.'

  'She's a journalist. They tend to like things out in the open. Sorry about young Tommy.'

  'Think nothing of it, my lord. Everybody reacts in a different way when they're frightened. That's Mr Lambert's way.'

  'Oh, by the way, you haven't seen Dorothy - the stepdaughter. She's still in her room.'

  'That'll keep till the morning.'

  'Good, good. Doubt if she's really up to it tonight. Oh, and it's just occurred to me: we've got no burglar alarm for the rest of the night. If one of those peop
le is the killer, they could easily do a bunk.'

  'Oh, I hope they do, my lord, I really hope they do. Make my job a lot simpler. Easy to catch someone you know is guilty. Much easier than finding out who the guilty party is.

  'But don't I remember your saying something last time along the lines of "If you let a criminal out of your sight you might never see him again." '

  'A criminal, yes — a professional criminal. They've often made contingency plans to disappear in an emergency: money, false papers, clothes, stored somewhere safe. But none of these suspects are professionals in that sense; they'd all have the dickens of a job just to vanish without trace.'

  At that moment they saw Dobson descending the stairs. He was carrying the cufflink box carefully in both hands, came across and presented them to Wilkins like a votive offering.

  'Thanks. Get them all?'

  'I think so, sir. Can't be dead sure, of course, but I looked under the bed, behind the dressing-table, everywhere else I could think of.'

  'Good man.' He turned back to the Earl. 'We'll have to hang onto these, I'm afraid, just in case there are prints on them. Don't know how you'll manage tomorrow. I could lend you mine. Not such good quality, I'm sure, but—'

  'Much obliged, my dear chap, but at the moment I don't feel I ever want to see another cufflink. I'll be happy to wear my sleeves rolled all day tomorrow.'

  "Very well, my lord. I don't think there's much more we can do now. We will return in the morning. I expect it would be convenient if we were not too early. About ten thirty, say.'

  'Oh, that's decent of you. I expect everyone will appreciate that.'

  'The ambulance will be coming to collect the body, so I'll tell them to leave it until about then, too. Well, goodnight, my lord.'

  'Goodnight, Wilkins, Sergeant, Constable.'

  Merryweather showed them out, closed and locked the doors. He turned round, with an almost indiscernible sigh.

  'Merryweather, we'll put everything back a bit tomorrow morning. Breakfast about nine thirty be early enough. Tell the servants they can all sleep in a bit longer.'

  'Thank you, my lord. They will welcome that. I, however, will be rising at my usual hour.'

  'I'm sure you will, Merryweather, I'm sure you will. G'night.'

  The Earl returned to the drawing-room and explained the situation to the others. Slowly they trooped upstairs to their rooms. But it was a long time before anyone slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dorothy crept almost furtively down the grand staircase. It was just gone seven a.m., but there was no sign of life and Alderley was enveloped in silence. It made Dorothy feel she must not on any account disturb the stillness. She reached the bottom and made her way along the short corridor that led to the telephone room. She reached it, turned the knob and pushed. The door didn't move. She pushed harder, but it was definitely locked.

  Dorothy stood there irresolutely. It was vital she phoned Agatha now. It couldn't possibly be delayed any longer. She wondered if the room was always locked at night. But why? It seemed most odd.

  Eventually, Dorothy returned to the great hall. Should she just go back to her room and wait there until she heard people moving about? Or wait down here? Or walk to the village and find a telephone kiosk? Dorothy's life was a series of such uncertainties, tiny in themselves but a never-ending source of worry for her.

  Then she gave a terrific start as a voice behind her said quietly: 'Can I be of assistance, miss?'

  She spun round. 'Oh! Mist— er, Merryweather. You startled me.'

  'I do beg your pardon, miss. I did not realise you had not heard me approaching.'

  'You walk so quietly.'

  'I know, miss, and I realise that on occasions it can be a fault, but seem unable to correct it. Lady Geraldine has remarked amusingly that I should go to evening classes and take clumping lessons.'

  'Please don't apologise. Normally, I would have thought nothing of it. But I am rather on edge.'

  'Perfectly understandable, miss, in view of the shocking occurrence. May I take this opportunity of offering my most sincere condolences?'

  'Thank you. Thank you very much. Er, I need to make a phone call.'

  'I will show you where the telephone is, miss.'

  'No, I know where it is. I've just been there. But the door seems to be locked.'

  Merryweather's right eyebrow rose about an eighth of an inch. 'How very strange. I have never known it to be so before. If you will kindly follow me I will investigate.'

  He led her back to the telephone room, turned the doorknob and pushed. The door opened.

  Dorothy gave a gasp. 'It was locked! I swear it.'

  Merryweather crossed to the phone and felt the receiver and mouthpiece. Then he put his hand on the base and nodded. 'I would say the contraption has definitely been used within the last few minutes, miss. The earpiece and mouthpiece are very slightly warmer than the rest.'

  'Oh, Mr Merryweather, how clever! I should never have thought of that. But I wonder why they locked themselves in. And where did they go?'

  'There is a back staircase at the far end of the corridor, which leads to the first floor, miss.'

  'Of course, I remember seeing it. Well, I can call my sister now. Thank you.'

  'And may I get you some tea, miss?'

  'Yes, please, thank you.'

  'Breakfast has been put back today, owing to the unusual - or perhaps I should not use that particular adjective - owing to the unfortunate circumstances, and the kitchen staff are not up yet. However, I would be happy to prepare something for you myself.'

  'That's very kind, but no thank you. Tea will be splendid.'

  Merryweather gave a slight bow and withdrew. Dorothy went to the telephone.

  * * *

  Needless to say, Gerry was the first of the others down, though it was ten o'clock when she breezed into the breakfast room and began helping herself to devilled kidneys from the heated sideboard. She was feeling excited and, probably alone among the occupants of Alderley, greatly looking forward to what lay ahead. During the last two cases she had made pretty much a prize idiot of herself, totally failing to spot the murderers; and, worse, nearly getting herself killed and having to be rescued. She was determined that this time she really was going to solve the case. She was just starting her breakfast when Merryweather entered.

  'Good morning, your ladyship.'

  'Morning, Merry. Seems I'm the first for once.'

  'Not quite, my lady. Miss Dorothy was down at seven a.m. She telephoned her sister, and asked me to inform you that Miss Agatha said she would set out on her motor cycle as early as possible, and hopes to be here at approximately eleven o'clock.'

  'Oh, good. She'll be able to look after Miss Dorothy and leave me free to pursue my enquiries. Where is Dorothy now?'

  'After partaking of a cup of tea, she returned to her bedroom. She had not slept previously, but suddenly became somnolent and decided to try and obtain some repose before Miss Agatha and Detective Chief Inspector Wilkins arrive.'

  'Thanks, Merry.' She gave a little cough. 'Got a bit of a sore throat this morning. Miss Agatha's supposed to have tonsillitis. Hope I haven't picked it via Miss Dorry.'

  'I tend to doubt that one could so rapidly contract it via a third person, not herself showing symptoms, my lady. May I suggest you may have strained it yesterday during your full-throated rendering of She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain?'

  'You heard that?'

  'Yes, my lady, I happened to be on the terrace outside at the time - I had occasion to go out to speak to MacDonald about some flowers - and the library window was open.'

  She gave him a quizzical look. 'I see. Very convenient. It was a dying wish of Great Aunt Florence, by the way.'

  'I surmised something of that nature.'

  'Is there anything that happens in Alderley that you don't know about, Merry?'

  'I do my best to avoid that state of affairs, my lady. In the interests of the Family.'

  'So
, perhaps you know who murdered Mrs Saunders?'

  'Unfortunately I do not. However, apropos of that, there was one rather unusual incident this morning, which might be of interest to you if you are concerning yourself with the elucidation of the mystery.'

  'You bet. Tell me.' Gerry was all ears.

  He explained about the locked door of the telephone room and how he had deduced that the telephone had recently been used.

  'Well done, Merry!' she said when he'd finished. 'You're obviously a natural detective. I can see I'm going to have to get you to help me on this case. After all, Bunter, Lord Peter Wimsey's man, often assists him in his investigations.'

  'I am slightly acquainted with Mr Bunter, my lady; an admirable man, but I fear I do not share either his ability at or enthusiasm for ratiocination and criminology.'

  'Where's your spirit of adventure?'

  'I have none, your ladyship.'

  He went out. Gerry pondered. Why should one of the guests not want it known they had made a phone call? After all, most of them would be likely to have people they would need to notify of their delayed return. So why try to conceal the fact?

  The Earl and Countess were the next down, followed at few-minute intervals by the guests. If the atmosphere at dinner the previous evening had been strained, the tension this morning was almost palpable, with no one in the mood for talking.

  At about twenty-five past ten, the ambulance, which was to convey Clara's body to the mortuary, arrived. There was some discussion as to whether Dorothy should be awakened to witness the departure, but in the end it was decided it would be better if she were not. Everyone else gathered in the great hall and there was a solemn silence as the stretcher was carried downstairs and outside. Only Miss Mackenzie showed any sign of emotion, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, but Gerry suspected this was a matter of form for her, rather than genuine feeling.

  After this, nobody seemed quite to know what to do. People wandered from room to room, sitting down, flicking through magazines or books or just staring into space. Others went outside and mooched round, looking at the flower beds or just staring up at the house. It was as though everyone had retreated into a private world. Gerry had planned to engage each of them in turn in conversation and question them so subtly that they would not even realise that they were being interrogated; but their attitudes made this impossible. It was as if the spectre of the return of Wilkins hung like the sword of Damocles over the entire household, she said to herself, enjoying the mixed metaphor.