The Mad Hatter Mystery dgf-2

by John Dickson Carr

  `Ha, ha,' he said, automatically. `You never hear anything important, Miss Bitton. It's most unfortunate. Now, Miss Bitton, please try to grasp the fact that some of the meaningless, unimportant conversations you overheard may be of the utmost importance. Miss Bitton, ' just how much do you know about your cousin's death?"

  `Nothing, much, Mr Hadley,' she said, fretfully. `They won't tell me. I couldn't get a word out of Laura or Daddy, and Bob just said there was a sort of accident and he was killed by this man who steals all the hats but that's the only…

  She broke off short as Dalrye came back into the room again. He looked more presentable now.

  `Sheila,' he said, `whatever the things you want happen to be, you'd better go and pick 'em out. That place gives me the horrors. Everywhere I look Phil seems to be sitting there.'

  `I'm not afraid,' the girl announced, sticking out her under-lip. `I don't believe in ghosts. You've been so long in that musty old Tower of London…'

  'Tower!' Dalrye exclaimed, suddenly rumpling his sandy hair. 'Lord! I forgot.' He dragged out his watch. `Whoof! A quarter to eleven. I've been locked out three-quarters of an hour. My dear, your father will have to put up with me in the house for tonight. I'm dashed if I stay here.'

  His eye wandered over to a leather couch against one wall, and he shuddered again. Hadley said:

  `Now, if you please, Miss Bitton, let's go on. First tell us about this extraordinary business of your cousin wanting to die in a top-hat.'

  `Eh?' said Dalrye. `Good God! what's this?'

  `Why, Robert Dalrye,' Sheila Bitton said, warmly, `you know, perfectly well…. Oh no, you don't. I remember now, when you spoke about getting back too that hateful Tower. You had to leave the table early to get there. It was the first night that Mr Arbor… no, it wasn't, because Uncle Lester wasn't there then. Anyway, it was some night. Just Daddy and Uncle Lester and Laura and I were at the table; and Philip, of course. It was the night before Laura and Uncle Lester went to Cornwall. And Philip was taking Laura to the theatre, because at the last minute Uncle Lester had business and couldn't go, you see; but they were taking the trip to Cornwall because Uncle Lester had lost a lot of money or something, and he was all run down.

  `It was a sort of spooky night, you see, with rain and hail coming down. Anyway, we started talking about death. And Uncle Lester asked Daddy how he'd choose to die if he had to die. Daddy said he supposed he'd choose to die like some duke or other who said he wanted to be drowned in a barrel of wine… fancy! But then they got serious about it, the way people do, and I was getting scared because they didn't talk very loud, and it was storming outside.

  `And finally Daddy said he thought he'd choose some kind of poison he talked about that kills you in one whiff when you breathe it, and Uncle Lester said he thought a bullet through the head would be best, and Laura kept saying, "What rot, what rot," and "Come on, Phil, or we'll be late for the first-act curtain." And when Phil got up from the table Uncle Lester asked him how he'd like to die. And Phil just laughed, said something in French, and Daddy told me afterwards it meant, "Always the gentleman," and he said a lot of absurd things and said… Well, anyway, he didn't care so much how he died, if he could die with a top-hat on and at least one woman to weep at his grave.'

  Four pairs of eyes fixed upon her had roused even Sheila Bitton to something like nervousness. As she came towards the end of her recital she was fidgeting and talking faster and faster. Now she cried:

  `Please, I won't… I won't have you looking at me like that! And I won't be put upon, and nobody ever tells me anything, and I know I've said something I shouldn't. What is he matter?'

  She sprang up. Dalrye put a clumsy hand on her shoulder.

  He said: `My dear!… 'and stopped because he had nothing to say.

  `My dear Miss Bitton,' the chief inspector said, briskly, — `you've said nothing wrong at all. Mr Dalrye will explain, presently. But now about this morning, at the breakfast table. What was it your Uncle said about seeing Philip today?'

  She hesitated, looked at Dalrye, and wet her lips.

  `Why, there wasn't anything much. Only Uncle Lester said he was going to have a talk with Phil today. And when I said that, about Phil meaning to go to the Tower at one o'clock, he said he thought he'd better run over to Phil's flat in the morning.'

  `And did he?'

  `Uncle Lester? Yes, he did. I saw him when he carne back about noon.. And I remember, Uncle Lester said to Daddy, "Oh, I say, you'd better let me have your key, in case he isn't in this morning; I'll sit down and wait for him.”

  'Your father has a key to this flat?’

  'I told you,' Sheila answered with some bitterness, `he treats us all like kids. That was one of the things that used to make Phil furious with him. He said he wouldn't pay for Phil's flat unless he could have a key, so that he could see what was going on whenever he wanted to…. Fancy! So Daddy gave Uncle Lester the key.'

  Hadley bent forward. `Did he see Phil this morning?'

  'No, he didn't, because I saw him when he came back. And Phil was out, and Uncle Lester, waited half an hour and left. He seemed to be…'

  `Angry?' prompted Hadley, as she hesitated.

  'No-o. Sort of tired and shaky. I know he'd over exerted himself. And… funny. He seemed queer, too, and excited; and he laughed.'

  `Laughed?'

  `Hold on!' Dr Fell suddenly boomed. He was having trouble keeping his glasses on his nose, and he held them to look at the girl. `Tell me, my dear. Was he carrying anything when he came back?'

  `This,' she cried again — `this is something horrible to do with Uncle Lester, and I won't have it! He's the only one who's really frightfully nice to me, and he is, and I won't have it.'

  She was stamping on the floor, bewildered, turning suddenly to Dalrye…:

  `I'll be damned,' the other flared, `if she answers you another question. Listen, Sheila. Go into the other rooms and see if there's anything you want to take along…. '

  Hadley was about to interpose when Dr Fell silenced him with a fierce gesture. Then the doctor spoke amiably:

  `It's quite all right, my dear. I hadn't meant to upset you, and it wasn't, important, anyway. Do as Mr Dalrye suggests, please…. But there is one thing… You know, I asked you on the telephone whether you would bring somebody along to help you with your things. And I suggested your father's valet…?'

  Marks?' she exclaimed, puzzled. `Why, yes. I forgot. He's out in the car '

  `Thank you, my dear. There isn't anything else.'

  'You go in there and look about, Sheila,' Dalrye suggested. `I'll join you in a moment.'

  He waited until the door had closed, Then he turned slowly. There was dull colour under, his cheekbones; he was still visibly shaken, and his mouth worked.

  `Listen,' he said. His voice was thick. 'He cleared it with an effort. `I understand all your implications, of course. And you know how much I thought of Phil. But so far as Mr Lester Bitton's concerned I feel the way she does. And I'll tell you you're a lot of damned fools. I know him pretty well. Sheila didn't tell you he was the one who stood up for our marriage when the old man was against it.

  `He's not likeable on the surface, as General Mason is. Bitton's cold and efficient when you just look at him. He's not clever, or a good talker. But he's.. you're… a… lot… of… fools,' Dalrye said, suddenly, miserable.

  Hadley drummed his fingers on his brief-case.

  `Tell us the truth, Mr Dalrye,' he said, after a time. 'We've pretty well found out that there was an affair between Mrs Bitton and Driscoll. Did you know about it?'

  `I give you my word,' said Dalrye, simply, `I didn't. Believe me or not. I only got wind of it… well, afterwards. Phil wouldn't have been such a fool as to tell me. I'd have covered him, I suppose, because… oh, well, you can see. But I'd have stopped it, somehow.'

  `And do you suppose Sir William knew of it?'

  `O Lord, no! He's the last person who would. He's too tied up with his books and his lectures ab
out how the government is running on senile decay…. But, for God's sake, find out who killed Phil!'

  `We are going to begin,' Dr Fell' said, quietly, `in precisely two minutes. I mean, we are going to dispose of the nonsense, and then see our way straight to the sense.' Mr Dalrye, will you step outside and ask that valet chap, Marks, to step in here?'

  Dalrye hesitated, running a hand through his hair; but at the doctor's imperious gesture he hurried out.

  `Now!' urged Dr Fell, hammering his stick on the floor. `Set that table over in front of me. That's it, my boy, hurry!' He struggled up as Rampole lifted the heavy table and set it down with a thump before him. `Now, Hadley, give me your brief-case…. '

  `Here!' protested the chief inspector; `stop scattering those papers all over the table!'

  Rampole stared in astonishment as the doctor waddled over and picked up a bridge-lamp with a powerful electric bulb. Reeling out its cord from the baseboard, he set the lamp at some short distance from the table.' Then he rolled a low chair under it, and switched on the light. Rampole found the chief inspector's black notebook thrust into his hands.

  'That, my boy, is for you,' said the doctor. `Sit down here beside me, on my left. Have you a pencil?… Good! When I give you the word, you are to pretend to be making shorthand notes.'

  Hadley made motions like one who sees a priceless vase tottering on the edge of a shelf. `Don't!. Look here, those are all my notes; and if you muck them up!.. You fat lunatic, what is all this…'

  `Don't argue,' said the doctor, testily. `Have you got a revolver and a pair of handcuffs on you?'

  Hadley looked at him. He said:

  `Fell, you're stark, staring mad! They only carry those things in the stories and on the films. I haven't had a revolver or a pair of handcuffs in my hands for ten years.’

  `Then I have,' the doctor said, composedly. `I knew you'd forget them.' With the air of a conjuror he produced from his hip pockets both the articles he had mentioned and held them up, beaming. He pointed the revolver at Rampole and added, 'Bang!'

  'Look out!' shouted the chief inspector, seizing at his arm. `Be careful with that thing!'

  `You needn't worry. It's a dummy pistol even a Scotland Yard man couldn't hurt himself with it. It's just painted tin, you see. The handcuffs are dummies, too, but they both look realistic. I got them at one of those curio shop places in Glasshouse Street, where you buy all the trick things. Here are some more of them. I couldn't resist buying several. There's `a mouse that runs across the table on some sort of roller when, you press him down', - he was fumbling in his pockets — `but we don't need 'em now. Ah, here was what I wanted.'

  With manifest pride on his large red face he produced an enormous and impressive-looking gold badge, which he hung on his lapel conspicuously.

  `To the man we're going to question,' he observed, `we have got to look like a real crowd of detectives. That we do not look like, the same to the chief of the C.I.D. is of no consequence. But we have got to look the part for Mr Marks's benefit or we shall get nothing out of him. The handcuffs will lie before me, and you, Hadley, will be suggestively fingering the revolver. My young friend here will take down his testimony… Turn out those centre lights, will you?' he added to Rampole. `Just the brilliant spotlight on his face, and ourselves in shadow. I think I shall keep on my hat. We now look sufficiently like the classic group, I think, to have our pictures taken.'

  Rampole inspected them as he went to turn out the centre lights. There was a slight suggestion of people having their pictures taken at one of those beach-resort places where you put, your head over the top of a cardboard airship and look foolish. Dr Fell was sitting back sternly, and Hadley looked with a weird expression at the tin revolver hanging by the trigger-guard from one finger. Then there were footfalls in the vestibule. Dr Fell said, `Hist!' and Rampole hastily extinguished the centre lights.

  Dalrye saw the tableau a moment later, and jumped violently.

  `Bring in the accused!' Dr Fell intoned, with a voice strongly suggestive of Hamlet's father's Ghost.

  `Bring in who?' said Dalrye.

  `Bring in Marks and lock the door.'

  `You can't do it,' said Dalrye, after a moment's inspection. 'The lock's broken.'

  `Well, shoot him in,' the Ghost suggested, in a more matter-of-fact tone, `and stand against it, then.'

  'Right-ho,' said Dalrye. He was not sure what was going on, but he caught the cue, and frowned sternly as he ushered in Marks.'

  The man who appeared was mild, and correct, and very nervous. Not a wrinkle in his neat clothes was out of place, and there was no guile in him. He had a long, lean head, with thin black hair parted sharply in the middle and brushed behind each large, ear.

  At the sight of the tableau he froze. Nobody spoke.

  `You — you wished to speak to me, sir?' he said, in a curious voice, with a slight jump at the end of it

  `Sit down,' said Dr Fell:

  Another silence, while Marks's eyes took in the properties. He lowered himself gingerly into the chair.

  `Sergeant Rampole,' said the doctor, 'take down this man's testimony…. Your name?'

  'Theophilus Marks, sir.'

  Rampole made two crosses and a' squiggle. Occupation?'

  `I am employed by Sir William Bitton, of Berkeley Square, sir. I–I hope, sir,' said Marks, swallowing, `that this is not in connexion with — with that dreadful business, sir, of Mr Philip.

  'Your last position?'

  'For fifteen years sir, 'I had the honour to serve Lord Sandival,' Marks said, eagerly.

  'Aha!' rumbled the doctor, closing one eye. He looked rather as the Ghost would have looked had he caught Hamlet playing pinochle when he should have been attending to business. `Why did you leave your last place? Sacked?'

  'No, sir! It was the death of His Lordship, sir.'

  'M'm. Murdered, I suppose?' inquired the Ghost.

  'Good Heavens, no sir!'

  Marks was visibly wilting. The Ghost became practical. 'Now, look here, Marks, I don't mind telling you you're in a very had corner.. You've got a good position, haven't you?’

  'Yes, sir. And I'm sure Sir William will give me the highest… '

  'He won't, Marks, if he knows what we know. Would you like to lose your position, and go to gaol besides?' rumbled Dr Fell, picking up the handcuffs.

  Marks moved backwards, his forehead damp.

  'Marks,' said the Ghost, `give me your hat!'

  As the valet held out his bowler, they could see under the light the large gold letters BITTON on the inside of the white lining in the crown. `Aha!' said the Ghost. `Pinching Sir William's hats, eh?'

  'No, sir!' Marks cried. `Sir William gave me that hat. I wear the same size as he does. And he gave me that because he bought two new hats only, recently, and if you'll only let me prove it, sir…!’

  'I'll give you your chance,' said the Ghost, ominously. He thrust his hand across the table. It held something round and flat and black; there was a click, and it leaped full grown into an opera-hat., `Put this hat on, Marks!’

  By this time Rampole was so bewildered that he almost expected to see Dr Fell take from the hat a brace of rabbits. Marks stared. -

  `This is Sir William's hat!' shouted the Ghost, `Put it on. If it fits you, I'll believe what you say.'

  He began to stab with the hat in the direction of Marks's forehead. The valet was compelled to put it on. It was too large; not so, large as it had been on, the body of Driscoll, but still too large.

  'So-ho!' rumbled the Ghost, standing up behind the table. Absently he had been fumbling in his pockets; the Ghost was excited, and making gestures with anything he could lay hold of. Dr Fell lifted his hand and shook it in the air. 'Confess, Marks!' he thundered. 'Miserable wretch, your guilt has found you out!'

  He crashed his hand down on the table. To Marks's stupefaction, and Dr Fell's own irritation at the anti-climax, a large rubber mouse with white whiskers popped out of his hand and ambled slowly across the tab
le towards Hadley. Dr Fell snatched it up hastily and put it into his pocket.

  'Hem!' observed the Ghost. Then he paused, and added something which really brought Hadley out of his chair. `Marks,' said Dr Fell, `you stole Sir William's manuscript:

  For a moment it looked as though the other were going to faint.

  `I swear I didn't! But I didn't know, and I was afraid to tell when he explained it to me…!’

  'I'll tell you what you did, Marks,' said Dr Fell, forgetting all about the Ghost and threatening in a natural voice. `Sir William gave me all the facts. You're a good valet, Marks, but you're one of the stupidest creatures in God's` world. Sir William bought two new hats on Saturday. One of the opera-hats he tried on at the shop was too large for him. But a mistake was made, and they sent the large one to him along with the Homburg, which was of the right size. Ha? You saw it. You wear the same size. But Sir William was going out to the theatre that night. You know what sort of a temper he has. If he found a hat that slid down over his forehead, he'd make it hot for the first person he could lay hands on….’

  `Naturally you wanted his hat to be the right size, didn't you, Marks? But there wasn't time to get another hat; it was Saturday evening. So you did the natural thing. You used the same quick makeshift people have been using since hats were invented. You neatly stuffed the band on the inside with paper, the first harmless-looking paper you could find….'

  Hadley flung the tin revolver on the table. `Good God, he said, `do you seriously mean to tell us that Marks tightened up the fit of that hat with Sir William's manuscript?'

  `Sir William,' the doctor said, amiably, `gave us two clues himself which were absolutely, revealing. He said that the manuscript consisted of thin sheets of paper folded several times lengthwise, and rather long. Try folding over any piece of paper that way, and you'll get a long, narrow, compact set, admirably suited for stuffing the lining of a hat. And do you remember what he said besides? The manuscript was wrapped in tissue paper. Taken all together it was the obvious thing for Marks to use.'

  `But Bitton said it was in the drawer.'