“Now, Madam,” Superintendent Marrofat addressed the frail little, grey-haired woman in as soft a key as his big, booming voice could command. “Sorry I have got to trouble you, this is a sad business, but I’m from the Yard, and I’ve got to make a report. Of course, you needn’t answer me if you don’t wish, but I’d like to ask you a few questions, and I shan’t keep you long.”
“Yes, I understand, Inspector,” she answered quietly.
“Thank you, Miss—now, what’s your full name?”
“Winifred Lucy Eaton.”
“Good—now you’re the dead lady’s sister, I understand.”
“Oh no, sister-in-law.”
“I see—and who are the other occupants of this flat?”
“There’s Sir Gideon and Lady Shoesmith, myself and a cook, a house-parlourmaid and a between-maid—but she’s not here, she had an accident last week and went to hospital, so there are only the two servants at present.”
“Right. Sir Gideon Shoesmith, now. I know his name, of course, but what exactly is Sir Gideon?”
“Oh, he’s an accountant, you know—his real business is in Sheffield, but he’s lived in London since he married, though he goes up there now and then.”
The Superintendent nodded. “Exactly. Has Sir Gideon been married long?”
She shook her head, and took out a minute pocket-handkerchief with which she dabbed at the corner of one eye. “Only last April—it’s too terrible,” she sighed.
“And there are no menservants living in the flat?” Marrofat inquired.
“No, there is the chauffeur, but he lives out.”
“Now when did you see Lady Shoesmith last? Now—now—” he encouraged as Miss Eaton showed signs of breaking down.
“Well, I must think,” she replied slowly. “It must have been about a quarter past nine; I left her with Richard.”
“Who’s he?”
“Oh! Richard is Lady Shoesmith’s son by her first marriage—Mr. Richard Eaton.”
“I see; and when did he go?”
“Well, I don’t quite know, but I think I heard the front door shut about a quarter to ten.”
“Where was Lady Shoesmith, then?”
“She was in her bedroom, just starting to dress to go out to supper.”
“Right. Now Sir Gideon—what about him?”
“He’s out at a dinner tonight—he left here just after seven o’clock.”
“And not been in since, eh?”
“No, he should be in very soon now; he was to take Elinor—Lady Shoesmith—out to supper.”
“And you’ve been in all the evening?”
“Yes.”
“Whereabouts have you been sitting?”
“I don’t sit here, I sit in the sewing-room which is next door to my bedroom, down in the servants’ end of the flat.”
“Now, would you hear anyone who came in, from your room, do you think?”
“Well,” she looked at him vaguely, “I might, but on the other hand I might not; I don’t think I should because I was doing some sewing on the machine.”
“And you were there from the time Mr. Eaton came till when?”
“Until about twenty minutes ago when I went along to Lady Shoesmith’s room to help her dress.”
“And you heard nothing in all that time?”
“No, not after Richard went.”
“Well, I don’t think I need trouble you any more for the moment, Miss. I expect you’d like to go to bed.”
Miss Eaton rose awkwardly. “Yes, I think perhaps I would. I shan’t sleep—it’s too awful—but why do you ask all these questions? There’s nothing—about Elinor’s death—is there? I mean—” she broke off lamely.
He evaded her question skilfully. “I’m afraid you find us an inquisitive lot, Miss, but the poor old Yard has to make up for not being spectacular by being thorough, and perhaps we waste a lot of time asking questions that don’t mean anything at all.”
She looked round vaguely and pitifully, as though in search of some help or assistance, and then with a little nod to the four men walked out through the door which Van Ryn held open for her.
Inspector Gartside drew a line with his pencil under the shorthand notes which he had been taking and looked questioningly at his superior.
“Better see the maid next,” said the big man; “perhaps one of you gentlemen would be good enough to bring her along. I don’t want to scare the girl, and she’s seen you before.”
“I’ll get her along right away,” volunteered Van Ryn, and after a minute, during which the Duke, the Superintendent and the Inspector stood in thoughtful silence, he returned with the flustered woman, who seemed to have recovered from her hysteria but was still a little incoherent.
“Now, my girl,” said Marrofat, after having given her the usual warning, “what do you know about this, eh?”
“Oh, sir, I don’t know anything—I was just having a cup of tea in the kitchen, before I went to bed, and I heard Miss Winifred calling from down the passage, and when I went into the bathroom there was her poor Ladyship. Oh, it was awful, sir.”
“Quite so; now, what’s your name?”
“Susan Brent, sir.”
“And when did you last see her Ladyship?”
“It must have been about half past eight, sir. Her Ladyship had dinner in the morning-room, and after she’d had coffee she rang for me to clear.”
“And Miss Eaton—when did you last see her?”
“Miss Winifred was with her Ladyship at the time.”
“Has anybody called here this evening?”
“No, sir, not that I know of.”
“Now be careful, my girl; just think.”
“Oh! Mr. Richard, sir, he came just in time to have coffee with his mother.”
“There, now, I told you to be careful. Anybody else?”
“No, I’m sure there was nobody else, sir.”
“What time did he go?”
“I don’t rightly know, sir—I think he let himself out—I didn’t see him go.”
“You have no idea when he went?”
“No, sir, I was at the other end of the flat with cook.”
“What time did Sir Gideon go out?”
“Just after seven I should say, sir. I put his clothes out, and he dressed and went out to a dinner.”
“And you’re quite certain that you didn’t hear anything at all while you were in the kitchen?”
“No, nothing at all, sir, until I heard Miss Winifred call.”
“All right, that’ll do. Just ask cook to step along here for a moment, will you? By the way, Brent, how long have you been with the household?”
“I’ve been with her Ladyship for nearly twenty years, sir, but of course we’ve only been here these last eight months—since she married again.”
“No other servants are there except you and the cook and the girl who’s away?”
“Only Mr. Jevons, sir.”
“Mr. Jevons? Who’s he?”
“That’s her Ladyship’s chauffeur, sir, but he lives out.”
“Good—you can go now. Send cook, will you?”
“Yes, sir; very good, sir.”
As she left the room a tousled head was thrust round the door. “Doc’s come, Boss; ‘e’s in the ‘all.”
“Right-o, Sammy. How’re you getting on?”
The finger-print expert made a grimace. “Same old gime,” he grumbled. “I never ‘as no luck; don’t seem as if no one can’t keep their ’ands off nothing—door-plates is a mass of smears, and I should think they opens and shuts them windows a ‘undred times a day. I’ll have plenty for you, but I doubt it’ll do you much good. Shall I tell Doc to get busy?”
“Yes. I want to hear what he’s got to say as soon as possible, and you’d better go straight back to the Yard when you’ve finished so that I can have your stuff first thing in the morning. Report to me again before you go in case there is anything else for you to take.”
“Ho! anover all-nig
ht sitting, eh!” the little man sniffed wearily. “Orlright, I’ll show the Doc the corpse.”
The Superintendent smiled at De Richleau as he lit a cigarette. “You wouldn’t think that little chap was the cleverest print expert we’ve got, would you? It was a bit of luck that he was in my room when you telephoned; it makes all the difference if you can get markings when they’re fresh, that’s why I brought him along—on the chance.”
Gartside, who was standing near the door, beckoned in the waiting cook.
She was a portly woman of some fifty years, with a sour expression of face, but perfectly self-possessed.
“You’re the cook here?” questioned Marrofat.
“I was, but I shall be leaving tomorrow,” she answered with-some asperity. “I’m not used to such goings on—police and all.”
The big Superintendent suppressed a smile. “I’d just like to ask you a few questions; you need not answer unless you wish.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide, I’m sure,” she flashed.
“Good. May we have your name?”
“Hiskins—Mary Elizabeth Hiskins, and fifteen years with the Dowager Lady Glenack.”
Superintendent Marrofat gave a little nod. “Most excellent qualifications, I’m sure—and how long have you been here?”
“Seven months and two weeks come Monday, and I wouldn’t have taken the place but what it was good money and the lady seemed a respectable woman, as you might say.”
“And when did you see her Ladyship last?”
“Eleven o’clock maybe, when she give the orders. I know my place, and I will say the poor lady knew hers, she never come in my kitchen.”
“Quite. You cooked dinner for two, I understand.”
“Yes. ‘Dinner for two at eight,’ she says, ’and see the coffee’s strong, because Mr. Richard will be in after, and he complained last time, though why he should I don’t know—he’s that pernickety.”
“And after you’d cooked dinner?”
“Me and Susan listened to the wireless for a bit, then we had a game of ludo, and after, I was just insisting on her having a plate of meat with her tea, because she’s too thin by a long sight to my mind and wants feeding up, when Miss Eaton starts calling down the passage.”
“I see, and did you see or hear anyone walking about the flat during that time?”
She bridled. “It’s not my place to take notice of what goes on outside my own quarters.”
“Nevertheless, my good woman, did you hear anything that you can remember?”
“I’m not your good woman, and I’d be very sorry ever to be so,” she snapped, “and if you must know—I did not.”
Van Ryn was grinning broadly behind her stiff back, and the Duke turned aside to hide a smile as Marrofat said amicably: “Thanks, Mrs. Hiskins, that’s all I wanted to know. If you really are leaving tomorrow will you please give the officer who will be on duty here your address before you go. Good night.”
Gartside smiled at his superior. “She doesn’t seem to care for us, does she, sir?”
“Pompous old fool,” said Marrofat genially, “but I’d rather have her than some, at least she’s telling the truth all right.” He turned to the Duke. “You’d be surprised the twisters we come across in our game, sir, trying to hide up their silly little personal secrets, and costing us hours of trouble sometimes to get down to the bottom of things.”
The four men were standing together on the hearth and they did not hear Miss Eaton come back into the room until she spoke in her low, frightened voice. “Inspector, I’ve just remembered, I didn’t tell you about the strange young man.”
“What’s that you say?” The Superintendent turned quickly.
“The strange young man I found in the passage; all this trouble had driven it out of my head.”
“Come now, Miss, I’d like to hear all about this; take your time and don’t miss out anything.”
“Well, it was when I came from the sewing-room to put out Lady Shoesmith’s dress. I found a strange young man standing just inside the front door. I asked him what he wanted and he said, was Sir Gideon in, and when I told him that Sir Gideon was out he seemed very surprised and said that he had rung up on the telephone only ten minutes before and somebody had said that Sir Gideon could see him if he came round at once. I told him Sir Gideon was out at a dinner and he said he thought that there must be some mistake, and after hesitating a little he went away.”
“Do you know how he got in?”
“No. I asked him how he got in and he said that he found the front door half-open.”
“Did he give any name?”
“Yes, it was a Jewish name, but I can’t remember what it was now.”
The Duke and Van Ryn exchanged a quick glance. “That’ll be the bird we met on the step,” said the latter.
Marrofat turned to them for a moment. “You saw him too, eh? Could you recognise him again?”
Both men nodded, and Van Ryn smiled. “I’d know that face in a thousand.”
“What was he like, Miss Eaton?”
“Oh, quite a nice young man, very polite, not a bit casual, like so many young men are nowadays.”
“But what did he look like?”
“Well, he was very slim—rather stooping shoulders—and in evening dress.”
“Top-hat, and a scarf wound loosely round his neck,” added Van Ryn.
“Yes,” she agreed. “He had a stick, too, and white kid gloves—so few young men carry gloves now, I think it’s such a pity.”
“You may add a very pronounced nose, a pendulous lower lip and very quick, black eyes to your description, Superintendent,” supplemented M. de Richleau. “Also he wore pincenez.”
The door opened suddenly and Sammy’s ugly and rather grimy little face appeared.
“I done, Boss,” he chirruped. “If you ‘aven’t nothing more I’ll cut along.”
“Nothing else, Sammy,” the big detective gave a curt nod. “Get down to it as soon as you can.”
“Right you are, Boss, see you liter.” The small head disappeared and the door slammed.
“That’s a piece of real good luck that you all saw him,” Marrofat went on, continuing the conversation. “I should like ten minutes’ quiet talk with that young man; a pity you can’t remember his name, Miss.”
“Oh—no—it’s quite, quite gone. You see, directly he left I went straight into Elinor’s room, and I’d hardly time to wonder who he could have been, or think how strange it was about the door being open, when I found—I found—”
“Now, Miss Eaton, you’ve been just marvellous; wouldn’t it be better if you went straight back to your room?” Van Ryn coaxed her, “that is if the Superintendent has finished saying his piece?” He took her by the arm.
“Yes, I’m done,” Marrofat agreed. “Everything will be all right, Miss, you go along to your room and try and get a little rest. If you’d like to see the doctor I’ll send him along presently.”
But at this moment the uniformed officer who had been stationed in the hall put his head inside the door and said: “Sir Gideon Shoesmith, sir.”
5
The Missing Pearls
A portly, middle-aged man pushed past the constable. His glance fell on the group of strangers who occupied his sitting-room.
“What’s all this about, Winifred?” he asked sharply, turning on her almost as if he thought her responsible.
The poor little spinster seemed almost more frightened of him than she had been of the Superintendent.
“Oh! Gideon,” she exclaimed, “an awful thing has happened—I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Look here, Miss,” the Superintendent intervened, “I think perhaps you’d better leave it to me to break the news to Sir Gideon. Inspector, take the lady and these other gentlemen into another room. I’m Superintendent Marrofat of New Scotland Yard, sir,” he explained to the frowning owner of the flat, “and there has been serious trouble in your absence tonight.”
Gartsi
de held the door open for Miss Eaton, De Richleau and Van Ryn; meanwhile the Sheffield magnate threw the butt of his cigar into the fireplace and, walking over to the tantalus, mixed himself a drink.
“All right, Superintendent,” he said, looking straight at Marrofat with his bright, round, hazel eyes which seemed to stand out in his heavy, rather white face, “what’s been happening here?”
“I’m afraid it will be rather a shock to you, sir—it’s Lady Shoesmith.”
“Well—what’s she done? Nothing about which there will be any undesirable publicity, I trust?”
“It’s not what she’s done, poor lady—she’s met with an accident—a fatal accident.”
“Good God!” Sir Gideon set his glass down quickly on the mantelpiece. “You can’t mean—she’s dead?”
The Superintendent nodded. “That’s it, Sir Gideon, and I’m afraid it’s my duty to inform you that there are circumstances connected with Lady Shoesmith’s death which give us grounds for believing that it may have been murder.”
“Good God,” Sir Gideon exclaimed again, and he lowered himself, heavily, into the nearest arm-chair.
The burly detective walked over to the other side of the room—by turning his back he was, to all appearances, respecting the grief and shock which Sir Gideon would naturally feel—but actually it was his business to observe people under the stress of emotion, and therefore he remained for a few moments—not studying the rather indifferent collection of novels in the big bookcase, but Sir Gideon’s reflection in the glass.
The elderly magnate sat slightly forward in the chair, his hands quite still on the arms—his eyes on the floor.
Suddenly, without altering his position, he spoke:
“How did it happen?”
Marrofat turned towards him again and gave him the brief facts as far as he had ascertained them.
“How, then,” Sir Gideon looked up with his hard hazel eyes, “do you know that it was murder?”
For a moment the Superintendent felt slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t,” he said shortly, “I haven’t had the report of the police surgeon—but if that confirms certain ideas of mine, then there will be very little doubt. In the meantime, would you mind if I asked you a few questions, sir—as I don’t doubt you know, you need not answer if you do not wish.”
Three Inquisitive People Page 3
