‘Please tell me a little more definitely, Mr Ramsay,’ Stone said, ‘just why you were planning to leave Mr Balfour?’
‘I have told you—on business of my own. It has no reference to Mr Balfour in any way. It is an enterprise of my own, that I may put over in London, and I may not. From the very nature of the business, it must be kept secret and confidential until preliminary terms are arranged. This cannot be done without my presence in London, and cannot be made public at this time. If I am held on suspicion of being instrumental in the death of my employer, I shall have to stay here, of course. Also, if Mrs Balfour wishes to engage my services in the matter of settling up some library business, in which several important purchases are in process of adjustment, I will stay for a time, until such matters can be looked over and put in proper form for my successor.’
‘I do want you to stay, Mr Ramsay, at least for a time, until I find a satisfactory successor—if you feel you must go.’ Alli spoke in a casual tone, but Fleming Stone’s trained vision caught the merest glance of understanding that flashed between her and the librarian.
He sensed at once that there were undercurrents and side issues to this case that he had not looked for. If Ramsay and Mrs Balfour were in love with one another, that altered the whole situation.
‘I am quite willing to pay a higher salary than Mr Balfour was paying, but I cannot carry on the library without expert assistance,’ Alli went on. ‘I do not want Guy Balfour to take it in charge, for with the best intentions he would, in his ignorance, make grave errors. I hope Mr Ramsay will consent to remain and that he can take up his London business later.’
‘I fear I cannot decide that question tonight,’ Ramsay said, thoughtfully.
‘Nor do I want to,’ Alli said. ‘It may be that the library is not to be mine, after all. Perhaps it is left entirely to Guy. And, now he is one of the household, he will doubtless take over such duties and privileges as he is entitled to. I am not sure I shall remain in this large apartment, nor do I think Guy would want to run it alone. But all those questions are unimportant. The thing is, Mr Stone, to discover who killed my husband and where is his valuable book.’
‘Quite right, Mrs Balfour. And those matters cannot be taken up until morning. I shall have to ask some routine questions, of course. Will you detail briefly what you did during the early evening?’
‘Surely. After dinner, Mr Balfour said he and Mr Ramsay were going out on an errand, but would be back early. They left here about ten.’
‘Did you know where they were going?’
‘I knew they were going to Mr Sewell’s shop, but I did not know they meant to go in by the window.’
‘Then, were you here alone?’
‘Mr Sewell came, and Mr Swinton came, he is a man who lives in this house—oh, yes, and Mr Wiley came—he lives in this house too. They all came to see Mr Balfour, of course, and each stayed a few moments to talk to me.’
‘Now, Mrs Balfour,’ and Stone gave her one of his pleasing smiles, ‘this is the first I have heard of any definite time or times regarding the events of the evening. Please straighten out these callers, won’t you? Which came first?’
‘Mr Swinton came first. He came very soon after Mr Balfour left. He is a man who lives down on the second floor, a book-collector in a small way. He is everlastingly bringing a book for Mr Balfour or Mr Ramsay to pass judgment on. Tonight, he had a copy of Omar Khayyám, which he thought was a great find. He was vexed to find Mr Balfour not at home, and he stayed a few moments, looking at some of the books in the library.’
‘At what time did he come?’
‘It was quarter past ten when I came into the reception room, where he was waiting for me. I was tempted not to see him, for he is a bore, but Mr Balfour was always courteous to him and liked to have me nice to his friends. Well, then Mr Sewell came in—he, too, wanted to see Mr Balfour.’
‘I sure did,’ Sewell declared. ‘I didn’t bring the book with me as I didn’t come direct from the shop. But I wanted to tell him I had it and see his pleasure at the information.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I don’t know, Stone, I never know the time.’
‘It must have been less than half-past ten,’ Alli said, ‘for it was very soon after Mr Swinton arrived. I had just time to tell him Mr Balfour was not at home. I gave him permission to go in the library to look at the Omar Khayyáms in our collection and then Mr Sewell came. He was here maybe ten minutes or less, when there was a telephone call for him and he went away.’
‘The telephone from your place, Sewell?’
‘Yes, Ramsay calling. I left at once, and went right down to my shop. You can check up times by the police. They came in just as I did.’
‘Yes,’ Stone agreed, ‘that will be all right. Mrs Balfour, I think you said you had another caller, also a tenant of this house?’
‘I did. Pretty soon after Mr Sewell went away Mr Swinton left. He said he would come again to see Mr Balfour about his book. As I thought likely Mr Balfour and Mr Ramsay would stay at Mr Sewell’s, talking over books in general, and as it was about eleven, I concluded to go to bed. I was just about to ring for my maid when Potter announced Mr Wiley.’
‘Pete Wiley?’ asked Sewell, seeming astonished.
‘Yes; he, too, lives in this house and he sometimes consults Mr Balfour. But he is of the know-it-all type. I’ve heard him tell my husband that he was wrong on subjects to which he had given years of research!’
‘This annoyed Mr Balfour?’
‘Not at all. Had the man been his equal in booklore, he would have resented it, but he never would deign to argue with an ignoramus.’
‘Better steer clear of Pete Wiley, Stone,’ John Sewell informed him. ‘He’s one of those men who will build up a quarrel on the merest difference of opinion. He bothered the life out of Mr Balfour and Ramsay here. He pestered me until I told him what I thought of him. He doesn’t know a holograph from a hole in the wall but he sets up as an expert. If you have the pleasure of talking to him don’t mention the Gwinnett book. In fact, don’t mention it to anyone until we know where we stand. Mrs Balfour, please don’t tell of it, either. Ramsay, I know, will keep the secret. I don’t want it talked about until I have talked with Mr Balfour’s lawyer and his executors.’
‘Of course,’ Stone told him, ‘we’ll all agree to that. What about young Balfour?’
‘I think we can’t tell you that,’ Ramsay said, ‘until we know clearly how matters stand. He may be my employer, you know. And, if so, he may dismiss me.’
‘This conference must draw to a close,’ Stone said, emphatically. ‘Mrs Balfour has had quite enough nervous excitement for one evening. And tomorrow, Mrs Balfour, I suppose it will be difficult for me to see you. You will be occupied with plans and arrangements and conferences with your lawyers and other advisors, to say nothing of the demands the police may make on your time.’
‘Yes, Mr Stone, but if you will take this case in hand, I will make it a point to be ready to see you whenever you desire. Whatever the exact terms of Mr Balfour’s will, I shall have large responsibilities and much necessary conference with lawyers, also many questions to take up with my stepson.’
‘Is Mr Guy Balfour interested in rare books?’ Stone asked.
‘Only in so far as they have a money value. His father often gave him important volumes. Some he sold at once, some he has kept. I foresee no trouble with him for he is an amiable sort and I am quite willing to cede him all his legal rights.’
‘You are generous, Mrs Balfour. I shall see you again after I have learned more of the police reports. I shall devote my time alternately to the question of the theft of the book and the killing of Mr Balfour. At this moment they seem to me to be more or less connected, but I may be mistaken about that. Rest assured, I shall do my best in every particular and report to you whenever it seems advisable.’
‘Thank you, Mr Stone,’ and Alli spoke appreciatively, but she showed a seeming despondency that
had not before been noticeable. ‘You may, of course, go in and out of this apartment as you wish. You may have a key, if you like; indeed, if it would better suit your work, you may have a room here. We have innumerable empty rooms.’
‘Thank you very much, but I prefer to stay in my own home when possible. I live down in the East Thirties, and if I need a key, I will ask for it. Tell me, Mrs Balfour, did your husband attend auctions of rare books?’
‘Never. Such purchases as he wanted to make from an auction sale, he instructed Mr Ramsay to look after, or put them in charge of Mr Sewell. He had no liking to mingle with humanity and almost never went into a shop.’
‘Yes, he was queer that way,’ Sewell agreed. ‘He often came to my shop, but more as a club than a shop. Several of our mutual friends would drop in there of an evening, and we would have talks that wouldn’t disgrace the old Mermaid Tavern. Well, Stone, shall we get along? I suppose we’ll all be expected here in the morning. Good night, Mrs Balfour, good night, Ramsay.’
Stone drew his hostess a little aside, and whispered, ‘Watch your step with young Guy. Don’t cede him anything without legal advice.’
And then, with kindly good nights, he went away.
In the safety of the sound-proof room, Keith Ramsay took Alli in his arms.
CHAPTER V
INQUIRIES
AFTER a few moments’ silence, he led her to a chair and sat down beside her.
‘It is all so dreadful, dear, I hate to say what I must say. But I must warn you that we have to be very careful. We must never come into this room to talk, as we are here now. We will be watched every moment of our lives from now on. There is danger, bad danger lurking about, and we must use our best weapons of skill and cleverness to elude it. First, darling, I did not kill your husband and I did not steal his book. These two things you must believe only because I tell you—I have no other proof.’
‘You need no proof, my Keith. I would know, without a word from you. And to you, I want to say, just for once—there is no one else I can say it to—I am glad Philip is gone. This sounds heathenish, I know, but he made my life so utterly miserable, he treated me so abominably, he hurt me so cruelly, I cannot grieve for him. You’ve no idea of the ways he made me suffer. I know you had no hand in his death, but—I shouldn’t care if you had.’
‘Hush, Alli, such things must not be in your heart. Try to put them out. And get this. We must never, either of us, by word or look betray our affection. Burnet suspects it already, and perhaps Manton. If they feel sure of it, they will begin to suspect not only me—but you, my precious. They will say that we connived at the murder, that we fixed up the plan in collusion, that we schemed to get rid of Philip so that we might belong to one another. It is so palpable, so clear on the face of things, that we wanted him out of the way and managed to accomplish that fact. Once they suspect us of guilty partnership they will believe the worst of us. So, realize this, we must not give them one iota of reason to suppose we are more than merely friendly. We must act as if I was just staying for a time to settle up the unfinished business in the library affairs. And now we must go. The servants, prowling, must never find us alone—’
‘Can I never see you alone? Oh, Keith—’
‘Not in the house; at least, not for a time. We can go for a drive sometimes, out into the country, but it must be on some apparent, definite business connected with the books. You must see the danger; you must realize what it would mean to have you suspected, either with me or alone, of any connection with Balfour’s death. In the morning the police will come, and you must be discreet and careful of what you say. But don’t appear to be careful of what you say. Treat the whole affair, not lightly, of course, but as if you had no connection with the murder, as if you really took little interest in the deed itself, but wanted to find the murderer and find the book. I know nothing of the book, Alli. I feel sure it was stolen by that man who came in, or—never mind that, we must go now. I will go first—Potter may be lingering about. Then you follow soon.’
Ramsay opened the door and left the room, saying as he went out, ‘Good night, Mrs Balfour,’ in gentle but dignified tones.
Potter was in the hall and Ramsay stopped to speak to him for a moment, then went on upstairs to his rooms.
He had left the door ajar and in a few moments, Alli came out. She, too, stopped to speak to Potter, saying:
‘For the next few days, Potter, your duties will include many new responsibilities. I want to feel that I can trust your loyalty to Mr Balfour and to myself, and feel that you will be discreet and helpful, as I have always found you in an emergency.’
‘Yes, madam, I will do my best, and may I ask if there is anything special you want me to do, to command me, no matter what it may be.’
Alli looked at the man sharply, for he seemed to imply some secret or mysterious duty to be demanded.
But she said only, ‘Thank you, Potter,’ and went on upstairs.
Fleming Stone arrived early the next morning. He wanted to get there before the police came.
He found Ramsay alone at the breakfast table. He took a seat near the librarian and, though he had breakfasted, he asked for a cup of coffee.
‘More sociable,’ he said to Ramsay. ‘You expect the police?’
‘Yes, at ten, I believe. Mrs Balfour breakfasts in her own rooms and young Balfour comes down late.’
‘Then we have a few moments to ourselves. I want to tell you that while I have full faith in your innocence and I believe implicitly in your account of last evening’s doings, there are some plain questions I must ask of you before we go much further. Can we go into the safe room—the room we were in last night?’
‘Yes, let us go at once.’
Leaving his unfinished breakfast, Ramsay led Stone to the sound-proof room and they shut themselves in.
‘Now, Mr Ramsay,’ Stone began, ‘I think your feelings toward Mrs Balfour are deeper than mere friendliness. Am I right?’
‘You are, Mr Stone. We discovered, only recently, an affection between us that threatened the peace of this household and the wreck of three lives. To me, the only honourable course seemed to be to tell Mr Balfour frankly as to the state of things, resign my position with him and go away.’
‘You told him?’
‘I did, last night before we went over to Sewell’s shop.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘Unfortunately, he refused to take it at all seriously. He only laughed and said he wasn’t bothered by his wife’s silly flirtation, as he expressed it. He said I must not think of leaving, that he couldn’t get along without my work in his library. He said I overestimated my attractions and he didn’t believe Mrs Balfour gave me a thought beyond simple friendliness. He said to drop the subject as we were to go over to the bookshop to see about some books. I told him we would have to resume the question later on and he merely said he would choose the time. We went to Mr Sewell’s shop and the rest you know.’
‘Of course, Ramsay, if this situation becomes known you will be definitely suspected of Mr Balfour’s death.’
‘I know that. I want you to advise me as to my wisest course. It goes without saying that since the understanding between Mrs Balfour and myself is not a silly flirtation we will wait in patience until the proprieties are complied with. I would like to go away now, because I feel I would be more of an embarrassment to her than a help if I stay here. But I can’t shirk the inquiry of the police and I am willing to face it. Also, if the truth is known about Mrs Balfour and myself, it may bring about suspicion of her collusion with me. Again, she really needs me to look after the library. It is a great collection and must have someone who knows about it to settle up its business. I can leave the house, of course, but it may be that would rouse suspicion, too. And so I am asking your advice. That is, if you can believe in my innocence regarding the murder. And the theft of the book. You have a perfect right to believe me guilty on both counts.’
‘That is true, Ramsay,’ and Fl
eming Stone looked very grave. ‘You have no proof of any sort. You have every reason to be suspected. The fact that I believe in your complete innocence is merely the result of my taking a liking to you and feeling confidence in you. This, if you are clever enough to hoodwink me, may be misplaced confidence. If so, I shall probably find it out. I am talking to you very frankly because your situation is so closely connected with that of Mrs Balfour that suspicion of one would implicate the other. We must find proof of all you say. But, as you know, your relations with her must not become known. The merest hint of your mutual interest would be a desperate menace to you both. You have talked with Mrs Balfour since the death of her husband?’
‘Yes; after you left last night, we had a few words in the safe room. But I told her that must not occur again and that we must be most discreet and watchful lest the servants or others discover it.’
‘It must be hidden—always, unless, of course, I come to have definite suspicion of either of you. I make no apology for my plain speaking, this is a matter of life and death and I warn you, if this matter becomes known, you will find you are both in serious trouble.’
‘I realize that. And rest assured I shall do my best to have the secret remain undiscovered. The danger lies in Mrs Balfour’s present state of loneliness, fear and general distress. She is not fond of her stepson and she has few friends. Mr Balfour allowed her no freedom in social matters. She was kept immured and he made her life a burden. I say these things because they are true. He was always kind and courteous to me, because I gave him the help he had to have with his books. But other librarians can be found, fully as capable as I am, except for my extensive knowledge of the books. So, if you advise it, I will just go away and stay away as long as necessary.’
Murder in the Bookshop Page 6
