“‘I was going along the short passage that leads to the wings,’ she exclaimed to the detectives, ‘when I became aware of someone moving some distance behind me. I turned and saw a blue domino about to enter Miss Morgan’s dressing-room.
“‘I thought nothing of that,’ continued the girl, ‘as we all know that Mr Dennis is engaged to Miss Morgan. He is very fond of “walking on” in the ballroom scene, and he always wears a blue domino when he does; so I was not at all alarmed. He had his mask on as usual, and he was carrying a bunch of roses. When he saw me at the other end of the passage, he waved his hand to me and pointed to the flowers. I nodded to him, and then he went into the room.’
“These statements, as you may imagine, created a great deal of sensation; so much so, in fact, that Mr Kidd, with his £10,000 and his reputation in mind, moved heaven and earth to bring about the prosecution of Mr Dennis for theft and fraud.
“The papers were full of it, for Mr Howard Dennis was well known in fashionable London society. His answer to these curious statements was looked forward to eagerly; when it came it satisfied no one and puzzled everybody.
“‘Miss Knight was mistaken,’ he said most emphatically, ‘I did not bring any roses for Miss Morgan that night. It was not I that she saw in a blue domino by the door, as I was on the stage before the curtain was rung up for the second act, and never left it until the close.’
“This part of Howard Dennis’ statement was a little difficult to substantiate. No one on the stage could swear positively whether he was ‘on’ early in the act or not, although, mind you, Macpherson had ascertained that in the whole crowd of supers on the stage, he was the only one who wore a blue domino.
“Mr Kidd was very active in the matter, but Miss Morgan flatly refused to believe in her fiancée’s guilt. The worthy jeweller maintained that Mr Howard Dennis was the only person who knew the celebrated pearls and their quaint clasp well enough to have a facsimile made of them, and that when Miss Knight saw him enter the dressing-room, he actually substituted the false necklace for the real one; while the loafer who drugged George Finch’s beer was – as everyone supposed – only a dupe.
“Things had reached a very acute and painful stage, when one more detail found its way into the papers, which, whilst entirely clearing Mr Howard Dennis’ character, has helped to make the whole affair a hopeless mystery.
“Whilst questioning George Finch, Macpherson had ascertained that the stage door-keeper had seen Mr Dennis enter the theatre some time before the beginning of the celebrated second act. He stopped to speak to George Finch for a moment or two, and the latter could swear positively that Mr Dennis was not carrying any roses then.
“On the other hand a flower-girl, who was selling roses in the neighbourhood of the Novelty Theatre late that memorable night, remembers selling some roses to a shabbily dressed man, who looked like a labourer out of work. When Mr Dennis was pointed out to her she swore positively that it was not he.
“‘The man looked like a labourer,’ she explained. ‘I took particular note of him, as I remember thinking that he didn’t look much as if he could afford to buy roses.’
“Now you see,” concluded the man in the corner excitedly, “where the hitch lies. There is absolutely no doubt, judging from the evidence of George Finch and of the flower-girl, that the loafer had provided himself with the roses, and had somehow or other managed to get hold of a blue domino, for the purpose of committing the theft. His giving drugged beer to Finch, moreover, proved his guilt beyond a doubt.
“But here the mystery becomes hopeless,” he added with a chuckle, “for the loafer dropped the booty which he had stolen – that booty was the false necklace, and it has remained an impenetrable mystery to this day as to who made the substitution and when.
“A whole year has elapsed since then, but the real necklace has never been traced or found; so Mr Kidd has paid, with absolute quixotic chivalry, the sum of £10,000 to Miss Morgan, and thus he has completely cleared the firm of Kidd and Co. of any suspicion as to its integrity.”
3
“But then, what in the world is the explanation of it all?” I asked bewildered, as the funny creature paused in his narrative and seemed absorbed in the contemplation of a beautiful knot he had just completed in his bit of string.
“The explanation is so simple,” he replied, “for it is obvious, is it not? that only four people could possibly have committed the fraud.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, whilst his bony fingers began to fidget with that eternal piece of string, “there is, of course, old Mr Kidd; but as the worthy jeweller has paid £10,000 to prove that he did not steal the real necklace and substitute a false one in its stead, we must assume that he was guiltless. Then, secondly, there is Mr Howard Dennis.”
“Well, yes,” I said, “what about him?”
“There were several points in his favour,” he rejoined, marking each point with a fresh and most complicated knot; “it was not he who bought the roses, therefore it was not he who, clad in a blue domino, entered Miss Morgan’s dressing-room directly after Knight left it.
“And mark the force of this point,” he added excitedly.
“Just before the curtain rang up for the second act, Miss Morgan had been in her room, and had then undone the packet, which, in her own words, was just as she had received it from Mr Kidd’s hands.
“After that Miss Knight remained in charge, and a mere ten seconds after she left the room she saw the blue domino carrying the roses at the door.
“The flower-girl’s story and that of George Finch have proved that the blue domino could not have been Mr Dennis, but it was the loafer who eventually stole the false necklace.
“If you bear all this in mind you will realize that there was no time in those ten seconds for Mr Dennis to have made the substitution before the theft was committed. It stands to reason that he could not have done it afterwards.
“Then, again, many people suspected Miss Knight, the dresser; but this supposition we may easily dismiss. An uneducated, stupid girl, not three-and-twenty, could not possibly have planned so clever a substitution. An imitation necklace of that particular calibre and made to order would cost far more money than a poor theatrical dresser could ever afford; let alone the risks of ordering such an ornament to be made.
“No,” said the funny creature, with comic emphasis, “there is but one theory possible, which is my own.”
“And that is?” I asked eagerly.
“The workman, Rumford, of course,” he responded triumphantly. “Why! it jumps to the eyes, as our French friends would tell us. Who other than he, could have the opportunity of making an exact copy of the necklace which had been entrusted to his firm?
“Being in the trade he could easily obtain the false stones without exciting any undue suspicion; being a skilled craftsman, he could easily make the clasp, and string the pearls in exact imitation of the original; he could do this secretly in his own home and without the slightest risk.
“Then the plan, though extremely simple, was very cleverly thought out. Disguised as the loafer –”
“The loafer!” I exclaimed.
“Why, yes! the loafer,” he replied quietly; “disguised as the loafer, he hung round the stage door of the Novelty after business hours, until he had collected the bits of gossip and information he wanted; thus he learnt that Mr Howard Dennis was Miss Morgan’s accredited fiancée; that he, like everybody else who was available, ‘walked on’ in the second act; and that during that time the back of the stage was practically deserted.
“No doubt he knew all along that Mr Kidd meant to take the pearls down to the theatre himself that night, and it was quite easy to ascertain that Miss Morgan – as the hapless heroine – wore no jewellery in the second act, and that Mr Howard Dennis invariably wore a blue domino.
“Some people might incline to the belief that Miss Knight was a paid accomplice, that she left the dressing-room unprotecte
d on purpose, and that her story of the blue domino and the roses was prearranged between herself and Rumford, but that is not my opinion.
“I think that the scoundrel was far too clever to need any accomplice, and too shrewd to put himself thereby at the mercy of a girl like Knight.
“Rumford, I find, is a married man: this to me explains the blue domino, which the police were never able to trace to any business place, where it might have been bought or hired. Like the necklace itself, it was ‘home-made’.
“Having got his properties and his plans ready, Rumford then set to work. You must remember that a stage doorkeeper is never above accepting a glass of beer from a friendly acquaintance; and, no doubt, if George Finch had not asked the loafer to bring him a glass, the latter would have offered him one. To drug the beer was simple enough; then Rumford went to buy the roses, and, I should say, met his wife somewhere round the corner, who handed him the blue domino and the mask; all this was done in order to completely puzzle the police subsequently, and also in order to throw suspicion, if possible, upon young Dennis.
“As soon as the drug took effect upon George Finch, Rumford slipped into the theatre. To slip a mask and domino on and off is, as you know, a matter of a few seconds. Probably his intention had been – if he found Knight in the room – to knock her down if she attempted to raise an alarm; but here fortune favoured him. Knight saw him from a distance, and mistook him easily for Mr Dennis.
“After the theft of the real necklace, Rumford sneaked out of the theatre. And here you see how clever was the scoundrel’s plan: if he had merely substituted one necklace for another there would have been no doubt whatever that the loafer – whoever he was – was the culprit – the drugged beer would have been quite sufficient proof for that. The hue and cry would have been after the loafer, and, who knows? there might have been someone or something which might have identified that loafer with himself.
“He must have bought the shabby clothes somewhere; he certainly bought the roses from a flower-girl; anyhow, there were a hundred and one little risks and contingencies which might have brought the theft home to him.
“But mark what happens: he steals the real necklace, and keeps the false one in his hand, intending to drop it sooner or later, and thus sent the police entirely on the wrong scent. As the loafer, she was supposed to have stolen the false necklace, then dropped it whilst struggling with George Finch. The result is that no one has troubled about the loafer; no one thought that he had anything to do with the substitution, which was the main point at issue, and no very great effort has ever been made to find that mysterious loafer.
“It never occurred to anyone that the fraud and the theft were committed by one and the same person, and that that person could be none other than James Rumford.”
XII
The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor
1
“We have heard so much about the evils of Bridge,” said the man in the corner that afternoon, “but I doubt whether that fashionable game has ever been responsible for a more terrible tragedy than the one at Barnsdale Manor.”
“You think, then,” I asked, for I saw he was waiting to be drawn out, “you think that the high play at Bridge did have something to do with that awful murder?”
“Most people think that much, I fancy,” he replied, “although no one has arrived any nearer to the solution of the mystery which surrounds the tragic death of Mme Quesnard at Barnsdale Manor on the 23rd September last.
“On that fateful occasion, you must remember that the house party at the Manor included a number of sporting and fashionable friends of Lord and Lady Barnsdale, among whom Sir Gilbert Culworth was the only one whose name was actually mentioned during the hearing of this extraordinary case.
“It seems to have been a very gay house party indeed. In the daytime Lord Barnsdale took some of his guests to shoot and fish, whilst a few devotees remained at home in order to indulge their passion for the modern craze of Bridge. It was generally understood that Lord Barnsdale did not altogether approve of quite so much gambling. He was not by any means well off; and although he was very much in love with his beautiful wife, he could ill afford to pay her losses at cards.
“This was the reason, no doubt, that Bridge at Barnsdale Manor was only indulged in whilst the host himself was out shooting or fishing; in the evenings there was music or billiards, but never any cards.
“One of the most interesting personalities in the Barnsdale ménage was undoubtedly madame Nathalie Quesnard, a sister of Lord Barnsdale’s mother, who, if you remember, was a Mademoiselle de la Trémouille. This Mme Quesnard was extremely wealthy, the widow of a French West Indian planter, who had made millions in Martinique.
“She was very fond of her nephew, to whom, as she had no children or other relatives of her own, she intended to leave the bulk of her vast fortune. Pending her death, which was not likely to occur for some time, as she was not more than fifty, she took up her abode at Barnsdale Manor, together with her companion and amanuensis, a poor girl named Alice Holt.
“Mme Quesnard was seemingly an amiable old lady, the only unpleasant trait in her character being her intense dislike of her nephew’s beautiful and fashionable young wife. The old Frenchwoman, who, with all her wealth, had the unbounded and innate thriftiness peculiar to her nation, looked with perfect horror on Lady Barnsdale’s extravagances, and above all on her fondness for gambling; and subsequently several of the servants at the Manor testified to the amount of mischief the old lady strove to make between her nephew and his young wife.
“Mme Quesnard’s dislike for Lady Barnsdale seems, moreover, to have been shared by her dependent and companion, the girl Alice Holt. Between them, these two ladies seem to have cordially hated the brilliant and much-admired mistress of Barnsdale Manor.
“Such were the chief inmates of the Manor last September, at the time the tragedy occurred. On that memorable night Alice Holt, who occupied a bedroom immediately above that of Mme Quesnard, was awakened in the middle of the night by a persistent noise, which undoubtedly came from her mistress’ room. The walls and floorings at the old Manor are very thick, and the sound was a very confused one, although the girl was quite sure that she could hear Mme Quesnard’s shrill voice raised as if in anger.
“She tried to listen for a time, and presently she heard a sound as if some piece of furniture had been knocked over, then nothing more. Somehow the sudden silence seemed to have frightened the girl more than the noise had done. Trembling with nervousness she waited for some few minutes, then, unable to bear the suspense any longer, she got out of bed, slipped on her shoes and dressing-gown, and determined to run downstairs to see if anything were amiss.
“To her horror she found on trying her door that it had been locked on the outside. Quite convinced now that something must indeed be very wrong, she started screaming and banging against the door, determined to arouse the household, which she, of course, quickly succeeded in doing.
“The first to emerge from his room was Lord Barnsdale. He at once realized that the shrieks proceeded from Alice Holt’s room. He ran upstairs helter-skelter, and as the key had been left in the door, he soon released the unfortunate girl, who by now was quite hysterical with anxiety for her mistress.
“Altogether, I take it, some six or seven minutes must have elapsed from the time when Alice Holt was first alarmed by the sudden silence following the noise in Mme Quesnard’s room until she was released by Lord Barnsdale.
“As quickly and as coherently as she could, she blurted forth all her fears about her mistress. I can imagine how picturesque the old Manor House must have looked then, with everybody, ladies and gentlemen, and servants, crowding into the hall, arrayed in various négligé attire, asking hurried questions, getting in each other’s way, and all only dimly to be seen by the light of candles, carried by some of the more sensible ones in this motley crowd.
“However, in the meanwhile, Lord Barnsdale had managed to understand Alice Holt. He ran downs
tairs again and knocked at his aunt’s door; he received no reply – he tried the handle, but the door was locked from the inside.
“Genuinely frightened now, he forced open the door, and then recoiled in horror.
“The window was wide open, and a brilliant moonlight streamed into the room, weirdly illumining Mme Quesnard’s inanimate body, which lay full length upon the ground. Hastily begging the ladies not to follow him, Lord Barnsdale quickly went forward and bent over his aunt’s body.
“There was no doubt that she was dead. An ugly wound at the back of her head, some red marks round her throat, all testified to the fact that the poor old lady had been assaulted and murdered. Lord Barnsdale at once sent for the nearest doctor, whilst he and Miss Holt lifted the unfortunate lady back to bed.
“The messenger who had gone for the doctor was at the same time instructed to deliver a note, hastily scribbled by Lord Barnsdale, at the local police station.
“That a hideous crime had been committed, with burglary for its object, no one could be in doubt for a moment. Lord Barnsdale and two or three of his guests had already thrown a glance into the next room, a little boudoir, which Mme Quesnard used as a sitting-room. There the heavy oak bureau bore silent testimony to the motive of this dastardly outrage. Mme Quesnard, with the unfortunate and foolhardy habit peculiar to all French people, kept a very large quantity of loose and ready money by her. That habit, mind you, is the chief reason why burglary is so rife and so profitable all over France.
“In this case the old lady’s national characteristic was evidently the chief cause of her tragic fate; the drawer of the bureau had been forced open, and no one could doubt for a moment that a large sum of money had been abstracted from it.
The Case of Miss Elliott Page 19
