The Corpse at the Crystal Palace

by Carola Dunn

  “Da. He, I think, believes he is in love, but is only because Teddy … Is hard to explain.”

  “You mean he fell in love with you because he thought Devenish was in love with you? Perhaps he saw that you disliked Devenish and he hoped to win your hand in marriage to prove himself the better man? Something on those lines?”

  “Is possible, I think.”

  It was possible, and it would have set up a complex emotional situation if and when Clark found out that Devenish had cried off. “Tell me what he told you about himself.”

  “He tell to my father that his brother is lord.”

  “Did he mention his rank? Baron, viscount—”

  “Means nothing to me. I do not remember.”

  “Or his hereditary name. That is, he’s Lord Something-or-other.”

  “Not Lord Clark?”

  “Possibly, but not necessarily.”

  She threw up her hands in despair. “You English say Russian names too complicated. Is nothing compared to English names. I not know name of brother. I know he was injured in war and never recover. He is invalid, like my father, and does not leave estate. He is … stingy?”

  “Mean. The opposite of generous.”

  “So. He will not pay debts of Mr. Clark when he spends more than his allowance.”

  “Sensible man.”

  Miss Zvereva smiled. “This I think also. To gambler, money is water.”

  “Clark gambles, does he?”

  “He talks much of racehorses. Also talks that will be rich lord some day, but I think gamblers are never rich.”

  “Not often, certainly.”

  The second housemaid pattered down the stairs. “Please, Miss.”

  “What is it?”

  “The master’s asking for you, Miss. He’s coughing something awful.”

  Jumping up, Miss Zvereva said, “I must go.”

  “Of course. Just one last quick question. Do you know where he lives?”

  “Mr. Clark? No. Brother in country. Far from London, I think.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You will see yourself out, please.”

  “Certainly. Thank you, Miss Zvereva.”

  The maid stood aside to let her go up. Alec beckoned to her.

  “You want to talk to me, sir?”

  “Yes. Doris, isn’t it?”

  “Tha’s right, sir.”

  “Last time I saw you, you told me Mr. Devenish brought a Mr. Clark to call on the Zverevs. You couldn’t remember his christian name, nor the first part of his surname. I wondered whether either has come to you since then.”

  She shook her head. “We talked about it, me and Nancy, but we couldn’t neither of us remember. Funny thing, Miss called Mr. D. Teddy, but she never called Mr. Clark anything but Mr. Clark, even though we reckon, me and Nance, ’e was really nuts over her. Like Nance said, she’s of them fem fatals like in the pictures.”

  “He went on visiting after Mr. Devenish stopped coming?”

  “Yeah, for a coupla weeks. Then— Lumme, that was funny, too, come to think. Nance popped out to the post office for Miss. She saw Mr. D. looking in the window of the antikew shop next door. He didn’t see her, or ’e pretended not to. Not that she’d give ’im the time o’ day after what ’e done to Miss! Then when she come back, Mr. Clark turned into the alley just ahead of ’er. He stopped by Mr. D. and they started talking. Nance had to pass them but she couldn’t hear what they was saying ’cause they stopped talking when she was by. But she was dead sure they was quarrelling.”

  “Even the best of friends squabble sometimes.”

  “Don’t I know it. You oughta hear me and Nance sometimes! The thing is, after that Mr. Clark stopped coming round. Me and Nance, we reckon Mr. D warned ’im off.”

  “Why—”

  “Doris!” Miss Zvereva called from the stairs. “Come. I need you.”

  The maid fled, pausing on the bottom step to glance back, wink, and wave.

  He didn’t really need her answer. Nor was he surprised or disappointed that Ernie was no closer to an answer after interviewing the other maid downstairs. Why did Devenish do anything? Mostly, as far as Alec could see, just to be nasty, an accomplishment he had raised to a fine art.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As promised, Alec came home for dinner. Daisy could see he was not in a good mood, but he nobly suppressed his irritation until after Belinda had gone to bed. Then it burst forth.

  “What the deuce does Petrie think he’s playing at? The Ritz says he came in and picked up his messages, went to his room for just long enough to wash and brush up, and then left again. His car isn’t in their garage.”

  “He had to go to Bristol, darling. Time is money.”

  “Damn Yankee slogan! He bloody well knew we want to talk to him. Wait, you heard from him?”

  “He came to lunch and told me what he found out so that I can pass it on to you.”

  “Did you put him up to it, Daisy?” Alec asked suspiciously.

  “Certainly not! Phil knew if you got him to the Yard he’d be answering questions for hours, and … well, time is money. In Mr. Arbuckle’s eyes, at least.”

  “All right. Tell me. No, wait, he came to lunch? That’s hours ago. Why the deuce—”

  “Because we had a domestic emergency, with which I didn’t want to trouble you, but if you go on behaving like a bear with a sore head I shall not only give you all the details of the exploding boiler, I shall likely forget everything Phillip told me.”

  Alec laughed. “A dire revenge. Sorry, love. It’s been a frustrating day. Another frustrating day, I should say. I hope you took notes.”

  “As soon as he left. And then the boiler—”

  “I promise to listen to the sad fate of the boiler, but it’ll have to wait.”

  “I’ll fetch my notebook. I want to make sure I get the details right, such as they are.”

  When she returned, he was pouring a brandy. “Liqueur?” he offered.

  “Yes, please. Orange Curaçao, if there’s any left. With soda.”

  He brought it to her and sat down with his brandy cradled in his hand. “Go ahead.”

  “As I told you before, Phillip was at his club—”

  “The RAC, you said? Very appropriate.”

  “Isn’t it? He’s kept up his membership in spite of living in America. Teddy was a member, too. Phil was playing billiards with friends—or perhaps just acquaintances, I’m not sure. Fellow members, anyway. They were gossiping about Teddy.” She repeated what Phillip had said, as nearly as possible in his own words.

  “Ricky! No one used any name other than Ricky?”

  “If they did, Phillip didn’t hear it. But I asked him if they’d mentioned whether Ricky was the athletic type. Someone had commented that he was bad at billiards but pretty good at squash, so I’m quite certain the secret job Teddy found him was working with Fay Fanshawe, and he’s Mr. Hyphen-Clark.”

  Alec frowned. “A reasonable deduction, but far from certainty.”

  “Remember,” Daisy argued, “Miss Fanshawe said ‘Ray Richmond’ was very sensitive about keeping his real identity secret. I bet Teddy held it over him, told him he’d blow the gaff if Ricky didn’t do what he said.”

  “Yes, that would explain…”

  Daisy waited a moment, then: “Explain what? Don’t be exasperating, darling.”

  “Explain why Ricky hyphen-Clark, or anyone else, would agree to join Devenish in the nanny caper, for one thing.”

  “And?”

  He gave her a would-be innocent look. “Oh, nothing.”

  “It’s something to do with Miss Zvereva, isn’t it? Did Teddy make Ricky pretend to court her?”

  “How the deuce do you know about that? Don’t tell me Ernie—”

  “Of course not! She herself told me her father was encouraging a second Englishman after Teddy backed out. The prince wanted her to marry a rich aristocrat, and that’s what Ricky will be when his brother dies.”

  “Pure specu
lation.”

  “Deduction. Am I right?”

  “Perhaps. No pretence about it, though, as far as we can gather. Just a minute, Petrie said Ricky is in line for a peerage? You didn’t mention that. It agrees with what Miss Zvereva says.”

  “Phil didn’t exactly tell me. It was an aside, on the lines of ‘Ricky can’t have murdered Teddy because he’s going to be a peer,’ implying that peers don’t do such things.”

  “Don’t they just! I take it Petrie didn’t get the brother’s title?”

  “No, ’fraid not. He decided you wouldn’t like it if he was nosy.”

  Alec sighed. “We’ll have to get in touch with these gossips. I hope you took all their names.”

  “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think to ask him.”

  Alec groaned. “Tell me you’re joking!”

  “It just didn’t cross my mind. He referred to them as ‘the fellows,’ or ‘one of the chaps,’ didn’t even mention any names.”

  “And now he’s in Bristol. I bet you have no idea where he’s staying or whom he’s visiting.”

  “Oh, but I do, and I should have thought of it for Sunderland. Mr. Arbuckle likes him to stay at the most expensive places. It makes a business man look serious.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll ring up the Yard and get someone on to it.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “A bit late to disturb him, but once they’ve run him to earth, they can leave a message that he’ll get first thing in the morning.” He went out.

  When he returned, Daisy said, “You’re pretty sure Ricky is the murderer?”

  “I’m not at all sure. The nets are still spread wide, though at present he’s our focus, mostly because he’s so difficult to pin down, to mix a few metaphors. At least we know the names of the others on our list!”

  “Ricky—Richard? Most likely. Richard hyphen-Clark.”

  “Probably not Richard. The maids wouldn’t have had any trouble remembering that. Until we’ve got his name—or his brother’s—we can’t find him. To tell the truth, I get the wind up whenever I think about a murderer who will be a rich lord ‘when his brother dies.’”

  * * *

  The following day, a note in the post informed Daisy that the designs for her jewelry were finished and she could go to the shop to look at them any time. After breakfast, she rang up Sakari and invited her to accompany her. Sakari, breakfasting in bed, said she was free all day and Daisy should ring again when she knew what time she wanted to go.

  Next she rang Lucy to invite herself to morning coffee. Lucy wasn’t up yet either. She left a message with the butler, who said Lady Gerald had no prior engagement as far as he knew.

  Then she helped Belinda with last-minute packing—including the inevitable last-minute dash to the shops—of bits and pieces that hadn’t made it into her trunk before the railway carter came to fetch it. She drove Bel in the Gwynne Eight to Liverpool Street to catch the school train.

  On the platform, Bel gave her a hug and a kiss before she was absorbed into the chattering swarm of her schoolfellows. Daisy waited to wave good-bye as the train chuffed out amid clouds of steam, with children’s heads and waving arms poking from every window.

  She returned to the car to find a policeman eyeing it with disfavour. When he saw her approach, however, he saluted and gallantly opened the door for her. Whenever such things happened, Daisy always wondered whether it was a tribute to a reasonably attractive, moderately young woman, or the bobby in question had recognised her as a chief inspector’s wife.

  She might even have met him sometime, so she said warmly, “Thank you, Constable.”

  He beamed, stood back, saluted again, and held up a taxi so that she could pull out.

  * * *

  Alec’s day had started badly with a summons to Superintendent Crane’s office. “I assume you have an excuse for not having pulled anyone in for the Devenish case?” the Super greeted him.

  As the latest report was on his desk in front of him, Alec took this as rhetorical sarcasm. “My men have done an excellent job of whittling down the numbers, sir. I’d like to commend DI Mackinnon in particular.”

  “Been cooperative, has he?” Crane grunted. “His divisional super wanted us to leave it to him.”

  “Much too big a job for a division force, especially with most of the investigation outside their bailiwick after the initial securing of the scene and search of the Palace park. We’ve had as many as forty possibilities to consider. We’re down to half a dozen or so. Today I’m going to see those I haven’t already spoken to.”

  “No, you’re not, you’re going down to Leicestershire to explain to Sir James Devenish why no one has been arrested for his son’s murder.”

  “Sir, that will only slow things down.” Alec’s memories of the baronet were not fond.

  “I’m aware of that, Fletcher. The Assistant Commissioner is aware of that. Ordinarily that would settle the matter, baronets not having the pull of peers. However, the Home Sec. hunts in Leicestershire and Sir James is Master of his favourite hunt. Enough said?”

  “Enough said, sir. I’d like to point out that we do appear to have a peer involved.”

  “But you don’t know who he is, and a nameless peer has even less influence than your average baronet. No, you don’t like it, I don’t like it, but we’ll have to like it or lump it. Any forrarder on discovering who he is?”

  “I’m pretty sure I know how to find out, but I’d have to be in London to do it, and it’s not something I can delegate. Of course, I could set a man to going through every entry in the peerage looking for a hyphen-Clark.”

  “Lord knows how long that would take!”

  “Exactly, sir. I have better uses for their time, especially considering that if I just stay in town I can—”

  “Leicestershire,” the Super said firmly. “Today.”

  “Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I’ll be quite glad to have a word with Sir James. It’s odd that he spent only one day in town. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.”

  “Gently, Fletcher, gently.”

  “He did ask to see me, sir, not vice versa.”

  “Which does not give you licence to ride roughshod over the Home Sec.’s favourite Master of Foxhounds!”

  “Sir! I never ride roughshod over suspects.”

  “And don’t treat him as a suspect.”

  “From what I recall of him, he’s far more likely to ride roughshod over me. After all, he’s Master of—”

  “Yes, yes. All the same, I wouldn’t bet against you, Chief Inspector. You’d better get going. You may be missing a train at this very moment.”

  Alec got going, only to be told by Piper that he had in fact just missed the best train of the day.

  “I’ll drive,” he said grumpily. “You come with me, Ernie. You’re in charge, Mac.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Daisy drove straight from Liverpool Street to Lucy’s. Her ladyship was expecting her and she was ushered directly to her ladyship’s boudoir.

  “I’m out to anyone else, Galloway,” she told the butler. “Sit down, darling, have a cup of coffee, and tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Whatever it is you’re being mysterious about,” Lucy said impatiently.

  “I wasn’t being mysterious! I haven’t even spoken to you today.”

  “You’ve been mysterious for a week, darling, and Galloway said you sounded positively urgent when you rang up earlier.”

  “I did not sound urgent! So unladylike.”

  “As if you ever cared about that, Daisy. It has to be something about Teddy. Come on, you came here to tell me so tell me.”

  Daisy laughed. “It is, but a question not a report.”

  “I told you I’ve steered clear of Teddy for years.”

  “It’s not so much about him as one of Alec’s suspects—”

  “Did Alec send you?”

  “Heavens no. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Does he know y
ou’re here?”

  “No. I would have had to explain and he’d have insisted on asking you himself, and you’d have been difficult and set his back up. It seemed easier just to come and ask you myself.”

  “You’re not still expecting me to go to an artsy party with you, I trust.”

  “No,” Daisy said regretfully. “It’s too late for that.”

  “Ask away, then, though I can’t imagine what you think I might know.”

  “Darling, you have the peerage at your fingertips.”

  “So does Debrett’s. Why doesn’t Alec look it up?”

  “I knew you were going to be difficult. He hasn’t got the whole name, nor the rank, so looking it up in an alphabet-based book would take forever and a day. What’s known is the second part of the hyphenated family name, which is Clark, with or without an E, and the nickname of a younger son, Ricky, who’s not much above twenty.”

  “Honestly, darling, you can’t expect me to know all the nicknames of all the younger offshoots!”

  “I don’t. Stick to hyphen-Clark.”

  “Pour me another cup, will you. Hyphen-Clark? That would be Wrexham-Clarke with an E, Lord Ledborough. He’s about our age, I think, crocked up in the war and never seen in town. I can’t remember his christian name and I don’t know the younger brother’s, though Richard would be the obvious answer. Gerald has a Peerage in his study. Shall I send Galloway for it?”

  “Don’t bother. The names you’ve given me will be enough for Alec. I’m sure they have Debrett’s at the Yard.” Daisy glanced round the room. “You haven’t got a copy here? Your favourite reading material?”

  “Don’t be sarky, darling, it doesn’t suit you. My knowledge comes from people, not books. Mostly. Do you want to ring Alec and tell him? There’s a phone on my desk.”

  “Yes, I’d better. When he’s not telling me off for acquiring information, he’s castigating me for not passing it on immediately.”

  The desk was an eighteenth-century drop-front, inlaid with beautiful marquetry in a lighter wood. A very modern telephone perched incongruously on top. Daisy asked for Scotland Yard and was put through at once.

  Alec was out. Mackinnon took her call.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. What can I do for you?”