So Many Doors, page 6
“I don’t like it.”
Bobby said he didn’t either. He found the bell and pressed it, remarking that that would make less noise than an attack on the knocker. Fortunately, as is not always the case with electric bells, it was in working order. They heard plainly how its shrill clamour filled the house.
“We’ll give them five minutes,” he said. “If they haven’t answered by then, we’ll have a go at the knocker.”
However, it only took three minutes for the bell’s thin crying to take effect. Then a window above opened and a man’s voice called:
“Who’s there? What do you want? What’s the matter?”
“Does Miss Margaret Kerr live here?” Bobby asked.
“What on earth—” said the voice indignantly.
“I’m more than sorry to disturb you so late,” Bobby said. “We are police officers. There seems to have been a bad accident. Could we see Miss Kerr?”
“At this time of night? She’s asleep in bed. Won’t it do in the morning?”
“I assure you,” Bobby said, “we shouldn’t have dreamed of disturbing you at this hour if we hadn’t felt it absolutely necessary. Miss Kerr may be able to give us vital information. It’s a little difficult to explain—especially like this. If you could allow us a few moments talk in private?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Both Bobby and Peate had the impression that a brief consultation was going on above. Peate whispered that he was sure he heard a woman’s voice suggesting that perhaps these two nocturnal visitors might really be burglars. The head appeared again at the window and the voice called:
“I’m coming down.”
There was a brief delay. Then a sound of bolts withdrawn. The door opened. Still murmuring apologies, Bobby and Peate entered. An elderly man, sleepy, cross, puzzled, in dressing-gown, pyjamas, and slippers, led the way into a conventionally furnished dining-room. Switching on the light, he said:
“I knocked at Maggie’s door. She’s my daughter. She says she doesn’t know anything about any accident. Why should you think she does? There must be some extraordinary mistake.”
“That is what we want to clear up,” Bobby said. “On the scene of the accident, or whatever it was, we found a handbag. Apparently it belongs to Miss Kerr. At any rate, it has her name and this address.”
Mr Kerr blinked and looked more cross, more bewildered, but less sleepy than before.
“Maggie’s bag?” he repeated. “Oh, that’s impossible! I’m sure she would have told us if she had lost it. There must be some most extraordinary mistake,” he insisted.
“I can assure you,” Bobby said, “there is no mistake about a handbag having been found on the spot where an accident or something else equally serious appears to have happened. Nor any mistake about its containing Miss Kerr’s name and address and other articles of hers.”
“Well, I don’t understand it, not at all,” Mr Kerr protested.
“Nor do we,” Bobby told him. “If we could have a few moments’ chat with Miss Kerr, no doubt it could be all cleared up at once.”
“At this time of night?” Mr Kerr asked doubtfully. “In the morning—”
“I am sorry,” Bobby interrupted. “Accidents, or whatever it was, take no notice of the time.”
“I’ll ask her about her bag,” Mr Kerr said.
He went away. Peate said:
“They aren’t too keen on letting us see the girl.”
“No,” Bobby agreed. “Of course, it is late,” he admitted.
There was some delay before Mr Kerr returned. This time he was accompanied by an elderly lady, who was looking not only sleepy and bewildered, but also very indignant. Mr Kerr hung back a little; and Bobby fancied he was now not so much angry and bewildered as uneasy, even afraid. But Mrs Kerr, as Bobby assumed the newcomer to be, showed only indignation as she snapped out:
“My daughter’s in bed. I’ve told her to stay there. She doesn’t know anything about any accident, and she hasn’t lost her bag. It’s there. I saw it. I don’t think you’ve any business to disturb respectable people at this time of night. You can come back in the morning if you want to.”
“I’m really awfully sorry,” Bobby repeated patiently. “I do assure you that if we hadn’t thought it absolutely necessary we shouldn’t have troubled you. If the bag in our possession is not Miss Kerr’s property, she may still be able to help us to find out how papers and other articles apparently belonging to her come to be in it.”
“Not at this time of night,” Mrs Kerr told him firmly. “I’m not going to have Maggie turned out of bed at this hour to talk to two strange men. I don’t know if you really are police—though if you are, that’s no excuse.”
“Oh, you can see our authority—” Bobby began, but Mrs Kerr interrupted.
“I don’t want to see anything,” she announced, “and you aren’t going to see Maggie, not at this time of night.”
Her voice was loud and determined. Bobby began to wonder if there was some reason for such strong resistance. In the background Mr Kerr was looking nervous, unhappy, worried. It might, he supposed, be merely middle-class resentment at such an intrusion on privacy, such a suggestion of police intrusion on a rather stiff and starchy respectability. Or was there some stronger reason? Impossible to be sure as yet. Bobby tried a little more persuasion. Without effect. He decided reluctantly to fall back on a familiar and often successful manœuvre.
“I’m sorry you feel like that,” he said. “Generally we find the public ready to help. We grow to depend on it. In this case we are not sure what has really happened—whether it was an accident or something else. It is necessary for us to know. So necessary that I shall feel obliged to place a constable on duty outside this house. I cannot run the risk of learning in the morning that Miss Kerr has had to go into the country for a rest or been called away on important business. And I must warn you that if Miss Kerr did wish to leave here before seeing us, it would be necessary for her to be what we call ‘detained for questioning’.”
This brought forth a torrent of protests, accompanied by threats to consult a lawyer, to write to the local Member of Parliament, and so on. Bobby picked up his hat, said it would be very wise to consult a lawyer, they had a perfect right to take any other steps they thought desirable, and what was the earliest hour when it would be convenient for him to call, and so relieve the officer on duty at their door? Mr Kerr said: ‘Oh, well’, and took his wife aside and then into the passage outside. He came back and said that under protest, but under protest only, her mother would ask Miss Kerr to dress and come down.
Bobby said how grateful they were; they quite understood how Mr and Mrs Kerr felt, but they always found that in the end they could rely on the full co-operation of the public. Mr Kerr gave a most unco-operative scowl and retired. Peate looked after him very doubtfully.
“They don’t want us to see the girl,” he said. “Why not? A bit fishy. Do you think they will try to smuggle her off?”
“Not likely, not at this time of night,” Bobby said. “Too difficult.”
They had again a little time to wait before at last Mr and Mrs Kerr returned, accompanied by their daughter, Maggie Kerr. She was a pretty, fair-haired girl of about twenty, with a small, oval face, well-matched features, and unusual grey speckled eyes that normally were bright and eager and direct, but now were restless and, Bobby thought, uneasy and alarmed. Not unnatural, perhaps. Most young girls would feel nervous at being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night to talk to two police officers. But Bobby noticed, too, that those grey speckled eyes showed red and swollen and there was a damp appearance under and around them that suggested they had recently been bathed in cold water. He was inclined to think that those eyes had shed many tears this night.
He began again his apologies for so late a visit. Maggie interrupted him in a high, excited voice.
“I hadn’t the least idea it was her bag,” she said. “I must have picked it up by mistake. I didn’t know, not till now. Have you got mine? Do you mean she’s been hurt?”
“We are trying to find out,” Bobby said. “Some one has certainly been hurt—badly hurt. But we’ve no idea what really happened. Can you tell us where you saw Miss Winlock?”
“It was Bexley House,” Maggie answered, and this was said with a slightly uneasy glance at her parents, as though she knew it would not be approved. “Mrs Winlock rang me up where I work at the Universal and General Bank in Cheapside. Miss Winlock works there, too, only she’s in Foreign Exchange, so I don’t see much of her. I knew she hadn’t turned up that morning and there hadn’t been any message, and Mrs Winlock sounded very worried. She said something about a friend living at Thameside, and she thought it might be me, or I might know. I didn’t, but I knew she went to Bexley House sometimes—Miss Winlock, I mean. So I said I would call and ask, and I did, and she was there.”
“Are you friendly with Mr and Mrs Winlock?” Bobby asked.
“I’ve never met them. I hardly knew Miss Winlock, only to say good morning, and sometimes at lunch.”
“What happened when you saw her at Bexley House?” Bobby asked.
“I told her Mrs Winlock had rung up at the office. She said her mother was always fussing and she would ring her up and tell her it was all right. She said she would have done it at once only they’ve no ’phone at Bexley House. I said there would be a row at the office when she went back and she said she jolly well wasn’t going back. That’s all.”
“Not quite, I think,” Bobby said. “There was more to it than that, wasn’t there? What was the quarrel about?”
Maggie gave a little gasp, taken entirely by surprise.
“Oh, there wasn’t,” she exclaimed—“at least, I mean. . . . How do you know?” she demanded.
“My dear young lady,” Bobby said. “I don’t think any woman goes off with another woman’s handbag without finding it out very quickly, unless she is in a state of considerable excitement—or should I say distress? And, if you’ll excuse my saying so, I think something has happened to distress you very seriously. Haven’t you been crying a good deal to-night?”
“Oh, I haven’t, I haven’t!” Maggie exclaimed—“at least, I mean . . . I mean . . . why shouldn’t I? I’ve got a cold, that’s all.”
“More than that, I think,” Bobby said. “I fancy if we could see your pillow . . . handkerchiefs as well.”
Maggie was staring at him with undisguised terror. He tried to smile at her reassuringly. The effort wasn’t very successful. She began to cry again. Mr and Mrs Kerr began to talk, both at once and very excitedly. Maggie went on crying. Bobby remained silent.
CHAPTER VII
“I’LL LIVE AS LONG AS YOU”
Then Maggie brought this trying and confused scene to an end by turning suddenly and running out of the room. They heard the light patter of her feet as she ran up the stairs. Mrs Kerr followed her, though not so quickly but that she had time to throw a furious glance at Bobby. Mr Kerr stood staring after them. Peate said:
“Well, that’s that.”
Mr Kerr went to the door and stood listening. His wife called from the top of the stairs that Maggie had locked her door and wouldn’t open it. Peate remarked again that ‘that was that’. Bobby picked up his hat and said:
“Well, I suppose that will have to do for to-night. But I am afraid it can’t stop here. I don’t think Miss Kerr has been entirely frank with us. Probably a formal statement will have to be taken. You may think it advisable to get in touch with your solicitors. I would ask you to impress upon Miss Kerr the necessity of being absolutely and entirely frank. Even in the smallest details. The truth is bound to come out in the end. But meanwhile a lot of trouble may be caused, with rather unpleasant results occasionally. To every one concerned. One thing before we go. I take it Miss Kerr has Miss Winlock’s handbag she picked up instead of her own. Will you let us have it, please?”
Mr Kerr hesitated, grumbled that it was Miss Winlock’s property, and ought only to be handed over to her. However, he went away, and after more delay presently returned with it, Maggie having been persuaded to open her door and admit her mother. Bobby asked how she was; and Mr Kerr said resentfully that considering the way she had been cross-examined she was much calmer now, and it was a wonder she was, considering the way she had been bullied. Bobby said he resented very strongly the suggestion that Miss Kerr had been bullied. He must ask Mr Kerr to withdraw it. Bobby could both look and speak formidably when he wished to, and Mr Kerr looked rather scared, and complied. Bobby said again that it would be necessary for Miss Kerr to be questioned further, and Mr Kerr countered by demanding the return of her bag he supposed was in Bobby’s possession.
“I am sorry,” Bobby said in reply to this, “but it must remain in our hands for the present. I will see an acknowledgment is sent Miss Kerr with a list of contents.”
“I don’t see what right you have to keep it,” Mr Kerr protested.
“It may be important evidence,” Bobby told him. “There seem to be bloodstains on it.”
“Bloodstains? Nonsense!” Mr Kerr retorted angrily. “What does all this mean? I insist upon knowing.”
“I don’t know myself, so how can I tell you?” Bobby retorted in his turn. “It may turn out to be nothing at all—a mare’s nest. Or it may prove to be very serious indeed. That’s all I can say. But I do think it is sufficiently serious to make it very necessary that Miss Kerr should keep nothing back. Not even the merest detail—nothing.”
He moved towards the door, followed by Peate. Mr Kerr followed them into the hall. He went to open the door. With his hand on the latch, he said:
“There was something about an accident or whatever it was. What did you mean? . . . ‘whatever it was’.”
“Only what I said,” Bobby answered.
“Is it . . . do you . . . well . . . murder?” Mr Kerr asked at last, bringing out the word with a rush.
“I have not said so, I do not know,” Bobby answered.
He and Peate went away then. Peate spoke first:
“Tumbled to it pretty quick it might be murder, didn’t he? What’s he know?”
“No telling,” Bobby said. “Mustn’t jump to conclusions. Quite natural he should think of murder when I told him it was serious and that his daughter’s handbag had blood on it. No, I don’t think we can take much notice of that.”
“The girl was pretty badly upset,” Peate insisted. “There’s a lot behind she doesn’t mean to let out if she can help it. Do you think this Maggie girl can have outed the other one? There’s never any telling what a woman won’t do once she gets worked up.”
“If it was that way,” Bobby asked, “who removed the body? A girl like Miss Kerr could hardly have done it by herself.”
“I should like to have a look in their garage,” Peate remarked.
“There wasn’t one,” Bobby said. “Not at the house. They may have a lock-up somewhere. But I can’t see that girl carrying dead bodies in and out of cars and garages.”
“There was that fellow you saw,” persisted Peate. “What about him? You said there was blood on his hand.”
“He had given himself rather a bad cut,” Bobby pointed out.
“In a struggle?”
“It was a clean cut, freshly done,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “Razor blade could have done it.”
“Or a dinner-knife?”
“If it were sharp enough,” agreed Bobby.
“Well, looks to me as if there was a tie-up somewhere,” declared Peate, and Bobby said he rather thought so, too.
“Only where?” he asked.
Peate left that question unanswered. They had nearly reached Bexley House when he remarked:
“The station sergeant said you were asking about a Miss Bella Brown, a journalist living in this part. We don’t know her. Could it be Miss Kerr?”
“It might be, I suppose,” Bobby admitted. “We can clear that up, though. I think Miss Winlock’s parents met her once, and they should be able to describe her. She ought to be found.”
“We’ll find her,” declared Peate confidently. “That is, if there is any such person and it wasn’t all a put-up job.”
“Quite possible,” Bobby said; “but it does look as if there was another woman in it somewhere.”
“Miss Maggie Kerr,” declared Peate with conviction.
“Yes,” agreed Bobby. “Or Miss Vea Burden? Oh Miss Grace Williams? We may be able to find one of the three is connected with Mark Monk. I meant to show the Kerr girl his photograph and see if she could identify it, only she did rather put a stopper on things, the way she ran off.”
“First thing to do,” declared Peate, “is to pick him up. You think so, sir?”
“Oh, yes, the obvious first step,” Bobby agreed once more.
“Shouldn’t be difficult,” Peate said optimistically, and this time Bobby said nothing, but thought it might be very difficult—very difficult indeed.
They had reached Bexley House now. The constable on duty admitted them. The routine of an investigation was in full progress under the direction of Mr Ferris, the Divisional Detective Inspector, called away from fireside and slippers. Very likely it would go on till dawn or later. Every bloodstain was being examined, recorded, plotted on a plan of the room, photographed. Elaborate measurements were being taken. It would be possible, if necessary, to produce a model showing every detail down to the position of the most distant chair and table. Mr Ferris said gloomily that he expected it would all turn out waste time and labour. Somebody’s nose had been bleeding a bit more freely than usual. That was very likely all there was to it. It was quite evident, however, that he did not really believe this. The finger-print specialist was equally gloomy, but for a different reason. He was a frustrated man. He had failed to find a single ‘dab’ of any significance.
“Must have been wearing gloves,” he told Bobby.
“Oh, yes,” Bobby said, and went into a trance, as they say at the bridge table. When he emerged from it he saw the finger-print man was watching him curiously, as if he thought Bobby couldn’t be quite well. Bobby said: “You may have something there.”
