The Garston Murder Case, page 5
“We did not. Let’s hope we’ve come on a bit since then. That wasn’t our fault though.”
“No, we never had a chance. But it’s an odd thing meeting you again over this case. The lady’s Miss Morrow—the lady Alfred Garston was engaged to.”
Bell looked puzzled, Bell looked annoyed. “Engaged? I’m getting old, Gunn. I don’t remember Miss Morrow. Can’t recollect her at all.”
“Perhaps you never heard of her. The engagement didn’t have any bearing on the Garston business. I knew about her, because she’s one of the county people. Well, it doesn’t matter. It had nothing to do with this case either, of course. Miss Morrow’s got a bit of money and she’s on her own. About half the time she stays at the Victoria here. Has the same rooms year after year. Two days ago somebody went off with her jewel case. She’s frantic. I couldn’t stop her offering a reward. She’s putting an advertisement in the papers to-morrow. Five hundred pounds.”
Bell whistled. “She has got some money.”
“Very comfortable, I should say. But not to throw five hundred quid about.”
“What sort of jewels were they?”
Gunn gave him a list. “There you are. And if that’s accurate, it’s a wonder. Took me about half a day cross-questioning her and her maid to draw it up. I should say neither of ’em has any clear notion what she really had, and as for the value—search me. She’s not insured, of course. She wouldn’t be.”
Bell read with grunts of contempt. “Looks like the usual old maid’s little lot. Sentimental value, I suppose. Might be things Alfred Garston gave her.” He looked up at Gunn. “What’s your idea about it?”
“Very likely some did come from him. She still thinks a lot about him. I got that when she was rambling on. She was thanking heaven she always wore her engagement ring—on the little finger now, the other one having got too fat. She told me so.” Gunn gave a subdued chuckle. “Poor old girl. She’s absurd and pathetic, if you know what I mean. Oh yes, this big reward is sentimental. She wants everything back undamaged.”
“Wish she may get it!” Bell grunted.
“Oh, it’s silly, of course. Makes us look fools too. There are some letters she’s keen about in with the jewels.”
“I thought so,” Bell nodded.
“Love letters, I gather. Alfred’s love letters. Always carried ’em round with her.” He grinned ruefully at Bell. “So the five hundred quid is for the recovery of case and contents. Think you’re going to earn it?”
Bell shook his head. “About these letters though. They’d be just straight love letters from Alfred Garston? See what I mean? It’s not a blackmail job?”
“Can’t be. You don’t know her, of course. You can bet your life she never had any love affair but that one. They’re his letters all right. May have been pretty warm —I shouldn’t have thought so. But nobody could blackmail her with them. There was no secret about the engagement. Besides—she’s been living quite open down here and in London ever since. You can’t imagine any fellow suddenly thinking he could get blackmail out of her for that old affair.”
Bell nodded. “Well, I didn’t really. Better to have a look at every possibility though. You’ve got to own it’s a queer sort of case, Gunn.”
“How do you mean?”
“Neat bit of work, isn’t it? The thief got clean away out of a good hotel in daylight with a jewel case and you haven’t found any clue. Looks like high-class professional work.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted some of you London experts on it.”
“All right. But the high-class crooks don’t want to bother with Miss Morrow’s kind of stuff.” Bell looked at the list with contempt. “I’d say there’s nothing there worth their while. And they generally know what they’re after.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I suppose you’ve looked over the servants?”
“Yes. Nothing doing. All old stagers—it’s that kind of hotel. They know one another and the proprietor knows ’em all inside out.”
“What about the window of the room?”
“Not a chance. Second floor and on the front.”
“What do you think of a casual stranger strolling upstairs?”
“I don’t believe in him. The Victoria has no use for casual strangers. The porter’d bite ’em. The office would call the police.”
“Particular kind of pub.” Bell smiled.
“It is. You’ve got to reckon with that. Anybody who couldn’t pass for quite correct wouldn’t have had a chance.”
“All right. Have it your own way. You want to put it on one of the people staying there. Then we’d better look into ’em.”
“That was my idea,” Gunn smiled. “Now the case was in Miss Morrow’s room before lunch. She says so and her maid says so. When she went up again an hour after lunch it was gone. There were ten people left the hotel that day round about lunch time. Here’s the list. These four are old customers. The other six they don’t know.”
Bell laughed. “Oh, you can get into this exclusive pub without an introduction?”
“Yes. Shouldn’t care to myself.” Gunn grinned. “Very genteel they are at the Victoria. But of course it’s first class and they get rich people motoring and so on.”
Bell studied the names. “Colonel Grose and valet. Left his club address. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, London; Mr. and Mrs. Meyer and chauffeur, Manchester; Mrs. Hale, maid and chauffeur, Bath. Lot of servants.”
“There would be. All these people had their own cars except the colonel. He’s old and so is Mrs. Hale. Quite doddery. The others, the Herberts and the Meyers, were youngish. I don’t get anything particular about ’em. The proprietor says they were all quite gentry. Gentry’s his strong suit. But I don’t know what young people want to go to the Victoria for.”
“I see. Well, it might have been somebody who didn’t run away as soon as he’d got the goods. But we’d better begin with this little lot. Let’s go down. I’d like to have a look at this genteel pub.”
They went. The proprietor, who looked like Ibsen, was not pleased to see them, and became less pleased and still more like Ibsen when they cross-examined him about his guests. He would remember nothing that was of any use. “Look here, my friend,” said Bell, “if I wanted to be nasty I should say you didn’t want this theft investigated.”
“I don’t want you starting silly scandal about the visitors to my hotel, and I’m not going to have it. Say what you like, I’m not afraid of you. You can’t bully me.”
Bell looked him over with a contemptuous smile. “Wait till I begin. Your duty is to assist the police. And you’re not doing it.”
“I understand my duty.” The proprietor was still defiant. “I’m here to give you any help I can. But I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“All right. As you don’t know anything about your visitors, we’ll have to get it otherwise. I want to see the bills of these people—Mr. and Mrs. Herbert of London, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer and chauffeur of Manchester.” The proprietor had no objection to that. He would get the books at once.
When he departed Bell winked at Gunn, but Gunn shook his head. “The old boy’s all right, you know.”
“I should say so. He came to heel sharp when I talked about duty, didn’t he? Just a silly ass. He was hoping to pass it off as some thief from outside, not one of his precious visitors, that’s all. And he don’t feel too sure about ’em.”
The books came and revealed that the Herberts had stayed four nights, the Meyers only two. The Meyers had taken expensive rooms on the first floor, the Herberts had gone to the third. The Meyers were charged for baths each day. One bath had sufficed for the Herberts. The Meyers had drunk wine, the Herberts whisky. One Herbert had tea each day, no Meyer. “I can’t make much out of that,” said Gunn.
Bell grunted and looked up at the proprietor. “Have you got a bar here?”
“There is no bar in the hotel,” said the proprietor haughtily.
“Hard lines. What does a man do when he wants a drink?”
“He would give his order to the smoking-room waiter.”
“I want to see him.”
A small young man who already looked old was produced. “Now, my lad, do you get many of the visitors taking a drink in the evening?”
“There’s always the regular, sir.”
“Leaving them out—were you serving many last week?”
“Much as usual, sir.”
“Do they pay as they have it or put it on the bill?”
“Mostly pay—except some of the regulars.”
“Did you happen to notice any of the strangers?”
“There was a gentleman in most nights. I remember ’im, because ’e ’ad gin an’ bitters—which it’s not usual with gentlemen after dinner. Some nights ’e’d ’ave two.”
Bell lit a cigarette. “Well, what was he like?”
“Nice gentleman, sir. Quite pleasant.” The waiter looked at his proprietor. “I think ’e ’ad rooms on the third floor. I ’eard ’im tell the lift boy.”
“Yes, but what was he like to look at?”
“I couldn’t rightly say.” The waiter hesitated. “Just a ordinary gent. Clean-shaved. Lot of forehead. Not the sort you notice much. Rather spry when he moved.”
“That’s no good,” said Bell. “All right, my lad.” He sent the waiter away and turned to the proprietor. “Is there anyone in your blessed hotel who knows anybody?”
“I take it the gentleman he refers to must have been Mr. Herbert,” said the proprietor, with angry contempt for a gentleman who brought to his hotel an incorrect habit in drinks.
Bell made an impatient noise. “Chambermaid of the Herberts’ room. Waiter at the Herberts’ table. Porter. The man at your garage. I want all them. To begin with P’r’aps one of ’em ’s got some sense.”
The examination was long and tedious. The Herberts had been people singularly insignificant or the servants of the Victoria thought it improper to remember anything about the visitors. Bell gained here a little and there a little. Mrs. Herbert was young and the chambermaid did not think they had been long married. Mr. Herbert was older. The waiter said Mrs. Herbert had a quiet way with her and wore black and used to be always in the drawing room with the ladies. He had thought they did not go out much.
But the last of the string, the garage man, had a different sort of mind. He was an affable cockney, he talked nineteen to the dozen, and if all he told was true he noticed everything or more. From his chatter Mr. and Mrs. Herbert emerged real and recognizable. She was quite the lady or the lady’s maid. Sharp little face, rather mousy; not much of her; fair hair and dark eyes; dressed demure and blackish; didn’t mind showing all a leg though. He was free and easy: quite all right but not just the thing; bit of a bagman. Ordinarysized fellow; rather bony; skin-and-bone face: soft of skull. Moved quick. Knew a bit about cars. His own car was an Evans-Cambridge coupe 1929; been repainted gray. He had a go at the engine just before he left.
Bell smiled. “You’ve seen some things in your life, haven’t you?” He gave the man a ten-shilling note. “I shouldn’t wonder you might be some use to me if you can keep your mouth shut. Run away.” He stood up and surveyed the proprietor. “Thank God somebody in the place has got a brain. The only good you can be just yet is to go on saying nothing. Understand? If any of this leaks out, we’ll come down on you. But you’d better think about knowing something. Good-day to you.” He marched out at high speed.
When they were out of the hotel Gunn caught up. “Well, I suppose you think you’ve got on to them,” he growled. “I don’t see it myself.”
“How could you?” Bell soothed him. “It’s knowing the people that does the trick. I know your Mr. Herbert. They all have their little ways, thank God. Drinking gin of an evening is one of his. That’s what put me on to him. When the garage man talked about his skull face that settled it. We call him Billy Bones.”
“Regular hotel thief, is he?”
Bell nodded. “We’ve had him on the list ten—ah, fifteen years. Quite in a good way of business. I don’t know the woman. But Billy likes ’em fresh and fresh.”
“What’s your next move?” Gunn grunted.
“Eh?” Bell stared at him. “Why, we’ll have to find Billy for you. I’ll ring up now and tell ’em to get busy. May take a bit of time, but we’ll find him.”
“That’s all right. I’m thinking about the evidence,” Gunn grumbled. “I don’t see it myself. Say you get him and this smarty from the garage identified him. What about it? You prove he was down here under an alias when the stuff was pinched and you can get it in that he’s a convicted hotel thief. That’s not good enough for a jury.”
“Don’t you worry. When we’ve got him, we’ll make a case of it. Some of these servants will have to remember things.” Bell looked knowing. “Wonderful what fools can remember when they’re put through it.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know the second waiter did remember seeing the woman sitting by Miss Morrow. That was keeping watch on her while Billy Bones did the trick. We want one of ’em to remember seeing Billy about on the wrong floor—by Miss Morrow’s room—coming down with a case in his hand. That sort of thing. We’ll get it from somebody when we work at ’em.”
“I don’t know. I don’t much like it,” said Gunn.
“What’s wrong with it?” Bell looked at him with searching eyes. “You can bet your life Billy did the job.”
“I daresay he did.” Gunn frowned. “I don’t think you’re going to get much of a case.” Bell did not answer at once. “You don’t like it yourself,” Gunn accused him.
“Do you want to know what is wrong with it?” said Bell slowly. “I told you before. It oughtn’t to have been an expert’s job at all. Billy’s not the man to come after Miss Morrow’s class o’ goods. He only goes for the big stuff. And yet he did it. Well, I want to know why. There’s some queer game being played and Billy’s got to let us into it—or. he’ll go for a long stretch. That’s how it’s going to look to him. So we have to get some evidence ready.”
“Work a bluff on him?” said Gunn. “It might do. But what game could there be? Who’s going to make anything out of old jewellery and old love letters?”
“Ah! Now you’re asking something,” Bell grunted.
CHAPTER VII
MR. CLUNK TAKES A CASE
Mr. Clunk walked round his garden before breakfast, and sparrows chirped at him and he at the sparrows and he hummed:
“We speak of the land of the blest,
That country so bright and so fair,
And oft are its glories confest;
But what must it be to be there!”
He found two young plants of groundsel, took these in to his canaries, with beaming benevolence watched them eat, then, rubbing his hands, tripped to the paper which lay to warm by the fire. The Clunks were fond of fires.
“To be there! To be there!
Oh, what must it be to be there!”
he murmured, and on that second line was silent.
An advertisement in the column next to births, marriages, and deaths required his attention:
£500 REWARD. STOLEN, 4th inst., from VICTORIA HOTEL, LIMBAY. BLACK LEATHER JEWEL CASE MARKED F.M. Containing diamond and amethyst brooch, pearl brooch, amethyst necklace, diamond and ruby bracelet, etc., and private papers. Above reward will be paid for information leading to complete recovery of case and contents. Apply Smith & Hawkins, Fore Street, Limbay.
Mr. Clunk tapped his teeth. It was some minutes before he turned to another page.
Mrs. Clunk rustled in brightly smiling. “Is there anything in the paper, Joshua?”
“The King seems really better, my dear,” said Mr. Clunk.
“God bless him!” Mrs. Clunk murmured.
“Amen! Yes, indeed. Amen!” said Mr. Clunk, and they sat down to their eggs.
One train earlier than usual Mr. Clunk went in to town. When he ran up the stairs of his office his little feet went to the tune of
“You are nearing the brink of Jordan
But still there is work for you:
Then, what are you going to do, brother?
Say, what are you going to do?”
His letters were brought him and he looked them over hastily. “Very good. In a minute, if you please, Jenks, in a minute. I want a word with Lewis.”
Lewis was a bald young man to whom prominent teeth gave the look of a simpleton. Mr. Clunk showed him the advertisement. “Did you happen to notice that, my boy?”
“Caught my eye, sir. Big reward, I thought.”
“It is,” said Mr. Clunk. “A very large reward.”
“I mean to say, it’s big money for the stuff in the list. Looks like something behind.”
“Just so. I’m afraid they’re not being quite candid,” said Mr. Clunk sadly. “Complete recovery of contents, you notice, Lewis. Complete. A curious advertisement. Do you happen to have heard anything about the case?”
“Not me. Been kept pretty quiet. Of course, Limbay —it is off the map. Still, a hotel jewel robbery generally makes a noise. And if it’s a five-hundred quid reward touch—well!”
“Quite so. An interesting case. I should like to know more of it.”
“Very good, sir.” Lewis went out.
Mr. Clunk did not at once return to his letters. He contemplated the stuffed canaries on the mantelpiece. He rose and turned them to take more of the sunlight. Then he rang the bell and asked Jenks for a directory of the county of Sandshire.
That night he took Mrs. Clunk to a missionary meeting. When they came home a taxi was at the door. Lewis was in the cupboard upstairs which Mr. Clunk calls his study. He writes his sermons there.
“Well, well, well,” Mr. Clunk beamed. “I don’t like keeping you out so late, my boy. You should have telephoned.”
“It wouldn’t do for the telephone, sir. I wanted to tell you Bell’s on that Limbay case.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. Clunk. “Superintendent Bell? Is that so?”
“That’s right. And the man they’re looking for is Billy Bones. You know, Billy Benson.”
