Part 9

“I’m sorry. But what can we do? You might call up your village policeman. He’s four miles off, and I dare say he needs exercise. You might telephone to Thorton and say you have been burgled, and will they please watch some road or other for some one or other with a bag of silver and a set of cameos and a ruby brooch. It doesn’t sound helpful, does it?”

“It sounds damned silly.”

“But I thought you’d find clues, Mr. Fortune,” Alice Beach cried, “all sorts of clues, finger-prints and foot-prints and----”

“And tell us the crime was done by a retired sergeant-cook with pink hair and a cast in the eye,” Cosdon grinned.

“You see, I’ve no imagination,” said Reggie, sadly.

“Confound you, Cosdon, it isn’t a joke,” Colonel Beach cried.

“No, I don’t think it’s a joke,” Reggie agreed.

“One of your perfect crimes, Mr. Fortune?”

“Well, I was sayin’--you have to allow for chance. There was a lot of luck about.”

“What are you thinking of?”

“The time, Mrs. Beach. Yes, the flight of time. We’d better go to bed.”

But he did not go to bed. He stirred the fire in his bedroom and composed himself by it. The affair annoyed him. He did not want to be bothered by work and his mind insisted on working. Something like this. “Philosophically time is an illusion. ‘Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.’ Highly divers, yes. Time is the trouble, Colonel. Why was there such a long time between the first scream and the second scream? Sally tumbled down. Sally was fumbling in the dark: but it don’t take many minutes to get from her room to the stairs. She took as long as it took the chauffeur to run to the powerhouse. He started some while after the first scream, he had found what was wrong and put the light on again within a minute of the second. Too much time for Sally--and too little. How did Sally’s burglars get off so quick? Faulks ran up at the second scream. The rest of us were there next minute. They were there to hit Faulks. When we came, we saw no one, heard no one and found no one.” He shook his head at the firelight. “And yet Sally’s rather a dear. I wonder. No, it didn’t go according to plan. But I don’t like it, my child. It don’t look pretty.”

He sat up. Somebody was moving in the corridor. He went to his table for an electric torch, slid silently across the room, flung open the door and flashed on the light. He caught a glimpse of legs vanishing round a corner, legs which were crawling, a man’s legs. A door was closed stealthily.

Reggie swept the light along the floor. It fell at last on some spots of candle grease dropped where the fallen Sally was examined. Thereabouts the legs had been. He moved the light to and fro. Close by stood an old oak settle. He swept the light about it, saw something beneath it flash and picked up Mrs. Faulks’s big ruby brooch.

The early morning, which he does not love, found him in the garden. There under Sally’s window the ladder still stood. “That came from the potting sheds, sir,” his factotum Sam told him. “Matter of a hundred yards.” Together they went over the path and away to the little powerhouse by the stream. The ground was still hard from the night frost.

“Not a trace,” Reggie murmured. “Well, well. Seen anybody about this morning, Sam?”

“This morning, sir?” Sam stared. “Not a soul.”

“Have a look,” said Reggie and went in shivering.

He was met by the butler who said nervously that Colonel Beach had been asking for him and would like to see him in the study. There he found not only Colonel Beach but Mrs. Beach and Sally and Captain Cosdon, a distressful company. It was plain that Mrs. Beach had been crying. Sally was on the brink. Cosdon looked like a naughty boy uncertain of his doom. But the Colonel was tragic, the Colonel was taking things very hard.

Reggie Fortune beamed upon them. “Morning, morning. Up already, Miss Winslow? How’s the head?”

Sally tried to say something and gulped. Tom Beach broke out: “Sorry to trouble you, Fortune. It’s an infernal shame dragging you into this business.” He glared at his wife, and she wilted.

“My dear Colonel, it’s my job,” Reggie protested cheerfully, and edged towards the fire which the Colonel screened.

“I’m awfully sorry, Colonel. I’m the one to blame,” Cosdon said. “It’s all my fault, don’t you know.”

“I don’t know whose fault it isn’t. I know it’s a most ghastly mess.”

“It’s just like a snowball,” Alice laughed hysterically. “Our snowball burglary.”

“Snowball?” the Colonel roared at her.

“Oh, Tom, you know. When you want subscriptions and have a snowball where every one has to get some one else to subscribe. I thought of it and I brought in Sally and Sally brought in Bunny and then Mr. Faulks came in--poor Mr. Faulks--and then Mrs. Faulks got into it and her rubies.”

“And now we’re all in it, up to the neck.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s very lucid,” said Reggie. “But a little confusing to an outsider. My brain’s rather torpid, you know. I only want to get on the fire.” He obtained the central position and sighed happily. “Well now, the workin’ hypothesis is that there were no burglars. Somebody thought it would be interesting to put up a perfect crime. For the benefit of the guileless expert.”

They were stricken by a new spasm of dismay. They stared at him. “Yes, you always knew it was a fake,” Cosdon cried. “I guessed that last night when you kept talking about the time.”

“Well, I thought a little anxiety would be good for you. Even the expert has his feelings.”

“It was horrid of us, Mr. Fortune,” Sally cried. “But it wasn’t only meant for you.”

“Oh, don’t discourage me.”

“It was all my fault, Mr. Fortune.” Alice put in her claim and looked at him ruefully and then began to laugh. “But you did seem so bored----”

“Oh, no, no, no. Only my placid nature. Well now, to begin at the beginning. Somebody thought it would be a merry jest to have me on. That was you, Mrs. Beach. For your kindly interest, I thank you.”

Mrs. Beach again showed signs of weeping.

“Please don’t be horrid, Mr. Fortune,” said Sally, fervently.

“I’m trying to be fascinating. But you see I’m so respectable. You unnerve me.”

“I thought of a burglary,” said Mrs. Beach, choking sobs. “And I asked Sally to do it.”

“And she did--all for my sake. Well, one never knows,” Reggie sighed, and looked sentimental.

“It wasn’t you,” said Sally. “I wanted to shock Mr. Faulks.”

“Dear, dear. I shouldn’t wonder if you have.”

“Oh!” Sally shuddered. “That man is on my nerves. He simply follows me about. He scares me. When I found he’d got Tom to ask him here I----”

“Yes, of course, it’s my fault,” Tom Beach cried. “I knew it would come round to that.”

“You didn’t know, dear, how could you?” Sally soothed him. “He doesn’t make love to you. Well, he was here and his mamma and--oh, Mr. Fortune, you’ve seen them. They want shocking. So I talked to Bunny and----”

“And I came in with both feet,” said Captain Cosdon. “My scheme really, Fortune, all my scheme.”

“All?” Reggie asked with some emphasis.

“Good Lord, not what’s happened.”

“I thought we should come to that some day. What did happen?”

And they all began to talk at once. From which tumult emerged the clear little voice of Sally. “Bunny slipped out early and put a garden ladder up at my window and then went off to the powerhouse. When I went to bed, I collected Tom’s pots from the study--that was because he is so vain of them--and Alice’s cameos--that’s because they’re so dowdy--and locked them in my trunk. Then I screamed at the window. That was the signal for Bunny and he switched the lights out and came back. All that was what we planned.” She looked pathetically at Reggie. “It was a good crime, wasn’t it, Mr. Fortune?”

“You have a turn for the profession, Miss Winslow. You will try to be too clever. It’s the mark of the criminal mind.”

“I say, hang it all, Fortune----” Cosdon flushed.

“I know I spoilt it,” said Sally meekly. “I just stood there, you know, hearing Tom roar downstairs and you all fussing----”

“And you underrate the policeman. Do I fuss?” Reggie was annoyed.

“You’re fussing over my morals now. Well, I stood there and it came over me the burglars just had to have something of Mrs. Faulks’s.” She gurgled. “That would make it quite perfect. So I ran into her room and struck a match and there was her awful old ruby brooch. I took that and went out into the passage and screamed again. That was the plan. Then I bumped into somebody----”

“That was me,” said Captain Cosdon. “She was such a jolly long time with the second scream I went up to see if anything was wrong----”

“Yes. The criminal will do too much,” Reggie sighed.

“Then Faulks came. He tumbled into us and hit out, silly ass. I heard Sally go down and I let him have it. Confound him.”

Sally smiled at him affectionately.

“Oh yes, it’s devilish funny, isn’t it?” cried Tom Beach. “Good God, Cosdon, you’re not fit to be at large. A nice thing you’ve let me in for.”

“Well, you’ve all been very ingenious,” said Reggie. “Thanks for a very jolly evening. May I have some breakfast?” There was a silence which could be felt.

“Mr. Fortune,” said Sally, “that awful brooch is gone.”

“Yes, that’s where we slipped up,” said Cosdon. “Sally must have dropped it when that fool knocked her out. I went out last night to hunt for it and it wasn’t there.”

“Really?”

Reggie’s tone was sardonic and Cosdon flushed at it. “What do you mean?”

“Well, somebody found it, I suppose. That’s the working hypothesis.”

He reduced them to the dismal condition in which he found them. “There you are!” Colonel Beach cried. “Some one of the servants saw the beastly thing and thought there was a chance to steal it. It’s a ghastly business. I’ll have to go through them for it and catch some poor devil who would have gone straight enough if you hadn’t played the fool. It’s not fair, confound it.”

There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Faulks was asking if the Colonel would speak to her. The Colonel groaned and went out.

“Do you mind if I have some breakfast, Mrs. Beach?” said Reggie plaintively.

They seemed to think him heartless but offered no impediment. A dejected company slunk downstairs. It occurred to Reggie, always a just man, that Sam also might be hungry and he ran out to take him off guard.

When he came back to the breakfast-room, he found that Faulks had joined the party. It was clear that no one had dared to tell him the truth. They were gazing in fascinated horror at the many colours which swelled about his right eye, and his scowl was terrible.

“Hallo, Faulks! Stout fellow,” said Reggie, brightly. “How’s the head?”

Mr. Faulks turned the scowl on him. Mr. Faulks found his head very painful. He had had practically no sleep. He feared some serious injury to the nerves. He must see a doctor. And his tone implied that as a doctor and a man Reggie was contemptible.

Reggie served himself generously with bacon and mushrooms and began to eat. No one else was eating but Mr. Faulks. He, in a domineering manner, smote boiled eggs. The others played with food like passengers in a rolling ship.

The door was opened. The austere shape of Mrs. Faulks stalked in and behind her Tom Beach slunk to his place. Mrs. Faulks’s compressed face wore a look of triumph.

Sally half rose from her chair. “Oh, Mrs. Faulks,” she cried, “have you found your rubies?”

“Really!” said Mrs. Faulks with a freezing smile. “No, Miss Winslow, I have not found my rubies.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Mrs. Faulks stared at her. “I imagine there is only one thing to be done. I have desired Colonel Beach to send for the police. I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Oh, Tom, you mustn’t!” Sally cried.

“Really! My dear, you don’t realize what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do. You don’t understand, Mrs. Faulks; you see it was like this----” and out it all came with the Colonel trying to stop it in confused exclamations, and Mrs. Faulks and her heavy son sinking deeper and deeper into stupefaction.

“The whole affair was a practical joke?” said Faulks thickly.

“That’s the idea, old thing,” Cosdon assured him.

“Yes, yes, don’t you see it?” Sally giggled.

“I never heard anything so disgraceful,” Faulks pronounced.

“I say, go easy,” Cosdon cried.

Mrs. Faulks had become pale. “Am I expected to believe this?” she looked from Tom to Alice.

“Oh, Mrs. Faulks, I am so sorry,” Alice Beach said. “It was too bad. And it’s really all my fault.”

“I--I--you say you stole my rubies?” Mrs. Faulks turned upon Sally.

“Come, come, the child took them for a joke,” Colonel Beach protested.

“I took them, yes--and then I lost them. I’m most awfully sorry about that.”

“Are you indeed. Am I to believe this tale, Colonel Beach? Then pray who stole my diamond necklace?”

She produced an awful silence. She seemed proud of it, and in a fascination of horror the conspirators stared at her.

“Diamond necklace!” Sally cried. “I never saw it.”

“My necklace is gone. I don’t profess to understand the ideas of joking in this house. But my necklace is gone.”

“Oh, my lord,” said Cosdon. “That’s torn it.”

“The snowball!” Alice gasped. “It is a snowball. Everything gets in something else.”

“Really!” said Mrs. Faulks (her one expletive). “I do not understand you.”

Reggie arose and cut himself a large portion of cold beef.

“If this was a practical joke,” said the solemn voice of Faulks, “who struck me?”

“That was me, old thing,” Cosdon smiled upon him.

“But strictly speakin’,” said Reggie as he came back and took more toast, “that’s irrelevant.”

“Colonel Beach!” Mrs. Faulks commanded the wretched man’s attention, “what do you propose to do?”

“We shall have to have the police,” he groaned.

“Oh, yes, it’s a case for the police,” said Reggie cheerfully. “Have you a telegraph form, Colonel?”

“It’s all right, Fortune, thanks. I’ll telephone.”

“Yes, encourage local talent. But I would like to send a wire to Scotland Yard.”

“Scotland Yard!” Mrs. Faulks was impressed. Mrs. Faulks smiled on him.

“Well, you know, there are points about your case, Mrs. Faulks. I think they would be interested.”

Like one handing his own death warrant, Colonel Beach put down some telegraph forms. Reggie pulled out his pencil, laid it down again and took some marmalade. “Valuable necklace, of course, Mrs. Faulks?” he said blandly. “Quite so. The one you wore the night before last? I remember. I remember.” He described it. Mrs. Faulks approved and elaborated his description. “That’s very clear. Are your jewels insured? Yes, well that is a certain consolation.” He adjusted his pencil and wrote. “I think this will meet the case.” He gave the telegram to Mrs. Faulks.

Mrs. Faulks read it, Mrs. Faulks seemed unable to understand. She continued to gaze at it, and the wondering company saw her grow red to the frozen coils of her hair.

Reggie was making notes on another telegraph form. He read out slowly a precise description of the lost necklace. “That’s it, then,” he said. “By the way, who are you insured with?”

Mrs. Faulks glared at him. “I suppose this is another joke.”

“No,” Reggie shook his head. “This has gone beyond a joke.”

“Where is my brooch, then? Who has my brooch?”

“I have,” said Reggie. He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it on her plate. “I found the brooch in the passage. I didn’t find the necklace, Mrs. Faulks. So I should like to send that telegram.”

“You will do nothing of the kind. I won’t have anything done. The whole affair is disgraceful, perfectly disgraceful. I forbid you to interfere. Do you understand, I forbid it? Colonel Beach! It is impossible for me to stay in your house after the way in which you have allowed me to be treated. Please order the car.”

She stalked out of the room.

“Fortune!” said Faulks thunderously. “Will you kindly explain yourself?”

“I don’t think I need explaining. But you might ask your mother. She kept the telegram.” And to his mother Mr. Faulks fled.

“Good God, Fortune, what have you done?” Tom Beach groaned.

“Not a nice woman,” said Reggie sadly. “Not really a nice woman.” He stood up and sought the fire and lit a cigar and sighed relief.

“Mr. Fortune, what was in that telegram?” Sally cried.

Reggie sat down on the cushioned fender. “I don’t think you’re really a good little girl, you know,” he shook his head at her and surveyed the company. “Broadly speakin’ you ought all to be ashamed of yourselves. Except the Colonel.”

“Please, Mr. Fortune, I’ll never do it again,” said Alice plaintively. “Tom----” she sat on the arm of her husband’s chair and caressed him.

“All right, all right,” he submitted. “But I say, Fortune, what am I to do about Mrs. Faulks?”

“She’s done all there is to do. No, not a nice woman.”

Sally held out her small hands. “Please! What did you say in that telegram?”

“‘Lomas, Scotland Yard. Jewel robbery Colonel Beach’s house curious features tell post office stop delivery registered packet posted Cranston this morning nine examine contents Reginald Fortune Cranston Regis.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“She did. Sorry to meddle with anyone in your house. Colonel, but she would have it. You won’t have any trouble.”

“But what’s the woman done?” the Colonel cried.

“Well, you know, she’s been led into temptation. When she thought burglars had taken her brooch it seemed to her that she might as well recover from the insurance people for something else too. That’s the worst of playing at crime, Mrs. Beach. You never know who won’t take it seriously. What made me cast an eye at Mrs. Faulks was her saying last night that she wasn’t sure whether she had lost anything else. I can’t imagine Mrs. Faulks not sure about anything. She’s sure she’s an injured woman now. And I’ll swear she always has an inventory of all her jeweller’s shop in her head.”

“She has,” said Alice Beach pathetically. “You should hear her talk of her jewels.”

“Heaven forbid. But you see, Miss Winslow, it’s the old story, you criminals always try to be too clever. She thought it wouldn’t be enough to say she’d lost her diamonds. She wanted them well out of the way so that the police could search and not find them. So she scurried off to the post office and sent them away in a registered packet. Thus, as you criminals will, underratin’ the intelligence of the simple policeman. My man Sam was looking out to see if anyone did anything unusual this morning and he observed Mrs. Faulks’s manœuvres at the post office----”

“And you had her cold!” Cosdon cried.

“Yes. Yes, a sad story.”

“She didn’t really mean any harm,” said Sally. “Did she, Mr. Fortune?”

Reggie looked at her sadly. “You’re not a moral little girl, you know,” he said.

CASE VI

THE LEADING LADY

MR. REGINALD FORTUNE sent his punt along at the rate of knots. From the cushions the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department protested. “Why this wanton display of skill? Why so strenuous?”

“It’s good for the figure, Lomas.”

“Have you a figure?” said Lomas bitterly. It is to be confessed that a certain solidity distinguishes Reggie Fortune. Years of service as the scientific adviser of Scotland Yard have not marred the pink and white of his cherubic face, but they have brought weight to a body never svelte.

Mr. Fortune let the punt drift. “That’s vulgar abuse. What’s the matter, old thing?”

“I dislike your horrible competence. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mr. Fortune modestly. “Jack of all trades and master of none. That is why I am a specialist.”

The Hon. Sidney Lomas sat up. “Secondly, I resent your hurry to get rid of me. Thirdly, as I am going up to London to work and you are going back in this punt to do nothing, I should like to annoy you. Fourthly and lastly I know that I shan’t, and that embitters me. Does anything ever annoy you, Fortune?”

“Only work. Only the perverse criminal.”

Lomas groaned. “All criminals are perverse.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Most crime is a natural product.”

“Of course fools are natural,” said Lomas irritably. “The most natural of all animals. And if there were no fools--I shouldn’t spend the summer at Scotland Yard.”

“Well, many criminals are weak in the head.”

“That’s why a policeman’s life is not a happy one.”

“But most of ’em are a natural product. Opportunity makes the thief or what not--and there but for the grace of God go I. Circumstances lead a fellow into temptation.”

“Yes. I’ve wanted to do murder myself. But even with you I have hitherto refrained. There’s always a kink in the criminal’s mind before he goes wrong. Good Gad!” He dropped his voice. “Did you see her?”

Mr. Fortune reproved him. “You’re so susceptible, Lomas. Control yourself. Think of my reputation. I am known in these parts.”

“Who is she? Lady Macbeth?”

“My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! I thought you were a student of the drama. She’s not tragic. She’s comedy and domestic pathos. Tea and tears. It was Rose Darcourt.”

“Good Gad!” said Lomas once more. “She looked like Lady Macbeth after the murder.”

Reggie glanced over his shoulder. From the shade of the veranda of the boat-house a white face stared at him. It seemed to become aware of him and fled. “Indigestion perhaps,” he said. “It does feel like remorse. Or have you been trifling with her affections, Lomas?”

“I wouldn’t dare. Do you know her? She looks a nice young woman for a quiet tea-party. Passion and poison for two.”

“It’s the physique, you know,” said Mr. Fortune sadly. “When they’re long and sinuous and dark they will be intense. That’s the etiquette of the profession. But it’s spoiling her comedy. She takes everything in spasms now and she used to be quite restful.”

“Some silly fool probably told her she was a great actress,” Lomas suggested.

Mr. Fortune did not answer. He was steering the punt to the bank. As it slid by the rushes he stooped and picked out of the water a large silk bag. This he put down at Lomas’s feet, and saying, “Who’s the owner of this pretty thing?” once more drove the punt on at the rate of knots.

Lomas produced from the bag a powder-puff, three gold hair-pins and two handkerchiefs. “The police have evidence of great importance,” he announced, “and immediate developments are expected. S. Sheridan is the culprit, Fortune.”

“Sylvia Sheridan?” Reggie laughed. “You know we’re out of a paragraph in a picture paper. ‘On the river this week-end all the stars of the stage were shining. Miss Rose Darcourt was looking like Juliet on the balcony of her charming boat-house and I saw Miss Sylvia Sheridan’s bag floating sweetly down stream. Bags are worn bigger than ever this year. Miss Sheridan has always been famous for her bags. But this was really dinky!’”

At the bridge he put Lomas into his car and strolled up to leave Miss Sheridan’s bag at the police-station.

The sergeant was respectfully affable (Mr. Fortune is much petted by subordinates) and it took some time to reach the bag. When Ascot and the early peas and the sergeant’s daughter’s young man had been critically estimated, Mr. Fortune said that he was only calling on the lost property department to leave a lady’s bag. “I just picked it out of the river,” Reggie explained. “No value to anybody but the owner. Seems to belong to Miss Sylvia Sheridan. She’s a house down here, hasn’t she? You might let her know.”

The sergeant stared at Mr. Fortune and breathed hard. “What makes you say that, sir?”

“Say what?”

“Beg pardon, sir. You’d better see the inspector.” And the sergeant tumbled out of the room.

The inspector was flurried. “Mr. Fortune? Very glad to see you, sir. Sort of providential your coming in like this. Won’t you sit down, sir? This is a queer start. Where might you have found her bag, Mr. Fortune?”

“About a mile above the bridge,” Reggie opened his eyes. “Against the reed bank below Miss Darcourt’s boat-house.”

Inspector Oxtoby whistled. “That’s above Miss Sheridan’s cottage.” He looked knowing. “Things don’t float upstream, Mr. Fortune.”

“It’s not usual. Why does that worry you?”