A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer (14 page)

“How the dickens did you find that out?” Luty demanded irritably. On their last few cases, her butler had gone positively mute on the subject of his sources.

Hatchet gave her a superior smile. “I have my ways, madam. But I assure you, my information is absolutely trustworthy.”

“Did ’e get the money?” Smythe asked, even though he could guess the answer.

“My source wasn’t sure,” he replied with a faint frown. “But he’s working on it for me. I ought to know by tomorrow.”

“I’ll bet ya she didn’t give it to ’im,” Wiggins said eagerly. “Accordin’ to what Helen told me, Mrs. Cameron weren’t the generous sort.”

“Is that it, then?” Smythe asked.

Hatchet nodded. Mrs. Jeffries took a deep breath, but before she could get her mouth open to speak, Fred leapt up and started tearing for the staircase. A second later, they heard the front door open and footsteps coming down the hall.

“I’ll see who it is,” Betsy said, getting to her feet and dashing out of the kitchen. She returned a few moments later, her expression wary. “It’s the Inspector,” she hissed softly. “He’s home for tea.”

“Bloomin’ inconvenient, that is,” Mrs. Goodge mumbled as she got up and headed for the larder.

“We’d best be off.” Luty sprang up and tapped Hatchet on the shoulder. “There’s someone I want to talk to before it gets too late.”

“When shall we meet again?” Hatchet asked politely as he too rose and pulled out Mrs. Jeffries’s chair.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” the housekeeper replied. She stifled a sigh. She’d so wanted to tell them her informaton. But it could wait a day or two. As a matter of fact, it might be even more effective if she kept this little tidbit to herself for a while.

As the others said their goodbyes, she hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Not finding the inspector in the drawing room or the dining room, she looked into the study.

Inspector Witherspoon was sitting at his desk, his head bent over a sheet of paper. He was scribbling furiously.

“Excuse me, sir.” She advanced into the room and stopped in front of his desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Witherspoon looked up and beamed at her. “I thought I’d nip home and have a spot of tea.”

“Mrs. Goodge is preparing a tray,” she replied. Curious about what he was writing, she glanced at the paper. “Would you like it served in here?”

“That would be fine,” he said.

She was now standing directly opposite him but she could see quite a bit. The paper was filled with straight lines, both vertical and horizontal. Along one edge, a list of names was written and along the top…. She cocked her head to one side to get a
better view, but his handwriting was so small, she couldn’t quite make it out.

“It’s a timetable, Mrs. Jeffries,” the inspector said.

Startled, she drew back. “Do forgive me, sir. I didn’t mean to pry…” She let her voice trail off pathetically.

The ploy worked perfectly.

“Of course you weren’t prying, Mrs. Jeffries,” he said, putting his pen down. “Naturally, you were curious. Anyone would be and I know how interested you are in my methods. Well, I’ve come up with a new one. I do believe I’m onto something very important here. Very important, indeed.”

“You’re so understanding, sir,” she murmured. “What is it, sir?”

“This is a timetable.” He tapped the paper proudly. “I think you’ll find this quite fascinating. Do sit down. I’ll tell you all about it. I think it’ll help me to clarify things in my own mind if I discuss it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She sat down in the maroon wing-back chair next to his desk and folded her hands in her lap expectantly.

The inspector took a deep breath and then leaned back in his chair. “As I said,” he began, “this is a timetable. Only instead of trains or omnibuses, it’s got people on it.” He leaned forward, picked up the paper and shoved it toward her. “The names on the left are the people who were actually in the Cameron household when the crime took place.”

“What’s this on the top of the page?” she asked, though she could see perfectly well what it was.

“That’s the time frame,” he replied. “Quite
clever, I think. As you can see, I’ve broken the time down into ten-minute increments. I think this is going to work beautifully, don’t you?”

She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. All she saw was a list of names down one column and a list of times at the top. The neatly marked-off squares on the paper didn’t tell her anything at all. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, sir.”

He looked disappointed. “Oh, really? I thought it quite self-explanatory.” He jabbed his finger at the list of names. “It seems to me that if I can locate where everyone was from the time the Camerons and their guests arrived home until when the body was discovered, I’ll know who the killer is.” He sat back and waited for her reaction to his brilliant plan.

Mrs. Jeffries had no idea what to say. Knowing the movements of the suspects was one thing, but she didn’t quite see how his timetable was going to tell them that. People lied. Especially someone who’d just shoved a knife in some poor woman’s back. But she could hardly say that to the Inspector.

“Of course, sir.” She smiled reassuringly. “Why, this is very clever, sir. Naturally, you’ll corroborate all the statements of where the suspects were at any specific time with witnesses.”

His bright smile faded. “Well, that might be a bit difficult…”

“Not for you, sir,” she said bracingly. Actually, now that she thought about it, this timetable of his might be a good idea. “Now, don’t be coy, sir. You know I’m onto you. Really, sir, you are becoming a bit of a tease. I know precisely how you’ll verify the facts.”

“You do?”

“Certainly.” She broke off and laughed delightedly to give herself time to think. “When Mrs. Cameron was killed, the servants were all in bed, but I’ll wager they weren’t asleep. Now, sir, if the staff sleeps on the floor above the guest rooms…”

“They do,” he interrupted eagerly. “All of them except the governess.”

“Then they most probably heard the Camerons and their guests moving about. You know, sir, doors squeaking, floorboards moaning, that sort of thing. You’ve already decided to go back to the Cameron house tomorrow morning and have a word with each and every one of the servants about what they heard and, more importantly, when they heard it. Then, of course, you’ll take a new statement from Brian Cameron and his two houseguests to verify what the servants say.” It was weak and she knew it. But it was the best she could do on the spur of the moment. The servants probably hadn’t heard any noise at all. In most households, the staff was worked so hard they slept like the dead the moment their heads hit the pillows. But his timetable might work with the suspects. Perhaps Cameron or one of his houseguests might let something slip. Furthermore, one never knew what the inspector would come up with when he was trying a new method. It just might work.

Witherspoon nodded happily. “You’re onto me, Mrs. Jeffries,” he said. “That’s precisely what I’m going to do. I should have liked to do it this evening, but the Chief Inspector has called us in for a progress report.” He sighed. “It’ll be very interesting to see what Inspector Nivens has to say. I’m
afraid I don’t have much progress to report.”

“Nonsense, sir, you’ve accomplished a great deal.” She hesitated. “I mean, sir, look at all you’ve found out already.”

“What have I found out?”

“Well,” she hedged, “you’ve found out that Mr. and Mrs. Cameron weren’t on the best of terms and you’ve learned that Mrs. Cameron was in a hurry to get home that night. And what about John Ripton, sir? You’ve found out that he wanted her to sell him her property and now that Mrs. Cameron is dead, he’ll inherit it.”

“Yes.” Witherspoon cheered up. “I think you’re right. We have learned a great deal.” He patted his timetable. “We’ll learn even more once I’ve completed this, too.”

“It’s all right, Fred.” Wiggins reached over and pulled the dog closer against his side. It was as much to keep warm as it was a display of affection. “We’ll not be much longer,” he crooned. “We shouldna come out at all. But you know, Fred, I didn’t want to get stuck with Aunt Elberta, and the way Mrs. Goodge was eyein’ us up when her old auntie come thumpin’ down them stairs, well, I knew we’d best make tracks.”

He and Fred were sitting behind a privet hedge in the gardens behind the Cameron house. His back was up against the cold brick of the garden wall and it was almost dark, but he was well hidden from prying eyes even if it had been broad daylight.

The trees were bare of leaves, the ground was damp and his backside was getting numb. But he
didn’t want to miss the chance that he could find out something. He’d remembered what Mrs. Jeffries had told them when she’d brought the inspector’s empty tea tray downstairs. The master of the house wasn’t due home till late tonight. Wiggins had decided that if any of the staff was going to go out and have a bit of time to themselves, they’d do it while Brian Cameron was gone. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and Helen will come out for a bit of fresh air,” he said aloud. Fred snuffled softly and licked him on the ear. “Silly pup.” He chuffed the dog under the chin. “You’re a good feller, ain’t ya? You know the real reason I’m sittin’ ’ere. Not that we’re likely to see ’er, but ya never know. She’s a bit on the rough, but I liked ’er.” He honestly didn’t expect to see anyone come out of the house. Most of the windows were dark and the place was as silent as a tomb.

A cold blast of air shook the leaves and Wiggins dug his cold hands into the dog’s fur. Fred cuddled closer. “Maybe we ought to pack it in,” he mumbled. In truth, he was beginning to get right hungry, not to mention feeling a bit foolish. “No one’s comin’ out.”

But just then, he saw a crack of light appear at the back door. Wiggins sat up and strained in the failing light to see what was going on. The light disappeared and a woman swathed in a long, dark cloak stepped out. She looked to the left and the right, then walked quickly across the gardens toward the small gate at one end.

Fred snuffled and sniffed. “Hush, boy,” Wiggins whispered. “We don’t want ’er to ’ear us.” But the woman was struggling with the latch on
the gate and didn’t look toward the hedge. She yanked the gate open and went out.

Wiggins got up and motioned to the dog. Silently, they followed her. By the time they were through the gate, he saw her disappearing around the corner. “Let’s ’ope she don’t grab a ’ansom,” Wiggins muttered to Fred.

He hurried after her, his footsteps moving lightly on the pavement. At the top of the road, the traffic both on the pavement and in the road was heavy.

The dark figure was moving more quickly now and he had almost to run to keep up with her. Fred, delighting in the chase, trotted along next to Wiggins as they scampered up the road, taking care to stay far enough back so that they’d not be noticed.

They seemed to walk for ages. She moved fast and soon they were moving toward the park. Wiggins had a moment’s panic when she disappeared behind a four wheeler crossing Park Lane, but a second later she emerged in front of Stanhope Gate. She paused at the gate and looked around her. Then she went through the gate and into Hyde Park.

“Come on, Fred, let’s not lose ’er.” He and the dog made their way carefully through the heavy traffic on Park Lane. They cut through the pedestrians on the pavement and followed their quarry into the park. She was practically running now, and Wiggins had to do the same. Fred, clearly enjoying the game, soon flew ahead of his master. Wiggins whistled him back as they gained on her. Suddenly, she stopped and looked around her again.

Wiggins had no choice but to go past her. Her face was well hidden by the hood of her cloak so he couldn’t see what she looked like. Nonchalantly,
he wandered toward a bench and sat down on it. Fred jumped up and sat beside him. Pretending he was fixing his shoe buckle, Wiggins bent down and looked back the way he’d just come. The woman had been joined by a man.

“Blast,” Wiggins mumbled. Fred woofed softly, sensing his master’s distress. “I can’t see who it is and I’m too bloomin’ far away to get a better look.”

But his luck suddenly changed, for the couple turned and started walking toward him. As they drew abreast of him, he pretended to be fixing the buckle of his other shoe. Keeping his head down, he cocked his ear to one side to see if he could suss out what they were saying.

“Don’t worry, love,” the man said in a soothing voice. “It’s almost over now.”

They continued on down the path. Wiggins looked up and bit his lip. Blast! He had to know more. He couldn’t just let them disappear. He waited till they went a bit farther up the footpath. “Come on, Fred, let’s follow ’em.”

CHAPTER 6