After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) (12 page)

Bill nodded. ‘I do, sir. Haldean picked up Colin Askern’s photograph of her yesterday.’

‘Have you got it, Haldean?’ asked Sir Douglas.

Jack handed it over and Sir Douglas studied it for a few moments. ‘She’s a good-looking woman,’ he commented. ‘A very good-looking woman.’

‘We can’t use it without Colin Askern’s permission,’ said Jack. ‘He took the photo, after all.’

‘No, you’re right, we can’t,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘Never mind. If necessary, we can ask him. So, Rackham, I’d like you to return to Whimbrell Heath today. You could,’ he suggested, ‘start by asking questions about Signora Bianchi at the village post office. If Whimbrell Heath is like any other village, everyone will know within the hour exactly who you are and why you’re there.’

‘I’d say so, sir,’ agreed Jack. ‘The news’ll go round like wildfire.’

For the second day in a row, Jack parked the Spyker under the oak tree outside the Brown Cow. Whimbrell Heath Post Office and General Stores (
Mrs K. Sweetiman, Prop.
), their immediate destination, was in the middle of a parade of shops on the other side of the square.

The post office had the sharp, dusty smell of roast coffee and dried fruit. Open boxes of prunes, raisins, dried currants and apricots stood in front of the shelves of packets, tins, jars and bottles of sweets. Mrs Sweetiman herself stood with her back to a wooden counter weighed down with cheese, butter and ham, operating the bacon slicer.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ she said, turning her head as they joined the queue. She deftly wrapped the rashers of bacon into a neat parcel of greaseproof paper. ‘Now then, Mrs Hawley,’ she said to the woman in front of them, ‘that’s half a pound of bacon, a tin of tomatoes and a quarter of acid drops. That’s sevenpence ha’penny, please. Did you hear about the burglary down Pollard Wynd?’

Jack and Bill exchanged glances.

‘I did indeed,’ said Mrs Hawley, delving into her purse. ‘It’s at that foreign woman’s, isn’t it?’

‘It’s Annie Hatton’s fault,’ said Mrs Sweetiman knowledgably. ‘She told me she let two strange men into the house yesterday, which is a thing I’d never a-thought Annie Hatton would’ve done. I thought she’d have been more careful than that. She said they seemed like gents, but you can’t tell nowadays, can you? They must’ve been eyeing the place up.’

‘I wouldn’t care to live down Pollard Wynd,’ said Mrs Hawley. ‘It’s too cut off for me
and
there was that tale about a murder.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Bill. ‘Has there been a burglary at Signora Bianchi’s house?’

Mrs Sweetiman and Mrs Hawley looked at him. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Mrs Sweetiman. ‘She’s away from home at the moment, so it must’ve been an easy job. I don’t know what’s been taken. What would you be wanting, sir?’

‘We wanted Mrs Hatton’s address. It concerns Signora Bianchi.’ The two women looked at him quizzically. ‘I’m from Scotland Yard.’

‘Well, I never,’ breathed Mrs Sweetiman, gaping at him.

‘Mrs Hatton is the Signora’s charwoman, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Annie Hatton does for the foreign lady. If it’s her you want, she’s down Pollard Wynd at the moment, along with Bert Shaw. He’s the police,’ Mrs Sweetiman added helpfully.

‘We’d better get along there right away,’ said Jack, tipping his hat to the women. ‘Thank you very much, ladies.’

They left the post office, a buzz of voices breaking out behind them.

‘Do you realise we’ve been taken for burglars on the strength of our visit yesterday?’ asked Jack. ‘I’m glad we appear to be gentlemen, at any rate.’

‘Yes, I did realise that. But we know we’re not burglars, so who the dickens was the burglar? I don’t know if Miss Wingate told anyone we’d been yesterday,’ he said as they walked quickly down the street.

‘After what we said to her? I thought she’d stay stumm.’

‘Then it’s a pretty rum coincidence,’ said Bill. ‘Unless your old fossil, Cadwallader, told someone.’

‘I thought we were safe there, but the charwoman could’ve gossiped about us,’ said Jack. ‘She could’ve easily mentioned that two strange men turned up with Miss Wingate.’

‘Yes, she could,’ agreed Bill reluctantly.

‘And you were outside the pub,’ pointed out Jack. ‘You didn’t think Colin Askern or anyone else spotted you, but …’

‘Askern could’ve done, all the same,’ finished Bill. ‘Damn!’

The door of Signora Bianchi’s cottage was standing open. Bill knocked and called as they went in to the hall, to be met by a wary ‘Hello’ from the kitchen.

Mrs Hatton and Constable Shaw were sitting at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea apiece.

Mrs Hatton looked at them apprehensively, then rose to her feet, clutched the table and pointed at them. Her voice rose to a squeak of fear. ‘It’s them! These are the men who broke in, I tell you!’

‘We’re not burglars—’ began Jack, but was interrupted by Mrs Hatton.

She looked wildly at Constable Shaw. ‘Do something! Here they are, bold as brass! They’re looking to see what else they can steal, I’ll be bound.’

‘We’re not burglars,’ repeated Jack patiently.

‘Don’t give me that! You were here yesterday! Don’t try and deny it because I know better. I
seed
you, with my own eyes.’ She turned to Constable Shaw again. ‘These were the men I was telling you about. These are the ones who came yesterday. I told you, they knew all about the key under the plant plot and I didn’t say nothing to them about it.’

PC Shaw stood up, stroked his moustache and eyed them dubiously. ‘I have to ask you to state your business here,’ he said ponderously. ‘I may say that the circumstances seem very suspicious.’

‘We’re not burglars,’ said Jack, this time with a great deal more emphasis.

Bill produced his official card. ‘Relax, man. As Major Haldean says, we’re not burglars. I’m from Scotland Yard.’

Constable Shaw looked at the card incredulously. ‘And you’ve come all the way from London for a
burglary
? God strewth, you got here quick, didn’t you? How did you know it had happened?’

‘We haven’t come about the burglary,’ said Bill, with as much patience as he could muster. ‘We’ve come about the disappearance of Signora Bianchi.’

‘Whatever for?’

Bill sighed. ‘There was an eye witness account of a murder.’

Constable Shaw stared at him. ‘A murder? Here, you mean?’ He gave a low, rumbling dismissive laugh. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick there. It was nonsense. That was just some young woman who’d had a bad dream, that’s all.’

‘We think there’s a case to be investigated. As we are here, I want to know about this burglary. What happened?’

Constable Shaw looked at Mrs Hatton. ‘You’d better tell them what’s what. You reported it.’

Mrs Hatton bridled. ‘
Burglars!
’ she sniffed in an undertone.

‘Now, never you mind about that,’ said Constable Shaw with heavy encouragement. ‘It’s all right,’ he added, seeing Mrs Hatton still wasn’t convinced. ‘If these gentlemen are from Scotland Yard, they’re not burglars, are they?’

‘Well, you can see why I thought what I did,’ said Mrs Hatton defensively. ‘It seemed so strange, a burglary coming on top of your visit, and I was that upset, because Constable Shaw said as how I shouldn’t have let you in yesterday, not knowing who you was, even if Miss Wingate was with you. I blamed myself, but I don’t see how I could’ve known, even if you did know about the key.’

‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Mrs Hatton,’ said Jack easily, taking a chair and sitting down. ‘You’re quite right, though. It is strange, to have a burglary on top of everything else. Will you tell us what happened?’

His voice was gentle and his smile held nothing but anxious, sympathetic enquiry. A smothered laugh behind him made him guiltily aware that Bill knew only too well he was exerting the full force of what Bill half enviously, half mockingly, referred to as his Devastating Charm.

There was another smothered laugh as Mrs Hatton said, ‘
Oh!
’ and, sitting down, patted her hair and smoothed her apron into place. ‘What is it you want to know, sir?’

‘Just what you saw and heard, Mrs Hatton,’ said Jack, unleashing the smile once more. ‘You’re a very valuable witness.’

‘Well, I don’t know what there is to tell, really.’ She gazed into his eyes. ‘Not now I know you didn’t do it, which,’ she said earnestly, still gazing into his eyes, ‘I’m sure you didn’t. When I arrived this morning, I came in here to put the kettle on and then I went into the parlour and the window at the back was smashed in. I stood and screamed, so I did, then I went and got Constable Shaw here. I didn’t want to stop here a minute. I thought the burglar might be upstairs. I couldn’t wait to get out.’

‘It must’ve been very frightening.’

‘It was,’ she said, looking at him gratefully. ‘I was fearful.’ She rolled her eyes and clasped her throat to indicate terror.

‘That was really rotten for you.’

Mrs Hatton looked gratified. ‘It was.
Awful.
Anyway, Constable Shaw came back with me, and we’ve gone through the house to see what’s missing. I mean, as I said to Constable Shaw, the place could’ve been ransacked. I took on ever so at the very thought of it!’

‘And was it ransacked?’

‘Well, no, it wasn’t,’ said Mrs Hatton, slightly put out. ‘But it could’ve been.’

‘There was one item you said was missing,’ put in Constable Shaw ponderously. ‘To wit, one cash box.’

‘A cash box?’ repeated Jack.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Mrs Hatton. ‘You know the type. It was metal and black with a gold and red line round it, with a handle and a key. She didn’t keep money in it, mind.’

‘Do you know what Signora Bianchi did keep in it?’

‘Papers,’ said Mrs Hatton vaguely. ‘Exactly what, I couldn’t say. Oh, and I’ve just thought of something else that’s gone. There was a picture of Mrs Bianchi, a photo what Mr Askern took. It was on the sideboard in the parlour. She was going to have it framed.’

Jack took it from his pocket. ‘As a matter of fact, I picked it up yesterday,’ he said, smiling at Mrs Hatton’s reproachful look. ‘I didn’t intend to steal it, though. I just wanted an idea of what she looked like. Is it a good likeness?’

‘It is, sir. It’s just like her, that is. Why, looking at that, she could be sat here.’

‘That’s useful to know, Bill,’ said Jack, with a glance at his friend. He turned back to Mrs Hatton. ‘Will you show us where the window was smashed?’

‘Of course I will.’ She stood up and, leading the way, took them into the parlour.

Bill dropped behind with Jack. ‘You should bottle that manner of yours,’ he murmured. ‘You had her eating out of your hand.’

‘Don’t be vulgar,’ said Jack softly. ‘It worked, didn’t it?’

He clicked his tongue in disappointment as he saw the parlour. The glass had been swept up and, apart from the smashed window itself, there was nothing to show that the room had been broken into.

‘Constable Shaw said as how I could clean everything up,’ said Mrs Hatton in response to a question from Bill.

‘There’s nothing to be gained from looking at broken glass, is there?’ said the Constable. ‘It’s clear enough that the malefactor smashed the window, put his hand in, caught hold of the catch and raised the window that way.’

‘So he obviously didn’t know about the key under the plant-pot, then,’ said Jack.

Mrs Hatton gave a defensive wriggle. ‘As a matter of fact, I put the key under the mat yesterday.’ She looked at Jack. ‘I thought, what with you knowing all about it, others might too.’

‘Let’s see if there is any evidence left,’ said Bill. He took a bottle of mercury powder from his bag, tipped some into an insufflator and puffed the powder onto the window-frame.

‘Here!’ said Mrs Hatton indignantly. ‘What are you doing, dirtying my woodwork?’

‘I’m checking for fingerprints,’ said Bill. ‘Unfortunately, our man seems to have been wearing gloves.’

‘If I was going to smash my way through a window, I’d want a pair of gloves, too,’ said Jack.

‘Yes, but it was worth checking, all the same.’ Bill turned to Mrs Hatton. ‘Where did the Signora keep the cash box?’

‘In the drawer of her dressing table, in her bedroom.’

At their request, she took them upstairs, although, as she said, what they were going to tell by a-looking where it
had
been was more than she could say.

The dressing table, the conventional type of dark oak with an attached mirror, held a fine leather box.

‘What’s this?’ asked Jack. ‘It looks like a jewellery box.’

‘It is.’ Mrs Hatton looked at it with a puzzled frown. She opened it up. ‘Look, the jewellery’s still inside it. Now I come to think of it, it’s funny that wasn’t taken. Still, thank heaven for small mercies, that’s what I say.’

Signora Bianchi’s jewellery consisted of four necklaces of semi-precious stones, three brooches, three sets of ear-rings and five rings. She did have other jewellery. Some of it, according to Mrs Hatton, was lovely. The Signora had probably, thought Jack, taken her other jewellery away with her.

A thorough search of the cottage ensued but, despite all their efforts, they were no wiser as to who Signora Bianchi was, or who her friends or associates were, at the end of the search than at the beginning.

The only items that seemed personal were a few books with
Carlotta Bianchi
written on the fly leaf. There was some cash – four pounds in notes and a few coins – in the dressing table drawer but no letters, no documents and no passport. They must’ve been, agreed Jack and Bill as they walked away from the cottage, in the stolen cash box.

‘And you can’t tell me,’ said Bill, ‘that any thief who leaves jewellery, even cheap jewellery, and cash, is an everyday crook. According to Mrs Mop back there, the only thing taken was that cash box with the papers in. Somebody was looking for something very specific indeed.’

‘Either that, Bill, or someone wanted to prevent us from finding it,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘I wonder which one it was?’ He stopped at the cottage gate. ‘What’s our next port of call?’

‘I think we’d better see Colin Askern next. In the light of what we both thought yesterday, that Askern could easily be our man, I wouldn’t mind letting him know this is now an official investigation. And, granted we haven’t found any other pictures of Signora Bianchi, I need to ask his permission to use his photo for the
Police Gazette
.’