After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) (34 page)

‘I think you’d better explain things, Jack,’ said Bill. ‘Both Askern and Miss Wingate need to know what really happened.’

‘Before I do that,’ said Jack, glancing at Colin Askern, ‘I think an apology is due to Miss Wingate.’

Colin Askern started guiltily. ‘Eh?’ He looked at Betty and rubbed his hand across his face. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. Betty, I’m sorry. I was a fool to think you could be mixed up on the wrong side of this business, but I was so worried, first of all by my mother and then poor Dad, that I couldn’t think straight.’

‘You could’ve trusted me, Colin,’ said Betty.

‘I did!’ he said desperately. ‘I did really, but after poor Dad died, I didn’t know what to think. When your fingerprints were found on that vase, it seemed like a nightmare. None of it made any sense. I believe you now,’ he said, with the ghost of a smile on his handsome face. ‘I always did, deep down, you know.’ He reached out his hand to her. ‘I’ll never doubt you again.’

Betty hesitated.

Jack couldn’t help feeling a sudden surge of hope at her hesitation. It was one thing for Betty to accept Askern’s apology, but surely things couldn’t just go back to how they were before. Could they?

Betty reached out and took Colin’s hand. ‘You promise?’ she asked. ‘You’ll never doubt me?’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said earnestly. ‘We can start again.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You’d better tell us what happened, Haldean,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I can’t make head or tail of it.’

Jack avoided his eyes. This was Betty’s choice, he told himself. It was up to Betty to decide, but … He’d believed her. Askern hadn’t. Yes, Askern had his reasons, but he, Jack, had believed her. That should count for something.

‘You’ve told us how old Lythewell made a mint from electroplating forgeries of antiques he’d stolen from museums,’ went on Colin, pulling the dish of sausages towards him. ‘That’s clear enough. I also understand about the aluminium plate in the chantry. I know that his famous treasure is worthless, worse luck, but what about the rest of it? Where did it all start?’

Jack swallowed hard. For the sake of his own self-respect he was damned if he was going to let Askern – or Betty, for that matter – have the slightest hint of how he felt.

‘It started years ago, when Daniel Lythewell came back from America together with his valet, Arthur Croft,’ he said, his voice as even as he could make it. ‘You remember the dance band at the Cafe de Bologna, Betty? The singer was called Art Burrell. It was then I realised that art wasn’t necessarily art, but could be a name as well. I was convinced that Mrs McAllister had recognised someone at the exhibition and, what’s more, that their name was Art or Arthur. The name, together with Mrs McAllister’s past, suggested an American connection. Daniel Lythewell, I knew, had sailed from New York on the
Concordia
, and when I checked the records and found Lythewell’s valet was one Arthur Croft, I knew I’d struck gold.
Art
explained what Mrs McAllister said, but the surname Croft gave me the connection with the loot stolen as part of the Great Museum Scandal. I knew I was on the right track.’

He swallowed hard. It was no use. If he carried on speaking, somehow or other he’d give himself away. ‘Bill, why don’t you tell the story? I want to finish my breakfast,’ he said, rather too heartily. ‘You know what happened.’

‘All right,’ said Bill, with a sideways glance at his friend. ‘I don’t mind if I do. The thing is, Askern, Croft wanted revenge on the Lythewells. He knew Josiah Lythewell had amassed a fortune.’ He paused awkwardly. ‘Before I tell you this, Askern, can I say that we’ve got absolute proof of what I’m about to say? The thing is, Croft also discovered – I’m not sure how – that your father killed old Mr Lythewell.’

Colin drew a long breath. ‘I wondered if you knew about that.’

Jack, Bill and Betty gaped at him.

‘Dad never intended to kill old Lythewell,’ said Colin quickly. ‘It just sort of happened. It was an accident. He should’ve owned up, I suppose, but it was much better for everyone to let sleeping dogs lie. I told you he wasn’t good at covering things up. It wouldn’t take much for Mr Lythewell – Croft, I mean – to get the truth out of Dad.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ muttered Bill. There was a long pause.

Colin, avoiding Bill’s gaze, concentrated on his breakfast.

‘Anyway, Arthur Croft saw his chance,’ Bill continued eventually. ‘Your father must’ve covered up for him, Askern, because no one ever suspected that the real Daniel Lythewell was dead and Croft had taken his place. Granted what happened to Croft’s father, electroplating Daniel Lythewell’s body had a horrible symmetry to it. And then, of course, the awful truth must’ve dawned, that old Mr Lythewell’s treasure was well and truly hidden and the murder hadn’t gained him a fortune but only a business.’

‘It was a very lucrative business in those days,’ said Colin. ‘He did very well out of it.’

Bill nodded. ‘Anyway, as we know, things continued until he had the misfortune to run into Mrs Joan McAllister at the exhibition. Jack put this part of the story together. A Miss Sharpe, who knew Mrs McAllister, told Jack that Mrs McAllister had been involved with a man who’d let her down badly before her marriage.’

‘She’d been a servant in New York,’ said Jack. He was relieved to hear his voice sounded normal in his own ears. ‘Putting two and two together with what else we knew, that man had to be her fellow-servant, Arthur Croft.’

‘I feel sorry for her, of course,’ said Betty, ‘especially when I think what happened to her, but, even so, she doesn’t sound a very nice person.’

‘No, she doesn’t,’ agreed Jack. ‘I’m not sure who contacted who, but she was certainly looking forward to a spot of blackmail. She virtually told me so that day I met her on the Strand. It wouldn’t take her long to find out that the man she knew as Arthur Croft was calling himself Daniel Lythewell. Arthur Croft, of course, was anxious to keep her quiet. I think he initially paid up – she moved out of Purbeck Terrace pretty quickly – and, perhaps lulled into a sense of false security, she must’ve agreed to come down to Whimbrell Heath.’

Betty swallowed. ‘This is my night in the cottage, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Jack agreed. He looked at Colin. ‘He knew about your mother, of course, and knew she was away. Her cottage was the perfect place to stage a murder. I think he met Mrs McAllister at the station and drove her to the cottage. God knows what tale he told her to get her into the cottage, but he chloroformed her and strangled her. And then, just as everything was going according to plan, Betty, you walked in on him.’

‘I’ve never been so frightened in my life,’ she said. ‘But Jack, why didn’t he kill me?’

‘Don’t you see, Betty?’ said Jack. ‘He couldn’t. He knew what he was going to do with Mrs McAllister’s body. He’d planned it all in fine detail, even down to poisoning the watchman’s dog. But two bodies? That’s a very different kettle of fish.’

‘He was fairly safe with Mrs McAllister,’ put in Bill. ‘It was no one’s business to find out what had happened to her. You, on the other hand, Miss Wingate, would be missed. Anyway, when you said what had happened, no one believed you, did they?’

Colin Askern looked very sheepish. ‘It all seemed so incredible,’ he said. ‘When you wouldn’t let the matter drop, I got really worried.’

‘That’s why I went to Scotland Yard,’ said Betty tartly. ‘I was desperate for
someone
to believe me. I didn’t realise who Signora Bianchi was, of course.’

‘It went really wrong for Dad when my mother turned up,’ said Colin. He put down his knife and fork and looked at Jack squarely. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I can’t excuse what my father did, but he really cared for my stepmother. He fell to pieces when she cut up rough, poor beggar. He wasn’t really rational the last few days of his life. I realise now that you’d started to put two and two together about what had happened to old Mr Lythewell. I suppose that’s why that devil killed him, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ agreed Jack. ‘If your father had been arrested or even properly questioned about Josiah Lythewell’s death, then the whole truth would’ve probably come out. Arthur Croft couldn’t risk it.’

‘Why did he pretend to be Mrs McAllister?’ asked Betty. ‘I still can’t get over the idea that Uncle Daniel dressed up as a woman. He must’ve been a very convincing woman,’ she said wonderingly. ‘No one seemed to suspect him.’

‘Just think of the female impersonators on the music halls,’ said Bill. ‘They can be very convincing. With the right dress, make-up and hair, Arthur Croft obviously did a very good job. And, of course, to have Mrs McAllister apparently rent a flat in Dorian House after he’d murdered her did make it seem as if she wasn’t dead. I suppose you had mentioned to him that you thought the woman in the cottage could be Mrs McAllister, hadn’t you?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ said Betty slowly.

‘That put you in danger,’ said Jack. ‘He didn’t want any connection between Mrs McAllister and the body in the cottage, so he arranged for you to discover John Askern. He hoped we’d think of you as a liar and a murderer. That was certainly his intention when he killed Henry Cadwallader.’

‘That was just cold-blooded,’ said Colin in disgust. ‘But why kill Cadwallader? I can’t believe he knew a thing.’

‘Can’t you?’ asked Jack. ‘Cadwallader was doing a series of drawings of the chantry. He showed me the statue of the grieving man. He pointed out that the grieving man’s ear was identical to that of Josiah Lythewell’s. The shape of an ear is very distinctive and often identical in fathers and sons. That’s a fairly well-known fact. Cadwallader was convinced that the statue was nothing more than a tribute, as he put it, by Daniel Lythewell to his father, but, looking at the shape of that ear and comparing it to the drawing I had of Josiah Lythewell, I was convinced, on top of everything else we knew, that there was a far more straightforward and sinister explanation. Cadwallader would’ve told anyone who’d listen about the similarity between the statue and Josiah Lythewell. Arthur Croft couldn’t risk it. All it needed was one tap with a hammer and the truth would be revealed. And, of course, it was.’

Betty pushed her plate away in disgust. ‘I can’t bear to think of it. It’s horrible!’ She looked at Jack. ‘When I was arrested, I knew I was innocent, but, once again, no one seemed to believe me.’ Her blue eyes met his. ‘You said, “
Trust me
”,’ she said wonderingly. ‘I did.’

There was something in her look that suddenly made hope surge once more, then Colin Askern broke the moment.

‘Betty, you’re Daniel Lythewell’s niece, aren’t you? The real Daniel Lythewell, I mean.’ He looked at Betty with a new respect in his eyes.

‘Of course I am,’ she said puzzled. ‘I’ll have to see that he’s properly buried, poor man. We can’t leave him in the chantry in that hideous statue.’

‘He died without marrying though, didn’t he? I mean, your Aunt Maud isn’t really your aunt, even by marriage. Your uncle – your real uncle – died without having children. Josiah Lythewell doesn’t have any other living descendants, apart from you. Don’t you see, Betty? You’re Lythewell’s heir. The firm belongs to us. You and me. We’re partners.’

‘Colin,’ she said, shocked. ‘You can’t possibly think of things like that now!’

‘Why not?’ he asked with a shrug. ‘It’s how things are. We might as well be practical.’

‘But …’ Betty stopped, lost for words. ‘I don’t want anything to do with the firm, Colin, and I know you don’t. You only worked there because it’s what your father wanted.’ Her eyes were suddenly bright with excitement. ‘Why don’t you go to Hollywood with your mother? It’s what you’ve always wanted.’

‘Go to Hollywood?’ Colin grasped both her hands in his. ‘Betty, come with me. Let’s do it!’

Arthur Croft was tried and convicted. Daphne Askern stayed on at Heath House, but Maud Lythewell left Whimbrell Heath. Colin Askern, meeting Jack after the trial, was alive with enthusiasm for his new plans. Things, it appeared, were working out wonderfully.

‘This friend of my mother’s, Luigi Mantonelli, really is everything she said. He made some classic Italian films before the war. He’s got some connections in Hollywood. All he needs is money.’

‘Where’s he going to raise the funds?’ asked Jack without much interest. ‘Has he got a backer?’

‘That isn’t a problem. Betty’s found the money. Betty’s been wonderful,’ said Colin fervently. ‘She said we should forget art and work on repairs and restoration. Betty suggested we put the foreman, Jones, in charge, and he’s taken to it like a duck to water. For the first time in five years or so, it looks as if the firm’s going to make a profit. What’s really turned the scale, though, is getting some capital. Betty suggested we sell off the surplus land for building and it’s been snapped up. I tell you, Haldean, things are going from strength to strength. Mantonelli and my mother are in Los Angeles already and he’s promised me that once I’ve learned the ropes, I can do what I really want, and that’s direct as well as act in my own films. Now the trial’s out of the way, Betty and I are sailing for New York. I’ve got the tickets.’

‘So Betty’s going with you?’ asked Jack, his mouth suddenly dry.

‘Oh, yes. We’ll get married once we’re out West. It’s a wonderful chance for both of us. Betty’s really looking forward to Hollywood. We’re leaving on the
Olympic
next Tuesday.’

Tuesday. The days spread out, each one a grey desert, each night bringing the sailing of the
Olympic
that much closer, then Tuesday arrived.

Hollywood. The land of dreams. Why shouldn’t Betty go to Hollywood? Askern was going to succeed. He had no doubts about that. Askern would be a star.

He looked at the clock. The
Olympic
should be clear of Southampton Water by now, feeling the first rush of the ocean current beneath her keel.

Life went on. There were friends, work, places to go, things to see … but the colour was drained out of his world. It was all dreary, dull routine, with one damn thing after another. Nothing was any
fun
any more.

The phone rang.

‘Jack?’ said Betty. ‘Jack, is that you?’