Cherry Ames 24 Companion Nurse (14 page)

They were not surprised—they had told the Windermere police they were coming here. Cherry decided, though, to take care of her patient for a few minutes fi rst.

Their high-ceilinged adjoining rooms each had featherbeds, which delighted Martha Logan. She lay down on hers, “just to test it out.” Meanwhile, Cherry telephoned Dr. Malcolm MacKenzie, the orthopedist 124
CHERRY

AMES,

COMPANION

NURSE

whom the London doctor had recommended. She succeeded in making an appointment for Martha Logan for the following morning at eleven.

Then Cherry telephoned Inspector Forbes. A matter-of-fact voice said, “We need to see you at our offi ce immediately. Can you come? . . . Take a taxi. We will pay the fare.”

“Just a moment.” Cherry consulted Martha Logan, who agreed she was not feeling energetic enough to go and should ask to be excused. “Hello,” Cherry said into the telephone, and explained. “Will it be all right, Mr. Forbes, if only I come?”

“Yes. Please be quick.”

Cherry snatched up her handbag and coat and hurried downstairs and into a taxi. Driving across the som-ber stone city, she saw in the last light of dusk, high in the air, ancient Edinburgh Castle seeming to grow out of a great rock. How far she was from home, Cherry thought. She remembered uncanny Scottish ghost stories, tales of bloody clan battles and royal balls, and Tam o’ Shanter’s meeting with the witches at roaring River Doon. Here in the city, the streets already were half deserted, and dim street lamps fl ickered eerily in the cold, misty air.

The taxi let her out at a nondescript building. Cherry was ushered into a brightly lighted, effi cient offi ce that brought her back to the present with a jolt. Several detectives were at work at desks and telephones.

Inspector Forbes looked like a cross between a businessman and an Army offi cer. He had with him
MUIR

2361

125

a handsome, well-dressed, dignifi ed young woman.

She was a policewoman, Sergeant Mary Jean Kerr, who would work with them, the inspector said.

“That is, I hope you are willing to work with us, Miss Ames,” Mr. Forbes said. “I believe you were the fi rst to discover the telephone number Muir 2361, of which the Windermere police notifi ed us yesterday afternoon. Incidentally, their laboratory examination of the desk blotter from The Cat and Fiddle Inn didn’t reveal anything more than you found. . . . Yes, Muir 2361 is an Edinburgh number. I understand further, Miss Ames, that yesterday morning you were as close to the supposed Shah and his wife as I now am to you. Miss Ames, we need your help in identifying the suspects.”

Cherry said, “I’d be glad to help in any way I can, Inspector Forbes.” The young policewoman smiled at her.

The inspector nodded. “We have traced that telephone number to a shop that does fi ne needlework and—er—makes and sells doll clothes. A small shop, not prosperous, run by a Mrs. Kirby, a widow. She has no record that we can ascertain.

“We have observed the shop closely,” Inspector Forbes said, “ever since the Windermere police notifi ed us yesterday afternoon. So far we have seen only Mrs. Kirby, a few customers, and a needlewoman bringing in some work. Our men have, of course, followed these persons and checked up on them. We have also listened in, and checked on, all telephone calls 126
CHERRY

AMES,

COMPANION

NURSE

to and from Muir 2361. Nothing suspicious, nothing revealing—so far,” he fi nished.

Cherry thanked him for briefi ng her.

“Oh, yes, and we’ve seen a child of ten or twelve,” the inspector added. “Neighbors say she is Mrs. Kirby’s daughter, Amy. The child brings Mrs. Kirby lunch from a restaurant at eleven thirty, and eats with her mother in the shop. Then she goes back to school, our men report. Sometimes she runs out after lunch to bring her mother ice cream, or occasionally she returns to the shop after school. We have found no reason to suspect the child.”

“If I may add something, sir?’’ Mary Jean Kerr said.

“She’s a quiet, nice little girl, very obedient—one would almost say, a far better child than one would expect an undesirable person like Mrs. Kirby to have.”

“Quite true,” Inspector Forbes said. “Now then, Miss Ames! Making a telephone call to Muir 2361 is where we need your help.”

He pointed out that since Muir 2361 had originally been supplied to Meg Greene, alias Lady Liddy, who-ever answered at Muir 2361 might expect to hear a feminine voice—might expect Meg Greene to call that number. Hers was an English voice. So Cherry’s voice, with her American accent, would not do. The inspector said Sergeant Kerr would telephone.

“I’d like you to listen in,” the inspector said to Cherry, “and tell me whether you can identify the voice of the person who answers.”

MUIR

2361

127

It might be the shopwoman, or it might just possibly be Meg Greene or even the pretended Shah—though the inspector did not think that was likely.

“The shop probably is a front for the thieves, not a hideout,” he explained to Cherry. “We have established that much by sending in a fi re-department inspector to search the premises. Very likely the thieves know we are watching the shop, and so they won’t use it for a hideout. Our men believe the thieves plan to keep undercover and use the shop as a relay station for messages. That’s why the Muir 2361 number was passed along, probably. But
when
they will use it and
where
the thieves are hiding out—”

The inspector sat back, thinking. Then he signaled a man at another desk to plug in three extension ear-phones, one for the inspector, one for himself, and one for Cherry. Before the call to Muir 2361 went through, the policewoman asked Cherry to describe “Lady Liddy’s voice—that is, Meg Greene’s.”

“Soft, hesitant, but then she was pretending to be sick,” Cherry said. “That’s not much help, is it?” The inspector drummed his fi ngers on the desk. “It will be awkward if Meg Greene answers, but that’s a chance we have to take. You had better say—or hint—

that you are a friend of Meg Greene’s,” the inspector told Mary Jean Kerr. “And if Meg Greene does answer, improvise.”

Sergeant Kerr nodded. The phone at the other end rang repeatedly. No one answered. They waited a few 128
CHERRY

AMES,

COMPANION

NURSE

minutes, then telephoned again. Still no answer. Inspector Forbes advised Miss Kerr she might as well hang up.

“It’s well after six,” he said. “The shop is closed. We will try again tomorrow. Miss Ames, can you come back here between nine thirty and ten tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, Inspector Forbes.”

Cherry returned the next morning, and they put through the call again. This time, at the other end of the wire, a woman answered testily. Cherry, listening in, signaled that this was not a voice she had ever heard before. The detective who was listening in wrote on a pad: “It’s the shopkeeper—Mrs. Kirby.”

“A friend of mine gave me your number,” the young policewoman said into the phone. Her voice held hints and promises. “My friend said you might be more or less expecting a call from her.”

“Your friend? What friend?” said the voice, suddenly roughened with suspicion.

The policewoman said smoothly, “Excuse me if I have the wrong number. I had just better not try to deliver her message—”

“Wait a moment!” the voice said. “What message?

Can you tell me your friend’s name, miss?” Sergeant Kerr hesitated. The inspector shook his head—Meg Greene might be with them. The policewoman said into the phone, “I do dislike telling too much on the telephone, don’t you? I’d ever so much rather come to see you.” While they fenced verbally, Inspector Forbes scribbled a note and pushed it toward
MUIR

2361

129

the policewoman: “Pretend you don’t know where Muir 2361 is.” Sergeant Kerr said into the phone, “You know, I have only your telephone number. I’ll need your address, please—and what time shall I come?” The shopwoman’s voice fl oundered. “You’re making a great nuisance for me, miss, especially as I—as I needs must see my dentist today. He—uh—hasn’t said what hour. So if I can telephone you at two o’clock today? . . . Not earlier, miss. Then perhaps we can arrange something.” The inspector muttered, “She wants time to get instructions.” He advised his assistant to double the detail watching the doll-clothes shop.

“Two o’clock will be convenient,” the policewoman said into the phone. “The number where you can reach me is—” She gave a special telephone number that, Cherry understood, would reach this police offi ce but would not reveal that fact to the thieves.

“Yes, I’ll surely be here. Goodbye.” Inspector Forbes turned toward Cherry. “Miss Ames, I regret cutting into a visitor’s limited time, but we shall need you here at two.” A speculative glint came into his eyes. “In fact, we may need you well into the afternoon, if you don’t mind a bit of action.” Cherry tried to hide her excitement as she promised to return. The inspector then brought her up to date on what the Windermere police had discovered: Not far from the Carewe Museum, near where the black Bentley had been abandoned, the police had dug up in the woods a false white beard, clothing worn by the fake Shah and his supposed wife, and the 130
CHERRY

AMES,

COMPANION

NURSE

chauffeur’s uniform and cap. These had been half buried in earth and leaves. Evidently all three criminals had entered the woods before the robbery to change from their own clothes into disguises, then after the robbery they had changed back again. For their getaway they must have had a second car. Police had found fresh tire tracks in the woods.

“Then the getaway car must have been driven into the area by the third thief—the chauffeur,” Cherry said. “The fake Shah must have arrived there, driving the Bentley. Wouldn’t that explain why Miss Heekins had seen only him, and not the chauffeur, in the Bentley before the theft took place?”

“It does, indeed,” the inspector said.

“Do you suppose all three of the thieves are here—

right now—in Edinburgh?”

“That’s a possibility we must work on,” the inspector told her. “Our chief interest, of course, is in the man who posed as the Shah—the key man in this theft. . . . Well, Miss Ames, shall we see you at two, then?” Cherry nodded. It was a good thing that her patient’s appointment with the orthopedist was for this morning, not this afternoon.

By a little before eleven a.m., Cherry had called for Martha Logan at their hotel and accompanied her to the offi ce of Dr. Malcolm MacKenzie. Today was the great day when the cast on Mrs. Logan’s arm might be removed. She and Cherry were hopeful as they walked into the orthopedist’s waiting room.

MUIR

2361

131

They both nearly fell over in surprise. There, about to leave, was Archibald Hazard, his left ankle swollen and bandaged. His left ankle! The fake Shah had turned his left ankle! Mr. Hazard was speaking to the nurse about his bill, and did not see them for a moment. Cherry struggled to recover her composure.

She decided instantly to challenge him. If she could get any response from him—He turned around and saw them. She had a glimpse of the blinding shock on his face—and suddenly there fl ashed into her mind’s eye the image of the last time she’d seen Hazard, unexpectedly, standing in the street in front of the London restaurant with a stocky, dark-haired workman. Why, that’s who the “Shah’s” chauffeur might have been—

the same rough, powerfully built man! She had been confused by seeing him in a chauffeur’s smart uniform and cap, and not in a workman’s rough clothes.

“How nice to see you again, Mrs. Logan,” Mr. Hazard said, seizing the initiative. There was a slight tremor in his voice. “What a surprise, Miss Ames. I hadn’t known you were coming to Edinburgh.”

“If you had known,”
Cherry thought,
“you might
not have risked coming to Edinburgh yourself.”
Still, Mr. Hazard seemed calm enough, unafraid of them.

And why not? Cherry realized he had no way of knowing that she and Mrs. Logan had visited The Cat and Fiddle Inn, and learned about Meg Greene. He still might think they were fooled by the impersonations at the Carewe Museum. She must be very careful not to put him on the alert now.

132
CHERRY

AMES,

COMPANION

NURSE

Martha Logan looked baffl ed. “Hadn’t you intended to go from London to Paris, Mr. Hazard?”

“Oh, I changed my plans,” he said. “Some friends of mine here urged me to come visit them, and on a sudden decision I—ah—fl ew up from London.”

“He’s lying!”
Cherry said to herself. She asked conversationally, “Have you been in Edinburgh long, Mr. Hazard?”

He seemed rattled by her question. “I’ve been here several days. Since—ah—last Wednesday,” he added.

He pointed to his bandaged left ankle, grimacing. “I had a stupid accident the day before yesterday. Turned my ankle as I was hopping on a bus, and the bus started off before I was quite aboard.”

Martha Logan noncommittally murmured her sympathy. Cherry thought how cautious he was to account for the injured left ankle. He could guess they had seen the fake Shah turn his left ankle day before yesterday.

At any rate, he was being very cagey and plausible with them, taking no chances.

“A wrenched ankle can be awfully painful,” Cherry said. “What a shame to have it happen on a holiday. You should have had your ankle treated immediately, Mr. Hazard, instead of letting a whole day go by. It must have swelled yesterday.” She was trying to draw him out. He was egotist enough to rise to the bait.

“Oh, and how it swelled!” he said. “Not right after I turned it—no swelling until yesterday, and I didn’t limp until yesterday.”

MUIR

2361

133

So that the police, on watch right after the robbery for a fl eeing man who had wrenched his ankle, had no visible sign of an injured ankle to guide them.

The ankle had swelled only yesterday; by that time Archibald Hazard could have made it to Edinburgh, taking cover in a great city.