Crime at Tattenham Corner (19 page)

“My! Who would have thought of this?”

At the same moment the man came up the steps and sounded the bell and knocker. He was a man of middle size garbed in a well-fitting motoring suit. To initiated eyes, in spite of the difference in dress and a certain indefinable change that seemed to have passed over the face, he would have borne a distinct resemblance to Inspector Stoddart.

Mrs. Jimmy hurried to the door and opened it.

“Well, to think of seeing you again,” she exclaimed as the man raised his hat with a bright smile.

He held out a small parcel carefully done up in tissue paper.

“I have come to restore some of your property. Won't you ask me in?” 

“Why, of course I will,” Mrs. Jimmy responded, throwing the door hospitably open. “I shall be real glad to see some one to talk to, for all my friends are out of town just now.”

“Then that is a pretty considerable stroke of luck for me,” the man said as he stepped inside and looked round the lounge, a little tidier now than when Pamela saw it. “You have a real, cosy-looking little nest here, Mrs. Burslem; a sight to make the mouth of a lone bachelor like myself water. But, after all, it is only what I expected. A man knows a real home-maker when he sees one.”

Mrs. Jimmy was almost purring under this flattery and, seating herself on the sofa, invited her visitor to take a seat near. Then she glanced at the parcel she still held.

“Oh, my Indian vanity bag that poor Jimmy gave me! I thought it had gone west. I rang up the box-office first thing this morning to see if I had left it at the theatre, and they said it hadn't been brought in, so I had given it up.”

The man smiled, fixing his eyes boldly on Mrs. Jimmy's face. Here was a woman who would swallow any amount of flattery, he told himself. Aloud he said:

“Ah, I am to blame for that. But, when I saw this pretty trifle lying on the floor just where you had been sitting, I yielded to the temptation to pick it up and put it in my pocket. It will at least give me a chance of seeing her again, I thought to myself.”

Mrs. Jimmy smiled, well pleased, while she aimed a playful blow at his arm with a paper that lay beside her.

“You are a very naughty man, I am afraid. But how did you know where to find me? The bag did not tell you that.”

The man's smile broadened into a laugh, then he pretended to flinch from her feigned wrath. “It is to be a real confession then. I looked in the bag and found a card-case; I ventured a little further and found a card with your name and this address. Then it was all plain sailing. I couldn't want a better excuse than I had got. So you see I came along the first minute I had.”

“I don't know what to say to you,” Mrs. Jimmy said, glancing at him coyly. “You deserve a good scolding, you know.”

“I shall not mind that if you give it me,” the man said daringly. “But now, Mrs. Burslem, I have a favour to ask you.”

“Well, I don't say I shall grant it,” Mrs. Jimmy said, bridling. “But first, you have got an unfair advantage; you call me Mrs. Burslem and Mrs. Jimmy as pat, as you please, but I haven't got a notion what your name is.”

“My name,” said the man, “why, William, called by my friends Billy – or sometimes Sweet William. You can take your choice.”

“Now! Now!” Mrs. Jimmy aimed another blow at his arm. “This is worse than ever. You know what I mean right enough. Your surname of course.”

“And that is William too,” the man said, laughing. “Leastways, Williams. William Evan Williams is my name, to be exact. Welsh, my mother was, though I am English enough, being born in Camden Town. Still I always say ‘Good old Wales.' Many a pleasant holiday I have spent at Harlech, which is just close to my mother's old home.”

“That is real interesting,” Mrs. Jimmy remarked, without apparently having any intention of reciprocating these autobiographical details. “But now, Mr. Williams, I feel that you deserve some reward for bringing my bag back. It would have broken my heart to lose it. What do you say to a cocktail?”

“A cocktail is never unacceptable,” Mr. Williams said accommodatingly. “Not that I want any reward. At least I have got all the reward I want.” His glance pointed his words.

Mrs. Jimmy would have blushed had such a feat been possible. She got up and rang the bell. A maid appeared – not the one who had been there on Pamela's visit. Mrs. Jimmy never kept her domestics long. She brought in a tray with two long, narrow tumblers, a dish of ice and seltzer-water siphon. Evidently Mrs. Jimmy possessed the morning cocktail habit. From a little cupboard containing a tantalus she produced the other ingredients.

“Do you like to take your drinks through a straw?” she asked abruptly. “I hate it myself – making a fool of your mouth I call it – but lots of folks seem to like it.”

Mr. Williams tossed off the contents of his glass at a swallow.

“I agree with you, Mrs. Burslem. That was something like a cocktail! You are the sort that knows how to make a man comfortable. A real home-maker, that's what you are. And do you know what you are beginning to make me do?”

Mrs. Jimmy shook her head. “Unless you want another cocktail?” she suggested.

“Well, no! My head won't stand too many, and that's a fact. No, Mrs. Burslem, what you are making me do is break the tenth commandment!”

“The tenth commandment – I wonder what that is,” Mrs. Jimmy said with a broad smile that displayed all her purchased teeth. “I believe I learnt all the commandments when I was a kiddie, but I have forgotten all about them now. And it is no good looking them up, for they tell me everything will be altered in the new Prayer Book.”

“Well, you look this up anyhow. The tenth, don't you forget. And if they do alter it I can tell you I shall not mind,” Mr. Williams said daringly. “Is that a portrait of Mr. Burslem I see over there?” pointing to a large photograph in a frame of beaten copper that stood on the mantelshelf.

Mrs. Jimmy nodded. “Though it isn't much like him as he has been of late years. That was taken about the time we were married.”

“Was it now?” Mr. Williams got up and looked at it more closely. “A good-looking young man too. Not much like his brother Sir John, was he? Though there is a certain resemblance.”

“Did you know Sir John?” Mrs. Jimmy inquired with a slight change of tone.

“Lord bless you, no!” Mr. Williams said easily. “But the papers were full of likenesses of him a little time back. Terrible thing that was – I little thought what an interest I should be taking before long in one member of the family when I was reading about the Burslem case in the papers.”

Mrs. Jimmy smiled, then her face clouded over.

“I was hoping folks were beginning to forget that. There has not been anything about it for so long.”

“Everybody suspected Lady Burslem knew more than she said,” Mr. Williams rejoined. “But some people went rather beyond the limit in hinting at her. At least so it seemed to me.”

“It was disgraceful!” Mrs. Jimmy said, drawing herself up. “Poor Sophie! She had nothing to do with her husband's death, I am certain. She is the only one of the family I like, to tell the truth.”

“Oh, well, if you like her, then I am sure I should,” Mr. Williams said. “But, if she doesn't know anything about her husband's death, who does?”

Mrs. Jimmy tossed her head. “I don't know, and, what's more, I don't care. I never liked John Burslem, and he is not much loss anyway. But if you want to talk about John Burslem and his death you mustn't come to me, Mr. Williams. You will understand it is not a subject that we Burslems are fond of discussing.”

“Me want to discuss it!” exclaimed Mr. Williams. “Bless you! Murders and such-like do not interest me a bit. It was only to hear you talk that I mentioned the subject. Anything else would do as well as long as you took to it. And all the while I was only putting off time in order to gather up my courage, for above all things I want to ask you to do me a favour.”

“Well, you may be sure I will if I can.” Mrs. Jimmy settled herself back in her seat and crossed her legs, exhibiting a generous amount of nude silk stocking, clothing a pair of remarkably thick legs and two fat knees. “I shouldn't have taken you to be the sort of man who would be backward at asking for what you wanted,” she added with a coy glance as she drew her cigarette-case to him. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks!” He took one and held it unlighted in his hand. “No, I suppose you wouldn't call me a shy man naturally. But when one thinks one may lose even the little one has got by asking for more, why, it is enough to make any man pause.”

“Bless my life, what is the man aiming at?” ejaculated Mrs. Jimmy, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and staring at him. “What is it you want – a subscription? Because if it is, get it off your chest and be done with it. I hate hints!”

“Subscription!” echoed Mr. Williams scornfully. “Do I look like the sort of man who would come and ask you for a subscription? No, the favour I want you to grant is this. I have bought a new car – there she is outside. Now, I want you to come and look at her. You told me the other night you were interested in cars – then if you think well enough of her, I want you to come for a spin in her and have lunch somewhere in the country. I can't tell you how grateful I should be if you would.”

“Why, of course I will, and jolly glad to get the chance,” said Mrs. Jimmy jumping up. “Give me a minute and I'll be ready. Go on with the cigarettes and there is the
Daily Wire
to look at while I am away.”

“Oh, I shall not want that,” Mr. Williams rejoined, with a knowing glance. “I shall have plenty to think about.”

Well pleased, Mrs. Jimmy waved her hand to him as she hurried across to the stairs. She was distinctly too canny to go out to look at the car without a hat. Hair, however carefully treated, was apt to show traces of its treatment in the sunlight, she knew.

Left alone, Mr. Williams's demeanour underwent a remarkable change. He hurried over to the portrait of James Burslem and gazed at it intently. Then he turned swiftly to the drawing-room, of which he could catch a glimpse through the half-open door. Untidy it was, as Mrs. Jimmy's drawing-room was sure to be; the quick eye of the man looking in wandered over the disorder, glanced sharply at the various knick-knacks scattered about everywhere, finally focused themselves on a framed photograph standing on a distant table. In a couple of strides he was across the room and had caught up the photograph; that of a couple – a very smiling man and woman, both from their pose and expression suggesting the idea that they were accustomed to facing the camera.

“Mr. and Mrs. James Burslem photographed on their wedding morn,” he murmured.

Then he slipped the photograph, frame and all, into his pocket and tiptoed hurriedly back to the hall, where sounds of Mrs. Jimmy on the landing above could plainly be heard now. He went to the door and opened it. The fresh morning air and the warm sunshine were a welcome change after the scented, vitiated atmosphere of Mrs. Jimmy's rooms. But the lady was coming downstairs now and he turned to meet her.

“Now, what do you think of my car?” he said as they went down the steps. “I don't pretend to be an expert motorist like yourself, but I think she is a real beauty.”

Truth to tell, Mrs. Jimmy's opinion of the car was by no means as high as its owner's; but she was inclined to think a few rides in it with that same owner would be very pleasant, so she temporized.

“One cannot tell much about it until one has really tried it,” she said. “I should like to drive it myself.”

“So you shall when once we are out of the traffic,” the man promised her. “But I can't let you touch the wheel until we are well out of London. Precious things must be taken care of, you know.” He glanced at her in almost an affectionate manner as he helped her in and settled the rug round her. “It is a bit cold when we meet the wind,” he remarked, as he deftly transferred the purloined photograph to the back locker.

Mrs. Jimmy laughed as he got in beside her. Mr. Williams was an adept at the style of conversation she understood and enjoyed. She had put on her fur coat and a black pull-on hat which came low down over her forehead, but on the small portion of her countenance which could be seen she had bestowed a liberal portion of paint and powder. Mr. Williams found her in an accommodating mood. They took a long drive into Kent, lunching at an old inn on the borders of Sussex, and when at last they turned homeward they were chatting together like old friends.

“At last!” Mrs. Jimmy said as they drove up to her door. “My maid will have been thinking I am lost.”

“I wish you were – with me,” Mr. Williams said tenderly. “To-day has been just like a bit of heaven to me. I am a lonesome sort of man and don't make friends easily. When will you take pity on me and come out with me again?”

“Oh, any day you like,” Mrs. Jimmy said carelessly. “We have had a ripping time. And you talk of being lonely – what about me, a poor little grass widow?”

“A grass widow!” Mr. Williams echoed. “You will be cross with me if I say what is in my mind, Mrs. Burslem. But I think I shall risk it.”

“I should,” said Mrs. Jimmy comfortingly. “It would take a deal to make me angry with you – after to-day.”

“It is this, then,” Mr. Williams said boldly, “I wish there was not that little word ‘grass' before the widow.”

Mrs. Jimmy grew very red. “What is the good of wishing that?”

“No good at all!” the man said, in a disconsolate tone. “That is the worst of it.”

“This looks just the sort of place for lunch,' Charles Standard said, slowing down. “What do you think now?”

“Ripping,” Pamela said laconically.

She was looking her best to-day in a long motoring coat over a petunia two-piece frock, and with a smart hat of the same colour pulled low over her eyes, her sunny hair just peeped out at the sides, and her bright colour, enhanced by the wind, flickered under Stanyard's ardent gaze.