Crime at Tattenham Corner (20 page)

The two were great friends. Amongst their own immediate circle their engagement was an acknowledged fact, but Pamela had refused to allow it to be announced until at least six months after her father's death. It was but a very few weeks to wait now; Stanyard, however, had a very great difficulty in concealing his impatience. Lady Burslem was still abroad, Pamela had written to her, to inform her of her impending engagement, not to ask her consent, since the girl absolutely refused to recognize her authority as guardian. She had received a vaguely worded note in reply expressing neither approval nor regret, but speaking of the engagement as a thing that must stand over until the writer returned to England and had time to look into things.

Anything better calculated to make Pamela take the matter into her own hands could hardly have been devised. The girl, with' Wilmer as her maid, was staying in Harker Place with some old friends of her father's – the Hetherington Smiths.

Mr. Hetherington Smith was in some sense a partner in Burslem's, since he had a small interest in the mine in South Africa, which had laid the foundation of Sir John Burslem's fortune. Mrs. Hetherington Smith was Pamela's godmother, and since her father's second marriage the girl had spent much of her time with her. Being wealthy and childless Mrs. Hetherington Smith had become almost as fond of the girl as if she had been her own child, and she had eagerly welcomed the prospect of a long visit from Pamela while Lady Burslem was recuperating abroad.

Mrs. Hetherington Smith had not, however, reckoned on Sir Charles Stanyard's almost constant presence in her house, and had at first been inclined to resent his friendship with Pamela. But her prejudice, born of gossip and the common feeling against Stanyard, had melted under the influence of the young man's charm and pleasant manners. Her faith in Stanyard's entire innocence of any complicity in Sir John Burslem's death was now as strong as Pamela's own, and she was looking forward to the announcement of their engagement almost as eagerly as the young couple themselves.

One thing Pamela had never been able to bring herself to do, and that was even to simulate an interest in Stanyard's racing-stable. She shrank from even the mention of Perlyon. Stanyard, for his part, was very patient with her. He never mentioned his stables or his horses to her, and only through the papers did she learn that he had a couple of “leppers” in training for the Grand National.

Pamela never rode now, but she had developed a passion for motoring. She was looking out for a car of her own, and in the meantime Stanyard was giving her lessons. To-day they had been for a long drive into Berkshire, keeping, as far as possible, from the beaten track. Stanyard had seen an old, black-raftered farmhouse back from the road. A card on the gate had borne the legend, “Meals for Motorists – Parking Ground.” Inside, it did not quite come up to their expectations. The rooms were charmingly arranged, but it was evidently more of a regular resort for motorists than Stanyard had imagined. However, he managed to get a private room on the first floor with a little balcony overlooking the veranda, on which a party was already ensconced eating with great relish enormous platefuls of ham and eggs.

Stanyard ordered omelettes and coffee, with cream and whatever fruit was available. While she was waiting, Pamela took a chair by the open window and lighted a cigarette. Down below some of the party were smoking too. Scraps of their conversation floated up to the girl above. At first Pamela took little notice. The long drive in the keen air had tired her, and Stanyard, after ordering their meal, had gone back to the car to look at a screw that he fancied was defective. Suddenly the sound of her own name roused the girl's attention.

“Pamela Burslem! She must be a queer sort of girl. They say she is as good as engaged to Stanyard, the sporting baronet, and goodness knows how much he had to do with her father's death.”

“That may be all talk!” The second speaker was a man. “I thought Stanyard was in love with Lady Burslem and that that was supposed to be the motive –”

“Oh, that's all off!” the first speaker rejoined. “The Gwenders have been staying in Spain and they were motoring from Madrid to some place far away among the mountains, when their car broke down and they had to put up in some little, unknown hostelry. There, to their amazement, they came across Lady Burslem, who was staying there with her maid and secretary. They knew her fairly well, meeting her in society and so on, so they made tracks for her at once. But her ladyship was not having any. She showed them plainly enough that she wanted to be alone. But the point of this is, that the people there all thought she was going to marry the secretary.”

“Good Lord!” the man interjected. “Do you suppose she knew him before, or has she picked him up over there?” 

“That is just what the Gwenders wondered. He was a foreigner, they said. Couldn't speak a word of English. An Argentine, they thought. Jolly outside sort of rotter, old Gwender said. Anyway, I'm surprised at Sophie Burslem's taste.”

“Never was over particular I should say, chucking over a decent chap like Stanyard.”

“Oh, well, it was Burslem's money she was after. Jolly sick she must have been of the old beggar too. But if she helped him off for the sake of this ancient Argentine, I should say it will be a case of out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

“I say, old thing, you will have to be careful or you will be getting pulled up for libel,” the man's voice said jokingly, yet with a note of warning in it.

The woman laughed carelessly. “Not a bit of it. I guess Sophie Burslem would have something to do if she brought libel actions against everybody who talks about her. Besides, I'm only telling you what Olga Gwender told me. It was taken as an accepted thing among the people with whom they were staying. She said that the landlady at the hotel told her that the pretty English senora, who was a heretic, was going to marry the big, ugly Argentino, who was an atheist.”

“Is that so? Oh. By Jove! I suppose it is just my fancy, because we have been talking about him, but I really thought I saw Stanyard coming up that way from the parking ground just then.” 

“What is that you say?” a third voice interrupted. “Thought you saw Stanyard. Dare say you did. He and Miss Burslem drove up half an hour ago; I believe they are lunching in the room over this.”

“I hope they have not got the window open or we shall be in the soup,” the first speaker remarked.

Dead silence followed for a moment. Then the scraping of chairs and a hubbub of conversation showed that the party was breaking up.

The fact that she had overheard a conversation evidently not intended for her did not trouble Pamela much. The substance of it amazed her too much. True, she had always expected that her stepmother would marry again, but that such an event should be talked about already came upon her as a shock. She was astonished, too, by the mention of the man apparently chosen as her father's successor. She had been amazed at the sale of Peep o' Day to the Argentine; it seemed to her now that there must be some link between this and her stepmother's Argentine secretary, but it was not easy to find.

She was still puzzling over the problem when Stanyard entered the room. He noticed the signs of perturbation on her face at once.

“What's the matter, Pam? Anybody been here?”

“No.” The girl hesitated a moment. Hitherto, she had avoided the mention of her stepmother to Stanyard, but to-day it seemed inevitable. She poured out the story she had overheard to him. 

Stanyard's face was grave as he listened. He hesitated a minute or two before he spoke. He was well aware of the general opinion that Lady Burslem had in some mysterious fashion managed to rid herself of her elderly husband in order to marry some secret lover. Only too well was he aware also that at one time his own name had been freely mentioned in this connexion. But this was the first he had heard of the Argentine, and, like the rest of the world, he had marvelled at the sale of Peep o' Day, and, like Pamela, he was inclined to think there must be some connexion between this and the foreign secretary.

“Asses those johnnies must be to talk where anybody could overhear what they said,” he remarked at last. “But I should not take any notice of the footlin' sort of stuff they talked, Pam. Sophie Carlford was always a little duffer at writin', and that sort of thing. I suppose she has picked up this blighter because he was the only chap at hand, and she havin' a lot of writin' to do, bein' executrix to your father, and all that.”

“But Lady Burslem isn't by any means a duffer at writing,” Pamela said, staring at him. “And she has had an awful lot to do since Dad died. Mr. Hetherington Smith says she's quite wonderful.”

“Well, if she had any head for figures she kept it dark when I knew her. She was a jolly, good-lookin' girl, Sophie. And I was a fool about her at the time. But it was a bit of calf love on both sides, I fancy. Anyhow, she soon gave me the chuck when your father came along.”

“Oh, yes, for the sake of his money,” Pamela said scornfully.

“No, there I think you wrong her,” Stanyard said thoughtfully. “I always fancied myself that, though the money might have somethin' to do with it – gilding the gingerbread so to speak – Sophie took a bit of a fancy to Sir John. Makes me feel small when I look back, but there you are.”

“I don't believe she did,” Pamela said obstinately. “Anyhow, if ever she liked Dad she got over it pretty soon to help on his – his –”

“Now don't say it, Pam,” Stanyard advised with a touch of real feeling in his voice. “I knew Sophie Carlford pretty well all through, and there was nothin' of that sort about her. Give you my word – Sophie don't know anythin' about your father's death.”

“Then who does?” Pamela inquired, her mouth setting in grim lines.

“I don't know,” Stanyard confessed. “I think about it sometimes till I can't get to sleep or anythin', don't you know. Till I could almost fancy I did it myself so that Perlyon should win the Derby.”

“I don't believe Dad had an enemy,” Pamela cogitated. “Do you think it might be Ellerby?”

“No, I don't,” Stanyard said sturdily. “Decent sort of a chap, Ellerby. Though what made the old chap do a bunk like that, or how he managed to get away with it I can't think.”

“Lots of people think he has been murdered too,” Pamela went on.

“Lots of people think all sorts of footlin' things,” Stanyard said. “Stands to sense, dear thing, that a man couldn't be killed and his body done away with in a house that was being watched by the police, as 15 Porthwick Square was. No, Ellerby scooted right enough. Though why he did it and where he has got to only Heaven knows.”

A diversion was caused now by the entry of a waiter with their lunch.

“Ah, this is the sort of thing I want,” Stanyard said approvingly. “Light as love, those omelettes, and I have been telling the landlord how I like my coffee made, like I used to have it in my student days. I have taught my man; he is a dab hand at it. Come, Pam, let us begin before those things have a chance of gettin' stale.”

Pamela found that she was really very hungry when she began to eat, and Stanyard succeeded in persuading her to eat a good meal, and also in diverting her thoughts from the mysteries of Porthwick Square.

He was thankful that, so far, no hint of the latest rumour had reached her, for he knew that it had been freely bruited about that some strange discovery had been made by the police in searching the house after Lady Burslem's departure. As to what it was, public opinion was divided, but it was generally taken for granted that it was something that showed definitely that Sophie Burslem had some guilty knowledge of her husband's death. Stanyard himself was inclined to think that the discovery had been exaggerated if not invented, and that the gossip would soon die out if nothing occurred to revive it.

He was the more disappointed therefore when, on their arrival at Hothmar Place, they were met in the hall by Mr. Hetherington Smith, with the announcement:

“Your stepmother is in town!”

“Lady Burslem!” Pamela stared at him. “She can't be. I passed through Porthwick Square this morning and the house was not opened up.”

“Oh, she isn't there!” Mr. Hetherington Smith said quietly. “She is staying with her maid at Stormount's. She rung me up just now. She told me to ask you to go there either to dinner or later on this evening and to take Wilmer with you, as she has some news for her too.”

“Dear me! How frightfully early Victorian I shall look, taking a maid with me. But I had better ring her up,” Pamela said, turning to the telephone. “Stormount's, please. What in the world has brought her back?”

“Business!” Mr. Hetherington Smith answered shortly. “This Bolivian concession is not going through as it was hoped it would. And Lady Burslem had to be on the spot. She couldn't pull the wires from Spain.”

“Nor in town, I should say,” Stanyard laughed. “I don't fancy it makes much difference where her ladyship is.”

“Oh, but indeed it does,” Mr. Hetherington Smith corrected. “Lady Burslem has one of the clearest heads and is one of the best business women I know.”

“Well, then, she has altered since the days when she couldn't make her bridge score tally with anyone else's,” Charles Stanyard rejoined.

Tormount's was perhaps the largest of England's palatial hotels. It was managed on American lines with a staff that was distinctly cosmopolitan. Pamela was not a shy person, but she felt quite small and lonely when she entered the vast lounge, which looked big enough to house a small army. Following her instructions, she had brought Wilmer with her. As she glanced round, to her surprise the first person she saw was Mrs. Jimmy coming across to meet her in a fearsome evening frock of voyant mauve.

“Hallo, Pam!” she began in her cheerful strident tones. “How are you? Here you are! I told Sophie I would come and meet you. I thought you might be shy without your young man.” She linked her arm in the girl's with a laugh that made every one within hearing turn and look at them.