Mrs. Jeffries and the Mistletoe Mix-Up (12 page)

“Did he acquire any swords from you?” the inspector asked.

“Yes, two; one was a Japanese Katana and the other was a Chinese Won dynasty piece.”

“You didn’t sell him a Hwando?” Witherspoon hoped he was pronouncing the word correctly.

Saxon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Certainly not. I didn’t even know he had a Hwando.”

“We think he might have only recently acquired it,” Barnes said as he looked up from his notebook.

“I knew he’d acquired something; that’s why we were there yesterday. But the way he went on about it, I’m surprised it was just a Hwando.”

Witherspoon’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that a valuable piece?”

“It’s valuable, yes, but it’s not terribly rare. I’ve two in my collection that I’ve deliberately held back from selling because there’s a number of them on the market right now. You must understand, Inspector, it’s only a small group of us that collect or sell Oriental artifacts. Most of us know one another, and we know what’s being offered. The way Daniel was going on and on about his latest acquisition made one think he’d acquired a piece from the Goryeo dynasty or even something from the Three Kingdoms period.”

The inspector nodded in understanding. “So the sword wasn’t particularly rare. Is there any other characteristic that might impart value to such an object?”

“If the sword had historical significance, say there was a marking or something on the weapon to indicate it had been used by one of the great kings of the Joseon dynasty, that might increase the value, or if it had been made by a master swordsmith of the era, that could increase its worth,” Saxon explained. “But I’ve not heard of anything like that coming on the market recently. Take my word for it, gentlemen; if a Hwando belonging to any of the great kings was for sale, it would have taken more money than Daniel McCourt had to acquire it.”

Barnes said, “Is it possible that Mr. McCourt didn’t know his sword wasn’t all that special?”

Saxon shook his head. “McCourt hadn’t been collecting as long as Leon Brunel, but he was no fool, and the individual that used to appraise for him would certainly have known it.”

“Are you referring to Jerome Raleigh?” Witherspoon rubbed his hands together to ward off the chill.

“Yes, at one point, Daniel didn’t buy anything without Raleigh having a look at it first.” He smiled cynically. “Of course, from what I’ve heard, the two of them have parted ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“One doesn’t like to repeat gossip, Inspector, but I did hear that they’d had a falling-out recently.” He grinned broadly. “There are rumors that Raleigh deliberately undervalues or overvalues pieces depending on who has, shall we say, made it worth his while to be less than truthful.”

Neither policeman said anything for a moment, but then Barnes fixed Saxon with a hard stare and said, “Let’s stop dancing about, Mr. Saxon. Just tell us what you know.”

Saxon’s grin disappeared. “If you insist. Two weeks ago, McCourt took a set of Yuan dynasty vases to Goodison and Bright to be sold. But he didn’t leave them there, because their appraiser told him the pair weren’t worth nearly what McCourt thought they ought to fetch at auction. When McCourt mentioned that his own appraiser, Raleigh, had valued them much higher, they laughed at him. McCourt was so furious he made a terrible scene. That’s how I found out about it.”

“Yet McCourt had invited Jerome Raleigh to tea,” Barnes mused speculatively.

“Indeed, and he was as nervous as a kitten in a roomful of bulldogs,” Saxon said with relish.

“Did you dislike Mr. Raleigh as well?” the inspector asked.

“I don’t dislike the fellow, but then again, he’s never cheated me. I do all my own appraising. My uncle taught me well.”

“If Mr. Raleigh was as nervous as you seem to believe he might have been, why would he have accepted McCourt’s invitation?” Barnes inquired.

“He was scared not to come, Constable. Staying away would have looked very much like an admission of guilt,” he explained. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You must understand, appraising Oriental art and antiquities isn’t a precise endeavor. Even the most expert appraiser can make mistakes or be fooled. I suspect Raleigh accepted the invitation so he could plead his case to McCourt directly and try to convince him that even if he’d overvalued the Yuan vases, it had been an honest mistake. Unfortunately for him, the afternoon turned into a disaster and everyone left.”

“When you were there yesterday, did you see any mistletoe hanging down from the doorframe between the drawing room and the study?” Witherspoon asked suddenly.

Saxon drew back in surprise. “No, I can’t say that I did. But I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

The inspector nodded, satisfied that thus far everyone’s statement confirmed the mistletoe hadn’t been there during the tea.

“You left the McCourt house just after Mr. and Mrs. Brunel, is that correct?” Barnes wanted a sense of where everyone was at any given moment. Something Mrs. Jeffries had mentioned this morning had suddenly popped into his head. She’d made the point that if every door and window in the place was open, anyone from outside could have slipped into the house without being noticed.

“That’s right. I followed them out of the house. The Brunels turned toward the hansom cab stand on the corner, and I went in the opposite direction.”

“Did you walk home?” Witherspoon asked.

“Yes, I wanted to clear that awful stench out of my lungs,” he replied. “And I didn’t want to waste money on a cab.”

“Do you have servants here, sir?” Barnes asked.

Saxon hesitated. “I have a cleaning lady that comes in twice a week, but other than that, I’m alone here.”

“You cook your own meals, sir?” the constable persisted. In his experience, men of Saxon’s class wouldn’t even know how to light the cooker, let alone prepare food.

Saxon’s mouth compressed into a thin, angry line for a moment. “No, I take most of my meals at the café around the corner. It’s quite cheap, and the food isn’t bad.”

“Did you have dinner there last night?” Witherspoon asked.

“No, I wasn’t particularly hungry,” he replied tersely.

“So even though you’d had nothing to eat, you came home,” the constable pressed. “Is that correct?”

“That’s right. As I said, I wasn’t hungry. It hadn’t been a pleasant occasion and I hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, so that fact and the miserable stench made me lose what little appetite I had.”

“Was there anyone here when you came home?” Witherspoon asked softly.

“No, I was quite alone. As I told you, I don’t have servants.”

“After you arrived home, did you stay in all evening?”

“Yes, I had a whiskey or two, read for a time, and then went to bed.”

“Did any of your neighbors see you?” Barnes continued.

“Did you speak to anyone on the street who might be able to verify the time you arrived home?”

“I didn’t speak to anyone,” he snapped. “Good lord, I didn’t like McCourt, but I had no reason to murder him.”

Witherspoon regarded him thoughtfully. “If you hadn’t wanted to go to the McCourt home, why did you accept the invitation?”

“I was curious, Inspector.” He laughed. “I was going to send my regrets, but I ran into Mr. and Mrs. Brunel, and both of them encouraged me to go. Leon said he suspected Daniel had something special to show us, and Mrs. Brunel claimed I ought to go because it was Christmas.”

“Leon Brunel knew what it was?” Barnes asked quickly. He glanced at Witherspoon.

“No, I specifically asked Leon, and he admitted he didn’t know.” He sighed. “I was hoping it was to be a Goryeo sword. My sources in Hong Kong claimed that there was one available and that the owner was going to sell it, so even though I never really thought McCourt could afford such an expensive item, I went along just in case he’d actually bought it.”

“I take it this sword is more valuable than the Hwando?” Witherspoon clarified.

“Oh yes, it’s extremely rare and worth a great deal of money.” Saxon shrugged and got to his feet. “Elena McCourt has just inherited a fortune, so I thought Daniel would have had the resources to make such a purchase.”

“But he couldn’t afford a Hwando sword?” Barnes queried, thinking of what Saxon had told them less than ten minutes ago.

“He couldn’t afford a Hwando sword used by one of the great kings of the Joseon era,” Saxon corrected. “Something like that would be a museum piece.” He began to pace back and forth in front of the unlighted fireplace. “But a Goryeo sword could be had for less. I’m not an expert on that period—no one outside of the Far East is—but I do know that the age alone would be enough to make the piece valuable even if it were in terrible condition.”

“What about Mr. Leon Brunel?” Barnes pressed. “He’s a collector, too. Could he have afforded either object?”

“Most definitely. Leon Brunel certainly isn’t poor,” he replied, his tone suddenly harsh and bitter. He stopped with his back turned to them so that neither man could see his face. “I know that well enough.”

The two policemen glanced at each other but remained silent, both of them hoping he’d elaborate on his own.

Saxon said, “Even if he were poor, if he wanted something, he’d find a way to acquire it. He’s the kind of man who always wants what someone else has, and once he owns something, he never lets it go.”

Mrs. Jeffries was the last one back for their afternoon meeting. She swept off her hat and cloak as she rushed into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry to be late, but I have had the most trying day.”

“We’ve only just sat down,” Betsy said.

“I’ve poured the tea.” Mrs. Goodge picked up the big brown teapot, tipped the steaming brew into a cup, and put it down in front of the housekeeper’s chair.

“Nell’s bells, Hepzibah, you look like you’ve been runnin’ miles!” Luty exclaimed as Mrs. Jeffries took her seat at the head of the table.

“Gracious, I think I have.” She smiled gratefully as she reached for her cup. Taking a sip, she looked down at her lap and sent up a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks to the Almighty that she’d not been caught. When she lifted her head, they were all staring at her. “I have had an adventure.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I’ll tell you about it as soon as I’ve had a moment to catch my breath. Why don’t you all give your reports first?”

“I ain’t got much to tell.” Luty snorted in derision. “Half of London is gone, and I wasted the whole danged day goin’ from one source to another only to find out the person was in Scotland or the south of France. But I did run into Lucille Fenwick when I stopped at the Alexandria Hotel in Knightsbridge.”

“Good gracious, madam, how very unfortunate for you. How long did it take you to get away?” Hatchet chuckled.

Luty shot him an impatient frown. “Wipe that grin off yer face; I’ll have you know that for once, she had somethin’ useful to say.”

He laughed even harder. “And you believed her?” He looked at the others. “Lucille Fenwick is notorious for exaggerating, and believe me, I’m being kind in using the word ‘exaggerate’ instead of ‘lie.’”

“I’ll admit she’s not the most trustworthy of sources,” Luty conceded. “But she only tells real big lies when she’s talkin’ about herself, and today she was gossipin’ about Daniel McCourt.”

“What did she say?” Mrs. Jeffries asked quickly.

“She claimed she’d seen Daniel McCourt just a few days before he was murdered.”

“Seen him where?” Betsy asked.

“In the lobby of the Alexandria.” Luty grinned. “She said McCourt was meetin’ a blonde woman who’d just stepped out of the lift. I asked her if she knew who the woman was, and she said she didn’t.”

“And she was certain McCourt was meetin’ this person?” Smythe asked.

“She was. She said when the lift doors opened, McCourt jumped up from his seat and hotfooted it across the lobby to her.”

“She saw all that as she was leaving the hotel?” Hatchet asked in disbelief.

“Well, she did mention that she’d peeked back in while the doorman went to fetch her cab,” Luty said. “And she saw the two of them with their heads together; thick as thieves was how she put it.”

“I wonder if his wife knew he was meeting another woman,” Ruth mused.

“We don’t know that he was meeting anyone!” Hatchet exclaimed. “Madam, you know as well as I do that Lucille Fenwick isn’t just an unreliable source; she’s been accused on more than one occasion of making things up out of thin air. Have you forgotten the Kaiser Wilhelm incident?”

“Kaiser Wilhelm?” Wiggins repeated. “The German Emperor?”

Hatchet stared at his employer. “Will you tell them, or shall I?”

“I’ll tell ’em.” Luty sighed. “Much as I hate to admit it, Hatchet’s right. A few years back, she claimed she’d had tea with the Kaiser when she was in Berlin, but what had actually happened was she was drinking tea in a café when his carriage rolled past. But just because she’s a habitual liar doesn’t mean she doesn’t tell the truth sometimes. I think this is a worthwhile bit of information.”

“I agree, Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “And if McCourt was in that hotel lobby, I’m sure someone else will have seen him. We must find out what he was doing there.”

“I can’t go back,” Luty said glumly. “Lucille is stayin’ there until her new house is finished, and I don’t want to risk runnin’ into her again. If she heard me askin’ more questions about McCourt, she’d realize there must be a reason. She might be a lyin’ chatterbox, but she’s not stupid. There’s already too many people who know what we git up to whenever the inspector has a murder case.”

“True, but most of them can be trusted,” Mrs. Jeffries pointed out.

“Yeah, well, Lucille ain’t one of them. She’d blab it all over town.”

“I can ’ave a go at it,” the footman volunteered. “I can nip over tomorrow.”

“See if you can also find out exactly what day it was that McCourt was there,” Mrs. Jeffries added.