Rattle His Bones (18 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Rattle His Bones
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“Nothing exciting ever happens to me,” Harbottle mourned. “The nearest I've come to it was being searched before going home yesterday, but so was everyone else in the museum. I don't know why they bothered. The thief is too clever to try to smuggle the loot out yesterday, of all days, with police swarming around.”
Daisy had not known about that search. It was logical, of course. Searching the museum was pointless if Alec had let the thief stroll out with the jewels in his pocket. “I presume nothing was found,” she said, “or everyone would be talking about it. Do you have any ideas as to who did it?”
“Dr. Pettigrew,” he said promptly. “It would have been easy for him. He was in league with the Grand Duke of Transcarpathia—their quarrelling was a blind. The Grand Duke killed him because he refused to hand over the ruby.”
“It's a reasonable theory,” Daisy acknowledged, annoyed with herself for not thinking through her own suggestion to Alec of Pettigrew as the thief.
“It's what most people here believe,” Harbottle assured her with a touch of belligerence.
“Because it would mean none of the rest of the museum staff is implicated.”
He sighed. “Yes. I suppose, really, we've had enough
excitement already. There's just one thing I'm sure of, and that's that Mr. Ruddlestone is no murderer. Right-oh, I'd better answer your questions, if I can, and get back to work.”
Harbottle knew quite as much as Daisy cared to know about the early collectors, and far more than she cared to know about their collections. Mind sated, body starved (she had missed elevenses), she left him finishing up a drawerful before lunch, and went off in search of sustenance.
Tomorrow morning, she would tackle Entomology—the Keeper of which, she had discovered, was known as the Creepy-Crawly man—and that should pretty much finish the research for her article. As far as criminal investigation was concerned, however, she did not feel as if she was the slightest bit forrarder.
W
ithout going too far out of her way, Daisy could avoid the Pareiasaurus's corner of the museum, so she did. She was walking the length of the fossil mammal gallery, her mind on food, when she saw Rudolf Maximilian lurking—there was really no other word for it—by a fearsome cave bear. He managed to look both shifty and disconsolate.
“Hallo,” said Daisy, “I thought you were long gone.”
“Bitte?”
“I … Oh, never mind. Did they let you help to search?”
“No. Now to search is finish, and mine ruby dey have not finded. But it vas not a good search!”
“What do you mean?”
“See!” cried the Grand Duke, waving his arms. “See only dese aminals.”
Daisy scrutinized the cave bear, which had an unfriendly look, and the sabre-toothed tiger beyond, with its positively hostile glare.
“And in de museum, how many aminals are!”
“Lots,” she agreed blankly. “That is, after all, what it's for. Mostly.”
“Inside dese aminals have dey not to searched. Comes de
t'ief viz mine ruby, cuts in de aminal a hole—here under vhere is not easy seen, inputs mine ruby, and sews again togizzer. Like so.” Parting the bear's thick fur (borrowed from a grizzly) in an unmentionable place, he prodded it indecently, pointing out a seam.
“I suppose it's possible,” Daisy said doubtfully.
“Dis I tell to dem, but dey vill not de aminals open to cut.” As he grew more and more excited, his uncertain grasp on the English language slipped still further. “Dey vill not me to let de aminals open to cut.”
Daisy tried to envisage the blizzard of kapok disembowelling a cave bear would create, let alone a mammoth. “They really can't do that,” she soothed him.
“If I mine sword had, I vould do!” Rudolf took up a fencing pose. “I go now mine sword to fetch.”
“For heaven's sake, don't! Honestly, I can't believe the ruby is hidden in any of these animals. It wouldn't be easy to sew up a furry hide neatly enough, in a hurry, to pass muster.”
He looked blank.
“Bitte?”
“To be missed by the searchers,” she elucidated. “It would take ages, and the police post is just around the corner, even if the counter doesn't face this way. The thief is too clever to take such a frightful risk. And think of trying to find the jewels again, in all that stuffing! Anyway, they were probably sold long ago.”
By now, for all she knew, a jeweller might have turned up at Scotland Yard, ready to identify the miscreant. Hoping to tie him to the murder as well, Alec would not necessarily rush to arrest him, so Daisy would be left in the dark, her deductions based on false premises … unless she managed to extract the information from him, which in turn depended on her having a chance to talk to him. This was the first time she
had been involved in an investigation so peripherally, and she was finding it absolutely maddening.
“Never more see I mine ruby,” gloomed the Grand Duke. “Never more see I mine contry.”
“Buck up,” Daisy urged. “Have you had lunch yet? The world will look brighter after something to eat. Let's pop up to the refreshment room.”
The Grand Duke heaved a sigh from the depths of his much-tried Slavo-Teutonic soul. “De place to take a botiful yoonk lady is de Ritz,” he said, “but dis I cannot. A sandvich for you I buy.”
The botiful yoonk lady gladly accepted.
Over lunch, they talked about Transcarpathia. Its history had been turbulent, to say the least. At various times it had suffered the hegemonic attentions of Poland, Lithuania, Russia, Bulgaria, Hungary, Prussia, Turkey, Rumania, and Austria, always retaining shreds of independence because no one really wanted it much. Listening to a description, Daisy could see why.
What she could not see was why Rudolf Maximilian expected the downtrodden peasantry to rise up and restore their erstwhile masters to the throne (or whatever Grand Dukes sat on). Far from wishing to overthrow the Bolshevik invaders, they had probably welcomed them with open arms.
She tactfully refrained from saying so to the unhappy young man. He was not likely to gain possession of the ruby, but if he did, she could only hope he'd have the sense to use the proceeds to make a comfortable life in exile for his family.
It seemed less and less likely that he was the thief. On the other hand, given his eagerness to draw his sword on a defenceless cave bear, he still looked like a possible murderer.
The two were not necessarily the same man, Daisy reminded herself. As Alec said, coincidences do happen.
After lunch, she went back to the dinosaur gallery to see how Saltopus was getting on. Not very fast, she discovered. A few inches of spine now held the absorbed attention of Steadman and his assistant. O'Brien was not present. A fair crowd was gathered around the barrier, its members coming and going.
“You won't miss much if you come back tomorrow, miss,” said Sergeant Atkins. “They'll be at it for days.”
Daisy went home to transcribe the day's notes.
 
Alec had had a frustrating morning. He had interviewed six bank managers, the four curators' plus the Grand Duke's and ffinch-Brown's. Five had refused to say more than that their clients were solvent and no unusual transactions had come to their attention.
Only Ruddlestone's had been more forthcoming, and he had reported nothing unexpected. Ruddlestone lived up to his income. He had not recently received a large legacy or won a large sum on the races, nor, as far as the manager knew, was he in debt.
As far as he knew
—that was the problem. Any of the six could have had an account with another bank, or even in Post Office savings, which he had emptied to pay for the strass gems. Once the account was closed, the associated papers could be destroyed, leaving no trace except in the unknown bank itself.
To circularize every possible financial institution would be an enormous job, and very likely unproductive. The A.C. did not even feel justified in applying for warrants to compel the known bank managers to reveal their clients' secrets, if any.
“We have no reason to single these six out from any number of other possible suspects,” he pointed out, “except an assumed connection with the murder. Sorry, Fletcher, but you need more evidence.”
Stymied, Alec returned to his office, where Tom was sorting through piles of reports.
“All negative, Chief. What next?”
“Our best hope now is for a jeweller or fence to come forward. I'd better see Grange's and Randell's bank managers, I suppose, but I don't expect much there. We'll talk to everyone again, and I want to go over the ground in the museum more thoroughly.”
“Search it ourselves, Chief?” asked Tom, appalled.
“Great Scott, no! Study the scenes of the crimes, how to get here from there, what can be seen from where. The plans are useful but I need to take another look. Then, I'm afraid, we'll spend the evening reading every report through in case we've missed something. I swear, Tom, you shall have a few days off when this is over, even if half the population of London gets bumped off in the meantime.”
“It'd make the missus happy,” Tom admitted.
And maybe Alec could get married. Then at least he'd be able to go home to Daisy, even if he worked eighteen hours a day, seven days a week.
He rang her up from his office that evening.
“She's working,” announced Lucy, who answered the 'phone. “No disturbances allowed … except you. Hang on a minute.”
Daisy sounded preoccupied. “Hallo, darling. I'm glad you 'phoned, there's something I wanted to tell you. Now what was it?”
“If you can't remember, it can't be urgent, and I'm working too, love. We don't seem to be getting anywhere, just
marking time. I just rang to hear your voice. Now I've heard it, I'd better go and see what Tom's waving at me. 'Night, sweetheart.”
“'Night, darling. I hope Tom has found something useful.”
But Tom hadn't. Sighing, Alec picked up the next report. He was glad that Daisy had her own work, and that she wanted to continue with it when they were married. It kept her from moping when he had to work late—and it reduced the amount of time she could spare to meddle in his work.
 
The next day, Friday, was equally busy and equally fruitless. Sir Sidney Harmer had returned to London, and he was not at all happy that the two crimes in his museum were still not solved. Nonetheless, Alec decided a rest would do them all as much good as poring over the same reports once more. He sent his men home at five.
On his own way home, he stopped at Queen's Hall and bought two concert tickets for that evening. Mendelssohn's
Hebrides
overture and Dvorak's
New World
symphony—those were safe—with between them a piano concerto by a young Russian, Prokofiev—risky, but with luck interesting. Anyway, he could be sure Daisy would not walk out.
He drove on home to 'phone her. Before he picked her up at seven thirty, he'd have a couple of hours with Belinda.
She met him on the doorstep. “Daddy, there's an
urgent
message from work. They said to ring back
right away!
”
“Oh h … the dickens! Thanks, pet.”
A young Hebrew had brought his grandfather to the Yard. The old man was a jeweller. He might have information about the museum jewel theft and he was willing to talk to the detective in charge, but he must be home in Whitechapel by sunset, when the Sabbath began. After that,
he would not discuss anything to do with his work until after sunset on Saturday.
Alec suppressed a groan. However inconvenient, this was what he had been waiting for. A spark of excitement flared. “I'm on my way. Tell them I'll drive them home.” Hanging up, he glanced at his wristwatch. “Bel, sweetheart, I must ring Aunt Daisy. Be an angel and find me an apple and a bit of cheese, or something I can eat with one hand while driving.”
“Right-oh, Daddy.” Another of Daisy's phrases Belinda had picked up, Alec thought fondly.
“Either I'll be making an arrest,” he told Daisy, “or I'll pick you up for the concert even if we only make the second half.”
“Right-oh. Good luck, darling.”
Belinda was back with a tin pie-pan draped with a napkin. He kissed her and his mother, who came out of the sitting room, and dashed back out to the car. Setting the pie-pan on the passenger seat beside him, he drove off.
The two Jews were waiting in an interview room. Alec was pleased to see they had been brought cups of tea, though the old man had not touched his. With prejudice so prevalent in society, the battle to keep it from affecting the dealings, if not the opinions, of the supposedly impartial police force was never-ending.
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher,” Alec introduced himself. “I'm in charge of the museum case.”
The young man jumped to his feet. Short, wiry, wide-awake, he wore a beautifully fitted suit, light grey, in a cheap material and with something subtly foreign about the cut. His shirt was pale blue; in place of collar and tie, he had a blue silk foulard around his neck.
“Joe Goldman.” His slight accent was pure East End with no hint of foreignness. Alec shook his hand. “This is my
Zeyde,
my grandfather, Solomon Abramowitz. He's got something to tell you.”
The old man was dressed in the traditional gabardine and black hat. Apart from that, he could have been Dr. Bentworth's twin, another bent gnome with thick-lensed, gold-rimmed spectacles through which he peered uncertainly at Alec.
“I appreciate your coming in, sir. I gather you have information about the gems stolen from the Natural History Museum?”
“I t'ink so.” Abramowitz's gnarled hands fumbled with a grubby sheet of paper on the table before him. Alec recognized the police circular. “Zis list—I have seen zese stones.”
“You bought them?”
“No, no, I do not buy and sell. I make. For men who like to give nice present but not have much money. For peoples who need to pawn good stones and vant no one knows. For ladies nervous to wear real jewels to big public dance. All sorts reasons. Very good glass gems I make; very exact I copy.”
“
Zeyde'
s a real, old-fashioned craftsman,” said Goldman, proud and affectionate.
“So the stones on the list were brought to you to be copied,” said Alec.
“Yes, all them. I not know is stolen, is wrong,” the old man said anxiously.
“I quite understand that, sir. There is no question of charges, I promise you.”
Abramowitz looked bewildered. His grandson spoke briefly in Yiddish and he nodded. “I am honest man,” he reaffirmed. “I believe Mr. Brown when he say …”

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