Sonnet to a Dead Contessa (26 page)

“Oh, you’ll have a policeman in your family.”

“More than that, dear.” The baron smiled at his wife. “The superintendent of Scotland Yard. You’ll have to be on your best behaviour, Lady Trent. And you, sir, must be careful too.”

They left the two, and Dylan said, “They’re a lovely couple, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. Very popular for the French. They have a hard time since we’ve had so many wars with them, but I like them both very much indeed.”

They circulated and found General Leo Hunter speaking with Gerhard Von Ritter. “Look at those two,” Serafina said. “Two of the biggest egos in the world, I suppose. I don’t know which one is the worst.”

“Both suspects in the murders, aren’t they?”

“I’m not sure. Some of the effects were theirs, but there were so many others involved that it would be hard to say. Come. I like that picture over there.” They stopped before a canvas of horses jumping over a fence chasing a fox.

“Does Dora like foxhunting?”

“She hates it. She always feels sorry for the fox.”

“So do I.” Dylan grinned. “I’m for the underdog.”

“Come along. We’ll find something else . . .”

The two had looked at every painting at the exhibit when suddenly Dylan said, “Look, there’s Matthew.”

“Oh, he mustn’t know why we’re here. Don’t say anything about buying them a gift.”

“He looks excited.” The two waited, and Matthew came toward them at once. His eyes were flashing, and he said, “Well, we’ve made an arrest.”

“You’ve found the murderer?” Dylan said.

“We think so. He killed a woman a few years ago in exactly
the same manner.”

“Who is it? Anybody that we’ve been suspecting all along?”

“No, someone you may never have heard of,” Matthew said. He was excited, and his eyes glowed as he said, “Did you ever hear of Rian Felan?”

“I don’t believe I ever have,” Serafina said.

“Nor have I. Who is he?” Dylan asked.

“He’s a criminal, and he was arrested and tried for slashing a woman. He was convicted, but it was later overturned. Some irregularity.”

“Has he been out of prison long enough to have done the murders?”

“Indeed, he has, and we found him in the same block where the latest murder was committed. We can put Rian in the area at the same time she was killed.”

“At the right time?” Serafina asked quickly.

“Yes, at exactly the right time. We need you to look at him.”

“You mean to identify him as the one I saw at the Reis mansion?”

“Yes. That would be the clincher.”

“But I’ve told you, Matthew, it was so dark I couldn’t see anything.”

“Come and take a look at him anyway. Maybe something will come back to you, something about his form, the way he walks, something like that.”

Serafina shook her head doubtfully. “I’ll be glad to do that, but I doubt that I’ll be of any help.”

“Good! Come along.” As they left the exhibit, Serafina turned and found Martha Bingham and her followers watching them leave. She did not like the woman and wished that she had no contact with her, but there was something determined about her group. They were standing close together, and she thought,
They make a strange trio. I can’t see what they have in common.
But she put it out of her mind and looked forward to meeting the man who was possibly the Slasher, who had brought such misery to highborn families.

SIXTEEN

S
erafina had been in Old Bailey, the most notorious prison in London, before. It had been that time when her brother, Clive, had been under suspicion of murder and had spent the days before his trial here. As she walked down the long corridor following a guard and accompanied by Matthew Grant, she felt the same touch of fear that the prison had given her then. It was like being buried alive, and a shiver went over her as she saw the cells where the men were kept caged in a fashion that would not even be suitable for animals.

“Right this way, sir,” the guard said. He was a tall, sallow-faced man with a mournful expression. He opened the door and gestured inside. “You and Lady Trent must wait here. I will go bring the prisoner to you.”

“Thank you very much,” Grant said. He stepped aside and gestured toward the room. Serafina walked in and found it was a bare room with nothing but a table and two chairs, one on each side. “You sit there, Serafina. You’ll get a good look at him, although the light is bad in here.”

Indeed, the light was bad, a flickering gas lamp that cast shadows of their figures onto the stone floor.

They waited silently and finally Serafina heard footsteps. The steel door opened, and the guard stepped inside. “Here is the prisoner, sir. I’ll have to lock you in, you understand.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be right outside, so just bang on the door when you are ready to leave.”

“Thank you very much.”

Serafina looked at the man who stood there. He was not a large man, rather under average height. The prison clothes could not disguise that he was a strongly built individual, and he had a striking face and jet-black hair that set off a pair of yellowish-hazel eyes that gave him a catlike appearance. His mouth was very broad, his chin was stubborn, and his hands looked strong enough to break steel. One chain joined his feet together, allowing him to take only short steps, and another joined his wrists, which in turn were attached to a belt.

“You can sit here, Felan.”

The prisoner looked quickly at Grant. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Now what do you want with me? You’re not reporters, are you?”

“I am Superintendent Grant of Scotland Yard. This is Lady Trent.”

Felan’s yellow eyes went at once to Serafina, and she felt as if he could see straight through her clothing and even deeper than that. He had a penetrating gaze, but he smiled and looked almost gentle for a savage. “Lady Trent, is it? Well, I must be going up in the world to be visited by nobility.”

“Sit down, Felan,” Grant said sharply. He pulled the chair back, and the chains made a musical tinkling sound as Felan moved forward in short, mincing steps and sat down. The chain that bound his wrists to his waist was too short to allow him to put his hands on the table, so he sat there, leaned back, and studied the two. “Scotland Yard, is it? What is it you want with me?”

Serafina was studying the criminal’s face carefully. There was something frightening about it. If she had met him alone in an isolated place, she knew she would have been terrified. He had that sort of dangerous look about him.

“Well, Serafina?”

“I’m sorry, Superintendent. I can’t help you.”

“Oh, you’re trying to pick me out for a job, are you? Well, I tell you right now I had nothing to do with it.” He suddenly smiled, and his teeth were surprisingly white against his dark skin.

“You killed one woman in the same fashion.”

“Ah, but they reversed the verdict.” He leaned back and said, “Gives me a satisfaction, Superintendent, to talk about my crime. Yes, I killed Lenora Hensley. I enjoyed it too. She was my woman, and she went with another man, so I slashed her to bits.” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, then his eyes locked with Serafina’s. “I enjoyed it. I did. I was ready to swing for it.”

“I’ve always thought it was one of the greatest miscarriages of justice when you were released on a technicality.”

“I’m sure you’d think so, but you can’t try a man twice for the same crime, and you can’t prove that I killed anyone, whoever it is.”

“You were seen in the same vicinity.”

“So were other people.”

Matthew Grant leaned forward and said, “You were also seen in the same neighborhood as Countess Margaret Acton, and we’re looking for a witness that will find you outside the residence of Lady Rachel Reis.”

Suddenly Felan began to laugh. “Oh, you think I’m the Slasher! Is that it?”

“That’s exactly what we think,” Matthew said grimly. “We’re going to prove it.”

“You won’t prove it. You might put me in the neighborhood, but we both know that’s not enough, don’t we, Superintendent?”

The interrogation went on, and Serafina sat there saying nothing. She had seen a piece of paper in the breast pocket of his prison uniform. At one point he took it out and waved it. “Look, I wrote this. This isn’t what a murderer would write, is it now, Lady Trent?”

Serafina took the piece of paper that he handed her and saw that it was a poem, a sonnet, and very well done too. “Did you write this?”

“Yes, I did. I’m a poet. One of the many facets of my character.”

“The Slasher leaves a poem wherever he kills.”

“I bet they weren’t in my handwriting.” Felan grinned. “You got a sample of it, Superintendent?”

Matthew fumbled into his pocket and came out with a note-book. “Yes, here is one of them.”

Felan read the poem that had been found by the bedside of the marchioness and snorted. “This is pure garbage! I wouldn’t be caught dead writing trash like this!” He tossed the book back, and Matthew caught it, his face reddened. “We can put you in the vicinity of two of the murders, and you write poetry. We searched your house too, Felan.”

“I’ll bet you did. Find any clues?”

“We found a knife with bloodstains on it, and on one of your jackets and a pair of trousers.”

“Of course you did. I’m a poacher. That’s rabbit blood on the knife and on the trousers too.”

Serafina saw that Matthew was disgruntled and was relieved when he turned and banged on the door. “Guard—guard, open the door.”

Serafina rose, and when the guard stepped inside, Felan said, “Better do all your talking to me. You’ll never pin any of these murders on me.”

“I’m going to try,” Matthew said grimly. He took one last look at the prisoner and then followed Serafina out.

They did not speak until they were out in the clear sunshine, and she turned to him. “What do you think, Matthew?”

“Be almost impossible to prove anything unless we get more evidence. We’ll keep checking though. We know he is a murderer. We know he killed a woman once in the same fashion that three women have died, so he’s our best suspect for the moment. I hope he’s guilty. He deserves to hang.”

When they got to her carriage, she suddenly turned and said, “I just had a thought, Matthew. It was too dark for me to see the murderer’s face that night the marchioness was killed, but I did see him come down from a considerable height. It would take quite a strong man, and agile, to do that, wouldn’t it?”

“I would think so. That window is at least twenty-five or thirty feet high. A man would break his neck if he slipped and fell.” He studied her. “What’s your idea?”

“I think we ought to get an expert to look at the Reis mansion and see if it’s possible to climb up that way and then to come back down.”

“That’s not a bad idea. You have someone in mind?”

“Monsieur Henley. He’s more or less a suspect himself, but I don’t think he’s guilty.”

“Neither do I. Come along. We’ll go to the circus.”

The sun was high in the sky as the four people stood looking up at the window on the second floor of the Reis mansion. The ceilings of all the rooms were very high, probably twelve to fourteen feet each, so by the time you accounted for a raised structure allowing windows to shine into the basement, Serafina estimated that the window of the marchioness’s room was at least forty feet off the ground. She turned and studied the face of Henley, who had come without argument, and then her glance shifted to his partner, Jeanne St. Clair.

“What do you think, Mr. Henley?” she asked. “Could a person climb that wall?”

Henley walked over to the stone house. There were crevices, and some of the stones protruded enough to get a handhold. He looked up thoughtfully and said, “This is really not my area, I’m afraid, Lady Trent. You should find someone who has done mountain climbing. That would be the kind of skill you would need here.”

But Serafina turned and pointed to a huge oak tree that grew some forty feet from the house. Branches spread in all directions. One of them, a large, strong branch, extended its length until the tip was within ten or twelve feet of the window. “Would it be possible to climb that tree, go out on that branch, and leap to the window?”

They all turned and looked. Matthew was surprised, for he had not thought of this. “I doubt if that could be done,” he said.

“I will try,” Henley volunteered. He walked over to the tree and grasped the lower branch. He climbed easily up to the limb in question, and then, standing upright, he walked out along the limb, but by the time he had gotten three-fourths of the way there, his weight pushed the limb down so that the tip was well below the level of the window to Lady Reis’s room. He moved farther, and the branch dipped still more. He looked down and called out, “Could not be done, I think. If the branch was higher, it might be possible.” He came skidding along the branch as if he were walking on a sidewalk, came down the tree, and then turned to say, “What do you think, Jeanne?”

“No, not on the branch. Couldn’t happen. The farther you get along there, the more it dips. Even my own weight would pull it down. There would be nothing to push off against. The branch would give.”

Henley was thoughtful. He stroked his chin and said, “Well, you’re from Switzerland. You’ve done some climbing in the Alps. Do you think you can climb that wall?”