The Body in the Library (3 page)

I

I
n his office at Much Benham, Colonel Melchett received and scrutinized the reports of his subordinates:

“… so it all seems clear enough, sir,” Inspector Slack was concluding: “Mrs. Bantry sat in the library after dinner and went to bed just before ten. She turned out the lights when she left the room and, presumably, no one entered the room afterwards. The servants went to bed at half-past ten and Lorrimer, after putting the drinks in the hall, went to bed at a quarter to eleven. Nobody heard anything out of the usual except the third housemaid, and she heard too much! Groans and a blood-curdling yell and sinister footsteps and I don't know what. The second housemaid who shares a room with her says the other girl slept all night through without a sound. It's those ones that make up things that cause us all the trouble.”

“What about the forced window?”

“Amateur job, Simmons says; done with a common chisel—ordinary pattern—wouldn't have made much noise. Ought to be a
chisel about the house but nobody can find it. Still, that's common enough where tools are concerned.”

“Think any of the servants know anything?”

Rather unwillingly Inspector Slack replied:

“No, sir, I don't think they do. They all seemed very shocked and upset. I had my suspicions of Lorrimer—reticent, he was, if you know what I mean—but I don't think there's anything in it.”

Melchett nodded. He attached no importance to Lorrimer's reticence. The energetic Inspector Slack often produced that effect on people he interrogated.

The door opened and Dr. Haydock came in.

“Thought I'd look in and give you the rough gist of things.”

“Yes, yes, glad to see you. Well?”

“Nothing much. Just what you'd think. Death was due to strangulation. Satin waistband of her own dress, which was passed round the neck and crossed at the back. Quite easy and simple to do. Wouldn't have needed great strength—that is, if the girl were taken by surprise. There are no signs of a struggle.”

“What about time of death?”

“Say, between ten o'clock and midnight.”

“You can't get nearer than that?”

Haydock shook his head with a slight grin.

“I won't risk my professional reputation. Not earlier than ten and not later than midnight.”

“And your own fancy inclines to which time?”

“Depends. There was a fire in the grate—the room was warm—all that would delay rigor and cadaveric stiffening.”

“Anything more you can say about her?”

“Nothing much. She was young—about seventeen or eighteen, I should say. Rather immature in some ways but well developed muscularly. Quite a healthy specimen. She was virgo intacta, by the way.”

And with a nod of his head the doctor left the room.

Melchett said to the Inspector:

“You're quite sure she'd never been seen before at Gossington?”

“The servants are positive of that. Quite indignant about it. They'd have remembered if they'd ever seen her about in the neighbourhood, they say.”

“I expect they would,” said Melchett. “Anyone of that type sticks out a mile round here. Look at that young woman of Blake's.”

“Pity it wasn't her,” said Slack; “then we should be able to get on a bit.”

“It seems to me this girl must have come down from London,” said the Chief Constable thoughtfully. “Don't believe there will be any local leads. In that case, I suppose, we should do well to call in the Yard. It's a case for them, not for us.”

“Something must have brought her down here, though,” said Slack. He added tentatively: “Seems to me, Colonel and Mrs. Bantry
must
know something—of course, I know they're friends of yours, sir—”

Colonel Melchett treated him to a cold stare. He said stiffly:

“You may rest assured that I'm taking every possibility into account.
Every
possibility.” He went on: “You've looked through the list of persons reported missing, I suppose?”

Slack nodded. He produced a typed sheet.

“Got 'em here. Mrs. Saunders, reported missing a week ago, dark-haired, blue-eyed, thirty-six. 'Tisn't her—and, anyway, every
one knows except her husband that she's gone off with a fellow from Leeds—commercial. Mrs. Barnard—she's sixty-five. Pamela Reeves, sixteen, missing from her home last night, had attended Girl Guide rally, dark-brown hair in pigtail, five feet five—”

Melchett said irritably:

“Don't go on reading idiotic details, Slack. This wasn't a schoolgirl. In my opinion—”

He broke off as the telephone rang. “Hallo—yes—yes, Much Benham Police Headquarters—what? Just a minute—”

He listened, and wrote rapidly. Then he spoke again, a new tone in his voice:

“Ruby Keene, eighteen, occupation professional dancer, five feet four inches, slender, platinum-blonde hair, blue eyes,
retroussé
nose, believed to be wearing white diamanté evening dress, silver sandal shoes. Is that right? What? Yes, not a doubt of it, I should say. I'll send Slack over at once.”

He rang off and looked at his subordinate with rising excitement. “We've got it, I think. That was the Glenshire Police” (Glenshire was the adjoining county). “Girl reported missing from the Majestic Hotel, Danemouth.”

“Danemouth,” said Inspector Slack. “That's more like it.”

Danemouth was a large and fashionable watering-place on the coast not far away.

“It's only a matter of eighteen miles or so from here,” said the Chief Constable. “The girl was a dance hostess or something at the Majestic. Didn't come on to do her turn last night and the management were very fed up about it. When she was still missing this morning one of the other girls got the wind up about her, or someone else did. It sounds a bit obscure. You'd better go over to
Danemouth at once, Slack. Report there to Superintendent Harper, and cooperate with him.”

II

Activity was always to Inspector Slack's taste. To rush off in a car, to silence rudely those people who were anxious to tell him things, to cut short conversations on the plea of urgent necessity. All this was the breath of life to Slack.

In an incredibly short time, therefore, he had arrived at Danemouth, reported at police headquarters, had a brief interview with a distracted and apprehensive hotel manager, and, leaving the latter with the doubtful comfort of—“got to make sure it
is
the girl, first, before we start raising the wind”—was driving back to Much Benham in company with Ruby Keene's nearest relative.

He had put through a short call to Much Benham before leaving Danemouth, so the Chief Constable was prepared for his arrival, though not perhaps for the brief introduction of: “This is Josie, sir.”

Colonel Melchett stared at his subordinate coldly. His feeling was that Slack had taken leave of his senses.

The young woman who had just got out of the car came to the rescue.

“That's what I'm known as professionally,” she explained with a momentary flash of large, handsome white teeth. “Raymond and Josie, my partner and I call ourselves, and, of course, all the hotel know me as Josie. Josephine Turner's my real name.”

Colonel Melchett adjusted himself to the situation and invited Miss Turner to sit down, meanwhile casting a swift, professional glance over her.

She was a good-looking young woman of perhaps nearer thirty than twenty, her looks depending more on skilful grooming than actual features. She looked competent and good-tempered, with plenty of common sense. She was not the type that would ever be described as glamorous, but she had nevertheless plenty of attraction. She was discreetly made-up and wore a dark tailor-made suit. Though she looked anxious and upset she was not, the Colonel decided, particularly grief-stricken.

As she sat down she said: “It seems too awful to be true. Do you really think it's Ruby?”

“That, I'm afraid, is what we've got to ask you to tell us. I'm afraid it may be rather unpleasant for you.”

Miss Turner said apprehensively:

“Does she—does she—look very terrible?”

“Well—I'm afraid it may be rather a shock to you.” He handed her his cigarette case and she accepted one gratefully.

“Do—do you want me to look at her right away?”

“It would be best, I think, Miss Turner. You see, it's not much good asking you questions until we're sure. Best get it over, don't you think?”

“All right.”

They drove down to the mortuary.

When Josie came out after a brief visit, she looked rather sick.

“It's Ruby all right,” she said shakily. “Poor kid! Goodness, I do feel queer. There isn't”—she looked round wistfully—“any gin?”

Gin was not available, but brandy was, and after gulping a little down Miss Turner regained her composure. She said frankly:

“It gives you a turn, doesn't it, seeing anything like that? Poor little Rube! What swine men are, aren't they?”

“You believe it was a man?”

Josie looked slightly taken aback.

“Wasn't it? Well, I mean—I naturally thought—”

“Any special man you were thinking of?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“No—not me. I haven't the least idea. Naturally Ruby wouldn't have let on to me if—”

“If what?”

Josie hesitated.

“Well—if she'd been—going about with anyone.”

Melchett shot her a keen glance. He said no more until they were back at his office. Then he began:

“Now, Miss Turner, I want all the information you can give me.”

“Yes, of course. Where shall I begin?”

“I'd like the girl's full name and address, her relationship to you and all you know about her.”

Josephine Turner nodded. Melchett was confirmed in his opinion that she felt no particular grief. She was shocked and distressed but no more. She spoke readily enough.

“Her name was Ruby Keene—her professional name, that is. Her real name was Rosy Legge. Her mother was my mother's cousin. I've known her all my life, but not particularly well, if you know what I mean. I've got a lot of cousins—some in business, some on the stage. Ruby was more or less training for a dancer. She had some good engagements last year in panto and that sort of thing. Not really classy, but good provincial companies. Since then she's been engaged as one of the dancing partners at the Palais de Danse in Brixwell—South London. It's a nice respectable place and they look after the girls well, but there isn't much money in it.” She paused.

Colonel Melchett nodded.

“Now this is where I come in. I've been dance and bridge hostess at the Majestic in Danemouth for three years. It's a good job, well paid and pleasant to do. You look after people when they arrive—size them up, of course—some like to be left alone and others are lonely and want to get into the swing of things. You try to get the right people together for bridge and all that, and get the young people dancing with each other. It needs a bit of tact and experience.”

Again Melchett nodded. He thought that this girl would be good at her job; she had a pleasant, friendly way with her and was, he thought, shrewd without being in the least intellectual.

“Besides that,” continued Josie, “I do a couple of exhibition dances every evening with Raymond. Raymond Starr—he's the tennis and dancing pro. Well, as it happens, this summer I slipped on the rocks bathing one day and gave my ankle a nasty turn.”

Melchett had noticed that she walked with a slight limp.

“Naturally that put the stop to dancing for a bit and it was rather awkward. I didn't want the hotel to get someone else in my place. That's always a danger”—for a minute her good-natured blue eyes were hard and sharp; she was the female fighting for existence—“that they may queer your pitch, you see. So I thought of Ruby and suggested to the manager that I should get her down. I'd carry on with the hostess business and the bridge and all that. Ruby would just take on the dancing. Keep it in the family, if you see what I mean?”

Melchett said he saw.

“Well, they agreed, and I wired to Ruby and she came down. Rather a chance for her. Much better class than anything she'd ever done before. That was about a month ago.”

Colonel Melchett said:

“I understand. And she was a success?”

“Oh, yes,” Josie said carelessly, “she went down quite well. She doesn't dance as well as I do, but Raymond's clever and carried her through, and she was quite nice-looking, you know—slim and fair and baby-looking. Overdid the makeup a bit—I was always on at her about that. But you know what girls are. She was only eighteen, and at that age they always go and overdo it. It doesn't do for a good-class place like the Majestic. I was always ticking her off about it and getting her to tone it down.”

Melchett asked: “People liked her?”

“Oh, yes. Mind you, Ruby hadn't got much comeback. She was a bit dumb. She went down better with the older men than with the young ones.”

“Had she got any special friend?”

The girl's eyes met his with complete understanding.

“Not in the way
you
mean. Or, at any rate, not that
I
knew about. But then, you see, she wouldn't tell me.”

Just for a moment Melchett wondered why not—Josie did not give the impression of being a strict disciplinarian. But he only said: “Will you describe to me now when you last saw your cousin.”

“Last night. She and Raymond do two exhibition dances—one at 10:30 and the other at midnight. They finished the first one. After it, I noticed Ruby dancing with one of the young men staying in the hotel. I was playing bridge with some people in the lounge. There's a glass panel between the lounge and the ballroom. That's the last time I saw her. Just after midnight Raymond came up in a terrible taking, said where was Ruby, she hadn't turned up, and it was time to begin. I
was
vexed, I can tell you! That's the sort of silly
thing girls do and get the management's backs up and then they get the sack! I went up with him to her room, but she wasn't there. I noticed that she'd changed. The dress she'd been dancing in—a sort of pink, foamy thing with full skirts—was lying over a chair. Usually she kept the same dress on unless it was the special dance night—Wednesdays, that is.