The Body in the Library (7 page)

“Tuesday? Tuesday? No, we were back late. Went over to Harden Head and had dinner on the way back.”

Melchett said:

“Ruby Keene never mentioned the Bantrys to you?”

Jefferson shook his head.

“Never. Don't believe she knew them. Sure she didn't. She didn't know anybody but theatrical folk and that sort of thing.” He paused and then asked abruptly:

“What's Bantry got to say about it?”

“He can't account for it in the least. He was out at a Conservative meeting last night. The body was discovered this morning. He says he's never seen the girl in his life.”

Jefferson nodded. He said:

“It certainly seems fantastic.”

Superintendent Harper cleared his throat. He said:

“Have you any idea at all, sir, who can have done this?”

“Good God, I wish I had!” The veins stood out on his forehead. “It's incredible, unimaginable! I'd say it couldn't have happened, if it hadn't happened!”

“There's no friend of hers—from her past life—no man hanging about—or threatening her?”

“I'm sure there isn't. She'd have told me if so. She's never had a regular ‘boyfriend.' She told me so herself.”

Superintendent Harper thought:

“Yes, I dare say that's what
she
told you! But that's as may be!”

Conway Jefferson went on:

“Josie would know better than anyone if there had been some man hanging about Ruby or pestering her. Can't she help?”

“She says not.”

Jefferson said, frowning:

“I can't help feeling it must be the work of some maniac—the brutality of the method—breaking into a country house—the whole thing so unconnected and senseless. There are men of that type, men outwardly sane, but who decoy girls—sometimes children—away and kill them. Sexual crimes really, I suppose.”

Harper said:

“Oh, yes, there are such cases, but we've no knowledge of anyone of that kind operating in this neighbourhood.”

Jefferson went on:

“I've thought over all the various men I've seen with Ruby. Guests here and outsiders—men she'd danced with. They all seem harmless enough—the usual type. She had no special friend of any kind.”

Superintendent Harper's face remained quite impassive, but unseen by Conway Jefferson there was still a speculative glint in his eye.

It was quite possible, he thought, that Ruby Keene might have
had a special friend even though Conway Jefferson did not know about it.

He said nothing, however. The Chief Constable gave him a glance of inquiry and then rose to his feet. He said:

“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. That's all we need for the present.”

Jefferson said:

“You'll keep me informed of your progress?”

“Yes, yes, we'll keep in touch with you.”

The two men went out.

Conway Jefferson leaned back in his chair.

His eyelids came down and veiled the fierce blue of his eyes. He looked suddenly a very tired man.

Then, after a minute or two, the lids flickered. He called: “Edwards!”

From the next room the valet appeared promptly. Edwards knew his master as no one else did. Others, even his nearest, knew only his strength. Edwards knew his weakness. He had seen Conway Jefferson tired, discouraged, weary of life, momentarily defeated by infirmity and loneliness.

“Yes, sir?”

Jefferson said:

“Get on to Sir Henry Clithering. He's at Melborne Abbas. Ask him, from me, to get here today if he can, instead of tomorrow. Tell him it's urgent.”

I

W
hen they were outside Jefferson's door, Superintendent Harper said:

“Well, for what it's worth, we've got a motive, sir.”

“H'm,” said Melchett. “Fifty thousand pounds, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Murder's been done for a good deal less than that.”

“Yes, but—”

Colonel Melchett left the sentence unfinished. Harper, however, understood him.

“You don't think it's likely in this case? Well, I don't either, as far as that goes. But it's got to be gone into all the same.”

“Oh, of course.”

Harper went on:

“If, as Mr. Jefferson says, Mr. Gaskell and Mrs. Jefferson are already well provided for and in receipt of a comfortable income, well, it's not likely they'd set out to do a brutal murder.”

“Quite so. Their financial standing will have to be investigated, of course. Can't say I like the appearance of Gaskell much—looks a
sharp, unscrupulous sort of fellow—but that's a long way from making him out a murderer.”

“Oh, yes, sir, as I say, I don't think it's
likely
to be either of them, and from what Josie said I don't see how it would have been humanly possible. They were both playing bridge from twenty minutes to eleven until midnight. No, to my mind there's another possibility much more likely.”

Melchett said: “Boy friend of Ruby Keene's?”

“That's it, sir. Some disgruntled young fellow—not too strong in the head, perhaps. Someone, I'd say, she knew before she came here. This adoption scheme, if he got wise to it, may just have put the lid on things. He saw himself losing her, saw her being removed to a different sphere of life altogether, and he went mad and blind with rage. He got her to come out and meet him last night, had a row with her over it, lost his head completely and did her in.”

“And how did she come to be in Bantry's library?”

“I think that's feasible. They were out, say, in his car at the time. He came to himself, realized what he'd done, and his first thought was how to get rid of the body. Say they were near the gates of a big house at the time. The idea comes to him that if she's found there the hue and cry will centre round the house and its occupants and will leave him comfortably out of it. She's a little bit of a thing. He could easily carry her. He's got a chisel in the car. He forces a window and plops her down on the hearthrug. Being a strangling case, there's no blood or mess to give him away in the car. See what I mean, sir?”

“Oh, yes, Harper, it's all perfectly possible. But there's still one thing to be done.
Cherchez l'homme.
”

“What? Oh, very good, sir.”

Superintendent Harper tactfully applauded his superior's joke, although, owing to the excellence of Colonel Melchett's French accent he almost missed the sense of the words.

II

“Oh—er—I say—er—c-could I speak to you a minute?” It was George Bartlett who thus waylaid the two men. Colonel Melchett, who was not attracted to Mr. Bartlett and who was anxious to see how Slack had got on with the investigation of the girl's room and the questioning of the chambermaids, barked sharply:

“Well, what is it—what is it?”

Young Mr. Bartlett retreated a step or two, opening and shutting his mouth and giving an unconscious imitation of a fish in a tank.

“Well—er—probably isn't important, don't you know—thought I ought to tell you. Matter of fact, can't find my car.”

“What do you mean, can't find your car?”

Stammering a good deal, Mr. Bartlett explained that what he meant was that he couldn't find his car.

Superintendent Harper said:

“Do you mean it's been stolen?”

George Bartlett turned gratefully to the more placid voice.

“Well, that's just it, you know. I mean, one can't tell, can one? I mean someone may just have buzzed off in it, not meaning any harm, if you know what I mean.”

“When did you last see it, Mr. Bartlett?”

“Well, I was tryin' to remember. Funny how difficult it is to remember anything, isn't it?”

Colonel Melchett said coldly:

“Not, I should think, to a normal intelligence. I understood you to say just now that it was in the courtyard of the hotel last night—”

Mr. Bartlett was bold enough to interrupt. He said:

“That's just it—was it?”

“What do you mean by ‘was it'? You said it
was.
”

“Well—I mean I
thought
it was. I mean—well, I didn't go out and look, don't you see?”

Colonel Melchett sighed. He summoned all his patience. He said:

“Let's get this quite clear. When was the last time you saw—actually
saw
your car? What make is it, by the way?”

“Minoan 14.”

“And you last saw it—when?”

George Bartlett's Adam's apple jerked convulsively up and down.

“Been trying to think. Had it before lunch yesterday. Was going for a spin in the afternoon. But somehow, you know how it is, went to sleep instead. Then, after tea, had a game of squash and all that, and a bathe afterwards.”

“And the car was then in the courtyard of the hotel?”

“Suppose so. I mean, that's where I'd put it. Thought, you see, I'd take someone for a spin. After dinner, I mean. But it wasn't my lucky evening. Nothing doing. Never took the old bus out after all.”

Harper said:

“But, as far as you knew, the car was still in the courtyard?”

“Well, naturally. I mean, I'd put it there—what?”

“Would you have noticed if it had
not
been there?”

Mr. Bartlett shook his head.

“Don't think so, you know. Lots of cars going and coming and all that. Plenty of Minoans.”

Superintendent Harper nodded. He had just cast a casual glance out of the window. There were at that moment no less than eight Minoan 14s in the courtyard—it was the popular cheap car of the year.

“Aren't you in the habit of putting your car away at night?” asked Colonel Melchett.

“Don't usually bother,” said Mr. Bartlett. “Fine weather and all that, you know. Such a fag putting a car away in a garage.”

Glancing at Colonel Melchett, Superintendent Harper said: “I'll join you upstairs, sir. I'll just get hold of Sergeant Higgins and he can take down particulars from Mr. Bartlett.”

“Right, Harper.”

Mr. Bartlett murmured wistfully:

“Thought I ought to let you know, you know. Might be important, what?”

III

Mr. Prestcott had supplied his additional dancer with board and lodging. Whatever the board, the lodging was the poorest the hotel possessed.

Josephine Turner and Ruby Keene had occupied rooms at the extreme end of a mean and dingy little corridor. The rooms were small, faced north on to a portion of the cliff that backed the hotel, and were furnished with the odds and ends of suites that had once, some thirty years ago, represented luxury and magnificence in the best suites. Now, when the hotel had been modernized and the bed
rooms supplied with built-in receptacles for clothes, these large Victorian oak and mahogany wardrobes were relegated to those rooms occupied by the hotel's resident staff, or given to guests in the height of the season when all the rest of the hotel was full.

As Melchett saw at once, the position of Ruby Keene's room was ideal for the purpose of leaving the hotel without being observed, and was particularly unfortunate from the point of view of throwing light on the circumstances of that departure.

At the end of the corridor was a small staircase which led down to an equally obscure corridor on the ground floor. Here there was a glass door which led out on to the side terrace of the hotel, an unfrequented terrace with no view. You could go from it to the main terrace in front, or you could go down a winding path and come out in a lane that eventually rejoined the cliff road farther along. Its surface being bad, it was seldom used.

Inspector Slack had been busy harrying chambermaids and examining Ruby's room for clues. He had been lucky enough to find the room exactly as it had been left the night before.

Ruby Keene had not been in the habit of rising early. Her usual procedure, Slack discovered, was to sleep until about ten or half-past and then ring for breakfast. Consequently, since Conway Jefferson had begun his representations to the manager very early, the police had taken charge of things before the chambermaids had touched the room. They had actually not been down that corridor at all. The other rooms there, at this season of the year, were only opened and dusted once a week.

“That's all to the good as far as it goes,” Slack explained gloomily. “It means that if there
were
anything to find we'd find it, but there isn't anything.”

The Glenshire police had already been over the room for fingerprints, but there were none unaccounted for. Ruby's own, Josie's, and the two chambermaids—one on the morning and one on the evening shift. There were also a couple of prints made by Raymond Starr, but these were accounted for by his story that he had come up with Josie to look for Ruby when she did not appear for the midnight exhibition dance.

There had been a heap of letters and general rubbish in the pigeonholes of the massive mahogany desk in the corner. Slack had just been carefully sorting through them. But he had found nothing of a suggestive nature. Bills, receipts, theatre programmes, cinema stubs, newspaper cuttings, beauty hints torn from magazines. Of the letters there were some from “Lil,” apparently a friend from the Palais de Danse, recounting various affairs and gossip, saying they “missed Rube a lot. Mr. Findeison asked after you ever so often! Quite put out, he is! Young Reg has taken up with May now you've gone. Barny asks after you now and then. Things going much as usual. Old Grouser still as mean as ever with us girls. He ticked off Ada for going about with a fellow.”

Slack had carefully noted all the names mentioned. Inquiries would be made—and it was possible some useful information might come to light. To this Colonel Melchett agreed; so did Superintendent Harper, who had joined them. Otherwise the room had little to yield in the way of information.

Across a chair in the middle of the room was the foamy pink dance frock Ruby had worn early in the evening with a pair of pink satin high-heeled shoes kicked off carelessly on the floor. Two sheer silk stockings were rolled into a ball and flung down. One had a ladder in it. Melchett recalled that the dead girl had had bare feet
and legs. This, Slack learned, was her custom. She used makeup on her legs instead of stockings and only sometimes wore stockings for dancing, by this means saving expense. The wardrobe door was open and showed a variety of rather flashy evening dresses and a row of shoes below. There was some soiled underwear in the clothes-basket, some nail parings, soiled face-cleaning tissue and bits of cotton wool stained with rouge and nail-polish in the wastepaper basket—in fact, nothing out of the ordinary! The facts seemed plain to read. Ruby Keene had hurried upstairs, changed her clothes and hurried off again—
where?

Josephine Turner, who might be supposed to know most of Ruby's life and friends, had proved unable to help. But this, as Inspector Slack pointed out, might be natural.

“If what you tell me is true, sir—about this adoption business, I mean—well, Josie would be all for Ruby breaking with any old friends she might have and who might queer the pitch, so to speak. As I see it, this invalid gentleman gets all worked up about Ruby Keene being such a sweet, innocent, childish little piece of goods. Now, supposing Ruby's got a tough boy friend—that won't go down so well with the old boy. So it's Ruby's business to keep that dark. Josie doesn't know much about the girl anyway—not about her friends and all that. But one thing she wouldn't stand for—Ruby's messing up things by carrying on with some undesirable fellow. So it stands to reason that Ruby (who, as I see it, was a sly little piece!) would keep very dark about seeing any old friend. She wouldn't let on to Josie anything about it—otherwise Josie would say: ‘No, you don't, my girl.' But you know what girls are—especially young ones—always ready to make a fool of themselves over a tough guy.
Ruby wants to see him. He comes down here, cuts up rough about the whole business, and wrings the girl's neck.”

“I expect you're right, Slack,” said Colonel Melchett, disguising his usual repugnance for the unpleasant way Slack had of putting things. “If so, we ought to be able to discover this tough friend's identity fairly easily.”

“You leave it to me, sir,” said Slack with his usual confidence. “I'll get hold of this ‘Lil' girl at that Palais de Danse place and turn her right inside out. We'll soon get at the truth.”

Colonel Melchett wondered if they would. Slack's energy and activity always made him feel tired.

“There's one other person you might be able to get a tip from, sir,” went on Slack, “and that's the dance and tennis pro fellow. He must have seen a lot of her and he'd know more than Josie would. Likely enough she'd loosen her tongue a bit to him.”

“I have already discussed that point with Superintendent Harper.”

“Good, sir.
I've
done the chambermaids pretty thoroughly! They don't know a thing. Looked down on these two, as far as I can make out. Scamped the service as much as they dared. Chambermaid was in here last at seven o'clock last night, when she turned down the bed and drew the curtains and cleared up a bit. There's a bathroom next door, if you'd like to see it?”

The bathroom was situated between Ruby's room and the slightly larger room occupied by Josie. It was illuminating. Colonel Melchett silently marvelled at the amount of aids to beauty that women could use. Rows of jars of face cream, cleansing cream, vanishing cream, skin-feeding cream! Boxes of different shades of pow
der. An untidy heap of every variety of lipstick. Hair lotions and “brightening” applications. Eyelash black, mascara, blue stain for under the eyes, at least twelve different shades of nail varnish, face tissues, bits of cotton wool, dirty powder-puffs. Bottles of lotions—astringent, tonic, soothing, etc.