The Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection (107 page)

“Then there was Nurse Warriner who kept a Home for elderly people. They made over what means they had to her, and were guaranteed a comfortable old age until death came—But death did not delay very long. There, too, it was morphia that was administered—a very kindly woman, but with no scruples—she regarded herself, I believe, as a benefactor.”

“You've no idea, if your surmise about these deaths is true, who it could be?”

“No. There seems no pointer of any kind. Taking the view that the killer is probably insane, insanity is a very difficult thing to recognize in some of its manifestations. Is it somebody, shall we say, who dislikes elderly people, who had been injured or has had her life ruined or so she thinks, by somebody elderly? Or is it possibly someone who has her own ideas of mercy killing and thinks that everyone over sixty years of age should be kindly exterminated. It could be anyone, of course. A patient? Or a member of the staff—a nurse or a domestic worker?

“I have discussed this at great length with Millicent Packard who runs the place. She is a highly competent woman, shrewd, businesslike, with keen supervision both of the guests there and of her own staff. She insists that she has no suspicion and no clue whatever and I am sure that is perfectly true.”

“But why come to me? What can I do?”

“Your aunt, Miss Fanshawe, was a resident there for some years—she was a woman of very considerable mental capacity, though she often pretended otherwise. She had unconventional ways of amusing herself by putting on an appearance of senility. But she was actually very much all there—What I want you to try and do, Mr. Beresford, is to think hard—you and your wife, too—Is there anything you can remember that Miss Fanshawe ever said or hinted, that might give us a clue—Something she had seen or noticed, something that someone had told her, something that she herself had thought peculiar. Old ladies see and notice a lot, and a really shrewd one like Miss Fanshawe would know a surprising amount of what went on in a place like Sunny Ridge. These old ladies are not busy, you see, they have all the time in the world to look around them and make deductions—and even jump to conclusions—that may seem fantastic, but are sometimes, surprisingly, entirely correct.”

Tommy shook his head.

“I know what you mean—But I can't remember anything of that kind.”

“Your wife's away from home, I gather. You don't think she might remember something that hadn't struck you?”

“I'll ask her—but I doubt it.” He hesitated, then made up his mind. “Look here, there was something that worried my wife—about one of the old ladies, a Mrs. Lancaster.”

“Mrs. Lancaster? Yes?”

“My wife's got it into her head that Mrs. Lancaster has been taken away by some so-called relations very suddenly. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Lancaster gave a picture to my aunt as a present, and my wife felt that she ought to offer to return the picture to Mrs. Lancaster, so she tried to get in touch with her to know if Mrs. Lancaster would like the picture returned to her.”

“Well, that was very thoughtful of Mrs. Beresford, I'm sure.”

“Only she found it very hard to get in touch with her. She got the address of the hotel where they were supposed to be staying—Mrs. Lancaster and her relations—but nobody of that name had been staying there or had booked rooms there.”

“Oh? That was rather odd.”

“Yes. Tuppence thought it was rather odd, too. They had left no other forwarding address at Sunny Ridge. In fact, we have made several attempts to get in touch with Mrs. Lancaster, or with this Mrs.—Johnson I think the name was—but have been quite unable to get in touch with them. There was a solicitor who I believe paid all the bills—and made all the arrangements with Miss Packard and we got into communication with him. But he could only give me the address of a bank. Banks,” said Tommy drily, “don't give you any information.”

“Not if they've been told not to by their clients, I agree.”

“My wife wrote to Mrs. Lancaster care of the bank, and also to Mrs. Johnson, but she's never had any reply.”

“That seems a little unusual. Still, people don't always answer letters. They may have gone abroad.”

“Quite so—it didn't worry me. But it has worried my wife. She seems convinced that something has happened to Mrs. Lancaster. In fact, during the time I was away from home, she said she was going to investigate further—I don't know what exactly she meant to do, perhaps see the hotel personally, or the bank, or try the solicitor. Anyway, she was going to try and get a little more information.”

Dr. Murray looked at him politely, but with a trace of patient boredom in his manner.

“What did she think exactly—?”

“She thinks that Mrs. Lancaster is in danger of some kind—even that something may have happened to her.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

“Oh! really, I should hardly think—”

“This may seem quite idiotic to you,” said Tommy, “but you see, my wife rang up saying she would be back yesterday evening—and—
she didn't arrive.
”

“She said definitely that she
was
coming back?”

“Yes. She knew I was coming home, you see, from this conference business. So she rang up to let our man, Albert, know that she'd be back to dinner.”

“And that seems to you an unlikely thing for her to do?” said Murray. He was now looking at Tommy with some interest.

“Yes,” said Tommy. “It's
very
unlike Tuppence. If she'd been delayed or changed her plans she would have rung up again or sent a telegram.”

“And you're worried about her?”

“Yes, I am,” said Tommy.

“H'm! Have you consulted the police?”

“No,” said Tommy. “What'd the police think? It's not as though I had any reason to believe that she is in trouble or danger or anything of that kind. I mean, if she'd had an accident or was in a hospital, anything like that, somebody would communicate with me soon enough, wouldn't they?”

“I should say so—yes—if she had some means of identification on her.”

“She'd have her driving licence on her. Probably letters and various other things.”

Dr. Murray frowned.

Tommy went on in a rush:

“And now you come along—And bring up all this business of Sunny Ridge—People who've died when they oughtn't to have died. Supposing this old bean got on to something—saw something, or suspected something—and began chattering about it—She'd have to be silenced in some way, so she was whisked out of it quickly, and taken off to some place or other where she wouldn't be traced. I can't help feeling that the whole thing ties up somehow—”

“It's odd—it's certainly odd—What do you propose to do next?”

“I'm going to do a bit of searching myself—Try these solicitors first—They may be quite all right, but I'd like to have a look at them, and draw my own conclusions.”

Twelve

T
OMMY
M
EETS
AN
O
LD
F
RIEND

F
rom the opposite side of the road, Tommy surveyed the premises of Messrs. Partingdale, Harris, Lockeridge and Partingdale.

They looked eminently respectable and old-fashioned. The brass plate was well worn but nicely polished. He crossed the street and passed through swing doors to be greeted by the muted note of typewriters at full speed.

He addressed himself to an open mahogany window on his right which bore the legend
INQUIRIES
—

Inside was a small room where three women were typing and two male clerks were bending over desks copying documents.

There was a faint, musty atmosphere with a decidedly legal flavour.

A woman of thirty-five odd, with a severe air, faded blonde hair, and pince-nez rose from her typewriter and came to the window.

“Can I help you?”

“I would like to see Mr. Eccles.”

The woman's air of severity redoubled.

“Have you an appointment?”

“I'm afraid not. I'm just passing through London today.”

“I'm afraid Mr. Eccles is rather busy this morning. Perhaps another member of the firm—”

“It was Mr. Eccles I particularly wanted to see. I have already had some correspondence with him.”

“Oh I see. Perhaps you'll give me your name.”

Tommy gave his name and address and the blonde woman retired to confer with the telephone on her desk. After a murmured conversation she returned.

“The clerk will show you into the waiting room. Mr. Eccles will be able to see you in about ten minutes' time.”

Tommy was ushered into a waiting room which had a bookcase of rather ancient and ponderous-looking law tomes and a round table covered with various financial papers. Tommy sat there and went over in his own mind his planned methods of approach. He wondered what Mr. Eccles would be like. When he was shown in at last and Mr. Eccles rose from a desk to receive him, he decided for no particular reason that he could name to himself that he did not like Mr. Eccles. He also wondered why he did not like Mr. Eccles. There seemed no valid reason for dislike. Mr. Eccles was a man of between forty and fifty with greyish hair thinning a little at the temples. He had a long rather sad-looking face with a particularly wooden expression, shrewd eyes, and quite a pleasant smile which from time to time rather unexpectedly broke up the natural melancholy of his countenance.

“Mr. Beresford?”

“Yes. It is really rather a trifling matter, but my wife has been worried about it. She wrote to you, I believe, or possibly she may have rung you up, to know if you could give her the address of a Mrs. Lancaster.”

“Mrs. Lancaster,” said Mr. Eccles, retaining a perfect poker face. It was not even a question. He just left the name hanging in the air.

“A cautious man,” thought Tommy, “but then it's second nature for lawyers to be cautious. In fact, if they were one's own lawyers one would prefer them to be cautious.”

He went on:

“Until lately living at a place called Sunny Ridge, an establishment—and a very good one—for elderly ladies. In fact, an aunt of my own was there and was extremely happy and comfortable.”

“Oh yes, of course, of course. I remember now. Mrs. Lancaster. She is, I think, no longer living there? That is right, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Tommy.

“At the moment I do not exactly recall—” he stretched out a hand towards the telephone—“I will just refresh my memory—”

“I can tell you quite simply,” said Tommy. “My wife wanted Mrs. Lancaster's address because she happens to be in possession of a piece of property which originally belonged to Mrs. Lancaster. A picture, in fact. It was given by Mrs. Lancaster as a present to my aunt, Miss Fanshawe. My aunt died recently, and her few possessions have come into our keeping. This included the picture which was given her by Mrs. Lancaster. My wife likes it very much but she feels rather guilty about it. She thinks that it may be a picture Mrs. Lancaster values and in that case she feels she ought to offer to return it to Mrs. Lancaster.”

“Ah, I see,” said Mr. Eccles. “It is very conscientious of your wife, I am sure.”

“One never knows,” said Tommy, smiling pleasantly, “what elderly people may feel about their possessions. She may have been glad for my aunt to have it since my aunt admired it, but as my aunt died very soon after having received this gift, it seems, perhaps, a little unfair that it should pass into the possession of strangers. There is no particular title on the picture. It represents a house somewhere in the country. For all I know it may be some family house associated with Mrs. Lancaster.”

“Quite, quite,” said Mr. Eccles, “but I don't think—”

There was a knock and the door opened and a clerk entered and produced a sheet of paper which he placed before Mr. Eccles. Mr. Eccles looked down.

“Ah yes, ah yes, I remember now. Yes, I believe Mrs.—” he glanced down at Tommy's card lying on his desk—“Beresford rang up and had a few words with me. I advised her to get into touch with the Southern Counties Bank, Hammersmith branch. This is the only address I myself know. Letters addressed to the bank's address, care of Mrs. Richard Johnson would be forwarded. Mrs. Johnson is, I believe, a niece or distant cousin of Mrs. Lancaster's and it was Mrs. Johnson who made all the arrangements with me for Mrs. Lancaster's reception at Sunny Ridge. She asked me to make full inquiries about the establishment, since she had only heard about it casually from a friend. We did so, I can assure you, most carefully. It was said to be an excellent establishment and I believe Mrs. Johnson's relative, Mrs. Lancaster, spent several years there quite happily.”

“She left there, though, rather suddenly,” Tommy suggested.

“Yes. Yes, I believe she did. Mrs. Johnson, it seems, returned rather unexpectedly recently from East Africa—so many people have done so! She and her husband had, I believe, resided in Kenya for many years. They were making various new arrangements and felt able to assume personal care of their elderly relative. I am afraid I have no knowledge of Mrs. Johnson's present whereabouts. I had a letter from her thanking me and settling accounts she owed, and directing that if there was any necessity for communicating with her I should address my letters care of the bank as she was undecided as yet where she and her husband would actually be residing. I am afraid, Mr. Beresford, that that is all I know.”

His manner was gentle but firm. It displayed no embarrassment of any kind nor disturbance. But the finality of his voice was very definite. Then he unbent and his manner softened a little.

“I shouldn't really worry, you know, Mr. Beresford,” he said reassuringly. “Or rather, I shouldn't let your wife worry. Mrs. Lancaster, I believe, is quite an old lady and inclined to be forgetful. She's probably forgotten all about this picture that she gave away. She is, I believe, seventy-five or seventy-six years of age. One forgets very easily at that age, you know.”