The Murder on the Enriqueta: A Golden Age Mystery Page 6

  “You’ve got me,” he said laconically, as he rose to his feet.

  Later, when they had boarded the London train, he permitted himself to smile.

  “How did you like Buenos Aires?” he asked artlessly. “I heard you’d been there.”

  “Interesting place,” was Shand’s urbane rejoinder. “Brighton’s more handy, though, for my purposes.”

  “I’ll let you have a card next time. Too bad we should have missed each other. You’re a sticker all right. I’ll say that.”

  He took a handsome crocodile case from his pocket and chose a cigar with the care of one to whom cigars will soon be only a wistful memory. Its quality was such that Shand hastily produced a pipe in sheer self-defence. For a time the two men smoked in silence, then Shand leaned forward.

  “Piper, what do you know about Smith?” he asked quietly.

  Long Peter’s face became, if anything, a trifle more bland than before.

  “I seem to know the name,” he admitted, with exaggerated candour. “Any particular Smith? Or are you just looking up the family?”

  “This particular Smith was found dead on board the Enriqueta, and we’ve reason to believe that he’d been seen with you in Buenos Aires.”

  Shand did not mention the fact that Smith had been in possession of several of Piper’s most convincing forgeries, and had passed them off successfully almost immediately before he was killed. He knew that any attempt to elicit information about the murdered man’s associates would meet with a blank wall should the forger suspect that any admission on his part might be used against him. As it was, it became evident that he was giving nothing away.

  “I work alone, and everybody knows it; that’s to say, I did in the old days before I began to go straight. I’ve been looking after my old mother at Brighton for the last month, and I can prove it.”

  Shand did not argue the matter.

  “I don’t want you for anything that’s happened at Brighton, though I admit that I’d like to meet that old mother of yours. Just at the moment it’s Smith I’m interested in.”

  “I can’t call to mind any Smith, though, of course, one runs up against them now and then. You can’t help it with a name like that. What’s his graft, anyway? If it’s passing slush, I don’t hold with it.”

  “That’s just what I’m asking you.”

  Long Peter shook his head.

  “I’m no ‘nose,’ and you know it,” he announced virtuously. “As for who killed him, I tell you honestly, Mr. Shand, I don’t know, and I haven’t come across anybody that does.”

  Shand, tactfully ignoring the fact that a few minutes before Long Peter had denied any knowledge of the associates of the man in question, continued to pursue his patient inquiries.

  He was aware that, for all his protestations, Piper would have no compunction in telling what he knew, provided it did not affect his own safety.

  “Was he the sort of man to make enemies?” he asked.

  “Everybody makes enemies,” answered Piper sanctimoniously. “I can imagine somebody having a grudge even against you, Mr. Shand. As for Smith, I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. I did meet him once, but I didn’t know him, if you understand me. He was introduced to me.”

  “By whom?” snapped Shand.

  Long Peter looked hurt.

  “How you do take one up,” he said plaintively. “We were introduced, as I said, but the man that did it was no friend of mine. Strelinski, I think his name was, but I wouldn’t be sure. He seemed to be a pal of Smith’s.”

  “A pal of Smith’s, eh? What did he look like?”

  “Fair, middle-sized chap, with very light hair. Looked like one of those dance-hall lizards. He and Smith were pretty thick at one time, so I was told.”

  “Was there any rumour of a quarrel between him and Smith?”

  Long Peter shook his head.

  “Not that I ever heard of.”

  He gave himself up to the enjoyment of his rank cigar, and Shand, convinced that there was nothing to be gained by further questioning, let the subject drop. After a pause, however, his prisoner suddenly volunteered a statement.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said meditatively. “Strelinski wasn’t in Buenos Aires when Smith was killed. He left shortly after I did.”

  “By sea?”

  But Long Peter was not to be drawn so easily.

  “That’s for you to find out, Mr. Shand. How should I know? But he left all right.”

  “How do you know?”

  A slow grin spread across Long Peter’s saturnine face. “From information received, Mr. Shand,” he vouchsafed demurely.

  CHAPTER VI

  Mellish, comfortably ensconced in front of the fire in his study, cocked his head and listened. As he did so it became increasingly evident that he had been right in his diagnosis of the disquieting sound that had reached him from the far regions of the pantry. He could hear Jervis’s discreet tread in the hall, then the click of the latch of the front door as he opened it.

  Mellish’s usually placid face clouded with annoyance. He had breakfasted late, according to his custom, and, after a glance at the bleak March day outside, had decided to devote the morning to a careful revisal of his collection of etchings. He had come to what was, for him, a momentous decision. If he were to buy the Rembrandt he coveted, some of the small fry would have to go. There was a demand for them in America, and the price they would fetch would place the Rembrandt easily within his reach. But he hated parting with even the smallest item in his collection, and as he sat there in his most roomy armchair, a huge portfolio on his knees, and an ever-growing pile of discarded proofs by his side, he was in one of his rare fits of thorough bad temper. Jervis, who showed a positive genius for anticipating his master’s moods, opened the door.

  “Miss Summers, sir,” he announced gloomily.

  Mellish finished his examination of an etching, decided that he could not bring himself to part with it, and returned it to the portfolio.

  “Show her in,” he said testily. “And, Jervis, take this.”

  Jervis relieved him of the portfolio, and Mellish heaved himself out of the chair and made his ponderous way to the door to greet Carol.

  “Now, what do you want?” he growled, eyeing her with mingled affection and irritation.

  It was exactly a week since Carol had returned from the south of France, and she had spent most of that week in baiting Jasper Mellish, a pastime which afforded them both a good deal of innocent pleasure. But in spite of his readiness to make a joke of the whole thing, Mellish was genuinely worried about Carol’s future. In a month’s time she would come of age and be her own mistress, and he had tried in vain to persuade her to look out for a suitable house in which to spend the spring and early summer, and, a thing still more important in his eyes, make a selection from among the several very eligible ladies who were prepared to live with her and pilot her through the intricacies of a London season.

  Instead of listening to his unanswerable arguments, she had met them with the most fantastic and, in his eyes, outrageous schemes of her own. But a few days before she had announced her intention of hiring a motor caravan and taking it over to France and thence to Spain; the alternative to this, he gathered, being an expedition to some island off the extreme north coast of Scotland, where a friend, whose sex she discreetly omitted to state, was conducting archaeological researches.

  Mellish played up to her, and having argued the matter with zest, told her to go her own wicked way. One stipulation, however, he did make: March 28th was to find her in London for the celebration of her coming of age. On that date he proposed formally to hand over to her the property which would make her one of the richest women in England.

  So far she had taken no steps towards the carrying out of any of her wild schemes, and he had enough trust in her common-sense to feel fairly certain that she would do nothing exaggeratedly foolish. To-day, however, he was in no temper for badinage, and Carol, who could gaug
e his moods to a nicety, knew that she would have to go warily. Therefore she came straight to the point, though she would have dearly loved to tease him a little first.

  “Nothing, Jasper dear,” she said sweetly: so sweetly that he at once became suspicious. This time, however, he was to find that he had done her an injustice. “I’ve only come for a moment,” she went on. “A few kind words of praise and appreciation and your blessing, and I propose to fade away in the odour of sanctity. In a few minutes you’ll be back among your etchings, so perfectly happy about me and my future that you won’t have to give me another thought.” Mellish observed her with cynical interest.

  “Intense, not to say smug, self-satisfaction, but none of that beatific radiance which betokens true love. It’s inconceivable that you should be marrying for money, so that I conclude you’re not engaged. The only explanation is that you’ve evolved another plot. What devilish scheme is it this time?”

  “Considering that I’ve followed your advice to the letter, I call that abominably ungrateful. I’ve got half a charming flat, and a chaperon that even you can’t take exception to. Of course, I should be much happier wandering innocently and peacefully across Spain; but rather than see you fuss yourself into the grave, I am willing to sacrifice myself.”

  “Hum, I’m not worried about Spain. You haven’t met the fleas or the cooking. I have. You’d be back in a fortnight. Do I understand you to say that you’ve found a permanent home?”

  Carol nodded.

  “And a chaperon,” she exclaimed. “Don’t forget that important item. Unless she and I quarrel hopelessly, I am settled for good.”

  Mellish collected the discarded etchings and arranged them in a neat pile.

  “I do think you might show a little interest, Jasper!” she said at last, exasperated by his slowness.

  He seemed even sleepier than usual, but when he looked up his eyes were very keen behind their heavy lids.

  “Lady Dalberry,” he said. It was a statement rather than a question.

  She nodded.

  “She suggested it in the train on the day of the funeral, do you remember? When I went to see her the other day she asked me if I’d thought it over, and said she was horribly lonely now that all the excitement of furnishing was over. I’m sorry for her, Jasper. She’s had her whole life knocked to bits at one blow, and she is plucky. I think she’s honestly anxious to have me, and it’ll be far less embarrassing for me than having a paid companion.”

  “When do you move in?” asked Mellish.

  He showed neither pleasure nor disapproval at the announcement, and Carol felt vaguely disappointed.

  “The day after to-morrow. Aren’t you pleased? I’ve done exactly what you’ve always wanted.”

  Mellish declined to commit himself.

  “We’ll see how it works,” he said cautiously. “I suppose you’re free to break off the connection whenever you like?”

  “Yes. We agreed to try it for a couple of months, and then, if we’re happy together, we shall probably go on with it. It’s a perfectly gorgeous flat, and I’ve got a bedroom, sitting-room, an extra bedroom, if I need it, and my own bathroom. Aunt Irma’s furnished the rooms quite beautifully.”

  “Aunt Irma, eh? Have you got your own telephone?”

  Carol looked surprised.

  “I don’t think so, but there’s one in the hall, and I suppose we shall share the expense, so that I can use it whenever I like. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mellish vaguely. “You can always have one put in if you want it. Keep me posted as to how you get on, will you?”

  “Of course. I shall be in and out as much as ever. You needn’t think you’ve seen the last of me!”

  After she had gone Mellish did not return to his etchings. Instead he lighted a cigarette and stood for a long time staring thoughtfully into the fire.

  He was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Dalberry. This time he merely shrugged his shoulders. He was resigned by now to the loss of his quiet morning.

  Dalberry showed none of Carol’s complacency.

  “I say, has she been here?” he demanded.

  “It depends what you mean by ‘she,’” returned Mellish, with his usual exasperating slowness.

  “Carol, of course. She said last night that she was coming to see you. To consult you, she called it,” he finished bitterly.

  Mellish’s eyes twinkled.

  “‘Consult’ is as good a word as any,” he said. “In any case, I don’t see that I could have taken exception to her plan. As she sapiently remarked, it was only what I had been suggesting myself all along.”

  “You’ll let it go on, then?”

  Mellish shrugged his shoulders.

  “My dear Gillie, why not? It is a perfectly satisfactory arrangement. Carol needs a home, and though Lady Dalberry’s not a poor woman, it will be an advantage to her to share expenses with some one. It’s amazing what she has managed to spend on this flat. I’m her trustee, as you know, so that I have to keep an eye on things.”

  “Has she been selling out?” asked Dalberry, in surprise. Mellish nodded.

  “Her jointure reverts to the estate eventually, and you’re the head of the family, so there’s no harm in telling you. There were certain Argentine stocks she had a right to realize according to her husband’s will, and she has realized them.”

  “But what has she done with the money? She’s got a perfectly adequate income for a woman in her position.”

  “I don’t know. She may have reinvested it for all I know. In any case, if she has been gambling with the money and is a bit hard pressed, it’s just as well that she has decided to share expenses with Carol. What objection have you got to the arrangement?”

  “Every possible objection!” exclaimed Dalberry hotly. “You know as well as I do, Jasper, that that woman’s no friend for Carol. I’d rather she went off on one of her wild-goose-chase expeditions than think of her, even for a week, in the house of that painted adventuress!”

  Mellish raised a protesting hand.

  “My dear Gillie! If we were to rule out every woman in London who paints her face, we should have some difficulty in finding a suitable chaperon for Carol, even if she’d consent to put up with one. And remember, this is the first time she’s shown the smallest inclination to meet us half-way. For heaven’s sake, don’t antagonize her now.”

  Dalberry exploded.

  “You’re simply sacrificing Carol to your own peace of mind! You’re so confoundedly lazy that you’d accept any means of disposing of her provided it was outwardly respectable. You’re not a fool, Jasper, and you haven’t the face to tell me that you either like or approve of Lady Dalberry!”

  “By the way, you’ll have to call her ‘Aunt Irma’ sooner or later, so you may as well make up your mind to it now,” was Mellish’s placid rejoinder. “My dear chap, it’s no use casting vague aspersions on a woman who has absolutely nothing against her. You don’t like her, that is obvious, and, to tell you the truth, I’m not in love with her myself, but that’s no reason for concluding that she’s a wrong-un. Carol’s no fool, and if she doesn’t like the look of things she can always clear out. There’s nothing to be gained by trying to coerce her at this juncture.”

  “I wish to goodness—” began Dalberry, and pulled himself up abruptly.

  “I wish to goodness you’d shown a little ordinary savoir faire when you proposed to her,” put in Mellish curtly. “I don’t know when or how you did it, but I’m fairly certain you did do it, and I haven’t the smallest doubt that it was done at the wrong moment and in the wrong way.”

  Dalberry crimsoned at this shameless and wholly unprovoked attack.

  “I say, Mellish—”

  “Don’t ‘Mellish’ me!” snapped the fat man testily. “When a girl comes back to London after an absence of nearly two months, and pointedly refrains from asking after a man she has known from childhood, and then gets scarlet at the mere mention of his name, it’s pretty obvious what
has happened. I stand in loco parentis to Carol, and apart from that, I’m very fond of her. In less than a month’s time she’ll be the legitimate prey of every fortune-hunter in the country. I’d give a great deal to see you two make a match of it. I’ve always hoped for it. And I’m confoundedly disappointed!”

  He had risen from his chair and was ambling up and down the room, literally spluttering with annoyance. Dalberry smiled in spite of himself. When Jasper was at his most offensive he was least easy to quarrel with.

  “You’re not half so disappointed as I am,” he observed drily. “As you’ve ferreted out this much, I may as well tell you the rest. Carol hasn’t turned me down altogether. We are to wait for a year, and then I’m to try my luck again. It’s no affair of yours, but I’m not sorry to have you on my side.”

  “It is my affair,” grunted Mellish. “I’m the girl’s guardian, and I’m responsible for her safety until she comes of age. If I’m on your side, as you call it, it’s solely because you’re the one man in London who cannot, for any conceivable reason, be after her money.”

  Dalberry’s smile broadened into a grin.

  “So long as I’ve got your blessing, I don’t mind what your reasons are for giving it,” he said meekly.

  Mellish glared at him and snorted, then suddenly his face broke into a thousand wrinkles.

  “Been a bear, have I?” he growled, with a fat chuckle. “The truth is I’m fond of you both, and I want to see you happy. If I thought you’d listen to me, I’d give you some good advice.”

  “I’m grateful for anything at this juncture.”

  “Then make the best of your new-found aunt. She is your aunt, whatever you may choose to feel about her; and I can assure you you might have fared a good deal worse. How your uncle met her I don’t know, but I understand that she comes of good middle-class Swedish stock. She appears to have made him an excellent wife, and to have mourned him sincerely when he died. She’s a woman of the world, perfectly presentable, and no fool. Has it ever occurred to you that she might have been infinitely worse?”

  “I don’t like her,” was Dalberry’s stubborn rejoinder.