The girl from Scotland Yard
that had happened here less than an hour ago. Somebody had come behind
this brush to examine the contents of the pockets; the papers had been
taken out one by one, examined and thrown away, and the object had not
been robbery. The tightly filled pocketbook proved that. It could not
have been a chance thief who came upon the body; no honest person
would have made this search. It had been somebody looking for a
definite thing.
She went back to Coldwell with her discoveries just as the police car
came flying over the railway bridge, followed by a motor ambulance.
She told Coldwell hurriedly what she had found, and he was not
surprised.
“I’ve been searching his pockets; most of them are inside out,” he
said. And then, abruptly: “Where is Peter Dawlish?”
She stared at him open-mouthed.
“Peter Dawlish? What has he got to do----”
And then she remembered Peter’s threat, and saw that it was inevitable
that suspicion should attach to him.
“He hadn’t a pistol yesterday,” she said, “and I doubt whether he’s
got one now. If Druze had been shot dead in the street I should think
he’d be under suspicion, but Peter Dawlish would hardly shoot a man,
put him in a car, and drive him to Barnes.”
The old man nodded.
“I agree with you, Leslie, but we shall have to pull him in and make
inquiries. Druze has been shot three times; that’s rather a queer
thing, and he has been shot through the heart! We shan’t know exactly
until the pathologist has seen him, but I think I am right. And
listen, did you see the footprints?”
He pointed to the smooth granite curb, and she saw for the first time
the indubitable impressions of a bare foot; the ball of the foot and
toe prints were unmistakable.
He put the three packages Leslie had found in his overcoat pocket.
“Go along and see Lady Raytham and tell her what has happened. Take
this with you, and for the love of Mike don’t lose it!”
He put the square emerald in her hand, and she dropped it into her
bag.
“If it’s the pendant, as you say, find out what has happened to the
rest of the necklace.”
He bundled her into the police car, and she was glad to escape,
because by now the large force of police on the spot had been
augmented by that curious crowd which sooner or later gathers from
nowhere on the scene of any tragedy.
The windows were in darkness when she drove up to the house in
Berkeley Square, and instead of ringing she wielded the heavy knocker.
She had to wait a little time, and then it was a footman who opened
the door, and his manner and mien were both respectful and a little
nervous.
“Do you want to see her ladyship, miss?” he said. “She’s upstairs with
Mrs. Gurden; there is Mrs. Gurden now.”
Greta was coming down the stairs. She was in that peculiar style of
evening dress which she affected. Greta made most of her own clothes
from the latest Paris models and usually in the most unsuitable
material. Their “home-madeness” was never blatant. They did not
proclaim but hinted it.
Leslie looked up at the rouged face and the black, staring eyes, and
it required no particular acumen on her part to detect Greta Gurden’s
agitation.
“Oh, my dear Miss whatever-your-name is,” she said, “do come up and
see Lady Raytham! You are Miss what-is-your-name? Maughan, isn’t it?
I’m so glad! Druze has been a perfect beast.” She held out her hand
dramatically; it was shaking. “You don’t know how glad I am to see
you.”
Her eyelids were blinking up and down with a rapidity that fascinated
and would have amused Leslie in any other circumstances.
“What has Druze been doing?” she asked.
“Won’t you come up and see Lady Raytham?” begged Greta. “She’ll tell
you so much better than I. My dear Jane can put everything into the
most understandable terms. Druze has been simply awful: made a
terrible scene and walked out quite suddenly. It’s dreadful what
servants are coming to, isn’t it? I think it must be the war or----”
A cool voice from the darkness above interrupted her flow of
disjointed explanation.
“Ask Miss Maughan to come up. I want to see her--alone.”
Leslie went up the stairs, and as she reached the first turn, she saw
that the drawing-room door was open. There was no light on the stairs,
save for that which came from the open door. In one corner of the
spacious landing she saw a small-wheeled table.
She walked in, closing the door behind her. Lady Raytham was standing
behind a little table near the fireplace. She wore a dark day dress
without ornamentation, and Leslie’s quick woman’s eyes saw that she
had changed her stockings; the very fine-textured, flesh-coloured
hosiery she had seen on her earlier that evening had been replaced by
a slightly darker pair. But only for a second did the details of the
dress interest her. What a change had come to Jane Raytham’s face! She
was made up, that was clear. The delicate flush of her cheeks was
neither natural nor normal in her; she had helped her lips toward a
verisimilitude to a healthy red. Her eyes, however, defied all
artificial aid; they seemed to have sunk into her head; great dark
circles, which even careful powdering could not disguise, surrounded
them.
“Have you brought me any news?” she drawled out. It was not like Lady
Raytham to drawl. “I telephoned to you about an hour ago, but
unfortunately I could not catch you. On the whole, I think I prefer
that a woman officer should deal with this case.”
“Has he stolen anything?” asked Leslie bluntly, and to her amazement
Lady Raytham shook her head.
“No, I’ve missed nothing; I shouldn’t imagine he would steal. He may
have, of course, but I shall be able to tell you more about that
to-morrow. He was grossly insulting and left me at a second’s notice.”
“Have you been out?”
“Yes, I went to a dinner with Princess Anita Bellini; we intended
going on to the theatre, but I had a headache and decided to return.”
“What time did you come back?” asked Leslie.
Lady Raytham raised her eyes to the ceiling.
“It may have been half-past nine--probably a little earlier,” she
said. “We dined at a little restaurant which the princess knows----”
“And then you came back and had another dinner!” said Leslie steadily.
“The table is still on the landing--set for two, so far as I could
see.”
For a second the woman was staggered out of self-control. Her hand
went up to her lips.
“Oh, that?” she said awkwardly. “My friend Mrs. Gurden came later,
and--and we gave her some supper.”
Leslie shook her head.
“I wish you would be frank with me, Lady Raytham,” she said. “The
truth is, you didn’t go out to dinner at all, did you?”
For a second the woman made no reply.
“I don’t know what I did,” she said.
Between despair and suppressed anger her voice was a wail.
“He drove everything out of my mind. Oh, if I had known! If I had
known!”
She covered her eyes with her hands, and Leslie heard the sobs she
could not stifle.
“What did he say to you before he went?” she asked inexorably.
Lady Raytham shook her head.
“I can’t tell you. He was dreadful, dreadful!”
Leslie had waited this opportunity to fire her shot.
“He is in our hands,” she said. “Shall we bring him here?”
The woman uncovered her eyes and stepped back with a little scream.
“Here? Here?” she said huskily. “My heavens, not here! He must go to
the mort----”
She stopped herself, but too late.
“How did you know he was dead?” asked Leslie sternly.
Under the rouge the woman’s face was gray.
CHAPTER VII.
LESLIE’S INTERVIEW
“How did you know he was dead?” asked Leslie again. “Who told you?”
“I--I heard.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.
“Who told you? Nobody knows but the inspector and me, and I have come
straight away from the place where he was found. I left him three
minutes ago.”
“Three minutes? I don’t understand.” And then, as she saw that she had
been trapped for the second time, the colour came and went in Jane
Raytham’s face.
“I don’t wonder that you are surprised, Lady Raytham! You know that
Barnes Common is a little more than three minutes away, don’t you?”
The woman looked round like some hunted animal seeking an avenue of
escape.
“I know he is dead,” she said desperately.
And then she faced the girl with a new resolution and a courage which
Leslie could only admire.
“I know he’s dead!” she exclaimed. “I know he’s dead! Heaven knows who
killed him, but I found him there. I saw him as my car was passing--on
the sidewalk. I somehow knew it was he and got out. That is how I
know. I should have told the police, I suppose, but I was frightened,
terribly frightened. I thought I should faint.”
“Where were you going when you found his body?”
Leslie’s grave eyes were fixed on the woman.
“To--to the Princess Bellini. She has a house in Wimbledon.”
“But you couldn’t have parted with her for very long, when you decided
to follow her.”
Jane Raytham licked her dry lips.
“She left something behind--the night was rather pleasant--I wanted
the air, so I drove----”
“Won’t you sit down, Lady Raytham?” said the girl gently.
The woman looked ready to drop. With a little nod she sank down into
an easy-chair that was near at hand.
Humanity was at the back of Leslie Maughan’s suggestion, but there was
something else. She had learned at Scotland Yard never to interrogate
either a prisoner or a possible witness while you are on the same
level with them. It was a piece of information that had been conveyed
to her by the greatest of the criminal counsel of the Bar. “Put a
witness on a lower level,” he said, “and he’ll tell you the truth.”
Now she looked down at the broken woman who was nervously fingering
the arm of the chair, and a wave of pity swept over Leslie Maughan,
such as she had never experienced before.
“You were not going to Princess Bellini’s, Lady Raytham,” she said
gently. “You were looking for Druze; he had taken something of yours.”
Lady Raytham gazed at her without answering.
“You thought he had gone to the Princess Bellini’s. Is that the way,
across Barnes Common?”
“It is--a way--yes.”
“Then you saw the body and recognized it? Saw it in the light of your
headlamps, as we did? You weren’t on your way to Wimbledon at all; you
were coming back. I saw the rear lights of your car!”
Lady Raytham was breathing quickly.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t have seen the body otherwise. It lay on the left-hand
footpath as you came toward London, on the farther path as you came
from London. What kind of a car have you?”
Jane told her.
“So you had been to Princess Bellini? And what did Princess Bellini
tell you?”
“She was not at home.”
Instinctively Leslie Maughan recognized that Jane Raytham was speaking
the truth now.
“So you came back, and you found the body? Searched it?”
The woman nodded.
“What were you seeking?”
Again the quick movement of tongue across parched lips.
“I can’t tell you.”
Suddenly Leslie looked round. Noiselessly crossing the floor, she
turned the handle quickly and jerked open the door. Mrs. Gurden nearly
fell into the room.
“Are you fearfully interested?” asked Leslie. Her tone was almost
sweet.
The discomfited eavesdropper grimaced and tittered hysterically.
“I was just coming in--really, it was very awkward. My shoe lace came
unfastened and I was just stooping. I don’t know whatever you think of
me, but you really must believe me, Miss Maughan, you really must! I
think prying and spying people are simply dreadful, don’t you, dear?”
“I do, dear!” said Leslie dryly, and pointed to the stairs. “Would you
mind sitting on the bottom step until I come down?”
Greta went tittering down the stairs.
“Was she listening? Was she?” Lady Raytham asked the question with
unusual energy.