The Mandarin's Fan
time of the discovery, examined the corpse, and asserted that the
miserable woman must have been murdered just an hour, or half an hour
previous. As midnight was chiming shortly before the discovery of the
crime, it can be safely declared--and Dr. Forge did declare this--that
Miss Wharf was strangled between eleven and twelve. When the corpse was
found it was yet warm. Clarence haunted the Lodge and talked with his
aunt, but Olivia kept to her own room.
"Tung-yu did it of course," said Mr. Burgh decisively. "I reckon he came
down to get that fan, and grudged giving so much cash for it. I surmise
that he lured the old girl to those steps, and then slipped the silk
string round her neck."
"The silk tie," said Miss Pewsey whose eyes were very black and
glittering, though red round the rims, from weeping.
"How do you know it's a tie?" asked Clarence with a start.
"I know," replied his aunt tightening her thin lips, "and I know to whom
the tie belongs. But you say that Tung-yu?--"
"Who else could have scragged the old girl aunt Lavinia. The fan's
gone--leastways I didn't see it when we spotted the deader."
Miss Pewsey nodded. "Yes, the fan is gone," she assented, "but if
Tung-yu murdered dearest Sophia, he can easily be arrested."
"Oh, I guess not," replied Mr. Burgh easily. "Tung-yu's no slouch, you
bet, and didn't intend to lose his prize--"
"The fan?" inquired Miss Pewsey.
"Just so, the fan," replied Clarence imperturbably, "and he's on his way
to China by this time."
"Clarence?" Miss Pewsey rose, much excited; then calmed down. "I do not
agree with you," said she firmly. "Tung-yu is innocent."
"I'll lay a couple of dollars he isn't, Aunt Lavinia. Do you remember
that yacht I pointed out to you last night. Well, t'was a steam deep-sea
barky, two hundred tons, Lloyd's measurement I reckon--quite heavy
enough to cut round the Cape into Chinese waters. Well, she arrived in
the afternoon yesterday and after midnight she lighted out."
"But how do you know Tung-yu was on board?"
"Well, I only size that up," said Clarence musingly, "but it looks to me
as though he'd engineered the job. 'Twould be easy I guess for him to
have had a boat waiting for him. After he'd killed the old girl and
annexed the fan, he could dance down those steps like a two year old and
pick up the boat on the beach. Course it's all my fancy," added Burgh
modestly, "but I guess I'm right."
"I guess you're not," snapped Miss Pewsey in rather an unlady-like
manner, and she rose to shake out her skirts. "I know who killed dearest
Sophia," she added, wagging a lean finger at her nephew. "I know who
possessed the tie, and I shall hand that man--"
"Who the dickens is he anyhow?"
"Rupert Ainsleigh," replied Miss Pewsey with a grim smile, and left the
room, while the buccaneer stared, and then smiled. It was pleasant to
think that his rival--as he considered Rupert,--should be in such
straits and should be pursued by the vindictive hatred of Miss Pewsey,
who would leave no stone unturned to bring about the conviction of young
Ainsleigh.
"Well," said the buccaneer with his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'm
not taking a hand in this biznai, and it ain't lively round these
quarters. I'll git."
And this Mr. Burgh did. When he passed out of the front door, he brushed
against a plainly dressed rubicund man with sharp grey eyes who glanced
at him inquisitively. However, the stranger said nothing but proceeded
to ring the bell. The maid-servant who appeared took him into the
drawing-room and carried a card to Miss Pewsey. The name thereon was,
Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.
With this in her hand Miss Pewsey sailed into the drawing-room and
looked at the comfortable creature who rose to greet her. "Mr. Orlando
Rodgers, C.I.D.?" queried the little old lady.
"Criminal Investigation Department," said the man in a cool voice, and
with a sharp glance at the dry drab woman, "I'm in charge of the Wharf
Murder Case, and have been sent down by the Treasury. As I have seen the
Superintendent and can learn nothing likely to throw light on the
subject, I have come to you--a relative?"
"No," answered Miss Pewsey sitting down, in a rigid way. "I am the
companion of the late Miss Wharf. Her only relative, down here at all
events, is Miss Olivia Rayner."
"Can I see her?"
"I think not--at present. She is in her room weeping. Though why she
should display such grief I can't understand," added Miss Pewsey
spitefully.
"It's natural in a relative, miss," said the detective looking hard at
the withered little face.
Miss Pewsey laughed in a shrill manner, and spoke between her teeth more
than ever, emphasising every word as usual. "Oh, dear me, no," said she.
"Miss Wharf and Olivia never got on well. The girl hated her aunt,
though dearest Sophia--Miss Wharf, you know, sir--brought her up, when
she hadn't a shilling or a friend in the world."
"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" asked Rodgers wondering how
much of this spiteful speech was true, and seeing plainly enough that
the speaker was no friend to the niece.
"I am Lavinia Pewsey," said that lady, "and for years I have been the
cherished friend and dearest companion of Sophia. We were at school
together, and were--as I may say--like two cherries on one stalk.
Anything I can do to avenge her death will be done."
"Punishment by the law, doesn't come under the head of vengeance!"
"It comes under the head of hanging, and I'll be glad to see the rope
round his neck."
"Of whom are you talking?" asked Rodgers phlegmatically.
"Of the man who killed my dearest friend."
"Oh. I understood from the Superintendent that the affair was quite a
mystery."
"Not to me," snapped Miss Pewsey, "Rupert Ainsleigh strangled her to get
the fan."
"What fan?" asked the detective taking out his note-book, "and who is
Rupert Ainsleigh?"
Miss Pewsey spread her skirts and folded her hands together in a prim
way. "I shall tell you all," she cried, "and please take down all I say.
I am prepared to make this statement in a law court."
"Well," said Rodgers moistening his pencil, "you may have to. Now this
Mr. Ainsleigh?----"
"Of Royabay, a few miles from Marport," said Miss Pewsey, "quite one of
the old families. A nice come down for the Ainsleighs, for the last of
them to die on the gallows."
"He is not there yet," said Rodgers dryly, "and may I ask you to speak
in a more reasonable way. I see you don't like the man."
"I hate him," Miss Pewsey drew a long breath, "and I hated his father
before him, to say nothing of his mother, who was a cat."
"Then your evidence is prejudiced, I fancy."
"Never you mind, Mr. Orlando Rodgers," she replied sharply, "take down
what I say, and then you can sift the matter out for yourself. My Sophia
was murdered to obtain possession of a fan----"
"What fan?" asked Rodgers again.
Miss Pewsey smiled, and calmly detailed all she had learned from Dr.
Forge concerning the fan. "You can ask my nephew, Clarence Burgh, about
these things also," she ended, "and Dr. Forge, and Mr. Christopher
Walker, who brought the Chinaman Tung-yu to the ball, and----"
"Wait a bit," interrupted the detective, "it appears to me from what you
say," he ran a quick eye over his notes, "that the suspicion points to
these Chinamen you mention. They advertised, and they wanted the fan.
Now Hwei--as I hear from you--was not at the ball, but Tung-yu was.
Therefore Tung-yu----"
"Didn't do it," said the little woman. "I don't pretend to understand
why Hwei offered death and Tung-yu money for the possession of the fan;
nor do I know why this Mandarin, whatever his name may be, is so anxious
to get possession of the article. But I know that the fan is gone and
that Tung-yu, who did not intend murder, hasn't got it."
"Then who has?"
"Rupert Ainsleigh. He went up about the advertisement and knew all about
the fan. I believe he killed my Sophia, and got the fan, so as to sell
it for five thousand to Tung-yu--"
"But a gentleman of property wouldn't--"
"A gentleman of property," snorted the old maid smoothing her dress,
"why he's head over ears in debt and will lose Royabay before the end of
the year on account of the foreclosure of a mortgage. He'd have done
anything to get money, and five thousand pounds is not a small amount."
"This is all very well: but I don't see how you connected Mr. Ainsleigh
with the crime."
"By means of the silk necktie," said Miss Pewsey with a triumphant
smile, and related how Rupert had received the scarf from Olivia, "if he
is guiltless how came his silk tie round the throat of Sophia?"
Rodgers was shaken by this piece of evidence. "It looks queer I admit,"
he said: then added, "I understand that Mr. Ainsleigh is an admirer of
Miss Rayner."
"He wants to marry her, and she is in love with him," said Miss Pewsey,
"which is an additional reason for the crime."
"I don't understand."
"You're not a sharp man," said the old woman tranquilly, "don't you see
that as Miss Rayner inherits dearest Sophia's money, she will get the
mortgage also. Then with that, and the five thousand pounds Mr.
Ainsleigh would be free from his money-troubles. Well," she added
sharply, as the detective rose, "what do you say?"
"Nothing at present. Give me the address of Dr. Forge who, I believe,
examined the body, and of your nephew and Mr. Ainsleigh."
Miss Pewsey did this with alacrity and accompanied Rodgers to the door.
"Don't spare him," she said venomously, "he's guilty and he shall hang,"
and she shut the door herself.
"What a spiteful woman," mused Rodgers, leaving Ivy Lodge, "her story is
so very explicit that I am inclined to doubt it. She wants this young
man scragged. Why?"
He could find no answer to this question, but went on his way to see
Clarence Burgh. His interview with the buccaneer was brief. Clarence
related the story of the yacht, and set forth his theory of Tung-yu.
"Mind," said he, "I don't like Ainsleigh, as he's trying to run the girl
I want to hitch long-side of. But I guess he didn't scragg the old
girl."
"You speak fairer than your aunt," said Rodgers dryly.
Clarence heaved up his right shoulder. "Huh," said he, "if you go by
woman's jaw, you'll get on the shoals. Tung-yu scragged the old girl,
you bet, and he's on his way to China in that yacht."
"Well, we'll see if we can't stop the yacht. She must coal somewhere.
What is her name?"
"The Stormy Petrel," said Clarence, "I got that out of a boatman, who
was rowing about her yesterday."
"Did he see any Chinaman on board?"
"No. He didn't see anyone. There didn't appear to be anyone about, or
else they were at tea," concluded Clarence ungrammatically.
"Humph," said the detective, noting the name of the yacht, "do you know
anything of the silk tie?"
"No. Aunt Lavinia says it belongs to Ainsleigh, but I never saw it till
it was round the throat of the old girl. I should like to think he put
it there," said Clarence pleasantly, "for I want that chap out of the
way; but I believe Tung-yu's the man."
"Perhaps he is. Have you a copy of that advertisement?"
"No. But I reckon Ainsleigh has. Ain't you going to see him?"
Rogers nodded. "Straight away. And I thank you for what you have told
me. You want him hanged I presume."
"Well no I reckon not. He's in my way, but I can lay him out on my own,
without the lynching biznai."
"You are fairer than your aunt," said the detective once more.
"Go slow. She's only an acid-drop, and you can't size her up, just as an
ordinary girl. She was crazy on Markham, the father of this young
Ainsleigh, and----"
"And proposes to hang the son to avenge herself on his father. A nice
woman, truly. But it seems to me Mr. Burgh that if anyone killed Miss
Wharf, Hwei is the man."