Four Strange Women (30 page)

“A certain Personage,” said Mr. Higham impressively, “was negotiating for it. I impressed on Mr. Baird that nothing was to be said of the transaction until the end of this month. The Personage in question might have been—surprised”—Mr. Higham managed to convey the impression that the surprise of a Personage was an awesome thing—“that we had not allowed her further opportunity for consideration. Not, of course, that she would have availed herself of it, but she might not unreasonably have thought that her position entitled her to it.”

“Quite so,” said Bobby, not much interested at the moment in any Personage or in what she thought her position entitled her to expect. “You have no idea what became of the bracelet?” 

“It has not come on the market, if that is what you mean,” Mr. Higham answered. “It is hardly our province—the destination of our clients' purchases, I mean. Though I admit,” and here Olympus became almost human— “the more frivolous of our assistants occasionally gossip when some valuable piece purchased by Eminent Persons is heard of in the possession of—of ladies of somewhat irregular position. Naturally, such gossip is most severely regarded by the firm, and would entail instant dismissal if repeated elsewhere. To avoid such a risk is one reason why the more important transactions are handled by myself or one of my co-directors.”

Bobby said he realized how necessary that was, and under further questioning Mr. Higham admitted that his intelligence service was of a very high working efficiency. Occasionally it had been found profitable to know when to hint to the lady of—er—unrecognized position that replicas of valuable jewellery, indistinguishable from the original to all but an expert, could be supplied at a reasonable figure, and the original itself purchased at a very liberal figure.

“We have,” admitted Olympus, grown quite human now and indeed indulging in a sort of Jovian chuckle, “in our possession at this moment a fine piece we have twice over sold at a satisfactory figure and then re-purchased from the recipient—also at a satisfactory figure, supplying at the same time a perfect replica. Only the other day indeed a certain elderly gentleman of some standing came to see it—er—not unaccompanied—and appeared so favourably impressed that we have thought it prudent to prepare a fresh replica in readiness for eventualities. You understand, therefore, Inspector, how necessary it is for us to exercise an absolute discretion.”

Bobby said he quite understood, and, continuing his questioning, learnt that the firm had trustworthy agents and connections all over the world. It was hardly too much to say that no important piece could be offered in any quarter of the globe without Messrs. Higham hearing of it. That applied especially to the Byatt sapphires and the diamond ear-rings and pendant. Naturally, since for them not only dealers but police were everywhere on the watch. Mr. Higham thought he could say quite definitely that neither sapphires nor ear-rings, nor pendant, could be shown, either publicly or privately, without his firm getting to hear of it.

“As well,” said Mr. Higham, growing suddenly poetical, “hide the sun at noon as those sapphires.”

He admitted, however, that these pieces, having been obtained dishonestly—there had been no authority to dispose of the sapphires and any purported sale or gift would be invalid, as the late Lord Byatt must have well known—might still be kept in concealment. Stolen pieces were sometimes put by for years. The actual thieves would sell them to a receiver for a mere trifle compared with their real value, and the receiver would keep them locked up in his safe till he thought active search was over and the whole thing more or less forgotten.

“But we never forget,” said Mr. Higham in parenthesis. Ted Reynolds, for example, the chauffeur who had succeeded so cleverly in disappearing, had very likely sold his loot for fifty or a hundred pounds or so and the purchaser might still have the pieces in his possession. In a year or two he would make a journey to China or South America, and there dispose of them; for half or two-thirds their proper value perhaps, but at an enormous profit all the same.

“Supposing that happened and the sale took place to some rich Chinese or South American, would you be likely to hear of it?” Bobby asked.

“Undoubtedly,” said Mr. Higham firmly. “Jewellery is bought for display, it is displayed—and we hear.”

“The odd thing,” Bobby remarked thoughtfully, “is that Ted Reynolds has disappeared too.”

“Probably means,” Mr. Higham suggested, “that he has not as yet attempted to make a sale. I've known such cases. Men who have brought off a successful coup and then not dared to try to dispose of their booty. They may be tramping the roads, starving, begging, doing odd jobs, with pieces in their possession worth thousands of pounds they yet dare do nothing with. That may be the case here.”

“It's not only his loot,” Bobby observed thoughtfully. “Reynolds himself has vanished. We had recent photographs, we knew his friends, habits, family, he had no start—the theft was discovered at once. He had no passport. Yet we've never been able to find the least trace.”

Mr. Higham smiled tolerantly.

“Been too smart for you apparently,” he said. “But you may be sure of one thing—if those ear-rings and, or, the pendant turn up anywhere, we”—there was a faint emphasis on the ‘we'—“we shan't fail to hear of it.” He added, Bobby accepting this snub to the police force of the country in meek silence:—“It is more difficult to guess what has happened to the diamond necklace Mr. White purchased. The ruby bracelet we sold Mr. Baird, too. I can't imagine any woman in possession of either the necklace or the bracelet keeping it hidden. Her first instinct would be to visit a theatre or a restaurant and let all the other women see it. The pieces were paid for. Everything was in order. There might be some complication in the shape of a husband, but even so somebody would know and we should soon get to know too. Besides, that could hardly apply in both cases. I'm afraid I can't think of any explanation,” concluded Mr. Higham, ceasing for once to look omniscient. “It's a complete mystery to me.”

“A mystery,” Bobby agreed, “and yet everything seems to link up.”

“Link up, link up what, in what way?” asked Mr. Higham, and Bobby said he didn't know, it was in fact what he was trying to find out, and therewith departed.

Returning to his rooms, he occupied himself with writing out a full account of the day's happenings for his own record, a briefer account for his customary report to Midwych, and then, these completed, he sat and brooded as uselessly as ever over them and the significance that might in them lie concealed.

Later on, since he felt there was nothing in connection with the case wherewith he could usefully occupy the evening, he rang up Olive and asked if she would come and dine with him at a small restaurant near by, where the food was tolerable—the proprietor did his own marketing and his own cooking, and put no faith in refrigerators—and where they could be sure of a quiet corner in which they could talk undisturbed. For to talk over every aspect of the affair and so clarify the ideas running wild in his mind was the chief need Bobby felt at the moment.

Not that Olive allowed any such discussion until the meal was over. Till then she kept the talk strictly to personal chatter, the increasing difficulty of selling hats, the distressing habit of going about without any hat at all which was slowly breaking her chief assistant's heart, the unpredictable changes in style, and the proof of original sin provided by the evident innate depravity of all errand boys. Insensibly Bobby found his attention diverted from his own worries and presently he was listening with attention to some of Olive's tales about the whims and fancies of her customers.

“You've got me a new customer by the way,” Olive added. “Miss Glynne. I expect it was because of you she wanted one of our hats.”

“Has she been to your place to-day?” Bobby asked, very interested.

“No, is she in town?” Olive countered. “It was a 'phone message last Friday evening, just as we were closing. We do business sometimes with a Midwych firm, exchange stock if Midwych wants what London doesn't or the other way round, or sometimes it's a special model we supply ‘exclusive to Midwych'. Miss Glynne wanted one of our creations she had seen and she went to them for it so they rang up and I had quite a long talk with her, making sure what she really wanted.”

“I saw her in town to-day,” Bobby said, wrinkling his brow. “I'll tell you presently. Last Friday, you said? Are you sure?”

“Last Friday,” Olive repeated, “I remember she said she had just seen General Hannay off at the railway station before she rang up about the hat. She had been talking to him about her father, I don't think she believes he is really ill. I think she thinks he is staying away on purpose and I did wonder if what she really wanted was for me to tell you that.”

“I don't see why,” Bobby said, frowning more deeply even than before. “I don't see that has anything to do with me—unless it's to let me know again I shan't be interfered with.”

“I expect that's it,” Olive said. She added:— “Now tell me all about what you've been doing. Stuck, aren't you?”

Bobby nodded.

“Stuck, and badly stuck,” he agreed. “The general pattern and idea is growing fairly plain. I've looked up French history and legend and the Inca legends too. The book I got hold of seemed to think the French yarn was only a yarn and very likely the Inca legend is that, too. But the idea is there, it's old, old as evil itself, and I believe there's always been some foundation for it, though one didn't expect it to be turning up again in modern days.”

“I've forgotten all my French history,” Olive said, “except Joan of Arc. The Incas had something to do with gold, hadn't they?”

“Yes, but Joan of Arc and gold don't come into it,” Bobby told her. “Let's go over it all from the start. The thing I want to do is to pick out the essentials.”

Rapidly he went over the history of the case in full detail as he knew it. Olive listened intently. She knew the whole story well enough, of course, but she noted now the points on which Bobby laid the most stress and made him explain fully the deductions that he drew. When at last he finished, she said:—

“It all comes to this; you feel sure you know who she is and the explanation of it all, but you have no proof you can act on.”

Bobby nodded gloomily.

“Three lives depend on what I do,” he said, “and I haven't the right to do anything—De Legett, Lord Henry Darmoor, Mr. Eyton, any one of them, all three perhaps, may go next, and there it is. It's like one of those nightmares when you know you must do something but there's a great weight holds you helpless.”

“Don't you think,” Olive suggested, “that just because Lord Henry told all those lies, it means he has some plan of his own?”

“I did wonder if that was it,” Bobby said. “If so and if half what I suspect is true, he has about as much chance as a rabbit has with a rattlesnake.”

“One does rather feel like that,” Olive agreed, “though he may be less of a rabbit than you think. Isn't it likely Mr. Eyton is in greater danger?”

“No, he'll be all right for the present.”

“Why?”

“He won't get his cash for a day or two. It always takes a few days to make sure that a title to land is secure, and purchasers don't part till they are sure. He's safe enough till the cash has been handed over.”

“Mightn't he get an advance from a bank or his lawyers?” Olive suggested.

Bobby looked uneasy. It was a possibility he had overlooked, and one which he did not much like.

“There's that,” he admitted. “Still, it's a land transaction, and even a bank would have to make sure there wasn't a prior charge of some sort—a mortgage or something like that. ‘Once mortgaged, always mortgaged' lawyers say sometimes.”

“You didn't say anything to him about being careful?”

“No. I wonder if I ought to. I should have to go to Midwych to see him. I could make a report direct to Colonel Glynne if I did. It's just possible that what Miss Glynne said when she rang you up was a roundabout sort of hint. Though I don't much think he is awfully keen on seeing me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he's in a very awkward hole. Leonard Glynne's name has been mentioned and so has Miss Glynne's. On the one hand, if he resigns, which, strictly speaking, I expect he feels he ought to, then he is as good as saying publicly that he thinks they may be guilty. Not quite fair to them and if the business is never cleared up, it might mean they would be under a cloud for the rest of their lives. In their case, his resignation would point them out at once. On the other hand, if he runs the investigation himself, he feels he might be influenced, even unconsciously influenced, in their favour—failing to push home points telling against them and so on. It's a very awkward dilemma and he's solved it in a way by leaving it all to me, with orders to consult the P.P.'s office or the Yard at my own discretion.”

“I suppose it is difficult,” Olive agreed. “For General Hannay, too. You really think it all links up?”

“Sure of that much, anyhow,” Bobby answered with decision. “Three men dead: Byatt, White, and Baird, all in similar circumstances. One man, Ted Reynolds, vanished—circumstances similar again. Three men in danger: Darmoor, Count de Legett, Mr. Eyton, and still the same general pattern clearly apparent. And four strange women, Becky Glynne, Hazel Hannay, May Grayson, Gwen Barton; not to mention Mrs. Ted Reynolds I can't get to see, and, dodging about in the background, the street singer woman, who may or may not have something or nothing to do with it.”

“There may be someone else,” Olive said, “someone you know nothing about.”

“No,” Bobby answered. “It's one of them. I'm sure of that much at least.”