Inspector French's Greatest Case (25 page)

Mrs. Vane was therefore without any doubt the woman of whom he was in search, and her departure was definitely a flight.

Inspector French had now so many points of attack in his inquiry that he felt somewhat at a loss as to which he should proceed with first. The tracing of Mrs. Vane was the immediate goal, but it was by no means clear which particular line of inquiry would most surely and rapidly lead to that end. Nothing would be easier than to spend time on side issues, and in this case a few hours might make all the difference between success and failure. The lady had already had five days' start, and he could not afford to allow her to increase her lead by a single unnecessary minute.

He considered the matter while he lunched, eventually concluding that the first step was the discovery of the maid, Susan Scott. The preliminary spadework of this required no skill and could be done by an assistant, leaving himself free for other inquiries.

Accordingly he returned to the Yard and set two men to work, one to make a list of all the registry offices in the Edgware Road district, the other to ring up those agencies one by one and inquire if the girl's name was on their books. Then he went in to see his chief, told him of his discoveries, and obtained the necessary authority to interrogate the manager of Mrs. Vane's bank on the affairs of that lady.

He reached the bank just before closing time and was soon closeted with the manager. Mr. Harrod, once satisfied that his usual professional reticence might in this case be set aside, gave him some quite interesting information. Mrs. Vane had opened an account with him some five years earlier, about the same time, French noted, as the house in St. John's Wood Road had been leased. Her deposit had not been large, seldom amounting to and never exceeding a thousand pounds. It had stood at from four to eight hundred until comparatively recently, but within the past few months it had dwindled until some ten weeks earlier it had vanished altogether. Indeed, the payment of a cheque presented at this period had involved an overdraft of some fifteen pounds, and the teller had consulted Mr. Harrod before cashing it. Mr. Harrod, knowing Crewe Lodge and the scale on which the Vanes lived, had not hesitated in giving the necessary authority, and his judgment had proved correct, for some three days later Mrs. Vane had personally lodged over £100. This had since been drawn upon, and there remained at the present time a balance of eleven pounds odd in the lady's favour.

All this information seemed to French to work in with the case he was endeavouring to make. The Vanes had apparently been living beyond their income, or at least Mrs. Vane had been living beyond hers, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to make ends meet. He did not see that any other interpretation of the dwindling balance and the overdraft could be found. That overdraft represented, he imagined, part of the lady's ticket to America. Then a hundred pounds was paid in on the very next day, as he soon saw, to that on which Mr. Williams had paid Mrs. X her £3000. Here was at least a suggestion of motive for the robbery, and also the first fruits of its accomplishment. Moreover, the subsequent withdrawal of all but a small balance, left doubtless to disarm suspicion, would unquestionably work in with the theory of flight. On the whole, French was well pleased with the results of his call.

But he was even more pleased to find on his return to the Yard that his assistants had located a registry office whose books included the name of Susan Scott. By some extraordinary chance, the very first call they made struck oil. The men, of course, had realised that there must be many Susan Scotts in London, but when they found that this one had placed her name on the firm's books on the day after Mrs. Vane's departure, they felt sure that they were on the right track. They had not, therefore, proceeded further with their inquiry, but had spent their time trying to locate the Inspector with the object of passing on the information with the minimum of delay.

The address was Mrs. Gill, 75 Horsewell Street, Edgware Road, and thither before many minutes had passed Inspector French was wending his way. The registry office was a small concern, consisting of only two rooms in a private house in a quiet street running out of Edgware Road. In the outer were two young women of the servant class, and these eyed French curiously, evidently seeing in him a prospective employer. Mrs. Gill was engaged with a third girl, but a few seconds after French's arrival she took her departure and he was called into the private room.

The lady was not at first inclined to be communicative. But when French revealed his profession and threatened her with the powers and majesty of the law, she became profusely apologetic and anxious to help. She looked up her books and informed him that the girl was lodging at No. 31 Norfolk Terrace, Mistletoe Road.

As it was close by, French walked to the place. Here again his luck held in a way that he began to consider almost uncanny. A tall, coarsely good-looking blonde opened the door and announced in answer to his inquiry that she herself was Miss Scott. Soon he was sitting opposite to her in a tiny parlour, while she stared at him with something approaching insolence out of her rather bold eyes.

French, sizing her up rapidly, was courteous but firm. He began by ostentatiously laying his notebook on the table, opening it at a fresh page, and after saying, “Miss
Susan
Scott, isn't it?” wrote the name at the head of the sheet.

“Now, Miss Scott,” he announced briskly, “I am Inspector French from Scotland Yard, and I am investigating a case of murder and robbery.” He paused, and seeing the girl was duly impressed, continued, “It happens that your recent mistress, Mrs. Vane, is wanted to give evidence in the case, and I have come to you for some information about where to find her.”

The girl made an exclamation of surprise, and a look, partly of fear and partly of thrilled delight, appeared in her blue eyes.

“I don't know anything about her,” she declared.

“I'm sure you know quite a lot,” French returned. “All I want is to ask you some questions. If you answer them truly, you have nothing to fear, but, as you probably know, there are very serious penalties indeed for keeping back evidence. You could be sent to prison for that.”

Having by these remarks banished the girl's look of insolence and reduced her to a suitable frame of mind, French got on to business.

“Am I right in believing that you have been until last Friday house and parlourmaid to Mrs. Vane, of Crewe Lodge, St. John's Wood Road?”

“Yes, I was there for about three months.”

French, to assist not only his own memory but the impressiveness of the interview, noted the reply in his book.

“Three months,” he repeated deliberately. “Very good. Now, why did you leave?”

“Because I had to,” the girl said sulkily. “Mrs. Vane was closing the house.”

French nodded.

“So I understood. Tell me what happened, please; just in your own words.”

“She came in that afternoon shortly before four, all fussed like and hurrying, and said she was leaving immediately for New York. She said she had just had a cable that Mr. Vane had had an accident there, and they were afraid he wouldn't get over it. She said for cook to get her some tea while I helped her pack. She just threw her clothes in her suitcases. My word, if I had done packing like that I shouldn't half have copped it! By the time she'd finished, cook had tea ready, and while mistress was having it, cook and I packed. I started to clear away the tea things, but mistress said there wasn't time for that, for me just to leave them and run out and get two taxis. She said there was a special for the American boat that she must catch. So I got the taxis, and she got into one and cook and I into the other, and we drove away together, and that's all I know about it.”

“What time was that?”

“About half-past four, I should think. I didn't look.”

“Where did you get the taxis?”

“On the stand at the end of Gardiner Street.”

“Who gave Mrs. Vane's taximan his address?”

“I did. It was Euston.”

“It was rather hard lines on you and the cook, turning you out like that at a moment's notice. I hope she made it up to you?”

Miss Scott smiled scornfully.

“That was all right,” she answered. “We told her about it, and she gave us a fiver apiece, as well as our months' wages.”

“Not so bad,” French admitted. “Who locked up the house?”

“She did, and took the key.”

“And what happened to you and cook?'

“We drove on here and I got out. This is my sister's house, you understand. Cook went on to Paddington. She lives in Reading or somewhere down that way. Mrs. Vane said that when she came back she would look us up, and if we were disengaged we could come back to her. But she said not to keep out of a place for her, as she didn't know how long she might have to stay in America.”

French paused in thought, then went on:

“Was Mrs. Vane much from home while you were with her?”

“No, she was only away once. But she stayed over three weeks that time. It's a bit strange that it was an accident, too. Her sister in Scotland fell and broke her collar bone, so she told us, and she had to go to keep house till she was better. Somewhere in Scotland, she said.”

“When was that?”

The girl hesitated.

“I don't know that I could say exactly,” she answered at last. “She's back about six weeks or two months, and she left over three weeks before that, about a couple of weeks after I went. Say about ten weeks altogether.”

This was distinctly satisfactory. Mrs. Vane's absence seemed to cover the period of Mrs. X's visit to America.

“I should like to fix the exact dates if I could,” French persisted, “or at least the date she came back. Just think, will you, please. Is there nothing you can remember by?”

The girl presumably thought, for she was silent for some moments, but her cogitations were unproductive. She shook her head.

“Did you stay in the house while she was away?”

“No. I came here and cook went home.”

This was better. The attention of a number of people had been drawn to the date, and some one of them should surely be able to fix it.

“On what day of the week did you go back?” French prompted.

The girl considered this.

“It was a Thursday,” she said at last. “I remember that now, because Thursday is my night out, and I remembered thinking that that week I shouldn't get it.”

French was delighted with the reply. It was on a Thursday night, seven weeks earlier, that Mrs. X had driven from the Savoy to Victoria, left her boxes there, and vanished. The thing was working in.

“What time of the day did she arrive?”

“In the evening.” Miss Scott answered promptly this time. “It was about half eight or a quarter to nine.”

Better and better! Mrs. X left the Savoy shortly before eight, and it would take her about three-quarters of an hour to drive to Victoria, leave her trunks in the left luggage office, and get out to St. John's Wood Road.

“Now,” French went on, “if you or your sister could just remember the week that happened, I should be very much obliged.”

Susan Scott sat with a heavy frown on her rather pretty features. Concentrated thought was evidently an unwonted exercise. But at last her efforts bore fruit.

“I've got it now,” she said with something of triumph in her tone. “It was the last week of November. I remember it because my brother-in-law got his new job in the first week of December, and that was the following Monday. I heard that much about his job that I ought to know.”

French had scarcely doubted that this would prove to be the date, but it was most excellent to have it fixed in so definite a manner. He felt that he was progressing in his weaving of the net round the elusive Mrs. X.

“That's very good,” he said approvingly. “Now will you tell me about Mr. Vane.”

The girl sniffed.

“Him?” she said scornfully. “There ain't much to tell about him. He didn't trouble us much with his company.”

“How was that? Did they not get on? Remember we're speaking in confidence.”

“Why, I never even saw him. He didn't turn up all the three months I was there. But I heard about him from cook. He was away all the time or next thing to it. When he did come, it was generally for two days. He would come late in the evening, so cook said, and stay for two days without ever going so much as outside the door, and then go away again in the evening.”

“You mean that if he came, say, on a Monday night, he would stay until the following Wednesday night?”

“Yes; or sometimes for three days, so cook said.”

“What time in the evening would he come and go?”

“About half-past ten he always came, and a little before eight he left.”

“Do you mean that he arrived and left at the same time on each visit?”

“Yes, always about the same time.”

“After dark?”

“No. Just at those times. It was the same summer and winter. At least, that's all what cook told me. We talked about it many a time. She thought he was balmy.”

French was somewhat puzzled by this information. The whole story had what he called with a fine disregard for metaphorical purity, a “fishy ring.” At first it had looked uncommonly like as if Mr. Vane were paying clandestine visits to his own house, and, if so, he might well be the man the old stage doorkeeper had spoken of, and still have another establishment elsewhere. But this last answer seemed to suggest some other explanation of Vane's mysterious movements. After a pause, French went on:

“Did it ever strike you he was trying to keep his visits secret?”

“I can't say it did,” the girl answered with apparent regret. “Cook never said that. But,” more hopefully, “it might have been that, mightn't it?”