Mystery of Mr. Jessop (26 page)

“He said no one could ever know.”

“Why not? The necklace would turn up somewhere, and then the purchaser would be known.”

“Mr. Jessop said not. I thought his idea seemed to be to say that the real purchaser had turned out to be another firm buying from us in order to sell to one of their own clients. Perhaps it wasn't that at all, and I'm just putting two and two together and making five. Anyhow, I didn't want to be mixed up in it, whatever it was.”

“Didn't you say anything to Mr. Jacks or Mr. Wright?”

“No, I couldn't. I didn't know anything really. I hadn't an atom of proof. Besides” – she hesitated – “I suppose I must tell you. Mr. Jessop got in first. He knew I was uncomfortable about the hints he kept dropping. And he saw I didn't mean to fall for his theatre tickets or his dinners, or hold hands.” She hesitated again, and went redder still.

“They gave me a very good reference, so there was nothing I could do, but he told both Mr. Jacks and Mr. Wright I wasn't trustworthy.”

“Did they say anything to you?”

“Oh, no. I only knew through Miss Ellison, one of the girls there I was rather pals with. She heard them talking. You see, it was my job to go out at night wearing the firm's jewellery. He told them he had information I was planning to be run away with or kidnapped or something. If I had started accusing him after he had been accusing me – well, it wouldn't have looked too good. And Denis said I must be careful or I might be let in for an action for slander or libel.”

“Denis? Mr. Chenery? You told him?”

“I had to tell someone,” she said. “I just had to. When you came Saturday night, I think we were both afraid for the moment Mr. Jessop had really said I was stealing things, and you meant to arrest me. I suppose it was rather silly.” Bobby supposed that explained the sense of strain and unease of which he had been aware in both Hilda and Denis that night. He said slowly:

“I dare say Mr. Chenery was very indignant?”

“Oh, he was furious,” she answered. “He wanted to go straight off. He said –”

“Yes?” prompted Bobby, when she paused.

“Oh, just talk,” she answered evasively.

“Threats?” Bobby asked.

“Oh, in a sort of way. Just for a minute, I was almost afraid.” She added slowly: “If you think Denis had anything to do with – with the murder – well, he hadn't; he couldn't have. Just for one moment after you told me about it, I panicked. But then I remembered he couldn't.”

“Why?”

“I was with him all afternoon and evening.”

“Could you tell me exactly where?”

“In his car – he has a garage business, you know. It's a dreadful struggle to keep it going, but at any rate he always has a car to use.”

“Did you call anywhere? See friends, for instance?”

“No, we only went for a drive – in the country somewhere. I don't know exactly where.”

“Wasn't quite the weather for motoring, was it?”

“It wasn't so bad when we started, and the paper said it would clear up. It didn't, but we thought we would risk it.”

“You stopped somewhere for a meal?”

“Oh, no. I always take something to eat. It's so much less expensive.”

It seemed then, Bobby noted, that, so far as an alibi for Denis Chenery existed, it depended solely on Hilda's testimony. That did not disprove it, of course, but also was hardly conclusive.

“Mr. Chenery said rather violent things about Mr. Jessop,” Bobby went on. “Was Mr. Chenery ever armed? Did he carry a pistol, for instance?”

“No, never. I'm quite sure of that.”

“Mr. Dickson tells me he carries a pistol when he is in charge of the duchess's jewels, and he thinks you used to do the same.”

“Oh, I never did,” declared Hilda. “I hate the silly things. If you just touch them they go off very likely. I think they're dangerous,” she said with grave emphasis.

“So they are,” agreed Bobby. He was glancing through his notes, and now, looking up, he said: “There's one point. Have you any idea of the identity of the person for whom you were to act as nominee in the necklace business?”

“No. Mr. Jessop hinted it was the duchess, but I knew that was nonsense. He was only saying that. She could no more have raised such a lot of money than – than I could.”

“I see,” said Bobby. “Has Mr. Wright been with the firm long? He seems rather rough to be a manager of a swell jeweller's.”

“He is very clever with his hands and he knows a lot about jewels,” she answered. “He knows their value at once. I didn't like him at all – he's an awful bully. He used to be a prize-fighter, you know. They said in the office he killed a man once when they were fighting. I don't know if it's true. He's really wonderful with his hands. I've seen him do things with a big pocket-knife he uses when anyone else would want all sorts of tools and things. He never had much to do with the selling end, so it didn't matter about his being such a boor. I never liked him, and he just hated me. I believe he really thought I was planning to run away with their beastly stuff.”

“Do you mean after Mr. Jessop had been complaining about you?”

“Before that. He was always suspecting someone. He's got mirrors fixed up so he can watch people without their knowing – the staff as well as customers. I think it's horrid. Of course, some of the customers aren't customers at all, only crooks. But he might trust the firm's own staff; some of them have been there all their lives. Almost the first week I was there I had an awful row with him because a ring was missed and he wanted me searched, and it turned out it had just dropped down in the showcase, if he had only looked before being in such a hurry to be horrid. He did apologise that time. But you always knew he was suspecting you all the time, and I think that's suspicious, too.”

“Quite true,” agreed Bobby. He began to look through his notes again. “Oh, yes,” he said, “there's that I wanted to ask you. Can you say exactly when you saw the Fellows necklace last?”

She shook her head.

“I'm not sure,” she answered. “Not for some time, though. It was kept in the strong-room, and only the partners or Mr. Wright went there. And it was kept in a locked case and only taken out to show special people.”

“One thing more,” Bobby said. “Did Mr. Jessop seem odd or excited on Saturday? Did you notice anything unusual?”

“Something he saw in a copy of the
Upper Ten
upset him. He was looking at the photographs – it has splendid photographs – and suddenly he gave a sort of yell – not a yell, a sort of funny noise.”

“Yes?” said Bobby.

“I said, ‘Oh, what is it?' I was quite startled, and he looked awfully funny, but he didn't answer; I don't think he heard. He let the paper drop, and then he picked it up and made a sort of run out of the room.”

“Have you any idea what he was looking at? Or what upset him?”

“Not the least. I couldn't imagine.”

“There was a copy of the
Upper Ten
in the room where he was shot,” Bobby remarked thoughtfully. “I looked through it. I remember there was a photograph of the Duchess of Westhaven at the races.”

“I don't see why that should upset him,” Hilda said.

“I've wondered why till I'm stupid with thinking about it,” Bobby said slowly. “You have heard there was a large sum in French and Swiss currency found in his flat. Have you any knowledge of any transaction to account for that?”

“No. Mr. Wright might know. I don't. If it was in his flat, it would be something private, wouldn't it? Nothing to do with the business.”

“I suppose so” agreed Bobby. “Well, Miss May, thank you very much. You've given some very useful information I'm sure my chiefs will be grateful for.”

With that Bobby closed his note-book and devoted himself to securing for her a taxi to take her back to her flat, where, however, he warned her she might find workmen still busy repairing her door.

When he had seen her off, he turned to the hospital porter.

“Pop-shop near here?” he asked.

The porter looked highly amused.

“Hard up?” he asked. “Looks bad so early in the week. Week-end natural enough, but at the beginning...!”

“That's all right,” said Bobby good-humouredly. “I want to buy something this time. A watch.”

“Oh, yes,” said the porter, giving the required information but all the time looking hard at the watch on Bobby's wrist. “Out of order?” he suggested.

“Oh, no,” Bobby answered. “That's what I want – one that's a bit out of order and needs putting right. I thought a pop-shop would be likelier than a jeweller's.”

The porter evidently thought this a good joke, and chuckled over it immensely.

His way back from the pawnbroker's, where he had somewhat astonished the assistant by his careful choice of a watch he was insistent must be out of order, but not too much so, brought Bobby again past the hospital, where talking to the porter was a young man he recognised at once.

“Why, Mr. Chenery,” he said. “Luck to run across you like this. We've been trying to get in touch with you.”

“I've been in the country,” Denis said briefly. “On business. I heard you people had been asking for me. Look here, what's this about Miss May? I heard she was in hospital, but they say she's just gone out.”

“She insisted on it,” Bobby answered. “My chief wants to ask you about some pointers he thinks you might be able to give him. Do you mind coming along to the Yard now with me?”

“I must see Miss May first. I want to know what's happened. Afterwards, if you like.”

“Police business comes first, if you don't mind,” Bobby said. “Delay's dangerous, you know, especially in our job.”

There was a brief argument that for a moment grew heated – so heated, indeed, Bobby felt had it not been day, and help within call, the other's reluctance might have expressed itself more by deed than by word.

However, in the end Denis gave way.

“It's a lot of silly rot,” he complained. “Just meddling, interfering official thick-headedness.”

“Red tape, we call it,” said Bobby amiably; “a strangling thing.”

“Eh?” exclaimed Denis, a little startled.

“A strangling thing, I said,” Bobby answered. “Red tape, I mean. But there you are. Much as my job is worth to go back and say I met you and you promised to come along presently. Vacancy in the force after that. No need to worry about Miss May either. She'll be all right again in a day or two, and no thanks to whoever laid her out.”

“Who was it?” demanded Denis.

“Haven't an idea in the world – yet,” answered Bobby. “There's a motor-'bus somewhere along this way we could take.”

“Any objection to a taxi?”

“Not the least in the world – if you stand it,” answered Bobby. “Sergeant's pay don't run to taxis, and sergeants can't wangle taxi fares through expense lists. Only the big hats can do that.”

“All right, I'll pay,” grumbled Denis.

He hailed a passing taxi, and, once they were installed and the taxi on its way, he said:

“Now, tell me what's up about Miss May?”

Bobby gave a brief account of what had happened, and asked Denis where he had been on Sunday. Denis explained that it was his day to be in charge at the garage, so as to give the foreman manager a day off, but added that he had left early to go into the country.

“On business,” he said. “I had to ring up Wilks – the chap who helps runs the place. Had to promise him a quid extra to come on again. Lucky to find him at home.”

“Odd time, Sunday evening, for important business to crop up,” Bobby remarked.

“Well it just happened,” Denis answered.

“Can you give me particulars?”

“Don't see why I should. Nothing to do with you or Jessop's murder, or the Fellows necklace, either.”

“What were your precise movements when you left the garage?”

“Hopped into a car with a friend and left,” answered Denis. “Why? I tried to see Miss May first, if that's what you're getting at, but she wasn't in. I had an appointment with her for Monday I wanted to tell her I couldn't keep.”

“You didn't see her, then? Did you leave a message or anything?”

“No. I thought I would ring her in the morning.”

“I take it you found her door locked?”

“Of course. She wouldn't be likely to leave it open while she was out.”

Bobby pressed the point. But Denis was quite clear. The door of the flat was securely shut, and showed no trace of having been interfered with. It was impossible, Denis insisted, he could have failed to notice any signs of forcible entry had any then existed. But about the time he was not sure, not to half an hour one way or the other. He remembered having noticed Charley Dickson with a friend just outside the flats. He had wondered if Dickson, too, were calling on Miss May, but concluded, as he had a friend with him, that was probably not so. He denied having recognised the friend as “Penny” Logan, but admitted he knew Logan slightly, though he showed no sign of any special interest in, or animosity towards, that gentleman.

“I only noticed Dickson had someone with him,” he said. “I was in a hurry. I didn't look particularly, and he was on the other side of Dickson. I dare say it was Logan. Does it matter?”

Bobby said he didn't suppose so, but one never knew. He thought to himself that what did matter was that, so far as the somewhat vague times could be established, then if Dickson's story were true and his watch was accurate, it seemed to follow that Denis had preceded Bobby's call at Miss May's flat by not more than, at the outside, ten minutes. But certainly it must have taken more than ten minutes to force the door, search the flat, carry out the attack on Miss May, and depart. It followed, therefore, that on Dickson's evidence, corroborated to some extent by what Denis said himself, the door must have been in the same condition when Denis arrived as when Bobby himself got there.