Blood From a Stone (15 page)

Isabelle smiled and reached out her hand to him.

Dr Hawley tapped Jack on the arm. ‘We'll wait outside, major.'

In the corridor, Dr Hawley looked satisfied. ‘I was very pleased to see the patient recognised her husband. I didn't think there was any lasting damage, but head injuries can be very tricky things.'

‘She will be all right, won't she, doctor?' asked Jack anxiously.

Dr Hawley assumed the hearty common sense he used to reassure relatives. ‘She'll be very stiff and sore for a while, but there's no bones broken, thank goodness. As long as she has complete rest tonight, she should be discharged tomorrow. I realise the patient's husband is understandably anxious, but it would be best if his visit was as short as possible. I can't allow any other visitors.'

The fact that the doctor referred to Isabelle as ‘the patient' suddenly irritated Jack. It wasn't unkind but it was anonymous. Isabelle was a person who
mattered,
a person with a name and people who cared about her. ‘I'll make sure I tell Mrs Stanton's parents, Sir Philip and Lady Rivers, as much.'

At the mention of the gentry, the doctor's manner subtly altered. He shifted back a step and put his head to one side quizzically. ‘Sir Philip and Lady Rivers, eh? Yes, yes, of course.' He coughed. ‘Naturally, I would make an exception in their case.'

Good old snobbery, thought Jack. It never fails.

‘I'm sure Mrs Stanton will be relieved to see her mother. Incidentally,' said the doctor, regarding Jack as an individual for the first time, ‘I'm very glad you and Captain Stanton turned up. We had no way of knowing who Mrs Stanton was. Her handbag was picked up at the scene of the accident but there was nothing in it to identify her. She regained consciousness shortly after the accident but was quite unfit to answer any questions. Since being admitted, she's been asleep. How did you know she was here?'

‘We telephoned Scotland Yard.'

‘Scotland Yard?' Dr Hawley's eyebrows shot up. ‘Good heavens, whatever for? That seems a somewhat extreme reaction. After all, Mrs Stanton can't have been missing for very long.' He looked at Jack doubtfully. ‘Does Captain Stanton usually panic in this manner if his wife is absent for a few hours?' His eyebrows reached further heights. ‘Is he subject to nerves?'

The doctor clearly thought, however correct his actions had proved to be, Arthur was madly over-possessive if not next door to a basket case.

‘It's not nerves, doctor, it's circumstances. Did you see the papers this morning? About the murder on the train?' Jack gave the doctor a brief account of what had happened, ending with the telephone call from Leonard Duggleby.

Dr Hawley was thunderstruck. ‘God bless my soul! Do you mean to tell me you suspect Mrs Stanton's accident to have been caused
deliberately
?' He broke off as Arthur came out of the room. ‘Captain Stanton, Major Haldean tells me that you believe your wife was the victim of a calculated attack. I can hardly believe it, sir. Surely you're placing too much emphasis on what has to be a simple accident.'

‘Hardly,' said Arthur. His face was very grim. ‘Isabelle told me she was pushed.'

‘But ...' Words failed the doctor. He stared at the two men. ‘What on earth are you going to do? If there is any truth in this fantastic story, that is.'

‘I think we'd better ring Scotland Yard,' said Jack. ‘It might be as well if Mrs Stanton has a police guard.'

The doctor stared at him, once more struggling for words. From his expression, Jack guessed Dr Hawley had a shrewd suspicion he was either dealing with a couple of complete romancers or a pair of practical jokers.

Doctor Hawley suddenly brightened. ‘Scotland Yard? Yes, of course, that probably would be the best idea. Ring Scotland Yard by all means, gentlemen. You can use the telephone in my office. I'll see you have the correct number.'

Jack smiled. The doctor thought he had called their bluff. ‘Thank you very much. It's very helpful of you.'

And that, thought Jack with some satisfaction, as they set off for Dr Hawley's office, had well and truly had taken the wind out of his sails.

The following afternoon Isabelle, a bandage round her head, sat beside her mother on the big sofa by the window of the flat, looking out onto the afternoon sunshine of Lydstep Mews. Sir Philip and Lady Rivers had come up to London to take Isabelle back to Hesperus with them. That, as far as Arthur was concerned, solved a real problem. He had to go to Croxton Ferriers but he hated the idea of leaving Isabelle alone.

Aunt Alice, thought Jack, looking at Isabelle's mother affectionately, really was the goods. She didn't, thank goodness, panic. Her good sense and calm had reassured Arthur and the fact she and Uncle Philip were staying in the flat had given Lizzie and Mrs Travis, the cook, something to think about apart from the worry, as Mrs Travis volubly expressed it, of not being able to step over the doorstep without being murdered.

Uncle Philip, standing with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, was chatting to Bill Rackham. They were waiting for Leonard Duggleby.

It was Jack's idea that Duggleby should call. The attempt on Isabelle and the attempt on Duggleby were so clearly connected, it made sense to both Jack and Bill that the two should compare notes.

The doorbell sounded and, moments later, Lizzie showed Leonard Duggleby into the room. He looked understandably ill at ease but his anxiety was swallowed up by concern as he saw Isabelle.

His long face lengthened as he sat down, his attention fixed on Isabelle. ‘I say, Mrs Stanton, you look as if you've taken a dickens of a knock.'

‘I did, rather,' said Isabelle. ‘I'm still awfully stiff and creaky. I can't really say much about what happened, but I understand from the people who saw it that I was lucky to escape in one piece. I gather you were lucky, too.'

‘I suppose I was.' He smiled shyly. ‘I don't know if you feel the same, but it's so hard to believe that someone seriously tried to ... er ... kill us.' He completed the sentence with an apologetic lift of his eyebrows. ‘I'm sorry to put it like that. It seems so ridiculously melodramatic.'

‘It was real enough,' said Isabelle with a shudder.

‘You'd had the jumps earlier, didn't you?' said Jack. ‘When we had lunch at the Criterion, I mean. You were certain someone was watching you.'

‘You never mentioned that, dear,' said her mother.

Isabelle nodded, then winced, touching her bandage. ‘I think that's why I managed to get out of the way. I think I'd been on my guard all afternoon. It was the creepiest feeling, you know?'

‘Did you spot who was watching you?' asked Bill.

‘Jack saw a man in a top hat and a woman in a maroon outfit leave the restaurant. It could have been them.'

Duggleby gave a little start. ‘A man in a topper?'

‘I only got a glimpse of their backs, worse luck,' said Jack.

Sir Philip blew out his cheeks in discontent. ‘It's precious little to go on, by gad.'

Duggleby looked at Jack thoughtfully. ‘And this was at the Criterion, you say? That's in Piccadilly, where I came to grief,' he added. ‘It's quite a coincidence, isn't it? Only I don't suppose it's a coincidence at all. I saw a man in a topper that morning, when I was in Fleet Street. He was standing by the Cheshire Cheese. I had an uncomfortable feeling about him. It's exactly as Mrs Stanton says. It felt as if I was being watched.'

‘Would you know him again?' asked Bill.

Duggleby hesitated. ‘I'm not sure. I had this rummy feeling that someone was keeping tabs on me. I looked round and this chap, the one outside the Cheshire Cheese, turned and walked quickly away. I
might
know him again, but it was only a passing glance, you understand. What's the idea? That this man in a topper followed Mrs Stanton when she left the restaurant?'

‘It seems likely enough,' said Bill. ‘He saw his chance and took it. The same applies to you, Mr Duggleby. He'd marked you out that morning and took care to know where you were. Mrs Stanton's been tucked up safely in hospital since the accident, but have you had any other incidents since your experience in Piccadilly?'

‘No,' said Duggleby thoughtfully. ‘That is ...' He shook his head. ‘I've felt as if someone's watching me from time to time, but it's all so very nebulous.' He half-laughed. ‘Believe you me, I've taken care crossing the road, though.'

‘This is crazy!' protested Isabelle. ‘I can't go on like this, constantly looking over my shoulder to see if a man in a top hat's there. Neither of us can.' She suddenly broke off and swallowed. ‘It's
frightening.
'

Arthur crossed the room and, sitting down beside her, put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You're not going to face anything like that again.' He glanced up at Jack. ‘Haven't you got any ideas? Who is this man? Why did this happen?'

Jack glanced at Bill. ‘The why's obvious enough, I'd say. It has to be connected with Parson's murder. You know something, Belle – or, at least, the murderer thinks you do – and he doesn't want either you or Duggleby to work out what it is.'

‘Somehow or other you're a danger to him,' agreed Bill.

‘But I don't know anything!' protested Duggleby.

Jack shook his head. ‘That's not quite true, is it? Don't forget, you've seen the bloke in the topper. I've seen him too, even though it was only a glimpse. Bill, we were looking for Parson's partner, weren't we?'

‘Parson's partner,' repeated Bill. ‘The man in the top hat could be him. If he was Parson's partner, it sounds as if he might be a high-class fence.'

‘Yes,' agreed Jack slowly. ‘That's one possibility.' He broke off as the doorbell rang.

‘We weren't expecting anyone,' said Arthur with a groan. ‘I'll tell Lizzie to get rid of them.'

There was the hum of voices in the hall and a few moments later, Lizzie came into the room. ‘It's a Mr and Mrs Leigh,' she said. She looked at Isabelle. ‘I said you'd just come out of hospital, ma'am, and they said they were that sorry to hear it, and that they wouldn't disturb you if you weren't up to seeing them, but they'd really like to thank you for what you've done.'

Isabelle looked at her mother. ‘You and Dad know the Leighs, don't you?'

‘Yes, dear, we do. I really think we'd better see them, even if it's only for a few minutes.'

‘All right,' said Arthur. ‘Show them in, Lizzie.'

Duggleby looked up with interest. ‘Mr and Mrs Leigh? The people who own the jewels, you mean?' Isabelle nodded. ‘I was going to drop them a line. My landlady told me they'd called, but I wasn't in. I couldn't think what on earth they wanted to see me about.'

‘Probably to give you their grateful thanks, my dear feller,' said Sir Philip, looking at Duggleby approvingly. ‘After all, it's thanks to you that their precious sapphires didn't go west.' He stood up and straightened his waistcoat as the door opened.

‘M
rs and Mrs Leigh,' said Lizzie, ushering them in.

It was always an event when Evie Leigh entered a room. The picture in the magazine, thought Jack, had captured her features perfectly, but it couldn't convey her sense of unspoken authority. She wafted in on a cloud of expensive scent, every inch the embodiment of
chic
, from her fine leather shoes with slim heels to her wide-brimmed hat with a turquoise feather.

Evie Leigh looked quickly around the room and fastened on Isabelle. ‘Mrs Stanton!' She came towards the sofa and sat down, her Egyptian blue silk shawl billowing around her.

That
hat, thought Isabelle, remembering the cloche hat in the Walpole's shop window in New Bond Street, probably cost at least a fortnight's household expenses and maybe more. She spared a glance for Frank Leigh, standing behind his wife, looking solid, square and very ordinary.

‘What a perfectly
dreadful
thing to have happened!' said Evie earnestly. ‘Frank and I absolutely had to see you. I
had
to thank you personally for restoring my sapphires. I could hardly credit it when your little parlourmaid told us that you'd only just come home from hospital. These frightful motorists who think they own the road are just too bad, aren't they? We won't stay long, of course, but we really were
desperate
to give you our thanks.'

‘It really is very good of you to take the trouble,' said Isabelle. ‘You know my mother, of course, and my father ...'

‘Of course,' murmured Evie. ‘
Dear
Lady Rivers, you must have been positively eaten up with anxiety. And Sir Philip, too.'

‘And this,' said Isabelle, continuing with the introductions, ‘is Inspector Rackham of Scotland Yard.'

‘Oh dear! I do hope we're not interrupting anything official.' She smiled engagingly at Bill Rackham.

Bill, Jack noticed with some amusement, couldn't but help smiling back in a dazzled sort of way. It wasn't that Evie Leigh was remarkably good looking exactly – she must be nudging forty for a start – but she was certainly striking, exquisitely made up and very definitely Someone. ‘You're the policeman who gave my husband the sapphires, aren't you? How utterly unexpected to find you here.'

‘And this,' continued Isabelle, ‘is my cousin, Major Haldean.'

‘Major Haldean?' said Frank Leigh, his eyes narrowing in a frown. ‘We've met before, of course.' He was obviously turning something over in his mind. ‘Major, Celia tells me that you've got a knack for solving problems. She was insistent I ask you for help.'

‘Frank, you're not going to buttonhole the major about Terence Napier, are you?' interrupted Evie. ‘Leave the poor man alone. I'm sure he's got better things to do than listen to our affairs.' She smiled apologetically at Jack. ‘I'm sorry, major. You must be constantly asked for advice and it must be
such
a bore.'