The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) (24 page)

‘
No,
’
said Jameson.
‘
I think he preferred to know as little as possible about what
his sister was getting up to, and she certainly never volunteered the information.
’

‘
What will happen to her son now?
’

‘
Bertie? I don
’
t know,
’
said Jameson.
‘
His grandmother and his mother are both dead, and his uncle is unable to spare the time to look a
fter him. If he stays at home, I dare say he will have to learn to shift for himself
—
he must be eight or nine, and so is certainly old enough, although it is hard for a young lad to grow up without a mother.
’

‘
Yes,
’
said Angela.
‘
Poor things. Both of them,
I mean. Lew and the boy,
’
she explained in response to Inspector Jameson
’
s inquiring look.

They finished dinner and left the restaurant, and the inspector escorted Angela to where William was waiting with the Bentley.

‘
Mrs. Marchmont!
’
came a call, and th
ey turned to see a young woman wearing an enormous fur coat hurrying towards them.

‘
Why, it
’
s Gertie!
’
said Angela, as she recognized the girl.

Gertie McAloon stopped somewhat breathlessly before her. She was looking very demure in comparison with the last
time they had met, but this was easily explained when Angela saw the girl
’
s companions, a rather smart and stiff-looking man and woman, who stood some distance away regarding the little group with suspicion.

‘
Oh, don
’
t mind them,
’
said Gertie, when she sa
w Angela looking across at them.
‘
It
’
s just Mother and Father. They brought me out this evening so I could show them that I can be trusted to behave myself. It
’
s all gone swimmingly well
—
why, I haven
’
t so much as smoked a cigarette or said “
damn,”
once. W
i
th any luck, I
’
ll be allowed out without them by Christmas. Listen, Angela, I haven
’
t had the chance to thank you for getting Walter and me out of prison the other week.
’

‘
Oh, pray, don
’
t mention it,
’
said Angela, trying not to laugh at Inspector Jameson
’
s
look of astonishment.

‘
Angela sprang us, you know,
’
said Gertie to the inspector, quite unabashed.
‘
Neither of us had any money, and if Angela hadn
’
t come to the rescue we should still be in gaol now, quite probably.
’

‘
Indeed
—
er
—
Miss?
’
said Jameson.

‘
This
is Lady Gertrude McAloon,
’
said Angela.
‘
Gertie, this is Inspector Jameson of Scotland Yard. I should be careful what you say if I were you.
’

‘
Oh, nonsense,
’
said Gertie briskly.
‘
Why, we
’
re all paid-up and square. You
’
ve got nothing on me, inspector.
’

‘
A
h,
’
said Jameson, understanding.
‘
You must be the young lady who had the little trouble at the Copernicus Club.
’

‘
That
’
s right,
’
said Gertie.
‘
All jolly good fun, except for the night in prison, of course. That was rather a bore, but I might have got away
with it if the magistrate hadn
’
t insisted on making me give my full name to all those reporters. I
’
d been rather hoping that Father wouldn
’
t find out. I always knew it was a silly name, but it sounds even more ridiculous when recited out loud in court. Lu
c
rè
ce, indeed! She was a great-aunt of mine, you know. Apparently she was a mistress of Napoleon the Third, although I don
’
t know why they insisted on inflicting her name on me.
’

‘
Come along, Gertie, dear, or we shall be late,
’
called the woman.

‘
Just comin
g, Mother,
’
said Gertie over her shoulder.
‘
Well, thank you, anyway, Angela. I shan
’
t forget it.
’

She flashed Angela and Jameson a wicked and unrepentant grin and ran off.

‘
Rather a lively young lady,
’
remarked the inspector.
‘
I shouldn
’
t like to have the
charge of her, I must say.
’

Angela did not reply. She was staring after Gertie with a puzzled frown on her face.

‘
What is it?
’
said Jameson.

She turned back to him, and Jameson was struck by her odd expression. Then she returned to herself and smiled.

‘
It
’
s nothing,
’
she said.
‘
I just had the most extraordinary and disturbing thought, that
’
s all.
’

‘
Oh? About what?
’

She did not reply directly, but merely said,
‘
I was thinking of something you said earlier. I wonder, now
—’
she hesitated.

‘
Do you have an idea
about the murder?
’
said Jameson.

She appeared to come to a decision.

‘
Look here, inspector,
’
she said.
‘
I should hate to waste your time by sending you on a ridiculous wild-goose chase. I
’
d like to do a little research on my own account first. May I call y
ou tomorrow if anything turns up?
’

‘
You
’
re not going to put yourself in danger, I hope?
’
said the inspector in some alarm.

‘
Oh, no, nothing like that,
’
she assured him.

‘
I seem to remember your saying the same to me during the Underwood House case. You nea
rly got killed, then, don
’
t you remember?
’
he said.

‘
I
’
d forgotten about that,
’
said Angela with a guilty laugh.
‘
But no
—
this time I shall just be taking a little trip to the Strand.
’

‘
And you will call me tomorrow?
’

‘
If I have anything to tell,
’
she repli
ed.
‘
I
’
m almost certain I
’
m wrong, but there
’
s no harm in making sure.
’

Early the next morning Angela received a telephone-call from Cynthia Pilkington-Soames, who was still full of the events in Littlechurch and wanted to find out whether Ang
ela could tell her anything more before she submitted her gossip column for that week to the
Clarion
. Angela wondered what Cynthia would say if she knew her own son had been behind the fiasco, but held her tongue.

‘
Vassily
’
s been given thirty days,
’
said C
ynthia breathlessly.
‘
Marguerite went along and pleaded his case, saying that they ought to make allowances for the artistic temperament, but the magistrate would have none of it. He merely said that if
that
was what the modern artistic temperament looked
like, then perhaps a spell in prison would dampen it down a little; furthermore, if Mr. Constable was perfectly able to confine his artistic temperament to canvas without feeling the need to express it with his fists too, then he saw no reason why Vassily
oughtn
’
t to be held to the same standards.
’

‘
Oh dear,
’
said Angela.
‘
How did Marguerite take it?
’

‘
She was upset, naturally, but she seems to think that the sentence will furnish Vassily with plenty of new material and inspiration, and spur him on to furth
er heights of creativity. At least, that
’
s what she called out to him when they were leading him off to gaol. I
’
m not sure whether he was convinced, though.
’

‘
Poor Marguerite,
’
said Angela.
‘
I know she wanted her exhibition to attract attention, but I don
’
t suppose that was the sort she had in mind.
’

‘
Oh, but I quite forgot the other news,
’
went on Cynthia excitedly.
‘
Did you know that Gil Blakeney has run off?
’

‘
What?
’
said Angela in surprise.
‘
Are you sure?
’

‘
Oh, yes. Nobody has seen him since Sunday. Luc
y is tearing her hair out.
’

Angela felt a chill at her heart.

‘
But are you quite sure he
’
s run off, and not just gone away on business or something, and forgotten to tell anybody?
’
she said.

‘
Oh, quite sure,
’
said Cynthia.
‘
He left a note, saying that he h
ad to get away and that he was sorry to leave them all in the lurch, especially with his mother being so ill and all that, but he had felt for some time that he wasn
’
t good enough for Lucy and that he should bring her only misery. He said he was going awa
y
for a while to straighten things out in his mind, and that they shouldn
’
t try to look for him.
’

‘
I see. And don
’
t Herbert or Miles have any idea where he might have gone?
’
said Angela.

‘
None that they will admit to,
’
said Cynthia in exasperation.
‘
They ar
e as thick as thieves, those two, and it
’
s no good trying to pry anything out of them when they want to keep it under their hats. Believe me, I
’
ve tried!
’

Angela listened in silence, thinking hard. She got rid of Cynthia as soon as was decently possible an
d called William, who presented himself promptly.

‘
We are going to Somerset House this morning,
’
said Angela,
‘
although I have the feeling we may be too late.
’

‘
Too late, ma
’
am?
’
inquired William.

‘
Yes. If I am right in my supposition, then we have missed
our chance.
’
She saw the young man
’
s blank look and said,
‘
Never mind. I shall explain all about it on the way, and you can help me look things up when we get there.
’

Some time later, Angela sat in the back seat of the Bentley as they returned home, strugg
ling with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, it was gratifying to have been proved right, and to feel that there was something she could usefully do to help Inspector Jameson with his investigation; on the other hand, though, there was the fact of the
thing she had found out
—
a fact that could only cause hurt to several, if not many people.

‘
It
’
s a very unpleasant situation, William,
’
she remarked.
‘
I almost wish I hadn
’
t poked my nose into it now.
’

‘
No,
’
said William emphatically, somewhat to her surpri
se.
‘
You were right to do it, ma
’
am. Nobody deserves to die like she did
—
thrown aside like a piece of garbage as though she were of no importance. Don
’
t you think she deserved better? From what we found out this morning, it looks as though all she wanted
t
o do was to try and make a comfortable life for herself and her son. Surely she had the right to do that? And then to be killed just because she was an inconvenience
—
it
’
s not fair.
’

‘
You are quite right,
’
said Angela.
‘
I oughtn
’
t to let myself be influence
d by social conventions, but
—
well, one can
’
t help it at times. I shall telephone Inspector Jameson as soon as we get back.
’

She was as good as her word. Jameson listened to what she had to say in astonishment, then let out a long whistle at the other end o
f the line.

‘
Good Lord!
’
he exclaimed.
‘
Why, that changes everything! But pardon me
—
are you quite sure?
’

‘
Oh yes,
’
said Angela.
‘
There
’
s no doubt of it. Lily Markham married Gilbert Blakeney in April 1918 at the Westminster Register Office.
’

‘
Then the boy
is presumably his son,
’
said Jameson.

‘
According to his birth certificate, yes he is,
’
said Angela.
‘
His name is also Gilbert Blakeney.
’

‘
Bertie! Of course,
’
said the inspector.
‘
I wonder it didn
’
t occur to me at the time.
’

‘
But why should it?
’
said Angela
.
‘
Gil was never a suspect as far as I am aware. But I have met him several times, as he is a friend of some friends of mine, and so it was easier for me to make the connection
—
at least once I knew that the little boy was known as Bertie. It always seemed
strange to me that Lita should have been found down in Kent, where she had apparently no connections, especially since no evidence has ever been found of her having gone down there in company with Johnny Chang. But now, you see, we have a perfectly good r
e
ason for her having been in the area. She must have come to see Gil
—
it can
’
t possibly be a coincidence, surely.
’

‘
And so this Blakeney fellow is engaged to be married to another young lady?
’

‘
Yes, a Lucy Syms. It is considered by everybody concerned to be
an eminently suitable match.
’

‘
Which naturally gives Blakeney a thumping motive to put his wife out of the way and try to pretend that the inconvenient first marriage never took place at all.
’

‘
I
’
m afraid so,
’
said Angela soberly.

‘
I wonder why they parted
so soon after the wedding,
’
said Jameson.

‘
I don
’
t know,
’
said Angela.
‘
At any rate, for some reason she must have decided to communicate with him again quite recently.
’

‘
That must be what she meant when she talked about her prospects,
’
said Jameson.
‘
She
must have gone down to Kent to claim her rightful position as his wife
—
or perhaps even to blackmail him. We may never know which. And so he killed her.
’

‘
That
’
s very much what it looks like,
’
agreed Angela.

‘
I shall call the Kent police immediately and ha
ve them issue a warrant for Gilbert Blakeney
’
s arrest,
’
said the inspector.
‘
We must act as quickly as possible.
’

‘
Ah,
’
said Angela.
‘
That was another thing I wanted to tell you. Apparently he
’
s gone missing.
’

‘
What?
’

She told him of the telephone-call she
had received from Cynthia Pilkington-Soames that morning.

‘
Naturally, there was no sense at all in reporting it to you until I was sure that it was something that you need worry about,
’
she said hurriedly,
‘
so I went to Somerset House to look at the docum
ents as quickly as I could, and
—
well
—
I
’
m sorry to say I was right.
’

‘
Don
’
t be sorry,
’
he said.
‘
You must remember that none of this is your fault, and that you may well have saved an innocent man from the noose. That is the most important thing.
’

This was
true, but Angela felt it to be scant comfort just then in comparison with the blow that was about to fall on the Blakeneys, Lucy, and even Miles and Herbert.

‘
I
’
m most awfully grateful to you for this,
’
Jameson went on.
‘
I must go now, but I shall let you
know how things turn out. In the meantime, if you have any idea where Gilbert Blakeney might have gone
—
but perhaps it
’
s not fair to ask that of you, since he is by way of being a friend of yours.
’

But Angela was having none of it.

‘
Don
’
t be silly,
’
she sai
d firmly.
‘
If I can report someone I know as a possible murderer, I
’
m hardly likely to baulk at telling you where he is if I happen to find it out.
’

‘
Thank you,
’
said Jameson sincerely, and rang off, leaving Angela to her own uncomfortable thoughts. She we
nt over to the window and looked out. It was a grey, gloomy day and the clouds were lowering, a state of affairs which matched her mood to perfection. There was no doubt that things looked very bad for Gilbert Blakeney, but she had enjoyed his hospitality
at lunch only a few weeks ago, and it seemed terribly ungrateful to repay it with an arrest for murder. How would Lucy take it? Would she hide her feelings as usual, and arrange for the finest defence counsels in the land to plead his case? Or would the f
a
ct of his having been married and presumably kept it a secret from her prove too much and induce her to abandon him to his fate? Angela did not know. And what about Lady Alice? According to Cynthia, she was still very ill and barely even conscious half th
e
time. Would they tell her what had befallen her only son, or would they deem it more of a kindness to keep it from her?