The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) (8 page)

Cynthia glared at her son, and Angela looked hard at her soup as she fought the urge to laugh.

‘
No, I don
’
t think we
shall have time to go away,
’
said Lucy.
‘
August is a busy time on the estate and we shall probably be needed to see to things.
’

‘
Oh, I am sure the Park can manage without you both for a week or two,
’
said Lady Alice.
‘
As a matter of fact, I am almost cert
ain that Gilbert has been away at that time of year many times before. And I shall still be here. I can take care of it all quite well.
’

‘
But they will be making the hay then,
’
said Lucy,
‘
and I
—
Gil was planning to start work on having the boundary fences
repaired, weren
’
t you, Gil? They
’
ve needed it for such a long time.
’

Gilbert looked up in alarm at the mention of his name.

‘
But that can be done at any time,
’
said Lady Alice, and there was a steely note in her voice.
‘
Why, if you start earlier it can eve
n be finished by the time of the wedding.
’

Freddy was nudging Angela so often that in deference to her frock she quite gave up any attempt to finish her soup.

‘
Well, perhaps we shall think about it,
’
said Lucy reluctantly.

‘
Oh, yes,
’
said Gil, who had evid
ently not been listening fully to their conversation.
‘
I should like to go away after the wedding, shouldn
’
t you, Lucy?
’

Lucy smiled tightly and tacitly admitted defeat on this occasion. Angela wondered which of the two women came out on top most often. It
looked as though Lady Alice had the upper hand at present, although once Gil and Lucy were married it was inevitable that her influence would wane. It was clear that Gil would be caught in the middle of the two of them. Would they be able to forget their
differences and rub along together for Gil
’
s sake, or would the enmity continue after the marriage? Odd that the engagement had apparently been Lady Alice
’
s idea. Angela wondered very much how it would all turn out.

Sergeant Willis entered the room
and dumped a battered suitcase on his superior
’
s desk.

‘
Here we are, sir,
’
he said.
‘
One suitcase, retrieved from Charing Cross cloak room, as instructed. It was left on Wednesday.
’

Jameson pushed aside his report, which was nearly finished and this time c
ontained the correct names, and stood up.

‘
So that
’
s where our mystery woman left her belongings,
’
he said.
‘
Still no handbag though, I take it.
’

‘
No, sir.
’

‘
Have you heard from the Littlechurch police yet? Do you know whether they
’
ve had any luck in findi
ng a trace of her at the stations?
’

‘
I spoke to them this morning, sir. They
’
ve had no luck yet. Nobody remembers seeing the woman at all, either by herself or with a man.
’

‘
Hmm, that
’
s hardly conclusive, at any rate,
’
said Jameson.
‘
Just because no-one sa
w her doesn
’
t mean she wasn
’
t there. Now, since you say her belongings were left in the cloak room on Wednesday, I think we can assume she went there on that day, left her suitcase and then got on a train shortly afterwards
—
unless, that is, our murderer i
s
more subtle than we have given him credit for, and left her things there himself and put the ticket in her hat. That doesn
’
t seem very likely, however. The train down to
—
where, though? Ashford or Hastings? Or somewhere smaller, perhaps. Appledore?
’

‘
Could
have been any of those, sir,
’
said Willis.
‘
If anybody saw her I
’
m sure the Kent chaps will find them sooner or later.
’

‘
I suppose so,
’
said Jameson.
‘
Very well, then, let
’
s see what we
’
ve got.
’

Willis opened the case and they peered inside.

‘
Pretty much
as you
’
d expect,
’
remarked Willis.
‘
Just clothes.
’

‘
Yes,
’
said Jameson. He lifted something out. It was a pale pink evening-frock of cheap satin, a little stained and crumpled, and smelling of cigarette smoke.
‘
Evening things,
’
he said.
‘
Recently worn, to
o, I should say.
’

He put it to one side and brought out the other things one by one. Two more evening-dresses and a pair of satin gloves. A slightly moth-eaten fur stole. One or two plain skirts and jerseys. One pair of satin evening-shoes, but no day-shoe
s. Underthings. A number of items of cheap jewellery. Cosmetics.

‘
Do you notice anything, Willis?
’
said Jameson.

‘
She seems to have had rather a lot of evening clothes,
’
said Willis.

‘
Hmm,
’
said Jameson. He regarded the sorry collection of things that had
once been owned and perhaps prized by the dead woman, and wondered, not for the first time, what she would have thought had she known that a stranger was rifling through her belongings. In his years as a detective, he had learned that it was unwise to all
o
w himself to be too deeply affected by the fates of those who had met an unfortunate end, but he had never quite managed to shake off that twinge of sadness he always felt when first confronted with their possessions
—
the only thing that remained of them,
a
nd a permanent reminder that they had once been people too, with loves and hates, desires, faults and virtues. He welcomed the feeling, for it reassured him that, in spite of all the unpleasant things he had seen, he was still human.

‘
Where was she from, d
o you think?
’
he said to the sergeant.
‘
Somewhere outside London, in which case was she just passing through on her way to Kent? Or was she a Londoner? Either way, I wonder why she left the suitcase. She can
’
t have been leaving for good, since she would h
a
ve had to come back for it.
’

‘
Perhaps she was going away for a few days with the mystery man,
’
said Willis, thinking.
‘
No, that
’
s no good, is it? If she was she
’
d have taken her suitcase with her. Presumably she didn
’
t plan to be away long, then. It
’
s a pi
ty nobody saw her, or whom she was with.
’

‘
It
’
s possible, of course, that she wasn
’
t with anyone when she got on the train,
’
said the inspector.
‘
It may be that she had arranged to meet someone when she got down there.
’

‘
That
’
s always assuming she was kill
ed by someone she knew,
’
said the sergeant.
‘
We still can
’
t be certain that she wasn
’
t attacked and thrown in that ditch by a passing madman.
’

‘
Oh, I think we can,
’
said Jameson,
‘
if what the police surgeon in Littlechurch says is correct.
’

‘
Ah yes, I
’
d fo
rgotten about that.
’

‘
They are sending the body up here tomorrow. Let
’
s see what our lot make of it.
’

Willis picked up a satin dress and examined it.

‘
Why so many evening clothes?
’
he said.

‘
I rather think they are her work clothes,
’
said Jameson.
‘
I shoul
dn
’
t be surprised to find out that she worked as a dance hostess or something of that kind.
’

‘
That makes sense,
’
agreed Willis.
‘
Is there anything else in the suitcase?
’

‘
No,
’
said Jameson.
‘
Ah, just a second, though
—
there
’
s a little pocket here.
’

He felt
inside it and brought out a piece of paper, which had been folded over several times. He unfolded it and glanced at it, then whistled.

Willis craned his neck to see what it was.

‘
It
’
s a handbill of some sort,
’
he said.
‘
What does it say?
’

Jameson handed h
im the paper. Printed on it in large characters were the words:

Come For The Music

Come For The Dancing

Come Early And Stay Late!

Alvie Berteau And His Jazz Orchestra

They
’
re The Cat
’
s Pyjamas!

‘
What
’
s this symbol here?
’
said Willis, peering at something
in puzzlement.
‘
It looks like the sun, but what
’
s that meant to be? The moon?
’

‘
The earth, I think,
’
said Jameson.
‘
Don
’
t you recognize it? It
’
s a handbill for the Copernicus Club.
’
Willis looked momentarily blank, and he went on,
‘
You remember the Copern
icus, don
’
t you? It
’
s just off Brewer Street. Mrs. Chang
’
s place.
’

‘
Oh, that place,
’
said Willis.
‘
Didn
’
t it get shut down?
’

‘
Yes, briefly. It
’
s been closed a few times, as a matter of fact. Every so often we raid it, and Mrs. Chang gets brought up before
the magistrate and fined. Then we all shake hands and off she goes and opens up again. It
’
s become rather a game, I think.
’

‘
Waste of time, if you ask me,
’
said Willis in disgust.
‘
We could be out catching real criminals.
’
His expression made it quite clea
r what he thought of the current licensing laws.

‘
This handbill does give some credence to our theory about the woman
’
s job, though,
’
said Jameson.

‘
A dance hostess,
’
said Willis.
‘
If that
’
s all there was to it, of course.
’

‘
Well, that
’
s the thing, isn
’
t i
t? There
’
s been some suspicion that more goes on at the Copernicus than just unlicensed drinking, but we
’
ve never been able to prove it. And if our dead woman was engaging in
—
er
—
less salubrious activities, shall we say, then we may have the devil of a job
to find out who her man friend was. It looks as though the next step will be to go and pay a visit to Brewer Street and speak to Mrs. Chang. Perhaps she
’
ll be willing to give us some information in return for a good word from us the next time she is raide
d.
’

‘
Let
’
s hope so,
’
said Willis. He had been poking about inside the suitcase pocket.
‘
Look!
’
he said, and brought out something else.
‘
You missed this. It was stuck right down in the corner.
’

Jameson took it, and saw that it was a small photograph of an i
nfant of perhaps two or three years old.

‘
I wonder if this child is hers,
’
he said.

‘
Very sad if it is, sir,
’
said Sergeant Willis.
‘
I don
’
t like to think of a child without its mother.
’

‘
It
’
s rather an unusual face,
’
observed Jameson, gazing at the pictur
e.
‘
I might almost say a foreign face. There
’
s a Latin quality to it
—
Italian, or Spanish, perhaps. If this child is the woman
’
s, I wonder whether he resembles his mother. Perhaps she was foreign.
’

‘
She might have been,
’
said Willis,
‘
but she
’
d been here lo
ng enough if so, to judge by her clothes. Nothing foreign about them.
’