Crime at Christmas (24 page)

Lady
Larradine silenced him with a friendly roar. 'My dear man, you can't! They've
gone for a walk. I always turn men out of the house after Christmas luncheon.
They'll soon be back. The Brigadier won't miss his Tree! Ah. Here's Fiona. This
is Janice Poole-Poole's daughter, Albert. Isn't she a pretty girl?'

Mr Campion
saw Miss Poole-Poole with relief, knowing of old that Oates was susceptible to
the type. The newcomer was young and lovely and even her beehive hair and the
fact that she appeared to have painted herself with two black eyes failed to
spoil the exquisite smile she bestowed on the helpless officer.

'Fabulous
to have you really here,' she said and sounded as if she meant it. While he was
still recovering, Lady Larradine led Oates to the window.

'You can't
see it because it's pitch-dark,' she said, 'but out there, down in the garden,
there's a wall and it was over it that the Brigadier and Mr Taunton spoke to Mr
Sampson at six o'clock last night. No one liked the man Sampson—I think Mr
Taunton was almost afraid of him. Certainly he seems to have died very
untidily!'

'But he
did
buy Mr Taunton's Christmas gifts
for him?'

The dragon
lifted a webby eyelid.

'You have
already been told that. At six last night Mr Taunton and the Brigadier went to
meet him to get the box. I got them into their mufflers so I know! I had the
packing paper ready, too, for Mr Taunton to take up to his room. . . Rather a
small one on the third floor.'

She lowered
her voice to reduce it to the volume of distant traffic. 'Not many pennies, but
a dear little man!'

'Did you
see
these presents, Ma'am?'

'Not before
they were wrapped! That would have spoiled the surprise!'

'I shall
have to see them.' There was a mulish note in the Superintendent's voice which
the lady was too experienced to ignore.

'I've
thought how to do that without upsetting anybody,' she said briskly. 'The
Brigadier and I will cut the presents from the Tree and Fiona will be handing
them round. All Mr Taunton's little gifts are in the very distinctive black and
gold paper I bought from Millie's Boutique and so, Fiona, you must give every
package in black and gold paper not to the person to whom it is addressed but
to the Superintendent. Can you do that, dear?'

Miss
Poole-Poole seemed to feel the task difficult but not impossible and the
trusting smile she gave Oates cut short his objections like the sun melting
frost.

'Splendid!'
The dragon's roar was hearty. 'Give me your arm, Superintendent. You shall
take me down.'

As the
procession reached the hall, it ran into the Brigadier himself. He was a large,
pink man, affable enough, but of a martial type and he bristled at the
Superintendent. 'Extraordinary time to do your business—middle of Christmas
Day!' he said after acknowledging the introductions.

Oates
inquired if he had enjoyed his walk.

'Talk?'
said the Brigadier. 'I've not been talking. I've been asleep in the card room.
Where's old Taunton?'

'He went
for a walk, Athole dear,' bellowed the dragon gaily.

'So he did.
You sent him! Poor feller.'

As the old
soldier led the way to the open door of the drawing room, it occurred to both
the Superintendent and Mr Campion that the secret of Lady Larradine's undoubted
attraction for the Brigadier lay in the fact that he could hear
her
if no one else. The discovery cast
a new light altogether on the story of the encounter with Sampson in the
garden.

Meanwhile,
they had entered the drawing room and the party had begun. As Mr Campion
glanced at the company, ranged in a full circle round a magnificent tree loaded
with gifts and sparkling like a waterfall, he saw face after familiar face.
They were elder acquaintances of the dizzy 1930s whom he had mourned as gone
forever, when he thought of them at all. Yet here they all were, not only alive
but released by great age from many of the restraints of convention.

He noticed
that every type of headgear from night-cap to tiara was being sported with fine
individualistic enthusiasm. But Lady Larradine gave him little time to look
about. She proceeded with her task immediately.

Each guest
had been provided with a small invalid table beside his armchair, and Oates,
reluctant but wax in Fiona's hands, was no exception. The Superintendent found
himself seated between a mountain in flannel and a wraith in mauve mink,
waiting his turn with the same beady-eyed avidity.

Christmas
Tree procedure at
The CCraven
proved
to be well organized. The dragon did little work herself. Armed with a swagger
stick, she merely prodded parcel after parcel hanging amid the boughs while the
task of detaching them was performed by the Brigadier who handed them to Fiona.

Either to add
to the excitement or perhaps to muffle any unfortunate comment on gifts
received by the uninhibited company, jolly Christmas music was played
throughout, and under cover of the noise Mr Campion was able to tackle his
hostess.

'Where is
Taunton!' he whispered.

'Such a
nice little man. Most presentable, but just a little teeny-weeny bit
dishonest.'

Lady
Larradine ignored the question in his eyes and continued to put him in the
picture at great speed, while supervising the Tree at the same time. 'Fifty-seven
convictions, I believe, but only small ones. I only got it all out of him last
week. Shattering! He'd been so
useful,
amusing the Brigadier. When he came, he looked like a lost soul
with no luggage, but after no time at all he settled in perfectly.'

She paused
and stabbed at a ball of coloured cellophane with her stick before returning to
her startled guest.

'Albert, I
am terribly afraid that it was poor Mr Taunton who took that dreadful jewellery
of Maisie Phaeton's. It appears to have been entirely her fault. He was merely
wandering past her house, feeling in need of care and attention. The door was
wide open and Mr Taunton suddenly found himself inside, picking up a few odds
and ends. When he discovered from all that fuss in the newspapers what he had
got hold of—how well-known it was, I mean—he was quite horrified and had to
hide. And where better place than here with us where he never had to go out?'

'Where
indeed!' Mr Campion dared not glance across the room at the Superintendent
unwrapping his black and gold parcels. 'Where is he now? Poor Mr Taunton, I
mean.'

'Of course
I hadn't the faintest idea what was worrying the man until he confessed,' the
dragon went on stonily. 'Then I realized that something would have to be done
at once to protect everybody. The wretch had hidden all that frightful stuff in
our tool shed for three months, not daring to keep it in the house; and to make
matters worse, the impossible person at the end of the garden, Mr Sampson, had
recognized him and
would
keep
speaking. Apparently people in the—er—underworld all know each other just like
those of us in—er—other closed circles do.'

Mr Campion,
whose hair was standing on end, had a moment of inspiration. 'This absurd
rigmarole about Taunton getting Sampson to buy him some Christmas gifts
wholesale was
your
idea!' he said accusingly.

The dragon
stared. 'It seemed the best way of getting Maisie's jewellery back to her
without any
one
person being involved,' she said
frankly. 'I knew we should all recognize the things the moment we saw them and
I was certain that after a lot of argument we should decide to pack them up and
send them round to her. But, if there
were
any repercussions, we should
all
be in it—quite a formidable array,
dear Boy—and the blame could be traced to Mr Sampson if absolutely necessary.
You see, the Brigadier is convinced that Sampson
was
there last night. Mr Taunton very
cleverly left him on the lawn and went behind the tool shed and came back with
the box.'

'How
completely immoral!' Mr Campion couldn't restrain himself.

The dragon
had the grace to look embarrassed.

'I don't
think the Sampson angle would ever have arisen,' she said. 'But if it had,
Sampson was quite a terrible person. Almost a black-mailer. Utterly dishonest
and inconsiderate. Think how he has spoiled everything and endangered us all by
getting himself killed on the
one
afternoon when we said he was here, so that the police were
brought in. Just the
one
thing I was trying to avoid. When
the Inspector appeared this morning I was so upset I thought of you!'

In his not
unnatural alarm Mr Campion so far forgot himself as to touch her sleeve. 'Where
is Taunton now?'

The dragon
threshed her train. 'Really, Boy! What a fidget you are! If you must know, I
gave him his Christmas present—every penny I had in cash for he was broke
again, he told me—and sent him for a nice long walk after lunch. Having seen
the Inspector here this morning he was glad to go—'

She paused
and a granite gleam came into her hooded eyes. 'If that Superintendent friend
of yours has the stupidity to try to find him once Maisie has her monstrosities
back, none of us will be able to identify him, I'm afraid. And there's another
thing. If the Brigadier should be
forced
to give evidence, I am sure he will stick to his guns about Mr
Sampson being down in the garden here at six o'clock last night. That would
mean that the man Kroll would have to go unpunished for his revenge murder,
wouldn't it? Sampson was a terrible person—but
no one
should have killed him.'

Mr Campion
was silenced. He glanced fearfully across the room.

The
Superintendent was seated at his table wearing the strained yet slap-happy
expression of a man with concussion. On his left was a pile of black and gilt
wrappings, on his right a rajah's ransom in somewhat specialized form.

From where
he stood, Mr Campion could see two examples amid the rest- a breastplate in
gold, pearl, and enamel in the shape of a unicorn and an item which looked like
a plover's egg in tourmaline encased in a ducal coronet. There was also
a soapstone monkey and a
solid-silver paperknife.

Much later
that evening Mr Campion and the Superintendent drove quietly back to
headquarters. Oates had a large cardboard box on his knee. He clasped it
tenderly.

He had been
silent for a long time when a thought occurred to him. 'Why did they take him
into the house in the first place?' he said. 'An elderly crook looking lost!
And no luggage!'

Mr
Campion's pale eyes flickered behind his spectacles.

'Don't
forget the Duchess' house-keeping money,' he murmured. 'I should think he
offered one of the widows who really run that place the first three months'
payment in cash, wouldn't you? That must be an impressive phenomenon in that
sort of business, I fancy.'

Oates
caught his breath and fell silent once more. Presently he burst out again.

'Those
people! That woman!' he exploded. 'When they were younger they led me a pretty
dance—losing things or getting themselves swindled. But now they're old they
take the blessed biscuit! Do you see how she's tied my hands, Campion?'

Mr Campion
tried not to grin.

'Snapdragons
are just permissible at Christmas,' he said. 'Handled with extreme caution
they burn very few fingers, it seems to me.'

Mr Campion
tapped the cardboard box. 'And some of them provide a few plums for retiring
coppers, don't they, Superintendent?'

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