Crime at Tattenham Corner (15 page)

“What do you make of this?”

Harbord's expression was very doubtful. “Well, I suppose it is a paintbox. Though I never heard that Ellerby was anything of an artist.”

“I am beginning to think he is an artist of a kind,” the inspector said with a curious smile. “I see you do not realize the significance of this, Alfred,” tapping the box as he spoke. “These are grease paints. Part of an actor's make up. Our friend Ellerby may have used them or he may not. But I think we will say nothing of our discovery to the dear lady downstairs for the present.”

He replaced the contents as much as possible as they were and pushed the box back against the wall.

It was Elsie Spencer's day out. She was looking very forlorn and miserable as she stood at the corner of the street waiting for her bus. She was going down to Stoke Newington to see her sister, but she was not feeling particularly happy. Her young man had given her the chuck, as she phrased it, the week before, and going down to tea at Stoke Newington without a young man was a dull affair indeed in pretty Elsie's opinion.

For Elsie was a very pretty girl looked at either way – with the dimples peeping out and her little white teeth showing, or, as today, with the corners of her mouth drooping pathetically and her big blue eyes looking as if she had been crying for hours. She was well-dressed too. Her powder-blue frock barely reached her knees and her grey silk stockings and suede shoes, as well as the little pull-on hat that matched her frock had been recommended by Lady Duff Gordon in the
Daily Graphic
, so that Elsie knew that her garments at any rate were unexceptionable. She was just thinking that her bus was a long time coming when a young man who seemed to be waiting for the same bus looked at her rather closely.

His face seemed faintly familiar to Elsie. She flushed red as he raised his hat.

“Miss Elsie Spencer?”

“Yes, that's right,” the girl said shyly. “But I don't know –”

The man smiled.

“You have forgotten. My name is Harbord, and I saw you when I came to 15 Porthwick Square.”

“Ah, the detective!” Elsie's pretty colour faded and a frightened look came in her eyes.

“Yes, the junior detective,” the man confirmed. “But detectives have eyes like other men, Miss Spencer. And hearing it was your day out, and such a lovely day too, I wondered if I could persuade you to come for a drive with me down to Richmond or somewhere. Then we could have a cup of tea and drive home by moonlight. What do you say?”

Elsie thought it sounded very attractive. She was not quite sure that she ought to accept. But she told herself that it was not as if she knew nothing of Harbord, and the feeling of naughtiness would lend a spice of adventure to it all.

While she was hesitating Harbord beckoned to a passing taxi.

“We will have it open,” he said to the driver. “Come, Miss Spencer, it will be ever so much nicer than the top of the bus this dusty day.”

Elsie thought it would too as she let him help her in.

But Harbord found as they bowled off towards Richmond that he would have his work cut out for him. Elsie was not one of those talkative girls from whom it is easy to extract information. She was very quiet and shy, and sheered off at once from any mention of 15 Porthwick Square or its mysteries. He told himself that he must wait and see whether tea would loosen her tongue, and devoted himself during the drive to trying to make her feel at home with him. In this he was so far successful that by the time they reached Richmond the dimples were in full play again and Elsie was beginning to chatter.

They put up at an old-fashioned hostelry that Harbord had discovered rather off the main track, and had tea in a pretty, quaint, little pleasance sloping down to the river. Harbord ordered a luxurious tea, sandwiches of various kinds, dainty little cakes and fruit, and they both did justice to it after their drive. Then Harbord produced cigarettes and Elsie confessed to a weakness for a good smoke.

By now they felt almost like old friends. Harbord talked of his work and its difficulties and, in some cases, dangers. Elsie listened with increasing interest, and when at last he managed to introduce the Burslem Mystery, though he fancied she grew a shade paler, she made no attempt to check him. For a few moments he confined himself to Sir John Burslem's death and to the tremendous loss to small punters caused by the scratching of Peep o' Day. Elsie acknowledged to having put most of her savings on the colt, and also to having persuaded her young man to do the same, thus laying the foundation of the estrangement between them.

Harbord listened and sympathized. Then he skilfully turned the conversation to Ellerby and his disappearance. Here Elsie was inclined to become restive, but Harbord seemed so unconscious of any disinclination on her part and talked on so placidly that she soon quieted down.

“I have often remarked to a friend of mine,” the young detective said at last, “that I thought it was uncommonly plucky of young girls like yourself to remain in 15 Porthwick Square after all that has happened, or is said to have happened, there.”

There was no mistaking Elsie's pallor now.

“Oh, I wish I need not,” she breathed, clasping her hands. “But we were all told that wherever we went we had to keep the police informed of our whereabouts and hold ourselves in readiness to obey any summons at any time. I couldn't get another job, not a good one, if I told folks that, and I can't afford to live at home. So I just stay on at 15 Porthwick Square until things are settled up, and then I shall be jolly glad to get away – jolly glad.”

“I am sure you will,” Harbord's voice was very sympathetic. “I don't know that I should care to stay in the house myself – I don't believe I should sleep at night.”

“That is just how I feel,” Elsie breathed. “I used to sleep that sound I was off the moment my head touched the pillow. But now I lie awake and think and wonder. It has been dreadful, dreadful – ever since Mr. Ellerby went away. There's none of us will sleep alone.”

“I don't wonder at that. And you may well say went away. I wonder where he did go,” Harbord said speculatively. “I wonder whether you have any notion, Miss Spencer?”

“Me – any notion?” repeated Elsie, shuddering. “I should think I have not. Do you think he did go – out of the house, Mr. Harbord?”

Harbord shook his head. “I would give a good deal to be able to answer that question. There's only one thing I do think – and that is that some one in the house must have known what has become of Ellerby and how he went – if go he did.”

“I don't believe there is anybody that knows anything about it – not on the staff, anyhow,” Elsie contradicted. “If anyone does – it is her ladyship.”

“Now I wonder why you should say that?” Harbord questioned. “Though I have heard the theory put forward before, mind you. But how should Lady Burslem know anything of the valet's disappearance? I cannot imagine. What makes you say so anyhow?”

Elsie shivered. “I don't suppose it is anything really, and – of course it isn't. But – but her ladyship was walking about the house that night.”

“She was!” Harbord could not prevent a note of triumph from creeping into his voice. “But how do you know, Miss Spencer?”

Elsie began to look thoroughly frightened. “I wish I hadn't said anything about it. But you – you wheedled it out of me somehow. And now – I don't know what to do.” Her blue eyes were swimming in tears.

Harbord just touched her hand.

“Now don't you trouble yourself, Miss Spencer. You have done the wisest thing in trusting me. What you tell me goes no farther. And you must tell somebody. I can see it is making you quite ill, the keeping it to yourself.”

“Yes, that's right!” Elsie said tearfully. “Well, I will tell you. If it gets me into trouble, I can't help it. It will be a comfort to have it off my chest.” She stopped and gazed round. “There's nobody can hear us here, can they?” pointing to a couple at a table on a line with them.

“Not a bit of it!” Harbord said reassuringly. “Now put the matter in a nutshell. How do you know that Lady Burslem was up and about the house on the night of Ellerby's disappearance?”

“Because I saw her,” Elsie said in a whisper.

Harbord drew a deep breath.

“I expected as much. Now just tell me exactly what you saw and heard.”

“It – it wasn't much anyway,” Elsie said, tears vibrating in her voice. “But I was sleeping with Clara Hill, the kitchenmaid, in a room at the back of the house on the third floor. And I got the toothache something cruel. I had some very good stuff for toothache that my sister gave me and I had lent it to Mary Clarke, the head housemaid. She sleeps in a room at the end of our passage, so I made up my mind I would go along and get it. Clara Hill was awake too, and she came with me. I wouldn't have dared to go by myself since Sir John died – we none of us would. Well, right at the end of the passage there is a green baize swing-door that opens on to the corridor that runs along the front of the house. Just as we got up to Mary's room we saw a streak of light under the green baize door. We wondered whether it had been forgotten, for when Sir John was alive he was most particular about all the lights being out, and then we thought of burglars and got real scared. At last we just pushed the door very gently and peeped through. Some one – a woman – was coming down the passage carrying an electric torch in one hand and a parcel – a good-sized parcel – in the other. We couldn't make out at first who it was, then as she came nearer we saw that it was her ladyship.”

“You are sure?” Harbord questioned half incredulously.

The girl nodded emphatically. “Certain! We saw her face quite plain – me and Clara both. At first we thought she was walking in her sleep, but then she would not have brought the torch or the parcel, would she?” 

Harbord shook his head. “No, I should say that is out of the question. What else did you see, Miss Spencer? Where did she go?”

“I – I think downstairs,” Elsie faltered. “But we didn't wait any longer, me and Clara. We were too much afraid of getting into trouble if we were caught,' so we just hurried back to bed, and I never got the toothache mixture after all; for the seeing her ladyship put everything else out of my head. And the tooth stopped aching just as if by magic. So I kept it warm in bed till morning.”

“Ah, I have heard that a fright often takes toothache away,” Harbord said thoughtfully. “What time was this, should you say?”

“Just before three,” said Elsie. “For I heard it strike directly after I got back into bed. Clara made the remark that she wondered what her ladyship could be doing. Then the next day we heard that Mr. Ellerby could not be found, and we have wondered and wondered did the one who was about the house see anything, or know anything, or – or do anything,” her voice dropping to the merest whisper. Harbord had to lean forward to catch it. His face was grave as he sat still, his eyes fixed upon the tiny ripples on the river's surface. He did not speak.

After one glance at him, big tears welled up in Elsie's eyes, and rolled miserably down her cheeks.

“We have been too frightened even to speak of it to one another. I did just say a word to Mrs. Ellerby when she came to ask about her husband, and I have been sorry ever since I spoke,” she said, her voice shaking. “And now I have been and told you all about it. And – and I don't suppose I shall ever hear the last of it. Clara will never forgive me.”

“There is no need she should know anything about it that I see,” Harbord said, rousing himself. “Or anyone else for that matter. What you saw does not affect the Burslem Mystery one way or the other, as far as I can judge, unless it adds a minor one. You I say her ladyship was alone?”

“Oh, yes. There was nobody else about then.”

“How was she dressed? I mean, for going out, or in indoor things.”

“Oh, indoor,” Elsie said quickly. “I mean she looked as if she had just thrown on some sort of loose, dark dressing-gown. She hadn't got a hat or anything on her head, for her hair just caught the torchlight as she came along.”

“It is a strange thing, and I don't see what she could be doing. Was she helping Ellerby get away or was she –”

“Trying to prevent him getting away?” Elsie whispered. “Mrs. Ellerby she makes sure she was – she might be afraid he would talk, Mrs. Ellerby says. And – and we don't know how much he knew or – or guessed.”

Harbord could not forbear a slight smile.

“My dear Miss Spencer, with the best will in the world, I don't think a slight, rather delicate woman like Lady Burslem could do away with a strong man like Ellerby, or even prevent him getting away from the house, for that matter.”

“He – he might have been shot or – or poisoned,” Elsie said in the same scared whisper.

“What became of the body, then?” Harbord questioned, his smile deepening.

Elsie was not looking at him now.

“She – she was carrying a parcel. I have asked myself sometimes what could have been in it.”

“Well, hardly Ellerby, dead or alive, I presume.” A hint of amusement Harbord could not help feeling was creeping into his voice now.

“No, of course not!” Elsie began indignantly; then the frightened note came into her voice again. “Not – not whole,” she whispered.

This time Harbord really could not repress a laugh. “Oh, my dear girl, what have you been doing? Having a course of the ‘Mysteries of the Rue Morgue' or something of that kind? Come, I am going to take you for a walk by the river. And then we will have a drive round and home. That will sweep all the cobwebs away. And you will be all the better for having spoken of your fears to somebody – somebody who is quite safe, moreover. And, believe me, you can put all those same fears away – you are conjuring up an impossibility.”