Death on the Lizard (19 page)

“A break-in?” Marconi frowned. “You don't mean—”

“Yes, most,
most
vexing.” The little man wrung his hands nervously. “I thought you should know, sir, since it was poor Mr. Gerard's room. I sent the maid in this morning to pack Mr. Gerard's possessions into boxes, to be sent to his brother in Lincolnshire. She found the door forced and Mr. Gerard's things scattered all over the floor. I am dreadfully sorry, sir, but of course, the hotel cannot be held responsible for—”

“I should like to see the room, if you please,” Charles put in. He turned to Marconi. “Marsden and I had a look just after we got here on Wednesday, and found nothing amiss.” He lowered his voice. “Did Marsden tell you that Gerard's tuner is missing, and his diary as well?”

Marconi's mouth tightened, and he nodded briefly. To the manager, he said, “We'll have a look.”

When Charles and Bradford had examined Gerard's room, it was just as the man himself had left it: the bed made, the clothing folded into the dresser drawers and neatly hung in the closet, a box of writing paper and envelopes in one desk drawer, a few personal papers in another. This morning, however, the story was entirely different. The dresser drawers had been emptied onto the floor, the bedding pulled from the bed and the mattress turned askew, the desk drawers pulled open and their contents dumped.

Marconi stood in the doorway. “What do you make of this, Sheridan?” he asked in a low voice. “Was it the same person who took the tuner and the diary, do you think?”

“I don't believe so,” Charles said. “Those were taken well before this break-in occurred.” He turned to the hotel manager. “It was first noticed this morning?”

“Indeed, sir,” said the manager. “It had to have occurred after six yesterday evening. That's when the maid went off duty.”

Charles nodded. “Thank you. You've been very helpful.” When the manager had gone, he turned to Marconi. “Is Gerard likely to have kept any company documents in this room?” he asked in a lower voice.

“Of course not,” Marconi said stiffly. “Daniel Gerard was a very . . . correct person, who observed company protocol at all times. He kept his notes in his diary and his diary locked in the desk in the company office, as he was instructed to do.” He pursed his lips, frowning at the heaps of clothing and papers. “Whoever did this must have been after something . . . well, personal, although I can't imagine what it would be.”

Charles began to prowl around the room, poking at things. “Who were Gerard's closest friends?”

“Friends?” Marconi looked puzzled. “We were friends, of course. Otherwise—” He cleared his throat. “I would not characterize him as a man who enjoyed people. He was completely and utterly dedicated to his work, which was why I valued him so highly.” He turned away. “It . . . this is all quite distressing, you know. First his death, then the thefts. And now . . . now
this
.”

At that moment, Charles caught a glimpse of something on the floor near the window. He picked it up and held it in his hand, a small button, a tiny round ball, covered with cream-colored kid. It looked very much like the button from a woman's glove.

He looked up. “Did Mr. Gerard have any women friends?” “No, of course not,” Marconi said stiffly. “As I said, he was utterly committed to his work, and to the company. That was why—” He looked at Charles, frowning. “What have you found?”

Charles thrust his hand into his pocket. “Nothing of significance,” he said easily. He gave the room one more glance. “I'll ask the hotel manager to leave it as it is until I can take the time for a more thorough search.” He steered Marconi out of the room. “I think it is time that we were on our way to Lizard Point.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 
 
 
 
Bradford Marsden did not like the idea of confronting Pauline Chase, and he was not at all convinced that he could accomplish anything. But talking to Pauline was certainly a more productive alternative than discussing the situation with Marconi, and he could not think of a reason not to do it, other than the sheer unpleasantness of engaging in a conversation with the woman. So he settled himself in the hotel lobby with yesterday's
Times
—this morning's edition, which was likely to contain Maskelyne's letter, would not arrive until the afternoon train—and waited for Miss Chase to descend the stairs.

The lady in question put in an unusually early appearance, and Bradford had scarcely opened
The Times
when she came down the stairs. One had to admit, Bradford thought, as he stood to greet her, that she was a very beautiful woman. Her blond hair was piled high on her elegant head, she was dressed in a gray-and-green striped silk cut to show off her delicate neck and stylish figure, and she moved with a languid grace which might remind one of a swan—or a tigress. Bradford rose and went to greet her.

“Ah, Miss Chase,” he said, making a little bow. “Ravishing, as always.”

She stiffened. “I hardly think that Mr. Marconi would—” she began in a chilly tone, but Bradford took her elbow.

“Marconi has gone down to Lizard Point,” he said, and tightened his grip. “Shall we walk along the cliff a little way? The ocean breeze is healthy, and I heartily recommend the view. I'm sure that you will see something in it you have never seen before.”

She tried to pull away, but he held fast to her elbow, and she subsided into a sullen silence as they walked through the lobby and out onto the terrace.

When they were well down the cliff path, Bradford remarked, pleasantly, “It was a great surprise to see you, my dear. I had not known that you were in England.”

“What do you want?” she asked in a low voice. The green feathers on her hat rippled and she put up a hand to secure it against the ocean breeze.

“Why, Miss Chase!” Bradford said, teasingly. “I want nothing more than the pleasure of your lovely company. Oh, and your attention, of course.”

She gave him an oblique glance, her long, thick lashes veiling green eyes. “My attention?”

“Yes. You see, my sweet, I have a proposition to make.” She started to speak, but Bradford raised his hand, silencing her. “Hear me out, please. I think you will agree that my proposal is to our . . . shall we say, mutual advantage.” He smiled and touched her pouty lower lip with the tip of his finger. “Ah, Miss Chase. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and Pauline's lips are even more tempting than those of Millicent or Florence. Perhaps . . .” He leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

Angrily, she turned her head away. “All right,” she snapped. “What's your proposal? And hurry up. I haven't had my breakfast yet.”

Bradford pulled back. “Oh, it's very simple. I propose that you pack your bags, take the up train to London, and disappear from Marconi's life.” He took out his watch. “Let's see. I make it nearly eleven. If you hurry, you will get to Helston in time to catch the one o'clock. I shall be glad,” he added, “to arrange a box lunch, so you will not have to go hungry.”

“Take the train?” Miss Chase widened her bright eyes and laughed a light, musical laugh. “Now, why in the world, Mr. Marsden, would I want to do
that
? And what would I tell my darling Marky? He's looking forward to our spending time together.”

Bradford chuckled in return. “I think you will want to do it, my dear Miss Chase, because if you do not, I shall tell your darling Marky everything I know about you. About Millicent and Florence, too,” he added, with a darker emphasis, “and about Mr. Sterne, who died so opportunely. As to what you tell Marconi, I would not presume to make any suggestions. You are entirely free to devise your own explanation for terminating the relationship.”

Miss Chase turned away, looking out to sea. “So that's your game, is it?” She laughed again, less musically. “Well, two can play at that one, sir. You're not the only one with a bit of blackmail up your sleeve.”

Bradford stared at her. “My dear girl, what are you talking about?”

She turned, lifted a gloved hand, and lightly stroked his cheek. “Why, Mr. Marsden,” she said archly, “how very silly of you. You can't have forgotten your letters, can you?” She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. “Those wonderful, passionate letters which brought such tears of delight to the eyes of a lonely and desolate girl.”

Letters! Bradford's stomach knotted.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured mockingly. “I see that you really
had
forgotten. How like a man, to love a lady and leave her without a backward glance. But I haven't forgotten, of course. I am glad to say that I have every single one of those sweet, tender letters, tied with a pink ribbon, and kept against the day when I might—”

“When you might use them,” Bradford said tautly. “How
dare
you, Miss Chase!”

She shrugged her lovely shoulders. “One keeps one's wits about one, Mr. Marsden, or one does not survive in this unfriendly world. The letters are not with me, of course, but I can produce them whenever they are required.” She tilted her head and gave him a knowing glance. “I feel certain that your wife—Edith, isn't it? Quite rich, I understand—would be interested in hearing some of the choicest passages.”

“I was unmarried at the time,” Bradford said sullenly.

“Indeed. But some relationships are not so easily brought to a close. It would not be at all difficult to suggest that our intimacy continued past the time of your marriage, especially since we saw one another in Vienna.” Her smile was admiring. “Really, my dear, it was clever of you to marry so very
well
.”

Bradford felt himself coloring. It was pointless to say that he had not married for money, at least, not entirely, and that Edith's wealth had come through a post-nuptial legacy from the estate of her godfather, Cecil Rhodes. He only puffed the air out of his cheeks and said, in a low, angry voice, “What happened between you and me has nothing to do with Edith.”

“Of course not,” Miss Chase said with a careless toss of her head, “but there it is.” She leaned forward, her eyes intent. “I, too, have a proposition to make, Mr. Marsden. I propose that, for our mutual advantage, we forget all about this little conversation. I further propose that you say nothing of it to Marconi.” Her voice hardened. “I have no idea of doing a flit, you see. And I doubt very much that you are willing to be embarrassed by those letters. They are very dear and sweet, but I hardly think that Edith would find them amusing.” She stepped back and put out her hand. “What do you say, sir? Have we a bargain?”

Bradford thrust his hands into his pockets.

“How very petty of you.” She withdrew her hand. “How-ever, I shall take silence for assent. Only a fool would want his wife to learn that he had made passionate love to another woman just a few days before their wedding—and I doubt that you are a fool.” The wind tugged at the feathers again, and she put a hand on her hat. “I am going indoors, out of this blasted wind. I expect, sir, that when we meet again, neither of us will speak of this little exchange of views.”

Bradford watched her go. The foxy little vixen! Thought she would get the upper hand, did she? Well, he would not let her get the better of him, by Jove. He might be forced to concede this round to the redoubtable Miss Chase, but there would be another.

Yes, by damn, there would be another!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

 
 
 
At breakfast on Friday morning, Jenna asked if Kate and Patsy would like to spend the day sightseeing on the Lizard. “Mrs. Tremaine can make us a picnic lunch,” she said, “and Snood will bring the horse and gig round when we're ready. Sir Oliver isn't expected until tea time, so we'll have the whole day all to ourselves, to go where we like.”

“Lovely!” Kate exclaimed, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

“Where shall we go?” Patsy asked.

Jenna smiled and passed a plate of toast. “I thought we might drive us over to the sea, to Dennis Head, where we can explore to our hearts' content. We can come back by way of the stone circle on Tremorder Hill—if that suits you, of course.”

“Wonderful!” Patsy cried excitedly. “I'll take my camera— I have one of those new Ross focal plane cameras, you know, and I've been dying to try it out.”

“And as we drive, Jenna,” Kate said, “you can tell us all about the history of the place—the Celts and the Romans, and the Cornish fairies and pixies, too. I've heard so many legends about them.”

There was a great deal to be seen on the Lizard, and much to be known about its ancient landscape, and Kate was glad for the sightseeing trip. But she was even more glad that Jenna wanted to get out of the house, for their hostess appeared to be under a great deal of strain. Her face was pale, and she seemed anxious and on edge. Kate wondered if her apprehension might have to do with Oliver Lodge's visit. Whatever the reason, though, a day in the sun and fresh air would do her a great deal of good. And Charles would be with them for dinner tonight, which gave Kate herself something important to look forward to.

As soon as they finished eating, they took the basket Jenna's cook had prepared, climbed into the waiting gig, and started off in a southerly direction. The morning was lovely indeed. The horse trotted briskly and the gig was large enough for the three of them to fit comfortably, with the picnic basket tucked securely behind them. The breeze brushing their faces was mild and sweet, the sky was a bright, electric blue, traced with delicate wisps of high white clouds, and there was a great vastness of space around them which made Kate want to throw her head back and shout for sheer joy. Patsy, too, was gay, and even Jenna smiled and laughed and joined in their occasional bursts of song. But Kate thought her liveliness seemed forced, and while the fresh air brought a bloom to her cheeks, it did little to dispel the shadows in her eyes.