Murder at the Mikado (11 page)

Madeline huffed. “Well, I thought you’d at least want to
know about your own wedding. And I still don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.”

“We’ll figure it out, love.” He went over to the sideboard and started filling his plate with ham and game pie. “I know all I need to know, and that is that I will have the most glorious bride in the entire kingdom for my very own. What else matters?”

“I suppose you’d rather be looking into the Ravenswood murder,” she said as she filled her plate.

“He’s much better at that than figuring out seating arrangements and such,” Nick observed, helping himself to the poached trout before he sat.

Madeline’s expression softened. “Yes, I suppose he is. And this is what I get for agreeing to marry a mystery-reader-turned-amateur-sleuth.”

Drew grinned at the twinkle in her eye. “You can’t say you didn’t know ahead of time, darling.”

“You’re just as bad, Madeline,” her aunt added, joining them. “If it weren’t for the wedding, the three of you would be sitting together, thick as thieves, plotting where to search next for clues.”

Madeline laughed. “I suppose you’re right, Aunt Ruth. And I don’t suppose I will be able to get my groom to pay attention to our wedding plans until this case is over and done with. What do you boys think? After lunch, should we sit together, thick as thieves, and plot?”

Drew gave Aunt Ruth a grateful glance, and she nodded serenely in return. Then he nudged Nick with his elbow.

“What do you say, old man? Are you up to a bit of plotting? Or has old Padgett got you examining drains and checking fences for the day?”

“I think all is quiet on that front just now,” Nick said. “When it comes time to collect rents, I cannot call my soul my own, but that day is not today.”

“All right then.” Drew took another helping of steamed carrots and then escorted Madeline to the table. “If we’re to investigate further, where shall we start?”

“We ought to write down what we know,” Madeline suggested as she settled into her chair, “and what we’re wondering about.”

Nick chuckled and recited, “ ‘I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a little list.’ ”

Madeline tried to look stern but failed. “Gilbert and Sullivan aside, we really should make one, unless you have a better idea.”

“It’s a capital idea, darling,” Drew said. “And I know what I’d put on it first. I want to know what Ravenswood and this lady reporter were chatting about right before he was killed.”

“I don’t suppose she ever telephoned,” Nick said, and Drew shook his head.

“I rang up the
Winchester Tattletale
yesterday, but she still wasn’t in.”

Nick dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Do you suppose she’s doing some sleuthing of her own?”

“It would make sense,” Drew agreed. “She is a reporter after all, and Ravenswood was a particular friend of hers.”

“She may not want to talk to you, you know,” Madeline said.

Drew feigned horror and said, “That couldn’t possibly be.”

“No, really. As you say, she is a reporter. She might not want to tell you anything before she’s had a chance to get the story into print herself. An exclusive, as they say.”

“Maybe so,” Drew said. “Well, I don’t care about her deuced story. We’ll keep it quiet, except for the police of course, whatever she might tell us. She may well be the key to this whole thing. I believe another visit to the
Winchester Tattletale
is in order. The elusive Miss Tracy has to be in sometime, and if she refuses to come to us, then we will go to her.”

“Bustling as usual,” Nick half shouted over the din of telephones and typewriters at the
Tattletale
. “Do you suppose she’s in here somewhere?”

Drew shook his head. “Apart from you,” he said to Madeline, “I don’t see another female.”

Audrey Sherman, the redhead they had spoken to before, looked up from the filing cabinet she was rummaging in. “Well, I like that!”

“Ah, Miss Sherman. Didn’t see you there.” Drew bowed slightly. “Good afternoon. You might remember us from the other day. Drew Farthering?”

“I remember,” the woman said, glancing again at the open drawer. “I’m rather busy just now.”

“We just wanted to speak to Miss Tracy if she’s available,” Madeline said. “Did you give her Mr. Farthering’s card?”

The redhead slammed the drawer shut. “No, I didn’t, because Miss Tracy hasn’t been in since she left that morning after Ravenswood was killed.”

Drew glanced at Nick. “Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

“Is she out investigating a story?” Nick asked.

“Could be,” Audrey said, “but she generally calls in if she’s
not coming to the office. I’ve never known her not to after this long, and I’ve worked for her for six years. Well, nearly six. I’ve had to write up her column for her for the past five days now. Good thing that duchess has been making a right fool of herself with her chauffeur. That will give us plenty to put in the paper until Miss Tracy comes back.”

“Did you try her home?” Madeline asked.

“Did I try her home?” The other woman gave her a disgusted glance. “Of course I tried her home. Off and on all day yesterday and today. About every twenty minutes for the past three hours. I was looking just now to see if we had a number for her mother or someone like that. In case there’s a problem.”

Drew nodded. “And do you?”

“Nothing. Just her landlady. She says she hasn’t seen Miss Tracy since Friday week, but she says she doesn’t pay much mind to her comings and goings. Her rent’s on time, and that’s fairly much all she asks.”

“Have you called the police?” Nick asked. “If she’s missing, perhaps they ought to know.”

“I did.” Audrey sniffed. “They said they would send someone round to her flat to check into it, but they didn’t sound any too keen, if you ask me.”

Drew nodded slowly. “Who did you speak to? Was it the chief inspector?”

“No, just the constable at the desk. Might have been a sergeant, I don’t know.”

“Did you tell them it was connected to the Ravenswood murder?”

The woman’s eyes went wide. “No. Should I have? You don’t think Miss Tracy has something to do with that, do you?”

“Weren’t she and Ravenswood friends?” Madeline asked.

“Yes,” Audrey said, drawing the word out reluctantly. “They had been for years as best I ever heard.”

“Had they quarreled?”

“Not that I knew of, and I think she would have told me. Not that they didn’t squabble off and on most of the time, but from what she says, he didn’t do much squabbling. Just said how he’d have things and then smiled and carried on doing everything his own way. That always irritated her, I’ll admit. She’s not shy about saying how she feels or who makes her mad.”

Nick gave the redhead an arch look. “Has a temper, does she?”

Audrey lifted her chin. “No more or less than anyone else.” She patted her too-brilliant hair. “Of course, we redheads are famous for our tempers, but not Miss Tracy. Not that she didn’t speak her mind when provoked.”

“First I heard of hair dye giving someone a temper,” Madeline whispered to Drew.

He gave her a wink and then looked at Audrey. “Miss Tracy wasn’t working on a story about him already, was she? I mean, before the murder?”

Audrey shook her head. “I’m almost certain she wasn’t. She’d done one in the summer, sort of a tell-all about his scandalous youth. It was one of her most popular pieces, I can tell you that. She got Mr. Beakins to give her a rise in her salary afterwards, too. She said she’d have it or go elsewhere with her work.”

“Bit of a risk, that,” Drew said. “Jobs being scarce and all.”

“Well, she wasn’t afraid. At least she wasn’t going to tell him that. Besides, he does pretty good business off what she
writes, and they both know it. People like a nice scandal, if it’s not about themselves of course.”

“No doubt,” Drew said. “No doubt.”

“I say, Audrey, have you seen today’s
Times
anywhere?” Poste sauntered up to her, coffee cup in hand, and frowned when he noticed the trio of visitors. “Why are they here again? If you don’t have enough to do, then come and type up my column.”

“We’re looking into the Ravenswood murder,” Drew told him. “Do you have any idea where Miss Tracy might be right now?”

Poste’s frown deepened. “Not the slightest. Out getting a story?”

“We’re not exactly sure,” Drew said. “And you didn’t see her that morning before she left?”

“No.”

The redhead smirked. “He’s never in till ten most mornings.”

Nick smiled at her, then asked, “Did anyone else see Miss Tracy that morning, Miss Sherman?”

Audrey shrugged. “Anyone on the floor, I suppose. It’s bedlam round here most of the time. I can’t say who might have actually noticed her, though.”

“Did you see her speak to anyone else that morning?” Drew asked.

“No, but I asked if anyone had. Seems they were all busy with their own work. Nobody particularly remembers her coming in or leaving.”

“All right. You still have my card, I believe.”

The redhead nodded.

“Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can’t stir up a bit more interest in constabulary circles about her going missing.”

“I thought you said you weren’t with the police.”

“True, but I do happen to know the chief inspector will be quite keen to find out if there’s any connection between your Miss Tracy and the Ravenswood killing.”

“Oh, I say.” Poste looked awake for the first time Drew could remember. “You’re not saying
she
might have done for the old boy, are you?”

Audrey elbowed him. “Of course not. Don’t be daft, and don’t talk about things you know nothing about.” She looked at Nick. “If he minded that advice, we wouldn’t likely hear a peep out of him for days on end.”

Nick covered a laugh with a slight cough. “We’ll see what else we can find out, but do have Miss Tracy ring up Farthering Place when she gets back. We’d be much obliged.”

“
If
she gets back,” Madeline said once they had gotten to the ground floor again. “If she had something to do with the murder, she might have taken herself off to the Argentine by now.”

Drew nodded. It was entirely possible. “Come along. I think another visit with Chief Inspector Birdsong is in order.”

S
o this lady reporter’s gone missing, has she?” Birdsong drew his heavy brows together and leaned forward on his desk. “And no one thought to notify the police?”

“Actually, her secretary, a Miss Sherman, phoned this morning. The desk sergeant said someone would look into it.” Drew pulled up a chair for Madeline and, once she was seated, stood behind it. “I would have thought Miss Tracy would be on your list of people to speak to about Ravenswood. It seems they were great friends.”

“She is on our list, Detective Farthering,” the chief inspector assured him. “However, we do have more than one case to see to and not all the money in the world at our disposal.” He sniffed. “Unlike some I know of.”

“No one is laying blame,” Drew said. “We just felt you ought to know Miss Tracy is not where she is generally expected to be and has not been since the morning Ravenswood was killed.”

Nick pulled up a chair for himself. “It does seem a bit odd
that she would pop off just after reading the headline about the murder. I mean, if she’d actually done the thing, she shouldn’t have been surprised by the news, eh?”

“Maybe she was just surprised that the body had been found already,” Madeline offered. “It was Sunday night, and the theater is dark on Mondays. Maybe she thought Ravenswood wouldn’t be found until Tuesday afternoon at the earliest, when all the actors started coming in to get ready for the performance.”

Birdsong narrowed his eyes. “You say she popped off just after she read the morning’s headlines? How do you know?”

“Her secretary said so,” Nick told him. “She said as soon as she saw the paper, Miss Tracy grabbed up some notes from one of the drawers in her desk and was off like a shot.”

“And that was the last this secretary heard from her?” Birdsong chewed his lip, thinking. “Did you ask her what those papers were? The ones Miss Tracy had with her?”

“No,” Drew admitted. “I hadn’t actually thought about them till just now. When the secretary mentioned them, no one realized yet that Miss Tracy had disappeared. We thought she was just out.”

“Well then, there may be a need for my humble services after all,” Birdsong said. “I’ll send someone round to the
Winchester Tattletale
to speak to this secretary and see what she can tell us.”

“You’ll want to talk to Miss Tracy’s landlady as well, I expect,” Drew said. “Though the secretary says the woman doesn’t notice much beyond whether or not the rent is paid on time.”

“Not uncommon among those in her line.” The chief inspector nodded. “We will make inquiries. Is there anything
else you’ve uncovered that might help us in our investigation, Detective Farthering?”

Drew thought for a moment. “Did you know Tess Davidson is in love with Conor Benton?”

Birdsong pursed his lips. “She told you that, did she?”

“Not in so many words.”

“You only have to look at her to see it,” Nick put in. “The proverbial misty eyes and blushing cheeks.”

“I see.” Birdsong looked unimpressed. “What bearing does that have on the case?”

“Only in as much as Ravenswood played fast and loose with this Tess Davidson’s heart quite recently,” said Drew, “and Benton is rather protective of her.”

“So he returns the sentiment, does he?”

“He hasn’t actually said anything to her yet,” Madeline told the chief inspector. “He told us he wanted to just be a friend to her until she had recovered from her involvement with Ravenswood.”

Birdsong looked at Drew. “You’re saying he killed Ravenswood for the sake of the girl’s honor?”

“Might have done,” Drew said, shrugging. “Just a theory.”

“Any other theories?”

“I presume you know already that Ravenswood was a rake and didn’t care who knew about it. His wife claims she didn’t care, but that may or may not be the case.”

“Right. We’re looking into that. Anything else?”

Drew looked from Madeline to Nick and then back at the chief inspector. “Not in particular. But now you’ve got me wondering about those papers Miss Tracy took off with.”

Birdsong nodded. “And so am I. I suppose all we can do is keep working at it.”

“Precisely.” Drew put on his hat, tipping it as he settled it on his head, and then he offered his hand to Madeline. “You know, these papers may be as simple a thing as her notes for her latest column or a book she’s writing. Her secretary said she always wanted to write a book.”

Birdsong stood as Madeline did. Then he looked at Drew, his expression keen, something between warning and wariness. “Don’t you go poking about on your own without keeping us informed. Am I understood?”

“Most certainly,” Drew promised with a grin. “I’ll be the very model of a modern sleuthing amateur.”

Birdsong gave him a pained smile in return. “Go on, the three of you. And mind what I said, Detective Farthering.”

Madeline giggled once they were safely out of the office. “Good thing he likes you, Drew, or you’d probably end up in one of his cells.”

Drew laughed as Nick took them each by an arm and directed them toward the car. “Come along, you two. I forgot I’m meant to be accompanying Mr. Padgett and Dr. Wight on a check of the livestock.”

“Oh, lucky you,” Drew said.

“Dr. Wight?” Madeline asked.

“The local vet, darling. Good man. A bit strict, but kindly.”

“Kindly, yes,” Nick said, hurrying them along, “unless he’s kept waiting.”

They got back to Farthering Place with just enough time for Nick to make his appointment. Much later in the afternoon, Denny announced that Mr. Landis was on the telephone.

“Landis,” Drew said when he picked up the phone in the study, “what can I do for you?”

“Pardon me for troubling you at home, Mr. Farthering.” Landis’s voice quavered. “It’s, well . . .”

“Is it about Mrs. Landis?”

Landis drew an audible breath. “The police have taken her away.”

“I’m sorry. Have you spoken with Clifton?”

“He’s on his way here. To the police station.”

Drew sat himself on the corner of the desk. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“I know you’ve dealt with Chief Inspector Birdsong in the past,” Landis began. “Fleur couldn’t possibly have killed anyone. I thought perhaps you could convince him to release her.”

The chance of that happening was comically slight, but Drew kept any hint of amusement out of his voice. “I don’t know if there is much I can do in that respect, I’m afraid. Our chief inspector does not arrest the guilty party on each and every occasion, but he does tend to have good reason for any arrests he does make.”

Landis was silent for a long moment. “Very well. I am sorry to have troubled you with a personal matter.”

“Now, don’t misunderstand me, Landis. I’m not saying I won’t try to help. Getting Mrs. Landis released is very likely beyond my powers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to find out what Birdsong has against her and do a bit more investigating on my own. Has he said why he decided to arrest her now? He wasn’t prepared to before.”

Again Landis was silent.

“Landis?”

“There’s been another murder. Some girl at the theater. Script girl, wardrobe girl, I’m not certain which. Tess Davidson.”

“Good heavens,” Drew breathed. “When was this?”

“Last night sometime. Must have been after the performance when she was putting everything away.”

“And Mrs. Landis doesn’t have an alibi for last night?”

“She was at home.”

“All night?”

“Yes, of course. And she would have no reason to kill this girl, would she?”

Drew cringed inwardly at the desperation in the man’s voice. Would she? Drew didn’t know, just as he didn’t know what help he could be.

“No,” Drew finally said. “No, of course not. And why are they just now making an arrest?”

“Evidently the girl was stuffed into a wardrobe or a closet of some kind. They didn’t find her until late this morning.”

“And then they came round and arrested Mrs. Landis.”

“Yes. But I told them she couldn’t have done it. I don’t suppose you could make the chief inspector see reason.”

“I would like to talk to him, in point of fact. I’ll be right down, Landis. Stiff upper lip now.”

Drew hung up the telephone and went back into the parlor. Madeline was reading the latest Albert Campion novel, and she smiled up at him.

“Anything important?”

“I’m afraid so, darling. There’s been another murder.”

Madeline’s smile vanished. “Oh, no. Who is it?”

“Tess Davidson. From the theater. They’ve arrested Mrs. Landis for it.”

Her expression grew cool. “And now you’re supposed to go and get her released?”

“Landis would like me to speak to Birdsong.”

She was still for a moment, and then she bit her lip. “I want to come.”

“You don’t have to. I realize you and she aren’t exactly the best of friends.”

“No, really, I want to go. I want this over and done with.”

He pulled her to her feet. “Of course, darling. How could I ever manage without you?”

Her expression warmed. “Well, with Nick busy with the stock and everything, I think someone should come along and be Watson for you.”

He tucked her arm into his. “You’re much too pretty for Watson, you know. Tuppence, I think, better suits, though you’re much too pretty for her as well, apart from sharing a determined chin.” He tapped her chin and smiled. “Shall we be Tommy and Tuppence, then?”

“Fair enough,” she said, “but you’re rather too pretty for Tommy, too.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Pretty?”

She traced one finger down his nose to his lips. “Gorgeous.”

“You’re a shameless flatterer.” He kissed her fingertip and hoped his face wasn’t too frightfully flushed. “Be kind enough not to say that in front of my friends, eh? Bunny would get no end of amusement out of it and manage to bring it up at every awkward moment he was able. He might forget his own name from time to time, but things like that have a way of sticking with him.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, all right. I won’t say it to anyone but you. But you’re nothing like Tommy, as much as I enjoy reading about him. Red-haired and pleasantly ugly? No, that’s not you in the least.”

“And I am thankful for small favors. Now, we’d best get up
to Winchester. Landis sounded as if he could use a friend at the moment, and no telling what our beloved chief inspector has up his battered sleeve.”

They found Landis sitting on a bench just down the corridor from Birdsong’s office, elbows propped on his knees and head in his hands. He leaped to his feet when he saw Drew and Madeline.

“Bless you both for coming,” he said, reaching out to shake Drew’s hand and then turning to Madeline with an apologetic look. “I know you have your wedding to prepare for. This really is a terrible imposition.”

“Not at all,” Drew assured. He examined the man more closely. “Are you all right?”

Landis shrugged. “Been a bit sluggish all day. Slow start again this morning. I thought I might be coming down with something, but it doesn’t really matter at the moment. I just need to see to Fleur.”

“Has Mr. Clifton arrived yet?” Drew asked.

Landis nodded. “About fifteen minutes ago. He’s in with Fleur right now.”

“And the chief inspector?”

“I told him you would want to talk to him about the case.”

“All right,” Drew said. “I don’t doubt they think this murder is tied to the first one. Ravenswood.”

“I suppose.” There was pleading in Landis’s eyes. “But she couldn’t have done the first murder, so why would she have done this one?”

“You’re certain she was home all night when Ravenswood was killed.”

The older man nodded.

“All night?” Drew pressed.

Again Landis nodded. “I was in bed next to her. She took her sleeping medicine and didn’t move till morning.”

“How about earlier that evening? Was everything amicable between the two of you?”

“Well, we, Fleur and I, had a bit of a row. Not much of anything, mind you.”

Drew looked at Madeline again and then back at Landis. “I don’t mean to pry into personal matters, but what did you quarrel about?”

Landis pushed his fingers through his hair. “It was nothing really. A misunderstanding more than anything.”

“Did it have to do with Mr. Ravenswood?” Madeline asked.

“No. We didn’t know about the murder at the time. Our quarrel was very silly. It was over Peter. Well, Winston, his nurse, to be absolutely precise.”

“What?” Drew pressed.

“Oh, Fleur claimed she was spoiling the boy and letting him have his own way far too much. I told her I hadn’t seen any sign of him being spoilt and that we couldn’t possibly let her go. Peter’s very attached to her, you know, and for all I’ve seen, she’s quite good with him.”

“And what time was this?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” said Landis. “Eleven or later. She was already dressed for bed. I was about to change. I could tell she was unhappy about something. She’s not much of one to hide it if things are not the way she wants them. I couldn’t think of anything I might have done that would have provoked her, so I thought I’d come straight out and ask.”

“That was all?” Drew asked.

“That was all.”

“Had she and Miss Winston not been getting along?” Madeline asked.

Landis shrugged. “So far as I know, they have. It’s not as though the two of them spend a great deal of time together. And, truly, Peter is a very well-mannered little boy. I don’t say that just because he’s mine, either. Whatever Winston is doing, she must be on the right track.”

Drew nodded. “Is it possible that Mrs. Landis isn’t pleased with her over something else and is just using the boy as an excuse?”

“I suppose it’s possible, though I don’t know what it could be. As I said, it’s not as if the two of them spend much time together. What else could they quarrel over but the boy?”

“And that was all you and Mrs. Landis discussed?”

Landis looked down again, faint color coming into his face. “You know how it is, or I expect you will soon enough. We started with Winston spoiling Peter and quickly worked our way up the list to the point where she declared with some certainty that I had never really loved her and wished I had never married her.”