The Dorset House Affair (16 page)

They open the door into the lane and, dragging the body between them, make their way out of Dorset House. They hit upon the clever idea of pretending to be revellers, singing and shouting. That other groom – Joe? – was convinced that those three men had left the house through the garden door, and not by way of the path at the side of the house. Another of their number waited with the second-hand cab that eventually ended up in Callaghan’s cab yard. Yes, it could have happened like that.

The maid departed, and Box permitted himself to return to the matter in hand.

‘Would you please give me a careful account of what Miss de
Beliefort told you about this murderous plot?’ asked Box. ‘I’ll take down what you say in shorthand. I may need to interrupt you from time to time.’

‘The brother and sister, who were staying at Dorset House,’ Julia continued, ‘concocted a note, designed to lure Maurice away from his guests and into the passage, where Elizabeth was supposed to be waiting with a gun – a pistol, you know. The note was duly written, and delivered to Maurice by one of the footmen—’

‘That would be a man called Harry the Greek,’ said Box. ‘There’s a general warrant out for him at this very moment. He was obviously in the pay of Alain de Bellefort. As for this note – did Miss de Bellefort reveal its contents?’

‘She did, and I made a conscious attempt to remember the exact words. “Please, dear Maurice, come to take my hand one final time. I am waiting in the garden passage”. I thought it sounded rather silly, but it seems to have done the trick.’

‘At last!’ cried Box. ‘A little glimmer of light in the darkness. The wording of that note would account for Maurice’s smug little smile when he read it. He couldn’t resist the fantasy of the lady still doting on him. He told his friends that he had a little
assignation
in the offing.
But
that
was
not
the
note
that
I
found
in
the
dead
man’s
pocket!’

Box flicked rapidly through the pages of his notebook.

‘Here: this is what
that
note said. “Come straight away to Lexington Place. If you fail me, I will tell your papa all. Sophie”. That note was put into Maurice’s pocket after he was dead. The real note—’

‘The real note, Mr Box,’ said Julia Maltravers, ‘fluttered out of Maurice’s hand after he’d been shot. But no, of course, that only happened in Elizabeth’s dream….’

Julia stopped in confusion. Her brow creased in a puzzled frown. Louise Whittaker leaned forward in her chair, and placed a hand on the young woman’s arm.

‘Julia,’ she said quietly, ‘you’d better tell Mr Box and me the substance of this dream. Perhaps, then, we’ll discover where all this is leading.’ Louise glanced at Box as she spoke, and saw his almost imperceptible nod of assent.

‘Elizabeth told me that in her recurring dream she imagines herself standing in the deserted garden passage at Dorset House. She is waiting for Maurice to appear. She said that she could smell the smoke from the fireworks, and could hear the conversation of some of the guests who were standing about in the garden. She felt the hard metal of the gun clasped in her hand. It was all extremely vivid, and I recall thinking that she must have had all the details of this plot drilled into her by that brother of hers. And then….’

Julia paused in her story, and glanced at Louise.

‘You think that this dream actually happened, don’t you, Miss Whittaker?’ she asked. ‘It’s too enduring in its detail to be entirely a dream. As I listened to Miss de Bellefort, I, too, began to think that she was recalling an actual event. But, of course, it couldn’t have been anything of the sort, because the passage, as Mr Box has told us, was empty.’

‘Was it?’ said Louise, flushing with vexation in spite of herself. ‘Was it indeed? It may have been empty when Mr Box pushed open the door, but it
doesn’t
follow that the passage was empty when Elizabeth de Bellefort came out of it – which is what I think she did – and all but fell into Mr Box’s arms. But come, Miss Maltravers, let us hear the conclusion of your tale.’

‘Elizabeth declared that the passage – the passage in her dream – was empty,’ Julia continued, ‘but she felt that there were witnesses standing behind her, hidden by some old cupboards and screens. And then she said that a demon was standing close behind her, and that if she had turned around, she would have seen it.’

‘A demon…. Well, well,’ said Box, half to himself. He jotted down a note in his book.

‘Elizabeth said that the door opened, and Maurice Claygate came into the passage. She saw him holding the note in his hand.
He darted forward as though to take the gun away from her, and then she fired.’

‘Did she mention the noise of the fireworks at that moment?’

‘Yes, Mr Box, she did. She said that the noise nearly deafened her, and that a split second afterwards there came a shattering echo, reverberating along the passage.’

‘That’s right,’ said Box. ‘I heard that echo myself…. If this is all a dream, how is she able to hear what I heard? Did she say anything else?’

‘She said that poor Maurice didn’t seem surprised at what had happened to him. His eyes glazed over, and he sank to the ground. The note fluttered from his hand. She stepped over the body and flung open the door – to be confronted by
you
, Mr Box! And that is the substance of Elizabeth de Beliefort’s dream.’

Arnold Box sat in thought for a few moments. This dream…. Miss Whittaker had already suggested that Elizabeth de Bellefort had indeed just emerged from the garden passage when he had come upon her, desperately trying to prevent anyone from gaining entry. And now, the vivid details of the ‘dream’, and its existence as a single, unfragmented experience, suggested compellingly that the Frenchwoman was recalling a real experience, that her fragile mind was trying desperately to deny.

‘Louise,’ he said, ‘and you, Miss Maltravers, would you be willing to take part in a reconstruction of what could have happened in that passage? I would need a little time for
preparation
, but would suggest Monday afternoon, if that’s convenient.’

‘A reconstruction?’ asked Julia, intrigued.

‘An enactment, miss, would perhaps be a better word to use. We would take the events of Miss de Bellefort’s dream, and act them out as though they had taken place in reality. There would be nothing to fear, as you would be part of a police investigation. Perhaps you, Miss Maltravers, could secure the consent of Field Marshal Claygate?’

‘I think it’s an excellent idea, Mr Box,’ said Julia. ‘But I can’t
quite see what it is that you hope to prove by acting out Elizabeth’s dream.’

‘The enactment might make us conclude that it
wasn’t
a dream,’ said Box, ‘which is what Miss Whittaker believes to be the case. It may show us that Elizabeth did indeed enter that empty passage with the fast intent of shooting Maurice Claygate dead. We shall observe a substitute perform the act of shooting, and then see her rush through the door into the vestibule. What happens after that, Miss Maltravers, is the part of the enactment that will particularly interest me.’

Box glanced at Louise Whittaker, inviting her to finish what he was going to say. It was she who had first suggested these ideas to him, and it was only right that she should give voice to them now.

‘Julia,’ said Louise, ‘on that fatal evening of Maurice’s birthday, Elizabeth de Bellefort, by the use of a cleverly worded note, lured your fiancé away from his guests and into the garden passage. It had all been cunningly plotted by the two of them, so why shouldn’t it have happened?

‘Let us say, for the sake of argument, that she did indeed conceal herself in that passage, and that, when Maurice entered it, she shot him dead. Immediately she rushes through the door into the vestibule. Let us leave her there. What is left behind? The dead body of Maurice Claygate, the fatal note, and the pistol which she had thrown to the ground. What would have happened then, between Elizabeth quitting the passage and Mr Box entering it?’

‘There was a footman on duty that night, Miss Maltravers,’ said Box, ‘who was, in fact, a petty criminal, well known to the police. He may have had accomplices in the house. These men could have removed the body of Maurice Claygate and conveyed it away into the lane behind Dorset House. Such a thing could be quite possible. If we can show that it was so in fact, it will put a whole new complexion on the crime.’

‘Elizabeth de Bellefort and her brother left for Normandy the next day,’ said Louise. ‘That in itself was suspicious, you know. It
looks very like the brother protecting the sister. Once out of the country, no one could ask them any awkward questions. Let us by all means take part in this enactment. It’s a brilliant idea, and it could lead to brilliant results.’

‘Well,’ said Julia, ‘I embarked on this business in order to find out the truth, so let the truth prevail, however devastating the consequences may be. I will communicate with Field Marshal Claygate at once.’

‘Very well, then,’ said Box. ‘We will assemble in the vestibule behind the grand saloon in Dorset House next Monday, at three o’clock in the afternoon. A word of warning, though. The idea of an official re-enactment of a murder may seem exciting at the moment, but these affairs can prove to be quite upsetting for anyone who was intimately acquainted with the victim.’

‘Have no fears about my reaction, Mr Box,’ said Julia Maltravers. ‘A little emotional upset is a small price to pay for revealing the truth of my fiancé’s death. I am eagerly looking forward to next Monday afternoon.’

12

The Re–enactment

W
hile Arnold Box was consulting with Louise and Julia at the Acanthus Club, Colonel Sir Adrian Kershaw was looking once again out of the window of his room on the second floor of the London Pavilion. He was watching the man who was coming to visit him climb down from the upper deck of an omnibus. This man was very different from the rough-and-ready Mr Ames, who had brought him the news of François Leclerc's suicide.

No doubt Major Ronald Blythe had come directly from Victoria, using the public conveyance in an attempt to be
anonymous
. However, the major's liking for green serge suits would always make him stand out in a crowd.

Some minutes later, Mr Cadbury showed Major Blythe into the room, and withdrew. The major was a lithe and lively man in his late thirties, his face adorned with a clipped moustache. There were lines of good humour at the corners of his deep-set blue eyes. To some people he was known as ‘Major Blythe of the Home Office', to others, ‘Major Blythe, Secretary of the Hampstead Watch Committee'. To Kershaw, he was one of the most valuable of his secret servants, a man who controlled his own discreet network of operators. Major Blythe was Kershaw's eye upon Europe.

Although in civilian clothes, Major Blythe drew himself briefly to attention before taking a seat opposite Kershaw.

‘So, Major,' said the colonel, ‘you've thought fit to rush across Europe once again to cast down pearls of wisdom at my feet. Where have you been? It's over a week since I sent you in pursuit of De Bellefort, and I've heard nothing. I thought you'd deserted me for the foe. You're looking very dapper, if I may say so. That red carnation in your buttonhole goes well with your green suit.'

Major Blythe smiled. The colonel's cheerful mien suggested that all was going well at his end of things. The civilities were over, and it was time for him to give his report.

‘Sir,' he said, ‘Alain de Bellefort and his sister left England for Normandy on Friday, 7 September. I received your cable message at Amiens before they'd disembarked at Caen, and was in the vicinity of their manor-house when they arrived in the early hours of Friday evening. Mademoiselle de Bellefort looked tired and ill, and I've no doubt that she will confine herself to that dilapidated house of theirs until she is better.'

‘And the brother?'

‘The brother spent the weekend lounging around the village, and calling upon various friends. At one time, he seemed to be fighting a duel on the terrace of his house, but apparently it was only a harmless pastime, as both he and his opponent survived unscathed.

‘On Monday morning – the tenth – Alain de Bellefort left the manor-house and walked to the station at Saint-Martin de Fontenay, followed closely by myself. We travelled in the same train to Amiens, where he booked into a small hotel near the cathedral. I did likewise. Next morning, he made his way to an ancient quarter of the town known as Little Venice, where there are a number of canals. De Bellefort, much to my delight, entered the house of Karl Pfeifer, the prosperous importer of textile machinery. You know all about Pfeifer, of course?'

‘I do,' Kershaw replied. ‘But as you're bursting to tell me the tale yet again, you'd better get on with it.'

‘Herr Pfeifer is an agent of Prussian State Bureau IV, the
intelligence
-gathering arm of the Imperial German Security Service. He imagines that he is very clever at concealing his nefarious
activities
in France, but he's no match for me. I contrived last year to construct a sort of listening-post in the attic of the house on the canal, where he has his business premises and, through an
ingenious
device of my own contriving, I can both hear and see him when he's at work there in his office on the first floor. Do you want to hear how I constructed this ingenious hideaway of mine?'

‘No.'

‘Very well. Alain de Bellefort entered the house overlooking the canal, and I immediately took up my post in the secret place in the attic. It is reached by means of— but you don't want to know. Pfeifer was alone in his office, apparently engaged on the task of reading his way through a stack of invoices. Presently, the door opened, and one of Pfeifer's minions came into the room. “De Bellefort's waiting downstairs”, he said. “Let him wait”, Pfeifer replied. “Men of that kind were created to wait at doors”. So we waited.'

‘You tell it all so beautifully,' said Kershaw. ‘When are you going to get to the point?'

Major Blythe permitted himself a discreet smile. ‘Ten minutes later,' he said, ‘De Bellefort was shown in by a clerk. Pfeifer doesn't believe in preliminary civilities. “Have you got it?” he demanded. “Yes”, De Bellefort replied, “but not here”. “Well, of course not here, you fool”, said Pfeifer. He was never one for the social niceties. De Bellefort blushed to the roots of his black hair, and for a moment I thought that he was going to lunge at old Pfeifer. Our German friend didn't seem to notice. “When you hand over that document to me”, he said, “I will give you in return a valise containing ten thousand pounds in Bank of England notes”.'

Colonel Kershaw jumped as though he had been shot.

‘What?' he cried. ‘
Ten
thousand
pounds
? In God's name, Blythe, what has the fellow got hold of? It can't be the Alsace
document, which must have been taken from Sophie Lénart by the unknown assassin who shot her dead, together with Maurice Claygate, in that house in Soho—'

‘Could that assassin have been de Bellefort himself?'

‘I can't see how that could be, Blythe. De Bellefort was at Dorset House at the very hour that the double murder took place, close on a mile away. So what has he got now, that's apparently worth ten thousand pounds to German Intelligence?'

‘Let me tell you the conclusion of De Bellefort's visit, sir,' said Blythe. ‘The two men, by the way, were speaking in English, because De Bellefort doesn't speak German, and Pfeifer can't – or won't – speak French.

‘“You must deliver the document to me in person on Saturday, 22 September”, said Pfeifer. “Be ready to meet me at twelve noon, outside the Queen's Cottage. It closes to the public on Saturdays, so there should not be too many people about”.

‘And that was it, sir. Pfeifer dismissed him, and he left without saying another word. I followed him back to his hotel, where I ascertained that he was staying for a few days' rest and
recuperation
– that's how he described his stay to the hotel manager, who seemed to know him well, and addressed him as
monseigneur
. I  had no reason to disbelieve him, and began my journey back to England immediately.'

‘Well done, Blythe!' cried Kershaw. ‘You've done
extraordinarily
well. So the document – whatever it is – will be passed to Pfeifer next Saturday, the twenty-second. It was probably caution on De Bellefort's part that made him leave the document here in England. You know the Queen's Cottage?'

‘Well, sir, I've heard something about it—'

‘The Queen's Cottage, Blythe, more properly Queen Charlotte's Cottage, is a charming thatched summer house given to Queen Charlotte when she married George III. It is situated in Kew Gardens, and although it still belongs to our present Queen, Her Majesty had decided to give it to the nation as part of her
Diamond Jubilee celebration in four years' time. It's usually crowded with visitors, but apparently closes on Saturdays. Our task will be to shadow De Bellefort and watch him as he makes contact with our friend Pfeifer.'

‘What will we do to them both?'

‘Well, you can imagine, can't you? We'll take the document from them, and tell them both to go about their business. We don't want any fuss, and neither does Pfeifer, I expect. Once we gain possession of the document, we can open it and see what it's about. I'd better arrange this matter myself. One week is more than ample for me to contrive a little trap at Kew for De Bellefort and his contact.'

‘You know, sir,' said Major Blythe, ‘your mention of Kew Gardens stirs a memory of some kind – something to do with this Dorset House affair.'

‘I expect it does,' said Kershaw, smiling. ‘Kew Gardens is in Richmond, and it was in Richmond that Mademoiselle de Bellefort lodged during the time that she was engaged to Maurice Claygate.'

Arnold Box stood at the entrance to the garden passage with Julia Maltravers, wondering whether it would be wise to accept the offer that she had just made. She wanted to stand in for Elizabeth in his re-enactment of the events of the fatal evening of Maurice Claygate's birthday.

Louise Whittaker and Julia Maltravers had arrived together by cab at Dorset House just before three o'clock on Monday
afternoon
. They had noticed an olive-green police van standing in the long carriage drive at the side of the house. Mr Box had evidently come with reinforcements.

‘I think my presence in the passage will be absolutely essential,' she said, ‘because I heard Elizabeth's story at first hand, and will know how to react convincingly to your direction. Besides, I will
be doing something practical to help solve the mystery of my fiancé's murder.'

‘Very well, Miss Maltravers,' said Box. ‘But once you start to assist me, you must not go back on your word. I told you before that you may find the experience quite distressing.'

‘I understand that, Mr Box. Come, let us put the business in train.'

Arnold Box threw open the door of the garden passage, and invited both the young women to stand with him on the threshold. The passage seemed quite deserted, and they were able to look down it to the locked door at the end. A small island of cupboards and screens stood against the right-hand wall halfway along the passage.

‘It looks deserted and unused, doesn't it?' said Box. ‘It's fairly well maintained, and regularly cleaned, I should think, but it doesn't seem to be part of the house. It's as though— Why, Miss Maltravers, are you all right, miss? You've turned quite pale.'

‘I'm perfectly all right, thank you, Inspector. It's just that I … I sense an atmosphere of sudden violence and fear…. The feeling is quite strong. Perhaps I'm influenced by the dream that Elizabeth de Bellefort narrated to me. Yes, that must be it.'

‘Well,' said Box, ‘let's start the re-enactment. Miss Whittaker, will you please sit down, and take this watch. I want you to take a timing, in minutes and seconds, with respect to part of this experiment.'

Louise took the watch from him, and sat on one of the chairs in the vestibule. She thought to herself: This is not the diffident, awkward man who comes to see me out at Finchley. Arnold Box is fully in command here. How smart he looks! That brown suit becomes him. He has a whistle hanging from his neck on a blue ribbon. What could be the purpose of that?

Box delved into a green felt bag placed on a table, and
withdrew
a heavy revolver. He saw Julia Maltravers recoil in distaste, and placed the weapon firmly in her right hand. When he spoke,
there was an edge of authority to his voice that recalled Julia to her duty.

‘This is a Webley Mk II .455 service revolver,' he said, ‘of the type that was used to shoot Mr Maurice Claygate dead in the house in Soho. Today, we are going to act as though Miss de Bellefort's so-called dream was, in fact, a confused recollection of the truth. Look at the revolver, Miss Maltravers. You see that little catch? That is the safety catch, and it has been placed by me in the “off” position. This weapon has been loaded with blank cartridges, but I must warn you that the noise they make is every bit as deafening as that of live ammunition.'

Box walked into the passage, followed by Julia. Despite her determination to remain calm, her heart was pounding. Louise Whittaker believed that Maurice had indeed met his death here, in this bleak passage, perhaps on the very spot where she was standing….