The Ginger Cat Mystery (23 page)

“You were always on good terms with your stepson?” asked Vereker.

“Always. I liked Frank very much up to a point. Times without number I've straightened out his financial affairs in order to save him from his father's anger, but it was useless. The only real quarrel we ever had was over Mary Lister. It came to my knowledge that he was in the habit of paying her quite unnecessary attentions when he happened to find her alone in the bungalow. Perfectly sober, he wouldn't dream of such a thing, but under the influence of drink there's no saying what any man will do. The girl was naturally flattered by his advances and I foresaw that she might encourage him to the point of misconduct. I had a straight talk to him about it and he told me to mind my own business. I wouldn't have minded that, but he hinted that his relations with Mary Lister would compare favourably with those existing between Stanley Redgrave and me. I repeated this to Stanley and the two men had it out together on a later occasion. Still, all these differences had been forgotten and we were all on quite friendly terms prior to his mysterious death.”

“Mr. Carstairs left for London this afternoon, I believe?” asked Vereker tentatively.

“Oh, yes. He and Stanley had words this morning and fortunately I was present to prevent the matter going farther. Roly's a sensitive man in many ways and simply can't stand having his leg pulled. I must admit Stanley's rather provocative on occasions and it really was his fault that they quarrelled. I tried to persuade Roly to forget the matter, but in vain. He said he would return to London by the five train and in the end I was obliged to let him go.”

“The discussion turned to the subject of Tapp being a germ-carrier, I believe,” remarked Vereker.

“I see Roly has told you all about it. I won't express any opinion on the matter at all. Stanley has a perfectly straightforward explanation of that nasty business and he'll doubtless tell you all about it when you see him.”

“If it's a fair question, Mrs. Cornell, may I ask if you've any theory about your stepson's death?” asked Vereker.

“In the first place, I declare I had no hand in the matter, though I daresay I've come under official suspicion. From the police point of view, I had a powerful motive and it looks very much as if the murder was committed with my little automatic pistol. It's to clear up this last point finally that I wished to see Inspector Heather, but as you've come as his proxy, I may as well clear it up with you.”

Mrs. Cornell rose to a sitting posture and stretching out her hand to a shelf by the settee on which she reclined picked up a small nickel-plated automatic which she handed to Vereker.

“That's the weapon John gave me some years ago during a scare in the district. It used to be in a drawer of a bureau in the music room, but in going through John's private chest of drawers in his bedroom, Stanley found it beside the duplicate keys of the music room for which he was searching. I suppose you'll hand it to the inspector.”

“Thanks,” replied Vereker with suppressed amazement as he took the pistol and placed it carefully in his pocket. “Is it loaded?” he asked.

“For the life of me I couldn't tell you, so please be careful. I know nothing of the mechanism of such a thing and can't touch one without a feeling of revulsion.”

“You've no idea where your husband bought this pistol?” asked Vereker, now doubly alert to every shade of expression on Mrs. Cornell's face.

“I'm not quite sure, but I think it was bought in Ipswich. I believe David Cornell was with him when he bought it,” replied Mrs. Cornell with matter-of-fact calm. “I've an idea it was prior to the time when police permits were necessary, but I can't be definite on the point. In any case I've told the inspector and he said he'd make some inquiries in Ipswich as a matter of form.”

“Then this can't be the weapon that was used to shoot Mr. Frank Cornell,” ventured Vereker in a casual tone.

“Utterly impossible. It was locked up in my late husband's chest of drawers and the keys of those drawers have been in my possession since my husband's death.”

“No one had access to the keys, of course?” asked Vereker.

“Only Stanley and I knew where they were,” replied Mrs. Cornell frankly. “After my husband's death he helped me to go through most of my husband's papers and belongings and we locked the keys in my safe in my bedroom where I keep the few jewels I possess.”

At this point a knock sounded on the door and a few moments later a tall young woman in fashionable evening dress entered the room.

“I hope I'm not interrupting you, Jo,” she exclaimed as she closed the door behind her.

“Not at all, Valerie,” replied Mrs. Cornell, and after introducing Vereker to the newcomer, asked, “Is there anything wrong? You look as if you'd seen our spook.”

“Your telephone rang and I answered the call,” said Miss Mayo breathlessly. “Your brother-in-law, Mr. David Cornell, was at the other end of the wire. He says that Stella left the bungalow early this afternoon and hasn't returned.”

“Did she go out on that dreadful motorcycle?” asked Mrs. Cornell with sudden alarm.

“No. The cycle's in the shed. She left a note simply saying that she had gone and begged her father not to make any inquiries after her; that she was utterly worn out and wanted a rest and was going to stay with some friends until she was quite well again. She had left written instructions with Mary Lister to carry on in her absence.”

“Poor Stella!” exclaimed Mrs. Cornell with a swift resumption of calm. “She's in a highly-nervous state and if she has gone away to seek quiet, it's about the best thing she could do. She has had a dreadful time of it lately with one thing and another. It'll do her good to get a complete change. Apart from other things, I'm afraid her father worries her considerably. He's not an easy man to live with.”

“I hope there's nothing more serious in it,” said Miss Mayo. “You don't think she'd have any suicidal intentions, Jo?”

“Good gracious, no, nothing of that sort. Stella's too level-headed, Valerie. I shouldn't worry any more about it, dear. Did you finish your crossword puzzle?”

“I'm wriggling out a solution with Stanley's help. He arrived about half an hour ago and I told him you were having a private interview with Mr. Vereker. He said he wouldn't interrupt you. He's in the drawing-room.”

“Tell him I'll join you shortly,” remarked Mrs. Cornell and Miss Mayo left the room. For some minutes after her departure Mrs. Cornell sat absorbed in her own thoughts. Then she rose, took a cigarette from a silver box on the table, and lit it.

“I think that's all I've got to tell you, Mr. Vereker,” she said as she stood with one hand resting on her hip. “I've tried to make matters clear as far as I'm concerned in this business. Is there any question you'd like to ask me, anything you're in doubt about? Don't be afraid to be blunt to the point of rudeness.”

“Might I ask, Mrs. Cornell, if you and Doctor Redgrave managed to get a glimpse of the Manor ghost on the night of the tragedy?” asked Vereker with as much seriousness as he could summon.

“I see what you're driving at, Mr. Vereker,” replied Mrs. Cornell with an arch smile. “You want to know exactly why we went into the music room. In the first place, Stanley wanted to speak very confidentially to me. Though we are lovers, I can assure you it had nothing to do with the subject of love. We chose the music room because it was private, but the main reason was that Stanley wanted to leave the house by the path through the gardens. He had to see Miss Cornell professionally that night and he took the shortest cut to the bungalow to save time. Have I made the point clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Mrs. Cornell. Was Miss Cornell ill, may I ask?”

“I'm afraid I can't answer that question. I know why Stella wanted to see Doctor Redgrave, but I cannot divulge a doctor's professional secrets. I oughtn't to know myself but a lover is a privileged person. You must ask him yourself. Whether he'll answer your question, I can't say. He'll have to use his own discretion. Anything else?”

“Only one more question, Mrs. Cornell, and please don't think I've taken leave of my senses in asking it. Have you seen a ginger tabby cat lately?”

“No, I certainly haven't!” replied Mrs. Cornell with a laugh. “Your question reminds me of a doggerel that was very popular in America some years ago. It ran:

I see my own black cat every day if that's any use to you, but why do you ask?”

“That's a professional secret, Mrs. Cornell, and I'm afraid I can't divulge it,” replied Vereker smiling. “Is there anything else you'd like to tell the inspector?”

“Oh, yes. I didn't want to alarm Miss Mayo about Miss Cornell's sudden disappearance, but I certainly think Mr. Heather ought to be told at once of the fact. The girl's in a very dangerous frame of mind, and though I don't think she would do anything rash, it would be advisable to find out where she has gone and what she's up to. If you can trace her whereabouts, perhaps you'd let me know and I'll go immediately and see her myself. She's very fond of me and I've a great deal of influence with her. My help and advice might be just what she needs at this time. The sooner you can do this the better, Mr. Vereker.”

“I'll return at once to the ‘Dog and Partridge' and see the inspector,” replied Vereker. “Thanks very much. I wish you'd call tomorrow morning and see me. I'd like to know what you've done about Miss Cornell and how you're getting on with your investigations. There may be other things which I'd like to discuss with you which I can't think of just now. Call any time you like after nine o'clock. But before you go, come downstairs and let me introduce you to Doctor Redgrave. I'm sure he'd like to make your acquaintance.”

As they were about to leave Mrs. Cornell's private sitting-room, she stood for a few moments as if trying to recollect something she had forgotten. Then turning to Vereker and looking him frankly in the face she said: “There's one question I've been dying to ask you all the time, Mr. Vereker, and haven't had the pluck. Your manner's so diplomatic that I'm almost scared to ask it now. Who do you think murdered Frank Cornell?”

“I really can't say, Mrs. Cornell. Naturally a detective has suspicions, but he never suspects definitely till facts permit. I'm busy gathering all the facts of the case together. I'm a complete stranger to the dead man's relatives and friends, and I've to find out everything about him and them. This is a difficult and tedious business. Now you knew Mr. Frank Cornell as well as anyone, I should say. You ought to have some inkling as to the person who was likely to kill him, either in a fit of anger or with premeditation. Whom do you suspect?”

“I've thought about it till my head ached, but I haven't the vaguest notion. At times I've thought Stella was the guilty person on account of motive, but I know Stella so well that I simply dismissed the thought as impossible. I've suspected Roly Carstairs, but I really can't say why. There may be some hidden motive which might drive him to such an act. He has loved Stella for many years and would marry her now if she'd consent. Then there's Mary Lister. She's a resolute little woman with some of the directness of an animal. I don't know how far she may have let Frank go in his philandering with her. Jealousy might drive her to revenge. Then, of course, Frank had innumerable friends, especially women friends in London. Some of them, I've heard, are of rather questionable character. I don't know; the whole thing's a mystery to me and I'm glad I'm not a detective trying to solve it. In any case, I hope you'll find out before long. This suspense is painful to all concerned. Now let's go to the drawing-room.”

In the drawing-room Mrs. Mayo was seated at a card table intent on a game of patience. Dr. Redgrave and Miss Valerie Mayo, close together, were discussing with laughter “No. 21 down” in the
Daily Telegraph
crossword puzzle for the day.

“What on earth can it mean?” asked Miss Mayo tapping her very scarlet lips with the butt end of her pencil. ‘Medico's encouragement to the sea.' Really, Doctor Redgrave, this is your chance for being brilliant and you're only facetious. I'm waiting for you to scintillate… ‘Medico's encouragement to the sea'…”

“I'm trying hard to twinkle but it's no use. I've never given any encouragement to the sea anyhow…”

The cheerful comfort of the house and its inmates struck Vereker at the moment as a glaring contrast to the shocking tragedy that had so recently been enacted within its walls. The sordid details of that tragedy lurked grimly and persistently at the back of his own mind and his presence among this little company of cheerful people seemed to him incongruous—an intrusion. Introductions followed and the subject of Miss Stella Cornell's sudden disappearance from Marston was immediately discussed. During the conversation Vereker was silent and seized the opportunity for carefully observing the talkers, especially Miss Mayo and Dr. Redgrave. The former impressed him as an ordinary specimen of young womanhood, in spite of her good looks, her perfect figure and a certain forced brightness of manner and conversation. Her opinions and the words in which she expressed them were the stock opinions and phraseology of the set in which she moved. She had a grace of carriage and manner acquired in the study of acting which were hardly yet perfect enough to appear natural. The brilliance of her fair hair and blue eyes were marred by a hint of weary cynicism and her mouth, of which she seemed perennially conscious, suggested a love of ease and a proneness to self-indulgence. She was an actress and seemed incapable of forgetting the fact, a type which Vereker found particularly irritating. Dr. Redgrave, on the other hand, was a man who would be impressive in any company. Six feet in height with broad, sloping shoulders and possessing a body which suggested the strength and quickness of a boxer, he looked every inch an athlete. His face, in contrast, was that of a thinker. Large grey eyes, long lashed and slumbrous, gazed with a curious innocent concentration from a shapely head which he carried with an air of quiet dignity. His manner was easy and unstudied and had the quick unconventionality of a man sure of himself and competent in everything he did. His open-hearted frankness at once disarmed suspicion and inspired confidence in Vereker who had an unshakable faith in first impressions.