THE MOTHER OF ODETTE RIDER
The two men looked at one another in silence.
"Well?" said the Commissioner at last.
Tarling shook his head.
"That's amazing," he said, and looked at the little slip of paper between
his finger and thumb.
"You see why I am bringing you in," said the Commissioner. "If there is a
Chinese end to this crime, nobody knows better than you how to deal with
it. I have had this slip translated. It means 'He brought this trouble
upon himself.'"
"Literally, 'self look for trouble,'" said Tarling. "But there is one
fact which you may not have noticed. If you will look at the slip, you
will see that it is not written but printed."
He passed the little red square across the table, and the Commissioner
examined it.
"That's true," he said in surprise. "I did not notice that. Have you seen
these slips before?"
Tarling nodded.
"A few years ago," he said. "There was a very bad outbreak of crime in
Shanghai, mostly under the leadership of a notorious criminal whom I was
instrumental in getting beheaded. He ran a gang called 'The Cheerful
Hearts'--you know the fantastic titles which these Chinese gangs adopt.
It was their custom to leave on the scene of their depredations the
_Hong_, or sign-manual of the gang. It was worded exactly as this slip,
only it was written. These visiting cards of 'The Cheerful Hearts' were
bought up as curios, and commanded high prices until some enterprising
Chinaman started printing them, so that you could buy them at almost any
stationer's shop in Shanghai--just as you buy picture post-cards."
The Commissioner nodded.
"And this is one of those?"
"This is such a one. How it came here, heaven knows," he said. "It is
certainly the most remarkable discovery."
The Commissioner went to a cupboard, unlocked it and took out a
suit-case, which he placed upon the table and opened.
"Now," said the Commissioner, "look at this, Tarling."
"This" was a stained garment, which Tarling had no difficulty in
recognising as a night-dress. He took it out and examined it. Save for
two sprays of forget-me-nots upon the sleeves it was perfectly plain and
was innocent of lace or embroidery.
"It was found round his body, and here are the handkerchiefs." He pointed
to two tiny squares of linen, so discoloured as to be hardly
recognisable.
Tarling lifted the flimsy garment, with its evidence of the terrible
purpose for which it had been employed, and carried it to the light.
"Are there laundry marks?"
"None whatever," said the Commissioner.
"Or on the handkerchiefs?"
"None," replied Mr. Cresswell.
"The property of a girl who lived alone," said Tarling. "She is not very
well off, but extremely neat, fond of good things, but not extravagant,
eh?"
"How do you know that?" asked the Commissioner, surprised.
Tarling laughed.
"The absence of laundry marks shows that she washes her silk garments at
home, and probably her handkerchiefs also, which places her amongst the
girls who aren't blessed with too many of this world's goods. The fact
that it is silk, and good silk, and that the handkerchiefs are good
linen, suggests a woman who takes a great deal of trouble, yet whom one
would not expect to find over-dressed. Have you any other clue?"
"None," said the Commissioner. "We have discovered that Mr. Lyne had
rather a serious quarrel with one of his employees, a Miss Odette
Rider----"
Tarling caught his breath. It was, he told himself, absurd to take so
keen an interest in a person whom he had not seen for more than ten
minutes, and who a week before was a perfect stranger. But somehow the
girl had made a deeper impression upon him than he had realised. This
man, who had spent his life in the investigation of crime and in the
study of criminals, had found little time to interest himself in
womanhood, and Odette Rider had been a revelation to him.
"I happen to know there was a quarrel. I also know the cause," he said,
and related briefly the circumstances under which he himself had met
Thornton Lyne. "What have you against her?" he said, with an assumption
of carelessness which he did not feel.
"Nothing definite," said the Commissioner. "Her principal accuser is the
man Stay. Even he did not accuse her directly, but he hinted that she was
responsible, in some way which he did not particularise, for Thornton
Lyne's death. I thought it curious that he should know anything about
this girl, but I am inclined to think that Thornton Lyne made this man
his confidant."
"What about the man?" asked Tarling. "Can he account for his movements
last night and early this morning?"
"His statement," replied the Commissioner, "is that he saw Mr. Lyne at
his flat at nine o'clock, and that Mr. Lyne gave him five pounds in the
presence of Lyne's butler. He said he left the flat and went to his
lodgings in Lambeth, where he went to bed very early. All the evidence we
have been able to collect supports his statement. We have interviewed
Lyne's butler, and his account agrees with Stay's. Stay left at five
minutes past nine, and at twenty-five minutes to ten--exactly half an
hour later--Lyne himself left the house, driving his two-seater. He was
alone, and told the butler he was going to his club."
"How was he dressed?" asked Tarling.
"That is rather important," nodded the Commissioner. "For he was
in evening dress until nine o'clock--in fact, until after Stay had
gone--when he changed into the kit in which he was found dead."
Tarling pursed his lips.
"He'd hardly change from evening into day dress to go to his club," he
said.
He left Scotland Yard a little while after this, a much puzzled man. His
first call was at the flat in Edgware Road which Odette Rider occupied.
She was not at home, and the hall porter told him that she had been away
since the afternoon of the previous day. Her letters were to be sent on
to Hertford. He had the address, because it was his business to intercept
the postman and send forward the letters.
"Hillington Grove, Hertford."
Tarling was worried. There was really no reason why he should be, he told
himself, but he was undoubtedly worried. And he was disappointed too. He
felt that, if he could have seen the girl and spoken with her for a few
minutes, he could have completely disassociated her from any suspicion
which might attach. In fact, that she was away from home, that she had
"disappeared" from her flat on the eve of the murder, would be quite
enough, as he knew, to set the official policeman nosing on her trail.
"Do you know whether Miss Rider has friends at Hertford?" he asked the
porter.
"Oh, yes, sir," said the man nodding. "Miss Rider's mother lives there."
Tarling was going, when the man detained him with a remark which switched
his mind back to the murder and filled him with a momentary sense of
hopeless dismay.
"I'm rather glad Miss Rider didn't happen to be in last night, sir," he
said. "Some of the tenants upstairs were making complaints."
"Complaints about what?" asked Tarling, and the man hesitated.
"I suppose you're a friend of the young lady's, aren't you?" and Tarling
nodded.
"Well, it only shows you," said the porter confidentially, "how people
are very often blamed for something they did not do. The tenant in the
next flat is a bit crotchety; he's a musician, and rather deaf. If he
hadn't been deaf, he wouldn't have said that Miss Rider was the cause of
his being wakened up. I suppose it was something that happened outside."
"What did he hear?" asked Tarling quickly, and the porter laughed.
"Well, sir, he thought he heard a shot, and a scream like a woman's. It
woke him up. I should have thought he had dreamt it, but another tenant,
who also lives in the basement, heard the same sound, and the rum thing
was they both thought it was in Miss Rider's flat."
"What time was this?"
"They say about midnight, sir," said the porter; "but, of course, it
couldn't have happened, because Miss Rider had not been in, and the flat
was empty."
Here was a disconcerting piece of news for Tarling to carry with him on
his railway journey to Hertford. He was determined to see the girl and
put her on her guard, and though he realised that it was not exactly his
duty to put a suspected criminal upon her guard, and that his conduct
was, to say the least of it, irregular, such did not trouble him very
much.
He had taken his ticket and was making his way to the platform when he
espied a familiar figure hurrying as from a train which had just come in,
and apparently the man saw Tarling even before Tarling had recognised
him, for he turned abruptly aside and would have disappeared into the
press of people had not the detective overtaken him.
"Hullo, Mr. Milburgh!" he said. "Your name is Milburgh, if I remember
aright?"
The manager of Lyne's Store turned, rubbing his hands, his habitual smile
upon his face.
"Why, to be sure," he said genially, "it's Mr. Tarling, the detective
gentleman. What sad news this is, Mr. Tarling! How dreadful for everybody
concerned!"
"I suppose it has meant an upset at the Stores, this terrible happening?"
"Oh, yes, sir," said Milburgh in a shocked voice. "Of course we closed
the Store for the day. It is dreadful--the most dreadful thing within my
experience. Is anybody suspected, sir?" he asked.
Tarling shook his head.
"It is a most mysterious circumstance, Mr. Milburgh," he said. And then:
"May I ask if any provision had been made to carry on the business in the
event of Mr. Lyne's sudden death?"
Again Milburgh hesitated, and seemed reluctant to reply.
"I am, of course, in control," he said, "as I was when Mr. Lyne took his
trip around the world. I have received authority also from Mr. Lyne's
solicitors to continue the direction of the business until the Court
appoints a trustee."
Tarling eyed him narrowly.
"What effect has this murder had upon you personally?" he asked bluntly.
"Does it enhance or depreciate your position?"
Milburgh smiled.
"Unhappily," he said, "it enhances my position, because it gives me a
greater authority and a greater responsibility. I would that the occasion
had never arisen, Mr. Tarling."
"I'm sure you do," said Tarling dryly, remembering Lyne's accusations
against the other's probity.
After a few commonplaces the men parted.
Milburgh! On the journey to Hertford Tarling analysed that urbane man,
and found him deficient in certain essential qualities; weighed him and
found him wanting in elements which should certainly form part of the
equipment of a trustworthy man.
At Hertford he jumped into a cab and gave the address.
"Hillington Grove, sir? That's about two miles out," said the cabman.
"It's Mrs. Rider you want?"
Tarling nodded.
"You ain't come with the young lady she was expecting?" said the driver
"No," replied Tarling in surprise.
"I was told to keep my eyes open for a young lady," explained the cabman
vaguely.
A further surprise awaited the detective. He expected to discover that
Hillington Grove was a small suburban house bearing a grandiose title.
He was amazed when the cabman turned through a pair of impressive gates,
and drove up a wide drive of some considerable length, turning eventually
on to a gravelled space before a large mansion. It was hardly the kind of
home he would have expected for the parent of a cashier at Lyne's Store,
and his surprise was increased when the door was opened by a footman.
He was ushered into a drawing-room, beautifully and artistically
furnished. He began to think that some mistake had been made, and was
framing an apology to the mistress of the house, when the door opened and
a lady entered.
Her age was nearer forty than thirty, but she was still a beautiful woman
and carried herself with the air of a grand dame. She was graciousness
itself to the visitor, but Tarling thought he detected a note of anxiety
both in her mien and in her voice.
"I'm afraid there's some mistake," he began. "I have probably found the
wrong Mrs. Rider--I wanted to see Miss Odette Rider."
The lady nodded.
"That is my daughter," she said. "Have you any news of her? I am quite
worried about her."
"Worried about her?" said Tarling quickly. "Why, what has happened? Isn't
she here?"
"Here?" said Mrs. Rider, wide-eyed. "Of course she is not."
"But hasn't she been here?" asked Tarling. "Didn't she arrive here two
nights ago?"
Mrs. Rider shook her head.
"My daughter has not been," she replied. "But she promised to come and
spend a few days with me, and last night I received a telegram--wait a
moment, I will get it for you."
She was gone a few moments and came back with a little buff form, which
she handed to the detective. He looked and read:
"My visit cancelled. Do not write to me at flat. I will communicate
with you when I reach my destination."
The telegram had been handed in at the General Post Office, London, and
was dated nine o'clock--three hours, according to expert opinion, before
the murder was committed!