There was no news of the missing ladies in Grosvenor Street; but Gimblet
interviewed all the servants and heard several facts, which gave him
food for thought.
It was from Blake, the butler, that he received most information. It was
Blake himself, looking heartily scared, with half his usual pompousness
driven out of him by his anxiety, who opened the door to them and,
on hearing from Sir Gregory who it was that accompanied him, begged
Gimblet to allow him to speak to him for a few moments. They went into
the morning-room, a cheerful white-walled apartment, gay with books and
flowers, and Blake addressed himself to the detective.
"I'm very glad you've come, sir, I am indeed. Sir Gregory will have told
you, sir, that Mrs. Vanderstein and Miss Turner, who lives here with
her, went out last night to the opera and have not returned. I have been
very uneasy about them and at a loss to know what to do, sir, for Mrs.
Vanderstein mightn't like me to inform the police if so be that she's
gone away on purpose. But I never knew her to go away without informing
me of the fact or without any luggage and leaving no address, though
she does go off very sudden sometimes to spend a week or so in foreign
parts, Dieppe being her favourite, I may say."
"Indeed," said Gimblet, "was Mrs. Vanderstein in the habit of going
abroad at a moment's notice?"
"She went very sudden, when the fancy took her, sir, but not so sudden
as this. I've known her say at lunchtime to Miss Turner, 'My dear, we
will go to Boulogne by the 2.20 from Charing Cross,' which, lunch being
at one o'clock, didn't leave much time for packing, sir."
"No, it wouldn't," agreed Gimblet.
"But in such cases," continued Blake, "the maid would often be left
to follow with the luggage, the ladies taking no more than what they
required for the night. But nothing was said to the maid yesterday on
the subject, and I can't think Mrs. Vanderstein would ever go off like
that anywhere, sir, in her evening dress and diamonds."
"Of course, it being a gala night at the opera, she would be wearing
jewels," Gimblet assented.
"Yes, sir, and that's partly what makes me feel so upset, sir; I've
never known Mrs. Vanderstein to wear so many jewels on one occasion. It
would have been well worth anyone's while to rob her last night, sir."
"Really. What was she wearing? Had she valuable jewels?"
"Indeed, yes," broke in Sir Gregory, "the Vanderstein jewels were
famous."
"Yes, sir," repeated Blake; "beautiful jewellery indeed. A great
responsibility, sir, in a household. But I have them always in a safe in
the pantry, where I sleep myself, and if I go out in the daytime it's
never without one of the footmen stays in the room all the time I'm
away. At night we have a night watchman always on the premises, sir,
and it was him that first alarmed me this morning. He came to my door
about five o'clock and knocked me up. 'What's the matter?' I called out,
thinking at first what with sleep and one thing and another that the
house was on fire. 'She haven't come in yet,' he said, and it was a few
minutes before I understood what he was driving at. And then I didn't
really feel anxious; though we'd all thought it very strange last night,
when Thomas, the second footman, who had gone with the motor to Covent
Garden, came back saying that he'd received orders that the car wasn't
to go back to fetch the ladies at all."
"What? the car was not to go back after the performance?" exclaimed
Gimblet.
"No, sir, orders were given to that effect. Still, I thought possibly
they were coming home with some friends, and even this morning I said
to myself that perhaps they were staying the night at a friend's house,
having for some reason not been able to get a cab home. I had no doubt
I should get a telephone message at any moment, which would explain the
whole of the circumstances. But the morning passed away without our
hearing anything whatever, and by the time Sir Gregory called I was just
about getting ready to go out and make inquiries at the police station."
Gimblet considered in silence for a few moments.
"Have you noticed anything unusual of late," he asked, "in the habits or
demeanour of anyone in the house?"
"No, nothing unusual beyond the fact that Mrs. Vanderstein seemed to be
enjoying uncommonly good spirits. I also thought, but it might be it was
only my fancy, that you couldn't say the same of Miss Turner. Yesterday
she appeared to be very much down on her luck."
"Did the idea of an accident occur to you?" asked Gimblet. "Have you
inquired at any of the hospitals?" "I telephoned to St. George's, sir,
but with no result. I didn't know where else to make inquiries."
"I understand," said the detective presently, "that Mrs. Vanderstein
has relatives and friends living in London. Did you communicate with any
of them this morning?"
"No, sir, I did not. I had already telephoned to Sir Gregory last night
and heard he was out of town."
"Is there no one else to whom you could have appealed for advice? I
understand that Mrs. Vanderstein has a nephew or nephew by marriage.
Does he live in London?"
"No, sir, his regiment is quartered in the north of England. But it is
true," Blake stammered, with some appearance of reluctance, "that Mr.
Sidney is off and on in London, according as he is able to obtain leave,
and I believe he is up at the present moment."
"I should have thought you would have telephoned to him to-day. Did it
not occur to you to do so?"
Blake hesitated again. He looked from Gimblet to Sir Gregory, then let
his eyes roam to the window and round the room as if help might be hoped
for from some unlikely source. Finally, they once more encountered those
of the detective and, under that compelling gaze, he spoke.
"I did think of it," he faltered, "I should have done so if it had not
been for one thing. Mr. Sidney came to the house yesterday afternoon
and, I don't like to mention it, sir, but I am afraid that he had words
with his aunt. I have no idea what it was about, sir, but he only stayed
a few minutes and as soon as he was gone Mrs. Vanderstein called me and
gave me strict orders not to allow him to enter the house in future. She
seemed very much put out about something and I am sure she wouldn't like
me to have any communications with Mr. Sidney now. It isn't my place to
allude to such a thing at all, but in the peculiar circumstances, sirs,
I hope you will excuse my saying that Mrs. Vanderstein appeared to me to
be very much put out indeed."
"Quite so," said Gimblet, "in the peculiar circumstances your proper
course is to tell me everything you can, whether it bears on Mrs.
Vanderstein's failure to return home or not. I shall be less likely to
go astray after some false scent if I have a thorough knowledge of the
private affairs of these ladies, and there is no knowing what trifling
detail may not turn out to be useful. Now about these jewels, can you
tell me what your mistress wore last night? I should also like to see
the place you keep them in."
Blake conducted them to the pantry. A small safe let into the wall
contained a quantity of jewel cases, for the most part empty. The butler
gave Gimblet a list of what they had contained.
"I never knew Mrs. Vanderstein to wear so many ornaments at once,"
he repeated. "She would mostly wear her pearls and a necklace and
perhaps a tiara and a few bracelets and rings, but last night besides
these she had the two diamond necklaces sewn on to her dress, and the
emerald set, which takes to pieces so as to make one big ornament, was
sewn on it too. I don't suppose there were many ladies at the gala
performance," said Blake, with some pride, "who wore better jewels than
she did--unless it was the Queen herself."
Gimblet requested to be taken over the house, and in the various
sitting-rooms he hunted for some evidence of a documentary character to
show that Mrs. Vanderstein had not intended to return on the previous
evening. He looked on the mantelpieces for an invitation which should
have been stuck up there, on the writing tables for something of the
same kind. But though cards for different entertainments were not
wanting--most of them bearing well-known Jewish names and conveying
invitations to musical parties--there was nothing suggesting that the
ladies were to attend one on Monday night. He noticed the subtle odour
that hung about the rooms, and his scrutinising eyes noted with delight
the many beautiful and rare objects of Mr. Vanderstein's collection.
He would gladly have lingered to examine the pictures that decorated
the walls, and the priceless china, which stood on cabinets against
the white panelling. But, deferring this pleasure, he continued his
methodical search in the expectant company of Sir Gregory and the
half-scandalised Blake, who could not decide in his own mind whether he
was doing right in allowing a detective, even one so well known as Mr.
Gimblet, to turn over his mistress' correspondence in this unceremonious
fashion. When the detective's search led him to the door of Mrs.
Vanderstein's bedroom, Blake felt himself unable to remain with him any
longer, and summoning Amélie from her workroom he turned over to her the
duty of keeping an eye on these doubtful proceedings.
The news of the detective's presence had spread through the house like
wildfire, and Amélie for her part was burning to assist the great man.
Quite unhampered by such scruples as those which were felt by the worthy
butler, she dragged open drawers, threw wide the doors of cupboards,
thrust any letters she could find into Gimblet's hands and invited him
to verify for himself the information, or lack of it, which she volubly
imparted. She knew there was nothing enlightening in the letters and did
not hesitate to say so. She had read them all long ago.
"That poor lady," she cried, "they have assassinated her to rob her
of her marvellous jewels. Ah, but of that I am well convinced," she
declared, nodding her head with gloomy satisfaction. "She wore too
many--it was to tempt Providence."
Gimblet asked her for a list of the jewels and received the same that he
had had from Blake.
"And will you describe to me what clothes Mrs. Vanderstein wore," he
asked, "and also those of Miss Turner?"
"Madame had on a dress of white _mousseline de soie_, all _diamantée_,"
Amélie told him, "ce qu'elle était belle avec cette robe-là! Over it she
wore a magnificent cloak of _crêpe de Chine_ and silver lace. The cloak
is mauve in the daylight, but in the evening one would say that it was
pink. She had on silver shoes and white stockings and carried an antique
fan of great value."
"And Miss Turner?" Gimblet was writing down her description in his
notebook.
"Mademoiselle also was dressed in white, but with a dress much more
simple. She had a cloak of flame-coloured brocade that Madame gave her
on her birthday. It is lined with white chiffon; nothing can be more
chic."
As she spoke she glanced in surprise at Gimblet, who was standing in the
middle of the room, his head thrown back, his nostrils expanding and
contracting. As each succeeding drawer had been pulled out he had stood
there, sniffing appreciation. The vague scent that clung about the lower
part of the house was more penetrating here, and with each disturbance
of Mrs. Vanderstein's belongings grew stronger. There were flowers about
the room, tea roses in many bowls of shining glass; but their faint
sweetness was drowned beneath the more powerful smell that pervaded the
air.
"Your mistress uses a delicious perfume," said the detective. "Did she
always have the same one?"
"It smells good in here, is it not?" said Amélie. "Yes, Madame uses
always the same perfume. See, here it is on her table. It sells itself
very expensive, but with one drop one may perfume a whole dress.
Everything that Madame touches smells of it."
Gimblet went to the dressing-table and took up the bottle she indicated;
he lifted it to his nose and, removing the stopper, took a long, deep
sniff. Then recorking the bottle he put it down again with a glance at
the label. "Arome de la Corse," he read, and below, the name of a French
perfumery celebrated for the excellence and high prices of its products.
"Madame is an admirer of the great Napoléon," explained Amélie
helpfully.
"Who does not share her admiration?" rejoined the detective. "And now
may I see Miss Turner's room?"
In Barbara's chamber his stay was short. Here was no arresting perfume,
very little suggestion of feminine personality. The room was more like
that of a boy. Photographs adorned the walls; a few books lay about. A
couple of letters were on the table; one was a bill. The other, which
Gimblet perused under the sympathetic eyes of Amélie, ran as follows:
"DEAR MISS TURNER,
"I put the money on Averstone as you said. So sorry he wasn't
placed. He got away badly and had no luck from the start. In haste,
"Yours sincerely,
"J. SIDNEY."
"Thanks, I think that is all I want just now," said Gimblet, and he
turned to leave the room. But Amélie was in no mind to let him go like
that. She had hoped for some confidences, that she might have a theory
to retail downstairs.
"If Monsieur will listen to my idea," she said, "I will tell him what I
believe has happened to Madame. She has been killed for the sake of her
jewels. That is what I think. And it would be prudent before making so
many inquiries that one should look for her on the floor of her box at
the opera. It is probable that she is there, _la pauvre_, just as they
struck her down and left her!"
"Thank you for your suggestion," replied Gimblet gravely. "I assure you
that I will not neglect to visit the box. But I think that the bodies of
two ladies, 'struck down' in it, would have called forth some expression
of astonishment on the part of the caretakers."
"Monsieur is laughing at me," began Amélie in injured tones, but Gimblet
was already half-way down the stairs.
On the landing outside the drawing-room door Blake was still hovering.
"Ah, there you are," Gimblet said. "Can I see the second footman now?
Thomas, I think you said he was called."
Thomas, being summoned, proved to be a tall lad possessing an honest and
ingratiating smile, adorning a fair and open countenance.
"It was you, I think," the detective said to him, "who accompanied the
motor last night when it left here with the two ladies?"
"Yes, sir," said Thomas, "I did, sir."
"And you were told the car would not be required again after the opera?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you remember Mrs. Vanderstein's exact words when she gave you the
order not to return?"
"It wasn't Mrs. Vanderstein who told me, sir," said Thomas, "it was
Miss Turner. 'Mrs. Vanderstein says she won't have the car again this
evening,' she said, and, 'do you understand, Wilcox?' she says--that's
the chauffeur, Wilcox is; she come running down to speak to him just as
he put the clutch in and we was moving off--'You're not to come to fetch
us to-night after the opera,' I heard every word of course as plain as
Wilcox did. 'Very good, miss,' he says, and she ran back through the
swing doors. Mrs. Vanderstein had gone straight in and I didn't see her
again. We was very surprised, Wilcox and me, as it was the first time
that Mrs. Vanderstein hadn't had the motor to bring her home that either
of us could remember. But orders is orders," concluded Thomas with an
engaging smile at Mr. Gimblet, who ignored it.
"Thank you, that will do for the present," he said; and, when Thomas had
gone, turned once more to Blake.
"How long has Wilcox been in Mrs. Vanderstein's service?" he asked.
"He was with Mr. Vanderstein before he married," replied Blake. "The
same as I was myself, sir. Wilcox was a groom in the old days, but
they had him taught to drive the motor some years ago. He's a most
respectable, steady man, sir."
"Thanks, I should like to see him," said Gimblet.
Wilcox, it appeared, was in the house at the moment, having come round
from the garage to hear if there was any news, and Gimblet had him in
and cross-examined him. His story was the same as Thomas', with one
small addition.
"Was there anything that struck you as the least unusual?" Gimblet asked
him. "Did you notice anything in the appearance of either of the ladies,
or overhear anything they said to each other as they got in or out of
the car, that was not perfectly natural?"
"No, sir, I did not," said Wilcox stolidly. He was rather a fat man with
a very horsey look. "Not that I paid any heed to what they might be
saying so long as it wasn't to me they said it. As far as I remember,
Mrs. Vanderstein got into the car and Miss Turner after her, and 'To
Covent Garden' one of them says to Thomas, and Miss Turner calls out,
'Just stop at a post office on the way.' And so we did."
"Ah," said Gimblet, "you stopped at a post office, did you? Was that
quite in the usual course? And which post office did you stop at?"
"It was not in the usual course," admitted Wilcox, "in fact, I don't
remember doing it on the way to the opera before. But Miss Turner had
a telegram to send. We stopped in Piccadilly and she gave the form to
Thomas to take into the office. After that we drove straight on to the
opera house."
Thomas, recalled, remembered handing in the telegram, certainly. Didn't
know why he hadn't thought of mentioning it before. Miss Turner gave him
a sealed envelope with "Telegram" written outside it, and told him to
give it with some money to the young person in the office, and not to
bother about waiting for the change, as they were in a hurry. He did as
she said, and that was all he could tell about it.
Not much information to be collected from Thomas. Possibly Gimblet's
face showed a trace of disappointment, for the footman added in a
regretful tone:
"I'm very sorry, sir, that I didn't open the envelope so as I could tell
you what the telegram was, sir; but the ladies being in a hurry I didn't
scarcely have time. If I'd known it was important, or anyway if I'd had
a minute or two to myself, I'd have taken a look at it. I'm very sorry
indeed, sir."
Gimblet dismissed him somewhat peremptorily. He felt that he was taking
an unreasoning dislike for the apologising Thomas, so anxious to
ingratiate himself.