THE GENTLEMAN DRESSED IN NEWSPAPER
It was after three o'clock when, weary and sick at heart, the husband
and wife reached home. Several hours passed before Tuppence could
sleep. She lay tossing from side to side, seeing always that flower
like face with the horror stricken eyes.
The dawn was coming in through the shutters when Tuppence finally
dropped off to sleep. After the excitement, she slept heavily and
dreamlessly. It was broad daylight when she awoke to find Tommy, up and
dressed, standing by the bedside, shaking her gently by the arm.
"Wake up, old thing. Inspector Marriot and another man are here and
want to see you."
"What time is it?"
"Just on eleven. I'll get Alice to bring you your tea right away."
"Yes, do. Tell Inspector Marriot I'll be there in ten minutes."
A quarter of an hour later, Tuppence came hurrying into the sitting
room. Inspector Marriot who was sitting looking very straight and
solemn, rose to greet her.
"Good morning, Mrs. Beresford. This is Sir Arthur Merivale."
Tuppence shook hands with a tall thin man with haggard eyes and greying
hair.
"It's about this sad business last night," said Inspector Marriot. "I
want Sir Arthur to hear from your own lips what you told me--the words
the poor lady said before she died. Sir Arthur has been very hard to
convince."
"I can't believe," said the other, "and I won't believe, that Bingo
Hale ever hurt a hair on Vere's head."
Inspector Marriot went on.
"We've made some progress since last night, Mrs. Beresford," he said.
"First of all we managed to identify the lady as Lady Merivale. We
communicated with Sir Arthur here. He recognised the body at once, and
was horrified beyond words, of course. Then I asked him if he knew
anyone called Bingo."
"You must understand, Mrs. Beresford," said Sir Arthur, "that Captain
Hale, who is known to all his friends as Bingo, is the dearest pal I
have. He practically lives with us. He was staying at my house when
they arrested him this morning. I cannot but believe that you have made
a mistake--it was not his name that my wife uttered."
"There is no possibility of mistake," said Tuppence gently. "She said
'Bingo did it--'"
"You see, Sir Arthur," said Marriot.
The unhappy man sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
"It's incredible. What earthly motive could there be? Oh! I know your
idea, Inspector Marriot. You think Hale was my wife's lover, but even
if that were so--which I don't admit for a moment--what motive was
there for killing her?"
Inspector Marriot coughed.
"It's not a very pleasant thing to say, sir. But Captain Hale has been
paying a lot of attention to a certain young American lady of late--a
young lady with a considerable amount of money. If Lady Merivale liked
to turn nasty, she could probably stop his marriage."
"This is outrageous, Inspector."
Sir Arthur sprang angrily to his feet. The other calmed him with a
soothing gesture.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure, Sir Arthur. You say that you and Captain
Hale both decided to attend this show. Your wife was away on a visit at
the time, and you had no idea that she was to be there?"
"Not the least idea."
"Just show him that advertisement you told me about, Mrs. Beresford."
Tuppence complied.
"That seems to me clear enough. It was inserted by Captain Hale to
catch your wife's eye. They had already arranged to meet there. But
you only made up your mind to go the day before, hence it was necessary
to warn her. That is the explanation of the phrase "Necessary to
finesse the King." You ordered your costume from a theatrical firm
at the last minute, but Captain Hale's was a home made affair. He
went as the Gentleman Dressed in Newspaper. Do you know, Sir Arthur,
what we found clasped in the dead lady's hand? A fragment torn from a
newspaper. My men have orders to take Captain Hale's costume away with
them from your house. I shall find it at the Yard when I get back. If
there's a tear in it corresponding to the missing piece--well, it'll be
the end of the case."
"You won't find it," said Sir Arthur. "I know Bingo Hale."
Apologising to Tuppence for disturbing her, they took their leave.
Late that evening, there was a ring at the bell, and somewhat to the
astonishment of the young pair, Inspector Marriot once more walked in.
"I thought Blunt's Brilliant Detectives would like to hear the latest
developments," he said, with a hint of a smile.
"They would," said Tommy. "Have a drink?"
He placed materials hospitably at Inspector Marriot's elbow.
"It's a clear case," said the latter, after a minute or two. "Dagger
was the lady's own--the idea was to have made it look like suicide,
evidently, but thanks to you two being on the spot, that didn't come
off. We've found plenty of letters--they'd been carrying on together
for some time, that's clear--without Sir Arthur tumbling to it. Then we
found the last link--"
"The last what?" said Tuppence sharply.
"The last link in the chain--that fragment of the Daily Leader. It was
torn from the dress he wore--fits exactly. Oh! yes, it's a perfectly
clear case. By the way, I brought round a photograph of those two
exhibits--I thought they might interest you. It's very seldom that you
get such a perfectly clear case."
"Tommy," said Tuppence, when her husband returned from showing the
Scotland Yard man out. "Why do you think Inspector Marriot keeps
repeating that it's a perfectly clear case?"
"I don't know. Smug satisfaction, I suppose."
"Not a bit of it. He's trying to get us irritated. You know, Tommy,
butchers, for instance, know something about meat, don't they?"
"I should say so, but what on earth--"
"And in the same way, greengrocers know all about vegetables, and
fishermen about fish. Detectives, professional detectives, must know
all about criminals. They know the real thing when they see it--and
they know when it isn't the real thing. Marriot's expert knowledge
tells him that Captain Hale isn't a criminal--but all the facts are
dead against him. As a last resource Marriot is egging us on, hoping
against hope that some little detail or other will come back to
us--something that happened last night--which will throw a different
light on things. Tommy, why shouldn't it be suicide, after all?"
"Remember what she said to you."
"I know--but take that a different way. It was Bingo's doing--his
conduct that drove her to kill herself. It's just possible."
"Just. But it doesn't explain that fragment of newspaper."
"Let's have a look at Marriot's photographs. I forgot to ask him what
Hale's account of the matter was."
"I asked him that in the hall just now. Hale declared he had never
spoken to Lady Merivale at the show. Says somebody shoved a note into
his hand which said: 'Don't try and speak to me to-night. Arthur
suspects.' He couldn't produce the piece of paper, though, and it
doesn't sound a very likely story. Anyway, you and I _know_ he was with
her at the Ace of Spades because we saw him."
Tuppence nodded and pored over the two photographs. One was a tiny
fragment with the legend DAILY LE--and the rest torn off. The other
was the front sheet of the Daily Leader with the small round tear at
the top of it. There was no doubt about it. The two fitted together
perfectly.
"What are all those marks down the side?" asked Tommy.
"Stitches," said Tuppence. "Where it was sewn to the others, you know."
"I thought it might be a new scheme of dots," said Tommy. Then he gave
a slight shiver. "My word, Tuppence, how creepy it makes one feel.
To think that you and I were discussing dots and puzzling over that
advertisement--all as light-hearted as anything."
Tuppence did not answer. Tommy looked at her, and was startled to
observe that she was staring ahead of her, her mouth slightly open, and
a bewildered expression on her face.
"Tuppence," said Tommy gently, shaking her by the arm. "What's the
matter with you? Are you just going to have a stroke or something?"
But Tuppence remained motionless. Presently she said in a far away
voice.
"Denis Riordan."
"Eh?" said Tommy staring.
"It's just as you said. One simple innocent remark! Find me all this
week's Daily Leaders."
"What are you up to?"
"I'm being McCarty. I've been worrying round, and thanks to you, I've
got a notion at last. This is the front sheet of Tuesday's paper. I
seem to remember that Tuesday's paper was the one with two dots in the
L of LEADER. This has a dot in the D of DAILY--and one in the L too.
Get me the papers and let's make sure."
They compared them anxiously. Tuppence had been quite right in her
remembrance.
"You see? This fragment wasn't torn from Tuesday's paper."
"But Tuppence, we can't be sure. It may merely be different editions."
"It may--but at any rate it's given me an idea. It can't be
coincidence--that's certain. There's only one thing it can be if I'm
right in my idea. Ring up Sir Arthur, Tommy. Ask him to come round here
at once. Say I've got important news for him. Then get hold of Marriot.
Scotland Yard will know his address if he's gone home."
Sir Arthur Merivale, very much intrigued by the summons, arrived at the
flat in about half an hour's time. Tuppence came forward to greet him.
"I must apologise for sending for you in such a peremptory fashion,"
she said. "But my husband and I have discovered something that we think
you ought to know at once. Do sit down."
Sir Arthur sat down, and Tuppence went on.
"You are, I know, very anxious to clear your friend."
Sir Arthur shook his head sadly.
"I was, but even I have had to give in to the overwhelming evidence."
"What would you say if I told you that chance has placed in my hands a
piece of evidence that will certainly clear him of all complicity?"
"I should be overjoyed to hear it, Mrs. Beresford."
"Supposing," continued Tuppence, "that I had come across a girl who was
actually dancing with Captain Hale last night at twelve o'clock--the
hour when he was supposed to be at the Ace of Spades."
"Marvellous," cried Sir Arthur. "I knew there was some mistake. Poor
Vere must have killed herself after all."
"Hardly that," said Tuppence. "You forget the other man."
"What other man?"
"The one my husband and I saw leave the booth. You see, Sir Arthur,
there must have been a second man dressed in newspaper at the Ball. By
the way, what was your own costume?"
"Mine? I went as a seventeenth century executioner."
"How very appropriate," said Tuppence softly.
"Appropriate, Mrs. Beresford? What do you mean by appropriate?"
"For the part you played. Shall I tell you my ideas on the subject,
Sir Arthur? The newspaper dress is easily put on over that of an
executioner. Previously a little note has been slipped into Captain
Hale's hand, asking him not to speak to a certain lady. But the lady
herself knows nothing of that note. She goes to the Ace of Spades at
the appointed time, and sees the figure she expects to see. They go
into the booth. He takes her in his arms, I think, and kisses her--the
kiss of a Judas, and as he kisses he strikes with the dagger. She only
utters one faint cry and he covers that with a laugh. Presently he goes
away--and to the last, horrified and bewildered, she believes her lover
is the man who killed her.
"But she has torn a small fragment from the costume. The murderer
notices that--he is a man who pays great attention to detail. To make
the case absolutely clear against his victim the fragment must seem to
have been torn from Captain Hale's costume. That would present great
difficulties unless the two men happened to be living in the same
house. Then, of course, the thing would be simplicity itself. He makes
an exact duplicate of the tear in Captain Hale's costume--then he burns
his own and prepares to play the part of the loyal friend."
Tuppence paused.
"Well, Sir Arthur?"
Sir Arthur rose and made her a bow.
"The rather vivid imagination of a charming lady who reads too much
fiction."
"You think so?" said Tommy.
"And a husband who is guided by his wife," said Sir Arthur. "I do not
fancy you will find anybody to take the matter seriously."
He laughed out loud, and Tuppence stiffened in her chair.
"I would swear to that laugh anywhere," she said. "I heard it last in
the Ace of Spades. And you are under a little misapprehension about us
both. Beresford is our real name, but we have another."
She picked up a card from the table and handed it to him. Sir Arthur
read it aloud.
"International Detective Agency...." He drew his breath sharply. "So
that is what you really are! That was why Marriot brought me here this
morning. It was a trap--"
He strolled to the window.
"A fine view you have from here," he said. "Right over London."
"Inspector Marriot," cried Tommy sharply.
In a flash the Inspector appeared from the communicating door in the
opposite wall.
A little smile of amusement came to Sir Arthur's lips.
"I thought as much," he said. "But you won't get me this time, I'm
afraid, Inspector. I prefer to take my own way out."
And, putting his hands on the sill, he vaulted clean through the window.
Tuppence shrieked and clapped her hands to her ears to shut out the
sound she had already imagined--the sickening thud far beneath.
Inspector Marriot uttered an oath.
"We should have thought of the window," he said. "Though, mind you, it
would have been a difficult thing to prove. I'll go down and--and--see
to things."
"Poor devil," said Tommy slowly. "If he was fond of his wife--"
But the Inspector interrupted him with a snort.
"Fond of her? That's as may be. He was at his wits' end where to turn
for money. Lady Merivale had a large fortune of her own, and it all
went to him. If she'd bolted with young Hale, he'd never have seen a
penny of it."
"That was it, was it?"
"Of course, from the very start, I sensed that Sir Arthur was a bad
lot, and that Captain Hale was all right. We know pretty well what's
what at the Yard--but it's awkward when you're up against facts. I'll
be going down now--I should give your wife a glass of brandy if I were
you, Mr. Beresford--it's been upsetting like for her."
"Greengrocers," said Tuppence in a low voice as the door closed behind
the imperturbable Inspector. "Butchers. Fishermen. Detectives. I was
right, wasn't I? He knew."
Tommy, who had been busy at the sideboard, approached her with a large
glass.
"Drink this."
"What is it? Brandy?"
"No, it's a large cocktail--suitable for a triumphant McCarty. Yes,
Marriot's right all round--that was the way of it. A bold finesse for
game and rubber."
Tuppence nodded.
"But he finessed the wrong way round."
"And so," said Tommy. "Exit the King."