Who Killed Charmian Karslake? Read online

  “If you please, my lady, Sir Arthur sent me to say that the police from Scotland Yard have come. They are in the library and they want to speak to you, please, my lady.”

  “To me!” Lady Moreton drew herself up out of her corner and pushed back the hair that was falling over her forehead. “I don’t know why they should want me,” she went on fretfully. “And why did not Sir Arthur come himself?”

  “He is in the library, my lady, with the other gentle-men. They all came to the door together as I was coming by, and I heard Sir Arthur say, ‘I will tell them,’ and the other gentlemen said, ‘No, send and ask her ladyship to come.’ And then, Sir Arthur, he sent me” Lady Moreton got up. “Oh, well, I suppose I must.”

  “Of course; we shall all have to go,” Mrs. Richard said. “We will come with you now.”

  She turned to follow her sister-in-law, but the man interposed.

  “If you please, ma’am, Sir Arthur said I was to say the gentlemen particularly wished to see her ladyship alone.”

  Sadie turned up her pert little nose. “Very well, I am sure he can. Come, Miss Galbraith, you and I will talk things over and see if we can think of anything.” Lady Penn-Moreton did not hear Miss Galbraith’s response as the door of the morning-room closed behind her.

  “You wanted to see me – to ask me something?” The inspector bowed. “If you would be kind enough to tell us all that you know of Miss Karslake. How you made her acquaintance, in the first place, and what you saw of her after her coming to Hepton?”

  Lady Moreton bit her lip.

  “That amounts to practically nothing. A hostess has so little time for individual guests on the eve of a big entertainment, and Miss Karslake did not come down until the late afternoon train. As to how I made her acquaintance, a small child met with a terrible accident in the street. Miss Karslake and I were both passing. I was in the car and she was walking, and we both went to help the little thing. Eventually we took it to the nearest hospital – the Midland. Then we went to fetch the mother and drove her there. When we had done all we could, I asked if I could drive her home. On the way Miss Karslake talked of her interest in all sorts of antiquities, and finally accepted an invitation to come to Porthill Square and see some of the old prints of the Abbey. I had recognized her, of course, at once. I found her just as charming and delightful as rumour had declared her to be. When we decided to have this dance to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Richard on their return, I determined to send her an invitation. I was pleased, and, yes, perhaps a little flattered, when she accepted.”

  “Why flattered?” The inspector glanced at her keenly. “I should have thought that Lady Penn-Moreton’s invitation would have been considered an honour.”

  Lady Penn-Moreton smiled faintly. “Charmian Karslake had refused invitations from much more important people than I am. I believe that she came here because she wanted to see the Abbey, principally.”

  The inspector looked at his notes and frowned. “Yet there are other houses as old and as interesting to the antiquarian as Hepton, Lady Moreton.”

  “Yes, I know. Though I believe in some respects Hepton is unique. Miss Karslake said she had seen pictures of the Abbey which had roused her interest in it. But I have wondered sometimes today – Of course there is nothing in it.”

  “Nothing in what?” the inspector said with raised eyebrows.

  “Well, I have wondered today whether she had any special reason for her interest in Hepton. Whether she had met some one from here, years ago, before she was famous.”

  Stoddart did not look up. His right hand closed upon his fountain pen so sharply that for a moment he thought he had broken it.

  “You had some reason for thinking this?” he said slowly.

  “Oh, well, I do not know that I really do think it. I am not so definite as that,” Lady Moreton qualified. “But I have wondered – I could not help noticing, though I do not know that I did think much of it at the time, that the neighbourhood did seem in some way familiar to Miss Karslake.”

  “In what way? Please tell me exactly what occurred?”

  “Well, when I took her up to her room,” Lady Moreton said hesitatingly, “she went to the window and exclaimed at the beauty of the view. Her room was at the front of the house, and you could see a long way, you know, as far as the Welsh hills on a clear day. Well, she stood gazing out for a minute or two, then she said suddenly, ‘Why, the big oak over there by Craxton Church has gone!’ I was naturally surprised. ‘How in the world did you know that?’ I said. The oak had gone before ever I came to Hepton.”

  “What did she say?” A new note of interest had crept into the inspector’s voice.

  “Oh, she rather drew back and said she had been looking at an old print in which the oak-tree was very conspicuous, and that she had noticed it as a particularly magnificent tree. And she had remembered the name, Craxton, because she thought it an odd name and wondered if it was characteristic of the county. Though I do not see how it could be,” Lady Moreton finished. “Then we talked of other things and I was called away.”

  “Craxton – that is a village or hamlet some miles from Hepton, isn’t it?” the inspector said reflectively. “Now, Lady Moreton, can you tell me anything else you talked of with Miss Karslake?”

  Lady Moreton shook her head. “The rest was mere chit-chat. Except – oh, yes, I told her to bring her jewels after the dance to be put into the safe. She laughed and said hers would not be worth putting in with the exception of her mascot, the sapphire ball, which she always wore. ‘Even at night,’ she said, ‘the chain is always round my neck.’ I can’t remember anything else she said. But I had my other visitors to look after. As hostess, I could not devote myself to any one guest.”

  “Quite!” The inspector looked at his notes again. “I take it that you saw no sign of acquaintanceship between Miss Karslake and any other member of your party.”

  “No, I am sure they were all strangers to her,” Lady Moreton said quickly. “I know she said laughingly that she would probably be a wallflower as she had no partner. As a matter of fact I was besieged by requests for introductions to her.”

  “Naturally!” the inspector assented. “That is all then for the present, Lady Moreton. Eventually I shall have to interrogate every one who slept in the house last night. But I will just see Miss Karslake’s maid now, and then go over the room again before I do anything else.”

  He went to the door and opened it as he spoke. Lady Moreton got up, almost to stumble in her eagerness to get out of the room. In the hall Sir Arthur took her arm and led her into his sanctum opposite.

  Inspector Stoddart looked at one of his men outside. “Send Miss Karslake’s maid to me,” he ordered curtly.

  He left the library door open. The maid did not keep him waiting. Before he had had time to glance again at his notes a trim, coquettish little figure appeared in the doorway.

  “You desire – what you say – speak with me, sare?”

  There was no mistaking the voice, the accent, the dainty perfection of the black frock. The inspector’s eyes brightened. This was the type of witness with whom vanity made it easy to deal. He drew the easy chair in which Lady Moreton had been sitting into the circle of light by the fire-place. Then he said as he took the chair opposite:

  “That is what I should have said a few minutes ago, Mademoiselle Marie. But now that I have seen you the wish has become an overmastering desire.”

  The maid bridled. “But my name is not Marie,” she said, looking down at her little buckled shoes discreetly. “It is Celestine Dubois – Celeste, for short,” raising her eyes and giving him a sudden, bewildering smile.

  An answering smile appeared on the inspector’s face. “Mademoiselle Celeste, then.”

  “Ah, yes. Dat is better.”

  Celeste settled herself in her chair and lowered her white eyelids discreetly. She knew the value of her smiles too well to be prodigal of them.

  “Well, monsieur?”

  “You have been Mis
s Karslake’s maid since her coming to England?”

  “Ah, yes, monsieur. Before dat, too, when she was acting in New York. I have been wis Mees Karslake, it is eight mons now.”

  “Ah, indeed!” The inspector’s eyes brightened.

  “Now, have you any idea whether your mistress had ever been in England before?”

  Celeste wrinkled up her brows. “Now it is funny dat you should ask me dat, monsieur. For I ’ave said to myself many times since we came to London zat it is extraordinaire that Mademoiselle should know de English ways and de names of so many places. One day she take me wis her in a taxi, and wen it put us down, Mees Karslake, she just walk straight on witout stopping trough dirty little back streets to what you call a musty, fusty old church. Den she tell me to sit down in de porch and she will go in. But I will not sit down – it is all too dirty, and walk about outside. Zen a man in a black gown – a servant of ze church come along to talk to me and I talk to him and de time pass a bit more quickly, but it is long, oh, very long before Mademoiselle come out. When she do, I see zat she has been weeping; when we are in the taxi she say she have been upset because her grandfather is buried in zat church. I do not say anything, but to myself I laugh. I would not weep one little bit if I saw the place vere all my granfazers and granmozers are buried – me.”

  The inspector smiled. “I don’t suppose you would. Do you remember the name of this church, mademoiselle?”

  The maid shook her head. “I did never hear it. But I wish – I sink I would know it if I saw it.”

  “Ah, well, perhaps some day we will take you to see it,” the inspector said quickly. “Now, mademoiselle, will you tell us all that you know of Miss Karslake’s death?”

  “Me! Me!” Celeste almost bounced out of her chair in her indignation. “I know nosin – nosin at all. Two days ago Mees Karslake, she tell me to pack her sings for dis ball, and I am pleased, for it is triste always in this land of fogs, when one goes out novere. But if I had known –”

  “You would not have been pleased,” the inspector suggested.

  “No – and again no!” Celeste said emphatically. “But zen I am. And my Mademoiselle has one lovely frock for it – all gold – gold tissue, and she looks ravishing in it. It is a pleasure to dress her.”

  “You came down by train, I understand?”

  Celeste nodded. “By de four o’clock from St. Pancras.”

  “Do you think that any suspicious characters may have seen Miss Karslake’s jewellery – the sapphire ball, for instance – and followed her to the Abbey and possibly killed her in order to obtain it?”

  “No, I do not sink,” Celeste said decidedly. “I did not travel in ze same carriage with Mees Karslake, but I am in de next and I do not see suspicious people looking at her. And jewellery, she do not wear it. De sapphire ball, dat is always round her neck, but it is safe, so zat zey cannot see it even when she is in de train.”

  “How much did you see of Miss Karslake after your arrival at the Abbey?”

  Celeste considered. “Well! Not so very much. I undress her. Zat is I tak off ze sings in which she come down and I dress her for ze evening. But she do not talk, only she say, ‘You are not to sit up for me, Celeste. I will undress myself.’ It was den dat I was surprised.”

  “Why were you surprised?” the inspector questioned.

  “Because nevare – nevare have she said zat to me before. And often I have to sit up for her when she is late from the theatre.”

  “Then you did not see her after the ball?” the inspector said in a disappointed tone.

  “Oh, but I did, monsieur.” Celeste’s white teeth gleamed. “I am not sleepy, I like to watch de ball. It is all very smart, like Paris, monsieur. So I wait up and go to her room when it is finished. But she is not pleased when she see me. ‘Did I not tell you not to wait for me, Celeste, but to go to bed? Now please, will you go at once?’”

  “I wonder why she said that,” the inspector cogitated.

  Celeste spread out her hands. “I do not know. But since I have been asking myself – did she expect some one dat evening in her room? I sink she did. And I sink dat dat person get in and kill her, because I see –”

  “What did you see?” The inspector’s tone altered sharply.

  Celeste looked at him and her eyes grew brighter.

  “I walk on to the end of the passage, monsieur, and zen I look round – I do not know wy – and I see some one, a man come along very softly from ze ozer end. At ze time I do not know where he went, but now I sink, I do sink that he went to Mademoiselle’s room.”

  “Did you recognize him?” the inspector asked sharply.

  “Me!” Celeste spread out her hands again and grimaced. “But I could not. You will understand, monsieur, zat ze passage is not so very light. Mooch of what you call ze power had been turned off because most of ze guests have gone to zere rooms. Also zat man he keep his head down and turn it razer towards ze wall, zen also I do not look at him much.”

  “Why haven’t you spoken of this before?” The inspector had grown stern.

  “I do not know. I suppose because I did not sink mooch of it,” Celeste returned in a small voice. “I just sink it is one of ze gentlemen going to his room. I did see he had what you call evening dress. But all to-day I have sought and sought and I do sink it is at Miss Karslake’s door zat he stops. Zat is all I know.”

  The inspector appeared to be idly tracing marks on a sheet of note-paper.

  “Well, you must think again, mademoiselle, and perhaps you will remember some more.”

  “I do not sink so.” Celeste shook her head positively. “I sink I have no more to remember.”

  The inspector deserted the subject. “Then that is the last you saw of Miss Karslake alive, mademoiselle?”

  Celeste shuddered. “Yes, yes! But I was there when zey knock down ze door and I see her dead. Oh, nevare will I forget, nevare! She haunts me.”

  “Put it out of your mind, mademoiselle.” There was a shade of pity in the inspector’s tone. “Just one more question and I have finished. I understand that, as far as you can tell, there is nothing missing from Miss Karslake’s room, except, I suppose, the ball?”

  “As far as I can tell, nosing else, monsieur,” Celeste said decidedly. “Dat is, no jewels. Of her money I do not know. But I hear that there is not much found. Zen I sink I see some in her little morocco case, but then Miss Karslake have her cheque book.”

  The inspector stood up. “Then, that is all just now, mademoiselle. I must thank you for your courtesy.” Celeste got up too. “1 also will tank you for yours, monsieur.” She dropped him a little stage curtsy. “I bid you good-bye, monsieur,” she said as she turned to the door.

  The inspector opened it for her. “Not good-bye,” he said politely. “Only au revoir, mademoiselle.”

  CHAPTER 4

  A policeman stood before the room in which Charmian Karslake had been murdered. He saluted as the inspector and Harbord came up.

  “Anyone been here since you came?” the inspector said, looking at the smashed door which had been pushed back on one side.

  “No, sir.”

  The inspector frowned, looking into the room. It was obvious that Charmian Karslake had not yielded up her life without a struggle.

  “Some sounds surely ought to have been heard,” he said. The furniture was overturned, the ornaments from the mantelpiece and the knick-knacks from the dressing-table lay about in the direst confusion.

  As was the case in most of the rooms in the Abbey, the floor was polished and beautiful old rugs were laid beside the bed, before the fire-place and the window. These were tossed aside, the silk eiderdown lay upon the floor. Quite evidently the bed had not been slept in, but in the struggle the bed-clothes had been torn off and lay half on the ground. Where Charmian Karslake had fallen the pool of blood, even now hardly dry, lay on the floor, and the rug beyond was stained at the edges.

  The inspector looked around. “Not a great deal to be learned here
at first sight, eh?”

  Harbord did not answer. He was giving all his attention to the door, examining the lock with care. The panels of the door had been forced and the lock hung useless, but still locked. The bolts on the inside had not even been shot. Of the key there was no sign. Harbord was examining the door handle and the lock through his microscope. The inspector stepped past him and went over to the dressing-table. The necklace of pearls still lay there, and there were the usual accessories. After a cursory glance the inspector went to the dressing-room. Here poor Charmian Karslake’s gold frock lay over the back of a chair as she had thrown it. He went across and felt it over. Harbord came in and stood beside him.

  “You won’t find anything, sir. All the women have given up pockets, confound them!”

  “Yes. And the bags they carry instead they never can remember,” the inspector added. “It is always – ‘Where is my bag?’ What they do it for I can’t imagine. Fancy a man having his pockets fastened up and carrying his keys and money and everything in a bag which he dangles about by the handle.”

  “Some of ’em haven’t got handles either,” Harbord said, as his sharp eyes glanced about the room. “My sister’s hasn’t. She just carries it about tucked under her arm, a pochette she calls it. She told me handles had gone out of fashion, the other day.”

  “So have brains, I should imagine,” grumbled the inspector.

  He was standing before Miss Karslake’s nearly empty dressing-bag. Celeste had taken out most of the actress’s belongings. At the bottom of the bag was the usual debris of papers. The inspector went on his knees and picked out the only thing with writing on. But there were no notes that appeared to be of the slightest value. A bill or two, a couple of receipts, a pencilled line from the manager of the Golden, torn-up scraps out of which the inspector and Harbord could make nothing. Then just as they were clearing out the last the inspector bent down with a sharp exclamation:

  “What is this?”

  Harbord stopped beside him. The inspector held the paper towards him.