The Listerdale Mystery Read online

  "What about flame-red marocain? And I might, perhaps, have plain glass pince-nez. That alters the appearance very much."

  Both suggestions were approved, and they went into further details.

  Jane left the hotel with bank-notes for a hundred pounds in her purse and instructions to purchase the necessary outfit and engage rooms at the Blitz Hotel as Miss Montresor of New York. On the second day after this, Count Streptitch called upon her there.

  "A transformation indeed," he said as he bowed.

  Jane made him a mock bow in return. She was enjoying the new clothes and the luxury of her life very much.

  "All this is very nice," she sighed. "But I suppose thal your visit means I must get busy and earn my money."

  "That is so. We have received information. It seems possible that an attempt will be made to kidnap Her Highness on the way home from the bazaar. That is to take place, as you know, at Orion House, which is about ten miles out of London. Her Highness will be forced to attend the bazaar in person, as the Countess of Anchester, who is promoting it, knows her personally. But the following is the plan have concocted." Jane listened attentively as he outlined it to her.

  She asked a few questions and finally declared that she understood perfectly the part that she had to play. The next day dawned bright and clear - a perfect day for one of the great events of the London Season, the bazaar at Orion House, promoted by the Countess of Anchester in aid of Ostrovian refugees in this country. Having regard to the uncertainty of the English climate, the bazaar itself took place within the spacious rooms of Orion House l which has been for five hundred years in the possession of the Earls of Anchester. Various collections had been loaned, and a charming idea was the gift by a hundred society women of one pearl each taken from their own necklaces, each pearl to be sold by auction on the second day. There were also numerous side shows and attractions in the grounds.

  Jane was there early in the rue of Miss Montresor. She wore a dress of flame-coloured marocain, and a small red cloche hat. On her feet were high-heeled lizard-skin shoes.

  The arrival of the Grand Duchess Pauline was a great event. She was escorted to the platform and duly presented with a bouquet of roses by a small child. She made a short but charming speech and declared the bazaar open. Count Streptitch and Princess Poporensky were in attendance upon her. She wore the dress that Jane had seen, white with a bold design of black, and her hat was a small cloche of black with a profusion of white ospreys hanging over the brim and a tiny lace veil coming halfway down the face. Jane smiled to herself.

  The Grand Duchess went round the bazaar, visiting every stall, making a few purchases, and being uniformly gracious. Then she prepared to depart.

  Jane was prompt to take up her cue. She requested a word with the Princess Poporensky and asked to be presented to the Grand Duchess.

  "Ah, yes!" said Pauline in a clear voice. "Miss Montresor, I remember the name. She is an American journalist, I believe. She has done much for our cause. I should be glad to give her a short interview for her paper. Is there anywhere where we could be undisturbed?"

  A small anteroom was immediately placed at the Grand Duchess's disposal, and Count Streptitch was despatched to bring in Miss Montresor. As soon as he had done so, and withdrawn again, the Princess Poporensky remaining in attendance, a rapid exchange of garments took place. Three minutes later, the door opened and the Grand Duchess emerged, her bouquet of roses held up to her face. Bowing graciously, and uttering a few words of farewell to Lady Anchester in French, she passed out and entered her car, which was waiting. Princess Poporensky took her place beside her, and the car drove off.

  "Well," said Jane, "that's done. I wonder how Miss Montresor's getting on."

  "No one will notice her. She can slip out quietly."

  "That's true," said Jane. "I did it nicely, didn't I?"

  "You acted your part with great discretion."

  "Why isn't the Count with us?"

  "He was forced to remain. Someone must watch over the safety of Her Highness."

  "I hope nobody's going to throw bombs," said Jane apprehensively. "Hi! We're turning off the main road. Why's that?"

  Gathering speed, the car was shooting down a side road.

  Jane jumped up and put her head out of the window, remonstrating with the driver. He only laughed and increased his speed. Jane sank back into her seat again.

  "Your spies were right," she said with a laugh. "We're for it, all right. I suppose the longer I keep it up, the safer it is for the Grand Duchess. At all events we must give her time to return to London safely." At the prospect of danger, Jane's spirits rose. She had not relished the prospect of a bomb, but this type of a venture appealed to her sporting instincts.

  Suddenly, with a grinding of brakes, the car pulled up in its own length. A man jumped on the step. In his hand was a revolver.

  "Put your hands up," he snarled.

  The Princess Poporensky's hands rose swiftly, but Jane merely looked at him disdainfully and kept her hands on her lap.

  "Ask him the meaning of this outrage," she said in French, to her companion. But before the latter had time to say a word, the man broke in. He poured out a torrent of words in some foreign language.

  Not understanding a single thing, Jane merely shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. The chauffeur had got down from his seat and joined the other man.

  "Will the illustrious lady be pleased to descend?" he asked with a grin. Raising the flowers to her face again, Jane stepped out of the car. The Princess Poporensky followed her.

  "Will the illustrious lady come this way?"

  Jane took no notice of the man's mock insolent manner, but of her own accord she walked towards a lowbuilt rambling house which stood about a hundred yards away from where the car had stopped. The road had been a cul-de-sac ending in the gateway and drive which led to this apparently untenanted building. The man, still brandishing his pistol, came close behind the two women. As they passed up the steps, he brushed past them and flung open a door on the left. It was an empty room, into which a table and two chairs had evidently been brought.

  Jane passed in and sat down. Anna Michaelovna followed her. The man banged the door and turned the key.

  Jane walked to the window and looked out.

  "I could jump out, of course," she remarked. "But I shouldn't get far. No, we'll just have to stay here for the present and make the best of it. I wonder if they'll bring us anything to eat?" About half an hour later her question was answered.

  A big bowl of steaming soup was brought in and placed on the table in front of her. Also two pieces of dry bread.

  "No luxury for aristocrats evidently," remarked Jane cheerily as the door was shut and locked again. "Will you start, or shall I?"

  The Princess Poporensky waved the mere idea of food aside with horror.

  "How could I eat? Who knows what danger my mistress might not be in?"

  "She's all right," said Jane. "It's myself I'm worrying about. You know these people won't be at all pleased when they find they have got hold of the wrong person. In fact, they may be very unpleasant. I shall keep up the haughty Grand Duchess stunt as long as I can, and do a bunk if the opportunity offers." The Princess Poporensky offered no reply.

  Jane, who was hungry, drank up all the soup. It had a curious taste, but was hot and savoury. Afterwards she felt rather sleepy. The Princess Poporensky seemed to be weeping quietly. Jane arranged herself on her uncomfortable chair in the least uncomfortable way, and allowed her head to droop. She slept.

  Jane awoke with a start. She had an idea that she had been a very long time asleep. Her head felt heavy and uncomfortable.

  And then suddenly she saw something that jerked her faculties wide awake again. She was wearing the flame-coloured marocain frock. She sat up and looked around her. Yes, she was still in the room in the empty house. Everything was exactly as it had been when she went to sleep, except for two facts. The first fact was that the Princess Poporensky wa
s no longer sitting on the other chair. The second was her own inexplicable change of costume.

  "I can't have dreamt it," said Jane. "Because if I'd dreamt it, I shouldn't be here." She looked across at the window and registered a second significant fact. When she had gone to sleep, the sun had been pouring through the window. Now the house threw a sharp shadow on the sunlit drive.

  "The house faces west," she reflected. "It was afternoon when I went to sleep. Therefore it must be tomorrow morning now. Therefore that soup was drugged. Therefore - oh, I don't know. It all seems mad." She got up and went to the door. It was unlocked. She explored the house. It was silent and empty. Jane put her hand to her aching head and tried to think. And then she caught sight of a torn newspaper lying by the front door. It had glaring headlines which caught her eye.

  "American Girl Bandit in England," she read. "The Girl in the Red Dress. Sensational hold-up at Orion House Bazaar."

  Jane staggered out into the sunlight. Sitting on the steps, she read, her eyes growing bigger and bigger. The facts were short and succinct.

  Just after the departure of the Grand Duchess Pauline, three men and a girl in a red dress had produced revolvers and successfully held up the crowd. They had annexed the hundred pearls and made a getaway in a fast racing car. Up to now, they had not been traced.

  In the stop press (it was a late evening paper) were a few words to the effect that the "girl bandit in the red dress" had been staying at the Blitz as a Miss Montresor of New York.

  "I'm dished," said Jane. "Absolutely dished. I always knew there was a catch in it." And then she started. A strange sound had smote the air. The voice of a man, uttering one word at frequent intervals.

  "Damn," it said. "Damn." And yet again, "Damn!" Jane thrilled to the sound. It expressed so exactly her own feelings. She ran down the steps. By the corner of them lay a young man. He was endeavouring to raise his head from the ground. His face struck Jane as one of the nicest faces she had ever seen. It was freckled and slightly quizzical in expression.

  "Damn my head," said the young man. "Damn it. I - " He broke off and stared at Jane.

  "I must be dreaming," he said faintly.

  "That's what I said," said Jane. "But we're not. What's the matter with your head?"

  "Somebody hit me on it. Fortunately it's a thick one."

  He pulled himself into a sitting position, and made a wry face.

  "My brain will begin to function shortly, I expect. I'm still in the same old spot, I see."

  "How did you get here?" asked Jane curiously.

  "That's a long story. By the way, you're not the Grand Duchess What's-her-name, are you?"

  "I'm not. I'm plain Jane Cleveland."

  "You're not plain, anyway," said the young man, looking at her with frank admiration. Jane blushed.

  "I ought to get you some water or something, oughtn't I?" she asked uncertainly.

  "I believe it is customary," agreed the young man. "All the same, I'd rather have whisky if you can find it." Jane was unable to find any whisky. The young man took a deep draught of water, and announced himself better.

  "Shall I relate my adventures, or will you relate yours?" he asked.

  "You first."

  "There's nothing much to mine. I happened to notice that the Grand Duchess went into that room with low-heeled shoes on and came out with high-heeled ones. It struck me as rather odd. I don't like things to be odd.

  "I followed the car on my motor bicycle. I saw you taken into the house. About ten minutes later a big racing car came tearing up. A girl in red got out and three men. She had low-heeled shoes on, all right. They went into the house. Presently low heels came out dressed in black and white, and went off in the first car, with an old pussy and a tall man with a fair beard. The others went off in the racing car. I thought they'd all gone, and was just trying to get in at that window and rescue you when someone hit me on the head from behind. That's all. Now for your turn."

  Jane related her adventures.

  "And it's awfully lucky for me that you did follow," she ended. "Do you see what an awful hole I should have been in otherwise? The Grand Duchess would have had a perfect alibi. She left the bazaar before the hold-up began, and arrived in London in her car. Would anybody ever have believed my fantastic, improbable story?"

  "Not on your life," said the young man with conviction. They had been so absorbed in their respective narratives, that they had been quite oblivious of their surroundings.

  They looked up now with a slight start to see a tall sad-faced man leaning against the house. He nodded at them.

  "Very interesting," he commented.

  "Who are you?" demanded Jane.

  The sad-faced man's eyes twinkled a little.

  "Detective-Inspector Farrell," he said gently. "I've been very interested in hearing your story and this young lady's. We might have found a little difficulty in believing hers, but for one or two things."

  "For instance?"

  "Well, you see, we heard this morning that the real Grand Duchess had eloped with a chauffeur in Paris." Jane gasped.

  "And then we knew that this American 'girl bandit' had come to this country, and we expected a coup of some kind. We'll have laid hands on them very soon, I can promise you that. Excuse me a minute, will you?"

  He ran up the steps into the house.

  " Well! " said Jane. She put a lot of force into the expression.

  "I think it was awfully clever of you to notice those shoes," she said suddenly.

  "Not at all," said the young man. "I was brought up in the boot trade. My father's a sort of boot king. He wanted me to go into the trade - marry and settle down. All that sort of thing. Nobody in particular - just the principle of the thing. But I wanted to be an artist." He sighed.

  "I'm so sorry," said Jane kindly.

  "I've been trying for six years. There's no blinking it. I'm a rotten painter. I've a good mind to chuck it and go home like the prodigal son. There's a good billet waiting for me."

  "A job is the great thing," agreed Jane wistfully. "Do you think you could get me one trying on boots somewhere?"

  "I could give you a better one than that - if you'd take it."

  "Oh, what?"

  "Never mind now. I'll tell you later. You know, until yesterday I never saw a girl I felt I could marry."

  "Yesterday?"

  "At the bazaar. And then I saw her - the one and only Her!" He looked very hard at Jane.

  "How beautiful the delphiniums are," said Jane hurriedly, with very pink cheeks.

  "They're lupins," said the young man.

  "It doesn't matter," said Jane.

  "Not a bit," he agreed. And he drew a little nearer.

  A Fruitful Sunday

  "Well, really, I call this too delightful," said Miss Dorothy Pratt for the fourth time. "How I wish the old cat could see me now!. She and her James!"

  The "old cat" thus scathingly alluded to was Miss Pratt's highly estimable employer, Mrs. Mackenzie Jones, who had strong views upon the Christian names suitable for parlourmaids and had repudiated Dorothy in favour of Miss Pratt's despised second name of Jane.

  Miss Pratt's companion did not reply at once - for the best of reasons. When you have just purchased a Baby Austin, fourth hand, for the sum of twenty pounds, and are taking it out for the second time only, your whole attention is necessarily focused on the difficult task of using both hands and feet as the emergencies of the moment dictate.

  "Er - ah!" said Mr. Edward Palgrove, and negotiated a crisis with a horrible grinding sound that would have set a true motorist's teeth on edge.

  "Well, you don't talk to a girl much," complained Dorothy.

  Mr. Palgrove was saved from having to respond as at that moment he was roundly and soundly cursed by the driver of a motor omnibus.

  "Well, of all the impudence," said Miss Pratt, tossing her head.

  "I only wish he had this foot brake," said her swain bitterly.

  "Is there anything wrong with
it?"

  "You can put your foot on it till kingdom comes," said Mr. Palgrove. "But nothing happens."

  "Oh, well, Ted, you can't expect everything for twenty pounds. After all, here we are, in a real car, on Sunday afternoon going out of town the same as everybody else."

  More grinding and crashing sounds.

  "Ah," said Ted, flushed with triumph. "That was a better change."

  "You do drive something beautiful," said Dorothy admiringly. Emboldened by feminine appreciation, Mr. Palgrove attempted a dash across Hammersmith Broadway, and was severely spoken to by a policeman.

  "Well, I never," said Dorothy as they proceeded towards Hammersmith Bridge in a chastened fashion. "I don't know what the police are coming to. You'd think they'd be a bit more civil-spoken, seeing the way they've been shown up lately."

  "Anyway, I didn't want to go along this road," said Edward sadly. "I wanted to go down the Great West Road and do a bust."

  "And be caught in a trap as likely not," said Dorothy. "That's what happened to the master the other day. Five pounds and costs."

  "The police aren't so dusty after all," said Edward generously. "They pitch into the rich, all right. No favour. It makes me mad to think of these swells who can walk into a place and buy a couple of RollsRoyces without turning a hair. There's no sense in it. I'm as good as they are."

  "And the jewellery," said Dorothy, sighing. "Those shops in Bond Street. Diamonds and pearls and I don't know what! And me with a string of Woolworth pearls."

  She brooded sadly upon the subject. Edward was able once more to give full attention to his driving. They managed to get through Richmond without mishap. The altercation with the policeman had shaken Edward's nerve. He now took the line of least resistance, following blindly behind any car in front whenever a choice of thoroughfares presented itself.

  In this way he presently found himself following a shady country lane which many an experienced motorist would have given his soul to find.

  "Rather clever turning off the way I did," said Edward, taking all the credit to himself.

  "Sweetly pretty, I call it," said Miss Pratt. "And I do declare, there's a man with fruit to sell." Sure enough, at a convenient corner was a small wicker table with baskets of fruit on it, and the legend EAT MORE FRUIT displayed on a banner.