Partners in Crime Read online

  ‘I am inclined to the theory of an astral body.’

  ‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘the only thing to do is to sleep on it. Your sub-conscious works in your sleep.’

  ‘H’m,’ said Tommy. ‘If your sub-conscious provides you with a perfectly good answer to this riddle by tomorrow morning, I take off my hat to it.’

  They were very silent all that evening. Again and again Tuppence reverted to the paper of times. She wrote things on bits of paper. She murmured to herself, she sought perplexedly through Rail Guides. But in the end they both rose to go to bed with no faint glimmer of light on the problem.

  ‘This is very disheartening,’ said Tommy.

  ‘One of the most miserable evenings I have ever spent,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘We ought to have gone to a Music Hall,’ said Tommy. ‘A few good jokes about mothers-in-law and twins and bottles of beer would have done us no end of good.’

  ‘No, you will see this concentration will work in the end,’ said Tuppence. ‘How busy our sub-conscious will have to be in the next eight hours!’ And on this hopeful note they went to bed.

  ‘Well,’ said Tommy next morning. ‘Has the subconscious worked?’

  ‘I have got an idea,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘You have. What sort of an idea?’

  ‘Well, rather a funny idea. Not at all like anything I have ever read in detective stories. As a matter of fact it is an idea that you put into my head.’

  ‘Then it must be a good idea,’ said Tommy firmly. ‘Come on, Tuppence, out with it.’

  ‘I shall have to send a cable to verify it,’ said Tuppence. ‘No, I am not going to tell you. It’s a perfectly wild idea, but it’s the only thing that fits the facts.’

  ‘Well,’ said Tommy, ‘I must away to the office. A roomful of disappointed clients must not wait in vain. I leave this case in the hands of my promising subordinate.’

  Tuppence nodded cheerfully.

  She did not put in an appearance at the office all day. When Tommy returned that evening about half-past five it was to find a wildly exultant Tuppence awaiting him.

  ‘I have done it, Tommy. I have solved the mystery of the alibi. We can charge up all these half-crowns and ten-shilling notes and demand a substantial fee of our own from Mr Montgomery Jones and he can go right off and collect his girl.’

  ‘What is the solution?’ cried Tommy.

  ‘A perfectly simple one,’ said Tuppence. ‘Twins.’

  ‘What do you mean?–Twins?’

  ‘Why, just that. Of course it is the only solution. I will say you put it into my head last night talking about mothers-in-law, twins, and bottles of beer. I cabled to Australia and got back the information I wanted. Una has a twin sister, Vera, who arrived in England last Monday. That is why she was able to make this bet so spontaneously. She thought it would be a frightful rag on poor Montgomery Jones. The sister went to Torquay and she stayed in London.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll be terribly despondent that she’s lost?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘No,’ said Tuppence, ‘I don’t. I gave you my views about that before. She will put all the kudos down to Montgomery Jones. I always think respect for your husband’s abilities should be the foundation of married life.’

  ‘I am glad to have inspired these sentiments in you, Tuppence.’

  ‘It is not a really satisfactory solution,’ said Tuppence. ‘Not the ingenious sort of flaw that Inspector French would have detected.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Tommy. ‘I think the way I showed these photographs to the waiter in the restaurant was exactly like Inspector French.’

  ‘He didn’t have to use nearly so many half-crowns and ten-shilling notes as we seem to have done,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Tommy. ‘We can charge them all up with additions to Mr Montgomery Jones. He will be in such a state of idiotic bliss that he would probably pay the most enormous bill without jibbing at it.’

  ‘So he should,’ said Tuppence. ‘Haven’t Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives been brilliantly successful? Oh, Tommy, I do think we are extraordinarily clever. It quite frightens me sometimes.’

  ‘The next case we have shall be a Roger Sheringham case, and you, Tuppence, shall be Roger Sheringham.’

  ‘I shall have to talk a lot,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘You do that naturally,’ said Tommy. ‘And now I suggest that we carry out my programme of last night and seek out a Music Hall where they have plenty of jokes about mothers-in-law, bottles of beer, and Twins.’

  Chapter 14

  The Clergyman’s Daughter

  ‘I wish,’ said Tuppence, roaming moodily round the office, ‘that we could befriend a clergyman’s daughter.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘You may have forgotten the fact, but I was once a clergyman’s daughter myself. I remember what it was like. Hence this altruistic urge–this spirit of thoughtful consideration for others–this –’

  ‘You are getting ready to be Roger Sheringham, I see,’ said Tommy. ‘If you will allow me to make a criticism, you talk quite as much as he does, but not nearly so well.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Tuppence. ‘There is a feminine subtlety about my conversation, a je ne sais quoi that no gross male could ever attain to. I have, moreover, powers unknown to my prototype–do I mean prototype? Words are such uncertain things, they so often sound well, but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Tommy kindly.

  ‘I was. I was only pausing to take breath. Touching these powers, it is my wish today to assist a clergyman’s daughter. You will see, Tommy, the first person to enlist the aid of Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives will be a clergyman’s daughter.’

  ‘I’ll bet you it isn’t,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Done,’ said Tuppence. ‘Hist! To your typewriters, Oh! Israel. One comes.’

  Mr Blunt’s office was humming with industry as Albert opened the door and announced:

  ‘Miss Monica Deane.’

  A slender, brown-haired girl, rather shabbily dressed, entered and stood hesitating. Tommy came forward.

  ‘Good-morning, Miss Deane. Won’t you sit down and tell us what we can do for you? By the way, let me introduce my confidential secretary, Miss Sheringham.’

  ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Deane,’ said Tuppence.‘Yourfather was in the Church, I think.’

  ‘Yes, he was. But how did you know that?’

  ‘Oh! we have our methods,’ said Tuppence. ‘You mustn’t mind me rattling on. Mr Blunt likes to hear me talk. He always says it gives him ideas.’

  The girl stared at her. She was a slender creature, not beautiful, but possessing a wistful prettiness. She had a quantity of soft mouse-coloured hair, and her eyes were dark blue and very lovely, though the dark shadows round them spoke of trouble and anxiety.

  ‘Will you tell me your story, Miss Deane?’ said Tommy.

  The girl turned to him gratefully.

  ‘It’s such a long rambling story,’ said the girl. ‘My name is Monica Deane. My father was the rector of Little Hampsley in Suffolk. He died three years ago, and my mother and I were left very badly off. I went out as a governess, but my mother became a confirmed invalid, and I had to come home to look after her. We were desperately poor, but one day we received a lawyer’s letter telling us that an aunt of my father’s had died and had left everything to me. I had often heard of this aunt, who had quarrelled with my father many years ago, and I knew that she was very well off, so it really seemed that our troubles were at an end. But matters did not turn out quite as well as we had hoped. I inherited the house she had lived in, but after paying one or two small legacies, there was no money left. I suppose she must have lost it during the war, or perhaps she had been living on her capital. Still, we had the house, and almost at once we had a chance of selling it at quite an advantageous price. But, foolishly perhaps, I refused the offer. We were in tiny, but expensive lodgings, and I thought it would
be much nicer to live in the Red House, where my mother could have comfortable rooms and take in paying guests to cover our expenses.

  ‘I adhered to this plan, notwithstanding a further tempting offer from the gentleman who wanted to buy. We moved in, and I advertised for paying guests. For a time, all went well, we had several answers to our advertisement; my aunt’s old servant remained on with us, and she and I between us did the work of the house. And then these unaccountable things began to happen.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘The queerest things. The whole place seemed bewitched. Pictures fell down, crockery flew across the room and broke; one morning we came down to find all the furniture moved round. At first we thought someone was playing a pracitcal joke, but we had to give up that explanation. Sometimes when we were all sitting down to dinner, a terrific crash would be heard overhead. We would go up and find no one there, but a piece of furniture thrown violently to the ground.’

  ‘A poltergeist,’ cried Tuppence, much interested.

  ‘Yes, that’s what Dr O’Neill said–though I don’t know what it means.’

  ‘It’s a sort of evil spirit that plays tricks,’ explained Tuppence, who in reality knew very little about the subject, and was not even sure that she had got the word poltergeist right.

  ‘Well, at any rate, the effect was disastrous. Our visitors were frightened to death, and left as soon as possible. We got new ones, and they too left hurriedly. I was in despair, and, to crown all, our own tiny income ceased suddenly–the Company in which it was invested failed.’

  ‘You poor dear,’ said Tuppence sympathetically. ‘What a time you have had. Did you want Mr Blunt to investigate this “haunting” business?’

  ‘Not exactly. You see, three days ago, a gentleman called upon us. His name was Dr O’Neill. He told us that he was a member of the Society for Physical Research, and that he had heard about the curious manifestations that had taken place in our house and was much interested. So much so, that he was prepared to buy it from us, and conduct a series of experiments there.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Of course, at first, I was overcome with joy. It seemed the way out of all our difficulties. But –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Perhaps you will think me fanciful. Perhaps I am. But–oh! I’m sure I haven’t made a mistake. It was the same man!’

  ‘What same man?’

  ‘The same man who wanted to buy it before. Oh! I’m sure I’m right.’

  ‘But why shouldn’t it be?’

  ‘You don’t understand. The two men were quite different, different name and everything. The first man was quite young, a spruce, dark young man of thirty odd. Dr O’Neill is about fifty, he has a grey beard and wears glasses and stoops. But when he talked I saw a gold tooth one side of his mouth. It only shows when he laughs. The other man had a tooth in just the same position, and then I looked at his ears. I had noticed the other man’s ears, because they were a peculiar shape with hardly any lobe. Dr O’Neill’s were just the same. Both things couldn’t be a coincidence, could they? I thought and thought and finally I wrote and said I would let him know in a week. I had noticed Mr Blunt’s advertisement some time ago–as a matter of fact in an old paper that lined one of the kitchen drawers. I cut it out and came up to town.’

  ‘You were quite right,’ said Tuppence, nodding her head with vigour. ‘This needs looking into.’

  ‘A very interesting case, Miss Deane,’ observed Tommy.

  ‘We shall be pleased to look into this for you–eh, Miss Sheringham?’

  ‘Rather,’ said Tuppence, ‘and we’ll get to the bottom of it too.’

  ‘I understand, Miss Deane,’ went on Tommy, ‘that the household consists of you and your mother and a servant. Can you give me any particulars about the servant?’

  ‘Her name is Crockett. She was with my aunt about eight or ten years. She is an elderly woman, not very pleasant in manner, but a good servant. She is inclined to give herself airs because her sister married out of her station. Crockett has a nephew whom she is always telling us is “quite the gentleman”.’

  ‘H’m,’ said Tommy, rather at a loss how to proceed.

  Tuppence had been eyeing Monica keenly, now she spoke with sudden decision.

  ‘I think the best plan would be for Miss Deane to come out and lunch with me. It’s just one o’clock. I can get full details from her.’

  ‘Certainly, Miss Sheringham,’ said Tommy. ‘An excellent plan.’

  ‘Look here,’ said Tuppence, when they were comfortably ensconced at a little table in a neighbouring restaurant, ‘I want to know: Is there any special reason why you want to find out about all this?’

  Monica blushed.

  ‘Well, you see –’

  ‘Out with it,’ said Tuppence encouragingly.

  ‘Well–there are two men who–who–want to marry me.’

  ‘The usual story, I suppose? One rich, one poor, and the poor one is the one you like!’

  ‘I don’t know how you know all these things,’ murmured the girl.

  ‘That’s a sort of law of Nature,’ explained Tuppence. ‘It happens to everybody. It happened to me.’

  ‘You see, even if I sell the house, it won’t bring us in enough to live on. Gerald is a dear, but he’s desperately poor–though he’s a very clever engineer; and if only he had a little capital, his firm would take him into partnership. The other, Mr Partridge, is a very good man, I am sure–and well off, and if I married him, it would be an end to all our troubles. But–but –’

  ‘I know,’ said Tuppence sympathetically. ‘It isn’t the same thing at all. You can go on telling yourself how good and worthy he is, and adding up his qualities as though they were an addition sum–and it all has a simply refrigerating effect.’

  Monica nodded.

  ‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘I think it would be as well if we went down to the neighbourhood and studied matters upon the spot. What is the address?’

  ‘The Red House, Stourton-in-the-Marsh.’

  Tuppence wrote down the address in her notebook.

  ‘I didn’t ask you,’ Monica began–‘about terms –’ she ended, blushing a little.

  ‘Our payments are strictly by results,’ said Tuppence gravely. ‘If the secret of the Red House is a profitable one, as seems possible from the anxiety displayed to acquire the property, we should expect a small percentage, otherwise–nothing!’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said the girl gratefully.

  ‘And now,’ said Tuppence, ‘don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right. Let’s enjoy lunch and talk of interesting things.’

  Chapter 15

  The Red House

  ‘Well,’ said Tommy, looking out of the window of the Crown and Anchor, ‘here we are at Toad in the Hole–or whatever this blasted village is called.’

  ‘Let us review the case,’ said Tuppence.

  ‘By all means,’ said Tommy. ‘To begin with, getting my say in first, I suspect the invalid mother!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My dear Tuppence, grant that this poltergeist business is all a put-up job, got up in order to persuade the girl to sell the house, someone must have thrown the things about. Now the girl said everyone was at dinner–but if the mother is a thoroughgoing invalid, she’d be upstairs in her room.’

  ‘If she was an invalid she could hardly throw furniture about.’

  ‘Ah! but she wouldn’t be a real invalid. She’d be shamming.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There you have me,’ confessed her husband. ‘I was really going on the well-known principle of suspecting the most unlikely person.’

  ‘You always make fun of everything,’ said Tuppence severely. ‘There must be something that makes these people so anxious to get hold of the house. And if you don’t care about getting to the bottom of this matter, I do. I like that girl. She’s a dear.’

  Tommy nodded seriously enough.

  ‘I quite agree. But I n
ever can resist ragging you, Tuppence. Of course, there’s something queer about the house, and whatever it is, it’s something that’s difficult to get at. Otherwise a mere burglary would do the trick. But to be willing to buy the house means either that you’ve got to take up floors or pull down walls, or else that there’s a coal mine under the back garden.’

  ‘I don’t want it to be a coal mine. Buried treasure is much more romantic.’

  ‘H’m,’ said Tommy. ‘In that case I think that I shall pay a visit to the local Bank Manager, explain that I am staying here over Christmas and probably buying the Red House, and discuss the question of opening an account.’

  ‘But why –?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  Tommy returned at the end of half an hour. His eyes were twinkling.

  ‘We advance, Tuppence. Our interview proceeded on the lines indicated. I then asked casually whether he had had much gold paid in, as is often the case nowadays in these small country banks–small farmers who hoarded it during the war, you understand. From that we proceeded quite naturally to the extraordinary vagaries of old ladies. I invented an aunt who on the outbreak of war drove to the Army and Navy Stores in a four-wheeler, and returned with sixteen hams. He immediately mentioned a client of his own, who had insisted on drawing out every penny of money she had–in gold as far as possible, and who also insisted on having her securities, bearer bonds and such things, given into her own custody. I exclaimed on such an act of folly, and he mentioned casually that she was the former owner of the Red House. You see, Tuppence? She drew out all this money, and she hid it somewhere. You remember that Monica Deane mentioned that they were astonished at the small amount of her estate? Yes, she hid it in the Red House, and someone knows about it. I can make a pretty good guess who that someone is too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What about the faithful Crockett? She would know all about her mistress’s peculiarities.’

  ‘And that gold-toothed Dr O’Neill?’