Parker Pyne Investigates Read online

  ‘I’ll be back presently, Mother.’

  ‘Isn’t he the mother’s boy?’ Miss Ramona asked of the world at large. ‘Just toots round after her, don’t you?’

  Basil flushed and looked awkward. Miss Ramona gave a nod in Mrs Chester’s direction, a dazzling smile to Mr Parker Pyne and she and Basil moved off together.

  After they had gone there was rather an awkward silence. Mr Parker Pyne did not like to speak first. Betty Gregg was twisting her fingers and looking out to sea. Mrs Chester looked flushed and angry.

  Betty said: ‘Well, what do you think of our new acquisition in Pollensa Bay?’ Her voice was not quite steady.

  Mr Parker Pyne said cautiously:

  ‘A little–er–exotic.’

  ‘Exotic?’ Betty gave a short bitter laugh.

  Mrs Chester said: ‘She’s terrible–terrible. Basil must be quite mad.’

  Betty said sharply: ‘Basil’s all right.’

  ‘Her toenails,’ said Mrs Chester with a shiver of nausea.

  Betty rose suddenly.

  ‘I think, Mrs Chester, I’ll go home and not stay to dinner after all.’

  ‘Oh, my dear–Basil will be so disappointed.’

  ‘Will he?’ asked Betty with a short laugh. ‘Anyway, I think I will. I’ve got rather a headache.’

  She smiled at them both and went off. Mrs Chester turned to Mr Parker Pyne.

  ‘I wish we had never come to this place–never!’

  Mr Parker Pyne shook his head sadly.

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone away,’ said Mrs Chester. ‘If you’d been here this wouldn’t have happened.’

  Mr Parker Pyne was stung to respond.

  ‘My dear lady, I can assure you that when it comes to a question of a beautiful young woman, I should have no influence over your son whatever. He–er–seems to be of a very susceptible nature.’

  ‘He never used to be,’ said Mrs Chester tearfully.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Parker Pyne with an attempt at cheerfulness, ‘this new attraction seems to have broken the back of his infatuation for Miss Gregg. That must be some satisfaction to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Mrs Chester. ‘Betty is a dear child and devoted to Basil. She is behaving extremely well over this. I think my boy must be mad.’

  Mr Parker Pyne received this startling change of face without wincing. He had met inconsistency in women before. He said mildly:

  ‘Not exactly mad–just bewitched.’

  ‘The creature’s a Dago. She’s impossible.’

  ‘But extremely good-looking.’

  Mrs Chester snorted.

  Basil ran up the steps from the sea front.

  ‘Hullo, Mater, here I am. Where’s Betty?’

  ‘Betty’s gone home with a headache. I don’t wonder.’

  ‘Sulking, you mean.’

  ‘I consider, Basil, that you are being extremely unkind to Betty.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mother, don’t jaw. If Betty is going to make this fuss every time I speak to another girl a nice sort of life we’ll lead together.’

  ‘You are engaged.’

  ‘Oh, we’re engaged all right. That doesn’t mean that we’re not going to have any friends of our own. Nowadays people have to lead their own lives and try to cut out jealousy.’

  He paused.

  ‘Look here, if Betty isn’t going to dine with us–I think I’ll go back to the Mariposa. They did ask me to dine…’

  ‘Oh, Basil–’

  The boy gave her an exasperated look, then ran off down the steps.

  Mrs Chester looked eloquently at Mr Parker Pyne.

  ‘You see,’ she said.

  He saw.

  Matters came to a head a couple of days later. Betty and Basil were to have gone for a long walk, taking a picnic lunch with them. Betty arrived at the Pino d’Oro to find that Basil had forgotten the plan and gone over to Formentor for the day with Dolores Ramona’s party.

  Beyond a tightening of the lips the girl made no sign. Presently, however, she got up and stood in front of Mrs Chester (the two women were alone on the terrace).

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter. But I think–all the same–that we’d better call the whole thing off.’

  She slipped from her finger the signet ring that Basil had given her–he would buy the real engagement ring later.

  ‘Will you give him back this Mrs Chester? And tell him it’s all right–not to worry…’

  ‘Betty dear, don’t! He does love you–really.’

  ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’ said the girl with a short laugh. ‘No–I’ve got some pride. Tell him everything’s all right and that I–I wish him luck.’

  When Basil returned at sunset he was greeted by a storm.

  He flushed a little at the sight of his ring.

  ‘So that’s how she feels, is it? Well, I daresay it’s the best thing.’

  ‘Basil!’

  ‘Well, frankly, Mother, we don’t seem to have been hitting it off lately.’

  ‘Whose fault was that?’

  ‘I don’t see that it was mine particularly. Jealousy’s beastly and I really don’t see why you should get all worked up about it. You begged me yourself not to marry Betty.’

  ‘That was before I knew her. Basil–my dear–you’re not thinking of marrying this other creature.’

  Basil Chester said soberly:

  ‘I’d marry her like a shot if she’d have me–but I’m afraid she won’t.’

  Cold chills went down Mrs Chester’s spine. She sought and found Mr Parker Pyne, placidly reading a book in a sheltered corner.

  ‘You must do something! You must do something! My boy’s life will be ruined.’

  Mr Parker Pyne was getting a little tired of Basil Chester’s life being ruined.

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Go and see this terrible creature. If necessary buy her off.’

  ‘That may come very expensive.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘It seems a pity. Still there are, possibly, other ways.’

  She looked a question. He shook his head.

  ‘I’ll make no promises–but I’ll see what I can do. I have handled that kind before. By the way, not a word to Basil–that would be fatal.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Mr Parker Pyne returned from the Mariposa at midnight. Mrs Chester was sitting up for him.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded breathlessly.

  His eyes twinkled.

  ‘The Señorita Dolores Ramona will leave Pollensa tomorrow morning and the island tomorrow night.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Parker Pyne! How did you manage it?’

  ‘It won’t cost a cent,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. Again his eyes twinkled. ‘I rather fancied I might have a hold over her–and I was right.’

  ‘You are wonderful. Nina Wycherley was quite right. You must let me know–er–your fees–’

  Mr Parker Pyne held up a well-manicured hand.

  ‘Not a penny. It has been a pleasure. I hope all will go well. Of course the boy will be very upset at first when he finds she’s disappeared and left no address. Just go easy with him for a week or two.’

  ‘If only Betty will forgive him–’

  ‘She’ll forgive him all right. They’re a nice couple. By the way, I’m leaving tomorrow, too.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Parker Pyne, we shall miss you.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just as well I should go before that boy of yours gets infatuated with yet a third girl.’

  II

  Mr Parker Pyne leaned over the rail of the steamer and looked at the lights of Palma. Beside him stood Dolores Ramona. He was saying appreciatively:

  ‘A very nice piece of work, Madeleine. I’m glad I wired you to come out. It’s odd when you’re such a quiet, stay-at-home girl really.’

  Madeleine de Sara, alias Dolores Ramona, alias Maggie Sayers, said primly: ‘I’m glad you’re pleased, Mr Parker Pyne. It’s been a nice
little change. I think I’ll go below now and get to bed before the boat starts. I’m such a bad sailor.’

  A few minutes later a hand fell on Mr Parker Pyne’s shoulder. He turned to see Basil Chester.

  ‘Had to come and see you off, Mr Parker Pyne, and give you Betty’s love and her and my best thanks. It was a grand stunt of yours. Betty and Mother are as thick as thieves. Seemed a shame to deceive the old darling–but she was being difficult. Anyway it’s all right now. I must just be careful to keep up the annoyance stuff a couple of days longer. We’re no end grateful to you, Betty and I.’

  ‘I wish you every happiness,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.

  ‘Thanks.’

  There was a pause, then Basil said with somewhat overdone carelessness:

  ‘Is Miss–Miss de Sara–anywhere about? I’d like to thank her, too.’

  Mr Parker Pyne shot a keen glance at him.

  He said:

  ‘I’m afraid Miss de Sara’s gone to bed.’

  ‘Oh, too bad–well, perhaps I’ll see her in London sometime.’

  ‘As a matter of fact she is going to America on business for me almost at once.’

  ‘Oh!’ Basil’s tone was blank. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’ll be getting along…’

  Mr Parker Pyne smiled. On his way to his cabin he tapped on the door of Madeleine’s.

  ‘How are you, my dear? All right? Our young friend has been along. The usual slight attack of Madeleinitis. He’ll get over it in a day or two, but you are rather distracting.’

  The Regatta Mystery

  I

  Mr Isaac Pointz removed a cigar from his lips and said approvingly:

  ‘Pretty little place.’

  Having thus set the seal of his approval upon Dartmouth harbour, he replaced the cigar and looked about him with the air of a man pleased with himself, his appearance, his surroundings and life generally.

  As regards the first of these, Mr Isaac Pointz was a man of fifty-eight, in good health and condition with perhaps a slight tendency to liver. He was not exactly stout, but comfortable-looking, and a yachting costume, which he wore at the moment, is not the most kindly of attires for a middle-aged man with a tendency to embonpoint. Mr Pointz was very well turned out–correct to every crease and button–his dark and slightly Oriental face beaming out under the peak of his yachting cap. As regards his surroundings, these may have been taken to mean his companions–his partner Mr Leo Stein, Sir George and Lady Marroway, an American business acquaintance Mr Samuel Leathern and his schoolgirl daughter Eve, Mrs Rustington and Evan Llewellyn.

  The party had just come ashore from Mr Pointz’ yacht–the Merrimaid. In the morning they had watched the yacht racing and they had now come ashore to join for a while in the fun of the fair–Coconut shies, Fat Ladies, the Human Spider and the Merry-go-round. It is hardly to be doubted that these delights were relished most by Eve Leathern. When Mr Pointz finally suggested that it was time to adjourn to the Royal George for dinner hers was the only dissentient voice.

  ‘Oh, Mr Pointz–I did so want to have my fortune told by the Real Gypsy in the Caravan.’

  Mr Pointz had doubts of the essential Realness of the Gypsy in question but he gave indulgent assent.

  ‘Eve’s just crazy about the fair,’ said her father apologetically. ‘But don’t you pay any attention if you want to be getting along.’

  ‘Plenty of time,’ said Mr Pointz benignantly. ‘Let the little lady enjoy herself. I’ll take you on at darts, Leo.’

  ‘Twenty-five and over wins a prize,’ chanted the man in charge of the darts in a high nasal voice.

  ‘Bet you a fiver my total score beats yours,’ said Pointz.

  ‘Done,’ said Stein with alacrity.

  The two men were soon whole-heartedly engaged in their battle.

  Lady Marroway murmured to Evan Llewellyn:

  ‘Eve is not the only child in the party.’

  Llewellyn smiled assent but somewhat absently.

  He had been absent-minded all that day. Once or twice his answers had been wide of the point.

  Pamela Marroway drew away from him and said to her husband:

  ‘That young man has something on his mind.’

  Sir George murmured:

  ‘Or someone?’

  And his glance swept quickly over Janet Rustington.

  Lady Marroway frowned a little. She was a tall woman exquisitely groomed. The scarlet of her fingernails was matched by the dark red coral studs in her ears. Her eyes were dark and watchful. Sir George affected a careless ‘hearty English gentleman’ manner–but his bright blue eyes held the same watchful look as his wife’s.

  Isaac Pointz and Leo Stein were Hatton Garden diamond merchants. Sir George and Lady Marroway came from a different world–the world of Antibes and Juan les Pins–of golf at St Jean-de-Luz–of bathing from the rocks at Madeira in the winter.

  In outward seeming they were as the lilies that toiled not, neither did they spin. But perhaps this was not quite true. There are diverse ways of toiling and also of spinning.

  ‘Here’s the kid back again,’ said Evan Llewellyn to Mrs Rustington.

  He was a dark young man–there was a faintly hungry wolfish look about him which some women found attractive.

  It was difficult to say whether Mrs Rustington found him so. She did not wear her heart on her sleeve. She had married young–and the marriage had ended in disaster in less than a year. Since that time it was difficult to know what Janet Rustington thought of anyone or anything–her manner was always the same–charming but completely aloof.

  Eve Leathern came dancing up to them, her lank fair hair bobbing excitedly. She was fifteen–an awkward child–but full of vitality.

  ‘I’m going to be married by the time I’m seventeen,’ she exclaimed breathlessly. ‘To a very rich man and we’re going to have six children and Tuesdays and Thursdays are my lucky days and I ought always to wear green or blue and an emerald is my lucky stone and–’

  ‘Why, pet, I think we ought to be getting along,’ said her father.

  Mr Leathern was a tall, fair, dyspeptic-looking man with a somewhat mournful expression.

  Mr Pointz and Mr Stein were turning away from the darts. Mr Pointz was chuckling and Mr Stein was looking somewhat rueful.

  ‘It’s all a matter of luck,’ he was saying.

  Mr Pointz slapped his pocket cheerfully.

  ‘Took a fiver off you all right. Skill, my boy, skill. My old Dad was a first class darts player. Well, folks, let’s be getting along. Had your fortune told, Eve? Did they tell you to beware of a dark man?’

  ‘A dark woman,’ corrected Eve. ‘She’s got a cast in her eye and she’ll be real mean to me if I give her a chance. And I’m to be married by the time I’m seventeen…’

  She ran on happily as the party steered its way to the Royal George.

  Dinner had been ordered beforehand by the forethought of Mr Pointz and a bowing waiter led them upstairs and into a private room on the first floor. Here a round table was ready laid. The big bulging bow-window opened on the harbour square and was open. The noise of the fair came up to them, and the raucous squeal of three roundabouts each blaring a different tune.

  ‘Best shut that if we’re to hear ourselves speak,’ observed Mr Pointz drily, and suited the action to the word.

  They took their seats round the table and Mr Pointz beamed affectionately at his guests. He felt he was doing them well and he liked to do people well. His eye rested on one after another. Lady Marroway–fine woman–not quite the goods, of course, he knew that–he was perfectly well aware that what he had called all his life the crême de la crême would have very little to do with the Marroways–but then the crême de la crême were supremely unaware of his own existence. Anyway, Lady Marroway was a damned smart-looking woman–and he didn’t mind if she did rook him at Bridge. Didn’t enjoy it quite so much from Sir George. Fishy eye the fellow had. Brazenly on the make. But he wouldn’t make too much out of Isaac Pointz. He�
��d see to that all right.

  Old Leathern wasn’t a bad fellow–longwinded, of course, like most Americans–fond of telling endless long stories. And he had that disconcerting habit of requiring precise information. What was the population of Dartmouth? In what year had the Naval College been built? And so on. Expected his host to be a kind of walking Baedeker. Eve was a nice cheery kid–he enjoyed chaffing her. Voice rather like a corncake, but she had all her wits about her. A bright kid.

  Young Llewellyn–he seemed a bit quiet. Looked as though he had something on his mind. Hard up, probably. These writing fellows usually were. Looked as though he might be keen on Janet Rustington. A nice woman–attractive and clever, too. But she didn’t ram her writing down your throat. Highbrow sort of stuff she wrote but you’d never think it to hear her talk. And old Leo! He wasn’t getting younger or thinner. And blissfully unaware that his partner was at that moment thinking precisely the same thing about him, Mr Pointz corrected Mr Leathern as to pilchards being connected with Devon and not Cornwall, and prepared to enjoy his dinner.

  ‘Mr Pointz,’ said Eve when plates of hot mackerel had been set before them and the waiters had left the room.

  ‘Yes, young lady.’

  ‘Have you got that big diamond with you right now? The one you showed us last night and said you always took about with you?’

  Mr Pointz chuckled.

  ‘That’s right. My mascot, I call it. Yes, I’ve got it with me all right.’

  ‘I think that’s awfully dangerous. Somebody might get it away from you in the crowd at the fair.’

  ‘Not they,’ said Mr Pointz. ‘I’ll take good care of that.’

  ‘But they might,’ insisted Eve. ‘You’ve got gangsters in England as well as we have, haven’t you?’

  ‘They won’t get the Morning Star,’ said Mr Pointz. ‘To begin with it’s in a special inner pocket. And anyway–old Pointz knows what he’s about. Nobody’s going to steal the Morning Star.’

  Eve laughed.

  ‘Ugh-huh–bet I could steal it!’

  ‘I bet you couldn’t.’ Mr Pointz twinkled back at her.

  ‘Well, I bet I could. I was thinking about it last night in bed–after you’d handed it round the table, for us all to look at. I thought of a real cute way to steal it.’