The Affair of the Christmas Presents
an Henri Peugeot Mystery
A NOTE TO THE READER: Though I do not know what future use will be made of my accounts of the more sensitive cases of Monsieur Henri Peugeot, there may be some interest in this rather trifling tale. Not only was it one of the few cases we undertook during the Christmas season, it assumed greater significance for setting in motion, some months later, other events I have set down elsewhere.
Sir Allen Bosworth, K.C.B., D.S.O., M.C., 1955
“HAVE a care, Major Bosworth!” Miss Lime exclaimed. “If you lose your balance, you’ll have the tree over on us!”
She carefully hung the blue glass ornament she had been holding on the Christmas tree and took a few steps back. I was not certain if her readjustment was in order to survey our work or because she feared for her safety. I reached up and placed a silver star on the topmost branch of the tree. The thoroughly decorated, six-foot tree remained steadily in place.
“There,” I said with satisfaction. “Nothing dangerous to it, Miss Lime. It’s really quite a small tree, so there was no strain in reaching the top of it. Would you like me to plug in the lights now?”
Miss Lime gazed happily and expectantly for a moment at the tree before stealing a quick, anxious glance at Peugeot who was sitting in his favourite armchair sipping his tisane with a vaguely dissatisfied look. She clasped her hands at her rather shapely breast and nodded eagerly to me.
“Yes! Let’s see how it looks!”
I plugged in the lights. Our little tree burst forth in glorious shades of red, green, blue, and yellow, the colours not only emanating from the electric bulbs but also gaily reflected by the ornaments and bands of garland we had strung around the boughs.
“Oh, Major!” Miss Lime gasped. “It’s quite beautiful!”
I stepped round to join her and took in the view.
“Capital!” I said. “You know, Miss Lime, I’ve something of a way with Christmas trees, but I really think we’ve outdone ourselves with this one. It’s absolutely first-rate.”
Miss Lime turned her beaming smile to Peugeot.
“What do you say, Mr. Peugeot?”
Peugeot put his cup into the saucer and shook his head slowly while he made one of his most characteristic noises, something akin to the sneeze of a small cat. My little friend was nothing if not a sensitive man, and he immediately noticed Miss Lime’s alarmed and crestfallen expression at his apparent disapproval. He rose from his chair and patted Miss Lime’s hand.
“Do not distress yourself, Miss Lime,” he said soothingly. “You must remember that I am older and remember the Christmases of my youth, when les arbres de Noël were decorated with candles rather than the lights electric.”
He looked at the tree and sighed.
“Yes, my friends, the ways of celebrating were different then. Much simpler and of the heart.”
“That’s all very well, Peugeot,” I said gently. “We all have our own ‘ghosts of Christmas past’ as it were. But it’s nearly 1935 now, and one can’t go back to the old days, no matter how dear they were.”
Peugeot nodded. He smiled at us.
“You are right, mon ami,” he said. “And I am very grateful that you have done so much to brighten our rooms with this most delightful tree. It is très festif.”
Miss Lime was beaming again.
“And it will look even more festive when I’ve placed the presents under it. There are several new arrivals today, including one from Chief Inspector Sapp.”
She bustled off to her office to get them.
“Well done, Peugeot,” I said when she was out of the room. “One rarely sees Miss Lime so girlish as she was when she looked at the tree. It was good of you to approve of her work.”
“I fall into the habits of the old in always preferring the past to the present. You were right. One must go ahead.” He cocked an eye at the tree. “But note, Bosworth, the lights you have strung on tree. They are most cheerful yes, but you have mixed the colours in a most untidy fashion. See you there the red beside the yellow and the green beside the blue! Could we not arrange them so all the red lights are in the upper left, the green lights in the upper right, the blue in the lower left and the yellow in the lower right? That would seem more orderly and methodical.”
The sound of the door buzzer interrupted my reply. We heard the clatter of Miss Lime’s heels on the hallway tiles and an exchange of a few words with a man at the door. The door shut and her footfalls returned down the passageway. She appeared at the study door with a telegram in her right hand.
“It’s for you, Major,” she said as she handed the envelope to me.
I tore open the message and read as Peugeot repeated his idea about grouping all the light colours together for Miss Lime.
“That would be quite difficult and time-consuming, Mr. Peugeot,” she said patiently. “Besides most of us think that the mixing of the colours is ---“
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Lime,” I said. “But would you please check the Bradshaw for trains to Luton. Peugeot and I must pack a bag.”
Peugeot looked up at me. Despite my best efforts, my face must have showed the gravity of the situation. I handed the telegram to him. He read it, then turned to Miss Lime and nodded.
“Yes, Miss Lime,” he said. “Major Bosworth and I are needed tout de suite.”
I HAVE mentioned before that my friend Peugeot was not a good traveller when in circumstances that failed to meet his exacting standards of comfort, and when those standards were not met he was rarely stoic. I must say that he bore up quite well as we pitched and lurched along a very rutted road in our hired car through a storm that smote us by turns with high velocity rain, sleet and snow. Peugeot was bundled in his warmest overcoat, with one hand employed in keeping a muffler swathed around the lower part of his face and the other clamping his hat on his head as we bounced. I kept looking down at the telegram in my hand.
FIELD:
NEED YOUR HELP MOST URGENT. DIANA AND I FOGGED IN SCOTLAND. COULD YOU AND PEUGEOT COME TO WRENS HOUSE AT ONCE? LUCY MAY BE IN DANGER.
H. WETHERBY
I looked up to see Peugeot watching me attentively. I suddenly felt very self-conscious and rather guilty about plunging my little friend into these uncomfortable conditions.
“I’m very grateful that you’ve agreed to drop everything and come with me on this mysterious business,” I said. “It must be very hard on you to be dragged away from the comfort of your chair in our flat.”
His eyes glowed a soft green, kindness mixing with the alertness of the cat.
“I know the regard in which you hold le général Wetherby, mon ami. He is not, I think, a man who would speak of danger lightly. This must be an affair of great import.”
“He’s Sir Hugh now. I know that you sometimes think I hold an overly exaggerated Victorian reverence for rank and titles, but my loyalty to Hugh goes far beyond anything like that.”
Peugeot nodded thoughtfully.
“While you speak very little of your experiences in the War, I know that your debt to him is related to something that happened then.”
“I should say that ‘debt’ seems a very inadequate word for what I owe him. It happened on the first day of Third Ypres in 1917. I was leading my company for the first time and had been made a captain only a few days before. Hugh commanded the battalion to our immediate left. He was a legend in our brigade, brave as a lion but wise enough to know when bravery was useless against entrenched machine guns and artillery. We had been advancing for a couple of hours when my company ran into several machine gun positions. We knocked out a couple of them but were caught in a wicked crossfire. I caught a round in my left leg and several fragments in the right shoulder and lay pinned down in a shell hole with a couple other wounded men. Colonel Wetherby saw that my men were unable to help us, and led his own lads against those machine guns and destroyed them. He helped Sergeant Dickson lift me out of that hole with his own hands and saw that we were all taken to the rear. That was about an hour or so before it began to rain.”
I paused. A flood of memories overcame me.
“We all had seen how many wounded, both ours and the Germans, died in those shell holes either from loss of blood or drowning when the holes filled with rainwater.” I looked at Peugeot. “It would have happened to me if not for Hugh Wetherby. So many men wounded after the first hours of the offensive couldn’t be saved.”
Peugeot laid his hand lightly on my arm.
“I comprehend, my friend. Such experiences must forge powerful bonds between comrades. You have remained in contact with the Wetherby family, have you not?”
“I see them once or twice a year, I would guess. Hugh showed us photos of Lucy as a baby in Diana’s arms during the War. She’s just a bit past twenty now.”
Peugeot nodded slowly.
“But this telegram tells us nothing about what dangers she may face. Have you any little notions what they may be?”
I shook my head.
“I’ve no idea at all. But, as you say, Hugh’s not a man to use the word ‘danger’ lightly.”
Peugeot nodded. His eyes glowed green again for a moment, then he looked at me quizzically.
“One thing I do not understand is the way he addresses the telegram.” He pointed to the top line. “See here that it has been sent to ‘Major Allen Bosworth, Blueheaven Terrace.’ However, he calls you ‘Field’ in the message. What does that mean?”
I probably flushed somewhat.
“Oh, just a little joke on his part.”
Peugeot looked blankly at me.
“It was my nickname in the Army. ‘Field,’ you know, for Bosworth Field.”
He continued to stare uncomprehendingly.
It required all the remaining six or seven miles of our journey to attempt to explain the reference. Sometimes Peugeot has no sense of humour whatever.
ANY expectations we had that evil was already afoot at Wrens’ House were quickly dispelled. In answer to our knock, the large front door was almost immediately answered by an attractive, quite bright-looking young blonde woman in a maid’s uniform. She read the cards we handed to her and looked up sharply.
“Is Lady Lucy expecting you gentlemen?” she asked.
“I don’t believe so,” I answered. “We’re here at the request of Sir Hugh and Lady Diana.”
The maid attempted to mask some strong emotion with the habitual bland expression of the well-trained servant. I could not determine what that emotion was.
“Very well, gentlemen,” she said. “If you will wait here, I’ll inform Mrs. Bristol and Miss Lucy.”
She showed us into the entrance hall and disappeared down the hallway.
“Do you recognized that young woman, Bosworth?” asked Peugeot.
I shook my head.
“She must be new, at least since I was here...” I paused to search my memory. “...last May, I believe it was. Very smart-looking girl, isn’t she? You don’t see that type in service so often these days.”
Peugeot nodded slowly. His eyes were glowing faintly. He turned to me.
“And who is this Mrs. Bristol?”
“She’s the housekeeper. Been with Hugh and Diana for about fifteen years now. Her husband’s their butler; he’s one of Hugh’s old colour sergeants, as I recall.”
Peugeot looked at the furnishings and paintings on the wall.
“Le général Wetherby has done well since the War.” He pointed to a small landscape with his stick. “That is a Monet if I am not mistaken. A small Monet it is true, but a Monet nonetheless.”
“Hugh was a career soldier who stayed in the Army after the War. He just retired three or four years ago. I think that Lady Diana’s father was an earl who did very well in business during and after the War. They inherited a good bit from him.”
Peugeot nodded, continuing to examine the furniture and paintings without touching them. He looked through an open door to our left and pointed again with his stick.
“It would appear that the Wetherby family enjoys the typical English celebration of le Noël, too.”
I looked through the doorway. A decorated Christmas tree, at least three feet taller and even more brightly lit than the one we had left in our study, dominated the cosy sitting room on that side of the hallway. On the white skirt under the tree’s lowest branches lay a dozen or so presents, wrapped in paper of various colours and tied with wide ribbons and large bows. Peugeot took a few of his small steps into the room and I sauntered after him. He seemed quite interested in the packages.
“Are these parcels wrapped in papers of the traditional English Christmas colours?” he asked.
I looked at the packages. They were mostly wrapped in the usual fashion: most in plain paper of red, green or white, two or three in white paper with a pattern of holly sprigs and berries, and a few in gold or silver paper of a highly reflective finish. One parcel was wrapped quite non-traditionally in deep purple paper and yellow ribbon and bow.
“I would say that they’re pretty much the standard Christmas presents, Peugeot,” I said. “Did Saint Nicholas put anything sinister under there?”
Peugeot shrugged expressively. He was about to speak when we heard the sounds of women’s shoes approaching from the hallway. We turned to see three women standing in the doorway behind us. The closest to us was a tall, statuesque woman of about forty-five whom I immediately recognized as Mrs. Bristol. Her face clearly showed her surprise.
“Why it is you, Major Bosworth!” she said breaking into a smile. “Why I had no idea you were coming.”
“Our visit comes as something of a surprise to us as well, Mrs. Bristol,” I said. “Until about three hours ago we had no idea we’d be making the trip.”
One of the young women, a tall, lovely, dark-haired rosy-cheeked girl, stepped around Mrs. Bristol.
“You’ve come through quite a storm to see us, Major,” said Lucy Wetherby. Her smile was a bit more uncertain than her housekeeper’s. “What could the reason possibly be?”
“Hello, Lucy,” I said with perhaps over-heartiness. “I hope you don’t mind us arriving unannounced like this. I thought that your parents might have let you know we’d be coming.”
“We’ve heard nothing from them save they had been delayed by fog in Glasgow,” she replied.
I noticed that both Lucy and Mrs. Bristol were looking curiously at Peugeot, the housekeeper with some suspicion.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever brought my friend Peugeot on one of my visits,” I said with a wave of my arm toward my companion. “May I present Monsieur Henri Peugeot?”
“The famous detective?” Lucy exclaimed, her blue eyes wide. She extended her hand to him. “We’ve heard so much about you, Monsieur Peugeot. I’ve had a secret hope that one day the Major would bring you with him.”
Peugeot took her dainty hand and bowed.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
Lucy now turned. Mrs. Bristol stepped to one side to allow the very attractive young blonde woman who had been listening to come forward.
“And I don’t believe you’ve met my friend Victoria Bromwell,” said Lucy.
“Not the daughter of Sir Colin Bromwell?” I asked. It was a name not unknown in the society columns despite the retiring nature of Sir Colin and his wife. Though I had not seen a photograph of the young lady, many were the reports of Sir Colin and Lady Bromwell’s beautiful blue-eyed, blonde-haired daughter.
“I hope that my father’s rather obsessive love of privacy hasn’t led you to believe that his daughter was something in need of hiding,” the girl said with a laugh.
“C’est évident, mademoiselle,” murmured Peugeot, bowing over Lady Victoria’s hand. “En vérité, I figure to myself that it is only by your father’s aversion to publicity that you have avoided the attentions of every young man in England.”
Indeed, she was not the kind of girl whom one would dream of hiding. Though shorter than Lucy Wetherby, Victoria Bromwell was a striking-looking, extremely curvaceous young woman, with a pleasingly round, very attractive face framed by golden tresses that fell to her shoulders.
The young lady smiled shyly at Peugeot before stealing an amused glance at Lucy and giggling softly.
“Though we’ve known each other only a few weeks, I must say that you do have the most charming friends and acquaintances, Lucy,” she noted. Turning back to Peugeot, she said: “How very kind of you to say so, monsieur.”
I must admit that as I gazed at the beautiful and charming Lady Victoria I became somewhat insensible to the conversation that was taking place, for the next thing I knew we were being relieved of our overcoats and beckoned into seats. Peugeot took a small armchair by the fire while I settled onto a couch a few feet to his left. I was highly gratified to see Lady Victoria sit beside me while Lucy took a chair across from us. Mrs. Bristol asked the young blonde maid to bring some tea for us all, and then took her place standing respectfully behind Lucy. We exchanged some casual conversation about the health and activities of Sir Hugh and Lady Diana and of various mutual friends until the tea had been served. The maid was then dismissed and Lucy proceeded to get to the reason for our visit. When I told of the mysterious telegram that had brought us to Wrens’ House, our hostess seemed astonished at her parents’ concerns.
“You have no idea of what danger your father could be speaking?” Peugeot asked.
Lucy looked bewildered.
“None whatsoever, M. Peugeot. I can’t imagine what it might be. Have you, Vickie?”
Victoria Bromwell shook her head. She looked earnestly into my eyes.
“Do you really think this is a serious threat?”
I shrugged.
“I know that Sir Hugh considered a German battalion supported by artillery only a mild annoyance. If he’s alarmed by something it must be serious.”
“You have not been recently threatened or publicly denounced in some way, have you mademoiselle?” Peugeot asked. “Even by someone whom you would consider not actually serious or truly harmless. Perhaps the local...” He gave me a puzzled look. “One who makes the manivelle?”
“A crank?” I asked.
We looked at the women. Both hid brief smiles at Peugeot’s uncertain English.
“Nothing at all like that’s happened,” Lucy replied.
I was struck by a sudden idea.
“Is there anything of unusual value in the house? Something that isn’t usually here and could possibly be the object of a robbery?”
Lucy cocked her head to one side as she considered the idea.
“Well, they are valuable things in the house, of course,” she said musingly. “We usually don’t keep more than fifty or a hundred pounds in the house. There’s the silver, of course and a fine set of Spode. And there are a few fine paintings: a Gainsborough, an Ingres, and a Degas upstairs, and a Toulouse-Lautrec in the study.”
“And the Monet in the hallway,” noted Peugeot.
“But it’s a very tiny one,” Lucy protested. “And there’s no reason that any of these things would be more of a target of some robber now than at any other time.”
Victoria laid a hand on Lucy’s arm.
“What about the Medford pearls?” Victoria asked.
“And what are those?” asked Peugeot.
“A particularly fine set of pearls,” answered Lucy. “They were a gift from my mother’s family to her and from her to me. They’re worth about twenty-five thousand or so. But there’s the same argument about them: Why would there be more danger about them now than at any other time?”
Peugeot shook his head slowly and thoughtfully.
“You ask a very good question, mademoiselle. Neither Major Bosworth nor I can answer it for you. There seems no reason to think that you are in danger, and yet your parents believe that you are. It is a nice mystery, n’est-ce pas?”
Victoria Bromwell looked anxiously from Peugeot to me.
“What do you intend to do, gentlemen?” she asked, unable to keep the quaver of fear from her voice. “There are only six of us in the house at present, and we are all women.”
“There are no men here?” Peugeot asked with a sharp look at Mrs. Bristol.
The housekeeper seemed embarrassed.
“My husband and Mr. Daniels, the chauffeur, are in Scotland with Sir Hugh and Lady Diana,” she admitted. Our only gardener who lives on the grounds is Mason, and he’s on holiday to see his people in Axminster. Lady Diana took her maid and one of the housemaids, so there’s only the three of us and Mrs. Nelson, the cook, Sally, the scullery maid, and Carrie, the new parlourmaid.”
Peugeot nodded thoughtfully.
“Eh bien. Under the circumstances, I hope that you will take all precautions, though this may be nothing more than un pressentiment imprécis of overly concerned parents.”
Lady Victoria’s blue eyes opened wide, her carefully shaped brows arched in alarm.
“You are not leaving us alone then, are you?” she cried.
“Pas du tout, pas du tout, mademoiselle. I noted a very comfortable looking inn not many miles from here. We shall remain there until the return of the rest of your household.”
Both young women seemed vastly relieved at his words. As we spoke of lighter topics for some few minutes, I noticed Victoria smiling gratefully in my direction more than once. When it came time for us to take our leave, Mrs. Bristol bade Lady Lucy not ring for the maid.
“Carrie has other duties at present. I shall show the gentlemen out.”
Lucy and Victoria followed us as we made our way to the hall. I turned to make some remark to Peugeot to find him staring into a mirror on the wall ahead of us, apparently straightening his tie and his moustaches. From the green light in his upturned eyes, I knew that he had seen something of great interest behind us. I looked back. It may have been my imagination, but I thought that I detected part of a dark shape slipping behind the frame of a door down the hall. My attention was then drawn to Lucy straightening the back of Victoria’s skirts. Before I could ask Peugeot what he had seen, he looked directly at me with an expression that I knew from experience told me to say nothing until we were alone.
“We shall say good-bye now, M. Peugeot,” said Lucy as Mrs. Bristol went to the cupboard for our coats. “I hope you’ll join us for breakfast tomorrow.”
Peugeot bowed over both women’s hands in turn.
“We are greatly in your debt, Mademoiselle Wetherby,” he said. “And we shall do our part to keep you safe.”
I took the Victoria's hand.
“Try not to worry,” I said in my most reassuring tones.
She smiled gratefully at me. Lucy could not keep from looking concerned as I took her hand. Together, they went back down the hall to one of the other rooms. Lucy slipped her arm comfortingly around the waist of her young guest. Mrs. Bristol held up Peugeot’s overcoat.
“And I also hope that you’ll be close by us, Mr. Peugeot,” she said softly as she assisted him in putting it on. “Unless I’m very much mistake, there’s something very queer going on here, or perhaps about to go on.”
“You know of something, madame?” Peugeot asked.
She shook her head.
“Nothing you could take to a judge, sir, but there’s mischief afoot, I’d say.” She lowered her voice even more. “Once or twice I’ve heard someone moving about the house in the dead of night. And day before yesterday, both Miss Lucy and Miss Victoria were still asleep at ten in the morning. Why it was all I could do to rouse them, sir. If you ask me, they’d both been drugged.”
Peugeot looked at her closely.
“You are not telling all, Madame Bristol,” he said sharply. “You have suspicions, yes?”
She drew herself up rather stiffly.
“Far be it from me to accuse anyone, sir,” she said. “All I’ll say is that in twenty-five years in service, I’ve never seen a maid quite like her. Not the type for it.”
“You mean Carrie, the parlourmaid?” I asked.
Mrs. Bristol looked about, as though to make certain she was not being overheard.
“You don’t find that sort of girl in service, Major. Proud, she is. You can see that she doesn’t like taking orders and isn’t used to it. If you asked me, gentlemen, I’d say that girl’s never been a housemaid before she arrived here last week to take Nellie’s place.”
“And this Nellie was your regular maid? What became of her?”
“She’s supposed to be off nursing a sick aunt of hers near Leeds, sir. Which sounds all right until you remember that in the four years she’s been here that she’s never mentioned any aunt near Leeds.”
Peugeot was nodding sagely as he listened.
“These are interesting facts that you lay before us, Madame Bristol. They may prove invaluable in our investigation of this strange business.”
With the expression of one who has taken secret pleasure in performing an unpleasant task, Mrs. Bristol saw us out the door of Wrens’ House. The rain and snow had stopped though there was a brisk wind from the west and the air seemed colder. Our car and driver were waiting at the end of the lane. Peugeot paused to wrap his long comforter about his neck. He frowned.
“What do you think it all means, Peugeot?” I asked.
Peugeot continued to frown and shook his head.
“I do not understand this at all,” he murmured, “and I do not like it.”
OTHER than dark mutterings about not understanding, Peugeot would say nothing of the case. He bade our driver return us to the A6 and then head south for the Speed the Plough, a rustic but cosy-looking public house and inn we had seen on the drive north. After settling in and enjoying a simple but tasty meal, we retired to our room. Peugeot produced a pack of patience cards and began to build houses with his usual meticulous care. I attempted to read a new book I had brought along, but my mind continually strayed to the mysterious business at hand. Peugeot refused to take up any gentle probes I made about the case, so I finally opted for a frontal assault.
“What was it that you saw in the entryway mirror, Peugeot?” I asked. “I rather fancied that I saw someone slinking about, probably listening to us, in one of the doorways down the hall. Is that what you were watching?”
Peugeot remained absorbed in his architectural task for some moments before answering absently:
“So you imagined that you saw someone watching us, did you, mon ami? Was there anything else you noted in that mirror?”
“Only Lucy straightening something in the back of the Bromwell girl’s skirt.” I warmed at the memory of Victoria Bromwell, murmuring, “Quite a lovely girl, that one.”
“Your perceptions are as astute as ever, my friend.”
Peugeot looked away from his card house for a moment. He regarded me briefly then shook his head.
“Yes, I believe that I saw much more in that mirror than you did, Bosworth. The important detail, you see him never. Where logic is needed you use imagination and vice versa. It is indeed sad, but what can one do?”
Seeing he was in that frame of mind I desisted in my efforts to get anything out of him. I could only hope that the morrow would bring some enlightenment.
OUR driver arrived with the car at about eight the next morning. A light blanket of snow had fallen during the night, making for a very scenic ride along the country roads. I had lapsed into a reverie as I enjoyed the scenery opposite the lane leading to Wrens’ House. Peugeot sat up alertly as we neared the house.
“Something is not right here, Bosworth.”
I peered out the window in the direction he was looking. Two women, one middle-aged and one young, were standing just outside the front door of the house. The older woman was obviously the cook, judging from the uniform frock and apron that showed plainly underneath the large tartan shawl she had thrown about her shoulder. The younger one appeared to be the scullery maid. Both were looking about helplessly as though searching for assistance of any nature. The approach of our car was greeted by waves and shouts. Peugeot and I alighted from the vehicle and hastened to them.
“I’ve never been so glad to see anyone, Major!” cried Mrs. Daniels as we stepped onto the porch. “Nothing like this had ever happened in any house I’ve cooked for.”
“What’s happened, Mrs. Daniels?” I asked.
“We were locked in our own kitchen,” the woman replied in high dudgeon. “Sally and I. You see, sir, our rooms are just off the kitchen, and when we got up this morning we found that the door from the kitchen into the dining room was locked.”
“Locked?” I exclaimed, in bewilderment. “Has that ever happened before?”
“Never, Major, I swear never!” replied the cook, with Sally shaking her head emphatically in support.
“And what about the front door?” asked Peugeot.
“It must be bolted, sir. We can’t get in this way and no one answers the bell.”
I seized the knob. Though it turned easily, the door would not open. I looked at Peugeot.
“She’s right, Peugeot. It must be bolted.”
My friend eyed the large, heavy door.
“And there is no hope of breaking it in?”
“It’s solid oak. We’d need a battering ram.”
He looked about at the windows on the ground floor.
“Then we must find another way. Perhaps one of these windows...”
He trailed off in uncertainty. Suddenly, he stopped looking about and became very alert.
“Bosworth!” he whispered urgently. “Écoutez!”
We all stood very still and listened. Though it was difficult to judge, there seemed to be some noises coming from just on the other side of the door. There were soft bumps and muted exclamations, followed by the sound of the bolt being drawn back slowly and in fits and starts.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I think that the bell rings are finally being answered,” the little man said drily.
After another slide or two of the bolt, the doorknob began to turn and the door opened inwards. There was no one in the doorway. I held up a hand to forestall Peugeot and the woman and stepped forward to look. As I started to swing the door open a bit farther, I heard another muffled exclamation, this one clearly of alarm, and looked behind the door. I was just in time to catch the bound and gagged woman in a maid’s uniform and save her from falling helplessly backwards. I shouted for Peugeot. He bade the two women wait and followed me as I carried the woman into the sitting room.
She had been bound very securely. Her hands were behind her back, palms facing one another and tied with five or six loops about the wrists. The loops had been tightened by means of a seize of two turns made a right angles to the main loops. Her arms had been pressed against her back and sides by loops about them and her torso just below her bust and slightly above her elbow level and several more loops above her bust and around her upper arms. Her ankles had been tied with her feet side by side and, from the way her knees were pressed together I guessed that there must be more loops around her legs under her skirt. The woman’s mouth and lower face were covered by what appeared to be several layers of dusters. As I untied them I found two bound round her mouth and head as sealing for the gag, one between her teeth and a last one wadded into a ball and used to fill her mouth. As all these layers came away we were able to recognize Carrie the parlourmaid.
“Thank God!” she exclaimed as I helped her expel the gag wadding. “Please help Mrs. Bristol! She’s in the dining room!”
I had taken out my pocketknife and was unfolding the blade in preparation to cut her bonds.
“Never mind about me!” she urged, “I’ll be all right for a few minutes. See to Mrs. Bristol!”
We hurried across the hall to the dining room. At the far end of the table were a pad of paper and pencil and two teacups and saucers, one at the head and one at the corner place to its left. Mrs. Bristol was bound and gagged in the chair at the end. He eyes were opening and closing dazedly, and her head rolled and drooped from side to side. I removed the gag while Peugeot returned to the front door to summon Mrs. Daniels and Sally. I could hear their exclamations as they saw first Carrie and Mrs. Bristol, and Peugeot’s admonition to them to fetch a sharp knife from the kitchen to cut Carrie’s bonds.
“The knots are a clue most essential, most vital, you comprehend,” he said. “Do not untie them. The police will need to examine them.”
Mrs. Daniels said something I could not hear and the two bustled away.
Mrs. Bristol was bound to her chair with considerable thoroughness. Her arms had been passed between the center splat and outer stiles of the heavy wooden chair and her wrists crossed and tied securely. Two sets of cards passed around her torso and another set over her lap, pinning her to the back and seat of the chair. Her ankles were tied together and a separate piece of rope used to seize the ties had been run back to the stretcher under the seat. Her gag was an array of dusters almost identical to that used on Carrie. I sawed through the loops of rope, releasing the housekeeper from the chair. She looked at me in some confusion.
“What’s happened here, Major? Who I tied me up? Where’s Carrie?”
“You just rest easy, Mrs. Bristol,” I replied soothingly, leaning over to her. “Carrie’s all right and Mrs. Daniels and Sally will take care of you. Where are Lucy and Victoria?”
Mrs. Bristol rubbed the side of her face with her hand in effortful thought.
“They had gone up to bed, I think. It must’ve been last night. Mrs. Daniels made some cocoa for us. Carrie took some up to the young ladies and she and I had a cup here while we talked about what needed to be done when Sir Hugh and Lady Diana return. I started to feel a bit drowsy, last thing I remember. Next thing I knew, the front doorbell was ringing. Carrie was bound and gagged in her chair but not fastened to it. She managed to stand up and hop out toward the front door, then you gentlemen came in.
“And you’ve not seen Victoria or Lucy since last night?”
“No sir.” She grabbed my sleeve in sudden alarm. “You don’t think anything’s happened to them?”
I straightened up.
“We’ll see.”
I looked about for Peugeot whom I had left standing near the dining room door. I was amazed to find him again in the sitting room. Carrie was still bound hand and foot and seated in the chair in which I had placed her. She was watching Peugeot, who was gazing at the Christmas tree and the presents under it.
“Peugeot, we must find Lucy and Victoria Bromwell. They may be in danger.”
I was utterly astonished at his reply.
“You know, Bosworth, I believe that someone has disturbed the packages under this noble tree. See you there, the parcel with the shiny red paper has moved several inches to the right. And that one in the paper with les baies de houx has almost disappeared under that armchair. And the one in the papier pourpre appears much disarranged.”
“Peugeot,” I said, trying to control my exasperation, “the house gives every sign that there may have been a robbery here last night. It seems no great surprise that the miscreant may have gone through the packages under the tree in search of more loot.”
He looked at me with a quite astonished expression.
“Do you think so, mon ami? I suppose that you are right. What should we do in that case?”
“We’d better find out if Lucy and Victoria are all right.”
Mrs. Daniels reappeared brandishing a good-sized carving knife.
“We’ll have you loose in a moment, love,” she said to the maid.
I watched her cross to Carrie’s chair and was surprised to note that Carrie, far from being concerned over her own plight, was watching Peugeot with great interest and no little surprise of her own. Mrs. Daniels had begun cutting the ropes about the bound maid’s arms and was admonishing her to keep still before Carrie looked up and spoke to her.
Peugeot and I made for the stairs. Being much longer-legged, I took them two at a time, calling out to Lucy as I neared the first landing. I could hear muffled cries coming from a room down the hall, so I practically sprinted to the door. It had been left standing slightly open, and I flung it wide as I raced in.
The room was a richly appointed one, and obviously the room of a young woman from its colours and furnishings. Beyond that vague impression, I saw little beside the vision of helpless beauty on the large bed before me. Lucy Wetherby and Victoria Bromwell, in nightdresses, lay face to face in the center of the bed. They were both bound hand and foot and gagged and the shoulder straps of their nightdresses had been slipped off their shoulders and the tops of the garments pulled down around their waists. Their wrists had been tied behind their backs and their ankles tied side by side, then the two had been tied together at the feet, waists and upper torsos so that Victoria’s breasts were pressed firmly against Lucy’s. Both girls turned their faces to me as I burst in, their expressions a strange mingling of relief and agonized embarrassment.
“Don’t worry, girls,” I said gently, again taking out my pocketknife. “I’ll have you free in a tick.”
Victoria’s eyes widened in further alarm and she gave a gagged shriek as Peugeot appeared in the doorway behind me.
“I know how you feel about being seen like this, especially by a foreigner,” I whispered. “But believe me, Peugeot is the soul of discretion.”
My little friend’s eyes widened comically as he took in the scene of the two captive beauties.
“Mille tonnères!” he cried. “Make haste to release the young ladies, Bosworth.”
“Things are well in hand, Peugeot,” I replied trying to sound calm.
But I was hardly as composed as I tried to show. As I swung my hand toward my coat pocket to find my knife, my fingertips brushed across one of Victoria’s magnificent breasts. I heard the slight mew and swung my gaze from Peugeot to the two girls. I might have reddened had I not seen a certain look in Victoria’s sensual brown eyes. I quickly found my pocketknife and went to work on the ropes that bound them, starting with the three sets of loops pressing them together. Once I had them separated, I cut the cords holding their feet, the loops about their arms and upper bodies, and finally their wrist ropes. While I worked on Lucy’s wrist bonds, Victoria sat up on the other side of the bed. Still gagged and with her hands still tied behind her back, she seemed inordinately interested in watching Peugeot, who was strolling about the room and examining items on the dresser and vanity table and talking to himself softly. Though I could not hear his mutterings clearly, I caught various forms of the verb ‘déranger’ several times.
Finally, Lucy was freed. The girl pulled the top of her nightdress back into place and then reached up to remove her gag while I moved on to free Victoria’s hands.
“Thank goodness you came, Major!” exclaimed Lucy. “We’ve been tied up like this all night apparently. At least since I awoke at six o’clock.”
“We were just accepting your offer of breakfast, Lucy,” I replied. “This wasn’t exactly what we expected to find.”
I finished freeing Victoria’s hands. She turned to face me and reached behind her head to undo the gag ties. Unlike Lucy, she did not bother to replace the bodice of her nightgown before removing her gag. I must say that, despite some initial embarrassment on my part, the display was not only impressive but quite enjoyable as well.
“If you are feeling up to it,” Peugeot said quietly. “I think it would be well for you to examine the room, Lady Lucy. We must determine if this was un cambriolage and, if so, just what these voleurs were seeking.”
“Of course, M. Peugeot.”
Lucy rose and crossed to her dresser where Peugeot was examining a large jar of Pond’s Cold Cream. Victoria had undone the dusters bound over her gag and I chivalrously leaned forward to help her remove the wadded cloth from her mouth. The girl hummed her thanks to me as I reached for the ends of the cloth.
Lucy glanced at Victoria with an irritated expression.
“Vickie!” she whispered.
Victoria giggled as she looked down to note her exposed bosom. I waited as she pulled the straps back into place then helped her expel the sodden duster. She delicately wiped her lips with one of the covering dusters.
“Thank you, Major,” she said raising her eyes then quickly lowering them again. “I hope we didn’t embarrass you both with our... our...”
She trailed off.
“Neither of you is in any way to blame,” I said. “I just hope we can find out what this is all about and apprehend the fellows who did this to you.”
She laid a small hand on mine.
“Whatever happens, we owe you a great debt.”
Thoughts began to swirl around my head, dangerous thought for a man who would soon celebrate his fortieth birthday to entertain about a girl nearly half his age.
She peered at me earnestly.
“What kind of people are they, Major? I mean, who would tie two girls together as Lucy and I were? What else did they do here?”
“We found Mrs. Bristol and Carrie bound and gagged in the dining room,” I began. I pointed to a silver tray with two china cups and a matching pot on a little table nearby. “It appears that there was some sort of drug in the hot chocolate you drank last night. They then must have---“
A short but expressive cry from Lucy interrupted my explication. She turned to Peugeot and held up an empty jewel box for us to see.
“The Medford pearls are gone,” she announced.
THE two representatives of the Bedfordshire County Constabulary working on the case could not have been a starker contrast. Our call to the local police station in Silsoe was answered by the sergeant on duty who said he would come immediately. When he heard of the victim of the crime and the value of the missing items, the sergeant added that he would call the station in Luton and ask that a detective inspector from the C.I.D. be dispatched as well. Sergeant Sykes arrived first, and his was a comforting presence indeed. The sergeant was no less than six feet four inches tall with shoulders and chest that seemed to tax his uniform almost to breaking point. He had large, red hands that suggested that he had done a good deal of manual work. An unruly-looking moustache, turning slightly to grey (unsurprising in a man I would put closer to fifty than forty), failed to hide a very thoughtful, if not quick-witted, and kindly face.
Detective Inspector Gateley was quite different: not yet forty, he was a short and compact man in a smartly-fitting tweed suit with sharp eyes in his keen, ferret-like face. He had the annoying habits of rubbing his hands together in a self-satisfied way as he regarded the crime scene and of smiling in the same way as he listened to the recitations of the women of the house.
“I remember that Miss Bromwell and I were sitting on the bed drinking our cocoa and talking of some of the social affairs coming up, Inspector,” said Lucy Wetherby, last of the victims to tell her story to the officer. “We were both suddenly sleepy and I recall that I suggested that we should put on our night cream and retire before we fell asleep where we were, but I don’t remember putting on any cream or getting into bed. The next thing I knew, a bit of daylight was coming through the windows and Vickie and I were gagged and tied up face-to-face. She was already awake. We struggled to get free but were too securely trussed up. We tried calling for help, such as we could, but there was no one about. Finally, we heard the doorbell and a few minutes later Major Bosworth and M. Peugeot appeared to free us.”
Inspector Gateley turned his rather supercilious gaze upon Peugeot and me.
“And just how was it that you knew that a crime was going to be committed here, Monsoor?” he drawled.
“I did not know that any crime would be committed here, Inspector,” Peugeot answered placidly. “I only accompanied my friend Bosworth on a visit to his old friends.”
“And I’ve already shown you the telegram from Sir Hugh, Inspector,” I said in not the best of tempers. “You know that we came here at his request.”
“Ah, yes,” he said in a tone that approached a sneer. “A mysterious telegram with hints of danger and intrigue. Like something out of one of your books, isn’t it, sir? And just the thing to promote a new book, if you had one coming out.”
He turned to Lucy and Victoria.
“Or to promote a couple of young ladies anxious to be known in society.”
He looked at Carrie the parlourmaid.
“Or to get someone away from a job in service.”
He stopped and looked at the ceiling as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Or perhaps for some other reasons,” he said musingly.
Peugeot cleared his throat.
“I see that you are a man of many little notions, Inspector. But consider you: Miss Bromwell's family has a history of being opposed to society column publicity. Major Bosworth has no plans to publish a new book. And, since I am already famous, I certainly have no need of any réclame. Some of your theories will have to be examined once more.”
Sergeant Sykes was stroking his moustache thoughtfully. Having seen Peugeot do the same thing thousands of times over the years, I must say that watching the hulking Sergeant perform the identical fastidious action, with no observable results, struck me as extremely comical.
“Sir,” the sergeant said a voice reminiscent of a double-bassoon, “I think that you should know that we spotted Charles McCurdy in Silsoe this morning and took him into custody as a precaution.”
“Did you now?” the Inspector asked with great interest. “ Old ‘Bonny Prince Charlie!’ With what result?”
“Je vous demande pardon, sergent,” Peugeot interrupted, “but who is this ‘Prince Charlie’?”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Sykes. “He’s known as a swindler and sometime jewel thief. We’ve had a robbery or two in the area since the autumn and we like to keep our eye on him.” He turned to the inspector. “He had no jewels on him, sir. The only suspicious item was a ticket to London. He said he was on his way to Luton to catch the train when we stopped him. Sounded reasonable enough, save that it was only five in the morning when Constable Locke saw him, and he made every effort to avoid the constable when he tried to ask him his business. We’ve kept him at the station since then.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?” the Inspector asked sharply.
The gigantic sergeant shrugged.
“We had him in hand when the call from here came in. He didn’t have the pearls on his person, and there wasn’t anywhere he could have mailed them to himself. On the slim chance that he’d left them hidden somewhere, the inspector in Ampthill said to hold him for a few hours.”
Inspector Gateley pondered the matter.
“He’s a likely suspect all right,” he mused, “but he’s been out of action since his partner got locked up last August. The ‘Bonny Prince’ doesn’t work alone. Hasn’t the brains for it. All right, ladies. We’ll go on downstairs so you can dress. Come on gentlemen.”
Peugeot and I accompanied the two policemen and a constable who had taken notes for the inspector to the ground floor. Gately motioned us into the sitting room away from the other constables and the servants. He rubbed his hands.
“I want you to know that I don’t really believe what I said about you two having any motive for making a mystery here,” he said in such a wooden way that led I knew it to be an untruth. “What I have to consider first is that this might be a case of insurance fraud.”
I was utterly incensed.
“You mean you think that Hugh Wetherby---“
The inspector held up a hand.
“Hold your fire, Major,” he said placatingly. “I only said I have to consider it. I won't believe it until there’s plenty of evidence for it. We’ve searched the whole house and not found any trace of the pearls” He looked around to be sure no one else was within hearing. “Unless this is just some form of publicity stunt, which doesn’t seem likely, the one I have my eye one is the maid, Carrie Hart.”
Peugeot nodded. He twisted one end of his moustache and began to stroll about the room, staring at the carpet in deep thought.
“And why do you suspect her?”
“Obvious, isn’t it? If there’s anyone in this house who isn’t who she pretends to be, it’s she. She puts on a fair face of a servant, but you can tell that she really isn’t one. The housekeeper’s given me and earful about her, too.”
Peugeot had stopped walking and was again looking at the gifts under the Christmas tree. Mrs. Bristol had plugged in the electric lights, and the tree looked very festive.
“Do you know, Inspector, I think it would be well to have a word or two with the man that Sergeant Sykes has in custody in the Silsoe station.”
“You do?” he asked, regarding Peugeot with a gaze much less arrogant than before. “And why do you think that?”
“It is just a little notion of mine. Besides, if we do not recover the pearls, knowing the identity of the thief does is a victory most...“ He looked at me. “Creux? Vide?”
“Hollow,” I supplied.
Inspector Gateley looked uncertain.
“Well, I suppose it can’t do any harm.”
“Bon! I must make the little chat with someone, then we will go.”
Just whom Peugeot chatted with, I did not see. Presently, he returned and drew me aside. As I waited for Peugeot, I had considered the case and came to several conclusions. I decide to try them on Peugeot.
“Do you really believe that Carrie the maid is the thief?”
“It is truly astonishing that with an actual jewel thief in the area, that we are so anxious to believe that amateurs have done this robbery.”
“You mean that this man we’ve never seen is guilty?”
“The Inspector Gateley has said that the man McCurdy never works without a partner. I figured to myself that he might have a new partner, and decided to ask the Sergeant Sykes the identity of this former partner.” He looked at me in triumph. “It was one Dora Mays, or ‘Diamond Dora’ as she was better known.”
I saw the light.
“And you think that this Carrie Hart is his new partner?”
“She is obviously not a maid. And do you not find it interesting that she was the only woman who was bound and gagged but not tied to someone or something to prevent her movement about the house? ”
“I’d not considered that. But one might think that a clever thief might spend more than a week on the job before committing a robbery like this one.”
“True, but sometimes simple brazenness will work as well as a long-term, carefully laid plan.”
My little friend was being deliberately evasive.
“Peugeot,” I asked, “do you know who the culprit is, I mean who’s the Trojan Horse?”
Peugeot nodded.
“Oh, yes. And I find your remark most incisive, mon ami.”
I began to grow uneasy. Why were we going off in another direction with evil and possible danger afoot at Wrens’ House? Lucy, Victoria and the other women of the household were in peril, possibly deadly peril, with the accomplice in the house.
“I think,” my friend continued, “that for the safety of the women of the house you should remain here while the inspector and I interview this man McCurdy in Silsoe.”
I was much relieved.
“I’m very glad to hear you say that, Peugeot. I’ll make sure that Lucy and Victoria are kept safe while you’re gone. Are Sergeant Sykes and his constable staying as well?”
“They will be about.” He handed me a policeman’s whistle. “All you need to do is sound this whistle should you require their assistance.”
“Do you have any opinion about where I should station myself?”
His eyes flashed with bright green light as he regarded me.
“I do, though when you hear my little notion, you may conclude that I am in the grip of la démence indubitablement.”
“Why should I think you insane?”
He took hold of my lapel and pulled me inside the sitting room door as we heard footfalls on the stairs. Mrs. Bristol led Lucy and Victoria past us, heading for the kitchen. The girls still wore their nightdresses, though they were now wrapped in dressing gowns as well.
“Allons, Bosworth!” Peugeot whispered urgently. “Vite!”
We sprinted toward the stairs and on up. I was amazed at how quietly Peugeot could go in the patent leather boots he always wore. With a pull on my sleeve, he directed me to Lucy’s room, opened the cupboard door and pushed me inside.
“All depends on you, my friend! Your English prudery will be tested but, I beg you, do not act hastily or give away your presence. It is vital!”
Peugeot drew out his turnip-shaped pocket-watch and examined it.
“We should not, I think, be too long.”
He swung the door so that it appeared to be closed, but leaving a little space for me to see into the room. I heard the quiet tread of his boots on the carpet as he went to the door, out into the hallway and down the stairs. The voices of the inspector, Lucy and Victoria joined in some sort of brief chorus below before the front door shut. I then heard the women on stairs and approaching.
“Oh. Lucy, you poor thing!” Victoria lamented. “Your pearls have been stolen and somehow I feel that it’s all my fault.”
“Rubbish, darling,” Lucy replied. “How are you to blame for us being drugged and robbed?”
“I suppose it’s silly, but I just feel that if I hadn’t come to stay with you that none of this would have happened.”
Lucy slipped her arm around Victoria’s waist.
“That’s complete nonsense, Vickie. You didn’t bring the robbers with you. And I can’t believe that you’re sorry you came.”
I was utterly astonished to see Lucy tenderly take Victoria’s chin in one hand, turn her friend’s face to her own and kiss her softly on the lips. Victoria put her arms around Lucy and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. The blonde girl giggled.
“Even the being robbed part wasn’t so bad. We got to be tied up against each other with our breasts touching.”
“Yummy!” sighed Lucy, stealing another kiss. “It was too bad we were gagged. We couldn’t do this.”
They kissed again. Despite Peugeot’s warning about resisting my British prudery, I found it difficult not to interrupt this scene. The girls embraced again, kissing and nuzzling each other’s faces and necks. Victoria broke the embrace and leaned back against the vanity table. Her hand touched one of the unused pieces of rope that had been left by the gang.
“Come on, darling,” Victoria whispered with a lascivious grin. “Let’s have a bit more fun, shall we? Let me tie you up and have my wicked way with you.”
Lucy giggled.
“Do we dare right now? There may be policemen still about.”
Victoria rubbed her chin and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment.
“I’ll just go downstairs and tell Mrs. Bristol that we need to rest for an hour or two. That should keep the crowd away. And it will give me a chance to pick up some more rope. I know where the maids keep extra washing line.”
Lucy was looking at her doubtfully. She broke into a smile.
“All right. But we must be careful.”
Victoria gave a little squeal of delight, covering her mouth with her own hands when she heard how loud it had come out.
“You undress, Lucy dear. I’ll be right back.”
She flew from the room and down the stairs. Lucy quietly closed the door and removed her dressing gown and nightdress. I had always had an avuncular affection for Lucy, a feeling that had been sorely tested by discovering her bare-breasted and bound not two hours before. That test was quickly forgotten as I saw her completely revealed in all the beauty and grace of young womanhood. She tossed her nightdress onto the vanity table with an easy, dance-like gesture and stood for a moment, regarding the exquisite curves of her figure in the mirror. She stroked her breasts, her sides, her belly and her hips as though checking to see if all of the beautiful form in the mirror was hers.
There was a knock at the door. Victoria’s voice came through. Lucy hurried to open it. Her arms full of rope, Victoria Bromwell hurried in.
“I’ve got it!” she whispered triumphantly. “Prepare to be my prisoner! Turn round and put your hands behind you.”
Lucy giggled as she turned her back and presented her hands.
“Don’t make it too tight now, Vickie,” she cautioned. “For I intend to take you prisoner next and I shan’t hesitate to do the same to you.”
Victoria leaned over and kissed Lucy’s neck.
“I hope you will, my darling Lucy.”
Lucy gasped then shrieked softly as Victoria bound her hands behind her back. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Ooh, that feels very secure, darling. Are you certain that you didn’t give lessons to those men who robbed us?”
Victoria took up a longer piece of rope and began wrapping Lucy’s arms and body just below her lovely breasts.
“Why do you assume that they were men? I think that a woman would tie another woman much more securely and knowingly. Don’t you?”
“And much more pleasurably too.”
Victoria looped another set of cords about Lucy’s arms and body just above her waist.
“I’m pretty much helpless for you now,” said Lucy softly, looking coyly at her captor. “There’s no way I can resist you.”
“But you might try to run from me, my girl,” said Victoria, picking up another rope. “I must see to those feet and legs.”
Lucy sat on the edge of the bed and allowed Victoria to bind her ankles and legs just above the knees. She stepped back to look at her prisoner.
“What say you now, my proud beauty?” the blonde intoned melodramatically. “Will you be mine, or shall it be the sawmill for you?”
Lucy looked up defiantly.
“I will never yield to you.”
Victoria swung Lucy’s feet onto the bed then threw herself on the bound girl. The two engaged in an unequal wrestling match, giggling all the while. Finally, they lay still as Victoria began kissing Lucy in earnest. I had seen more that I was able to bear and was about to interrupt when I heard another woman’s voice from the doorway.
“That will be enough, Maisie.”
Though I could not see the speaker, I recognized the voice of Carrie Hart. Lucy and Victoria stopped and looked up.
“I’m sure that this is none of your affair, my girl,” Victoria said sharply. “Get back to your work this instant if you don’t want to be discharged immediately.”
“Yes, Carrie,” added Lucy in a kindlier tone. “Despite appearances, everything is all right.”
“It’s not Carrie, Miss Wetherby,” said the maid. “My name is Caroline Hart, and I’m an investigator for your family’s insurance company. And we have reason to believe that---“
She stopped abruptly. I looked closer and saw that Victoria had produced a small pistol from somewhere and was pointing it at the maid.
“That’s enough, girl,” snapped Victoria, in much less cultured tones than before. “It looks like I’ll have to deal with you too.”
I was very glad that I had followed Peugeot’s directive about not intervening in anything too early, even though I had not understood it. I waited, hoping that Victoria would carelessly let the pistol get beyond her reach so that I could seize an opportunity to surprise her. But no chance presented itself. I watched helplessly as she bound Miss Hart to a sturdy chair, then gagged both of her captives.
“You little fool,” she said to Lucy. “I hope you enjoyed the bit of fun we had together, ‘cause now’s time to pay.”
Lucy’s looked at her erstwhile lover with fear-filled eyes.
“The insurance dick here is right. It was my partner and me who stole the pearls. I drugged the cocoa and we picked up the necklace. We could’ve left it at that, but I decided to have a little fun by tying up everybody and letting Charlie tie me up against you.” She looked at Miss Hart. “Did you like that little touch of tying you up but not tying you to anything? That way you could get to the door and let help in. And since you could get about, you were also the most likely suspect for an inside job. It would’ve been interesting to see if they’d have pinned the nick on you.”
She picked up one of the pillows from the bed.
“I never wanted any violence. I’d have been content with the pearls. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
She laid the pistol on the vanity and raised the pillow, looking at Lucy.
“Just a few seconds over the face, ducky, and it’ll be all over. If you don’t struggle too much, it won’t be too hard on you.” She turned to Miss Hart. “And there’ll be a few arrangements to make before I can get to you, luv. You see, you’re going to be the one who done Lucy in. You’ll just have to be patient and wait your turn.”
She raised the pillow and headed for Lucy. The bound girl shook her head helplessly and moaned into her gag. Seeing my chance, I raised the whistle to my lips and blew then bolted from the cupboard. I seized the pillow and wrestled it from Victoria’s hands. She tried to reach the gun but I grabbed her and held her fast. The hulking form of Sergeant Sykes appeared in the doorway. In two quick strides he had crossed the room and grabbed Victoria from behind. A constable appeared from the hallway and produced a set of manacles. I held her as they easily twisted her arms behind her and applied the cuffs to her wrists. As I paused to catch my breath I was surprised to see Peugeot and Inspector Gateley in the hall.
Peugeot entered the room holding the package wrapped in purple paper.
“Thank you, Sergeant Sykes,” Peugeot said. “Now, Inspector, if you and Major Bosworth will be good enough to release Lady Lucy and the other woman, I believe I can show you how this crime was to be accomplished.”
Before our wondering eyes, he ripped the paper from the present.
“If you did not see the card, this was a gift to Lady Victoria,” he noted.
It was a large jar of Pond’s Cold Cream, identical to the one on Lucy’s dresser. Peugeot unscrewed the lid and placed it on the bed. Daintily, he dug two fingers into the cream and after a moment’s search pulled them out again. He wiped the cream away to reveal a large pearl.
“Your remark of the horse of the Troyens was particularly apt,” said Peugeot.
“IT was not a difficult case,” Peugeot remarked as we rode back to Luton in our hired car. “The fact that the young woman was not Victoria Bromwell was evident from the beginning. You have your habit of reading aloud to me from the society columns. While I had seen no photographs of the beautiful Miss Bromwell, those reports never failed to mention her blue eyes. This young woman had brown eyes.”
“I’m afraid that I didn’t notice, Peugeot,” I said sadly.
“Ah, yes. She had the face quite beautiful and a figure most pleasing. It was something that most people would not notice.”
“But how did you know that the maid wasn’t the danger?”
“The most obvious source of danger was the pearls, which make an ideal target for a thief. I reasoned that Lady Lucy’s new friend of a few weeks might be the cause of sudden danger. From where or whom would hints of danger come? Miss Hart informed me that the company was suspicious of Maisie Lewis and her partner, ‘Charles the Bonny Prince,’ and had warned Sir Hugh when the woman came to visit his daughter. With Sir Hugh’s permission the company sent Miss Hart to take a temporary position at Wrens’ House to watch the situation.”
I overlooked my irritation with Peugeot’s mangling of a name from British history. I believe that he sometimes uses poor English intentionally
“And all they did was arouse everyone’s suspicions because she didn’t behave as a normal maid would. Perhaps not the best plan.”
My little friend shrugged.
“And what would you think had they stood by and done nothing while a client was robbed?”
“I suppose you’re right,” I admitted. “Then I actually did see Miss Hart in the mirror listening and watching what was going on.”
Peugeot nodded.
“And what you thought was some innocent straightening of the skirts was actually une touche intime between the two young ladies. This Maisie Lewis, the false Lady Victoria, used weapons sexual on her female victims as well as male.”
“Then you don’t think that Lucy is actually... well, that way, if you take my meaning.’
Peugeot shook his head.
“Oh, the English, Bosworth,” he moaned. “So shocked that such things exist. To answer your question, I would say probably not. Only time will tell, and there is no need for me to make the details of anyone’s life public. That is a sport that the English gossip columns do so much better than Henri Peugeot ever could.”
“And you’ll find Hugh very appreciative of that fact. I spoke to him on the telephone before we left and I’m embarrassed to tell you the size of cheque he’ll be sending you.”
“I have no great needs at this time,’ he mused. “Perhaps I shall spend it on presents for le Noël. Miss Lime needs, I think, new galoshes. And the Chief inspector Sapp enjoys the gardening. Something for him, too.”
I watched Peugeot affectionately as he continued his list. Surely, friendship was among the greatest gifts of all.
| Copyright © 2003 by Frank Knebel |