Murder on Skiathos Page 22

  ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ said Rose in a conciliatory tone. ‘We thought you were a reporter looking for a scoop. We were trying to protect the duchess’ reputation. Of course, if we had known the truth …’ She did not complete her sentence, allowing Mr Vickers to interpret it as he wished. She paused a moment and then asked rather abruptly: ‘Didn’t you say Mr Dewhurst’s name was really Goodfellow?’

  ‘That’s right. You’ve got a good memory, your ladyship, so you have. Mr Alec Goodfellow, that’s him. Been in trouble with the law on account of being something of a petty crook. Preys on rich women a lot older than himself, he does. Some of them are foolish enough to give him gifts. Them as don’t he helps himself to a little bit of their money. We’re not talking their life savings, just a bit of the housekeeping, like, as you might call it. Course, most of ’em don’t say nothing, but one or two of ’em takes a pretty dim view of it and kicks up a stink, as it were. Anyway, he found himself stood in the dock. Put in jug, he was. I daresay it was a bit of a shock to him, not that he didn’t have it coming. But usually the women he went after had a husband lurking somewhere in the background and that sort don’t want a scandal.’

  ‘Do you think he was above a little blackmail?’ asked Rose curiously.

  ‘I can’t say as how he was, or how he wasn’t. Though, to tell you the truth, I don’t think blackmail was much in his line,’ replied the private enquiry agent reflectively, rubbing a rather spotty chin with his hand. ‘Not for any moral reasons, mind. He’d have done it all right if it were easy, like. But I think he thought it was too much effort and a bit of a risk. When he tired of a woman, or she tired of him, he just got himself another. You met him. He could be quite charming when he put his mind to it and, with those looks of his, he was spoilt for choice. What with women being the silly creatures they are over a handsome man, begging your pardon, your ladyship, meaning no offence, like. But Goodfellow could pass himself off as a proper gent, all right.’ He sighed. ‘Still, even he must have thought someone was looking down on him and smiling when he bagged a duchess.’

  ‘Where were you last night?’ demanded Mr Kettering abruptly. He had finished scribbling down one or two notes concerning Mr Goodfellow’s character and had become rather bored by Mr Vickers’ endless chatter. Really, he did not know why Lady Belvedere encouraged the fellow. The man could talk the hind leg off a donkey given half the chance.

  ‘You know where I was last night,’ replied Mr Vickers, sounding vexed. ‘In my room licking my wounds, I was. You took my camera off me and locked it in that there safe of yours. Aye, and I’ll have it back, thank you very much or you’ll have Jameson to answer to. Stealing, that’s what I call it.’

  ‘Where were you last night, say eleven o’clock?’ persisted the hotel proprietor.

  ‘Sitting in my room fuming and wondering whether Jameson would accept a written account of the duchess being here on Skiathos instead of a photograph of her as proof.’

  ‘You were in a frightful temper, if I remember rightly,’ said Mr Kettering. ‘Who’s to say you didn’t leave your room unobserved and meet with Mr Dewhurst?’

  ‘No one at all,’ said Mr Vickers, with an unpleasant leer. ‘And no one’s to say I didn’t creep up behind him and bump him on the head, neither, if that’s what you’re getting at. But you can’t prove nothing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past the likes of you to try your hand at a bit of blackmail,’ retorted Mr Kettering.

  ‘’Ere, that’s –’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Vickers, you may go,’ said Rose quickly, fearing matters were getting rather out of hand.

  She shot Mr Kettering a warning glance. She had expected him to sit quietly and take notes, not to antagonise the witnesses and suspects. She waited until Mr Vickers had made his way to the door before she added, almost as if it were an afterthought: ‘I’d be most grateful if you would leave the investigating to us with regard to Mr Dewhurst’s murder.’

  The private enquiry agent turned and grinned. ‘Don’t you go worrying your pretty little head about that, my lady. I ain’t poking my nose in this here murder. It’s more than my job’s worth, what with me being employed to find the duchess and all. Jameson will take a pretty dim view of it, I can tell you, if I goes about getting evidence to convict her, what with the old duke employing us, like. He’ll not want to believe his wife’s a murderess, even if everyone else does!’

  ‘What an objectionable fellow. I wouldn’t trust the man an inch, your ladyship,’ remarked Mr Kettering, the moment the door had closed behind the private enquiry agent.

  Rose nodded, somewhat preoccupied, though it occurred to her that even Mr Vickers could be in little doubt regarding the hotel proprietor’s inherent distrust of him. Before she could pass comment, however, the door opened again and her husband entered, carrying a brown leather traveller’s bag, which she recognised as his own. He placed it with care on a chair and the hotel proprietor proceeded to give him a detailed account of their interview with Mr Vickers.

  ‘Well I never! A private enquiry agent, you say?’ Cedric chuckled. ‘I can just imagine Vickers lurking in the shadows spying on some unfortunate victim.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past that fellow to try his hand at a bit of blackmail,’ said Mr Kettering, with feeling. ‘I doubt he earns much in the ordinary course of things, not by the look of him.’

  ‘You may be right,’ the earl replied, a little cautiously. ‘I admit I never took to the fellow.’

  ‘He seems to me just the sort who’d like nothing better than to twist some money out of a scoundrel like Dewhurst,’ continued the hotel proprietor with relish. ‘He’d probably tell himself the fellow deserved it.’ He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘Who’s to say he didn’t have a quiet word with Dewhurst? He might have said he wouldn’t disclose certain information to the duke in exchange for a sum of money.’

  ‘Or alternatively,’ suggested Rose, ‘he might have threatened to tell the duchess about Dewhurst’s past unless he was paid to keep quiet. I doubt very much if the Duchess of Grismere is aware of his criminal record.’

  ‘I say, your ladyship, you might be right,’ agreed Mr Kettering enthusiastically, straightening his horn-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘Dewhurst wouldn’t have stood for it, of course,’ said Cedric, entering into the spirit of the discussion. ‘I mean to say, he didn’t strike me as the sort of chap who’d permit himself to be blackmailed.’ He began to pace the room. ‘Vickers and Dewhurst arrange to meet at the cliff edge. They would have chosen a late hour when they could safely assume the other guests had retired for the night. They quarrel and … no, that won’t do. One can make quite a good case for why Dewhurst might have killed Vickers, but not the other way around.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the hotel proprietor. ‘Why would Vickers kill Dewhurst if he saw him as the goose that would lay the golden egg, as it were? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Dewhurst might have threatened him,’ said Rose.

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Cedric, ‘but in a struggle, I’d put my money on Dewhurst winning. Physically, Vickers is a pretty inferior specimen. He’s the sort of fellow one could knock down with a feather.’

  ‘But, if you remember,’ Rose said, ‘Mr Dewhurst was struck from behind. It would have been perfectly possible for Mr Vickers to have aimed the blow, particularly if Alec Dewhurst did not consider that the man posed a physical threat to him.

  There was a short silence while each imagined various scenarios involving Mr Vickers in the death of Alec Dewhurst. At length, Rose turned her attention to the stout leather traveller’s bag.

  ‘It contains all the trinkets that Dr Costas and I found stuffed in Dewhurst’s pockets,’ explained Cedric, following her gaze. He proceeded to empty the bag. When he was finished, there was quite a display of jewellery boxes and pouches. ‘It’s all here,’ he said, emptying the contents from the various boxes and pouches on to the hotel proprietor’s desk. ‘Ten pairs of gold cufflinks; fiv
e pairs of gold collar pins; seven gold tie clasps; four pairs of gold shirt studs and six gold pocket watches.’

  Rose examined each item carefully, turning them over in her hands, while Mr Kettering hovered at her shoulder observing that it represented quite a haul.

  ‘It certainly does,’ agreed the earl. ‘If he was prudent, a man could live on the proceeds from this little lot for quite a long time. I suppose a fellow in Dewhurst’s line of work would regard it as a sort of pension, to be plundered when times were lean.’

  ‘Are these all the trinkets that you found?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Yes. I say, is something missing?’ Cedric asked sharply.

  ‘The gold full hunter pocket watch,’ Rose answered, ‘The one Mabel Adler examined and commented on at dinner last night. There were clusters of diamonds on the outer casing. I remember distinctly because they shone in the candlelight.’

  Cedric picked up the various pocket watches. ‘These are all gold, all right, but four are half hunters.’ He paused to examine closely the two remaining full hunter pocket watches. The outer casing of one was elaborately engraved with a design of entwining leaves and flowers; the case of the other was plain except for a few diamonds in the very centre. ‘No large clusters of diamonds on either,’ he said, ‘I say, is it at all possible that you were mistaken? Dewhurst didn’t strike me as the sort of chap to misplace a valuable piece of jewellery. It ought to be here with the rest.’

  ‘It might have been stolen,’ said Mr Kettering, looking anxious. He caught Rose’s eye. It was evident that the same thought had occurred to both of them. Rose remembered all too vividly the small velvet pouch that had caught on one of the finials of the fireplace in the Trimble sisters’ room. She shuddered and said aloud: ‘It is quite possible I was mistaken. If we do not find the pocket watch in Mr Dewhurst’s rooms, I suggest we ask Miss Adler to scrutinise these pocket watches. She should be able to tell us if any of them is the one she examined last night.’

  Rose glanced at her wristwatch, conscious that the hotel guests were still waiting in the dining room and no doubt becoming restless.

  ‘On reflection, I don’t see why the others might not return to their rooms or go out on to the hotel terrace,’ she said. ‘I daresay they are feeling rather bored. We can always send for them when we wish to speak with them. After all, we have done a thorough search of their rooms.’

  ‘Very good, your ladyship’ said Mr Kettering. ‘I’ll inform them myself.’ He crossed the room. At the door he turned and inquired who they would be speaking to next.

  ‘I think,’ said Rose, ‘I should like to have another word with the duchess. She, of all people, should be able to tell us about Mr Dewhurst and whether he had any enemies.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘The Misses Trimble,’ said Mr Kettering, as they made their way towards the Dewhursts’ suite of rooms. ‘Would it not be as well to speak to them now? They may well have the pocket watch on their person.’

  ‘I do not propose that we search each guest,’ said Rose, certain that such a request would be met with opposition. ‘We shall speak to the Misses Trimble after we have spoken to the duchess. The Duchess of Grismere was undoubtedly the last person to see Mr Dewhurst alive, other than the murderer, of course.’ Mr Kettering shrugged, clearly of the opinion that she was making a grave mistake in not speaking with the Trimble sisters immediately.

  ‘I have a suspicion,’ said Rose, ‘that they will restore the pocket watch to its hiding place in the chimney as soon as they return to their room. It will be easy enough for us to find it there.’

  ‘If they do that,’ commented the hotel proprietor, ‘they will find that your silver brooch is missing.’

  ‘Only if they unfold the handkerchief in which the brooch was hidden,’ replied Rose. ‘I was very careful to refold it and put it back where I found it in the chimney. I even retied the ribbon.’

  Miss Calder answered the hotel proprietor’s knock on the Dewhursts’ door. She gave the impression that she had been standing behind it waiting for them and burst into speech almost before the door was fully open.

  ‘The poor dear,’ she said, presumably referring to her mistress. ‘She’s just finishing her second cup of tea. Bearing up quite well, she is, all things considered. Had a little sleep, which has done her a world of good.’ She put her hand to her chest and declared for the umpteenth time: ‘Awful fond of her brother she was.’

  Rose and Mr Kettering exchanged meaningful glances. Even now, it seemed, the lady’s maid was ignorant of her mistress’ true identity or the real nature of her relationship with Alec Dewhurst.

  They followed Miss Calder into the sitting room where the duchess was reclining on one of the sofas, propped up by an abundance of cushions. A thin blanket had been placed over her legs. She made no effort to get up to receive her visitors, or indeed to alter her position on the sofa. To Rose’s mind, the woman gave every appearance of being the invalid that Alec Dewhurst had purported her to be.

  A quick glance at the duchess’ face was sufficient to inform her that the woman was not particularly pleased to see her callers. Rather, she gave the impression that she was mildly irritated by the intrusion.

  ‘You may go, Calder,’ said her mistress. ‘Close the door behind you. I suppose,’ she said, looking at the hotel proprietor, and addressing him in her most haughty voice, ‘you have come to pay your condolences. It is not necessary. I should prefer to be left alone.’

  ‘I’m afraid that is not possible, your grace,’ said Rose. She sat down firmly on the opposite sofa even though she had not been offered a seat. Mr Kettering remained standing rather awkwardly at the door.

  ‘I informed you earlier this morning,’ Rose continued, ‘that Mr Dewhurst had been murdered. I should like to inform you that I am now here in something of an official capacity. That is to say, Mr Kettering has engaged me to investigate Mr Dewhurst’s death. You may not be aware of the fact,’ she said, conscious that the colour was rising in her cheeks, ‘but I am by way of being an amateur sleuth.’

  This statement was met with a resolute silence, which it appeared Mr Kettering felt it his duty to fill.

  ‘Yes, indeed … Miss … your grace,’ he said, rather ingratiatingly. ‘Lady Belvedere has a great reputation in that regard. She is, in fact, held in the very highest of esteem by Scotland Yard. They have consulted her ladyship on a number of cases.’

  ‘Have they, indeed?’ said the duchess, looking from one to the other of them with a degree of contemptuous amusement.

  Rose’s cheeks, still flushed after so glowing an endorsement from the hotel proprietor concerning her detecting abilities, reddened further under the duchess’ mocking smile. For it was patently obvious that the woman was highly cynical of such claims. Faced with such overt scepticism, Rose fought the temptation to inform her of the various cases in which she had played a salient part in solving the murder in question. Instead, she said:

  ‘Mr Kettering has sent for an acquaintance of his, who holds a position in the civilian city police force in Athens. In the meantime, I shall be undertaking my own investigation into this affair. I am aware that this has been a dreadful shock for you.’ She paused a moment to consider carefully her next words. ‘I am aware also,’ she said, speaking slowly, ‘that this is a delicate matter. While I assure you that you may rely on my discretion, I shall need to be in possession of all the facts.’

  The Duchess of Grismere turned rather pale. Some of her haughtiness left her, but a streak of anger quickly rose to the surface and gave her a flush of colour. She said, in something of a cold voice:

  ‘It seems to me, Lady Belvedere, that you are already in possession of all the relevant facts. Indeed, you and I have engaged in endless conversations where I have done very little else but inform you of all the facts.’

  While Rose was of the opposite opinion, she did not feel it worthwhile to argue the point. Instead, she said:

  ‘Will you tell me when you first made
Mr Dewhurst’s acquaintance?’

  ‘In the spring at some ball or other,’ said the duchess, somewhat evasively. ‘You needn’t bother to ask me any questions about … about my relationship with Alec. I shan’t answer them if you do. Do you hear me? I … I don’t want to go over it; it doesn’t do any good.’ She put a hand up to her forehead and covered her face. ‘Besides,’ she added wearily, the expression in her eyes hidden by her hand, ‘you … you know what they were.’

  ‘Are you aware of whether Mr Dewhurst had any enemies?’ asked Rose, somewhat frustrated by the duchess’ stubborn refusal to answer specific questions, and those she did, not in detail. The girl was determined, however, not to be swayed from asking the questions she had in mind.

  ‘You know the sort of man he was,’ replied the duchess, with a note of bitterness. ‘He was the type to make enemies. I am sure he had a great many.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Mr Dewhurst?’ continued Rose, feeling that she was making very little progress.

  ‘I imagine it was the same time that you did, yourself, Lady Belvedere,’ said the duchess, raising her head to look at her questioner. ‘The last time I saw him, I was standing talking to you by the tennis court. Mr Dewhurst was running, hand in hand, with Miss Adler towards the cliff edge. After our conversation … well, I was upset. I returned to my rooms.’

  ‘You didn’t see Mr Dewhurst again?’ persisted Rose.

  ‘I have just this minute told you that I did not,’ replied the duchess, a note of impatience in her voice.

  ‘You might not have actually seen him, but perhaps you heard him return to your rooms?’

  ‘No. I took a sleeping draught. It is a habit of mine. I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.’

  ‘Were you aware that Dewhurst was not Mr Dewhurst’s real name?’

  ‘What do you mean?’