The Case of the Magic Mirror: A Ludovic Travers Mystery Read online

  “She’s coming round,” I said. “It was the shock of hearing about Mr. Passman.”

  “The poor dear!” she said. “And what a morning, sir! Never, never did I—”

  I cut her moaning short. “Shall we carry her up to her room?”

  We went on up, Mrs. Day fluttered behind. When I came down a man was at the foot of the stairs. He was giving me an inquiring look before I reached the bottom, but I had some cards on me and I handed him one.

  “I seem to know your name, sir,” he said.

  I told him a little about myself, and then he remembered me and a certain case that George Wharton and I had been on.

  “I’m Venter,” he said. “Inspector Venter of Bury St. Edmunds, Perhaps you remember me, sir.”

  I said I did, and then I told him what I was doing at Brazenoak, through the version was a carefully edited one. Then I asked where the body was, and he was taking me along to the study.

  Joe Passman lay at right angles to the front door of the study with his head towards it. His face was sideways, and there was on it an expression of either horror or tremendous surprise. Venter stooped and turned the body slightly over, and I saw a knife driven right home in the left breast. It was a sturdy, black-handled knife of the kind a butcher might use, and there must have been a vicious strength behind it.

  “Your doctor seen him?” I said.

  “Yes, and he’s gone,” Venter said. “There wasn’t a thing he could do.”

  “Prints on the knife?”

  “None.”

  “Anything missing from his pockets?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Not as far as we know, sir. But we’re not worrying about details like that. We know who did it.”

  My eyebrows lifted inquiringly.

  “Sivley,” he said. “He was actually seen in the grounds making his getaway.”

  “Then the hue and cry’s out?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ve just rushed a description to the Yard. The whole country’ll be on the look-out for him before the afternoon’s gone.”

  The telephone went and he picked up the receiver.

  “Hallo? . . . Sorry, sir, but you can’t speak to Mr. Passman. Well, sir, he’s dead. . . . Yes, that’s right, sir. . . . And who is it speaking, please?”

  There were nods and grunts and the latter were all that I could hear.

  “I understand, sir,” Venter resumed. “Yes, sir; Mrs. Craigne’s very upset, but she’s standing it well on the whole. . . . No, sorry, sir, I’m afraid you can’t come here, not at present. . . . I will, sir. Good-bye.”

  “An American gentleman staying at the Oak,” he said. “Says he was going to Trimport with Mr. Passman this afternoon. In fact they should have started ten minutes ago, that’s why he rang up.”

  “Mrs. Craigne mentioned him to me,” I said. “A very nice fellow, I believe, and very well-to-do. But about this business, Venter. What’s this about Sivley being seen?”

  “An under gardener saw him cutting away through the woods just across there,” he said. “He spotted him at once. He should have knocked off at twelve, but was doing something in those glass-houses. He hollered to Sivley to know what he wanted, but Sivley was out of sight like a shot. Another minute and this gardener heard the sound of a motor-bike.”

  I nodded and was running an eye round the room. “Passman was reading his paper,” I said. “Matthews brought him a tankard of beer—”

  “At twelve-thirty,” interrupted Venter with a dry smile.

  “And Passman had half finished it,” I went on with a nod of thanks. “Sivley came through that side-door. Passman heard a sound and looked round. Sivley whipped out the knife and had it in him as he hoisted himself from the chair. Passman fell where he is now, and he didn’t feel a thing. Sivley must have had the nerve to bolt out at this front door.”

  “That’s how I worked it out too,” he said. “That shrubbery gave him cover to reach that side-door except for a ten-yard dash.”

  “And now I’ll tell you something,” I said, and I made his eyes pop when he heard what had happened that morning.

  “My God!” he said. “He did what he said he’d do. Were you in court when he made that threat?”

  “I was,” I said, “and it’s something I’ll never forget. All the same, I took it for so much hot air.”

  “To tell the truth, so did I,” he said. “I’ve heard that sort of stuff before. But the nerve of him, sir! Doing Mr. Craigne in and calmly getting on that motor-bike and doing the other one in before the news got through.”

  “Yes.” I said, “and I’m open to make a bet with you. I don’t think you’ll get him again. He’ll have sense to know he can’t get clear and he’ll do himself in.”

  “I won’t bet,” he said, “but I don’t think you’ll be right.”

  Then he was asking to be excused. He’d have to get Trimport it once, and there’d be endless other telephoning to do. The ambulance was coming and a photographer and another print man.

  “I don’t think I’ll worry Matthews for a meal,” I said. “I’ll get something at the Oak. I’ll be there if you should happen to want me. And do you mind if I have a word with Mrs. Craigne, if she’s well enough?”

  Charlotte was seated in an easy-chair before the open window, and she gave me a wan smile as I came in. Mrs. Day was kneeling by the chair and had evidently been in the act of coaxing her into eating something. She scrambled to her feet as I came in.

  “Feeling better?” I said to Charlotte.

  “Much better. You were so good.”

  “Well, I won’t worry you now,” I said. “I’ll come back later in the afternoon. I’m going on to the Oak now to get a bite of lunch. Better than worrying everybody here, And, by the way, I told Inspector Venter, who’s in charge here, exactly what happened this morning, word for word.”

  Her eyes narrowed momentarily, but she was smiling as she nodded.

  “Make her eat something, Mrs. Day,” I said. “And take care you eat it, Charlotte. See you later, then.”

  A nod and a smile and I was gone. As I drove to the Oak I ought to have been a gratified man, and for many reasons, and yet I wasn’t. The morning had been too ghastly, perhaps, and I was like a man placed before a mouth-watering meal but with no appetite to eat.

  As I drew up before the Oak I caught sight of Frank sitting at ease on the side lawn, a spot that gave strategic views of the cross-roads. He made signs for me to go in the front way, and in a minute he was with me.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “You got my letter then?”

  “How could I be here if I hadn’t?” I said. “You got mine, too?”

  “Sure,” he said, and then was seizing my hand again. “Well, if it isn’t great to see you. What about a drink?”

  “I don’t think I will,” I said. All this, by the way, was for the benefit of the landlady. “What I would like is a bite of something to eat. Eight o’clock this morning was my last meal.”

  “Sure”, he said. “Mrs. Porter, could you send Smith up with a tray of something to my room? And a tankard? Make it two tankards.”

  We had the best room in the place and again with a strategic view each way along the road. The clock tower at the Manor was just visible through a gap in the trees.

  “We shan’t be overheard,” he said, and in his natural voice.

  “As an American you’re terrific,” I told him. “Just exactly right. Familiar, but far from gaudy.”

  “Cut out the Polonius stuff”, he grinned. “You’re in a taxi now and the clock’s ticking. What’s the lowdown on Passman?”

  “I was at the Manor when you rang up just now,” I said. “There’s an Inspector Venter on the job, and I happen to know him.”

  “Yes,” he said impatiently, “but what’s this about Passman being dead? All I’ve heard is village rumours. That’s why I rang.”

  “You tell me the rumours,” I said.

  “A police car dashed up to old Mrs. Sivley’s cott
age and everybody said Sivley was being arrested again. Then someone saw a copper at the Manor gate and everyone was saying Sivley had killed Passman, just as he threatened. When I say everyone, I mean talk in the pub. The place has been seething with excitement. They could hardly clear the bar at closing time.”

  My lunch tray came in—cold beef and ham, salad, and a slab of gooseberry tart. The man who brought it didn’t look like a waiter.

  “Put it over here, Smith,” Frank said. “And put my beer here. This is my man. Answering to the name of Smith.”

  Smith was well-trained, for he didn’t even look at me. I had a look at him, and for all his quietness he seemed a hard-boiled customer. He had a simian upper lip, two chins and goggling eyes of blue that seemed perpetually startled, and his short crisp hair was the kind that comes low down on the forehead and gives a beetling look.

  “That all, sir?” he asked Frank, and at the same time gave me a quick look.

  “Just a minute,” I said. “It might be as well if Smith listened to what I’ve got to say.”

  Smith peered from the door and then turned the key. I talked between bites, and I went over the events of the morning from the moment Charlotte rang me up till the moment I’d entered the Oak. The others made no comment. The story was dramatic enough in all conscience, and I don’t see what questions they could have asked. In fact it was I who asked the first question.

  “You followed Sivley to the Ipswich bus, didn’t you, Smith?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What clothes was he wearing?”

  “Tweed cap, black and white check, biscuit-coloured sports coat, grey flannel trousers and brown boots,” he told me promptly.

  “How big was the case he carried?”

  “A large-sized attaché-case. About so big. Enough to hold pyjamas and toilet things. Maybe a bit more. It was light enough, by the way he carried it.”

  “What’s the idea?” Frank asked me. “You want to hand over that description to Venter?”

  “Lord, no!” I said. “The police have their own description, which they got from that under-gardener. At least, I guess that’s where they got it from. It’d be bang up-to-the-minute as regards clothes. But hadn’t Smith better be taking that tray down? It might seem funny if he’s away too long.”

  Smith began clearing the table at once.

  “But this is the real point,” I said. “Is Rogerley still here?”

  “He was this morning,” Frank said. “We’ve been keeping a quiet eye on him. Wait a minute.” He got out his small note-book. “Nothing important for to-day. He went out at ten and carried a stick as if he was going for a walk.”

  “He called on old Mrs. Sivley,” put in Smith.

  “You didn’t tell me?”

  “Never had a chance, sir,” Smith told him calmly. “I only learnt it just now. He went round the back of the church way and called as I said. He wasn’t there two minutes, and then he went along the Ipswich road for a walk. He didn’t get in to lunch till five past one.”

  “This is what I’d like to have done,” I said. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know, except that I’m a curious bloke, and I can’t for the life of me think why Rogerley came down here. I’d like Smith, or you, Frank, to tell Rogerley the Passman news. Just about being stabbed, and Sivley being seen will do. Watch his reactions.”

  “You get on with it,” Frank told Smith, “but mind you don’t tell him too much.”

  When Smith had gone I let out a breath. “Well, there we are, then.”

  “And Othello’s occupation almost gone,” Frank said, and his grin was a bit rueful. “A pity. I like it down here. You ought to see the village grandfathers flicking their forelocks to me. Now Passman’s dead I’ll bet there’s a rumour that I’m buying the Manor.”

  “Don’t be too sudden,” I said. “I don’t think Othello’ll be back on the dole. You heard what I said about Charlotte’s love for Sivley? What’s the betting she doesn’t ask to have her private sleuth transferred to tracking Sivley down?”

  “But the police’ll do that.”

  “In her present mood she wants Sivley badly,” I said. “She won’t be interested in the police. You don’t know her as I do. When she’s in a mood she’s no use for logic or common sense.”

  He didn’t look particularly cheerful for all that. Then his face lighted with an idea, but it was only a variation of the dismals.

  “By the way, we’ve a man already on the way to Austria. Left this morning. Would you like us to recall him and save you the expense?”

  I had to think hard for a moment or two before I caught up with him. “You mean that as both Rupert and Joe are dead, there can’t be any more pressure put on me?”

  “Why, yes.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Let your man carry on. The idea was to clip the lady’s claws, and clipped they’re going to be. You see,” I explained patiently, “you never know when she might break loose again for some quite different reason. I want permanent protection.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said, and his face brightened a bit. “But how’re you feeling about things, Mr. Travers?”

  “Not what I should be,” I said, “and that’s what I can’t quite fathom. I ought to be sitting on top of the world, but I’m not. I’ve got an uneasy feeling that everything isn’t so pretty. I know it’s callous and all that. Sitting here and gloating over a couple of corpses, but there’s no inhibition like that in it. I ought to be damn pleased that Charlotte’s got to abandon that blasted scheme of hers. And yet I don’t feel cheerful inside. How do you account for that?”

  “I’ll tell you,” he said. “It’s because we never quite believed that she was making use of you solely to get some hold over poor old Passman. She may have been, mind you. All the same, the more I saw of Joe the less I was convinced that he’d been mixed up in that cheap swindle. Very well, then. What’s worrying both of us is what her real idea was in trying to blackmail you, and whether what’s happened to-day is going to make any difference.”

  “I shall be seeing her between tea and dinner and I’ll talk to her damn straight.” I said grimly.

  He grinned. “You may ease your mind, but I doubt if you’ll get much satisfaction. All you’ll be presented with is a new set of lies.” His face sobered. “But I’ll put Smith on Sivley’s trail straightway. If you like you can tell Queenie you anticipated what you knew would be her wishes. And, by the way, I ought to call and offer condolences. What’s the best time?”

  “To-morrow afternoon,” I said. “Play your cards right and you’ll be the mainstay and solace of the next few days.”

  There was a tap at the door and in came Smith. “I’ve seen him, sir,” he said to Frank, “and he was all of a dither. I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t going to bolt. He’s talking with Mrs. Porter now in her room. I thought I’d just let you know.”

  “Attaboy!” Frank said to him.

  “Why should he bolt?” he said to me as the door closed on Smith.

  “Ask me another,” I said. “Perhaps his occupation’s gone too. What did he come here for, if it comes to that.”

  “We know he came to see Sivley. Perhaps to offer him a job.”

  “His training stable’s near Salisbury,” I said. “Why spend money on petrol and this pub when a letter would have done?”

  “One man we haven’t done much thinking about, and that’s Harper,” he pointed out.

  “I know,” I said. “Harper doesn’t quite fit in either. Too much generosity about, for my liking. Joe giving the helping hand to Harper, and, if your idea’s right, Rogerley giving one to Sivley.”

  Another quick tap on the door and in slipped Smith again. “He’s off!” he said. “Paid his bill and just packing his bag.”

  Frank shrugged his shoulders. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. You might find out what petrol he has put in his tank from the pump here. That might tell us if he’s making for home. And let everybody know you’re spendi
ng the week-end with a sister at Norwich. Then see me again. You’re following up Sivley’s trail on that Ipswich bus. The nearest large garage to the bus stop at Ipswich might help. We know he got hold of a motor-bike somewhere.”

  We had a leg stretch before tea; just a stroll round by some field paths and well away from the Manor, for we didn’t want to be drawn into talking shop again. I didn’t see how Charlotte should learn from the Oak that Frank and I had greeted each other like old friends, but we rigged up a story which I would try to put across later that afternoon.

  Just before six o’clock I made my way to the Manor on foot. That would give me an excuse for returning to the Oak and reporting direct to Frank. The constable was at the main gate, but the other had gone from the house front. Venter was still there, in shirt-sleeves and at the telephone.

  “Why people want to get murdered on a Saturday beats me,” he told me wryly. “Passman’s office in town is closed; I can’t get his solicitors; and every time I want the Yard there’s a quarter of an hour hold-up.”

  “Nothing new?” I asked.

  “No, sir. Someone’s due down from the Yard this evening. Some hush-hush business connected with Passman.”

  “I’m going back to town almost at once,” I said. “Here’s the telephone number if you should want me by any chance. I’ll just say good-bye to Mrs. Craigne and then I’ll be off.”

  Venter had pushed the bell, and Matthews came in.

  “Have you a wireless set here?” Venter asked him.

  “One in the drawing-room and one in the servants’ hall, sir.”

  “Anyone in the drawing-room?”

  “Mrs. Craigne, sir.”

  “Then I’ll come with you and listen to the other one,” Venter said.

  It was just time for the news and the two went off as soon as Venter had unearthed a man of his to sit at the phone. I made my own way to the drawing-room and found Charlotte lying on the big chesterfield before the open french windows. She was looking herself again. A little more powder on the cheeks and a touch of black under the eyes would have made her more of the interesting convalescent she was trying to appear by her pose. Curious how even at that moment, when I ought to have felt some genuine pity, my thoughts instinctively took that cynical twist.