The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) Read online

  ‘Did he happen to hear what they were rowing about?’

  Jameson shook his head.

  ‘Apparently not,’ he said. ‘He just assumed it was a tiff between two people of a kind with whom he was not accustomed to mix. I gather those were his words—or something like them.’

  ‘So, then,’ said the sergeant. ‘She was last seen alive on the afternoon of Wednesday the 7th of September at Charing Cross station.’

  ‘And then was discovered dead in a ditch just outside Littlechurch two days later,’ said Jameson. ‘I wonder what exactly happened in those two days.’

  ‘It looks as though we shall have to have another word with young Master Chang, then,’ said Sergeant Willis.

  ‘It does indeed,’ said Jameson grimly. ‘Let’s go and see if he’s at home, shall we?’

  NINETEEN

  The arrest of Johnny Chang on suspicion of murdering a dance hostess at the notorious Copernicus Club created a great sensation in the newspapers over the next few days. Johnny had denied everything vehemently, and had done his best to resist arrest. However, the incontrovertible fact of his having been seen with Lita at Charing Cross station on the date in question, together with his lack of an alibi for the two days following, gave the police quite sufficient grounds to overpower him and take him to the station for questioning. Further damning evidence was discovered when the club’s premises were searched and the police found several packets of arsenic, which Johnny claimed had been bought for the purposes of getting rid of rats. Whether that were true or not, the presence of the poison was quite enough to keep him in prison for the present, and to allow the police to charge him formally with the murder of Lita de Marquez. Meanwhile, the Copernicus Club was shut down until further notice, since there was nobody left to run it.

  Angela put down her newspaper and stared thoughtfully out of the window, although she saw nothing of what was going on in the street below. Instead she was thinking about the case. It looked as though it had reached the most predictable of conclusions. Lita de Marquez had rejected her lover, and he had taken it badly and murdered her. It was an old, old story, but none the less pitiful for that. How many times had the same thing happened throughout the course of history? It was certainly the most obvious solution, and yet—and yet—Angela was uncomfortable. Several aspects of the case still puzzled her, and she wanted to talk about it with someone, but Inspector Jameson was very busy at present and could not be reached by telephone—even supposing he was willing to talk about it now that an arrest had been made.

  Fortunately, she was rescued by Freddy Pilkington-Soames, who came to gloat over his cleverness at having solved the case, as he claimed.

  ‘Oughtn’t you to be reporting on the opening of a new civic building or something?’ said Angela after they had exchanged greetings.

  ‘No,’ said Freddy airily. ‘They sent me to listen to another speech by that old chump Rowbotham. Fortunately, having already attended one of his speeches I happen to know that he tends to drivel on interminably, so I took down his first few sentences just to be on the safe side, and then came out. No doubt he will still be prattling away when I get back and I can take down his closing remarks and applaud politely with the rest of the audience, without having to listen to all the rot in the middle.’

  ‘But what shall you do if he’s already finished by the time you get back?’ said Angela.

  ‘Then I shall just use my notes from the last speech of his that I attended,’ said Freddy. ‘Or perhaps I’ll invent something of my own. Of course, there’s always St. John,’ he went on, as a thought struck him. ‘He was there, listening avidly, and will probably be able to recite it word for word. Yes, I think I shall ask him.’

  ‘Sit down and tell me all about what has been happening in the Lita de Marquez case,’ said Angela, and poured him some coffee, which Marthe had just brought in. ‘I gather you have wormed your way into Inspector Jameson’s confidence by finding him a useful witness.’

  ‘Yes, it was rather a coup on my part, wasn’t it?’ said Freddy, trying and failing to look modest. ‘It was entirely thanks to me that the police found out about the liaison between Lita and Johnny Chang. I expect I’ll get a medal of some sort.’

  ‘But do you think they have got the right man?’

  ‘Of course. Who else could it have been?’

  ‘Why, I don’t know,’ said Angela, ‘but I have been reading the story in the newspapers this morning and there is something that doesn’t seem quite right to me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Angela. ‘It’s just that—’ she paused to consider, then went on, ‘I’m not convinced by the method of the murder. She was poisoned with arsenic, the police said.’

  ‘Yes,’ put in Freddy, ‘and they found enormous quantities of the stuff at the Copernicus Club.’

  ‘Oh yes, I don’t doubt for a moment that Johnny Chang was easily able to get hold of the poison, but the whole thing seems a bit—I don’t know—awkward.’

  ‘You’re not explaining yourself very well,’ said Freddy.

  ‘I’m not, am I?’ said Angela. ‘Very well, then, let’s think about it from Johnny’s point of view. Let’s say that Lita has tired of him and has decided to leave the club and go down to Kent for reasons of her own. She goes to Charing Cross and drops her suitcase in the cloak room, and prepares to catch her train. At that moment, she is accosted by Johnny, who has followed her to the station—’

  ‘Just a minute,’ interrupted Freddy. ‘How do we know they weren’t going to leave together?’

  ‘Why, because of what the man behind them in the queue said. He said Lita was surprised to see Johnny and asked him what he was doing there. That doesn’t sound as though they were planning to go away together, does it?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Freddy, ‘but supposing they made it up after they left the cloak room, and decided to go down to Kent together. That’s possible, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, yes,’ said Angela, ‘but in that case why on earth was he carrying a packet of arsenic about with him? And why has nobody at the Kent end reported seeing an English woman in company with a Chinese man? It’s unusual enough to attract attention in a place like that. And,’ she went on, ‘more importantly, where did he get the car?’

  ‘Which car?’

  ‘The car he used to get rid of her body, of course,’ said Angela. ‘Lita was found in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. Johnny certainly couldn’t have carried her there by himself on foot.’

  ‘Perhaps they walked there and then he killed her,’ suggested Freddy, then corrected himself. ‘No, of course that wouldn’t work, not if he was planning to give her arsenic.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Angela. ‘Surely the poisoning must have taken place in a house or a hotel. And there must have been a car, or a truck, or a wagon, or something that could carry a woman’s body.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Freddy thoughtfully. ‘It is a little tricky.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Angela. ‘As I see it, if the police want the charges to stand up they will have to find convincing answers to the following questions—one: why was Johnny Chang carrying arsenic around with him? Two: where did he give Lita the poison, and how? And three: what kind of vehicle did he use to dispose of the body, and where did he get it? Remember, too, that when she was given the arsenic she would have been very sick indeed. Somebody will have had to clean that up.’

  Freddy wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  ‘I assume the Kent police have been dealing with the inquiries at that end,’ he said. ‘They will know what to look for.’

  ‘Why was she going to Kent?’ said Angela suddenly. ‘We still don’t know, but I have the feeling it might turn out to be rather important. And the police have still not tracked down the man Lew, who came looking for Lita after she disappeared.’

  ‘Perhaps he has nothing to do with the case.’

  ‘Perhaps. He said he needed to find her urgently, t
hough.’

  ‘He was probably from the Home and Colonial, coming to dun her for a back payment,’ said Freddy. ‘At any rate, if he has any connection with the case, he may come forward now that her name has been in all the papers.’

  ‘He’s not likely to do that if he’s the one who killed her,’ said Angela.

  ‘I think you’re making things too complicated, Angela,’ said Freddy. ‘I know you like a mystery, but I don’t think there is one in this instance. I dare say that in the next few days the police will find all the evidence they need to hang Johnny Chang for the murder of Lita de Marquez.’

  ‘I hope for his sake they do,’ said Angela. ‘I should hate them to hang him without it.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Freddy soberly. ‘A jury isn’t likely to look too kindly on his association with a white girl. People can be rather odd about things like that.’

  He departed shortly afterwards, for he judged that Mr. Rowbotham would shortly be nearing the end of his speech and he wanted to catch his friend St. John and find out what had been said.

  ‘I shall call again next time I have a succès éclatant to report,’ he said. ‘At the rate I am going it will probably be tomorrow,’ he added, and left.

  Angela returned to gazing out of the window. Was she making things too complicated, she wondered? The case certainly seemed straightforward enough, but it remained to be seen whether a jury would find Johnny Chang guilty even if there were no concrete evidence.

  Unable to shake off her thoughts on the matter, Angela decided to go round to the mews where the Bentley was kept. William lived in a little room above the garage, and Angela happened to know that Alvie Berteau was staying with him at present while he and his band looked for a new engagement. Angela wanted to talk to the musician, but knew that he was unlikely to be very forthcoming if she summoned him to Mount Street, so instead she resolved to pay him a visit under the pretence of making some trivial inquiry of William about the car.

  As she expected, she found William under the bonnet, tinkering idly, while Alvie sat on a packing-case and polished his trumpet. She dealt with the matter of the car first of all, and then said, ‘Any luck in finding a new job yet, Alvie?’

  The young man shook his head.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I could find something for myself today if I wanted to, but you see, I’m looking for something for the whole orchestra, and that’s not so easy to find at short notice.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Mrs. Marchmont. ‘What a pity. I’m sorry it’s come to this,’ she went on. ‘I had no idea this would happen when I asked you about Lita. I had no intention of putting you all out of a job.’

  ‘No matter, ma’am,’ said Alvie generously. ‘You did the right thing. It’s not fair that she should die and not get justice. I’m only sorry I didn’t speak up sooner. That was wrong of me.’

  ‘Do you think Johnny Chang is guilty, then?’ asked Angela in curiosity.

  Alvie shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The police seem to think he is.’

  ‘But what is your feeling on the matter?’

  Alvie, looking momentarily surprised that someone like Mrs. Marchmont should ask his feelings on anything, said after a pause, ‘Well, I guess I never saw him as the type.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to have the hatred,’ said Alvie. ‘Whoever murdered Lita did it out of hatred, don’t you think? I don’t know who could have hated her that much but I don’t think it was anybody at the club. Most people liked her well enough, as far as I could see.’

  ‘That is very interesting,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. Yes, I think you are very likely right—there was real hatred behind this killing. I wonder what she did to inspire it?’

  TWENTY

  A day or two after the arrest of Johnny Chang, Inspector Jameson received a telephone-call from the Suffolk police to say that they had found the mysterious Lew, who had come forward following the identification of the murder victim in the newspapers, claiming to be her brother. Jameson raised his eyebrows at this, but he and Willis duly went up to Felixstowe to speak to the man, who was unable to get time away from work to come and visit them in London.

  They found him living in a cramped cottage in a dingy street not far from the docks. A man of about thirty answered the door to them in his shirt-sleeves, having evidently just returned from work. Jameson was struck by his dark looks; it was easy to see why Geraldine had thought he might be foreign when she had met him. He spoke with a perfectly normal English accent, however, which sat rather oddly upon him.

  ‘You are Lewis Markham?’ asked Inspector Jameson.

  ‘Yes,’ said the man, and stood back to let them in. He led them into a tiny but comfortable parlour, which was spotlessly clean.

  ‘I believe you can tell us something about Lita de Marquez,’ said Jameson.

  ‘She was my sister,’ said Lew Markham. ‘My twin sister, as a matter of fact. And her real name wasn’t Lita, it was Lily. Lily Markham, her maiden name was.’ He hesitated for a second. ‘Is she really dead? Can you be sure it’s her?’ he said.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s quite certain,’ said Jameson gravely. ‘She was identified by a birth-mark.’

  ‘On her left arm? She had one there in the shape of a crescent-moon.’

  Had there been any doubt in the inspector’s mind that Lita de Marquez and Lily Markham were one and the same, it was now dispelled. He nodded.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’m very sorry, Mr. Markham.’

  Markham bowed his head.

  ‘I read that you’ve arrested the man who did it,’ he said after a moment. ‘When is the trial? I want to come and see it.’

  ‘A date hasn’t been set yet,’ said Jameson. ‘It’s early days and there are still a few things we need to clear up.’

  ‘Why did he do it?’ demanded the young man. His face had darkened and his fists were clenched. ‘What harm did she ever do to him?’

  ‘As I said, we don’t know the whole story yet,’ said the inspector. ‘We had enough evidence to arrest Chang but there’s still a lot we don’t know. Suppose you tell us about your sister. It might help us to build up a clearer picture of her last days.’

  Lew Markham looked away.

  ‘I can’t say she lived a blameless life,’ he said, ‘but when you think about what she came from—well, it’s hardly surprising.’

  He sat on a shabby sofa, looking at the floor with his hands between his knees, and told them Lita—or Lily’s story.

  Their father had died when they were very young, and their mother had remarried shortly afterwards, to a drunkard and a bully who had hated the children and beat them often. The young Lew longed to protect his sister and mother from the violence, and felt shame that he was unable to do so. But over the years he grew, and eventually one day he was big enough to hit back. By that time it was too late to repair the damage, however. At fifteen, Lily ran away from home and went to London, vowing never to return as long as her stepfather remained. She had always liked singing and dancing, and very soon she began to get parts in the chorus of various productions.

  Lew went to visit her whenever he could, but quickly became concerned about the company she was frequenting. She was a very pretty girl and, he felt, rather too free in her behaviour with some of the men she saw every day hanging about the theatre. He didn’t like it, and tried to warn her of the dangers she was running, but Lily said there was no harm in it, and wasn’t she entitled to a bit of fun at last, after having had such a miserable time of it? Lew went back home then, but not without misgivings, and not before warning her in no uncertain terms of what might happen if she were not more careful.

  Eventually, their stepfather drank himself to death—much to everybody’s relief, and then it was just Lew and his mother living in the little cottage together. Lew went away to fight in the war, but still he and Lily kept in touch, though infrequently. The war ended and he came b
ack and was lucky enough to get his old job back at the docks. He was a good worker and had returned uninjured, thank God, and so they were only too pleased to take him, since many of the men from the area had died or been terribly wounded.

  Shortly after the end of the war, Lily returned to their little cottage without warning, and to Lew it looked as though his worst fears had come true, since she brought with her an infant child. She would say nothing of its father—only that they had been honourably wed and that he had died. Whether it was true or not they never knew. Of course, there was gossip, and people in the neighbourhood said that there had been no wedding at all, but what could Lew and his mother do? Lily was theirs and they loved her, and they would never turn her away, child or no child.

  For a few years they lived together comfortably enough in the cottage. He worked at the docks, and his mother earned a little money by taking in washing. Then, one day about three years ago Lily disappeared again. They soon received a letter from her. She was sorry she had run away and left the child, but she craved her freedom so very much, and wanted to return to her old career on the stage. As soon as she was settled and earning money she would send for her son, but in the meantime she was entrusting him to their care.