A Death in Two Parts (3 page)

“Got away with what?” Patience was beginning to lose her temper.

“Want me to put it in words of one syllable, do you?” the little man asked. “Well, shoplifting, then, since you're so particular. Just feel in your left-hand pocket, if it's not too much trouble.”

“Left-hand pocket? What on earth are you talking about? I haven't got any pockets. I think this has gone about far enough.” She turned to the manager, who stood, silent and anxious behind his desk, watching the scene.

The little man looked faintly worried and turned to the girl. “In the cape,” she said, “that's what she told me. The pocket of the cape.”

Patience looked down at Josephine Brigance's lavish fur cape. Then she investigated. Yes, surprisingly enough, there were deep pockets in the side seams. She put her right hand in; nothing.

“The left-hand pocket, she said.” It was the girl who spoke.

“Who's ‘she'?” As she spoke, Patience put her hand in
the other pocket, gasped slightly and drew out a long string of pearls.

“There you are.” The little man was triumphant. “What did I tell you? But I give it to her for acting; she had me scared there for a minute.” He held out his hand for the pearls and Patience automatically gave them to him. “Yes, there's our ticket, all right. They're off your counter, aren't they, Miss Jones?” He handed them to the girl in black.

She looked at them and Patience saw the whisper of a puzzled frown cross her forehead. But what she said was definite enough. “Oh yes, they're from my counter all right.”

“And no sales check on the ticket.” The little man was enjoying himself now. “You might as well give over,” he said to Patience, “we've got you clean.”

She was beginning to realise the full unpleasantness of the situation. “Look,” she turned to the manager who still stood, silent and grave behind his desk, “this is a ridiculous mistake. I don't know how those pearls got there, but I certainly didn't take them. It's not even my cape; I just picked it up in the fur department for my cousin.”

The little man allowed himself a harsh laugh. “It's a treat to hear her,” he said. “You'd better tell your story, Miss Jones.”

The manager was looking more worried than ever. “Yes,” he said, “I think we'd better hear what Miss Jones has to say.”

“Well, it was like this.” Miss Jones was somewhat abashed by her position. “I was ever so busy with a couple of gents after engagement rings, when this young lady comes up to me and says—”

“Just a minute,” the manager interrupted her, “do you mean this young lady?” He indicated Patience.

“Oh, no, sir.” She was amazed at his error. “Quite another young lady, tall and dark with a black coat and glasses. Anyway, she leans over the counter and says, ‘Excuse me,' ever so nice and polite, ‘I know it's none of my business,' she says, ‘but I just saw a girl pinch a string of pearls from your counter. What d'you think I ought to do about it?' So of course I knew all the trouble there'd been about shoplifting, and the Yard being called in and all” – Miss Jones preened herself – “so I rang my bell quick as I could for Mr Parry and asked the young lady to wait and speak to him. But she said no, she'd a train to catch, but it was a young lady in a mink cape with straight fair hair – ‘Look,' she says, ‘there I see her now,' and pointed to this young lady who was just coming through Gloves with a gentleman. ‘She put it in the left-hand pocket of her cape,' she said, ‘a long string of pearls: I hope you catch her, but I must scoot.' Or something like that, and of course I couldn't make her stay, could I?”

“No, I suppose you hardly could,” the manager said regretfully, “but it's a pity. Did you get her name and address?”

Miss Jones's face fell. “No,” she said, “she scooted so quick I didn't have time to say ‘Boo' – if you'll excuse me, sir.”

Patience had been collecting her wits. “Look,” she said, again to the manager, “there has been some mistake and I think I can prove it.” She turned to the girl. “You say she pointed me out to you when I was coming out of the glove department with a …” she hesitated.

“That's right, miss, with a gentleman. Tall, he was, and fair.”

“Yes,” Patience said. “It was Mr Crankshaw. I believe he's here on business and he'll tell you I was with him from the time I picked this coat up in the fur department. I couldn't have put those pearls in the pocket. I can't think how they got there, but I couldn't have done it.” Horrible to have to drag Crankshaw in, but better now than later. She stole an anxious look at her watch. Five fifteen; there should still be time to catch the six o'clock if all went well.

“Mr Crankshaw?” The manager looked surprised. “The policeman?”

“That's right,” Patience relaxed into a smile. “He's a friend of mine.” The look on her shabby little captor's face was almost worth the whole episode.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they waited for Crankshaw. The manager acknowledged Patience's changed position by offering her a chair, and sat down himself behind his desk, fidgeting with some papers. The little man – clearly the shop detective, thought Patience – and the salesgirl looked at each other unhappily and at Patience with obvious resentment. Then there was a knock at the door and Crankshaw appeared. “You wanted to see me, Mr Mallieson?”

“Yes.” The manager wasted no time. “Do you know this lady?”

Crankshaw turned. “Why, hullo, Patience, what are you doing here? Been shoplifting?” Then he saw the shop detective and the drooping salesgirl. “Good lord, what is all this?”

The manager explained about the accusation of the
unknown young woman. “And now,” he concluded, “this lady says she was with you from the time she picked up the coat in the fur department till the moment she left the shop. Is that right?” They all looked hopefully at Crankshaw.

“Quite right,” said Crankshaw. “As a matter of fact, I first saw Miss Smith in the glove department, without the cape. I thought I recognised her, and followed her through to Furs to make sure. Then I waited while the assistant found her the cape and she put it on, and spoke to her as she came away. I was watching all the time.” He blushed slightly. “She couldn't have put anything in the pockets.”

“I didn't know there were pockets,” Patience said, “till I put in my hand. I don't understand it at all.” But she was no longer worried. Geoffrey Crankshaw was here; he would take care of the situation.

He did. “It's quite clear there's not the shadow of a case against Miss Smith,” he said to the manager. “Not but that you were perfectly right to stop her.” The detective cheered up slightly. “I'd like to know what the young woman who started it all was up to, though. Too bad you didn't get her name.” The salesgirl wilted visibly and he consoled her. “Never mind, she'd probably have given a false one if you'd asked her. What d'you say she looked like?”

“Tall and dark,” the girl repeated it, “and a black coat and glasses … I'm afraid I didn't notice much; I was that rushed at the time; but she spoke ever so nicely.”

“Can you think of anyone who looks like that, who'd go to the trouble to play a practical joke on you?” Crankshaw asked Patience.

“Not a soul. And it's not my idea of a very brilliant joke either.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “No, it isn't. The cape was hanging on a rack in the fur department when you went for it, wasn't it, so I suppose anyone could have taken the pearls and slipped them into the pocket.”

“Oh, goodness,” Patience said.

“What is it? Been noticing things again?”

She laughed, ignoring the three listeners in this sudden reminder of their previous intimacy.

“Yes, I remember now. The girl said she was off the floor for a while and when she got back there was someone trying the cape on … she was frightfully disappointed when she heard it wasn't for sale and said she'd have to have one made like it.”

“That's it,” said Crankshaw. “That's how it would be done. Perhaps we should have a word with the girl from the fur department, Mr Mallieson. We'd better get this business cleared up as far as we can if you don't mind waiting a minute, Patience.”

“Not a bit.” He was very much in command, she thought.

Another awkward silence fell as they waited for the arrival of this new witness. It was broken, surprisingly, by the salesgirl. “You know,” she said to no one in particular, “it's a funny thing; I could have sworn they cleared those long strands of pearls yesterday. There were a lot Tuesday when I was on but I'm sure I didn't notice any when I took over this morning.”

“You were off yesterday, were you?” Crankshaw asked.

“Yes. One day off before Christmas for shopping. It comes in ever so handy.” She looked at the manager a little anxiously.

A timid knock announced the salesgirl from the fur
department. She at once confirmed that the fur cape had been hanging on a rack at the side of the department since Mrs Brigance had called up about it. Mrs Brigance had particularly asked for it to be ready. Yes; she had come back on to the floor in the course of the afternoon and found a young lady trying the cape on … a tall dark young lady with glasses – very disappointed she'd been when she heard the cape was not for sale.

“Well, there you are,” said Crankshaw, when she had been thanked and dismissed, “an obvious plant, but Lord knows why. You're sure you can't think of anyone with a grudge against you, Patience?”

“Not a soul. They must have mixed me up with someone else. Or could it be something to do with the shoplifting that's going on? To distract your attention or something?”

“That's an idea.” The manager came to attention at once and looked at his watch. “Just on closing time too – always their best time. Perhaps we'd all better get back to our posts.” At this cue the shop detective and the salesgirl, who had visibly been waiting for a chance, faded gratefully away. He turned to Patience. “I'm extremely sorry for the inconvenience we've caused you, Miss Smith, but you can see how it is; we've got to protect ourselves.”

“Of course, I don't blame you a bit. But now I must rush, if it's all right; I've got a train to catch.” Crankshaw held the door open for her, chafing at the necessity that constrained him to stay. “You must catch it?” he asked.

“Definitely: it's a job.” And on this puzzling note she left him to attend somewhat absent-mindedly to his conference with the manager.

Patience found Josephine Brigance snugly ensconced in her first-class carriage with the Persian lamb coat well in evidence on the rack. Looking at the mask of make-up that made do for a face, Patience thought it was just as well she had not had to rely on recognition alone. The Josephine she remembered had been a stalwart country dweller who had only just, and under protest, given up hunting and who still, regardless of her children, spent much of her time coaxing miracles out of the two or three depressed horses that were kept in the derelict stables of Featherstone Hall.

Times had certainly changed, Patience thought, surrendering herself to a highly perfumed embrace.

“Patience, my lamb, it's heaven to see you. You're an angel to come, and, bless you, you've got my cape. No, no, keep it on; it's cold in here – you'd think at least there'd be enough heating on a fast train – going to the dogs we are, my dear, and quickly, but at least you'll find things pretty comfortable at the Hall. We had central heating put in just after the war, you know, and it's wonderful how Joseph manages to get hold of coal to run it on – he has the most useful friends, the lamb. You remember Joseph, don't you, my pet?”

Patience remembered old Mrs Ffeathers' younger son with a minimum of enthusiasm as a red-faced man who did something in the City and came home smelling of beer to pinch little girls where they liked it least. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “Does he still go up to town every day?”

“Good Lord, no. You are behind the times. He did wonderfully in the war one way and another and he's been resting on his laurels ever since.”

“Really,” Patience was amazed. “I'd have thought he was –” she hesitated, then braved it – “a bit old for the army.”

“The army?” Josephine raised enamelled eyebrows. “Who said anything about the army? No, no, the home front, my dear, the home front. Supplies and buildings and all those things – he made a packet, I can tell you. You should see Emily in her pearls.”

“How is Emily?” Patience had forgotten all about Joseph's insignificant wife, probably because everyone else always did.

“Oh, pale as ever. I wanted her to come up with me this time and get something done about her face – really, my dear, you should see it – too dreary – but she said Joseph was satisfied with her the way she was … of course he is, never looks at her from month's end to month's end. Lucky she's got that fish-faced girl to keep her occupied. Lord, you should hear Mark on his cousin Priss – she wanted to be a social worker, would you believe it! A Ffeathers a social worker! Mother put her foot down pretty hard about that, I can tell you. Poor old Priss; if you ask me it was anything to get away from the Hall. She fell with a crash for Mark – they all do, my lamb, they all do – and of course he'd as soon take
out an earwig.” She paused and lit another cigarette. “But tell me all about yourself, my sweet; Paul says you're quite the young intellectual these days, but you look all right, thank God. I was prepared for the worst when he said that. Mary wanted to go to Girton while Mark was up, but I wasn't having any of that; just spoiling your market, that's what it is. You'll live to be thankful you didn't finish; what in the name of goodness does a girl want with a lot of phoney education? Just tell me that.”