A Nice Class of Corpse (13 page)

But Mrs Pargeter soon forgot about Miles Ridgleigh. As she seemed to read the Sunday papers, she thought about what she had to do.

It would have to be another middle-of-the-night mission, she decided. There were too many people in and out of the Hall during the day for her to risk going into the Office then. So she continued to read the Sunday papers, ate a large tea and a light supper, played Scrabble in the evening with Eulalie Vance, and contained her excitement.

If the Office safe yielded what she hoped, it would represent the most significant advance since she had started her investigation.

Mrs Pargeter went to bed at half-past ten, programming herself to wake four hours later.

CHAPTER 31

The routine was by now familiar. She got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, gloves and sheepskin slippers. In her pockets she put the late Mr Pargeter's skeleton keys, pencil torch and eye-glass. Then she slipped out on to the landing.

She was now accustomed to the creaky stairs of the main flights and avoided them expertly. She glanced at the other residents' bedroom doors as she went down, but all appeared to be safely closed. When she reached the Entrance Hall, the door down to Newth's domain was also shut.

She trod gently in the Hall, although she had checked that there were no pressure pads except in front of the main doors. During the day she had taken an unobtrusive look at the lock on the Office door and she had the right skeleton key ready.

It slipped in and turned silently as if it had been cut specifically for that lock. Mrs Pargeter went inside and closed the Office door behind her.

She switched on the late Mr Pargeter's torch and moved across to the safe. She memorised the exact setting of the dials and then her gloved fingers expertly twiddled them to the numbers Kipper Hollingberry had provided. The safe door swung open easily and silently.

There was quite a lot of money on the top shelf, piles of large denomination notes held by rubber bands, but she ignored this. She also ignored her own jewellery, and homed in on a pile of jewel cases on the bottom shelf.

She took them out of the safe and saw with satisfaction that on the top of each Lady Ridgleigh's monogram was impressed in gold.

She removed the contents of the first box, matching necklace, bracelet and ear-rings of emeralds set in silver. She examined these minutely with the late Mr Pargeter's eye-glass.

She replaced them and moved on to the next box. An opal necklace. This was subjected to the same intense scrutiny.

She thought she heard a noise and froze. The irreverent thought occurred to her that to be discovered now would not be good for her image. If Miss Naismith wanted confirmation of the suspicions she had had about the theft of Mrs Selsby's jewellery . . .

There was no further noise. Perhaps she'd imagined it.

She continued to work through all of Lady Ridgleigh's jewellery. When she had finished, with a little sigh of satisfaction, she replaced the boxes on the bottom shelf exactly as she had found them. She closed the safe door and reset the dials exactly as they had been before. Then she left the Office and carefully relocked the door.

She felt euphoric as she returned silently to her room. She had been right.

The settings of Lady Ridgleigh's jewellery were real silver and gold. But all of the stones were well-made imitations.

Just as all of Mrs Selsby's had been.

So euphoric was she, so delighted to have had her suspicion proved right, that Mrs Pargeter did not look around on her way from the Entrance Hall up to her bedroom on the second floor.

So she did not notice a door opened a crack, or see through it the gleam of the diarist's eye.

CHAPTER 32

Mrs Pargeter woke at seven-thirty the next morning and lay luxuriously in bed, feeling pleased with herself. The revelation about Lady Ridgleigh's jewels had cleared an obstruction in the logic of her thinking about the crimes at the Devereux Hotel.

She had known for some time why Mrs Selsby's jewels had been stolen the night after her murder. When she had examined them just before the theft, she had seen that they were all fakes. According to Mr Holland, Mrs Selsby had plenty of money, so she was unlikely to have made the substitution herself. But she was a short-sighted old lady and would not have been able to tell the false stones and settings from real ones. The copies had been well done, and Mrs Pargeter wasn't certain whether she herself would have been able to tell they were imitations without her late husband's eyeglass.

So someone other than Mrs Selsby had made the substitution. It was quite a neat crime, given a wealthy absent-minded old lady who was in the habit of leaving her jewellery lying around. All the criminal had to do was to borrow one item at a time, take it to a specialist in such work, and have a replica made. The expertise would no doubt be expensive, but a small investment compared to the resale value of the stolen jewels. The item would then be returned before its owner had missed it, and Mrs Selsby would have been far too short-sighted to realise that anything had changed. The crime could then be repeated at will for as long as the jewellery lasted.

But with Mrs Selsby's death, suddenly the doctored jewellery became incriminating evidence, which had to be removed and destroyed. One of the first actions of a Mr Holland (or whoever else might be appointed to look after the old lady's affairs) would be to have the jewellery valued. And it would take a skilled jeweller a matter of seconds to recognise the fakes. Then very unpleasant enquiries might ensue.

Realising this, the criminal must have decided that, since some sort of enquiry was inevitable, an investigation of a straightforward robbery would be the safest. Theft of valuable items was a commonplace crime. The thief could not have predicted that Miss Naismith's gentility would delay the announcement of the robbery, but, even without that bonus, he or she was safe in assuming that a police search would concentrate on places where valuable objects might be protected, rather than where worthless objects might be destroyed.

It was only because she had examined the jewels before the theft that Mrs Pargeter had been able to make this leap of logic and search the boiler room.

That, then, was the crime. The question that remained was: Who had perpetrated it?

Mrs Pargeter still felt convinced it was Newth. He had easy access to Mrs Selsby's room with his pass key; the evidence had been destroyed down in the boiler room, which was his domain; and his purchase of the new bungalow showed that he had an unexplained source of income.

But was Newth acting on his own or in league with someone else?

That question still remained to be investigated.

As did the matter of the fake stones in Lady Ridgleigh's jewellery. Had Newth done the same thing with them? Was he slowly working through the jewellery of all the lady residents of the Devereux? Would he in time turn his attention to all the beautiful stuff that the late Mr Pargeter had so generously bestowed on his wife?

Not if Mrs Pargeter had anything to do with it.

She decided she should consult another expert from the late Mr Pargeter's address book.

'Hello. Byrom House Girls' School.'

'Oh. Really? I wonder, would it be possible to speak to Mr Melchett, please?'

'Just a moment. I'll see if the Bursar is in his office.'

'Bursar?' murmured Mrs Pargeter weakly. She was in the same public call box, and once again she had been referred to a number different from the one in the address book.

'Good morning.' The voice was brisk and military, but still comfortingly recognisable.

'Fancy?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Is that Fancy Melchett?'

'Major Melchett here. The Bursar. Are you a parent?'

'No.'

'Oh.' The voice became uncertain. 'To whom am I speaking?'

'This is Melita Pargeter.'

'Mrs Pargeter! Good heavens!' All the reserve had gone, and the voice now flooded with warmth. 'How wonderful to hear from you. I was really afraid that we'd lost touch, you know, after dear Mr Pargeter . . .'

'Yes.'

'Well, this is wonderful. Really cheered up my morning.'

'What's with this "Major" business?'

'Ah. Well, can't really have the Bursar of a girls' boarding school called "Fancy", can you?'

'Come to that, what's with all this "Bursar" business?'

'Well, to be quite honest, I'd been thinking for some time of going str—' He stopped himself, thinking perhaps of listeners on the school switchboard '. . . of, er, giving up the sort of work I had been doing, and when I saw this job advertised, it seemed to be just the ticket.' His voice became more confidential. 'Quite honestly, once Mr Pargeter wasn't there, the fun seemed to have gone out of the other business. He really made it seem exciting. Oh, I continued for a bit, working with other people, but it just wasn't the same without him . . .'

'No,' Mrs Pargeter agreed quietly.

'Anyway,' the Bursar asked briskly, in his best 'Major' voice, 'what can I do for you?'

'Well, I'm not sure that you can do anything . . . I mean, if you're completely out of that line of work nowadays.'

'My dear lady, for you I'd do anything. Even go back to—' Once again he pulled himself up short '. . .the sort of work we were discussing. Quite honestly, I owe so much to you and Mr Pargeter, that you have only to say the word and I'll do whatever you require.'

'I just want some information . . .'

'About what?'

'Jewellery.'

'Harrumph,' said the Major. 'I wonder, could you give me a number where I might call you back in about five minutes?'

She gave him the number of the call box and put the receiver down. Three minutes later the phone rang.

'So sorry about that. I'm calling from my house. Live on the premises, you know. This has the advantage of being a private line. Round a girls' school, you know, difficult to talk confidentially.'

'That I can believe.'

'But now we can talk about whatever we like. Jewellery, did you say?'

'Yes. I want to know who are the best fakers around.'

'Fakers?' He sounded utterly bewildered.

'People who make imitation jewels.'

'Oh. Sorry. Stupid. Thinking of Indian mystics. I'm a bloody idiot.' He cleared his throat. 'Right, with you now. You're setting up a substitution, are you?'

Mrs Pargeter was very offended. 'Fancy, you know I have never in my life been involved in anything criminal.'

He was appropriately chastened. 'No. Sorry. Of course. Don't know what I was thinking of. Forgive me.'

'What I am doing is
investigating
a crime.'

'Yes. Of course. Fully understand. Tell me, are we talking about bent or legit. ?'

'Sorry?'

'Fakers. I mean, there are some who just do work for "the business", and others who do it quite publicly. You know, often happens when times get hard – people sell off the family jewels and have copies made. Thriving business – and, as I say, all above board.'

'I think the name I'm after is probably legit., but I'd be grateful if you could give me some bent ones, too.'

'No problem. It's a small field, anyway . . . for the ones who're any good. Only about four in the country who do decent work.'

'Four legit, or four bent?'

'Four altogether. Of whom two are bent, one's legit, but doesn't ask questions, and one kicks with both feet.'

'Hmm. What's the name of the legit, one who doesn't ask questions?'

'Desmond Chiddham. Very pukka. Workshop off Bond Street. Includes many of the crowned heads of Europe among his clientele. Indeed, when there's a Coronation or a Royal Wedding or that sort of number, people say you see more of his stuff than the genuine article.'

'Ah. Well, could you give me his details, and the names and addresses of the other three?'

'Of course.' Without a moment's hesitation, the Bursar reeled off the information.

'I'm most grateful to you, Fancy.'

'Think nothing of it. Delighted to help. Do you know, just before he died, Mr Pargeter took me on one side and asked if I'd look after you . . . if the occasion arose. You know, he really cared for you so much.'

'Yes,' said Mrs Pargeter. 'Yes, he did.'

CHAPTER 33

'I won't be in for lunch today, Miss Naismith.'

'Oh? I believe I did mention, Mrs Pargeter, that most residents tend to give such information to one of the staff.'

'Yes. Yes, you did.' Mrs Pargeter smiled sweetly.

'Something interesting planned . . . ?' Miss Naismith fished.

'Oh yes,' Mrs Pargeter replied unhelpfully.

'Going far . . . ?'

'Quite a distance, yes.'

'Ah.'

'But I should be back for dinner.'

'Oh. Good.'

'Goodbye, then.'

And Mrs Pargeter left, treasuring the expression of frustrated curiosity on Miss Naismith's face.