Mystery of Mr. Jessop (16 page)

A forlorn hope, indeed, for the visits of so well-known and prominent a personage as the Duke of Westhaven to such a club as the Cut and Come Again were not likely to have passed unnoticed. Still, Bobby decided that a call might be useful; and. anyhow, he would not be sorry for a little delay, and a chance to arrange his thoughts, before returning to the Yard and the difficult task of writing his report.

His way led him by Mayfair Square, and instinct or interest took him by that side of it where was situated the Jessop & Jacks establishment. A car was drawn up in front and the door was open. Bobby went up the steps and entered.

“Is anyone here?” he called, and there came into the hall a short, broad-shouldered, powerfully built man with what is known as a cauliflower ear and a very scowling, angry appearance. His small eyes, close together under shaggy, overhanging brows, his heavy jowl, a broken tooth that showed prominently when he spoke, his long arms reaching nearly to his knees and terminating in enormous hands, gave him altogether a formidable appearance.

“What do you want?” he asked Bobby roughly.

Bobby produced his official card.

“I was present when Mr. Jessop's body was found,” he said. “I am working on the case. I saw the door open as I passed. Oh, there's Mr. Jacks,” he added, as that gentleman emerged from the room on the right.

“Says he's police,” said the prize-fighter-looking individual, glaring at Bobby. “Thought he was trying to see what he could pick up.”

“The necklace isn't in the strong-room,” Mr. Jacks said to Bobby. “Unless we get it back...”

“Done in,” said the prize-fighter person with a comprehensive sweep of one far-reaching arm. “Offering £5,000 reward for its recovery, but what's the good? Million to one the thing's in Amsterdam by now, with all the stones being re-cut and re-polished.”

“Our manager,” Mr. Jacks explained to the slightly bewildered Bobby.

“Money in the firm, too; don't forget that,” the other growled. “Three thousand gone down the drain.”

“An investment with the firm,” Mr. Jacks explained further.

“Worse luck,” commented the manager gloomily.

Bobby reflected that anyone less like the manager of a fashionable West End jeweller's business could hardly be imagined.

“You are Mr. Wright?” he asked, remembering that had been previously mentioned as the name of the firm's manager.

“That's right – Obadiah Wright,” answered that gentleman. “Used to call me Bad Wright when I was in the fighting game – joke,” he added, still more gloomily. “Meant they thought my right wasn't as good as my left. Rot, of course; my left was my strong suit, but there was nothing wrong with my right. Suppose you never heard my name?” he added wistfully.

“I'm afraid not,” Bobby confessed.

“Ought to have been champ,” said Mr. Wright, “only I got a raw deal. The fighting game's like that; you may be as good as the best, but if you get a raw deal you're finished.”

“Too bad,” agreed Bobby.

“Crooked work,” declared Mr. Wright. “Crooked work in this thing too, somewhere. What about this Wynne fellow? Mr. Jacks says you're looking for him. Where's he come in? Who is he? Not that I give a damn if you never find who shot Jessop so long as we get the necklace back.”

“We shall get Wynne soon,” Bobby answered confidently. “We have a full description; he has been through our hands before.”

“If he did in Jessop, he may have the necklace still and it won't have gone abroad yet?” suggested Wright.

“Possibly not,” agreed Bobby. “Until now, we weren't! even certain it was actually missing. The Customs have been warned to look out for it, but that's routine. I think you were motoring over the week-end, Mr. Wright?”

“That's right. Got a message at a pub where I stopped. Your people had sent out an S.O.S.”

“That would be done at once,” said Bobby, who knew it would again be routine to ascertain the number of Mr. Wright's car and then ring up as many heads of provincial police as possible to ask that their men – and the A.A. scouts – should be instructed to look out for it. He added, “You've been able to get your strong-room open without Mr. Jessop's keys? Or did you find them? There weren't any in his pockets, and none were found at his flat.”

“If they don't turn up, we shall have to have all locks altered,” Mr. Jacks said gloomily. “Luckily we had arranged for duplicate keys to be kept at the bank in case any got lost.”

“Had to pull out the manager,” observed Wright. “Luckily he was in; has a flat over. Groused about it being Sunday, but we couldn't help that. Duplicate key to the case for the necklace was there, too. Jessop had the only other one.”

As he spoke he showed a strongly made case, lined with a thin plate of metal as a precaution against the use of a knife to cut it open, wherein the necklace had been kept. Bobby examined it with interest.

“The necklace was generally kept locked in this?” he asked.

“Yes, except when a possible customer wanted to see it.”

“And Mr. Jessop had the only other key?”

“That's right. It was he who got the commission from Miss Fellows in the first place. He had the selling end in hand, too.”

“When did either of you two gentlemen see it last?” Bobby asked.

There was some hesitation about answering this, but  

finally it proved that neither of them had seen it for three weeks. It was not a thing for which even a probable customer was likely to turn up every day. It had been shown to an American gentleman three weeks previously, but after that apparently had not been disturbed by either Mr. Jacks or the manager. Jessop should certainly have mentioned the fact if he had taken it out to show anyone, but of course he might not have done so for perfectly good reasons – lack of time or opportunity, for instance. And Bobby was interested, when he asked the name of the American gentleman, to learn that it was Mr. Patterson, the Duke of Westhaven's friend from New York. They all seemed, Bobby thought, to have been fluttering round the necklace like moths round a candle, though it was not their wings that had been singed – not so far, at least.

“Have you let them know yet at the Yard?”

“No; haven't had time. Will there be anyone there?”

“Always is,” said Bobby, “all day and all night, Sundays, holidays, and week-days. I think you ought to go on there at once.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Mr. Jacks.

“The Duke of Westhaven thought of buying the necklace at one time, didn't he?” Bobby asked.

“No,” snarled Wright, “he thought we might make him a present of it because we loved him so much. He missed his guess.”

“But he did come here to have a look at it?”

“That's right.”

“Afterwards you sent it for the duchess to see. Miss May showed it her, I think. Was she alone?”

“I went with her,” answered Wright. “Don't take risks with £100,000. I waited in the entrance-hall while she was showing it.”

“Was it Miss May who took it to Hastley Court?”

“No. That was Jessop. The duchess rang up in a hurry. 

We thought, from what she said, hubby might be weakening – we knew she was keen on it herself, as far as that went. We started off as soon as we could get the car out.”

“We?”

“I went, too. Hang it, the thing's worth money.”

“Yes, got to be careful,” agreed Bobby. “Armed?”

“We keep a pistol on the premises,” Wright answered. “I put it in my pocket any time like taking good stuff to show customers.”

“Got a licence, I suppose?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know what make it is?”

“Smith Webley – 22.”

“Ah, yes,” said Bobby, remembering that had been the make and calibre of the weapon found by the side of the murdered man. But that was a point for his superiors to follow up. “Did you see the duchess at Hastley Court?”

“I didn't. I waited in the car. There was some sort of swell party on.”

“Didn't it strike you as odd that the duchess should choose a time when she must have been busy with her guests?”

“That was so we could slip through in the crowd – she didn't want the duke to know,” explained Wright. “That's what she told Jessop. She was going to finance the thing herself, and not let on till it was all settled and too late for the duke to do anything but tear his hair. That was her look-out; for all we cared, hubby could tear his hair till he was bald. Once we had got the necklace into her hands and her I.O.U. in ours we were O.K. We knew his starchiness would never face a lawsuit or a scandal. That,” said Mr. Wright comfortably, “is where you have the nobs on toast. You and me, we wouldn't give a cuss for being shown up in the Sunday rags, but dukes can't stand for it.” 

“There's that,” agreed Bobby. “But I don't quite see how you managed.”

“Why not? Simple enough. She told us on the 'phone to wait in our car, where all the others were parked – there were dozens of 'em. So we did, and the secretary chap – Dickson he said his name was; secretary or something – came along and fetched Jessop. Jessop came back very bucked. Told me it looked like a deal all right.”

“I knew nothing of all this,” interposed Mr. Jacks.

“It was entered in the office diary,” Wright growled.

“Only ‘Fellows necklace shown D. of W. and returned to stock,'” Mr. Jacks said.

“Well, it was no good saying too much before we were sure,” Wright answered.

“You brought the necklace back with you?” Bobby asked.

“That's right. The deal hadn't gone through by a long way; we weren't building on it too much. Our idea was she would have to get round the duke and find the money too. Our terms included prompt payment of at least £5,000 cash, and the rest in instalments.”

“What was the total figure to be paid?”

“Hadn't been settled,” answered Wright frankly. “We meant to soak it to her for as much as we dared, but we weren't sure of the limit – there was to be a conference with Mr. Jacks to settle the exact figure. I thought Jessop had said something to you about that,” the manager added to Mr. Jacks.

“Not a word; not one word,” complained Mr. Jacks.

“Jessop was waiting till he knew for certain, I suppose,” observed Wright. “No good gassing till you're sure.”

Mr. Jacks looked dissatisfied still, and Bobby could not make up his mind what to think of this story. He remembered how firmly and convincingly the duchess had denied having seen the necklace at Hastley Court – how genuine her dismissal of the story as “silly” had sounded. But, then, some people are wonderfully good liars, especially those who do not think of themselves as liars but merely as economising the truth for some necessary purpose. The duchess might, for example, consider herself justified in concealing from her husband negotiations entered into for the making of a purchase he had not yet approved of.

In any case, Bobby had, he felt, asked quite enough questions. He was risking getting a severe rap over the knuckles for conducting on his own account an examination that he ought to have left to his superiors. He decided, too, that for the present, until the whole business was a little clearer, it would be better to say nothing about the duchess's denial of the Hastley Court visit. That would be for his superiors to follow up, as would also what to Bobby was apparent enough – a lack of trust and harmony between the partners that might or might not have serious implications.

“Did Miss May accompany you to Hastley Court?” he asked as a final question, and he saw the other two exchange a quick glance.

“No,” answered Wright, and added: “Miss May has left us now.”

“How's that?” Bobby asked quickly. “You mean...?”

“Jessop gave her notice a week ago,” Wright answered. “It was up yesterday.”

“Was there any special reason?” Bobby asked.

“We don't want to get let in for a libel action,” Wright remarked. “I suppose what's said to the police is confidential?”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Jessop got to know she was going about with a fellow we believe to have been behind one or two big thefts, like that one at the Ritz, where a fellow shinned off down the fire-escape with a pocketful of diamond rings sent there on appro – chap of the name of Denis Something, but no one knows anything else about him, except that he's said to be a swell of some sort, well connected. And when Jessop heard that, and found her one day monkeying with his keys – well, he thought she had better go.”

Bobby turned to Mr. Jacks.

“You never said anything about that last night,” he said. “Mr. Jacks didn't know,” interposed Wright. “Mr. Jessop told me in confidence, but he didn't want anyone else to know. She might have landed us for heavy damages if we hadn't been careful. She has swell friends. Besides, it was only suspicion, nothing in it, perhaps. All the same, Mr. Jessop thought, and so did I, that she had better have notice – only without any fuss, and good references and all that. Nothing actually against her.”

“I ought to have been told,” Mr. Jacks said darkly. “There's a lot of this I ought to have been told before and I never was.”

Bobby, after he had seen Jacks and Wright depart in their car to Scotland Yard, walked on slowly to the Cut and Come Again club, revolving slowly in his mind as he went this latest piece of information.

Hilda May had known all about the necklace, and would undoubtedly have been a most useful accomplice in any plot to secure possession of it. And there was the coincidence of the name “Denis” that Wright had mentioned, and that was also the first name of young Chenery. Miss May would have to be questioned again, that was clear. He wondered if he ought to ask her to come with him to headquarters. He saw that he had reached the Cut and Come Again, and he decided to ask a few questions there before making up his mind what to do about Hilda.