02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues (25 page)

“Good gad almighty,” Luty exclaimed in disbelief. “You mean that man was stupid enough to walk into a police station and murder someone right under yer nose because of a woman like Cassie Yates? I tell ya, if that don’t beat all. The man’s ruined his life.”

“Yes, I’m afraid he has,” Witherspoon said. “But he didn’t seem to mind. Said that with her gone his life wasn’t worth living anyway. Obviously, he was in love with her. They’d been meeting secretly for months. When he found out for certain that Andrew was responsible for Cassie’s murder, he decided to take the law into his own hands.”

“But he defended Farnsworth,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “Clements wouldn’t let you search his house yesterday and was going to get a solicitor on his friend’s behalf. Why?”

Witherspoon gave her a weary smile. “I don’t think he was defending Malcolm Farnsworth. I think he was planning on killing him. At least, I think he’d have killed him as soon as he knew for sure that Farnsworth was responsible for her murder.”

“You mean he was only pretending to help Malcolm?” Luty asked. “What makes you think so?”

“Because of the way he spoke about Cassie Yates.” The inspector frowned thoughtfully. “He was desperately in love with her. He told us he’d arranged to buy Andrew’s cottage because he was going to give the place to her as a gift. A lure. He wanted her more than anything in the world.”

“Then why in tarnation didn’t he do something about her the past two months?” Luty leaned forward on one elbow. “Where’d he think the girl was all this time?”

“He said he thought she was abroad.” Witherspoon looked at his almost empty glass of whiskey and then shoved it away from him. “On the day she died, Cassie had led both Clements and Farnsworth to believe she was leaving the country. That’s why Farnsworth was so stunned when he found her at the Everdenes’. He fully expected that she was on her way to France.”

“Why did she want everyone to believe she was leaving?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. That was one of the few things she hadn’t been able to piece together on her own.

“I’m not sure,” the inspector murmured. “But Lutterbank told us she’d come to him that morning demanding the five hundred pounds he’d murdered Sally Comstock to keep. Cassie had followed them that night he’d supposedly put Miss Comstock on a ship for Australia, and she’d witnessed the murder. But Cassie bided her time before actually trying to blackmail Lutterbank. She told Andrew and Clements she was going abroad. She’d probably planned to use the money as an added inducement in her campaign to force Malcolm to marry her. Clements told us
that when he’d seen Cassie on the morning of the tenth, he’d been the one who told her Farnsworth was going to propose to Antonia Everdene. She wasn’t having that. She took the money, forced Miss Sparks to change clothes with her and then confronted Malcolm. Unfortunately, when she left the Everdenes’, Andrew followed her. He waited until she was inside the house at Magpie Lane, stabbed her and buried her body in the cellar.” The inspector paused and smiled sadly. “He committed murder to keep that money and to silence her forever. Imagine how he must have felt when he realized she didn’t have it with her. That’s why he went to get her things the next day. He wanted to look for the money and make it appear that she’d actually left.” Witherspoon took a deep breath and stood up. “I’m going back to the station,” he said firmly. “Much as I’d like to stay here and forget this dreadful day, I’ve still my duty to perform.”

* * *

It was very late that evening before Mrs. Jeffries and the others could gather round the kitchen table.

“’Ere I was hanging on to that silly Essie Tuttle and helpin’ her pack with that awful Miss Everdene screechin’ at both of us, and all the time, the case were comin’ to a close.” Betsy scowled heavily. “It don’t seem right. I missed everythin’.”

“I don’t think you really missed all that much, Betsy,” Mrs. Jeffries said kindly. “Watching one man shoot another certainly isn’t a very nice sight.”

“I still don’t understand.” Wiggins yawned. “’Ow did you know that Sally Comstock would be buried in Angus’s grave?”

“She’s already explained that twice,” Mrs. Goodge complained. “Haven’t you been listenin’?”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Goodge. It’s no wonder Wiggins can’t concentrate. He didn’t get much sleep last night.” Mrs. Jeffries smiled at her two fellow conspirators. “I suspected Sally was in the grave because of the amount of money that was found in the pouch Cassie gave Mary Sparks for safekeeping. If you’ll recall, the first time Luty Belle came to ask for our help, she made a very casual comment to the effect that
Andrew Lutterbank’s indiscretions had cost him five hundred pounds and a trip to Australia. When Smythe confirmed that there was no record of Sally ever having been a passenger to Australia, I decided that Andrew had probably killed her and buried her body in a convenient place. In this case, Angus’s grave. The earth was still nice and soft; it wouldn’t have been very difficult for a healthy young man to reopen it and put her inside.”

“You were takin’ a chance there, Mrs. J,” Smythe said. “I only checked with two lines that goes to Australia. What if she’d left from another port?”

“I was hoping the Lutterbanks were in such a hurry to get rid of the girl, they booked her passage on a vessel leaving that very day,” Mrs. Jeffries answered.

“’Ow come a rich man like ’im did ’er in for a piddlin’ little amount like five hundred quid?” Wiggins asked.

“Five hundred pounds is a lot of money,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Eat some more of them cakes, boy. You’ve missed too many meals lately.” She shoved the plate closer to the footman.

“It wasn’t just the money,” Mrs. Jeffries said softly. “I think that perhaps Luty was right. There is madness in that family. Andrew was tainted with it. I think he enjoyed killing those women.”

“Well,” Betsy said, “I still don’t quite see ’ow you knew it were ’im that did the killin’. Were it just the money that gave you the hint?”

“No, it was also the fact that you reported that Essie Tuttle had said that when Cassie left the Everdene house, a man stepped out of the shadows and followed her.” Mrs. Jeffries explained. “I knew that man couldn’t have been Malcolm Farnsworth. Essie said he was still in the house when she went back inside. So I decided that the murderer was most likely the man who’d followed Cassie and not Malcolm. For one thing, if Farnsworth had murdered her, he wouldn’t have buried her body in the cellar. He knew that Magpie Lane wasn’t going to be widened for a road. Why would he have buried the girl when he knew perfectly well the property along
there was going to be dug up for an underground railway? Clements knew the same thing. So I suspected that neither of them were the killers. That left Andrew Lutterbank.”

“But he was supposed to have been home that night,” Mrs. Goodge put in.

“That’s another reason I suspected him.” She smiled wryly. “How many of us know exactly where we were on any particular night from several months ago? Yet when the inspector asked where he’d been, his father immediately stated he was home. I knew that was a lie.”

“You think his father might have suspected Andrew of bein’ the killer?” Smythe asked as he poured himself another cup of tea.

“I’m certain of it.” Mrs. Jeffries yawned. “I think he knew all too well what kind of evil his son was capable of doing. That’s probably why he suddenly decided to take young Andrew on a business trip. He wanted him out of the country, out of the reach of Scotland Yard.”

Betsy sighed. “Well, it’s over now, at least for us.”

“Too bad it ain’t over for the inspector,” Smythe said. “Looks like there’s goin’ to be a bit of a ruckus on this one.” He scowled and lifted his chin to meet Mrs. Jeffries’s eyes. “You think ’e’ll be all right?”

“He’ll be just fine,” she announced. “As soon as this case is officially closed, he’s going off to the country for a few days to visit friends. It’ll do him the world of good.”

Betsy suddenly giggled. “Speakin’ of the country, you should ’ave seen Hatchet’s face when I took Essie to Luty Belle’s. ’E didn’t spend two minutes with her before he looked like ’e’d like to put her on a train and send ’er to parts unknown.”

They all laughed.

“Speaking of Luty,” Mrs. Jeffries said when the merriment had died down, “she sent me a note this afternoon. When the inspector leaves for the country, she wants to take us all on a nice outing.”

“Maybe she’ll take us to one of them posh restaurants over on the strand,” Betsy said excitedly.

“I could fancy a day at the races meself,” Smythe muttered.

“Nah, let’s hope she takes us to the circus,” Wiggins countered.

“An outing on the river would be nice,” Mrs. Goodge said thoughtfully.

“I was rather hoping for a concert or perhaps the ballet,” Mrs. Jeffries interjected. “Mozart would be very nice.”

She took them to a music hall. Mrs. Jeffries felt she really ought to protest, but when she saw how excited the others were, she simply didn’t have the heart. And she was rather curious herself. She’d never been to a music hall.

Dressed in their best and accompanied by Luty and Hatchet, they drove off in high spirits.

The place was warm, garish and hazed with smoke from dozens of cigars. The noise level was so loud, Mrs. Jeffries couldn’t hear herself think.

Luty tapped her cane in time to the tinny music from the piano, Smythe and Wiggins almost got cricks in their necks from stretching to get a better view of the can-can dancers, and Betsy and Mrs. Goodge laughed themselves silly at the bawdy jokes from the vaudeville comic.

All in all, everyone had a wonderful time. Even Hatchet unbent far enough to join in the raucous sing-along.

The evening ended far too quickly. As Luty’s coach drew up outside the front door of Upper Edmonton Gardens, Mrs. Jeffries leaned forward and said, “How’s Essie Tuttle getting along, Luty?”

Luty cackled with laughter. “Oh, she’s gettin’ along just fine. It’s Hatchet I’m worried about. The girl’s givin’ ’im fits. Silly old fool took it into his head to teach her to read. Now he’s complainin’ that that’s all she wants to do.”

Betsy giggled. “Honestly, men. They think they own you just because they gives you a little ’elp now and again.”

Smythe snorted. “Yeah, and you females spend all yer time runnin’ a poor man ragged.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Betsy demanded indignantly.

“You know very well what it means.” The coachman glared at her. “You was runnin’ that poor lad ragged tonight. He musta fetched you three glasses of lemonade.”

“’E offered,” she sniffed, “and besides, I didn’t invite ’im to sit next to me.”

“You didn’t discourage ’im, neither,” Smythe snapped. “And I don’t think it’s right you agreein’ to see ’im again.”

“I didn’t agree to see him again,” Betsy defended herself. “He just asked me if I were interested in spiritualism, and I said I was. It’s an interestin’ subject.”

“Spiritualism,” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed. “Good gracious, you’re not thinking of going to visit a spiritualist with this young man, are you?”

“I’d like ta go too,” Luty put in. “I’ve always wanted to go to one of them there séances. Used to be a fortune teller in San Francisco I’d go see. She were right good too.”

Mrs. Jeffries and Smythe both scowled at Luty, who ignored them.

Betsy tossed her blond curls and frowned at the coachman. “Oh, I don’t see why you’re gettin’ so miserable all of a sudden. I’m not goin’ to see Edmund again.”

“Good,” Smythe mumbled. He reached for the door latch. “I don’t want you gettin’ into trouble.”

“Don’t be silly,” Betsy replied airily as she stepped out of the coach behind Luty and Mrs. Jeffries. “What kind of trouble could I possibly get into by going to a séance?”

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Berkley Prime Crime titles by Emily Brightwell

THE INSPECTOR AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES DUSTS FOR CLUES

THE GHOST AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES STOCK

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE BALL

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE TRAIL

MRS. JEFFRIES PLAYS THE COOK

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISSING ALIBI

MRS. JEFFRIES STANDS CORRECTED

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE STAGE

MRS. JEFFRIES QUESTIONS THE ANSWER

MRS. JEFFRIES REVEALS HER ART

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE CAKE

MRS. JEFFRIES ROCKS THE BOAT

MRS. JEFFRIES WEEDS THE PLOT

MRS. JEFFRIES PINCHES THE POST

MRS. JEFFRIES PLEADS HER CASE

MRS. JEFFRIES SWEEPS THE CHIMNEY

MRS. JEFFRIES STALKS THE HUNTER

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE SILENT KNIGHT

MRS. JEFFRIES APPEALS THE VERDICT

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE BEST LAID PLANS

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN

MRS. JEFFRIES HOLDS THE TRUMP

MRS. JEFFRIES IN THE NICK OF TIME