The Mad Hatter Mystery dgf-2 Read online

  'Doesn't need one,' Sir William growled. `He's got pots.'

  "Arrived Southampton, March 4, S.S. Bremen. Duration of stay indefinite. Destination, Villa Seule, Nice, France." He adds, very curtly, "If further information is necessary, suggest communicating with my London solicitors, Messrs Hillton and Dane, Lincoln's Inn Fields." H'm.'

  He smiled to himself, put the sheet aside, and glanced hastily at the others.

  `If you've ever heard any of these other names, gentlemen, sing out; otherwise I'll let the sergeant handle them.

  `Mr and Mrs George G. Bebber, 291 Aylesborough Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pa., U.S.A. - Lucien Lefevre, 6o Avenue Foch, Paris. Mlle Clementine Lefevre, as above. - Miss Dorothea Delevan Mercenay, 23 Elm Avenue, Meadville, Ohio, U.S.A. Miss Mercenay adds M.A. to her name, underscored heavily. That's the lot. They sound harmless enough.’

  `Sergeant Betts, sir,' said a voice at the door. A very serious-faced young man saluted nervously.

  `Betts,' said Hadley. `Betts.. oh yes. Did you get a picture of the dead man's face?'

  `Yes, sir. They've set up the outfit in that Tower place, and the pictures are drying now.'

  `Right.. Take a copy of that picture and show it to all the people listed here; the warder will show you where they are. Ask them if they saw him today; when and where. Be particular about anybody they may have seen in the vicinity of the Traitors' Gate at any time, or anybody acting suspiciously. Mr Dalrye, I should be obliged if you would go along and make shorthand notes of anything important'

  Dalrye rose, reaching for pencil and notebook.

  'I want particularly to know, Betts, where they were between one-thirty and one forty-five o'clock. That's vital. Mr Dalrye, will you kindly ask Mrs Lester Bitton to step in here?'

  6. The Souvenir Crossbow Bolt

  `Now, then,' Hadley pursued. Again with meticulous attention he straightened the pencil, the notebook, and the flashlight before him. `The police surgeon will bring in the contents of Driscoll's pockets, and we can have a good look at the weapon. I'll leave it up to the chief warder to take charge of questioning the warders about whether they saw anything.

  `Now, Gentlemen. Before we see Mrs Bitton, suppose we try to clarify our ideas. Let's go around, the circle here, and see what we all have to say. Sir William, what strikes you about the case?'

  `That's easy,' Sir William said, twisting the ends of his white scarf. `You can't miss it. It's the absolute lack of motive. Nobody in the world had the slightest reason for killing Philip.'

  `Yes. But you're forgetting one thing,' Hadley pointed out. `We're dealing, in some fashion with a madman. It's useless to deny that this hat-thief is mixed up in it. Whether he, killed Philip Driscoll or not, he seems to have put that hat on his head. Now, from what Dalrye said, it's clear that Driscoll was on the hat-man's track pretty closely..’

  `But, good God, man! You can't seriously suggest that this fellow killed Philip because Philip found out who he was! That's absurd.'

  `Quite. But worth looking into. Therefore, what's our obvious move?'

  Sir William's hooded eyelids drooped. `I see. Philip was turning in regular, copy to his newspaper. One of his articles appeared to-day, in the morning edition. That means he turned it in last night. And if he went to the office, he may have told his editor something…?'

  `Precisely. That's our first line of inquiry. If by any wild chance his agitation to-day was caused by some sort of threat, it would probably have been sent to the office; or at least he might have mentioned it there. It's worth trying.!

  'Rubbish,' said Dr Fell. I

  `Indeed?' said the chief inspector, with heavy politeness. `Would you mind telling us why?'

  The doctor made a capacious gesture. `Hadley, you know your own game, Heaven knows. But you don't know the newspaper business. I, for my sins, do. Did you ever hear the story of the cub reporter whose first assignment was to cover a big Pacifist meeting in the West End? Well, he came back with a doleful face. "Where's your story?" says thee news editor. "I couldn't get one," says the cub; "there wasn't any meeting." "No meeting?" says the news editor. "Why not?" "Well," says' the cub, "the first speaker had no sooner got started than somebody threw a brick at him. And then Lord Dinwiddie fell through the bass drum, and a fight started all around the platform, and they began hitting each other over the head with the chairs, and when I saw the Black Maria at the door I knew there wouldn't be any more meeting, so I left."'

  Dr Fell shook his head sadly. `That's the sort of picture you're drawing, Hadley. Man, don't you see that if Driscoll had found out anything, or particularly been threatened, it would have been NEWS? News in capitals, "HAT FIEND THREATENS DAILY SOMETHING' MAN." Certainly he'd have mentioned it at the office. Rest assured you'd have seen it to-day on the first page.'

  `He mightn't,' Hadley said, irritably, `if he had been as nervous as he seems to have been.'

  `Wait a bit. You're wrong there,' put in Sir William. `Give the boy his due. Whatever he was, he wasn't a coward. His upsets never came because he feared any sort of violence.!

  'But he said…'

  `That isn't the point, you see,' Dr Fell said, patiently. `To publish anything of the sort couldn't have done any harm. They might say they'd found a vital clue, or that there had been a threat. The first would only warn their victim. The second would have been more publicity, which the hat-fellow wanted in the-first place; look at the way he acts. It would have done no harm, and assuredly it would have helped young Driscoll's job.'

  'Suppose he'd actually found out who the man was, though?'

  `Why, the newspaper would have communicated with the police,' and Driscoll would have got the credit. Do you seriously think anybody would have been afraid, at the time, of a person who seemed to be a mere genial practical joker?

  No, no. You're letting the hat on the corpse run away with your own sense of humour. I'm willing to agree with Sir William's statement the boy wasn't a coward but what was it he did fear? There's a tip. Think it over.'

  `I have something to say to you in a moment,' the chief inspector told him. `But, for the moment, let's continue. Have you any suggestions, General?'

  General Mason had been smoking glumly. He took the cigar out of his mouth and shook his head.

  `None whatever. Except that it's fairly obvious now he was stabbed and not shot with that bolt.'

  `Mr Rampole?' Hadley saw that the American was ill at ease, and raised his eyebrows encouragingly. `Any ideas?'

  Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him, and he tried to be casual under the scrutiny. This might be the test as to whether he heard anything more of the case after today.

  `There was something,' he said, feeling his voice a trifle unsteady. `The crossbow bolt didn't come from the collection here, and one of the warders said its pattern was late fourteenth century. Now, it isn't probable, is it, that Driscoll was really killed with a steel bolt made in thirteen hundred and something?' He hesitated. `I used to dabble a bit with arms and armour; one of the finest collections in the world is at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. In a bolt so old as that one, the steel would be far gone in corrosion. Would it be possible to get that bright polish and temper on the one used to kill Driscoll? It looks new. If I remember correctly, you have no arms exhibits here previous to the fifteenth century. And even your early fifteenth-century helmets are worn to a sort of rusty shell.'

  There was a silence. `I begin to see,' nodded the chief inspector. `You mean that the bolt is of recent manufacture. And if it is ?'

  `Well, sir, if it, is, who made it? Certainly there aren't many smiths turning out crossbow bolts of fourteenth-century pattern. It may be a curio of some kind, or there may be somebody who does it for amusement or for decorative purposes.'

  Hadley made a note in his black book. -`It's a long shot,' he remarked, shaking his head, `but undoubtedly there's something in it. Good work! Now we come to my usually garrulous colleague, Dr Fell. What are your comments on the testimony we've heard?'

 
Dr' Fell cocked his head on one side. He seemed to meditate.

  `Why, I'm afraid I wasn't paying a great deal of attention to it. However, I want to ask one question.' `That's gratifying. What is it?'

  `This hat.' He picked up the topper. `I suppose you noticed. When it was put on the boy's head, it slid down over his ears. Of course, he's very, small, Sir William, and you're tall. But you have rather a long narrow head. Wasn't' it too large even for you?'

  'Too… ' The other looked bewildered. `Why, no! No, it wasn't too large. Hold on, though. I remember now. When I was trying, on hats at the shop, I remember one I tried on, among others, was too large. But the one they sent me was quite all right: a good fit.'

  `Well, would you mind putting this one on?'

  For a moment Sir William seemed about to stretch out his hand, as General Mason took the hat from Dr Fell and passed it across. Then he sat rigid.

  `You'll have to excuse me,' he said through his teeth. `I — sorry, but I can't do it.'

  `Well, well, it's of no consequence,' Dr Fell said, genially. He took back the hat, pressed it down so that it collapsed, and fanned his ruddy face with it. `Not for the moment, anyhow. Who are your hatters?'

  `Steele's, in Regent,' Street. Why?'

  'Mrs Lester Bitton,'' said a voice at the door. The warder on guard pushed it open.

  Mrs Bitton was not backward. She came into the room with an assurance which betokened a free stride, and she radiated energy. Mrs Bitton was a slim woman in the late twenties, with a sturdy, well-shaped figure like a swimmer's. She had level, rather shining brown eyes, a straight nose, and a humorous but determined mouth. Her light-brown hair was caught under the tilt of a tight blue hat; beneath a broad fur collar the tight-fitting coat showed off her full breasts and rather voluptuous hips..:. As she caught sight of Sir William she became less assured.

  'Hallo!' she said. The voice was quick and self-determined. 'Bob didn't tell me you were here. I'm sorry you got here so soon.'

  Sir William performed the introductions. Rampole set out a chair for her beside Hadley's desk.

  'So you're Mr Hadley,' she observed, studying him with her bead slightly back. Then she looked at Sir William. `I've heard Will speak of you.' She made a cool inspection of everybody in the room, finally craning round the better to see Dr Fell. `And these are your inspectors or something. I'm afraid I kicked up rather a row across the way. But then I didn't know. Even when Bob told me… told me it was Phil, I didn't believe him.'

  Despite her assurance Rampole got a definite impression that she was nervous.

  `You know the circumstances, Mrs Bitton?' Hadley asked impassively.

  `What Bob was able to tell me. Poor Phil! I'd like to..'

  She paused, seeming to meditate punishments for a murderer. `Of course it was absurd asking me to fill out that silly paper. As though I had to explain:

  `It was merely a matter of form. However, you under that all the people who were here near the time of the tragedy must be questioned.!

  'Of course I understand that.' She looked at Hadley sharply. `When was Phil killed?'

  `Well come to that in a moment, Mrs Bitton. Let's get things in order, if you don't mind…. To begin with, I dare say this isn't the first time you've visited the Tower? Naturally, you're interested in the — er — historic treasures of the place?'

  A rather humorous look crept into her face. `That's- a gentleman's way of asking me my business:' Her eyes wandered to Sir William. `I imagine Will has already told you about me. He thinks I haven't any interest in musty ruins and things like that.'

  General Mason was stung. The word `ruins' had shocked him. He took the cigar out of his mouth.

  `Madam,' he interposed, warmly, `if you will excuse my reminding you.. '

  `Certainly,' she agreed, with a bright smile, and looked back at Hadley. `However, that's not true. I do like them. I like to think about those people in armour, and the tournaments and things, and fights. But I was going to tell you why I was here. It wasn't the Tower exactly. It was the walk.'

  `The walk?'

  `I'm afraid, Mr Hadley,' she observed, critically, `that you don't walk enough. Good for you. Keeps you fit. Lester is getting a paunch that's why I take him on walking tours as often as he'll let me. We just came back yesterday from a walking trip in the West Country. So to-day I decided to walk from Berkeley Square to the Tower of London.

  'I couldn't persuade Lester to go along, so I came down 1, here alone. And then I thought, "So long as I'm here, I' might as well look at the place."

  'I see. Do you' remember what time you arrived?'

  `One o'clock or some time afterwards, I fancy. I had a sandwich in the refreshment-room up by the gate. That was where I bought the tickets for the towers; three of 'em. A white one, a pink one, and a green one.'

  Hadley glanced at General Mason. The latter said:

  `For the White Tower, the Bloody Tower, and the Crown Jewels. There's an admission fee for those.'

  `'M, — yes. Did you use these tickets, Mrs Bitton?'

  For a moment, the movement of her full breast was quicker. Then her lip curled slightly.

  `I had a look at the Crown jewels,' she replied, with no expression of candour. `They looked like glass to me. And I'll bet they're not real, either.'

  General Mason's face had assumed a brickish hue, and a strangled noise issued from him.

  `May I ask why you didn't use the other tickets, Mrs Bitton?'Hadley asked quickly.

  'O Lord, how should I know? I changed my mind.' She slid her body about in the chair, seeming to have lost interest. But her eyes looked strained. `I did wander about a bit in that inner courtyard up there. And I talked to one nice old Beefeater.’

  General Mason broke in with cold courtesy:

  `Madam, may I, request you not to use that word? The guards at the Tower are called Yeoman Warders, not Beefeaters. The term is applied.. '

  `I'm sorry. Of course I didn't know. You hear people talk, that's all. I pointed to that place where the stone slab is, where it says they used to chop people's heads off, you know, and I asked the Bee… the man, "Is that where Queen Elizabeth was executed?" And he nearly fainted. He cleared his throat a couple of times, and said, "Madam..er… Queen Elizabeth had not the honour to be… ah… I mean, Queen Elizabeth died in her bed." And then reeled off a list of people who got their heads chopped off there; and I said, "What did she die of?" and he said,

  "Who, ma'am?" and I said, "Queen Elizabeth" and he made a sort of funny noise.'

  Hadley was not impressed. `Please keep to the subject, Mrs Litton. When did you leave?' '

  `My dear man, I don't carry a watch. But I know that I came down from the parade-ground under the arch of that big place called the Bloody Tower. And I saw a group of people standing over by the rail around these steps, and there was a Beefeater who asked me if I would mind going on. So I suppose it was after you found… Phil.'

  `Did you run into Mr Driscoll at any time?'

  'No. Naturally, I didn't know he was there.'

  Hadley absently, tapped his fingers on the desk for some time. He resumed suddenly: 'Now, Mrs Bitton, according to your own statement you arrived here in the vicinity of one o'clock. The body was discovered at two-thirty, and of course you started to leave after that time, or you wouldn't be here. So you spent all, that time looking at the Crown Jewels and wandering about the parade-ground in the fog? Is that correct?'

  She laughed and regarded Hadley with some defiance. But she was not so cool as before.

  `I hope you don't think I'm afraid of a bit of mist or rain? Good Lord! You surely don't think I had anything to do with killing Phil, do you?'

  'It is my duty to ask these questions,' Mrs Bitton. Since you carried no watch, I suppose you do not know whether you were anywhere near the Traitors' Gate between half past one and a quarter to two?'

  'The Traitors' Gate,' she repeated. `Let's see. Which one is that?'

  Hadley nodded towards her handbag. `May I ask w
hat you have there, under the strap on the other side of your bag? Folded over, I mean; a green pamphlet of some sort.'

  It's… I say, I'd forgotten all about it! It's a guide to the Tower of London. I bought it for twopence at the ticket-window.'

  `Were you anywhere near the Traitors' Gate between half past one and a quarter to two?'

  She took out a cigarette, lighted it with a sweep of the match, against the table, and regarded him with cold anger.

  `Thanks for repeating the question,' she returned. `It's most considerate. If by the Traitors' Gate you mean the one where Phil was found, as I assume you do, the answer is No. I was not near it, at any time except when I passed it going in and coming out.'

  Hadley grinned. It was a placid, slow, homely grin, and it made his face almost genial. The woman's face, had hardened, and there was a strained look about her eyes; but she caught the grin, and suddenly laughed.

  `All right. Touche. But I'm hanged if I let you pull my leg again, Mr Hadley. I thought you meant it.'

  `We now come to the inevitable. Mrs Bitton, do you know anybody who would desire to take Mr Driscoll's life?'

  `Nobody would want to kill him. It's absurd. Phil was wonderful. He was a precious lamb.'

  General Mason shuddered, and even Hadley winced.

  `Ah,' he said. 'He, may have been as you say, a… never mind. When did you last see him?'

  `H'm. Well, it's been some time. It was before Lester and I went to Cornwall. He only comes to the house on Sundays. And he wasn't there yesterday, now that I come to think of it.' She frowned. `Yes. Will was so cut up over losing that manuscript, and turning the house upside down.. or did you know about that?'

  `We know,' Hadley answered, grimly.

  `Wait a bit. Wait. I'm wrong,' she corrected, putting her hand down on the desk. 'He did come in for, a short time rather late Sunday night, to pay his respects to us. He was on his way, to the newspaper, office to turn in his story, I remember: about the barrister's wig on the cab-horse. Don't you remember, Will?'