Chapter 10 #3
Mrs. Morble, sent round by Chelsea Division, was no
exception. Tall and robust, with a red face and very pale eyes, she had a harsh voice and a bovine expression.
Bulls, as Alec reminded himself, are stubborn and belligerent as well as not exceptionally bright. What he needed was a women who was an ordinary officer, accustomed to frequent contact with law-abiding people, but the search could not wait.
He explained to Mrs. Morble what he wanted her to do. “I consider it highly unlikely that any of these women are involved,” he stressed.
“There’s a bad apple in every barrel,” said Mrs. Morble.
“Somewhere in the museum, yes. But I doubt it’s any of the women.”
“The female of the species is more deadlier than the male,” said Mrs. Morble.
“Er, possibly, though it’s quite impossible that any of them murdered Pettigrew. It’s the jewel theft we are concerned with here.”
“Set a thief to catch a thief,” said Mrs. Morble obscurely.
“It’s more a matter of catching the thief and hoping he’ll turn out to be, or at least lead us to, the murderer.”
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,” said Mrs. Morble. She elaborated. “If you was to ask me, there’s a lot to be said for what the Yankees call the Third Degree.”
Trying not to quail visibly, Alec stringently reminded her, “However, such methods are against the law in Britain. What is more, these women are not under any particular suspicion. They are to be searched as a general precaution, and they are to be treated with proper courtesy. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. What can’t be cured must be endured. But you can be sure, sir, if any of ‘em’s got so much as a jet bead on
’em, I’ll find it, and let the devil take the hindmost,” said Mrs. Morble.
“No jet has been stolen. Here’s the list.” With deep misgivings, Alec repeated his instructions and let the matron loose on her prey.
Either none of those unfortunates was deeply disturbed by her notion of proper courtesy, or none was brave enough to complain.
Obviously disappointed, she reported back to Alec: “All clean as a whistle. Leastways, far as I can tell without making ’em peel. The which you said not to do, sir,” added Mrs. Morble reproachfully.
Relieved that she had not tried, Alec thanked her and thankfully dismissed her.
Searching the men proved equally unproductive.
Alec had not really expected the thief to attempt to walk out with his booty when the museum was under siege by the police, but it was a possibility which had to be covered.
Though the museum had yet to be searched, the odds were that the jewels were long gone, either already sold or concealed at home.
Alec had applied for warrants to search his chief suspects’ homes.
The only way to bring them down to a manageable number was to assume the thief and the murderer were one, which was Superintendent Crane’s view, fortunately.
As Daisy had pointed out in her notes, the assumption simplified matters no end, even if one included the Grand Duke and ffinch-Brown.
Alec did, since the two were high on the murder list, though like Daisy he considered them unlikely thieves. The magistrate agreed, and refused to grant search warrants. He also refused in the case of Grange, who had raised the alarm,
but allowed Randell, both added to the list by Alec on the grounds of opportunity.
That left the four curators and the junior mineralogy assistant, too many to cope with in one evening. As Randell was not a murder suspect, Alec sent a detective sergeant and constable from the Yard to his lodgings.
Leaving Detective Inspector Wotherspoon in charge of the cohorts of constables who were to start searching the museum, Alec departed with his own little troop.
Little in numbers, not in size: with Tom Tring beside him in the front and both Piper and Ross in the back, the Austin Chummy was heavily laden.
He hoped the springs would stand up to the load.
“I’ll leave most of the searching to the three of you,” he said.
“I shan’t do any formal questioning this evening, but I want to get a feel for the way they live.
Tom, try to manage a word with any servants, just to break the ice.
You can go back later to pump them, if necessary.
Ernie, you’ve worked out the best route? ”
“Mr. Mummery first, Chief, in Wimbledon. Start out across Vauxhall Bridge. I can give you directions when you need ’em. After him, Mr. Ruddlestone in Twickenham, Mr. Steadman in Ealing, then back to Mr. Witt in Mayfair.”
“You know how to find all their houses?”
“Course, Chief.”
“Y’ought to be a taxi-driver,” Ross said admiringly.
“Very efficient, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a long evening anyway,” said Alec, glad that he seemed to have got his second wind. “We’ll stop for a quick bite later. How’s the cold, Tom?”
“None so bad, Chief. Just a bit of a cough now and then. I’ll leave tearing up floorboards and crawling through attics to the young uns.”
“You wouldn’t fit in an attic anyways, Sarge,” said Piper.
“You watch your lip, young fella-me-lad, or I’ll have you climbing chimneys,” Tom threatened mildly.
“And don’t neither of you go tearing up any floorboards till I’ve had a dekko and said they look suspicious, or the repairs’ll come out of your pay.
Nor I don’t want anyone to be able to see that we’ve been through their things. ”
Though addressed to both constables, the words were directed at Ross. Young Piper had worked with Tom Tring often enough to know what the sergeant expected. Tom had picked Ross to help tonight, saying he seemed a quick learner.
Alec was sure one of the things Ross had learnt quickly was to keep quiet about Daisy’s presence at several interviews.
Her notes made it plain she knew exactly who the murder suspects were, and Alec had not told her.
He only wished he could believe for a moment that the knowledge would make her steer clear of them.