First Class Murder: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery Page 11

  1

  The dining car was deserted, all the starchy white tables looking quite empty and unloved without their crystal and tableware. According to Alexander, Dr Sandwich had retreated to his compartment to rest, and Jocelyn had gone to organize the other attendants in the Calais–Athens coach. The interviews would resume at eleven. By my wristwatch, it was five minutes to. We had to hurry.

  On one of the tables a notebook lay open, its pages weighed down with black squiggles. I peered at it – I couldn’t make head or tail of it.

  Alexander translated it for me. ‘“I was practising my new trick in my compartment, concentrating so hard that I did not even hear the scream.” Told you I knew shorthand,’ he said with a grin, and I began to wonder whether I ought to learn, for the good of the Detective Society. ‘Now, what did that will say?’

  ‘What did Il Mysterioso say in his interview?’ Daisy countered. She was still acting as though we were at war.

  ‘You first,’ said Alexander, fiddling with his short cuffs. ‘Honour bright, I’ll tell you after that.’

  I believed him. ‘All right,’ I said, and I explained about the will. I did not mention the spy, though. I did not like to think what Mrs Vitellius might do to us if we betrayed her and the British government – and I knew that Daisy would be desperate for us to keep at least one piece of information exclusively for the Detective Society.

  ‘Now for mine,’ said Alexander, once I had finished. ‘The prints have been wiped off Mr Strange’s knife – it’s no good looking for the murderer that way. Mr Strange keeps on saying that it must have been stolen from his room, but he doesn’t know when. And he’s awfully muddled about what he did after dinner. He said that he knocked on Mrs Daunt’s door, but she didn’t answer – and then he changed his story, and said that he never had. I think the first story’s got to be the truth. He’s desperate for money – definitely desperate enough to kill Mrs Daunt for two thousand pounds – but what I want to know, even though it hasn’t occurred to Dr Sandwich, is how he bought a ticket for this train if he’s so penniless.’

  I sat up. This was an extremely good point. How could Mr Strange afford the Orient Express? Daisy had gone very still, and I knew that she was kicking herself for missing this.

  ‘Mr Daunt thinks it was Mr Strange who killed Mrs Daunt, by the way,’ Alexander went on. ‘I can tell. In his interview he kept going on about the knife and how poor Mr Strange is. He’s furious with Madame Melinda, too, for driving Mrs Daunt out of the dining car. When he went after her, he knocked on her door and she told him to leave her alone. I think he’s feeling guilty now, for going back to the dining car and not staying with her.

  ‘Then there’s Il Mysterioso. He says he went to his compartment to work on a new trick, and didn’t even hear the scream. But I don’t see how that could be true – it was so loud! I think he’s hiding something.’

  I thought of the papers I had found in Il Mysterioso’s room. But, as I had decided before, this was one piece of information that we could not share with Alexander. ‘We think the fact that he’s a magician is important,’ I said, to give him something. ‘After all, the doors were both locked.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Alexander. ‘I’ve been trying to work that out, but—’

  Suddenly we heard Dr Sandwich’s nasal voice outside the dining car. ‘Ah, Mr Buri, are you ready to begin the next part of the investigation?’

  ‘Indeed, Dr Sandwich,’ said Jocelyn, although he sounded rather tired.

  ‘Excellent, excellent . . .’

  I had frozen. Daisy’s fists were clenched on the table. We had to hide, otherwise they would come in and see us.

  ‘Quick!’ Alexander hissed. ‘Under the table! They’ll never see you down there!’

  There was nothing else for it. I dived, bruising my knees and burning my hands on the carpet, and Daisy popped down after me like a rabbit.

  2

  ‘Oh, hello, Dr Sandwich, Jocelyn,’ said Alexander, quite calmly, from above us. I stared at his shiny shoes in a turmoil. Although we were quite hidden by the white starchy fall of the tablecloth around us, I felt as exposed as if I had been served up on a platter. We were trapped like mice in a cage – like the trunk at Deepdean all over again. Daisy butted her head against my shoulder, and I looked round at her in the gloom. She was making a face at me, and wriggling her fingers – it took me a moment to understand that she meant me to take notes. That is Daisy through and through: whatever bind we are in, she has to keep on detecting.

  ‘Hello, Mr Arcady!’ cried Dr Sandwich, in infuriatingly cheerful tones. ‘Most excellent. Now our party is back up to strength, and refreshed, I hope – so we move on to our next interview, with the medium Madame Melinda. And here she is now. Come in, come in, madame!’

  I heard the beads on Madame Melinda’s gown clacking towards us, and then I saw her little buttoned boots gliding across the carpet. They looked very neat and secret under her skirt, and she tucked them under her chair as she sat down. She smelled very strongly of scent, and Daisy made a disgusted face.

  ‘Madame, it is so kind of you to volunteer your time. Mr Buri and I will be asking questions, and Mr Arcady here will be taking notes. At this stage we are merely making preliminary enquiries. Now, before we begin, is there anything you wish to tell us?’

  ‘I should think so!’ Madame Melinda’s voice was rich and heavy, and her scent made my nose tickle. ‘If you ask me, this is all the fault of poor, sweet Georgiana’s husband. That man! He was the most dreadful, dangerous influence – one always felt that he was on the verge of doing something really violent. If you’re looking for an explanation of what happened last night, I can only suggest that you look to him.’

  ‘Madame Melinda,’ said Dr Sandwich reasonably, ‘that is all very well, but you must know that Mr Daunt is quite above suspicion. Why, he was in the dining car, in the company of several other guests and attendants, when Mrs Daunt screamed.’

  ‘Well, on a physical level he was,’ said Madame Melinda darkly, ‘but spiritually he was up to no good. He is a wicked presence. Why, I have never met a person so able to darken the mood of a room. Even if he had not been so patently unsupportive of my séances, I would have had to banish him from them. You mark my words, whichever hand held the knife, Mr Daunt was spurring them on.’

  ‘Thank you, Madame,’ said Dr Sandwich. ‘Now, it would be helpful if you could give us an account of your relationship with Mrs Daunt – how did you meet, and what was the nature of your friendship?’

  ‘Dear Georgiana contacted me after the death of her beloved mother last year. She wanted to use me to contact the Other Side, and I am glad to say that the spirits were willing. We had some touching séances – truly touching – and I feel that I helped both mother and daughter accept their new situation. Mr Daunt, though, had the nerve to accuse me of being a charlatan. Me! Why, even as a very young child I saw faces and heard voices, and as I have matured—’

  ‘Thank you, Madame Melinda,’ interrupted Dr Sandwich. ‘Quite fascinating, I’m sure. What can you tell me about the events of last night?’

  ‘It is quite simple. I left the dining car in the company of the lady from compartment seven, next door to my own – Mrs Vitellius. We parted at the door, and then I sat at my dresser and began my toilette. I could hear people moving about in the compartments on either side, and that was when I was simply overcome with a communication from the Other Side. It’s so dreadful to think, isn’t it, that I must have heard Mrs Daunt’s killer enter the room? If only I had been paying attention . . . Of course, the communication was a premonition of Georgie’s death, but I had no time to understand the message properly. Then Mrs Vitellius rapped on our connecting wall for some reason – and the very next moment, poor Georgie screamed!’

  I nudged Daisy. There, laid out for us, was the corroboration of Mrs Vitellius’s statement. She had knocked to tell Madame Melinda to be quiet, and Madame Melinda had heard – that placed them both in their rooms at the cr
ucial moment, and thus above suspicion. We had ruled out two suspects!

  ‘Can you remember anything of what you heard from Mrs Daunt’s room?’ urged Dr Sandwich. ‘Anything at all? A . . . male voice, perhaps? Heavy shoes that could not have belonged to Mrs Daunt herself?’

  Under the table I sat up, frowning. Daisy has taught me that it is important not to ask leading questions.

  ‘A male voice?’ asked Madame Melinda. ‘Oh – well . . . it could have been. I cannot deny it, certainly. I was in such a state, but . . . well, there was certainly someone in the room with her. But you mustn’t take my word for it! Why, you can ask Mrs Daunt herself!’

  I heard an exclamation from Jocelyn, and Dr Sandwich said, ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘I plan to hold a séance this evening,’ said Madame Melinda, as though it was as ordinary as holding a tea party. ‘If the spirit of Georgiana has passed over to the Other Side, I will be able to contact her and hear the true story of last night’s events. I wish to help you bring her murderer to justice!’

  ‘Madame Melinda!’ said Jocelyn, sounding rather faint. ‘Our other guests . . . please, the disruption—’

  ‘No, no, Mr Buri, wait!’ said Dr Sandwich. ‘Think. Is this not a marvellous opportunity to get at the truth? Whether or not one believes in the spirit world (I am sure that there is room for both science and mystery), this will bring all our suspects together, and who knows what secrets may come out? Madame Melinda, you have our full approval in this endeavour. If you will allow us to sit with you, and watch – why, we may have this case wrapped up before the train reaches Belgrade!’

  ‘Of course you may,’ said Madame Melinda. ‘Your energies are positive. Yes, I think you will contribute nicely to the evening. May I leave?’

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Dr Sandwich. ‘That will be all for now, thank you.’

  I could tell that, mentally, he had already moved on, but I wanted to hear more about this séance – where did Madame Melinda mean to hold it? Would we be allowed to be there? Was she really going to contact Mrs Daunt? I felt creepy when I imagined it. And, I thought suddenly, Dr Sandwich had forgotten to ask Madame Melinda what she had seen when she reached Mrs Daunt’s compartment after the scream. What if she had some crucial piece of evidence? But Madame Melinda’s little button-shoed feet were already moving past my nose, in small, precise, rolling steps, and then she was out of the door and away.

  ‘The Countess next,’ said Dr Sandwich.

  3

  ‘Ah,’ said Dr Sandwich above me. ‘Good morning, my lady.’

  ‘Good morning, Dr Sandwich, Mr Buri, Alexander,’ said the Countess, and her feet – and her elegant little cane – stumped over to our table. I had a momentary vision of the cane shooting out to poke us, revealing our hiding place to the world, but she leaned it against her chair.

  ‘Ought my grandson to be present at this interview?’ asked the Countess. ‘It seems highly irregular. Why, you have no way of being sure that he won’t alter my answers to protect me!’

  ‘Grandmother!’ said Alexander.

  ‘So you believe you need protecting?’ asked Dr Sandwich quickly.

  ‘Certainly not,’ she retorted, her voice sharp. ‘It was merely my joke. Surely you can recognize a joke when you hear one, Dr Sandwich?’

  She said his name in a way that showed me she was utterly scornful of everything to do with him.

  ‘I have been told that I have an excellent sense of humour,’ said Dr Sandwich. ‘Although I am not one to boast. Now, tell us about what happened at dinner – anything that you can still remember.’

  ‘If you please, my lady,’ added Jocelyn. He at least could see that Dr Sandwich was setting the Countess’s teeth on edge.

  ‘Dinner,’ she replied coldly. Jocelyn had not appeased her in the slightest. ‘Well. Now, I am an old and feeble woman, but I can still remember the events of the evening before, if I try very hard. Dinner . . . it was soup, was it not, followed by chicken and fish? And then crêpes – but I never eat sweet things. They are bad for my digestion. That common man who stole my necklace had a falling-out with his wife, and then an argument with that fool who pretends to be able to speak to ghosts. Alexander and I ignored them, of course.’

  She was obviously trying her hardest not to say anything important at all. In the half-dark I could see Daisy grinning admiringly.

  ‘Why do you say that it was your necklace, my lady?’

  ‘Because it is!’ said the Countess sharply. ‘Alexander, stop writhing about like that. Alexander does not understand moral ownership, you see. He is too modern. Our family may have had to sell the jewel to pay for passage to England after the troubles in Russia, but it is a part of us, and a part of us it shall always remain. I told Mrs Daunt so last night.’

  ‘When?’ asked Dr Sandwich eagerly.

  ‘How should I remember?’ snapped the Countess. ‘I said it several times.’

  Jocelyn cleared his throat.

  Dr Sandwich went on, ‘But after dinner – did you speak to Mrs Daunt about the necklace after dinner?’

  ‘You expect me to recall that?’ asked the Countess. ‘I am an old, infirm woman – quite near death.’

  I had never met an old person who was so obviously not infirm. Her voice was sharp and clear and her brain was spinning far faster than Dr Sandwich’s.

  The Countess must remember getting up after dinner, saying that she was going to speak to Mrs Daunt – I certainly did. And judging by the way Alexander’s foot tapped against the table leg, he remembered as well. Had she found her? Had they argued, and had something dreadful happened? Was that why the necklace was missing?

  ‘So when you heard the scream, you were—’

  ‘In my compartment,’ said the Countess coldly. ‘Quite alone, and quite innocent. I heard the scream, I stood up – rather slowly, as I am getting on in years; I need this cane – and went limping out into the corridor to find the other guests already there. Once Mr Daunt had broken down the door, I looked inside and saw the body – and noticed that the necklace was missing.’

  Was it true that she could not walk without her cane? I wondered. If so, it would be a point in her favour. After all, we knew that the murderer must have moved fearfully quickly to escape from the compartment before we appeared in the corridor. But after not saying why she had left the dining car last night, I was not sure whether I could trust anything the Countess said.

  ‘Yes, the necklace may be an important clue,’ said Dr Sandwich.

  ‘A clue!’ cried the Countess. ‘It is the most important part of this case!’

  ‘Come now, my lady . . .’ He cleared his throat like he was teaching a lesson. ‘We are dealing in murder! There is no crime more serious that one man can commit against another. Theft, though important in its way, cannot be compared to the loss of a human life.’

  ‘You, Dr Sandwich, have obviously never owned a truly excellent stone,’ said the Countess sharply. ‘Jewels mean something, and their loss is to be mourned. Do not despise what you cannot understand.’

  I wanted him to press her – did she have a hand in the theft of the necklace? And was that connected to the murder? But he only said, ‘Thank you, my lady, that will be all.’ My fingers were itching – Dr Sandwich could not be trusted to do anything properly.

  And then, from the corridor outside, we heard a knock. I thought one of the passengers must be knocking on a compartment door – but then I heard a pattern to it; a pattern that spelled out S-O-S. There was only one other person on the train who would contact us using Morse Code. It had to be Hetty. And if she was trying to alert us covertly – well, it could only mean one thing: if we did not get out of the dining car soon, Daisy and I would be in very serious trouble indeed.

  4

  I clutched Daisy’s arm in panic. She sat hunched up, her face tense. Hetty had given the danger signal, we both knew that – but what were we to do? I ought to have been used to this sort of thing by now – most of Daisy’s idea
s are dangerous: all or nothing; jumping off the ledge and hoping that there is something to land on. But I was still terrified. I clenched my fists in despair.

  ‘You may go, my lady, thank you,’ said Dr Sandwich, from above me. I only heard him dimly, my mind was whirring so hard. Could we crawl out after the Countess? But how could we get all the way to the door without anyone noticing two little (or not so little) girls wriggling across the carpet? I decided that, for all they were glamorous, and served glorious food, I disliked trains. There was nowhere to creep in them – it was out in the open or nothing.

  ‘Grandmother,’ said Alexander. ‘Here, let me help you to the door. It isn’t so very far.’

  I was confused by his contradiction, but then his shoe nudged my hand, and I realized what he was doing. He had heard the code as well, and was helping fellow detectives in trouble. I decided that we had been quite right to confide in him.

  The Countess stood up, leaning on her cane. After her went Alexander, and after them we had to go.

  Out from under the table I crawled, on my elbows and knees, shuffling across the carpet, and Daisy followed like a snake. She even crawls gracefully. I was terrified that Jocelyn or Dr Sandwich would look down and see us – but thankfully, they did not.

  ‘Alexander,’ whispered the Countess above me, and I hoped like anything that she was looking up at him as she said it. ‘Listen, I want you to promise me . . . Really, bend down – it isn’t reasonable of children to grow the way you do! It’s up to you to look after the family honour. If they try to search my compartment . . . You know what a shock that would be to me. You mustn’t let them.’

  ‘Grandmother!’ said Alexander, lowering his voice too so that Dr Sandwich could not hear. ‘You haven’t done anything, have you?’

  ‘Don’t ask questions!’ she snapped. ‘Just remember what I said. Don’t disappoint me. Now, let go of my arm – I can manage perfectly well on my own.’