“Then will you type out the first couple of paragraphs alone—the facts, not the speculation—and sign and date them, for an official statement?” Folding the two sheets, he slipped them into his jacket pocket. “By the by, it hadnotdawned on me that Pettigrew’s last words might have referred to the jewel theft, or have been misunderstood by the thief to do so. That would tie everything together very neatly, which would please the super no end.”
“Really, darling?” Daisy flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. When he reluctantly let her go, some minutes later, she said, “I’m frightfully glad my idea helps. Are you going to tell Superintendent Crane it was mine?”
“Credit where credit is due. But Daisy, don’t take it as encouragement to put your oar in. You’ve finished at the museum, haven’t you?” he asked hopefully.
“Gosh, nowhere near. I got a bit on Mineralogy today, despite the disturbance, but I’ll need more. I haven’t evenstarted on Entomology, and I was just getting my teeth into Geology when the fossils started crashing about my ears.”
“Great Scott, I though you were done with Geology at least! All right, if you must go back you must, but for heaven’s sake limit your questions to scientific matters. There’s a murderer on the loose, remember.”
“I’ll remember,” Daisy promised.
“If I were you, if you don’t absolutely have to be there tomorrow, I’d wait a day or two. We’re searching the place from towers to basement tonight, and it’s going to be chaos for a while.”
“You think the jewels may still be there?” she asked, surprised.
Alec shrugged. “Who knows? They may have been taken away two or three months ago, but we have to look. There’s always a chance, too, of finding whatever it was Pettigrew used as a shaft for his spear or dagger. We have to look, however hopeless it may be in that labyrinth.”
“But you don’t really need to search everywhere, do you, darling? I mean, most places there’d be a risk of someone other than the thief coming across the jewels by accident.”
“Yes.” Alec stared at her bemusedly. “Of course. Yes, of course! I must be tireder than I thought not to realize that. Tired enough to be grumpy enough for none of my men to point it out to me! But there is still a dickens of a lot to do. I really must go, love. I’ll ’phone when I can.”
Daisy saw him out. The sun had sunk below the houses in the cross street, casting Mulberry Place into shadow. A chill in the air felt more like autumn than summer. Shivering, Daisy closed the front door and went upstairs to fetch a cardigan before going back to work.
Now that Alec was gone, she thought of all sorts of questionsshe wished she had asked while he was in a communicative mood—or too tired to resist. Who, for instance, were his suspects?
As far as the murder was concerned, it seemed to boil down to the four curators, Mummery, Ruddlestone, Steadman, and Witt, plus ffinch-Brown and the Grand Duke. Daisy wrote down their names. The theft was much more complicated. Without knowing when it took place, no one could be eliminated for lack of opportunity.
Pettigrew, Grange, and Randell had the most opportunity, assuming theft and murder were not connected. If theywereconnected, the curators had more opportunity than ffinch-Brown and the Grand Duke. Daisy was prepared to eliminate Rudolf Maximilian—from the theft, not the murder—but Sergeant Jameson’s notions about skeleton keys and hiding when the museum closed could apply to ffinch-Brown.
And to any jewel-thief in the kingdom, habitual or onetime, assuming the murder was unconnected.
Daisy felt her mind going cross-eyed. No wonder Alec was tired! If she was going to get anywhere, she had to concentrate on two entangled crimes and leave other possibilities to the police. Of course, she really ought to leave the whole lot to the police and get on with her article, as Alec would heartily agree. But it was jolly hard to come up with interesting questions about insects when a double mystery waited to be solved.
She wished she had asked Alec how he imagined the theft had been accomplished. It was not a simple burglary. Somehow the thief had substituted false gems which looked sufficiently like the real ones to deceive a casual glance from people who knew them well.
Good quality strass glass jewelry, though vastly less valuable than genuine stones, was not cheap. Daisy’s mother hadmuttered ominously about having her jewelry copied when she was first reduced to the penury of the charming Georgian Dower House, with its mere five bedrooms (excluding servants’ quarters) and delightful garden. Discovery of the cost had allowed the Dowager Viscountess to back down gracefully.
The thief had had to pay for the paste gems. If he had not yet sold them, Alec should look for someone who was suddenly poorer, not suddenly richer.
The Grand Duke?
Alec also needed to look for the jeweller who copied the gems, not only for possible purchasers. Daisy wondered whether he had realized. Should she drop a hint?
Surely the police would not miss anything so obvious.
What was less obvious was how on earth the thief had accomplished the substitution. Itmusthave taken more than one visit, and even then it could not have been easy. More difficult of course for ffinch-Brown and the Grand Duke than for the four curators, who at least had good reason to be in the museum after closing hours.
Oh blast, she was going round in circles again. The sound of the telephone bell ringing out in the hall came as a relief.
She gave her number.
“Aunt Daisy?”
“Belinda! Hello, darling.”
“Aunt Daisy, is Daddy there?” Belinda sounded on the verge of tears.
Only a dire emergency would make the well-trained child telephone in search of her father, Daisy thought in alarm. “No, darling, he left quarter of an hour ago. What’s the trouble? Can I help?”
