The Toff and The Lady

“Not liking only, Jolly—my knowledge of the man. Two things are possible. One, that he had been blackmailed by Pomeroy, Shayle, and the others, and forced to behave in this uncharacteristic manner. Two, that he is doing it willingly. His wife and daughter lean towards the second, presumably. I lean towards the first. If we assume that I’m wrong, we must also assume that Barrington-Ley has been a party to all that has happened. Many things, some apparently contradictory, have happened, Jolly. First—and I think the incident which brought it all out into die open and was not, therefore, premeditated—the arrival of the strange visitor to the Bal Masque. Afterwards, there came what appeared to be an attempt to murder her, but because of what we have heard of Marcus Shayle’s instructions to Phyllis Armitage, that might have been simply an attempt to frighten her and encourage her to talk more freely. A nurse is a likely confidante, isn’t she?”

“Yes, sir, I think that is reasonable.”

“There followed what I think was an attempt on Phyllis Armitage’s life, which I was able to stop before it got really under way. Then a series of minor incidents followed with the sudden rush of events in the last few days. Barrington-Ley’s disappearance—the attempt to murder Miss Gwendoline, die two attempts on Mrs. Barrington- Ley’s life and, let’s face it, the attempt to-day on mine. Would a man attempt to murder his own daughter—or give instructions for such an attempt to be carried out, and would he kill his own wife?”

After a pause, Jolly said:

“According to the letter which Miss Gwendoline gave you, sir, there is a motive for his wishing his wife dead.”

“Ah, yes,” said Rollison. “But why his daughter?”

“She might suspect the truth, sir. From what you have told me, it is very likely that she had kept that back. It would be natural if she held back some of her grounds for suspicion of her father’s activities, if they included the attempt to murder Mrs. Barrington-Ley.”

“Yes,” said Rollison, slowly. “Yes. But I don’t believe it! Jolly, see if Lady Lost has written the letter to Mrs. Barrington-Ley yet, and if she has, let me see it before you deliver it.”

“Very good, sir,” said Jolly.

While he was gone, Rollison took the love-letter from his wallet and, for the first time, read it through. He did not enjoy it. The letter was well-written, but the English was a little stilted. It talked of difficulties, of the fact that “you” have not your freedom of love and longing—and when he finished, Rollison closed his eyes for a few moments, and wished that the Lady of Lost Memory had never come within his ken.

Then Jolly came in, carrying a letter.

The writing of the letter which Gwendoline had found was bold and clear; at a glance, the writing on the envelope which had just been addressed looked equally bold and clear. After a close inspection, he had to acknowledge that the two letters were written by the same person.

He said: “What is Lady Lost doing, Jolly?”

“She is in her room with the maid, sir.”

“I see. Jolly—what do you make of it now? Don’t hold your fire, let me know how you see the whole thing.”

Jolly said slowly: “There are some points which still mystify me, sir, but on others I think I am fairly clear. Unlike you, sir I incline towards the theory that Mr. Barrington-Ley is a willing party to the crimes, that he wishes to be free to marry Lady Lost, that to get his way he would even murder his daughter. For the rest, sir, it appears to me that he may be in some financial difficulties, and that he is tiding over the period by using the money which Lady Lost raised in America for the Yugo-Slav Relief Fund.” Jolly paused, and then asked quietly: “Shall I go on, sir?”

“Yes,” said Rollison.

“If I am right, then most of the other things fall into perspective,” said Jolly. “The one which might appear puzzling is the attack on you, but remember, sir, that members of the staff at Barrington House have, undoubtedly, a staunch loyalty to their master. The butler or even the maid, realizing that you constituted a great danger, might have made you fall, sir.”

“And then?” asked Rollison.

“Isn’t that sufficient?” asked Jolly.

“No,” said Rollison, emphatically. “It’s nothing like enough. You put David Barrington-Ley and—we’d better use this title now—the Countess together as a brace of unscrupulous scoundrels to whom murder and fraud are as meat and drink. And you fail to explain two things—first, that there was the attempt on the Countess”

“Which you have admitted was a fake attempt, sir.”

“I admitted that it might be. All right, there’s a second thing, Jolly. If they are what you think they are, if they have conspired to do these things, why did the Countess arrive, uninvited and unexpected, at that party? And was she at Malloy’s?”

Jolly murmured: “That first is mystifying, sir, but it may have been a way in which the Countess was to be introduced to the family and invited to stay for a while at Barrington House. We know that such an invitation was almost a foregone conclusion. If Mr. Barrington-Ley worked on his knowledge of his wife’s likely reaction, there is nothing surprising in that. And she might have been deliberately hiding at Malloy’s.”

“All right—what about the murder of the matron?”

“If you are right and Mr. Barrington-Ley has been in hiding there, the matron, who is a friend of the family, might have threatened to tell the police. That would provide motive enough, sir.”

“Yes,” said Rollison, after a pause. “I suppose it would.” He looked at Jolly with his head on one side. “In fact you’re right, you have a plausible case, you have worked this up as brilliantly as if you were a policeman! Do you know what I think about it?”

“No, sir,” said Jolly.

“I think it’s poppycock!”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”