“Hello, ladies,” he said. “I’mDetective-Constable Cobb.”
“You want to speak with us?’ the rotund cooksaid.
“Just with Vera, if ya don’t mind.”
“You can sit over there in the corner if youlike. Vera, go with the gentleman. I’ll bring you a cup oftea.”
“That’s kind of you,” Cobb said, followingVera to the table and two chairs in a far corner of the big, warmroom.
Vera was a thin, wispy sort of girl, no morethan twenty. Her face was puffy, the after-effects of much crying,Cobb concluded.
“I’m very sorry about yer mistress,” Cobbbegan.
“She was the nicest woman,” Vera said,holding back her tears as best she could. “I don’t know what I’lldo without her.”
“You were her personal maid?”
“I looked after her, I did.”
“And very well, I’m sure,” Cobb said, prayingthat the girl would not break down and weep. He never knew how tohandle a weeping woman.
“Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”
“What I need to know from you, Vera, is whenyou last saw yer mistress.”
Vera looked up, and was saved, momentarily,from tears by the arrival of the tea.
Cobb thanked the cook, and said, “ Well,Vera?”
“I helped the mistress get ready to go outfer her visit shortly after seven o’clock.”
“Oh? Where was she going?”
“To visit her friend Marion.”
“Marion who?”
“Marion Stokes. She lives up on WellingtonStreet. It’s walking distance.”
“Was this a regular occasion?”
“Oh, no. A message come about quarter toseven asking the mistress to come over to Marion’s place. There wassome sort of crisis.”
“Was this a written message?”
“Oh, yes. I took it at the back door. A younglad delivered it.”
“Have you still got it?”
“Oh, yes, it’s right here.” She drew out ofher apron a folded sheet of paper.
“May I see it?”
Cobb read:
Dear Delores:
Please come to my house right away. I
need desperately to talk with you. I knowyou won’t
fail me:
Your friend,
Marion.
“And did you ever find out what the matter was?”
“That’s the strangest thing, Mr. Cobb. Marioncome over to pay her respects to the master and when I asked herabout the message, she said she didn’t send any message. I showedher this one, and she said it looked a bit like her handwriting butwasn’t hers.”
That is odd, Cobb thought. It sounded as ifthe killer, whoever he was, had used a false message to lureDelores outside. Where he was waiting.
“Would yer mistress not have recognized thatthis wasn’t Marion’s writing?” Cobb asked.
“Probably, but I read the message aloud toher. She never bothered to glance at it. She was just worried abouther friend.”
And whoever sent the false note, Cobbthought, must have known Marion and Delores were very good friends.How could Gagnon know a fact like that if indeed he had met Deloresonly once? He would have to let Marc know right away. This was animportant piece of evidence.
“So you helped get her ready to go out?”
“I did. And I walked her to the foyer and sawher leave . . . fer the last time.” A tear eased its way down herright cheek.
“You didn’t happen to look out the window andsee anythin’?”
“No, sir. I went back up to my room.”
“Well, thank you, Vera. You been a big help.”Cobb finished off his tea. Vera had not touched hers.
“By the way, Vera, who was the lass who comein just as I arrived?”
Vera blushed. “That was Peggy Jane Doyle. Theupstairs maid.”
Cobb nodded and made his way back through thelong hall to the foyer, where Diggs intercepted him.
“Good day, sir,” he said in his mostdignified manner.
“Good day,” Cobb said, well pleased withhimself.
***
Cobb found Marc home at Briar Cottage on SherbourneStreet. He was in the living-room playing with Marc Junior andMaggie. Beth was a t work at her business on King Street,Smallman’s ladies clothing store and tailoring. Etta Hogg,their former neighbour and now all-purpose servant, was in thekitchen preparing luncheon, but had come out to answer Cobb’sknock.
“Come on in,” Marc called out to Cobbstanding in the vestibule.
“I’ll just stay a minute,” Cobb said.
“I’ll take the little ones, sir,” Ettasaid.
“Thank you, Etta. Mr. Cobb looks as if hewants to talk.”
Maggie gave Cobb a big smile, then frowned asshe was led away – disappointed.
“I got some news, Major,” Cobb said as he satdown.
“Good news, I trust.”
“I believe so, Major.”
And, as he had done so many times in thepast, Cobb relayed to Marc, in detail, the substance and results ofhis interviews.
“You’re quite right,” Marc said when Cobb hadfinished. “There’s no way Gilles could have known about MarionStokes, the friend of Delores. I’ll add Vera to my witness list. Asthe note was a phoney, we can infer that it was sent by the realkiller to lure the victim out onto that walk.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“You’re getting to be a first-rateinterrogator, Cobb.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s great praise, comin’from you.”
“Where do you go from here?” Marc said.
“Well now, I ain’t sure.”
“If the prosecution is going to suggest ajealousy motive – preposterous as that seems – they’ll have to gettestimony from witnesses to the Ball and to the interaction betweenGilles and Delores while they danced. You mentioned several otherswho danced with her and were, according to Cardiff, suitors for herdaughter’s hand. We’ll need to know what they’re likely to sayabout Gagnon and Delores. Also, I can perhaps throw suspicion intheir direction. If Delores was entertaining several suitors, I canpoint to rivalry and jealousy, perhaps even a sense of outrage andbetrayal at the lady’s promiscuity.”
“You’re sayin’ I oughta interview Trueman andMacy?”
“Yes. And maybe even Denfield.”
“But he’s married, sir.”
“He is. But who knows, eh?”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Good. You’ve done splendid work thusfar.”
“Do ya mind if I stay and say hello to Maggiefer a bit?”
“I’m sure she’d be delighted,” Marc said.
SEVEN
Cobb decided to interview Lionel Trueman first.Trueman lived in a rented house on north George Street. Cobb wentup and used the knocker. He waited a long minute and rapped again.The door was at last opened by a uniformed maid.
“Good afternoon, sir. What can I do foryou?”
Cobb was relieved to see that she took himfor someone respectable. It must be the suit, he thought.
“I’m Detective-Constable Cobb. I’d like totalk to Mr. Lionel Trueman.”
“That’s my master.”
“Is he in?”
“He is, sir. I’ll see if he can see you now.Please step in and wait.”
Cobb stepped into a small vestibule. It waswarm and stuffy inside. He adjusted his collar. A minute later themaid returned.
“Mr. Trueman has agreed to see you, sir.”
Cobb followed her down the hallway to a tinyden, where Lionel Trueman stood waiting.
“Thank you, Mavis. That’ll be all.”
Mavis curtsied and left.
“Where’s your uniform, Constable?” Truemansaid, his pop-eyes appraising his visitor.
“I don’t wear one,” Cobb said. “I’m aplainclothes detective.”
“What’ll they think of next?”
“I hope you’re all finished with duellin’,”Cobb said.
“Oh, that was all a misunderstanding. Youhaven’t come about that, have you?”
“No. I’m investigatin’ the murder of DeloresCardiff-Jones.”
“I thought you had a suspect under lock andkey.”
“We do. I’m gatherin’ evidence fer thetrial.”
“Well, I don’t see how I can help you. I’m avery busy man.”
“We’re tryin’ to find out how well oursuspect, Gilles Gagnon, knew Mrs. Cardiff-Jones.”