Four

THE ROYAL SPA HOTEL

I
George Rydesdale, Chief Constable of Middleshire, was a quiet man. Ofmedium height, with shrewd eyes under rather bushy brows, he was inthe habit of listening rather than talking. Then, in his unemotional voice,he would give a brief order—and the order was obeyed.

He was listening now to Detective- Inspector Dermot Craddock. Crad-dock was now officially in charge of the case. Rydesdale had recalled himlast night from Liverpool where he had been sent to make certain inquir-ies in connection with another case. Rydesdale had a good opinion ofCraddock. He not only had brains and imagination, he had also, which Ry-desdale appreciated even more, the self-discipline to go slow, to check andexamine each fact, and to keep an open mind until the very end of a case.

“Constable Legg took the call, sir,” Craddock was saying. “He seems tohave acted very well, with promptitude and presence of mind. And it can’thave been easy. About a dozen people all trying to talk at once, includingone of those Mittel Europas who go off at the deep end at the mere sight ofa policeman. Made sure she was going to be locked up, and fairlyscreamed the place down.”

“Deceased has been identified?”

“Yes, sir. Rudi Scherz. Swiss Nationality. Employed at the Royal SpaHotel, Medenham Wells, as a receptionist. If you agree, sir, I thought I’dtake the Royal Spa Hotel first, and go out to Chipping Cleghorn afterwards.

Sergeant Fletcher is out there now. He’ll see the bus people and then go onto the house.”

Rydesdale nodded approval.

The door opened, and the Chief Constable looked up.

“Come in, Henry,” he said. “We’ve got something here that’s a little outof the ordinary.”

Sir Henry Clithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, came in withslightly raised eyebrows. He was a tall, distinguished-looking elderly man.

“It may appeal to even your blasé palate,” went on Rydesdale.

“I was never blasé,” said Sir Henry indignantly.

“The latest idea,” said Rydesdale, “is to advertise one’s murders before-hand. Show Sir Henry that advertisement, Craddock.”

“The North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn Gazette,” said SirHenry. “Quite a mouthful.” He read the half inch of print indicated byCraddock’s finger. “H’m, yes, somewhat unusual.”

“Any line on who inserted this advertisement?” asked Rydesdale.

“By the description, sir, it was handed in by Rudi Scherz himself—onWednesday.”

“Nobody questioned it? The person who accepted it didn’t think it odd?”

“The adenoidal blonde who receives the advertisements is quite incap-able of thinking, I should say, sir. She just counted the words and took themoney.”

“What was the idea?” asked Sir Henry.

“Get a lot of the locals curious,” suggested Rydesdale. “Get them all to-gether at a particular place at a particular time, then hold them up and re-lieve them of their spare cash and valuables. As an idea, it’s not withoutoriginality.”

“What sort of a place is Chipping Cleghorn?” asked Sir Henry.

“A large sprawling picturesque village. Butcher, baker, grocer, quite agood antique shop—two tea shops. Self-consciously a beauty spot. Catersfor the motoring tourist. Also highly residential. Cottages formerly lived inby agricultural labourers now converted and lived in by elderly spinstersand retired couples. A certain amount of building done round about inVictorian times.”

“I know,” said Sir Henry. “Nice old Pussies and retired Colonels. Yes, ifthey noticed that advertisement they’d all come sniffing round at 6:30 tosee what was up. Lord, I wish I had my own particular old Pussy here.

Wouldn’t she like to get her nice ladylike teeth into this. Right up herstreet it would be.”

“Who’s your own particular Pussy, Henry? An aunt?”

“No,” Sir Henry sighed. “She’s no relation.” He said reverently: “She’sjust the finest detective God ever made. Natural genius cultivated in a suit-able soil.”

He turned upon Craddock.

“Don’t you despise the old Pussies in this village of yours, my boy,” hesaid. “In case this turns out to be a high-powered mystery, which I don’tsuppose for a moment it will, remember that an elderly unmarried wo-man who knits and gardens is streets ahead of any detective sergeant. Shecan tell you what might have happened and what ought to have happenedand even what actually did happen! And she can tell you why ithappened!”

“I’ll bear that in mind, sir,” said Detective- Inspector Craddock in hismost formal manner, and nobody would have guessed that Dermot EricCraddock was actually Sir Henry’s godson and was on easy and intimateterms with his godfather.

Rydesdale gave a quick outline of the case to his friend.

“They’d all turn up at 6:30, I grant you that,” he said. “But would thatSwiss fellow know they would? And another thing, would they be likely tohave much loot on them to be worth the taking?”

“A couple of old-fashioned brooches, a string of seed pearls—a littleloose change, perhaps a note or two—not more,” said Sir Henry, thought-fully. “Did this Miss Blacklock keep much money in the house?”

“She says not, sir. Five pounds odd, I understand.”

“Mere chicken feed,” said Rydesdale.

“What you’re getting at,” said Sir Henry, “is that this fellow liked to play-act—it wasn’t the loot, it was the fun of playing and acting the hold-up.

Cinema stuff? Eh? It’s quite possible. How did he manage to shoot him-self?”

Rydesdale drew a paper towards him.

“Preliminary medical report. The revolver was discharged at closerange—singeing … h’m … nothing to show whether accident or suicide.

Could have been done deliberately, or he could have tripped and fallenand the revolver which he was holding close to him could have gone off …Probably the latter.” He looked at Craddock. “You’ll have to question thewitnesses very carefully and make them say exactly what they saw.”

Detective- Inspector Craddock said sadly: “They’ll all have seen some-thing different.”

“It’s always interested me,” said Sir Henry, “what people do see at a mo-ment of intense excitement and nervous strain. What they do see and,even more interesting, what they don’t see.”

“Where’s the report on the revolver?”

“Foreign make—(fairly common on the Continent)—Scherz did not holda permit for it—and did not declare it on coming into England.”

“Bad lad,” said Sir Henry.

“Unsatisfactory character all round. Well, Craddock, go and see whatyou can find out about him at the Royal Spa Hotel.”