Yet her sister had repeatedly affirmed that Muriel Lodding had not been interested in men. Mrs Dalton had…
“Mrs Dalton is here, sir,” said Senior Detective Abbot. “She wanted to see the Super, but he’s out, andso’s Sergeant Crome.”
“Tell her that I will be pleased to do what I can for her,” purred Bony.
Bony blew cigarette ash off the desk top, slid the Tuttaway file into a drawer, and swiftly rearranged papers. He was standing when Mrs Dalton was shown in, and he was presented to a woman instantly pleasing. Brown hair softly rolled at the nape of her neck, and the narrow upturned brim of the small hat added even more expression to the expressive grey eyes. Her nose was Grecian, and the makeup not obvious, save the lipstick, which reflected the cyclamen shade of the printed frock beneath the flowing black coat. Her accessories were all black.
“Mrs Dalton! Do sit down. I am Inspector Knapp. Perhaps I can be of service?”
Her eyes registered momentary surprise and then approval.
“I called to see Superintendent Pavier about my sister,” she said. “Muriel left all her small estate to me and also appointed me her executrix. I received a letter from Superintendent Pavier concerning salary and accrued leave pay owing to her. I’ve brought the will. Her solicitor’s name and address are shown on it.”
Bony accepted the proffered document.
“I’m sorry the Superintendent isn’t in,” he said, noting the name and address of the solicitor and returning the will. “The department will communicate with your sister’s solicitor. Opinion here of Miss Lodding was very high, Mrs Dalton. I didn’t have the opportunity to know her very well, but Superintendent Pavier feels he has suffered a personal loss.”
“She loved working here: said the work was much more exciting than in a broker’s office.”
“She-you have no relatives-in Australia?”
“In Australia, no. In England there are several cousins, but neither of us corresponded with them. My husband died years ago, and we have no children.”
“You have, I understand, lived in Broken Hill for several years?”
“Yes, since 1938. I never liked Sydney, too frightfully humid, and when my sister was asked to transfer to the Broken Hill office of her firm, I came with her. We both like living here, although cultural interests are few. Do you happen to be investigating my sister’s death?”
“Well, yes, I am working with Detective Sergeant Crome,” Bony answered. “We shall, of course, find Tuttaway.”
“You are certain it was he who killed her?”
“Quite. Your sister must have known him, surely. Probably when you were living in England.”
“Yes. That’s my second reason for coming to Superintendent Pavier. Although the man’s name was familiar-for who hasn’t heard of the Great Scarsby?-I didn’t recall that my sister had had any contact with him.
“You see, Inspector, it’s all of fourteen years since we left England, and I’m not sure but I think Tuttaway was then in America. And then when he was imprisoned for abducting that girl, we were living here, and my sister evinced no great interest in the case, excepting to recall that at one time or another she had done some work for him. But I suppose that won’t be of much help.”
“On the contrary, Mrs Dalton, it may be of extreme importance. Do go on.”
“Well, then, I must tell you something of our life before we left London. Do you mind?”
Mrs Dalton produced a cigarette-case from her handbag, and, when holding a match in service, Bony murmured:
“London! I’ve always wanted to see London. Once I had the opportunity of exchange duty, but it didn’t come off. What part of London did you live in?”
“Ealing. Quite close to the Underground-Gosport Grove. Far enough from the city to be out of the traffic noises and yet within easy reach. My husband left me comfortably well off, and Muriel had no need to work, but she insisted on doing something. She then worked for several authors, typing their manuscripts and assisting them generally, and she would never discuss her work or her clients other than to mention their names.
“It wasn’t as though they came to my house. Muriel either went to their houses or brought their work home, and I never sought to know more of them than she cared to tell me. I was thinking about this last night when I remembered that my sister once did work for the Great Scarsby, and the name came to my mind only because Muriel mentioned that his work was more difficult than the other. And now-”
“We are convinced that it was Tuttaway who was seen with your sister that last evening of her life. We know for certain that Tuttaway was in Broken Hill that night and think he is still in Broken Hill. Can you recall anything more of that association of your sister with the Great Scarsby?”
“No, I’m afraid not, Inspector. You see, it’s all so very vague, and at the time so unimportant. What I am sure about is that there was no love affair between them. Why, she must have been twenty or twenty-five years his junior.”
“Can you recall when, what year, your sister did work for George Henry Tuttaway?”
“Well, it must have been before he went to America in 1934. I don’t know-it could be-no, Inspector, I’m afraid I cannot answer your question.”
“You have no reason to fear he might be, shall we say, interested in you?”
“In me! Why should he be? I am a little afraid, however, that when caught he may tell highly coloured stories about Muriel. Why he killed her, and all that. I’m sure the police wouldn’t take notice of a madman’s ravings, but the newspaper people might, and I dislike publicity. Muriel was so-so uninterested in men as men. She used to tell me she was born to be an old maid.”
Bony stopped doodling on his blotter and smiled encouragingly at Mrs Dalton.
“You need have no cause for concern,” he told her. “Tuttaway, having been certified and having escaped from custody, will not be charged with murdering your sister, because he is unfit to stand trial.”
“He will merely be returned to the prison?” Mrs Dalton asked bitterly, and rose to leave.
“That will be the result of his apprehension.”
“I hope you will prove him guilty. It won’t lessen my loneliness, but I want to know the truth.” Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “I miss my sister very much and think I won’t be able to stay in Broken Hill. We understood each other so completely, and all our interests were the same. Do you think that Scarsby is also responsible for those other murders?”
“It’s possible, Mrs Dalton, but we have as yet no proof. Just leave the worrying to me. We’ll find him. We always get our man, you know.”
“I hope so. But the police didn’t catch Jack the Ripper, did they?”
“Ah! But I wasn’t in London.”
“Of course not.” Mrs Dalton tried to smile. “I forgot you were never in London. Well, goodbye. You’ll tell Superintendent Pavier I called?”
“Oh yes. And about the money owing your sister’s estate. Goodbye, Mrs Dalton. I am so glad the Superintendent was out.”