Chapter 3

Lacking any more definite line at the moment, Labar felt impelled
to the theory that there had been collusion between the thieves and
someone in the house. That at least furnished a working hypothesis
which might be abandoned according to circumstances. It was for this
reason that he doggedly set himself to interview all and sundry instead
of leaving his assistants to weed them out.

With the shrewd suavity of an Old Bailey lawyer he examined and
cross-examined, an obese shorthand writer at his elbow, until he had a
complete surface knowledge, at any rate, of the movements of everyone
in the house for the last twenty-four hours, and much information of
their antecedents and habits. Superficially, he had to admit, as he
stretched himself with a yawn some hours later, there was no one he
could suspect. Perhaps, in the future, when the statements had been
checked up, some hint might develop. But he did not bank on that.
Frequently this kind of tedious work resulted in nothing, although it
was always possible that some vitally important fact might arise.

Then the last person on his list entered the room. She was described as
Miss Penelope Noelson, companion to Mrs. Gertstein.

She was a girl of perhaps twenty-two, not tall, but exquisitely
proportioned. Fair hair surmounted a vivacious face, which was relieved
of the insipidity of mere beauty by a determined chin, a humorous touch
that lurked about the corners of her mouth, and a nose very slightly
inclined to what her friends described as _retroussé_, but which
she herself bluntly declared to be snub. On the whole she was such a
girl as might make a man turn to take another look--a girl not so much
beautiful as piquantly pretty.

At the instant of her entrance Labar was engaged with his well-fed
stenographer. She had reached the table he was using, and one hand
rested lightly upon it, ere he was able to give her any attention.

"Won't you sit down? Excuse me for one moment, will you?" he said,
without lifting his eyes from the paper he was scrutinising, as he
leaned over the shorthand writer, his finger following a phrase.
"That's it. 'Mr. Vintner, the butler and myself always look round the
house the last thing at night to make sure that the fastenings are safe
and the burglar alarms in order. We always do it even if we know that
Mr. Gertstein or his secretary has----'"

She studied Labar with some interest. He bore no obvious trace of his
profession--no good detective ever does. He was a clean-cut specimen
of the ordinary business man. He was youngish-looking, perhaps thirty
or thereabouts, and his voice was that of a cultivated man. In the
neighbourhood of six feet tall, his well-tailored suit could not
conceal the broad shoulders and lean flanks of a man used to athletic
exercises. There was a suspicion of aggression in his chin she thought.
He looked efficient and he had poise.

Then he glanced up and his eyes met hers squarely. A flicker, it might
have been of astonishment, crossed his face, only to be instantly
suppressed. She met his look with sedate indifference, and two little
vertical lines wrinkled his brow as he studied her. Suddenly his face
cleared. He smiled--the frank, open smile of a boy.

"I'll take any statement from this lady, myself, Green," he said. "You
get back to the station and get on with your transcription. I want that
all through by to-night."

The fat stenographer collected his papers and left. Labar's fingers
fiddled idly on the table. "You are Miss Noelson?" he asked.

She nodded. "That is my name."

"I understand that you have been away to Hampshire with Mrs. Gertstein,
and only returned this morning."

In his formal wearied tone she was quick to catch something--it might
have been imagination, or again it might have been intuition--the
slightest inflection of menace. "I got back by car this morning--yes.
There were certain shopping errands that Mrs. Gertstein wished me to
do."

"Huh. So it is not likely that you can help us much with this?"

The girl spread her hands in an eloquent gesture of dissent. He noticed
that she wore no rings. "It is an absolute mystery to me--a mystery and
a very great shock."

"Yes, of course. It would be a shock," he returned as one engaging in
polite conversation only to pass the time. "How long have you been with
Mrs. Gertstein?"

"About six or seven months."

"That all? Did you know the Gertstein people well before?"

"As a matter of fact I have known Mrs. Gertstein all my life. She is
a sort of distant relative of mine and very much younger than her
husband. We were at school together. I can see what you're driving at,
Mr. Labar," she proceeded. "My father, who was a civil servant, died
just over a year ago, leaving me a small, a very small, income. My
mother has been dead for many years. I struggled along for some months,
but I am afraid that I am one of those persons who need something
more than a bread and butter existence. So when Adèle--that's Mrs.
Gertstein--offered me this position, I took it. I'm well paid for the
little I do and live in a style that I could not otherwise afford."

"Thank you. Do you mind if I smoke?" He lit a cigarette with elaborate
care and leaned one elbow casually on the table. "I suppose you know
that you are a very pretty girl." A whimsical smile overspread his
face, and he held out a protesting hand as she half rose from her seat.
"Don't misunderstand me, please. It is an unfortunate necessity of my
business to ask delicate questions sometimes. You are not engaged I
see. But is there anyone----?" He raised his eyebrows ever so little.

Penelope dropped back into her chair with a laugh. "I feared for a
moment you were trying to flirt with me. That would be ridiculous,
wouldn't it? No, Mr. Labar, I assure you that I have no interest in any
man or men that way."

"I can conceive that men might be interested in you," he smiled. "Now
one more personal question. Like most ladies you have little personal
extravagances that you like to indulge, eh?"

She flushed and pouted a little. "I don't know that I'm so enormously
extravagant. I'm fond of pretty things, and I have them within my
means."

"Always?" He leaned forward, and spoke the word very quietly. "You
don't--ah--run into debt?"

She swept angrily to her feet. "You are insulting," she declared.
"I can't misunderstand you. You suggest that I am mixed up in this
robbery."

"Sit down!" he ordered, sternly. There was no mistaking the menace in
his voice now. The girl ignored the command and remained with set face,
her gaze meeting his in angry defiance. For a matter of seconds they
remained thus, their wills clashing for supremacy. With deliberation
he rose, and towering over her, pointed to her chair. "Sit down," he
repeated sternly, and as though under some dominating spell, she slowly
obeyed.

He remained on his feet. "I have made no accusation against you, Miss
Noelson, and you can answer me or not as you please. It will simplify
my work if you answer, but bear in mind that I have other means of
getting information."

He noted that the wave of angry colour, which had suffused her face,
had died down, leaving her with a touch of pallor. But she was holding
herself steadily in hand, and had all her self-possession.

"In that event," she returned, icily, "you had better apply to those
other sources of information."

Labar was studying her with a cold scrutiny, weighing her words and her
demeanour with infinite calculation. He was alight with suspicion, but
somehow he felt reluctant to press this dainty little creature with the
cold official catechism that was in his mind. This was the man whom of
all others, in spite of certain mild flirtations, Scotland Yard would
have held immune from feminine influence. He pulled himself together.
The work had to be done.

"Let's be sensible," he urged. "Now tell me, have you ever heard of a
man called Larry Hughes?"

That was a shot in the dark. He had little doubt what the answer would
be.

Penelope Noelson's lips came together in a thin, obstinate line. "No,"
she snapped.

The detective gave no sign that he had heard her. He moved aimlessly to
the small table he had been using and bent over a paper. She stood up
with a little petulant shrug of her shoulders, and was half-way to the
door before he spoke again.

"Oh, by the way, there is another small matter. Why did you give me a
hundred pound note this morning?"

Her eyes widened, and as she wheeled to face him her hands groped for
the support of a chair.

"I gave you a hundred pound note? Why, I never saw you before in my
life."

He leaned grimly towards her. "You're very nearly a convincing little
liar. I recognised you the instant you came in the room. I'm calling
your bluff, my girl. Now then. Suppose you come clean."

For a second she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then she slumped to
the floor in a dead faint.