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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, March 1955, with
"Glitter of Diamonds"
Elisabeth Sanxay Holding has been writing novels, novelettes, and short stories for more than 30 years. She is—and no disrespect is intended, only the deepest and sincerest of compliments—one of the "old pros" of the game. Her work has appeared in nearly every major magazine in the country, and her books have been translated all over the world. Here is one of her newest stories—a light-hearted satire-and-spoof which combines romance with ratiocination and which reveals Miss Holding at her amusing best. There is "glitter" in this story—just as the title promises.
IT was raining, and blowing half a gale that autumn afternoon, and Lady Beryl was very restless. A tall, gaunt woman with wild red hair carelessly pinned up, wearing a gray wool skirt and a most incongruous green nylon blouse with crooked shoulder-pads and many ruffles, she paced up and down the long living-room of the house in Connecticut, lent her for the summer by one of her many American friends.
"Miss my exercise," she said. "If I could get out, even for a while...."
"But, Madame, this weather...!" protested Mademoiselle Gervaise d'Arville.
"Call this weather?" said Lady Beryl. "Not me. No. What's keeping me in is that nephew of mine, Philip Phipps. He said he'd be here at 4."
"Madame has a nephew?" asked Gervaise, with polite interest.
"Shovels full of 'em," said Lady Beryl. "Nieces, too. You accumulate 'em, you know, when you've been married three times, like me."
"Ah. One sees that," Gervaise agreed. "Shall I then find on the radio something of interest, Madame, to pass the time?"
"No, thanks. No, thanks!" said Lady Beryl.
What the poor gal wants, she thought, is one of those news broadcasts. And then she'll want a little talk about Conditions, all over the place, and how damn-awful everything is. No, thanks!
"You are agitated, Madame. A cup of tea, perhaps—?"
Lady Beryl shook her head vigorously.
Some three months ago, she had had a letter from her brother, Sir Horace Lumms-Baggington, now in the British Embassy in Washington, in a post so confidential that even he himself had little, if any, idea what it was. There's this Mlle. Gervaise d'Arville, he had written. Very nice girl. Twenty-four. Very well-educated, nice figure, nice eyes, all that. They assigned her to me, to handle my French correspondence, and the trouble is, I haven't any, never did have. Girl's one of the conscientious kind, getting a neurosis, or one of those things, because there's nothing for her to do here. Fiddles around all day, trying to be useful, tidies my desk, and all that, and really it's getting on my nerves. Take her on as a companion for a while, will you, and I'll pay her salary.
Lady Beryl had answered at once. During her frequent visits to the States she had picked up many American expressions, which she used with relish and raciness. I want a companion, she had written to Sir Horace, just like I want a hole in the head.
But then, being by nature very generous, and unfailingly optimistic, she had torn up her letter and had sent Sir Horace a telegram,
SHOOT GIRL ALONG. WILL PROVIDE.
She had definite ideas as to what was the best way to provide for any personable young woman, and as soon as she had seen Gervaise she had started a campaign. Sir Horace was right; she was a very good-looking girl, nice figure, fine dark eyes, eager, pretty face. Lady Beryl gave parties for her, she took her to parties, to the Country Club, to the Art Center, even to cocktail parties in New York.
In vain. The girl did not know how to dance, and did not wish to learn. She did not play bridge, or canasta. And, what was far more serious, she showed no interest whatever in any of the young men she met. She would, at any sort of gathering, unfailingly ferret out some elderly professor, or some gloomy middle-aged man with a wife and children, with whom she could engage in serious conversation about Conditions—always with a capital C—which they found equally alarming in Europe, Asia, Africa, and the United States.
"My dear girl," Lady Beryl had said to her, "take it easy. Relax. Enjoy yourself."
"Madame," Gervaise always answered, "in the world of today, how is that possible? Ah, no, Madame! For you, for Sir Horace, for the United States, which is now my country by adoption, I wish only to work my fingers to their bones."
This made things very difficult for Lady Beryl; she greatly disliked being obliged to thwart the poor girl. She had long ago learned that Americans believed all English people craved cups of tea at all hours, but Gervaise had superimposed upon this belief her own French theory of tea. It was, according to Gervaise, a medicine, a panacea. It was, she was sure, a tonic for the nerves, for the digestion, and a cure for insomnia. But, my dear, Lady Beryl assured her, I haven't any nerves, or digestion, or insomnia, and I don't like tea!
Still less did she like it when, if she was taking an afternoon nap, sitting in front of the fire, Gervaise would creep up behind her with a bottle of eau de cologne to rub the stuff on her forehead. Nor could she endure being read to. If you will give me your mending to do, Madame? poor Gervaise would ask. Well, I don't have any, Lady Beryl would answer, regretfully. I mean to say, she would explain, I don't seem to tear my clothes.
"Today," Gervaise would persist, "I make you an omelette aux fines herbes, Madame! That you will enjoy."
But the cook had objected so strongly to Gervaise's presence in her kitchen that there was no omelette. No, Lady, Beryl had decided, this won't do. It's making a nervous wreck out of the poor girl and myself, too. Got to take steps.
And she had done so.
"Can't think what's delaying Philip," she said, scowling. "He's never late. He got a prize in school for punctuality."
"Your nephew, then, is a schoolboy, Madame?"
"Oh, Lord, no! He's—" Lady Beryl paused. "He's in business," she said, "and doing very well. Fine young chap. I've asked him out here for the weekend, a couple of times, but he refused." She looked at Gervaise obliquely. "Says he has no inclination for any social engagements. Not in times like these."
"Ah!" said Gervaise.
Ah it is, thought Lady Beryl. Well, we'll see. We'll just see. One has one's hopes, n'est-ce-pas?
The doorbell rang. "There he is!" cried Lady Beryl, and hastened out into the hall, before Millie, the housemaid, could reach there; she opened the door, and admitted a tall, lean, black-browed young man wearing a raincoat and a beret.
"Philip!" she said, with warmth. "This is nice. Long time no see, eh?"
"Yes," he said. "But I don't get out of town much these days."
Millie had arrived now; she took his raincoat and beret, and Lady Beryl led him by the arm into the sitting-room.
"Gervaise," said Lady Beryl, "my nephew, Philip Phipps. Philip, Miss d'Arville, who is visiting me."
"I have the privilege of being employed as companion to Lady Beryl," said Gervaise. She said it courteously and pleasantly, but resolutely. No false pretenses for that girl, no talk of her being here as a guest.
All right, thought Lady Beryl, he'll like that. "Sit down," she said. "Sit down, both of you. What'll it be, Philip? Gin and tonic? Scotch on the rocks?"
"Nothing just now, thanks," said Philip. "I'd like to get the facts first."
"Sherry, perhaps?" said Lady Beryl.
"Not just now, thanks. Aunt Beryl, I stopped at the garage to see your chauffeur—"
"Lay off him!" cried Lady Beryl. "Johnson's a very fine fellow, and I don't want him bothered."
"Apparently," said Philip, "he knew nothing about this loss."
"No. Why should he? Nothing to do with him."
"Loss?" said Gervaise. "But, Madame...."
"Aunt Beryl," said young Phipps, "am I to understand that the members of your household have not been informed of this loss?"
"No reason why they should be. Now, do take it easy, Philip. Sit down. Cigarettes? Cup of tea? Little chat?"
"It's important not to waste time in these cases," he said, not sitting down and not taking it easy. "The trail grows cold. No. Aunt Beryl, if you'll give me a brief resumé of the facts—"
"I did. Told you on the telephone this morning."
"I'd like a statement in writing. Signed by you."
"Well.... Later on, maybe. After tea."
"I'm sorry, but I can't agree to any further delay, Aunt Beryl. If you like, you can make an oral statement, and I'll take it down, for you to sign."
"Nonsense!" said Gervaise. "I can write shorthand, also I can type. For these, I have a diploma. If you permit, I will take down madame's statement."
Philip looked at her for a moment, and she returned his glance steadily.
"Very well," he said. "Thank you."
Gervaise hurried out of the room and returned with a notebook and a pencil; she sat down by the tea table, controlled but tense, all readiness.
"Now, Aunt Beryl," said Philip.
"Same like I told you on the telephone," said Lady Beryl. "Last Sunday, it was. Gervaise and I went to the Country Club, and Downy drove us. Cook had the afternoon off—we gave her a lift to her bus stop. Millie, the housemaid, had two friends here, all of 'em in the little sitting-room they have. She had the radio on—and how! She always likes it loud enough to blast your ears off. Then, when Gervaise and I got back, the things were gone."
"Madame! But, if you please.... What things?" cried Gervaise.
"Oh, some—trinkets, you might say," Lady Beryl answered.
"You said over the telephone that there was a diamond ring missing, and a diamond clip," said Philip.
"Diamonds!" said Gervaise, almost in a whisper.
"In your insurance policy," Philip went on, "these two items are valued at nine thousand dollars."
"Nine thousand!" murmured Gervaise.
"You reported that these items are missing," continued Philip. "From where? That is, where do you usually keep articles of such value?"
"Oh.... Little boxes," said Lady Beryl.
"Where are those little boxes?"
"Oh, here and there. Bureau drawers, desk drawers, and so on."
"You understand, Aunt Beryl, that it is necessary to establish the fact that you took reasonable precautions against theft—"
"Certainly!" said Lady Beryl, in a tone of hearty agreement. "But the thing is, this tramp got in. This prowler."
"Have you any proof that an intruder entered the house?"
"Certainly," she said, again. "Saw his footprints, muddy tracks on the stairs, in my room."
"Muddy?"
"Muddy," Lady Beryl insisted.
"The weather on Sunday was cold and dry. How do you account for muddy footprints on that day?"'
"Might have waded across a brook," said Lady Beryl.
"Who else saw those footprints, Aunt Beryl?"
"Dunno."
"You didn't call anyone's attention to them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Didn't want to make anyone nervous," Lady Beryl explained. "House full of women, y'know."
"Have the floors of your rooms and the stairs been swept since you saw these—" he paused—"these muddy footprints?"
"Lord, yes! They're swept every day."
"By whom?"
"Millie. Housemaid, y'know."
"Did she make any comment—?"
"No. They'd be dried up by this morning."
"You told me that you saw the ring and the clip just before you went out on Sunday. Where were they then?"
"In a box."
"Did you lock the box?"
"Well, no. I don't believe in locking things," said Lady Beryl. "You lose the key, and then where are you?"
"You were in the habit of leaving this box unlocked?"
"Of course! In fact, it couldn't be locked. Candy box, y'know. Holly wreaths on it, little angels, and so on. Very pretty. Your cousin Sam gave it to me last Christmas."
"This box, then, was accessible to anyone in your household?"
"I told you it was a prowler," said Lady Beryl. "Now let's have a spot of tea, or something."
"Aunt Beryl," said Philip, "I wonder if you realize the serious nature of the report you made—"
"Certainly I do. Thing to do is, to track down this prowler and get the stuff back. They'll be in a pawnshop somewhere, of course. I hear you're very good at this sort of thing, Philip. Irma tells me- you're as good as a detective. A dick," she amended, with her great fondness for the American localism. "A private eye. A shamus. But no, that's a cop, isn't it?"
"When a theft is reported to us," 'said Philip, "we make a prompt and thorough investigation. The first step—" He paused. "The first step is, to satisfy ourselves beyond any reasonable doubt, that a theft has actually been committed."
"What else could it be?"
"In a great many instances," said Philip, "articles are reported as stolen which have simply been mislaid. And..."—another of his pauses—"the Griffin Mutual Insurance Company is very insistent upon obtaining evidence that every reasonable precaution had been taken against theft."
"All right, all right, all right!" exclaimed Lady Beryl. "That's just what you're here for, my boy. Stay two or three days, a week, investigate. Track down this prowler."
Philip turned to Gervaise.
"Miss d'Arville," he said, "have you, at any time, seen this box described by Lady Beryl?"
"I have, Mr. Phipps."
"Were you aware of the contents of this box?"
"In detail, no, Mr. Phipps. But I have seen it, and it glitters, as if diamonds...."
Millie now entered the room, carrying a large and heavy tray, on which were a tea service, plates of sandwiches, bowls of salted nuts and potato chips, a bowl of ice cubes, a decanter, and glasses.
"Ah," said Lady Beryl, "now we can relax. Be cheerful...."
"Just a moment, please!" said Philip, turning to Millie. "Your name, please. Your full name...."
"It's Mildred, sir. Mildred Bauer."
"Thank you. Miss Bauer, did you sweep the stairs and the floor of Lady Beryl's bedroom this morning?"
"Yes, I did!" the girl answered, alarmed and indignant. "I always do."
"Did you notice anything unusual on these floors?"
"No, sir, I didn't. And if it's anything that's lost, or was dropped, like a fancy pin, or anything, I'd of brought it straight to Lady Beryl, like I always do."
"Did you notice anything in the nature of footprints?"
"Footprints? You mean—like footprints?"
"Footprints."
"No, I didn't."
"Miss Bauer, were you here in this house yesterday afternoon, while Lady Beryl and Miss d'Arville were absent?"
"Yes, I was. And my girl friend, Edna, she was here too, and her boy friend, and they can tell you theirselves that I wasn't out of their sight a minute, and if there's anything funny, or missing, what I want to know is, why wasn't I told before the police was called in?"
"I'm not a policeman," said Philip, briefly. "I'm here to make inquiries with regard to the reported loss of a diamond pin and clip."
"Diamonds!" said Millie, in much the same tone Gervaise had used.
"Miss Bauer, in your opinion, would it have been possible for any outsider to have entered this house yesterday afternoon without your knowledge?"
"Well...." she said, slowly, "I'd say no—with the front door latched, and we could see the back door through the kitchen, and the side door's always bolted on the inside. Only, you see in the movies how easy those crooks can get into houses, and we had the radio on, and maybe we wouldn't have heard footsteps, or—that thing they open locks with—electric grill."
"Miss Bauer," said Philip, "will you give me the names and addresses of the friends who were with you yesterday?"
"Yes, I will," she said, and began to cry.
"Philip, let her alone!" said Lady Beryl. "She's a nice girl and—"
"He can go and see my friends..." said Millie. "If he's got suspicions, he can go and ask anybody that knows me. And he can go right upstairs now and ramsack my room."
"That's scarcely within my province," said Philip.
"Well, I don't know what's your providence, and what isn't," said Millie. "But if anyone's got suspicions of me, I got a right to have my room ramsacked."
" "Nonsense!" said Lady Beryl. "Nobody suspects you, Millie."
"Lady Beryl," said Gervaise, "Mr. Phipps. Excuse me, please, if I offer a suggestion. But I have read much about such investigations, and I think it is in all cases customary to begin with a process of elimination of the members of the household. No?"
"Quite right," said Philip. "You are quite right."
"Then I ask you to search my room also, Mr. Phipps.""
"No!" said Lady Beryl. "I won't have it!"
"Madame!" said Gervaise, with utmost earnestness. "Believe me, this search would be of advantage not only to yourself but to all of your household. It would help to establish the fact that these diamonds have not been mislaid, but that they have been removed from the premises."
"No!" repeated Lady Beryl, and then, almost at once: "All right!" she said. "I'll just rip upstairs myself and see."
"But, Madame! But no! To do that is to spoil all! This company of Griffin might well say—ah! In advance of the search madame has flown up the stairs! She has concealed the diamonds!"
"I don't care what they say," said Lady Beryl, peevishly.
"But, Madame! There is your reputation to consider!"
"My reputation can look after itself," said Lady-Beryl.
"Madame! I beg you, permit Mr. Phipps to search my room and the room of Millie."
"And there's another domestic, isn't there?" Philip asked.
"There's Mrs. McKenna, the cook," said Millie. "She's right out in the hall, taking it all in."
"If you'll ask her to step in...." said Philip.
A form appeared in the doorway, a short, stout woman, almost oval in shape, with high, round shoulders, like a belligerent Mrs. Humpty Dumpty.
"McKenna is the name," she said, "and the President himself could not set foot in my room. Let you lay a hand on me, and I'll go to law. For I've my rights as well as anyone, high or low."
"Mrs. McKenna!" said Gervaise. "Believe me, it is to your own advantage—"
"Is it so?" asked Mrs. McKenna, with irony. "I'll be up the stairs now, and I'll turn the key in the lock of my door and I will drop it in the pocket of my apron. And let anyone lay a hand on me—"
"Nobody's going to," said Lady Beryl. "Philip, just drop the whole thing."
"I'm afraid that wouldn't do," said Philip. "You've reported a loss and the company is obliged to investigate—"
"Well, I take it back," said Lady Beryl. "Cancel the report. The things will probably turn up, sooner or later, anyhow."
"Have you any reason for assuming that?" Philip asked.
"Because they do," said Lady Beryl. "There was this elderly clergyman, for example. Lost some very valuable book—thousand years old—something of the sort. And it turned up, buried at the foot of an oak tree in his garden. I mean, things like that. Now, just skip it. Drop it."
"Aunt Beryl," said Philip, "I'm obliged to put this bluntly. This attitude on your part will inevitably lead the officers of the Griffin to suspect that you were attempting to present a fraudulent claim."
"Or that madame was attempting to shield another," said Gervaise. "To one who knows the generosity, the kindness of Lady Beryl, that thought comes uppermost. Madame knows, or believes that she knows where these jewels are. And in her bounty of heart, she wishes to protect the thief. Mr. Phipps! Is it not obvious? When madame made her report, she did not know, did not suspect the one who is the thief. But now—all is otherwise. Is it not obvious, Mr. Phipps, that something has occurred—between the time of the report and the present moment?"
"Very well put!" said Philip. "Very well reasoned. Very good. Have you ever done any work of this sort, Miss d'Arville? Investigating?"
She smiled a little then, for the first time since his arrival.
"Only in fiction, Mr. Phipps," she said. "I read many stories of detection, and how much I enjoy those which are logical—"
Lady Beryl had quietly opened the door that led into the dining-room and had reached the hall before there was a cry from Mrs. McKenna and an answering cry from Gervaise. She ignored them; she started to run up the steps. But they were after her. As she opened a door on the floor above, Philip laid his hand on her arm.
"Aunt Beryl," he said, "if you know anything, or suspect anything—" there was one of his pauses—"now is the time to speaks"
"Says who?" demanded Lady Beryl.
"Mr. Phipps," said Gervaise, "this room which Lady Beryl had flown up to enter is my room. I believe that something has recently developed which has caused Lady Beryl to suspect me of this theft. And because of her bounty of heart, she has wished to discover the diamonds herself, to conceal them, in order to protect me."
"Criminy!" said Lady Beryl, in dismay. This is going to be hard to laugh off, she thought. They're both so doggone serious and logical and stupid. Dumb, that's what they are. They've just about spoiled the whole show. Just about—but not quite. I started this, and I'll finish it. So off we go, taking all the hurdles, and tantivity, and all that.
"Very good!" she said, and threw open the door, a little harder than she intended; it crashed against the wall. It was a large room, handsomely furnished, and scrupulously neat. Too neat, Lady Beryl thought, but then Philip's like that, too. She crossed the room to a secretary and let down the flap, disclosing a desk in beautiful order, letters arranged in the pigeonholes.
"But, Madame...!" said Gervaise.
"A secret drawer," Lady Beryl explained, and began scrabbling at the wooden panel between the rows of pigeonholes. "You turn something, pull something, push something."
"Permit me, Madame," said Gervaise, and reaching past Lady Beryl, she turned something and pushed something, and a little drawer shot out so violently that it left its groove and fell onto the desk, spilling its contents. In the light of the gray day the diamonds glittered blue and white.
Lady Beryl scooped them up. "Very good!" she said. "Now I've found 'em. Nothing's lost. Everything's fine. Your Mutual Griffin can be happy now."
"Aunt Beryl," said Philip, "I must ask for an explanation. I must ask why you made that claim, why you were insistent upon my coming all the way out here—"
"Nope," said Lady Beryl. "Nothing to say. I won't talk."
"Aunt Beryl, I am obliged to make some sort of report to my company. What—?"
"Tell 'em I mislaid the things. And then found 'em again."
"When there was a question of a search being made," said Philip, "you came directly to this desk, to this secret drawer. Am I to assume—?"
"Probably yes," said Lady Beryl. "Anyhow, drop it!"
"Aunt Beryl," he said, severe, but obviously very unhappy. "I've always had a great regard for you. Knowing your father and his reckless disposition, I could have understood your having some temporary financial difficulty. But this...?"
"Oh, do let me alone?" cried Lady Beryl, desperately. "You're persecuting me!"
"Madame," said Gervaise, "your nephew thinks only of your reputation. Mr. Phipps!" she turned to Philip, and never had she looked so handsome, so pale, so proud. "Mr. Phipps, it is I who took these jewels. I am the thief!"
"Hooey!" cried Lady Beryl, in a shout of anger and frustration. "That girl's as honest as daylight. She wouldn't steal a fly. No... that's not right. A crumb? No—what is it that people wouldn't steal? A pin, that's it! She's thinking of my 'repute.' I won't have it! I took those ding-blasted diamonds myself, and I put 'em there in the desk. And now I've got them back, there's no harm done, and it's nobody's business why."
Gervaise approached her, and laid a hand on her sleeve.
"Dear Lady Beryl," she said, "please believe that one understands how it is, in these times, for the members of the aristocracy."
"Who? Me?" asked Lady Beryl.
"It is so in all countries, dear Madame," said the earnest girl. "Taxes, confiscations, the loss of privileges, of power, of wealth. It is the beginning of a new order, Madame, a new democracy—the beginning, one hopes, of a better way of life. But the members of the aristocracy, however admirable, however guiltless they may be as individuals, must suffer, must become impoverished."
"But, my dear girl!" Lady Beryl began. Then she caught sight of her nephew's face and she became silent. He was looking at Gervaise—and with what a look! Respectful, admiring—almost human, thought Lady Beryl.
"Yes," Philip said. "Very well put, Miss d'Arville. But ethical values don't change."
"No," Gervaise agreed. "But in times like these, Mr. Phipps...."
"Well, yes..." said Philip.
They actually believe they're talking, thought Lady Beryl. I suppose they could go on this way for hours.
"Now," she said, "you two nip downstairs and get your tea. I'm going to lie down."
She gave them what she hoped was a winning smile and moved toward the door, which Philip held open for her. As she started down the corridor, he closed the door, and, swiftly and silently, Lady Beryl returned, to stand outside the room.
"But I still don't understand why she did such a thing," Philip was saying.
"Ah, Mr. Phipps!" Gervaise said. "In these changing times...."
"Well, yes," he admitted. "In any case—" one of his pauses—"I don't regret having come all the way out here, at the beginning of a very busy week. Because it's given me the opportunity of meeting you."
"You're very kind, Mr. Phipps. And now, if we go to our tea, perhaps you will tell me a little about your work of investigation. I shall be very much interested."
Lady Beryl hastened off to her own room, and closed the door. Ah! she said to herself, with a long sigh of relief. My "repute" may be a little dented, but it was worth it! Yes. Ça marche, okay, okay.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.