Call Mr. Fortune · Case V (1/3)

Case V

The Hottentot Venus

It was a night in June. The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department was pensive. “Did you ever want to marry, Fortune?” he murmured.

“Often; but never one at a time.” Reggie Fortune looked curiously at his host. The dinner had been good, the claret very good, the cigars were of the most benignant. But still⁠—“Why this touch of sentiment, Lomas?” said he.

“Some students say women have no minds,” Lomas murmured drowsily. “But that’s partiality. The trouble is, women aren’t human beings. Consider the parallel case of the dog. He is intelligent. But he sets different values on things from our values. Inhuman values. Think of bones, cats, boots. It is so also with women.”

“ ‘I love a lassie’⁠—but she ate my best pumps. Lomas, my good child, are you merely drivelling or shall we come to something soon?”

“I am much exposed to women,” said the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department pathetically, and roused himself. “But this is a family skeleton. I have a sister, Fortune. She is intelligent. She is almost as omniscient as you, my dear fellow, and much more practical. But she can be quite maddening. She is maddening me now. Unfortunately she has no husband. She had too much intelligence. She owns a princely school at Tormouth. I believe it makes her as rich as Rockefeller. She certainly does herself very well. A month ago she wrote to me that a strange thing had happened. In the night one of the mistress’s rooms had been turned upside down.”

“Do they rag much at girls’ schools?” Reggie yawned. “It might be picturesque.”

“My wonderful sister wanted me to tell her what it meant. I’m not proud, Fortune. I know my limitations. I did not see myself in a girls’ school. Especially as an official. Now she has been writing to me that there are extraordinary developments. The room of another mistress has been upset.”

“They do rag in girls’ schools! Another advance of women. Oh, they’ll have the vote soon.”

“You show levity, Fortune. My sister would not like it. This is a crime. A number of photographs were taken⁠—photographs of girls at the school. And there is no clue to the criminal.”

“The great Tormouth mystery. Leader in the Daily Scream⁠—‘Brains for Scotland Yard.’ But the independent expert found a pink hairpin in the mouth of the dachshund next door but two and brought the foul deed home to the junior curate.”

“I envy your spirits, Fortune,” Lomas sighed. “You have no sister⁠—no maiden sister.”

And the desultory conversation turned feebly to something else. In fact, both men were feeling the strain of that tangled and squalid crime, the Pimlico murder. They had at last contrived to hang (you remember it) the reluctant borough councillor; but only Reggie Fortune could take a holiday. As he was going, he said that he thought of motoring in Devonshire.

“You’d better call on my sister and investigate her case.” Lomas smiled sourly. “If it is a case. Sometimes I think it’s a dream.”

“Ragging in Girls’ Schools. By our Special Commission. ’Orrible Revelations.”

Lomas shook his head. “I’m afraid my sister won’t take to you. She’s not flippant.”

“Lomas, don’t be improper. A flippant headmistress. I blush.”

A few days later Reggie Fortune drove into Tormouth, liked it, liked its hotel, and called on the Hon. Evelyn Lomas. Miss Lomas was her brother’s sister in face and shape, correctly handsome, slight, dapper, not the least like her brother in manner. She was frankly middle-aged, brisk and direct.

“So glad you could spare time, Mr. Fortune.” She sat down to her writing-table. “My brother tells me I can have every confidence in your discretion.”

“So good of him,” Reggie murmured. He was annoyed with Lomas. He had meant only to make friends with the good lady. It appeared that he was to be an official investigator of the silly girls’ school mystery. An embarrassing position. And Miss Lomas was visibly without humour.

“You will understand that discretion is essential in this case, Mr. Fortune. Anything in the nature of publicity would be unpardonable. You look very young.”

“I try to be,” Reggie said modestly.

Miss Lomas coughed. “These are the facts, Mr. Fortune.”

With minute and tiresome detail Reggie heard it all over again and learnt nothing new. One mistress’s room turned upside down in the night, nothing spoilt or taken⁠—an interval⁠—another mistress’s room turned upside down and a number of photographs of girls taken. Only that and nothing more. Reggie was bored, and let his eyes wander from the intensity of Miss Lomas. When at last she stopped, frowning at his lack of attention, and waited in angry majesty for him to say something⁠—

“Are you interested in archaeology?” was what he said.

“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Lomas, in an awful voice.

“I was wonderin’ about this,” Reggie murmured, and took up from her table a little yellowish thing modelled into something like the shape of a woman. “Fascinatin’, isn’t she?”

“It seems to me childish or disgusting, Mr. Fortune,” Miss Lomas snapped at him. “It has nothing to do with the case. But I am afraid my affairs merely amuse you, Mr. Fortune.”

“Oh, please, please,” Reggie protested. “You see, you’re so lucid, Miss Lomas. These odd affairs are hardly ever lucid. Anything may have to do with anything. Just consider. You tell me that in your school there has been happening something unusual.”

“Extraordinary, unprecedented, and disturbing,” Miss Lomas cried.

“And then I find this lyin’ about⁠—a Hottentot Venus in a girls’ school⁠—that’s very highly unusual.”

“The thing is just a little ivory idol,” said Miss Lomas and took it from him and looked at it with disgust. It was crudely and oddly shaped, like a child’s modelling.

“It’s not ivory, and probably it wasn’t an idol,” Reggie snapped. His excellent temper found Miss Lomas trying. “It’s a horse’s tooth, and was no doubt carved as a doll or a work of art. But how did it come into a girls’ school?”

“I quite agree that it is most unsuitable. I should myself call it indecent. That is why I keep it on my desk.” (Reggie mastered a smile.) “It was found recently in the library. No doubt one of the girls having relations in India or Africa was given the thing as an odd savage trinket. She lost it and, recognizing that it was an undesirable thing, is afraid to claim it. As a matter of school discipline I am disturbed and annoyed. I cannot conceive that it concerns you, Mr. Fortune.”

“It’s the only thing that interests me,” said Reggie. He was tired of the lady. “You don’t understand the question, madame. This isn’t the kind of trinket anyone can pick up. It’s a jewel. This little lady”⁠—he handled her affectionately⁠—“she’s fifteen thousand years old. She’s palaeolithic. There’s only a few of her in the world. Some Frenchman called her type the Hottentot Venus, because she’s a little like the women of that tribe. But the woman she was modelled on may have been an ancestor of yours or mine.”

“I think not, Mr. Fortune.” Miss Lomas was horrified.

“We have had time to improve on her, madame,” Reggie bowed. “This is the point. Outside national museums, there are only half a dozen collections which own one of these ladies. Who’s the quaint savant that gives them to a schoolgirl to play with? May I see the names of your girls?”

“I only accept pupils with the highest references, sir,” said Miss Lomas, overawed but fuming.

So Reggie was allowed to inspect her register. He studied it in vain. No name suggested connection with any of the few archaeologists likely to own a Hottentot Venus. He gave it up.

“Well, sir?” Miss Lomas was triumphant and disdainful. “I am very much obliged to you for your courtesy. I regret exceedingly that I have troubled you with my affairs. I need not ask you to waste any more of your valuable time on the case that I foolishly submitted to you.”

“But, my dear Miss Lomas, I’m just gettin’ interested,” said Reggie, with an engaging smile. “You know, my first thoughts were that your children had been ragging.”

“Really, Mr. Fortune! Your way of putting things! Please understand that the girls in my school do not ‘rag’⁠—as you call it. I think my sex leaves that to young men, Mr. Fortune.”

“Women are so revoltin’ nowadays,” Reggie murmured. “I wonder⁠—you have no new woman in the flock? No bold, bad rebel?” The face of Miss Lomas answered him. “I thought so. We must have the second solution. Somebody wanted somebody’s photograph.”

“But why? Why should one girl want to steal photographs of the other girls? It’s nonsensical.”

“Oh, it’s all nonsense,” Reggie agreed cheerfully. “It’s gibberish till we find the key. But here’s one odd thing for certain, the Hottentot Venus. I expect to find a lot more before we’ve done.”

“Do you wish to alarm me, Mr. Fortune?”

“I’m only tryin’ to keep you interested. Now all these things have happened recently. Has anyone new come to the school recently? Any new servant? Any new teacher? Well, any new girl?”

“It’s very unusual to have any new girls this term. But we have had one⁠—Alice Warenne. She came with the highest introductions, Mr. Fortune. The Countess of Spilsborough asked me to take her.”

“And who are Alice Warenne’s people?”

“Her father is English but lives abroad. A distinguished-looking man, obviously well off. He has friends, as you see, in the best society. Her mother, I believe, has been long dead. She was brought up in France, and speaks French better than English. But this is all waste of time, Mr. Fortune. Alice Warenne is a delightful girl⁠—a sweet nature. I can’t imagine anything against her. Pray don’t form idle prejudices.”

“And has anybody called to see Alice Warenne since the affair of the photographs?”

Miss Lomas showed some surprise. “Dear me, Mr. Fortune⁠—now you mention it, yes. Her father was over in England and came down to see her a few days ago. He had another man with him, I remember.”

“Another? Do fond fathers often bring a faithful friend down to see how their daughters are growing?”

“Now you mention it, I suppose it is unusual.” Miss Lomas looked at Reggie with apprehension. “Still, it’s quite reasonable, Mr. Fortune.”

“Well⁠—if he were a brother⁠—or a selected fiancé.”

“Really, Mr. Fortune! Alice is a child. Not more than sixteen. This other man was older than her father. I wish I could remember his name.”

“So do I,” Reggie agreed.

“It was nothing uncommon, I think. He was rather an uncommon-looking man⁠—big and handsome, but artistic or Bohemian in his clothes.”

“And after the fond father and the faithful friend saw Alice you found this little lady”⁠—he held up the Hottentot Venus⁠—“in the library?”

“It was⁠—the day after,” Miss Lomas cried. “Good gracious!”

“We are getting on, aren’t we?” Reggie smiled. “But I wonder where we are getting to?”

“They saw her in the library. I shall certainly ask Alice for an explanation,” Miss Lomas said.

Reggie put the Hottentot Venus in his pocket and smiled at her. “I’m sure you’re much too wise. Let’s say nothing till we can say something sensible. I should like to see Alice. Just ‘for to admire,’ you know.”

“The girls will be in the playing-field now.”

“Delightful. Suppose you walk me through. Treat me as if I was intendin’ to be a parent.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Lomas, with emphasis.

“Oh, I mean a fond father comin’ to see if it was all nice enough for my darlin’ daughter. Don’t let Alice think I’m interested in her.”

“Very well, Mr. Fortune.” Miss Lomas went off for her hat.

The playing-field was a pleasant place set about with old oaks, in the freshest of their leaves then, through which there were glimpses of the sunlit Devon sea. Comely girls in white, clustered, arms in the air, at basket ball, or ran and smote across the tennis-courts.

Reggie paused and sank down on a seat. “This is very soothin’ and pretty,” he murmured. “Here are our young barbarians all at play. Why will they grow up, Miss Lomas? They’re so much more satisfying now.”

Miss Lomas stared at him. “Naturally they grow up,” she explained. “They can’t be children all their lives.”

“Some of us never were,” Reggie sighed. “Charming, charming. Like the young things in Homer, what? The maidens and the princess of the white arms they fell to playing at ball. Charming⁠—especially that one. Yes. Which did you say was Alice?”

“That is Miss Warenne.” Miss Lomas pointed with her sunshade to two girls arm in arm. One was a tall creature, a woman already in body and stately, with a fine, bold face, and red-brown hair that glowed.

“Why, she’s a goddess!” Reggie said.

“Oh, dear, no,” said Miss Lomas. “That’s Hilda Crowland. Alice is the little one.”

“Let’s go and look at the basket ball,” Reggie suggested, and to do that walked across the field on a line which brought them for a moment face to face with little Alice Warenne. She was a tiny creature, and had appropriately a round baby face. She was dark and plump and dimpled. But although her hair was not yet up, she need not have been younger than her magnificent companion.

Reggie Fortune’s interest in basket ball was soon exhausted. They went back across the field at an angle which brought them again face to face with Alice Warenne and her imposing friend, and while they passed, Reggie (rather loudly) was asking Miss Lomas questions about the school games and the school timetable. As soon as they were out of hearing of the two girls he broke this off with a sharp, “Great friends arc they, those two?”

“They are always together,” Miss Lomas admitted.

“And who is the magnificent creature?”

“Hilda Crowland? Why, she’s been with me for years.”

“And she’s the bosom friend of this girl, who’s only been here a couple of months!”

“Now you mention it, that is odd, Mr. Fortune.”

“Oh, Lord, everything’s odd!” Reggie said irritably. “Who is Hilda Crowland?”

“Well, her mother is a widow and very well off, I believe. She lives in Cornwall. Hilda came to me through Lady de Burgh. Of course you understand, Mr. Fortune, that that implies irreproachable family connections.”

“I dare say. I dare say. Well, Miss Lomas, it’s a queer case. I will take it up and go into it further. Something is being planned rather elaborately in which your school, probably a girl in your school, is concerned. It may be a matter outside your responsibilities. It may be something unpleasant.”

“Good gracious, Mr. Fortune, what do you suggest?” Miss Lomas was rather excited than alarmed.

“I don’t suggest anything. I have no information. The trouble is, Miss Lomas, you know nothing about your girls.”

“Really, Mr. Fortune! As I have told you, I insist upon⁠—”

“Good references. Anybody can find good references. Did your brother never tell you about the Prime Minister’s butler? He came from an Archbishop.”

“Is there anything you advise me to do?”

“Be ordinary. Absolutely ordinary. I shall stay in Tormouth at present. I’m at the Bristol.”

So he left Miss Lomas rather ruffled, but under that deeply gratified, because her case really was a serious case, her acumen was vindicated, her brother put to shame. Her school found her more masterful than ever.

Reggie’s room at the Bristol had a balcony which looked on the sea. There he sat before an empty plate which had held muffins, and lit one of his largest cigars. “Now where the devil have I seen that little minx before?” said he.

Upon that question he concentrated his mind, and (omitting the adventures into blind alleys) his thoughts were like this: “Typewriting⁠ ⁠… why does sweet Alice suggest typewriting?⁠ ⁠… mes petites manches de satinette⁠ ⁠… my little satinette sleeves⁠ ⁠… now what in wonder is that?⁠ ⁠… Oh, my aunt! She was the demure little typist in that play at the Variétés last year. What was her name? Alice Ducher!⁠ ⁠… Oh, Peter! A soubrette from the Variétés in a blameless English girls’ school! Ye stately homes of England! Give me air!”