Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 49, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2004

“Well, I shall have a jolly good try,” said Davenport, somewhat amused. The voice didn’t sound that of a general’s wife, so he said, “May I ask, who is speaking.”

“Oh, I’m just the housekeeper, sir, and here comes the brigadier himself.”

Russell arranged to come over straightaway, and then telephoned his friend Peter Strevens, a member of the Hertfordshire CID. “I’ll buy you lunch at the Barn,” he offered.

“That sounds as if you need assistance with your inquiries,” said Peter Strevens.

“That’s right. I’ll be on an expense account, too, so you can have four courses,” countered Russell.

Strevens laughed at the private joke between them. It was a great mystery how the Barn, in the middle of St. Albans, managed to serve such delicious food at such low prices.

Brigadier Thundackaray-Harding opened the door himself. He was tall and thin, with a long, horselike face and long ears. He had large eyes that stared over Russell’s head. “Jolly good show,” he said, taking Russell’s hand in a vicelike grip. “Jolly good show.” He led Russell into the sitting room. It looked bare.

“Is it too early to offer you anything to drink?” he asked.

“Just tea or coffee, whichever is most convenient.”

The brigadier left the room and returned a few minutes later. “Tea on the way! And now I’m at your disposal.”

“Tell me everything that happened,” said Russell.

“Not much to tell. Wife and I came back from holidays abroad. We go to Spain every year. Walked into the house. All gone!”

“I believe you have a housekeeper.”

“Oh, yes, but she was on holiday with us. Wife passed out. Mrs. Stammers, that’s our housekeeper, gave her a shot of whisky. Rang the police.” He spoke in clipped segments. “Left the whisky. At least,” he added.

“The housekeeper was definitely on holiday with you,” said Russell deliberately.

“Of course. One of the family. Just about. Ex-batman’s widow. Solid.”

“How long has she been with you?”

“Since I resigned the army. First-rate. Honest as the day is long. Barking up the wrong tree there, ol’ boy. Ah, here she comes. Thank you, Mrs. Stammers.”

Mrs. Stammers bustled in with the tea tray. Her face was tanned from the Spanish sun. She exuded honesty, forthrightness, and goodwill. The china on the tea tray looked emergency army issue from long ago. “You must be the gentleman who called earlier,” she said as she began to pour. “Milk, sir? Sugar? Isn’t it a shame, all those lovely things. Been in the family for generations, haven’t they?”

“Well, actually, my mother...” began the brigadier.

“Ever such a long time,” she said. “And there wasn’t one I haven’t polished and repolished over and over.”

The brigadier nodded his head vigorously and opened his mouth to speak, but she went on, “Didn’t polish all them lovely things for some villain to... oh, sir, you will find all those lovely things, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Russell, somewhat overwhelmed.

“Jolly good show,” said the brigadier.

Mrs. Stammers bustled out.

“I’ve got to ask you, who knew you had all these things,” said Russell, “and I suppose you’ll say, quite a lot of people. But have you had anyone strange in the house recently, someone you’ve never had before, repairmen, tradesmen?”

“Had a new roof put in. Two chappies. Very decent sort. Ad in local paper. Got their names somewhere.”

“Just like that? Out of the local paper?”

“Oh, yes, very sound. Quotation on the spot. Gave ’em a check. Told ’em to get on with it.”

Russell spoke to Mrs. Stammers who, beyond swearing she knew every piece of the stolen furniture intimately, every flaw in every grain of wood, and was sure her fingerprints were embedded in them all, and every piece of china, could not add anything more.

Bradford was sending the list of stolen articles by special messenger, who would be arriving after lunch. Russell didn’t have anything to do till then, so he went to his luncheon appointment at the Barn.

Peter Strevens and Russell Davenport were roughly the same age and the same build. Strevens had lighter hair and looked older. Russell maintained a certain boyish charm, as if he had never grown up. He collected avidly — mainly books and tiles. Peter preferred hunting and fishing. Russell wanted to know what had happened when the police were called. “There’s not much I can tell you. The brigadier had a new roof put on the house. We sent someone to talk to the fellows who did it. It was the old story: see no evil, hear no evil, say no evil, hadn’t been inside the house, never mentioned the job to anyone.

“And your opinion?” asked Russell.

“Well, I’m not saying that roof repairers are all bent, but of the type who are, either they tip off a gang of thieves, or they tip off a bent antiques dealer. The antiques dealer comes round and offers to buy any furniture that has woodworm and proceeds to find lots of it. They’ve got some good ploys, these gents.”