Thief On The Loose
CRIME SHORT STORY BY
In this crime short story, set in the 1920s, When Winifred’s rubies are stolen, she begins to suspect those close to her…
Snatching the letter-opener from her bedside table, Miss Winifred Danstonby turned on the light.
There was no-one there, but the silk curtains were partly open and swaying, as if in a breeze.
She leaped out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown.
“I know you’re there,” she called out. “And I’m armed.”
She swallowed, moved cautiously towards the window and flung the curtains wide. Nothing.
The right-hand door was ajar, however.
Taking a breath, she brandished the letter-opener and made her way out on to the balcony.
Still no-one.
From the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement at the edge of the copse, but that was all.
She made her way back inside. Perhaps she had been dreaming.
But she’d been sure she’d heard the creak of a floorboard and, when she’d opened her eyes, seen the outline of a shadowy figure.
Deep in thought, she looked around her room.
Everything seemed much as usual, except . . .
She gasped and dashed over to her dressing table.
The lid of the old blue box from Boodles was open.
As she feared, the priceless ruby jewels – passed down by her grandmother – had disappeared.
For a moment, she froze, her eyes widening.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Gracious!” she exclaimed.
I’ve been robbed. How thrilling, and I won’t have to wear those ghastly baubles ever again. What a fabulous start to the day!
A few hours later, when the police had finally left, Winifred was sitting in the drawing-room with her best friend, Miss Lavinia Malsington, and her two admirers, Cyril Falstrop and Redvers Delane.
It was a beautiful day.
Outside, the leaves of the spreading horse chestnut fluttered in a gentle breeze.
“It must have been a dreadful shock for you.” Redvers leaned towards her, a look of concern on his handsome face.
Winifred smiled.
“It was alarming for a while, but really I think the whole situation is exciting.”
A gleam of amusement appeared in Cyril’s eyes, but Redvers shook his head.
“When I think of what could have happened to you . . .” he added.
“It’s simply ghastly,” Lavinia said. “Are you sure that nothing else is missing – only the hideous rubies?”
“Yes.” Winifred laughed. “That’s the only thing. Isn’t it marvellous?”
“What did your grandmother say, Winnie?” Lavinia asked.
A smile spread across Winifred’s face and she patted her hair.
“I didn’t hear it all,” she confessed, “but let’s just say that I’m glad I am not the police inspector.”
Most of the household had heard Lady Danstonby when she’d explained what she would do if the inspector didn’t retrieve the family heirlooms.
Winifred laughed. How fabulous it was to spend the morning discussing a crime!
She could tell that Lavinia and Redvers were thrilled.
Lavinia’s cheeks were pink and her eyes glinted.
Redvers looked simply divine, as he ran a hand through his blond hair and swore to catch the intruder.
Cyril, on the other hand, was quiet.
He was a nice young man, and dapper, too, in a dark, silent way, but Winifred was inclined to think him somewhat dull.
She sighed. Lately, she seemed to attract unexciting individuals.
It made her wonder where their friend Ivy was this morning.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring Ivy with you, Lavinia,” Winifred said. “Does she know what’s happened?”
Lavinia shook her head and lit a cigarette.
“I thought about it, but you know how she is,” she said. “I wasn’t sure she could cope with crime.”
Winifred nodded.
She hoped it wouldn’t distress her. Ivy was such a mousy little creature.
Winifred and Lavinia had taken her under their wing at the request of Ivy’s father, Lord Bughly.
Her mother had passed away a year earlier and he didn’t want her to appear in society unaccompanied.
“Perhaps Ivy would be good at solving crimes,” Cyril suggested. “She seems an intelligent young lady.”
Winifred looked at Cyril in surprise. She didn’t think he knew Ivy very well.
Still, now he came to mention it, she was no fool. And, solving crimes, what a fabulous idea!
“Oh, yes, let’s see if we can solve the mystery,” Winifred agreed. “So far, the police have found a small footprint in the flower-bed and a handkerchief up by the copse, but no other leads.
“Who do you think could have done it?”
Cyril’s lips twitched, but Redvers looked horrified.
“You’d better leave that to the police,” he suggested. “The fellow might be dangerous.”
“I thought you were going to catch the bounder?” Cyril commented.
Redvers glared at Cyril.
“And so I shall, but the ladies’ safety is of paramount importance.”
Lavinia cleared her throat.
“I think it has something to do with Mrs Bentley-Jones’s amethysts. Do you recall?”
“What a clever thought.” Winifred was impressed.
Mrs Bentley-Jones had undergone a very similar experience recently.
During the night, her amethyst necklace had been stolen, but all else was left untouched, even her priceless diamonds.
“I happen to know of another theft,” Cyril said. “The victim wishes to keep the matter private, but the circumstances are much the same.
“I believe we have an unusual cat burglar on our hands, who has struck on at least three occasions.”
Winifred stared at Cyril.
It was one of the longest speeches she’d heard him make. It was fascinating.
How did he know so much about people? Maybe he wasn’t quite as dull as she’d supposed.
The Bon-Bon Club was heaving.
Ivy was already seated at a table with Redvers and Cyril.
The two young men, splendid in their black dinner suits and white cravats, rose to their feet as the ladies approached.
“How are you today, Miss Danstonby? I do hope you’re fully recovered.” Redvers smiled and pulled out a chair.
“Thank you. I am perfectly well,” Winifred replied. “It’s all enthralling.”
Ivy searched Winifred’s face, a worried crease above her nose.
“Are you sure you’re not upset?” she asked.
“Quite sure,” Winifred replied, turning towards her. “Those rubies were ghastly, as you’ve heard me say a dozen times.”
Ivy looked relieved.
“I hope all this hasn’t frightened you,” Winifred added.
Her timid friend shook her head and Winifred thought she saw a smile pass across her face.
She was a drab little creature, with her bob that was rather too long and her brown dress.
Winifred was relieved that all the intrigue hadn’t given her the hysterics.
She noticed Cyril watching Ivy closely.
Perhaps he liked her, despite her rather antiquated appearance.
After all, they were both very quiet. Maybe they would suit one another?
She was surprised to feel a slight pang of regret. She had grown used to Cyril’s company.
He was dashing in his own way and Redvers’s flattery could be wearing.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Danstonby?” Redvers held out his hand.
Normally it would be a tempting offer, but she shook her head.
“I believe that, tonight, Winifred would prefer sleuthing to dancing,” Cyril remarked, pouring her a glass of champagne.
She smiled and nodded.
“Shall we order food?” Ivy blurted out.
A brief silence followed her interruption.
“Of course. The truffles here are divine.” Lavinia clicked her fingers to summon a waiter.
So, how does one go about catching a thief?
she asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Winifred replied. “It seems to me that the thief must know the victims.”
“Oh, what a shocking suggestion!” Lavinia exclaimed. “Someone we know! What makes you think so?”
“For a start, he knew exactly which window to climb to and where the jewels were kept.”
“Winifred’s right.” Cyril gave her an approving glance and her cheeks glowed.
“Also,” Winifred added, “he always takes the one piece of jewellery most disliked by its owner.”
Redvers ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.
“Perhaps we had better change the subject,” he said. “I fear the ladies may be distressed.”
Lavinia snorted.
“We are rather enjoying ourselves actually.”
Redvers mopped his brow.
“I believe Miss Bughly is uncomfortable,” he said.
“You may be right.” Cyril’s eyes were fixed on Ivy’s face. “Perhaps you should ask her to dance.”
Redvers leaped up and offered his arm with alacrity.
As the pair moved away, his rival chuckled.
“I don’t believe our friend Mr Delane is as keen on solving mysteries as he professes,” Cyril said.
Winifred couldn’t help but agree.
Redvers was turning out to be a wet blanket. Cyril, on the other hand . . .
She turned towards him.
Do you have any idea who it might be?
she asked.
“Not yet, I’m afraid.” He shook his head. “But I’m mulling over a couple of possibilities.”
“Darlings, I think I know.”
Cyril raised an eyebrow and Winifred grabbed Lavinia’s hand.
“Why, Mr Ernest Falseacre,” she declared.
“Ernest?”
“Yes,” Lavinia confirmed. “He knows Mrs Bentley-Jones and your father.
“He’s a skinny, athletic man. He could easily climb walls and fit through small spaces. He also has a quirky sense of humour.”
Winifred clapped.
“Livvy, you’re brilliant,” she told her friend.
“Perhaps we should warn the police,” Lavinia said.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t,” Cyril replied. “Whilst everything you say about Mr Falseacre is true, he has very large feet.”
Silence greeted this pronouncement. Then Winifred nodded.
Of course – the footprint in the flower-bed.
She raised her eyes to Cyril’s face.
Clever and handsome. He was becoming more interesting by the minute.
Winifred had finished her breakfast and sat sipping her cup of tea.
It was a beautiful morning. The light mist had cleared, and a mellow sun set dew drops sparkling across the lawn.
Geraniums blazed in tall urns on either side of the stone steps.
She was wondering for the umpteenth time which member of her acquaintance might be a thief, when the door opened and Hoskins entered.
He cleared his throat.
“You have a visitor, miss,” he announced.
Winifred looked up, startled. It was very early in the day.
“Mr Cyril Falstrop.”
She had barely collected herself when the man in question entered the room and bowed.
He wore a light suit, trench coat and trilby.
His dark hair was neatly groomed and his eyes sparkled.
She swallowed and wondered what he was doing here.
“I’m sorry to intrude on your breakfast, Miss Danstonby,” he began, “but I was rather hoping that you might like to solve our little mystery today.”
She felt a shiver of excitement and clapped her hands.
“What a fabulous idea, Cyril. Do you have any leads?” she asked.
He smiled and she thought how strikingly handsome he was.
She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before.
He was, at least, as dashing as Redvers.
“I think we might do best to follow the evidence,” Cyril reasoned. “Shall we start with the footprint?”
“Oh, yes,” Winifred agreed. “I’ll get my coat.”
A short while later, Winifred left the house with Cyril and made her way round to a flower-bed not far from her bedroom window.
“It should be here somewhere,” she told him, “At least, the inspector said so.”
She cast a furtive glance Cyril’s way.
He looked animated and she smiled.
What fun this was. It seemed that it was going to be a super day.
“Here it is!” Cyril held back the leaves of an azalea bush.
Winifred saw a faint imprint in the soil.
“How clever you are, but, goodness, it is terribly small,” Winifred commented.
“Indeed it is.”
Winifred stared at the print. Cyril had been right.
There was no way this could belong to Mr Falseacre.
A lot of men had bigger feet than this.
Of course, some didn’t. Redvers, for one.
She used to think his small feet elegant but, as she glanced at Cyril’s larger two-tone shoes, she changed her mind.
“Well, that’s our first clue,” he said. “I believe you told the police that you saw movement by the copse and that’s where they found the handkerchief.
“Shall we head up there next?”
“Oh, yes. I wonder what we will find?” Winifred mused.
Cyril offered his arm and they made their way together towards the trees at the far side of the lawn.
“I’ve been racking my brain,” she said, “but it’s so hard to imagine anyone we know as a cat burglar.”
“People aren’t always what they seem.” Cyril raised an eyebrow.
“I suppose not.” Winifred thought about Redvers.
He hadn’t turned out to be half as dashing as she’d imagined.
Then she remembered his small feet and a sudden idea struck her.
“Gracious,” she said. “You don’t think Redvers could be our man, do you? His feet are tiny.”
Cyril laughed.
“I have considered the possibility,” he confessed. “He doesn’t seem keen on our detective work, either.
“He always tries hard to change the subject.”
“That’s true.” Winifred’s eyes gleamed, but then she shook her head. “I’m not sure he has the courage to be a thief.”
That made Cyril laugh louder.
“I think you may be right,” he said,
but let’s defer judgement until we have more evidence.
By this time, they had reached the edge of the copse and Winifred’s excitement mounted.
“I’ll go over here,” she told Cyril. “You go that way.”
“Right you are.” He saluted and headed off.
Winifred stood and thought for a moment.
Where exactly had she seen movement that night?
She wandered to her right and began to examine the tree trunks at the edge of the copse.
She hadn’t gone far when her sharp eyes spotted something.
“Quick, Cyril, over here!” she called.
He was by her side in a moment.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A bit of lace, I believe.” She reached out and removed it from a low branch.
“You’re right. It must have come from the handkerchief.
“Marvellous work, Winifred.”
She blushed and clapped her hands.
“A lace handkerchief. That explains the footprint size,” she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. “The thief is a lady!
“Gracious, who do we know that is acquainted with myself, Mrs Bentley-Jones and Lady Treashaw?”
Cyril wheeled round and stared at her.
“How did you know that Lady Treashaw is the third victim?” he asked. “She was keeping it a secret.”
Winifred’s mouth fell open.
“Why, Ivy mentioned it,” she replied. “She knew there were three victims all along, though she wasn’t there when you told us.
“She referred to three crimes at the club!
“How did she know that there was another theft and who the victim was?”
Later that evening, Winifred, Cyril and Lavinia were sharing a pre-dinner drink.
“I still can’t believe it, darlings.” Lavinia sipped her mimosa and looked from one to the other. “Are you absolutely certain?
“I mean Ivy! She’s so . . . well, dull.”
“Apparently not.” Winifred laughed.
“But what possible reason could she have?” Lavinia asked.
“Despite her family’s wealth, it was money, I believe.”
The police had arrested Ivy earlier that afternoon.
It seemed that her father, Lord Bughley, kept her on a tight leash and her mother’s death had made things worse.
She had been subjected to a year of strict mourning and emerged from it with a tiny allowance.
On her return to society, grief-stricken and miserable, she had grown increasingly jealous of the other girls’ beautiful clothes and trinkets.
“What will happen to her now, darlings?” Lavinia asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Winifred said. “Poor Ivy!
There will have to be a court case and a dreadful scandal, despite her promise to return all the jewels.
“Yes,” Cyril agreed. “Though I don’t believe their owners will want them back.”
“Quite.” Winifred groaned. “I shall have to wear those frightful rubies again.”
“Never mind, darling . . . But I still can’t believe it!”
“People aren’t always what they seem, are they, Cyril?” Winifred batted her eyelashes and Cyril kissed her hand.
Yes, Winifred reflected. Ivy certainly wasn’t the quiet young lady they had taken her for.
Redvers was by no means so dashing.
And Cyril?
Best of all, he had turned out to be far from dull.
In fact, when he’d taken her in his arms, she’d melted into them.
And when he’d suggested that they solved mysteries together for the rest of their lives, what could she do but agree?
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