Fourteen
I
Dermot Craddock was fraternizing with Armand Dessin of the Paris Pre-
fecture. The two men had met on one or two occasions and got on well to-
gether. Since Craddock
spoke1 French fluently, most of their conversation
was conducted in that language.
“It is an idea only,” Dessin warned him, “I have a picture here of the
corps2 de ballet—that is she, the fourth from the left—it says anything to
you, yes?”
Inspector3 Craddock said that actually it didn’t. A strangled young wo-
man is not easy to recognize, and in this picture all the young women con-
cerned were heavily made up and were wearing
extravagant4 bird head-
dresses.
“It could be,” he said. “I can’t go further than that. Who was she? What
do you know about her?”
“Almost less than nothing,” said the other cheerfully. “She was not im-
portant, you see. And the Ballet Maritski—it is not important, either. It
plays in
suburban5 theatres and goes on tour—it has no real names, no
stars, no famous ballerinas. But I will take you to see Madame Joilet who
runs it.”
Madame Joilet was a brisk business-like Frenchwoman with a shrewd
eye, a small moustache, and a good deal of
adipose6 tissue.
“Me, I do not like the police!” She
scowled7 at them, without camoufla-
ging her dislike of the visit. “Always, if they can, they make me embarrass-
ments.”
“No, no, Madame, you must not say that,” said Dessin, who was a tall
thin melancholy-looking man. “When have I ever caused you embarrass-
ments?”
“Over that little fool who drank the carbolic acid,” said Madame Joilet
promptly8. “And all because she has fallen in love with the chef d’orchestre
—who does not care for women and has other tastes. Over that you made
the big brouhaha! Which is not good for my beautiful ballet.”
“On the contrary, big box office business,” said Dessin. “And that was
three years ago. You should not bear
malice9. Now about this girl, Anna
Stravinska.”
“Well, what about her?” said Madame cautiously.
“Is she Russian?” asked Inspector Craddock.
“No, indeed. You mean, because of her name? But they all call them-
selves names like that, these girls. She was not important, she did not
dance well, she was not particularly good-looking. Elle était assez bien, c’est
tout10. She danced well enough for the corps de ballet—but no solos.”
“Was she French?”
“Perhaps. She had a French passport. But she told me once that she had
an English husband.”
“She told you that she had an English husband? Alive—or dead?”
“Dead, or he had left her. How should I know which? These girls—there
is always some trouble with men—”
“When did you last see her?”
“I take my company to London for six weeks. We play at Tor-quay, at
Bournemouth, at Eastbourne, at somewhere else I forget and at Hammer-
smith. Then we come back to France, but Anna—she does not come. She
sends a message only that she leaves the company, that she goes to live
with her husband’s family—some nonsense of that kind. I did not think it
is true, myself. I think it more likely that she has met a man, you under-
stand.”
Inspector Craddock nodded. He perceived that that was what Madame
Joilet would invariably think.
“And it is no loss to me. I do not care. I can get girls just as good and bet-
ter to come and dance, so I
shrug11 the shoulders and do not think of it any-
more. Why should I? They are all the same, these girls, mad about men.”
“What date was this?”
“When we return to France? It was—yes—the Sunday before Christmas.
And Anna she leaves two—or is it three—days before that? I cannot re-
member exactly… But the end of the week at Hammersmith we have to
dance without her — and it means rearranging things… It was very
naughty of her—but these girls—the moment they meet a man they are all
the same. Only I say to everybody. ‘Zut, I do not take her back, that one!’”
“Very annoying for you.”
“Ah! Me—I do not care. No doubt she passes the Christmas holiday with
some man she has picked up. It is not my affair. I can find other girls—
girls who will leap at the chance of dancing in the Ballet Maritski and who
can dance as well—or better than Anna.”
Madame Joilet paused and then asked with a sudden gleam of interest:
“Why do you want to find her? Has she come into money?”
“On the contrary,” said Inspector Craddock politely. “We think she may
have been murdered.”
“Ca se peut! It happens. Ah, well! She was a good Catholic. She went to
“Did she ever speak to you, Madame, of a son?”
“A son? Do you mean she had a child? That, now, I should consider most
unlikely. These girls, all—all of them know a useful address to which to go.
M. Dessin knows that as well as I do.”
“She may have had a child before she adopted a stage life,” said Crad-
dock. “During the war, for instance.”
“Ah! dans la guerre. That is always possible. But if so, I know nothing
about it.”
“Who amongst the other girls were her closest friends?”
“I can give you two or three names—but she was not very intimate with
anyone.”
They could get nothing else useful from Madame Joilet.
Shown the compact, she said Anna had one of that kind, but so had most
of the other girls. Anna had perhaps bought a fur coat in London—she did
not know. “Me, I occupy myself with the
rehearsals15, with the stage light-
ing, with all the difficulties of my business. I have not time to notice what
my artists wear.”
After Madame Joilet, they interviewed the girls whose names she had
given them. One or two of them had known Anna fairly well, but they all
said that she had not been one to talk much about herself, and that when
she did, it was, so one girl said, mostly lies.
“She liked to pretend things—stories about having been the mistress of a
Grand Duke—or of a great English financier—or how she worked for the
Resistance in the war. Even a story about being a film star in Hollywood.”
Another girl said:
“I think that really she had had a very tame
bourgeois16 existence. She
liked to be in ballet because she thought it was romantic, but she was not a
good dancer. You understand that if she were to say, ‘My father was a
draper in Amiens,’ that would not be romantic! So instead she made up
things.”
“Even in London,” said the first girl, “she threw out hints about a very
rich man who was going to take her on a cruise round the world, because
she reminded him of his dead daughter who had died in a car accident.
Quelle blague!”
“She told me she was going to stay with a rich lord in Scotland,” said the
second girl. “She said she would shoot the deer there.”
None of this was helpful. All that seemed to emerge from it was that
with a a peer in Scotland, and it seemed equally unlikely that she was on
the sun deck of a liner cruising round the world. But neither was there
any real reason to believe that her body had been found in a sarcophagus
at Rutherford Hall. The identification by the girls and Madame Joilet was
very uncertain and hesitating. It looked something like Anna, they all
agreed. But really! All
swollen19 up—it might be anybody!
The only fact that was established was that on the 19th of December
Anna Stravinska had
decided20 not to return to France, and that on the 20th
December a woman resembling her in appearance had travelled to Brack-
hampton by the 4:33 train and had been strangled.
If the woman in the sarcophagus was not Anna Stravinska, where was
Anna now?
To that, Madame Joilet’s answer was simple and
inevitable21.
“With a man!”
And it was probably the correct answer, Craddock reflected ruefully.
One other possibility had to be considered—raised by the casual remark
that Anna had once referred to having an English husband.
Had that husband been Edmund Crackenthorpe?
It seemed unlikely, considering the word picture of Anna that had been
given him by those who knew her. What was much more probable was
that Anna had at one time known the girl Martine
sufficiently22 intimately
to be acquainted with the necessary details. It might have been Anna who
wrote that letter to Emma Crackenthorpe and, if so, Anna would have
been quite likely to have taken fright at any question of an
investigation23.
Ballet Maritski. Again, where was she now?
And again,
inevitably26, Madame Joilet’s answer seemed the most likely.
With a man….
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