“My name is George Jeremiah Riddle. I am employed as butler-handyman at Berry Hall by Sir Simon Trigg-Willoughby. I also act as chauffeur when required. On January 16th last at approx. 7 P.M. I was summoned by Miss Priscilla to help her remove her jewellery from the safe, which is located in the corridor outside her bedroom. The jewellery is normally kept in this safe in two steel boxes. I should explain that this safe, which is a large one, has an inner locked compartment for the jewel boxes. I have a key to the outer door, as it is part of my duties to clean the silver which is kept there. As far as I know, only Sir Simon and Miss Priscilla have keys to the inner compartment, and only Miss Priscilla has the keys to the jewel boxes themselves. She wears them [the keys] on a chain round her neck...”
Henry smiled to himself at the diligence with which the local police had taken pains to ensure that nobody should imagine Priscilla going round with two big steel boxes slung round her plump throat. He said to Proudie, “Is this accurate—Riddle’s statement about the keys?”
Proudie nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Well, almost. There’s actually a spare set of keys, but they’re kept at the bank in case of emergencies. I believe,” he went on, comfortably knowledgeable, “that Sir Simon has been worried for years at the thought that Miss Priscilla was the only person with keys to the boxes themselves. She’s...well, she’s an unusual lady, sir, as you know, and quite naturally Sir Simon felt he’d like to keep a bit of an eye on all that valuable stuff. But the trouble was that the jewellery was Miss Priscilla’s personal property, and nothing nor nobody could make her part with those keys unless she wanted to.”
“Surely,” said Henry, “Sir Simon could have taken the spare keys out of the bank any time he wanted to check on the stuff.”
Proudie chuckled. “That he couldn’t, sir. Not Sir Simon nor anyone else. You see, Miss Priscilla had arranged with the bank that the keys could only be released on her signature. Old Charlie Piggott, the manager, he’s a friend of mine. We go fishing together. That’s how I come to know all this. He told me in confidence some years ago that Sir Simon had come to him several times and asked for those keys: but of course Charlie couldn’t let him have them.”
“So,” Henry said, “Miss Priscilla herself was the only person who actually had access to the jewels.”
“That’s right,” said Proudie. “And a very tight grip she kept on them, too. Loved showing them off, but wouldn’t ever let anybody get too close, or touch them. It’s funny, isn’t it, sir,” he added, with the air of one disclosing a great philosophical truth, “the effect jewellery seems to have on ladies? Still, of course, all this business of the keys has nothing to do with the case. We checked up, naturally, as a matter of routine, but it’s perfectly clear that the boxes were left out on the dressing table. I saw them myself.”
“Just where were they?” Henry asked.
“In Miss Priscilla’s dressing room,” Proudie answered. “It’s a small room leading off her bedroom. The window was wide open, and the two boxes were lying on the table, unlocked and empty, except for a few worthless bits.”
“Sir Simon told me,” said Henry, “that the ladder had left marks in the flower beds under the window. Were there any footprints?”
Proudie grinned ruefully. “You bet there were,” he said. “Beautiful, clear, easily identified footprints.”
“There were?” Henry was extremely surprised. “Then why...?”
“Because,” said Proudie, “they were made by Sir Simon’s own sea boots—great big old rubber things. They were in the shed with the ladder. Anybody could have put them on over his ordinary shoes. We found them with the ladder in the shrubbery.”
“And no prints there?”
Proudie shook his head. “Not a hope. The ladder and the boots had obviously been thrown into the bushes by somebody standing on the gravel drive.”
“What about the shed, where the ladder and boots came from?” Henry persisted. “Did you look for prints there?”
Proudie looked hurt. “Of course we did, sir,” he said. “No hope of footprints—concrete path running from the drive to the shed. And no fingerprints either.”
Henry sighed. “Oh, well,” he said. “You can’t have everything.” He went back to Riddle’s report.
“At 8.45 P.M. I brought the car to the door in order to drive Sir Simon and Miss Priscilla to the Hunt Ball at Rooting Manor. Miss Priscilla was at that time wearing the tiara, the diamond and emerald three-strand necklace and pendant, with matching earrings, and two diamond bracelets, as well as the large solitaire diamond ring and several smaller ones...
”Crikey, thought Henry, as the monstrous vision of Priscilla thus adorned took shape in his mind. It also occurred to him that Riddle had been uncommonly observant.
“...We arrived at Rooting Manor,” the statement continued, “at about 9.30 P.M. I spent the evening in the servants’ hall, where refreshments were available for the chauffeurs and temporary staff. At 1.10 A.M., I was called and told to bring the car round. Sir Simon and Miss Priscilla were waiting on the doorstep when I drove up, together with the two Mr. Rawnsleys. Miss Priscilla appeared to be unwell, and I helped her into the car. Sir Simon explained that she had been overcome by the heat of the ballroom. We arrived home just before 2 A.M. Miss Priscilla had slept in the car, and we had some difficulty in rousing her. Sir Simon and I helped her indoors and up the stairs. At the head of the staircase, she appeared to revive considerably. She said goodnight to us, and went down the passage to her room. I can positively state that she was wearing all her jewellery at that time. Sir Simon told me he had no further need of me, so I went to my room at the back of the house. I heard no sound during the remainder of the night.
“The following morning I stayed in bed until 8 A.M. My normal practise is to rise at 6 A.M., but in view of the fact that I had worked late, Sir Simon gave me permission to lie in. I had been instructed to prepare breakfast for 9.30, Mrs. Bradwell, the cook, being on holiday. Having cleaned the grates and stoked the boilers, I took breakfast into the dining room. Almost at once Sir Simon came in from the terrace and asked me if I had moved his sea boots, which he had left as usual in the potting shed. I replied that I had not, and he said, ‘Maybe Sam has them, the old rascal. He appears to have pinched a ladder as well.’ This I took to be a reference to my father, Samson Riddle, who was at that time working as an extra jobbing gardener at the Hall. It was then that we heard Miss Priscilla screaming.” A small shiver ran down Henry’s spine. He read on. “She came down the big staircase in her dressing gown, with her hair in curling pins, and screaming all the way. She was not wearing her dentures, which made it difficult to make out what she was saying, but she quite definitely said several times, ‘I did it, I did it.’ Sir Simon was very concerned. He said, ‘Did what, Prissy?’ Finally we understood that something had happened to the jewels. Sir Simon said to me, ‘Quick, Riddle.’ We both ran upstairs. The window of Miss Priscilla’s dressing room was open and the jewel boxes were on the table, empty except for a few trinkets. Sir Simon told me to go and telephone for the police, but before I could leave the room, Miss Priscilla came in. She was still crying and in an hysterical state. She came up to me and she said, ‘Don’t ever trust anybody, Riddle. Not even yourself. Especially not yourself. What’s the use of having keys if they weren’t locked up?’ She was twisting away at the chain that always hangs round her neck, and she pulled it so hard that the clasp broke and the two keys fell on the floor. ‘So much for keys,’ she said, half-screaming, as it were. Sir Simon said, ‘Don’t waste time listening to her, Riddle. Get the police.’ I then proceeded downstairs...”