The Mystery of the Blue Train

She had taken the stones from the case and was holding them against her breast. The millionaire watched her. He was thinking of the series of women who had worn the jewels. The heartaches, the despairs, the jealousies. ‘Heart of Fire,’ like all famous stones, had left behind it a trail of tragedy and violence. Held in Ruth Kettering’s assured hand, it seemed to lose its potency of evil. With her cool, equable poise, this woman of the western world seemed a negation to tragedy or heart-burnings. Ruth returned the stones to their case; then, jumping up, she flung her arms round her father’s neck.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad. They are wonderful! You do give me the most marvellous presents always.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Van Aldin, patting her shoulder. ‘You are all I have, you know, Ruthie.’

‘You will stay to dinner, won’t you, Father?’

‘I don’t think so. You were going out, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, but I can easily put that off. Nothing very exciting.’

‘No,’ said Van Aldin. ‘Keep your engagement. I have got a good deal to attend to. See you tomorrow, my dear. Perhaps if I phone you, we can meet at Galbraiths’?’

Messrs. Galbraith, Galbraith, Cuthbertson & Galbraith were Van Aldin’s London solicitors.

‘Very well, Dad.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose it—this—won’t keep me from going to the Riviera?’

‘When are you off ?’

‘On the fourteenth.’

‘Oh, that will be all right. These things take a long time to mature. By the way, Ruth, I shouldn’t take those rubies abroad if I were you. Leave them at the bank.’

Mrs Kettering nodded.

‘We don’t want to have you robbed and murdered for the sake of “Heart of Fire”,’ said the millionaire jocosely.

‘And yet you carried it about in your pocket loose,’ retorted his daughter, smiling.

‘Yes—’

Something, some hesitation, caught her attention.

‘What is it, Dad?’

‘Nothing.’ He smiled. ‘Thinking of a little adventure of mine in Paris.’

‘An adventure?’

‘Yes, the night I bought these things.’

He made a gesture towards the jewel case.

‘Oh, do tell me.’

‘Nothing to tell, Ruthie. Some apache fellows got a bit fresh and I shot at them and they got off. That’s all.’

She looked at him with some pride.

‘You’re a tough proposition, Dad.’

‘You bet I am, Ruthie.’

He kissed her affectionately and departed. On arriving back at the Savoy, he gave a curt order to Knighton.

‘Get hold of a man called Goby; you’ll find his address in my private book. He’s to be here tomorrow morning at half-past nine.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I also want to see Mr Kettering. Run him to earth for me if you can. Try his Club—at any rate, get hold of him somehow, and arrange for me to see him here tomorrow morning. Better make it latish, about twelve. His sort aren’t early risers.’

The secretary nodded in comprehension of these instructions. Van Aldin gave himself into the hands of his valet. His bath was prepared, and as he lay luxuriating in the hot water, his mind went back over the conversation with his daughter. On the whole he was well satisfied. His keen mind had long since accepted the fact that divorce was the only possible way out. Ruth had agreed to the proposed solution with more readiness than he had hoped for. Yet, in spite of her acquiescence, he was left with a vague sense of uneasiness. Something about her manner, he felt, had not been quite natural. He frowned to himself.

‘Maybe I’m fanciful,’ he muttered, ‘and yet—I bet there’s something she has not told me.’

CHAPTER 5 (#ulink_495546f3-537a-56b4-9dd7-d38b1120e9d1)

A Useful Gentleman (#ulink_495546f3-537a-56b4-9dd7-d38b1120e9d1)

Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Knighton entered the room.

‘Mr Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you.’

The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just half-past nine.

‘All right,’ he said curtly. ‘He can come up.’

A minute or two later, Mr Goby entered the room. He was a small, elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all round the room, and never at the person he was addressing.

‘Good morning, Goby,’ said the millionaire. ‘Take a chair.’

‘Thank you, Mr Van Aldin.’

Mr Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at the radiator.

‘I have got a job for you.’

‘Yes, Mr Van Aldin?’

‘My daughter is married to the Hon. Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps know.’

Mr Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the left-hand drawer of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face. Mr Goby knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the fact.

‘By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of course, is a solicitor’s business. But, for private reasons, I want the fullest and most complete information.’

Mr Goby looked at the cornice and murmured:

‘About Mr Kettering?’