Charlotte Wynthorpe and the Case of the Disappearing Diamonds

8. False Rumours

Charlotte heaved a sigh as she turned the last page of Bloody Murder in the Fens and read the words THE END. 

She felt both relived that the murderer had been found, but somewhat put out that the story was over and she'd not be picking up any more tips from the indomitable Inspector Bump. 

Closing the novel, she placed it on the side table, propped her elbows on the armrests of the wing chair, and settled in for a good think.

Anyone casually observing from a corner might have assumed Charlotte was giving the expanse of her yellow-walled sitting room as serious once-over, but that would have been misleading. Her gaze roamed over the thick carpets and ornate fireplace without really seeing them. By and by, her eyes settled on the large windows and the garden beyond which was being watered by a dignified, but unmistakably London, drizzle.

The good Inspector had succeeded in catching Lizzie's murderer by making him believe there was still incriminating evidence lying about in Roger Green's home. 

There wasn't, of course, but the murderer couldn't have known that. He'd assumed the worst, and climbed through the parlour window in the dead of night to search about for whatever it could be.  

And when the murderer -- who turned out to be Farmer Jenkins from down the road --  had stepped in, Bump, who had been waiting in the darkness, had turned the lights on over his startled head and apprehended him. The whole story had come out, all the greed and lust, before two constables appeared to lead Jenkins away, leaving Bump to enjoy his last pipe on the Fens before returning to London.

From that, she gleaned that Mr K. Huntley advised deception for the catching of criminals. 

The principal was, no criminal could know exactly what the Inspector hunting him did, or didn't, know. He could only make guesses and assumptions. Inspector Bump had strewn false rumours around the village so vague that Farmer Jenkins had seen only his own fears in them. There was logically no evidence in Roger Green's home, but Farmer Jenkins hadn't been able to stop himself from climbing in the window to search for it anyway. 

Charlotte watched rivulets of water race each other down the window pane before they disappeared into the dark green shadow cast by a mulberry bush.

The diamond thief was climbing in windows all the time. Could he possibly be lured into climbing into the wrong window, where Charlotte would be waiting to slam the lights on and apprehend him red-handed? 

The idea was appealing. She scratched her nose and followed the descent of a few more rivulets with her eyes. 

Appealing or not, there was one major water hazard to that notion. 

Inspector Bump had already had a very good idea who the murderer was, hadn't he? He'd suspected Farmer Jenkins for a while. Ever since that market day in Lower Heatherworth. He hadn't simply waited in the dark for just anyone to come stumbling through the window to apprehend them for Lizzie's murder. He'd been waiting for Jenkins and no one else.

And just who should she be waiting for? She had no clue who was skimming diamonds. Not even a shred. Not even the faintest twinkle. 

The shrill ring of the telephone echoed out in the hall. Presently, she heard footsteps and the faint sound of Preston's voice as he answered.

Anne's hastily remembered guest list scrawled on the back of a delivery receipt for canvas was upstairs in Charlotte's bedroom. Many of the names on it were familiar, but not all, and there was no way of knowing if it were complete. 

If only she knew if it was a professional thief or one of her set! That was the most frustrating point of this entire affair. Was she looking for someone she knew, or someone she didn't?