ection>
THE SILVERED CAGE
A SCIENTIFIC MURDER MYSTERY
JOHN RUSSELL FEARN
BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY JOHN RUSSELL FEARN
1,000-Year Voyage: A Science Fiction Novel
The Crimson Rambler: A Crime Novel
Don’t Touch Me: A Crime Novel
The Empty Coffins: A Mystery of Horror
The Fourth Door: A Mystery Novel
From Afar: A Science Fiction Mystery
The G-Bomb: A Science Fiction Novel
Here and Now: A Science Fiction Novel
Into the Unknown: A Science Fiction Tale
The Man Who Was Not: A Crime Novel
One Way Out: A Crime Novel (with Philip Harbottle)
Reflected Glory: A Dr. Castle Classic Crime Novel
Robbery Without Violence: Two Science Fiction Crime Stories
Shattering Glass: A Crime Novel
The Silvered Cage: A Scientific Murder Mystery
Slaves of Ijax: A Science Fiction Novel
The Space Warp: A Science Fiction Novel
Vision Sinister: A Scientific Detective Thriller
What Happened to Hammond? A Scientific Mystery
Within That Room: A Classic Crime Novel
THE SILVERED CAGE
A SCIENTIFIC MURDER MYSTERY
JOHN RUSSELL FEARN
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1955 by John Russell Fearn
Copyright © 2005 by Philip Harbottle
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
For Eddie Jones
CHAPTER ONE
The young lady with the extremely pretty face, somewhat ostentatious gold tooth, and innocent blue eyes made no apparent emotional impression upon Detective-Sergeant Whittaker of the Yard’s murder squad. But then, Whittaker was trained to maintain a poker face under all circumstances and whatever his inward reaction to this remarkably delectable young woman he took care to keep it under control. Besides, he had a wife.
“I had rather hoped,” the young woman said, “that I would be able to see Chief-Inspector Garth, your superior. Believe me, sergeant, that is not meant as a reflection upon your capabilities, only—”
“The Inspector is away at the moment, Madam. Murder case down in Kent. I’m sure I will be able to handle whatever may be troubling you.”
“Yes—of course you will. For that matter I’m not at all sure whether Scotland Yard will interest itself. You men of the law have little time for a woman’s fancies and fears, I’m afraid.”
Whittaker cleared his throat gently and passed a finger over his crisp, toothbrush moustache. He was a solid, stiff-necked, unimaginative young man, known to his contemporaries as “Feet-on-the-earth” Whitty. Only rarely did he get an inspiration, and then it was usually something outstanding.
“At least, Madam,” he said, glancing down at the visiting card on the desk, “your niche in society places you above the average caller....”
The visiting card, daintily edged with gold leaf to represent lace, read:
Vera de Maine-Kestrel
The Marlows
West Kensington
Added to this were three telephone numbers. That “The Marlows, West Kensington” was sufficient postal address was enough in itself. Vera de Maine-Kestrel was the daughter of Victor de Maine-Kestrel, shipper, banker, chain store owner, and railway magnate, this latter empire being entirely Colonial. In a word, the delightfully persuasive girl with the blatant gold tooth and hat like an inverted pie-dish was worth not one packet, but several.
“I am here,” Vera continued, with a troubled droop of her long eyelashes, “because I require police protection. Quite frankly, I am in fear of my life.”
“I see.” Whittaker looked at her squarely. “And your reason for this disturbing suspicion, Miss Kestrel?”
“It’s rather complicated.” She made an embarrassed little movement. “It is mixed up with my fiancé, certain monetary deals, an incident in the past— Oh, lots of things. I surely don’t have to explain all those harrowing details in order to get police protection?”
“Not if you don’t wish. Suppose we take another angle: who do you think is going to attack you?”
“I can’t say. It may be one or several men or women. In my position I am unfortunately the target for many enemies of my father and.... Anyway, I’ve always understood that if one asks for police protection it is provided.”
“If the circumstances make it justified, yes,” Whittaker assented, solidly obliging. “We cannot, however, undertake some indefinite kind of surveillance based purely upon a suspicion. You would have to offer some definite proof. Men are still scarce in the force, Miss Kestrel, and time is valuable.”
“I realize that, of course,” she said, “but this isn’t in the nature of an indefinite surveillance. If an attack is made on me it will be tomorrow evening. I only require police protection for that period. For that matter the protection could serve two purposes, for amongst the many guests some of them may not be genuine and our home contains quite a number of valuables.”
Whittaker did not say openly that he wished she could get to the point, so he remained silent and with a kind of dull interest watched the gold tooth as it occasionally gleamed near the back of Vera’s otherwise perfect upper set.
“Tomorrow evening,” she continued, apparently realizing it was time she pinned something down, “there will be a big magical display at my home, following a dinner. The magician will be Crafto the Great, of whom you may have heard?”
Whittaker nodded. Since one of his own hobbies was a bottomless egg-bag, he kept track of all magicians, professional and amateur.
“Well now,” Vera continued, “whilst Crafto is entirely above suspicion, I do feel that there is one particular illusion of his which may make things awkward for me. Foolishly, I have already volunteered to be a ‘vanishing lady’.”
“Indeed?” Whittaker endeavoured to look impressed.
“What, though, if certain enemies took
