'Hello, Paul,' said Felix, putting down his case. He listened with rising incredulity. 'All right, I'm on my way. Ten minutes.'
'Off again?'
'They've been there already. Thank God we got you out.' And the door slammed behind him.
'My flat?' said Clare.
'Your flat.'
Chapter Four
Felix arrived in the darkened street to discover the inevitable crowd of onlookers and a police cordon. A Black Maria and an ambulance sat with their engines running. Ambulances, he reflected, were figuring rather largely in his life at the moment.
Mrs Dawson, Clare's landlady, was standing at the door to her flat. 'Eeh it were like a war up there, Chief Inspector, and that's a fact. And those poor boys shot!'
'Never mind, Mrs Dawson. We've got them, that's the main thing. They won't be bothering anyone again.'
'One of 'em won't anyroad, and good riddance!'
A stretcher party appeared, manoeuvring with difficulty a wincing constable round a bend in the stairs. 'It's not as bad as it looks, sir,' he said. 'I'd as soon have hopped.'
'Don't be modest, Bowers; you're a hero,' said Felix, clapping him on the shoulder. 'And if you play your cards right, you won't have to buy your own beer for weeks.'
'That's a thought, sir.'
Next to be brought down was their goatee-bearded acquaintance from the restaurant, with Rattigan in close attendance. 'And what happened to you, comrade?' he asked. The man merely glowered at him.
'Kneecap smashed, sir, and he's hurt his hand. I'll just get him settled and I'll be up.'
'Has he said anything?'
'Only some swearing, by the sound of it.'
Clare's tiny flat was crowded enough, even without Rattigan in it. Nash and Yardley were dabbing and photographing.
'Do we have to do that?' complained Nash. 'I don't see that it helps.'
'Have a care, Sergeant,' cautioned Felix. 'This is a temple of love, you know. Mustn't desecrate it.'
'Hello, sir,' grinned Yardley. 'That's what Rattigan said; except he didn't call it love.'
'You're just jealous, that's all,' said Nash, blushing scarlet.
'Where's the body?'
'Kitchen. Except it's a darkroom.'
Sitting among it all was PC Lyle being stitched and bandaged by the local doctor.
'Hello, Lyle, been in the wars, I see. Hello, Dr Hartnall, whenever I see you, you're patching someone up.'
'Good evening, Chief Inspector, and congratulations on your promotion. Don't worry, I'll be sending you the bill; slightly higher now, of course, to reflect your new rank.'
Felix grinned. 'Thank you. Have you looked at our Slav, as we call him?'
'Yes, I suppose that's what he is. Was, rather. You've heard what he did?'
'What do you mean?'
'Took poison. Potassium cyanide I think. Here's the bottle. You might like to pass it to Benyson. I presume he'll be dealing with this? Make sure the cap is good and tight, though.'
'It's been dabbed,' said Yardley.
Felix sniffed at the tiny bottle and put it carefully in his pocket. 'Can you give me a résumé of what happened, Lyle?' he said. 'That's if you're up to it.'
'It all happened pretty quick, sir,' said the constable, 'a couple of minutes really. It wasn't even quite dark when we heard them coming up the stairs. Just normal, not creeping or anything. Bowers hid in the bathroom and I stood behind the front door. They rang the bell and knocked. I could hear them talking foreign to each other and then they kicked the door in.
'It was the dead bloke came in first. I had my gun in my hand but he had a knife and just slashed at my wrist. Didn't hesitate. I was going to tell him to put his hands up but instead I dropped the gun – well, you can see what he did to me – and by the time I'd picked it up the bearded bloke had come in and Bowers had come out of the bathroom. He shot Bowers and Bowers shot him. Like the Wild West it was. He got Bowers in the thigh and Bowers fell down but he got him too, in the knee, and he fell down. Then I jumped forward and stamped on his hand, which made him let go of the gun, and I kicked it away, and then Bowers shot the first bloke, who was coming at me with his knife and got him in the side. He staggered against the kitchen door and sort of fell through it but managed to get the door closed with him inside. The bearded bloke didn't make no trouble after that. I think I smashed his hand.'
'You did,' confirmed the doctor.
'Begging your pardon, Doctor, it serves him right! I was going to blow my whistle as I couldn't do anything with my right arm, and Bowers was out of it, but Fielding was patrolling and heard the shots and came rushing up. He took my gun and after a minute or two he opened the kitchen door and the knife bloke was dead on the floor. As a matter of fact, he was against the door and Fielding had to push his way in.'
'Would he have survived the gunshot?' asked Felix.
'Oh, certainly,' said Hartnall, 'but he'd have had the fight knocked out of him. Probably incapacitated with pain.'
'Didn't want to be taken alive,' said Rattigan, who had just come up. 'Maybe he thought he'd be tortured or something.'
'I think we can infer,' said Felix, 'that if a man's prepared to give his life for it, something big is afoot.'
*
They were gathered in the Super's office, a muted clattering of typewriters the inevitable background to their meeting. Polly, Felix and Rattigan were seated, while Nash and Yardley lounged against the filing cabinets.
'First of all, let me congratulate you on a first-class piece of work, chaps,' said Polly, 'especially by you Nash. That's what I call initiative. Well done!' He raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'Er, was there something?'
'It's nice of you to say so, sir,' said Nash diffidently, 'but it wasn't really initiative, just luck. I didn't know the shot was going to be so useful. I just wanted to get Miss Valentine out of a row, and save her camera.'
There was a surprised silence.
'You'll note that my officers are also gentlemen,' said Felix, making light of it.
'Never doubted it,' smiled Polly. 'Well, I expect you'll have your ideas about all this, so I thought it would be worthwhile discussing it for a while. At the moment it's principally a murder investigation, but something alarming is going on here and we need to get to the bottom of it.'
'Can I ask if the A/C's seen Mr Grant, sir,' asked Felix.
'Yes he has, or someone from that department anyway. They say they had a tipoff about these people, although why or by whom we're not told. They also say they don't know who they are, which I find hard to credit frankly, and that includes the Englishman. I'm assuming they think they're Bolshevists but even that's a guess. They seemed quite pleased to get our photograph though, which suggests they haven't any of their own, and are likely to be even more pleased with our report on the raid on Miss Valentine's flat.'
'Use it as a bargaining chip, sir,' suggested Yardley. 'Our information for theirs.'
Polly smiled and shook his head. 'Doesn't work like that, I'm afraid.'
'There is one thing, sir,' said Rattigan. 'There were six people at that table. Two are dead and one captured. That only leaves one man and two women. We're on our way to solving the problem already.'
'The trouble is, there could be more of them,' cautioned Felix. They were remarkably quick off the mark getting the blank film processed, and also finding Miss Valentine's address, which might be tricky if you don't speak reasonable English. That suggests they had help.'
'If they'd had good English,' said Yardley, 'they probably wouldn't have let the Englishman agree to a photo.'
'Good point,' said Felix. 'Although the chap who complained about it did manage a "No photo!" I suspect, you know, that agreeing to it was a deliberate ploy on the Englishman's part to enable him to escape them, albeit rather a desperate one. He probably banked on there being a fuss. He mightn't have expected to be shot, of course.'
'What do we know about the fellow who got away?' asked Polly.
'Little, short, b
ald chap with a big, bushy moustache,' said Nash. 'He's the one that complained.'
'I had hold of him at first and had to let him go,' said Rattigan. 'The last I saw he was struggling with the commissionaire. He left his dinner-jacket behind and legged it.'
'Possibly not him, then. The reason I'm asking is, I've got the ballistics report here.' He pulled forward a sheet of paper. 'Felix, did you get a good look at the gun; the one you were fighting the bearded one for?'
'I fancied it was a Derringer four shot, though I'm not entirely sure. He managed to escape with it, of course.'
'You may be right. They found three .32 bullets embedded in the foyer ceiling, a wall and a door. He certainly sprayed them around. However, the one that killed the Englishman was a .38. Might it have been one of the women? What were they like? Did they have much to say for themselves?'
'I can't say I was aware of them speaking at all, though they may have done. One was about five foot six, dark hair, average build – she did give a warning when the Englishman made off – and the other is best described as a handsome ruin, very fair hair, almost emaciated face, maybe five eight or nine. I doubt they were there for decoration and it wasn't likely to be wives and sweethearts.'
'Then we can't discount them as killers,' said Polly. 'Aren't they supposed to be all equal in Russia now?'
'So they say.'
'I suppose they are Russian?' said Rattigan.
'Sorry, yes they are, or thought to be. That's one thing we did find out.'
'The question is, what are they planning? They're plainly prepared to use violence.'
'Spies or agitators, caught out by that photo?' suggested Yardley.
'There must be more to it than that surely?' said Felix. 'To murder someone in a panic who might have been about to inform against you — that, I can understand. But for a man to poison himself, presumably to avoid capture and interrogation, that impresses me.'
'Not to mention attacking an armed constable with a knife.'
'If they're plotting some sort of mayhem they're remarkably incompetent,' said Rattigan. 'Amateur, I call it.'
'They've got off to a bad start, certainly,' said Polly,'but that doesn't mean they're not dangerous. I think we have to assume a violent attack is in the offing, just to be on the safe side.'
'In which case the people who can help us most are MI5 and SIS,' said Felix. 'It's their job to watch these sorts of people after all.'
'We'll have another go at them,' promised Polly. 'In the meantime we must do what we can. Lots of legwork for you chaps: identify and find the Russians, identify the Englishman. Can you handle all that, Felix? I can give you Dewsnap if you like.'
'I'll see how we get on, thank you sir,' said Felix, who had a low opinion of Sergeant Dewsnap.
'John, I find this outbreak of modesty disturbing,' said Felix as they left the room. First that commissionaire, then Bowers and now you. Kindly comport yourself with your customary cynical insouciance or I shall be worried about you. Does she wear a poke bonnet and play the tambourine by any chance?'
'Not that I know of, sir.'
'Well that's a relief. I can't face you getting religion as well. You two can do the Russians. If they didn't stay at the hotel, find out where they did. They'll have given false names, no doubt, but it might tell us something. See what Enid found out from the dress hire people. That might give you a lead on them. I've had second thoughts about Dewsnap. He can check on the recent arrivals. Although, again, you'd think MI5 would have done that.'
'I was wondering about the car that took them away, sir,' said Yardley. 'That's likely to have been hired I should imagine; or stolen, I suppose.'
'That's a very good point, Paul. See what you can find out.'
'Austin Mayfair limousine,' said Nash. 'Possibly maroon. Dark colour anyway. We didn't get the number, I'm afraid.'
'That's an expensive car,' said Rattigan. 'Not the sort you'd hire out without a driver. And if they bought it, there's money there. I doubt if it's stolen.'
'Does that suggest another Russian — the driver?' said Yardley.
'Yes, I suppose it might. If you can find where they stayed, it may tell you. That should keep you out of mischief anyway. Come on, Teddy. Oxford-ho!'
'"Kindly comport yourself with your customary cynical insouciance,"' muttered Nash watching them go.
'Don't worry about it,' said Yardley, 'he was just teasing. Let's start with Pacelli's and work from there.'
'I'm not worrying about it. Shall I tell you why? Because I don't know what the hell it means. And if we're going that way, I want to see a man about a carpet.'
'That sort falls hardest,' chuckled Rattigan as they emerged into the street. 'Hope it doesn't end in tears.'
'Not if last night was anything to go by. It was well past one when he finally left. We'd gone to bed but we heard the door go. Anyway she'll be going home now, once they've cleaned the mess up and repaired the door. Anything doing at the conference?'
'Agricultural trade, it was. No Russians there – personae non grata, I suppose – though rumour has it they're using a proxy. I found a Czech fellow whose mother is English. He passed the photo round but no-one recognised anybody. They all agreed they looked Russian, apart from our victim.'
Chapter Five
The entrance to St Mark's College was through a deep archway into which the porters' lodge was set. Initially expecting suspicion and disdain, Rattigan was relieved to discover that Oxford porters were, on the whole, an affable bunch, always ready for a chat.
'Sergeant Rattigan, Scotland Yard,' he said for the fifth or sixth time. 'Can you spare me a moment?'
'What's this, then?' smiled the man, 'Someone been naughty?'
'If he has, it was a long time ago. We're trying to identify a man who might have been a student here about ten or fifteen years ago. Bit of a long shot, I'm afraid. Here's a picture taken recently.'
'No good asking me, I wasn't here then. Bill, come and look at a picture.'
A stout, wheezing man in perhaps his sixties came ponderously from an inner room and leaning on the desk as if exhausted by the weight of his corporation examined the photo at some length. 'Hmm, familiar, definitely. Ah! I know who this is. Now what the devil was his name? West Country it sounded, or maybe Welsh. Came up in, oh, about nineteen twelve or thirteen. Just before the war anyway. Bit of a wild one he was. Always had the proctors after him. Cadogan! Basil Cadogan. How's that for a memory?'
'You're sure?'
'Yes, that's him all right. I'd put money on it. Hasn't changed much either. Father was military I think. Colonel. Yes, it's coming back to me now. Sent down, he was. Fighting or some such.'
'Did he come back?'
'Don't remember him doing. Must have come through the war, though, if you've got his photo, eh?'
Felix appeared behind them. 'Basil Cadogan?'
'Well I'll go to sea!' said Rattigan, not best pleased. 'I've walked miles!'
'Sorry, Teddy. It was the sheerest luck. I was in the Radcliffe, which is that big, circular library building we came past, when some ancient don heard me asking at the counter. I showed him the photo and he identified him immediately. Seems our man had a quarrel with a fellow undergraduate. It got a bit vicious and they were sent down. The don was tutor to both of them. Doctor Henstridge is the man we should see, apparently.'
'Dr Henstridge is our provost, sir,' said the porter. 'Do you want me to ask if he's free?'
'They waited around under the arch while he telephoned. Fresh-faced undergraduates passed in and out; some in chattering groups, some pushing bicycles. They looked curiously at the two detectives.
'Your lucky day,' reported the porter. 'He'll see you now. Take them across, Jim.'
They followed him round a lawned quadrangle, its ancient surrounding buildings mellow in Cotswold stone.
'Beautiful place,' said Felix conversationally.
'Not an Oxford man, sir?'
'No, London, Goldsmiths.'
'Ah,'
said Jim, unimpressed.
The Provost of St Mark's was a desicated, bespectacled little man, well on in years. Rather than having expanded like the porter he had shrunk. He offered tea, which was accepted.
'Well now, this is an interesting one,' he said, re-examining the photograph. Is it in order to ask why you are enquiring about him?'
'Just after this picture was taken,' said Felix, 'he was shot dead.'
'Good heavens!'
'The circumstances were rather unusual. I'd best explain.' Felix gave a brief account of the events at Pacelli's.
The provost listened, seemingly enthralled. 'What exciting lives you people lead! So you hadn't a clue to his identity?'
'No. My wife heard him say a few words before he died and also heard him ordering the meal when they arrived. She felt it was an educated accent, possibly Eton and Oxford. She grew up in the town and would have heard it often. We had nothing to lose by enquiring.'
'No indeed. Well, I must say this fellow most remarkably resembles Mr Cadogan. I should have had little hesitation in identifying him as such, but for one thing. I regret to say that the gentleman in question is long since dead. He died at the battle of Mons, in nineteen fourteen.'
'Ah, Bill,' said Felix, taking out his wallet. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your surname.'
'Carswell, sir, is what I answer to.'
'Mr Carswell, am I right in thinking that you have the home addresses of previous undergraduates in your keeping?'
'Yes, we have, sir.'
'Then might I trouble you for Mr Cadogan's? Dr Henstridge was called away and we clean forgot to ask for it.'
*
'Cheap at half the price,' said Felix, enjoying the passing scene. 'And only thirty miles as the crow flies. Sick of driving yet?'
'In this car? I'd drive all day. I wish someone would tip me ten bob for doing my job.'
Death and a Snapper (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 6) Page 3