A Murder is Arranged

by Basil Thomson

  “No sir. I’ve never yet met a suitcase that would baffle me. Ah! That’s it, is it?” He examined the two locks and clicked his tongue. First he tried half-a-dozen keys from his bunch but failed to stir the lock. “Of course,” he observed, “there’s no difficulty, but I don’t want to leave any marks behind me if I can help it—otherwise this gentleman will be getting an impassioned letter of complaint. ‘Gently does it’ is my motto and that of all competent luggage thieves.”

  While he was talking his fingers were busy with the locks and in a moment or two he was able to snap back the catches and throw the suitcase open. “There we are, sir,” he said in the intonation of a conjuror when he has brought off a trick.

  Spofforth found it difficult to control himself when the lid was thrown back, but in truth to the others the contents were disappointing—nothing but a neat parcel tied with string with at least a dozen knots and legibly addressed to “M. Henri, Rue Royale, Paris.”

  “We’ll have to open this parcel,” said Spofforth, pulling out a pocket knife.

  “Steady,” interjected Lawrence. “We’ve got to do the parcel up again without a sign that it has been tampered with. Don’t cut the string: we must undo all those knots.”

  “Lord! That ‘ll take us half the morning.”

  “Not a bit of it; a little patience and what the newspapers call a ‘blunt instrument’ is all we want.”

  Rawlings’ dexterous fingers solved the problem. In an incredibly short time he was unfolding the paper wrappings and disclosing the contents, which caused Spofforth to leap into the air with excitement: it was a lady’s coat of mink fur.

  Chapter Twenty

  SPOFFORTH’S EXCITEMENT awoke the curiosity of Mr Cummings. “So this is what you were looking for?” he said.

  “Yes, and it may prove to be the first step up the ladder to the gallows,” said Lawrence grimly.

  “Of course you’ll take this coat to the Yard with you?” said Spofforth.

  “No. We’ll leave it here if Mr Cummings will arrange to telephone to me at the Yard as soon as the ticket is presented and in the meantime leave the depositor to wait and cool his heels.”

  “Certainly; that shall be arranged,” said Cummings.

  “And now we will tie that parcel up much as it was before and ask Rawlings to get to work with that patent tool of his and lock it up.”

  The three men returned to the Yard together and Lawrence and Spofforth went straight to Richardson’s room to report what they had discovered.

  Richardson listened thoughtfully and then said, “This is a case which calls for direct action, as the Labour leaders term it. We will send a polite invitation to Huskisson to call here on a matter which will interest him.”

  “Shall I take the message, sir?” asked Spofforth.

  “No,” said Richardson decidedly. “What you have to do is to resume your duties at Scudamore Hall as if nothing had occurred to interrupt them. We will attend to the rest of the business. Above all, not a hint of any kind to Mr Forge.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Spofforth resignedly. He was dejected at the thought that he would now be debarred from swanking to Mr Forge of the great discovery that he had made; but orders were orders…

  When Spofforth had left the room Richardson indicated his retreating figure with the blunt end of his pen. “There goes a most trustworthy man, Mr Lawrence, but trustworthiness is not everything that is wanted in our job. However, if he’s done no more than track that mink coat into a cloakroom he’s been worth his salt. After all, the service requires more than two sorts of men and a service composed of nothing but super-sleuths would let the country down in every direction. We need a strong leaven of the mediocre person who obeys orders and is content to use such brains as have been served out to him by his Maker. Our friend won’t go very far in his profession, but he won’t let us down.”

  “If this coat proves Huskisson to have been the murderer,” said Lawrence, “we shall all be thinking of the public money thrown away in letting Dallas chase all over France to find in the end that the man he has been chasing has no graver charge to answer than one of dangerous driving.”

  “Quite so,” nodded Richardson; “but those are risks that we have to take every day. We should get nowhere if we hesitated to take them. And now we must see about getting our friend Huskisson down to face the music.”

  “Yes sir. It’s a fishing excursion and he may turn out to be a very wary old fish.”

  “Never mind; I have at my right hand a very wary old fisherman. You had better take on the job yourself, Mr Lawrence, and I won’t ask how you did it.”

  Lawrence left the room chuckling at the compliment and swearing to himself that he could ask nothing better than to serve so generous a chief as Richardson. One thing was clear. Nothing must be done to alarm Huskisson since, if he were to destroy that cloakroom ticket, all their labour would be brought to nought. And yet how could he be inveigled into visiting the Yard without arousing his suspicion? Perhaps the straightforward way would prove in the end to be the best.

  Chance played into Lawrence’s hand when he reached the drive at Scudamore Hall and saw Huskisson making for the garage. He quickened his pace until he was within speaking distance of the retreating figure.

  “Excuse me, Mr Huskisson,” he called out. “Can I have a word with you?”

  “As many as you like.”

  Lawrence thumped his chest in his endeavour to recover his wind.

  “Well, sir, I’ve just come from the Yard. Information has reached us concerning the late Miss Gask which we think that you will be able either to corroborate or deny. Will you be kind enough to accompany me to the Yard and see Chief Constable Richardson? I have my car here and it can bring you back after the interview.”

  “Very good. I’m always glad to assist the police in any direction that I can, but I can’t imagine what this new information can be.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not in a position to enlighten you.”

  During the drive Lawrence’s attempts at cheerful conversation fell upon deaf ears. He could get nothing out of his passenger, not even an endorsement of his strictures upon the inclemency of the weather.

  “Now, sir,” he said as they pulled up at the main entrance to the famous building, “I think we will go straight up to the chief constable’s room. We may have the luck to find him disengaged.”

  Richardson, as they learned from his messenger, was disengaged at the moment and they went straight in.

  “I’ve brought Mr Huskisson with me, sir,” said Lawrence. “I think you have some questions to ask him.”

  Richardson rose from his chair, shook hands with his visitor and indicated a padded armchair opposite to his table. “Sit down, Mr Huskisson. You must be cold after your drive. Mr Lawrence, no doubt, told you why we want to see you.”

  “I told him, sir,” interjected Lawrence hastily, “that we wanted him to corroborate or to refute information that had come to us about the late Miss Gask, but I gave him no details.”

  “Those are soon given,” said Richardson. He paused a moment and then said, “We have had information about that unfortunate lady which is not entirely to her credit. In plain language, did you know that she was mixed up in several very undesirable transactions?”

  “The lady is dead and I would rather not discuss her character.”

  “I’m sorry to press my question, but I should not do so unless it were necessary. We know now that the emerald stolen from Mr Forge was passed by her into the hands of a receiver well known to the police, in Crooked Lane on the night of her death. The emerald was purchased by Mr Forge from the Marquis de Crémont, who had been introduced to Mr Forge by you. We feel it only fair to you to ask for any explanation you may be able to give. I may add that the Marquis de Crémont is now in prison in France; he has been implicated in jewel robberies to an astonishing amount.” Richardson was quick to notice the look of concern upon his visitor’s face and he took advantage of it. “I can see
that this is news to you, but that it was not altogether unexpected. I suggest to you that your wisest course will be to lay all your cards on the table and withhold nothing.”

  “Are you trying to insinuate that I knew the character of this so-called marquis?”

  “That is what we would like you to tell us,” said Richardson with gentle gravity.

  “Well, I can tell you this much. When I introduced him to Mr Forge all I knew about him was that he was a French aristocrat in need of funds and was anxious to sell the family heirlooms.”

  “Did you know of the connection between him and Miss Gask?”

  “At that time I knew nothing.”

  “But afterwards?” insisted Richardson.

  “Oh, afterwards I may have guessed.”

  “In fact you did guess.”

  “I see what you are trying to foist upon me—an admission that I was an accessory after the fact.”

  A solution of some of the evidence he had read at the beginning of the case flashed across Richardson’s brain. He leaned forward towards his visitor and said, “Is it not a fact that on the morning of Miss Gask’s death you were with her in the library at Scudamore Hall and you were struggling with her for possession of that emerald?” Huskisson changed colour.

  “You seem to know a great deal about what went on. I did try to retrieve from Margaret Gask the emerald belonging to Mr Forge. I wished to restore it to its owner.”

  “You knew that she had stolen it?”

  “Yes. Inadvertently she had let it fall from her handkerchief in which it had been rolled.”

  “I see. And let me ask you this. Did you follow her into Crooked Lane that evening and make another attempt to recover it?”

  “Most certainly not.”

  Richardson looked at him fixedly for at least half a minute before putting his next question and Richardson’s gaze had always proved to be extremely disconcerting to persons who had anything to hide.

  “What was in that suitcase that you deposited at the cloakroom in Waterloo Station on the day following Miss Gask’s murder?”

  The question was so disconcerting that Huskisson wilted. “That’s my business.”

  “Not altogether, I think. It may turn out to concern us also and that is why I’m questioning you.”

  “I’ve sometimes wondered whether you policemen come across anything that you regard as not being your business; but the contents of that suitcase belong to a friend of mine in Paris and I intend to restore them to their proper owner.”

  “In that case I am sure that you will have no objection to our seeing the contents before they go over to Paris. Have you the ticket in your pocket?”

  At this point Huskisson lost his temper. “This is a bit too thick. You knew all along what was in that suitcase and I’ll even bet that you’ve had it unlocked by some damned locksmith.” He felt in his waistcoat pocket, produced the cloakroom ticket and flung it on the table. “There, that’s the ticket and you can do your damnedest.”

  Richardson made the soft answer that turneth away wrath. “This will save us all a lot of trouble, Mr Huskisson. Mr Lawrence will take the ticket to Waterloo himself and bring back the suitcase. Would you care to go with him, or would you prefer to wait here until he arrives?”

  “I’ve a telegram to send. I suppose I’m not under arrest?”

  “Oh no, certainly not; but we should like you to be here when the suitcase is brought in order that you may unlock it in our presence. You’ll find the telegraph office quite close to the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Very well. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  “I shall be back by then,” said Lawrence, making for the stairs.

  Left to himself, Richardson rang for his chief clerk of the C.I.D. Registry. “I want the file of that murder case in Surrey.”

  “You mean the Gask case, sir?”

  “Yes; it ought to be on my table.”

  “The registry wanted it to add a paper that has come in from the Surrey chief constable.”

  “An important paper?”

  “No sir; it is merely that they have traced another transaction between Margaret Gask and Fredman.”

  “Good. Let me have the file now: I want to refresh my memory.”

  As soon as it was brought Richardson set himself to read all the earlier papers connected with the case. He was thus engaged when Lawrence returned with the suitcase, closely followed by Huskisson.

  “Ah! Is that the suitcase? I suppose you have the key with you, Mr Huskisson?”

  “Yes, and I suppose that you will not take my word for what it contains. Policemen never do believe what they are told, I understand.”

  “That depends,” said Richardson in his most soothing manner. “But I feel sure that it will be a relief to you to lay all your cards on the table rather than ask us to take anything for granted.”

  “Well, there are the keys,” Huskisson said, throwing a couple of keys on the table. “You’re not going to ask me to stand by while you perform your famous act of astonishment at the contents because I know that you’ve searched it already.”

  Meanwhile Lawrence was unlocking the suitcase and taking out the parcel it contained. He examined the knots. “It’s very nicely tied up; it seems a pity to cut the string.”

  Huskisson took a penknife from his pocket and ruthlessly cut the string in several places. Lawrence detached the paper wrapping disclosing the fur coat.

  “This coat belonged to Miss Gask, I believe,” said Richardson quietly.

  “It belongs to Monsieur Henri in Paris. You can read the address for yourself.”

  “You know that Miss Gask was believed to be wearing this coat on the night she was murdered.”

  “That is a good instance of the way in which you policemen jump to false conclusions. That parcel was tied up by me on the morning before Miss Gask’s death.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  RICHARDSON ROSE from his chair and spread the fur coat with the fur upwards on the table under the window.

  “I’m no expert in furs,” he said, “but I imagine that a mink coat like this is worth a great deal of money.”

  “It is,” said Huskisson shortly.

  “Anything up to a thousand pounds, shall we say?”

  “Probably.”

  “You have, of course, no objection to telling us how it came into your possession.”

  “I’m going to tell you the truth but with the full knowledge that you won’t believe what I tell you. That coat was in the possession of Miss Gask. From information I had received in Paris I knew that a valuable mink coat had been stolen from Monsieur Henri, of the Rue Royale. I taxed Miss Gask with the theft. At first she assured me that it had been entrusted to her to take to England and effect a sale if possible. I needn’t go into details, but in the end I managed to frighten her into consenting to let me return the coat anonymously to Monsieur Henri, its proper owner. But before I had had time to send it off to Paris she was murdered and there was a hue and cry about the coat.”

  “You could still have sent it anonymously to Monsieur Henri.”

  “I meant to, but I didn’t want to get mixed up in any way with the murder and so I decided to leave the suitcase in the cloakroom until the fuss had died down.”

  “Weren’t you afraid of being charged with being an accessory after the fact in the theft of the coat?”

  Huskisson shrugged his shoulders. “There was of course that danger, and there was also the danger that I might be charged with her murder, as you police were so sure that she was wearing the coat that night.”

  Richardson smiled. “You had forgotten one thing that we should have looked for in relation to that coat.”

  “What was that?”

  “Bloodstains.”

  “I see; the absence of bloodstains might absolve me from the suspicion of being her murderer, but it would leave me still open to suspicion of complicity in the theft.”

  “That’s a question for Monsieur Henri and t
he French police. The coat was stolen from Monsieur Henri’s premises and it has been found in your possession. Naturally you will have to account for how it got there. The coat will have to remain in our possession for the present and we shall have to inform the French authorities.”

  “I have already sent a telegram to a lady who is employed in Monsieur Henri’s establishment, asking her to come over.”

  “You mean Mademoiselle Coulon?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how you got the name, but that’s the lady: she will be able to identify the coat.”

  Richardson wondered whether Huskisson knew what Mlle Coulon’s real business was. He threw out a feeler. “Is she one of the mannequins?”

  “I believe she’s a buyer. She knew Margaret Gask.”

  “Well, Mr Huskisson, I don’t know that we need detain you any longer; but I must insist on the condition that if you leave Scudamore Hall you will notify us.”

  “I have no intention of leaving Scudamore Hall while Mr Forge is good enough to give me hospitality. I wish you good morning.”

  When the door was shut behind him Richardson said, “That’s a good instance of the way in which we are handicapped. If that man had come forward and told the truth about this coat at the very beginning it might have made a difference.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir. Of course we’ve had the trouble of trying to trace the coat…”

  “Don’t forget why we thought that she must have been wearing the coat. It was a very cold night and her body was found clad only in evening dress without any kind of covering—found with a bullet through the head. I am still of the opinion that she was wearing some outer covering for warmth and that outer covering for some reason was carried off by her murderer.”

  “I think that the explanation of Huskisson’s behaviour is simple: he was in league with the woman over her thieving operations in Paris.”

  “That is not my view,” said Richardson quietly. “I think that Huskisson had a real regard for Miss Gask and that it was a shock to him to find out that she was nothing more than a common thief; that his motive was to shield her good name.”