A Murder is Arranged

by Basil Thomson

  “What did he say?”

  “Oh, that the lumber room in the house was getting chock-a-block with empty trunks and he was moving some of them. Since then I’ve made it my business to go up the ladder and I found that the loft was empty except for that one trunk, which is locked. Although it is not very heavy I’m sure that it contains something and that it wasn’t empty, as he said it was.”

  “You didn’t think that what you saw was important enough to report to the police?”

  “No; I didn’t want to look a fool. I made up my mind somehow or other to find out what the trunk contained, but so far I haven’t had the chance.”

  “If I were staying long enough I think I could find a way. It would be good fun to see the face of that butler.” The car swung through a gate. “What, are we here already?”

  “Yes; I’ll drive you up to the front door in style and then take the car across to the garage.”

  “I will study well the countenance of the butler when he opens the door to me,” said Pauline as she sprang lightly out.

  But it was not the butler who responded to the front doorbell. It was Spofforth, who was closely followed by Mr Forge.

  “Oh, mademoiselle,” said her host, “I thought you were the doctor. I am delighted to see you again, but at the moment we are rather upset. There has been an accident and I telephoned for the doctor.”

  “An accident?”

  “Yes; my butler has fallen from the loft to the cement floor of the shed and we are afraid that he is rather badly injured.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THERE ARE ALWAYS ups and downs in the business of detection and Richardson had spent a restless night in thinking over the day’s work that lay behind him. He had not covered himself with glory. Perhaps it was because he had allowed his mind to dwell too much upon details such as the recovery of that fur coat and too little on the real object of his quest—the murderer of Margaret Gask. After all, the discovery of that fur coat was only a link in the chain, an important link no doubt, but no more than a link. In the course of his broodings he fell asleep and woke late, a very unusual occurrence for him. He was a little later than usual in arriving at his office.

  On his table lay a letter addressed to him personally in Dallas’ handwriting and bearing the Paris postmark. He slit the envelope open with more impatience than was usual to him. The document it contained was long, but he read it with the concentration that he always brought to bear upon his most interesting cases.

  “In spite of every effort made by M. Goron and the French Sûreté Generale I have to report that so far the Sûreté have been unable to trace the car that James Oborn took in exchange for his own from the garage at Montargis. This has puzzled the French authorities because the net has been spread to cover the entire country, including in particular the places on the coast from which cars are shipped as well as the various frontier posts of Switzerland, Spain, Belgium and Italy. The easiest method for baffling pursuit at one time would have been to traverse the Pyrenees into Spain by one of the least guarded passes, such as Dancheronea, but at present the whole of the Spanish frontier is closely guarded. This is not to say that particular frontier guards, military or civil, cannot be ‘squared.’ M. Goron clings to the theory that James Oborn is still in France.”

  The report broke off here and the remaining pages were dated a day later.

  “We have been following a fresh clue. In a former report I said that the pearl necklace found on Arthur Graves was suspected of being one stolen from Mlle Saulnois, the actress, from her villa at Nice. She has now identified it definitely as being her property. At the time of her loss she was entertaining friends in her villa at Nice. All except one of these guests are still staying with her. This absent guest, who left her villa about a week after the robbery, was a priest who had escaped from a Spanish monastery on account of the civil war.

  “Mlle Saulnois’s theory is that a cat-burglar entered her room through the window while the necklace was lying on her dressing table. She was called away by a domestic contretemps that had arisen. Her cook was discovered drunk with the dinner only partly ready and she had to get it ready to be served by standing over the rest of the staff. In the kitchen crisis she forgot about her necklace and did not return to her bedroom until some hours later, when she discovered the loss. She immediately telephoned to the police who sent up Commissaire Ponchot, a very intelligent officer, who brought with him Brigadier Lammas to assist him in the enquiry. A new terrace was being built outside her bedroom and scaffold poles were lying about the wall; one of these had been propped against her window and the commissaire was convinced that this had been the mode of access. The staff had all been busy under the eyes of their mistress at the time and were, therefore, clear of suspicion. There had been an epidemic of these burglaries in the neighbourhood and in spite of the efforts of the police there had been no arrests.

  “In view of Arthur Graves’s statement that he had received the necklace from the Marquis de Crémont, M. Goron and I went together to the prison for a second interview with the marquis. For some time he stuck to his story that the jewels were heirlooms in his family, but when M. Goron pointed out that his sentence might be doubled for the theft of the necklace he changed his tune and declared that he would tell the truth. As is common in such cases, the story that he told is probably only part of the truth. He said that he bought the necklace from a Spanish priest who had escaped from a monastery in Spain. He readily gave the name of the man as Father Collet and also the name of the hotel at St Raphael in which they were both staying at the time of the transaction. He said that the priest was in such dire need of money that he offered the necklace for five thousand francs, a sum far below its real value and he added with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘You will understand that I could not resist such a bargain.’ Goron pressed him very hard in an attempt to get further information, but neither threats nor hints that he might obtain remission if he told the truth could induce him to enlarge any further on his story.

  “On our way back from the prison, I passed on to M. Goron the information you sent me concerning James Oborn’s early life—that he had been educated for the Roman Catholic priesthood. M. Goron at once rose to the bait. There must be some connection between that Spanish priest and James Oborn, he declared. Although in my opinion the connection seemed slight I consented to his proposal that we should take a fast police car and run down to the Riviera to make enquiries on the spot.

  “We went first to the hotel at St Raphael and verified the fact that a Spanish monk who signed his name Père Collet had stayed there during the first week in November. He seemed to be much depressed at having, as he said, been turned out of his own country and was making for Switzerland. The hotel manager, an old acquaintance of M. Goron, gave us one interesting item of information. The Spanish monk could not speak or understand much of his own language. This was made clear by some other Spaniards who were staying in his hotel and were anxious to enter into conversation with a fellow refugee, particularly as he belonged to a religious order. His French was fluent, but there was an unmistakable foreign accent in his pronunciation. We asked the manager whether it was possible that he was an Englishman posing as a Spaniard. He thought for a moment and then said yes, that was quite possible.

  “We then asked the manager whether the Marquis de Crémont had been staying at the hotel at the same time. He turned over the pages of his registration book and said yes, he had stayed one day longer than the monk.

  “M. Goron next enquired whether there was any monastery near at hand and was told that there was one near Fréjus. We held a private consultation and came to the conclusion that this monk and James Oborn might be one and the same person. As he had on that occasion assumed the disguise of a priest it seemed more than possible that he might be enjoying the hospitality of some monastery at the present moment. We decided to call on the monks at the St Augustin House.

  “When we arrived there we were kept waiting a considerable
time before we could have an interview with the abbot, but at last we were shown into a private room. When the abbot presented himself Goron went straight to the point, telling him that we were in search of an Englishman who was probably disguised as a Spanish monk. The abbot was not communicative: he said that we could get the information we required on application to the prefecture. Noticing our surprise, he said, ‘Have you not heard of what occurred here yesterday? No?’ He then told us that two days before an Englishman, who said that he was a refugee from Spain and that he was a monk but had escaped in civilian clothes, had begged hospitality for a few days. He had arrived in a motorcar. The day after his arrival a gendarme had called; he said that this car had been traced to the monastery and that the driver was wanted by the English police. The refugee, who had given the name of Collet, was sent for; but he strenuously denied that he was the man of whom the English were in search. The gendarme said that he must accompany him to the prefecture to clear himself before the préfet. One of the rules of the monastery was hospitality and the gendarme was invited to déjeuner. He accepted and during the meal the refugee was lodged in the serving room, with two brothers to act as guards at the door. There was no other exit from the serving room except through the dining room and yet after the meal it was found that he had disappeared. None of the brothers who served the meal could have connived at his escape.

  “We questioned the abbot about the looks of the escaped man and he said that to all appearances he was what he professed to be; he was wearing sandals on bare feet and he was correctly tonsured.

  “Being unable to get more information from the abbot, Goron decided to apply for an interview with the préfet. This official made no secret of the man’s escape. He said that they had had a telegram from Paris requiring them to keep a lookout for a certain car and detain the driver. It had been traced to the monastery; a gendarme was sent with the result, which we already knew, that the man had escaped. He was able to tell us how the escape had been contrived. It was discovered afterwards that a white suit with cap of a cook’s assistant was missing from the serving room. Evidently the prisoner had slipped on this disguise, seized a dish, walked through the dining room and out into the grounds and made good his escape. The gendarmerie were now hunting for him, but so far without result.

  “We asked the préfet whether the car had been detained and whether the luggage of the escaped man had been taken from the monastery. He said that both had been done and that both were in the hands of the local gendarmerie. We went on to the gendarmerie and were received in friendly fashion by the local commandant, M. Lemare, who was very pleased to see M. Goron, his chief in Paris. He explained that he was at the moment preparing a report for him.

  “In the car they had discovered a box containing a number of tools such as are used by expert burglars, together with a rope ladder with hooks at one end for attaching it to a balcony or window sill. There were no valuables or marks of identification of the owner of the tools. The few fingerprints found on the varnish were blurred. The luggage contained two ordinary lounge suits, in addition to underclothing with the maker’s name, Burberry, Paris. There were no papers of any kind: any documents that he may have had must have been carried on his person.

  “While we were there a gendarme came in, mounted on a motorcycle: he had been one of the party sent out to search the woods at Valescure. He had brought with him a priest’s soutane which he had found rolled up behind the hedge bordering the road near Valescure. It bore no identification marks. M. Goron readily agreed with my suggestion that under his clerical garments the man was wearing ordinary civilian clothes: that would make his escape much easier, since the instructions to the gendarmerie had been to hunt for a man in clerical clothes. Provided that he had a sufficiency of funds, his escape would now be fairly easy, with the exception of one point—his tonsured head. That would certainly be an important point in identification; unobservant people might take the tonsure for ordinary baldness, but not the police who were pursuing the fugitive.

  “I suggested to M. Goron that the first thing he would do would be to provide himself with socks, shoes and a hat. Goron agreed and said that to obtain these he would have to go to Cannes, and asked M. Lemare to have enquiries made at all men’s clothiers.

  “Having left these instructions, we decided that it would be useless for us to remain in the neighbourhood, since any incident in the pursuit would be telegraphed to Paris.

  “On our return to Paris I decided to question Arthur Graves once more. I found him in a very depressed state of mind and he assured me that he would gladly give me information, but he knew nothing more than what he had already said. I asked him if he knew that James Oborn was a Roman Catholic priest. He remembered having been sent by James Oborn to the post office to fetch a letter which had been addressed poste restante. He gave him an identity card made out in the name of James Collet with the profession marked as priest. The letter was handed over without question by the official. Graves confessed that he was very curious about this letter, as James Oborn had seemed anxious to have it but seemed afraid to go and fetch it himself.

  “This seems to confirm the fact that Collet and James Oborn are one and the same person. I was also able to get from Graves the information that James Oborn had landed in England from France at the end of November. I shall not fail to report any further developments and I shall remain in Paris meanwhile.

  “ALBERT DALLAS, Detective Inspector.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  RICHARDSON FINISHED reading Dallas’ report and sent immediately for Lawrence.

  “Take this report, Mr Lawrence, and read it slowly and carefully; it comes from Detective Inspector Dallas and it is very important.”

  Lawrence pulled out his spectacle case and polished his glasses, then, standing with his back to the window, he began to read, while Richardson busied himself with the other papers on his desk. When he became aware that Lawrence was standing with his back to the window he said, “No, no; that’s not the way. All important documents should be read while sitting: only in that position is the brain able to concentrate. Sit down.”

  Lawrence knew from experience his chief’s idiosyncrasies and took the line of least resistance. He sat down to read; silence brooded over the room. At last the report had been read and digested; Lawrence indicated this by a fluttering of the pages.

  “Well,” said Richardson, “what do you make of it?”

  “I think that if they capture James Oborn they will have the man we are all looking for.”

  “So do I.”

  There came a discreet knock on the door; Richardson’s messenger appeared. “I’m sorry to interrupt you gentlemen,” he said, “but the lady who was here yesterday, Mademoiselle Coulon, wants to see you on what she says is a very important matter. Mr Huskisson is with her.”

  “Very well; show them in. You had better sit tight, Mr Lawrence, and keep your ears open.”

  Pauline Coulon entered the room with the air of a bearer of strange tidings. She began at once.

  “When I was here last evening, monsieur, I did not think that I should have to trouble you again so soon, but things have happened which we feel ought to be reported to you at once.”

  If she had expected that Richardson would be startled into curiosity she was disappointed. In an official life which consisted mainly of receiving shocks his nerves had been dulled into accepting the most startling news without tremor. Many of his subordinates deplored this attitude of mind.

  “Go ahead; I’m listening,” was all he said, though this did not prevent him from turning over papers while he listened.

  “The first thing is that Curtis, the butler at Scudamore Hall, has had an accident. He fell from the loft to a cement floor in a shed attached to the garage and has been unconscious ever since. The doctor thinks his condition grave.” Richardson nodded. “You think perhaps that that is not very important, but who shall say what may result from this accident?” She turned to Huskisson, saying, �
��Tell them about that little episode of the tin trunk.”

  Huskisson rather haltingly gave them an account of how he had seen Curtis dragging the trunk up to the loft.

  “But,” observed Richardson, “his excuse seemed reasonable. What are lofts used for but to store unwanted things?”

  “The tin trunk is the only object in the loft. Do you not think that it should be opened and examined without Curtis’ knowledge?”

  Richardson turned to Lawrence. “In view of Curtis’ criminal record, I think this might be done.”

  “I’ve had a look at the trunk,” said Huskisson. “It has two locks and it looks as if it might require an expert locksmith. The man you took to Waterloo Station would be the very man for the job.”

  “Yes, Rawlings would be the man,” said Richardson. “How came Curtis to fall?”

  “He had to go up a movable ladder and apparently the ladder had slipped,” explained Huskisson.

  “I have put off my departure,” said Pauline, “expressly to see this affair through. Mr Huskisson has his car down below and he could drive Mr Lawrence and your locksmith back with us to Scudamore Hall.”

  “Ah, but then we should have to get back again,” said Lawrence. “I think that we had better take one of the police cars.”

  “Yes,” said Richardson. “It will excite less remark than if you all arrived together. Try to arrange your expedition without all the servants crowding round as an audience.”

  “Mr Huskisson and I will go back first and prepare Mr Forge for your coming,” said Pauline. “You will not have to come to the house at all, but drive straight to the outbuildings. Now, Mr Huskisson.” She paused with her hand upon the doorknob and Huskisson followed her like a well-trained dog.

  “I hope this is not going to turn out to be a wild-goose chase,” said Richardson. “I’m not much of a believer in letting women mess about in detective work, but this young lady seems to have unusual gifts. We might do worse than give her her head.”