‘Whoever filled the flask at the Kingfisher could have done it,’ Johnny pointed out. ‘Or it might have happened any time since, if someone else had access to it.’
‘You mean it might have been another arranged job—just as they liquidated the night watchman at Gloucester?’ suggested Dovey.
‘Could be,’ said Johnny.
The arrival of the doctor cut short any further speculation. He lost no time in pronouncing that Slim Copley was dead and the body was quickly moved to the mortuary. The doctor was also shown the flask, and asked to be allowed to analyse the dregs as soon as possible. In the meantime, it was sent to the Fingerprints Department, who very quickly reported back that the only prints upon it of which they had any record were Slim Copley’s.
Left alone with Johnny, while his assistant attended to the formalities, Sir Robert began brooding over his reports on the Brighton robbery. He seemed in no hurry to send for Mr Quince, and Johnny had no intention of leaving until he had done so. He refused one of the assistant commissioner’s cigarettes and lit one of his own Chesterfields. Sir Robert went on turning over papers; Johnny puffed neat rings of smoke towards the fireplace, and neither spoke for two or three minutes. Then the assistant commissioner said:
‘This business seems to get more and more involved. D’you think that poison was put in his flask at the Kingfisher, Washington?’
Johnny shrugged.
‘Your guess is as good as mine, Chief. The point is he was rubbed out at just the right moment when he might have been some use to us. I guess we’ve just got to write him off the books and try something else.’
‘Such as what?’ snapped Hargreaves.
‘Right now, I’m trying to dream up a little scheme,’ replied Johnny, as if he did not wish to be interrupted. Sir Robert relapsed into a moody silence once more and read through a couple of pages. Suddenly he stopped and placed a finger on the paper to keep his place.
‘There’s rather an interesting point here, Washington. I don’t know if it means anything …’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘It seems that a constable on his beat just before the robbery remembers talking to a girl in a smart sports car, and he’s convinced that she had some connection with the affair. She insisted on parking just round the corner, although it was forbidden.’
‘Then why didn’t he move her on?’
‘He says she promised she wouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes; in fact, he was still arguing with her—so he says—when the lorry came charging down the hill.’
‘Did he take the number of the car?’
‘I’m afraid he didn’t get round to that. But there’s a fairly detailed description of the girl here.’ He referred to the report once more, then went on. ‘Yes—slim—wearing expensive tailor-made coat and skirt—fair hair, almost platinum—blue eyes—a set of golf clubs in the back of the car—no jewellery except a gold ring with a tiny diamond-shaped watch set in it.’
‘A diamond-shaped watch?’ queried Johnny sharply, his eyes catching Sir Robert’s. ‘Now, where did I …’
‘Yes?’ said Sir Robert expectantly. But Johnny shook his head.
‘Can you recall seeing some woman wearing one of those ring-watches?’
‘I can, but I guess there are hundreds about.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Oh, just a neighbour of mine in the country.’
‘H’m … well, we’ve tried to trace the girl, but we haven’t had any luck so far, and I’m beginning to doubt whether we will.’
‘I guess you’re right at that,’ said Johnny, frowning thoughtfully as he called to mind the picture of Shelagh Hamilton passing his front gates in her Harman-Grade, with golf clubs in the back … But there must have been dozens of girls in sports cars carrying golf clubs. After all, it was Saturday, and he knew Shelagh was a fairly regular visitor to the Sevenoaks club.
Johnny carefully lighted another cigarette from the butt of its predecessor, which he stubbed out on the ash-tray.
‘Sir Robert,’ he began with some hesitation, ‘I’ve got a kind of idea that might bust this racket open. It’s taking a big chance, mind …’
‘We’ve got to take risks, Washington. Things are getting pretty desperate. I had the Home Secretary on the telephone last night, hinting there might be questions in the House if we don’t put a stop to this business quite soon. So if you’ve got any sort of an idea, for heaven’s sake let’s hear it.’
Still Johnny hesitated.
‘It’s pretty tricky, Sir Robert. The whole thing would have to be very carefully planned.’
‘We can settle all that later. What is it you suggest?’
Johnny pulled at his cigarette.
‘There’s an old firm of family jewellers just round the corner from Bond Street called Trevelyans. Heard of ’em?’
‘Of course.’
‘I once did young Eric Trevelyan a good turn—he’d been having some trouble about a necklace bought by a distinguished member of the peerage whose lady friend professed to take a dislike to it and returned a fake in its place … but that’s another story.’
‘Go on,’ urged Sir Robert with some impatience.
‘Now supposing it became known that Trevelyans had a very valuable stone in their safe—the Brailsham Diamond for instance. It seems to me a sporting chance that our friends might be tempted to pay Trevelyans an unheralded visit—but in this case it wouldn’t be entirely unexpected.’
Hargreaves drummed his fingers on his desk, and seemed to be deep in thought.
‘We’re pretty sure by now that these jobs the gang has pulled off have been very carefully planned,’ continued Johnny. ‘O.K. then. It’s up to us to start planning ahead, too.’
‘Just what do you mean, exactly?’
Johnny knocked the ash off his cigarette.
‘Let’s presume that our friends have heard that Trevelyans have the Brailsham Diamond, what’s the first thing they do? They take steps to make quite sure that the report is correct. They’ll do that before they make a single move towards planning a robbery.’
He could see that Sir Robert was becoming interested.
‘You mean they’ll get somebody to make an inquiry in the ordinary business channels?’ he queried.
‘That’s it,’ nodded Johnny. ‘And that’s where my friend Eric Trevelyan comes in. I shall get him to let me have a full list of all inquiries about this stone, and maybe one of them will give us a clue.’
Sir Robert stroked his moustache as he considered the scheme. It certainly seemed a step towards carrying the war into the enemy’s country. During the past month he had felt frustrated and baffled at every turn, for there seemed to be no way of anticipating any move from the gelignite gang. There was no knowing where they would strike next, and they covered their tracks so effectively that they had left very few clues. Furthermore, when they had enlisted the help of anyone with a criminal record they had taken good care to liquidate him before he could be made to talk.
He looked at Johnny Washington with new respect.
‘Well, now, let’s go into this seriously,’ he began, settling himself back in his chair. ‘Is your friend Trevelyan a man to be trusted?’
‘Absolutely. What’s more, Eric is always game to take a chance. But we’ve got to play this carefully, Sir Robert. That gang wasn’t born yesterday; we haven’t got to hand them this on a platter or they’ll get scared right away. I reckon a short paragraph in the Gem Trader is all that’s needed, and Eric will see to that. Of course, I can put it around to one or two contacts of my own—there’s Fabian, for instance. I happen to know he’s had his eye on the Brailsham Diamond for at least a couple of years.’
‘He’s the fellow we nearly pinned that receiving charge on in the Curzon Street affair—he got out of the country just an hour too soon, and took the stuff with him.’
‘That’s the guy,’ said Johnny cheerfully. ‘Fabian’s a pretty smart operator, and he won’t suspect anybody of maki
ng a tool of him. Not even me!’
‘It wants careful handling,’ temporized Sir Robert, liking the scheme better as it developed, and wondering if he could really trust the man who sat opposite him. It was against all his principles to call in outsiders upon even the most trifling affair, for it was his boast that he had a first-class staff who could deal with any emergency. But he had to face the fact that they had proved unequal to the gelignite gang, and his superiors were becoming impatient for results. This suggestion at least offered some opportunity for positive action.
‘All right, Washington,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll leave this to you for the time being, but keep me informed. And by the by, the fewer people who are let in on this, the better chance it will have of succeeding.’
‘You’ve taken the words right out of my mouth, Sir Robert,’ said Johnny fervently. ‘I guess I shall only tell when it’s absolutely necessary. In fact, I don’t see any reason to let anybody in on it except Eric until we get an actual tip-off that the gang is interested.’
‘That’s settled then,’ nodded Sir Robert. ‘Now, I suppose I’d better see this Mr Quince. Maybe you should hang on, just in case he’s got something that gives us a bearing …’
‘Thank you, Sir Robert,’ said Johnny, who had every intention of staying to meet Mr Quince unless he was bodily thrown out. Sir Robert picked up the phone and gave the necessary instructions, and presently the dapper little figure appeared in the doorway.
His somewhat chubby cheeks looked rosier than ever; there was a sparkle in his pale blue eyes, and he was obviously wearing his best suit with neat wash-leather gloves. In one hand he carried a copy of one of the more literary Sunday newspapers and a small Greek testament, with which he had been passing the time in the waiting-room.
‘Why, Mr Washington!’ he exclaimed, recognizing Johnny at once. ‘How very pleasant to meet you again in such unique surroundings. This is the first time I have been inside this very remarkable building.’
Johnny smiled and introduced him to Sir Robert, who courteously asked him to take a seat.
‘Would you like a cigarette, Mr Quince?’ asked Johnny, opening his silver case and offering it to him. ‘Those are Turkish on that side—or I’ve some American ones in my pocket if you prefer them.’
‘Turkish!’ echoed Mr Quince, selecting nevertheless a familiar English brand. ‘A strange country, Mr Washington—Turkey, I mean. A most interesting history; I have made quite a study of their ancient architecture—a fascinating subject. We must have a chat about it some time.’
Sir Robert had been looking through the papers in his file and finally selected that which contained Mr Quince’s statement.
‘Are you still at the Kingfisher Inn, Mr Quince?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I had intended to leave, but I was out for a walk one day this week in the Chevening direction when I came upon two young men who were excavating what they assured me was a Roman villa. It was really quite fascinating; I’ve been there every day since, so I decided to stay on for a while despite this deplorable affair.’
He was obviously prepared to ramble on in this vein indefinitely, but Sir Robert pulled him up with another abrupt question.
‘Mr Quince, why have you come here to see me this morning?’
Mr Quince sat bolt upright for a moment, looked round the room as if to make sure there were no eavesdroppers concealed anywhere, then he leaned forward and said in a confidential tone:
‘It’s about that club-room, Sir Robert. I’m getting rather worried …’
‘You mean the room where we found that damp patch on the floor?’ prompted Johnny. ‘Where the Elks or Rangers meet once a week?’
‘The Antediluvian Order of Bison,’ Mr Quince corrected him in his thin, precise voice. ‘They meet once a week on a Thursday. I made inquiries about that. The point is, that room is being used on other nights by some other organization.’
‘How d’you know that?’ demanded Sir Robert.
‘Because my bedroom happens to be immediately above it, and as is often the case with these old inns, the floor and ceiling are one and the same, so I can hear voices quite distinctly.’
‘You mean you can tell what they are saying?’
‘No, I can’t hear the actual words. But the sound of the voices is loud enough to keep me awake—very annoying I assure you.’
‘Then they keep pretty late hours?’
‘Their last meeting went on till midnight.’
‘But it might be a special committee meeting of these Bisons, or whatever they call themselves,’ Sir Robert suggested. But Mr Quince waved the idea aside.
‘No, no, I’m quite sure it’s nothing of the sort,’ he insisted.
‘What makes you so sure of that?’ asked Johnny with some interest.
‘Because I made inquiries of the secretary, and he assured me that no feminine members are admitted to the Antediluvian Order of Bison,’ explained Mr Quince solemnly. ‘And one of the persons at those conclaves was most certainly a woman!’
CHAPTER XIII
AN UNEXPECTED PRESENT
IT was nearly one o’clock when Johnny picked up a taxi in Charing Cross Road, for Mr Quince had proved a tenacious caller. Sir Robert, quite obviously, did not know what to make of him. On the face of it, he seemed merely a retired school master with a passion for antiques and ancient ruins, but one could never be quite sure nowadays, with so many apparently respectable people concealing mysterious illicit activities behind an outward appearance of middle-class prosperity.
If Mr Quince were really a staid little ex-dominie, would he really wish to stay on at the Kingfisher after that distressing evening? There were times when Mr Quince seemed to display an almost morbid interest in the death of the superintendent; at others he appeared to regard it as a mere incident in the day’s routine.
Although Johnny found all this intriguing, it was obvious that Sir Robert had been a trifle worried. He checked over Mr Quince’s statement with him, and found no flaw in it; he asked him more questions about the mysterious meetings without throwing any fresh light on the matter. Indeed, Mr Quince’s main complaint seemed to be that his sleep had been disturbed, which robbed him of his concentrative powers when he wished to investigate the local antiquities the following day. Johnny professed to take a serious interest in the Roman villa, and urged the little man to stay on at the Kingfisher for a time. It would be useful to know where he was exactly, and if he were in no way involved, he would at least prove a thorn in the side of Harry Bache.
However, the party broke up at last. Mr Quince promised to keep in touch with Scotland Yard; Johnny exchanged a brisk farewell with Sir Robert, saying he would telephone him as soon as he had made ‘the arrangements’.
Hargreaves nodded understandingly and saw them to the door.
Mr Quince departed for Charing Cross en route for Bayswater to collect a change of clothing from his flat, and Johnny walked round into Charing Cross Road to get a taxi, which took him to the address in Chelsea which Verity had given him.
He arrived soon after one, and found her on the fourth floor of a fair-sized block of flats. The sun was filtering pleasantly through the long window, transforming the room into a semblance of those interiors favoured by early Dutch painters.
He sank into one of the two comfortable arm-chairs and watched her putting finishing touches to the table in an alcove by the window.
‘You’ve got yourself fixed up pretty nicely here,’ he commented, his gaze wandering idly over the books packed tightly into the shelves beside his chair. He was surprised at the remarkable range of subjects they covered.
‘You’re certainly Little Miss Inquire Within,’ he murmured, picking up a book on the history of South African diamond mining, and turning the pages until he came to a brief description of the discovery of the famous Brailsham Diamond. He closed the book and replaced it, then rose and said: ‘Can I do anything to help? I should have asked.’
‘That’s all righ
t,’ smiled Verity. ‘Mrs Todd will take care of everything. You can pour a drink if you like,’ she added as an afterthought, indicating a cocktail cabinet near the fireplace.
‘That’s not a bad idea, either. I feel I’ve earned a drink this morning. What will it be?’
‘Sherry for me, please—the light one.’
He poured out the sherry for her and mixed himself a gin and French.
‘Has anything special happened this morning?’ she inquired as she sipped her drink. He gave her a brief resume of the poisoning of Slim Copley, carefully omitting the more gruesome details.
She was not so upset as he had expected. For one thing she had known Slim Copley, and for another she could feel little remorse for any member of the gang which she was convinced was responsible for her brother’s death. In fact, the only sign of emotion she betrayed was one of disappointment that Slim had died before he could enlighten them in any way about the gang’s activities.
‘This would have been a scoop for the evening papers on a weekday,’ she reflected as they finished their drinks. ‘I don’t suppose a man has ever been poisoned inside Scotland Yard before.’
‘And I should say it’s pretty unlikely ever to happen again,’ observed Johnny. ‘I guess the morning papers will get the scoop instead. Sir Robert was on the telephone to the press bureau just before I left.’
‘I wonder if I should phone our news editor, just in case the crime man doesn’t get the tip,’ mused Verity.
‘Wait till after lunch,’ he advised.
‘Yes, of course. They won’t be on duty until tea time.’
There was a gentle tap on the door, which opened to admit Mrs Todd, Verity’s Scottish housekeeper, carrying a heavily laden tray. She was a plain little woman whose face was completely transformed on the comparatively rare occasions when she permitted herself to smile.
‘Ye’d best get on with this while it’s hot,’ she ordered, laying the dishes on the table, for she was firmly convinced that Verity was underfed except when she was at home.
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