The Case of the Frightened Friend (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 6)

by Robert Newman

  “What are you leading up to?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? I want a safe-conduct to a German ship, the Leipzig, now at St. Katherine’s Docks. These two shall come with me. If all goes well, when we are out at sea and drop the pilot, I will release them to return here with him. But if you make a false move, attempt to capture me, I shall kill them.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “My dear Inspector, you can only hang me once no matter what I do from now on!”

  Andrew caught another movement out of the corner of his eye, turned and saw the flash of a knife as Burke cut something, looked at Andrew, looked up and then looked at Dixon. In that moment Andrew knew what Burke was trying to do and what he—Andrew—must do. Stepping away from the proscenium so that he would be silhouetted against the glow of the gaslight further up the corridor, he raised a hand to attract Sara’s attention. She saw him, glanced at Dixon whose back was to Andrew, then looked at Andrew again. He put his fingers to his lips in warning, then motioned toward the footlights. Sara may not have known why he wanted her to do it, but such was her faith in Andrew that, taking Cortland’s arm, she began to edge downstage toward the footlights.

  “Well?” said Dixon.

  “I haven’t the authority to give you a safe-conduct,” said Wyatt. “I can’t just let a murderer and spy go.”

  “If you haven’t the authority, you’d better take it!” said Dixon. “Would it make it any easier for you if I killed one of these two children now to prove I’m capable of it? That would still leave one to take with me as a hostage.”

  “No!” said Wyatt. He hesitated, his face strained. “Will you give me time to talk to the Home Secretary about it? I’m sure he’ll agree, but …”

  “I will not,” said Dixon. “You’ll give me your answer now—right now.” Though his gun had continued to point at Sara and Cortland, following them as they edged slowly, almost imperceptibly downstage toward the footlights, he now realized for the first time that they had changed position. “What are you doing?” he asked sharply. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Nowhere,” said Sara with wide-eyed and deceptive meekness,

  “Well then, stand still!” They were well downstage now, almost at the footlights, and as a result, the gun was pointed almost directly into the auditorium. “No, I think you’d better come back here. Did you hear me? Come back here, or—”

  Burke had been loosening one particular rope, holding it with a single turn around the rack; now he released it, and the heavy curtain, without the sandbags that counterbalanced it, came crashing down like a guillotine. It just missed Dixon’s head, but hit his extended arm and broke it like a dry stick. He staggered back with a strangled cry, the gun dropping from his helpless hand, and sank to one knee, clutching his broken arm. Before he could move again, even think of trying to pick up the gun with his left hand, Burke was upon him. He kicked the gun across the stage and snapped a pair of handcuffs on him.

  Though the lowered curtain cut off Andrew’s view of the auditorium and of Sara and Cortland, he could hear excited voices, queries and answers, on the far side of it. There were running footsteps, the pass door in the proscenium arch was thrown open, and Wyatt and Tucker, followed by Sara and Cortland, came in to join Burke and Andrew backstage.

  “Well done, Burke,” said Wyatt after a quick glance at the moaning, handcuffed Dixon. “I thought you might be up to something like this. That’s why I kept him talking.”

  “Young Andrew was the one who really did it,” said Burke. “I cut the sandbags loose, but he was the one who got Miss Sara and Cortland to move downstage so I could drop the curtain where it would do the most good.”

  “Are they both dead?” asked Cortland, staring down at his stepmother and Thurlow with fascinated horror.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Tucker, who had been examining them. “Wait a minute! She is, but the doctor’s still breathing!”

  “Lung,” whispered Thurlow. “Get me to hospital.”

  Hurrying to the pass door, Wyatt called the constables who had been in the auditorium, had them come backstage and gave them rapid instructions. Thurlow and Dixon were to be taken to the nearest hospital—the French Hospital on Shaftesbury Avenue—where they could be treated; but they were to be kept under heavy guard around the clock. He made Burke responsible for them, and under Burke’s orders, Dixon was immediately helped out and Thurlow carried out on a stretcher.

  “What about her?” asked Sara quietly, looking at Mrs. Cortland.

  “Can’t move her till the police surgeon’s looked at her,” said Wyatt. But he had Tucker cover her with a blanket and led the three young people off the stage and into Verna’s dressing room, which was the largest of them.

  “I have a lot to do,” he said, sitting on the dressing table. “But I suspect you have some questions, and I feel I owe it to you to answer them.”

  “We certainly do have questions,” said Sara. But before she could begin to ask them, the stage door opened, there were quick footsteps, and Verna came in.

  “Fred came to get me,” she said a little breathlessly. “He said he’d brought Sara and young Cortland here, and …” She glanced at the two of them and at Andrew. “Is everyone all right?”

  “You can see that they are,” said Wyatt. “It’s all over. And very satisfactorily so.”

  “Oh,” said Verna, visibly relaxing. “I’m glad. In spite of everything you said, all your assurances, I was worried. But now I’d like you to tell me all the things that you didn’t tell me before.”

  “I was just about to do so,” said Wyatt. “I’m sure you understand a good deal of the story already,” he said to Cortland. “But I’ll begin at the beginning anyway. Did Andrew tell you what Sir Arthur Barry had to say about your father when we first went to the Admiralty?” Cortland nodded. “Good. He admired him very much, thought he was a very good, very intelligent and courageous officer, and it was he who got him the appointment of naval attaché, first in Copenhagen and then in Berlin. Your father’s outspoken opposition to the Heligoland agreement made the Germans decide to keep an eye on him, and they must have become aware of it very quickly when he began to suspect that there was an intelligence leak somewhere, possibly in the Admiralty itself.”

  “A spy?” said Sara.

  “Let’s say an enemy agent, by which I mean someone working for another country. In this case, Germany. I don’t know what evidence Captain Cortland dug up—and we probably never will know—but it must have been quite important and quite convincing, for when he went on his holiday to the Baltic, someone saw to it that he did not come back.”

  “In other words, you think he was murdered,” said Andrew.

  “I’m fairly certain of it,” said Wyatt.

  “It never occurred to me that it was anything but an accident,” said Cortland. “But I think it did to my grandfather.”

  “It certainly did,” said Wyatt. “He’d had dealings with the Germans in Africa and was just as suspicious of them as your father had been. When he returned here, he went to see Sir Arthur at the Admiralty, questioned him and then went to Germany to see what he could find out there.”

  “And did he find out anything?” asked Cortland.

  “Yes and no. As you know, the case has been solved—and principally as a result of his efforts—but not in a conventional way. He didn’t come up with any concrete proof that your father had been murdered, but he was more convinced than ever that he had been and that the reason for it was the one I gave you: he had found evidence of an enemy agent in very high places. So he did something very ingenious.”

  “This is Cortland’s grandfather you’re talking about?” said Verna, who had been listening with great interest. “The one who’s now at St. Mary’s Hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he do?” asked Sara.

  “He sent telegrams to his son’s widow and to Sir Arthur at the Admiralty saying he’d made some very interesting discoveries tha
t he’d tell them about when he came back.”

  “And had he made any discoveries?” asked Cortland.

  “No. What he was doing was preparing a trap. And the bait was an old and rather battered dispatch box that he got from a friend of your father’s at the embassy in Berlin. He knew he was being watched by the German secret police, so he kept the box with him, guarding it every minute during his trip home. The impression that he wanted to give—and apparently did give—was that it contained the evidence for which your father had been killed, proof of the identity of the enemy agent at the Admiralty.”

  “What happened to the box?” asked Andrew.

  “That was what several people wondered. He had it with him when he got on the boat in Germany. He had it with him when he got on the train from Harwich to London. But he didn’t have it when he got to his daughter-in-law’s house on Sherburne Square.”

  “He hid it somewhere on his way from the station!” said Sara.

  “Actually, he destroyed it, flattened it and threw it out of the train window just before he reached London.”

  “But why?” asked Cortland.

  “I know!” said Andrew. “Because he wanted people to think that he had hidden it somewhere!”

  “Exactly. It was his security, his safe conduct. He had no illusions about who or what he was up against, knew that they would kill him with no more compunction than they had his son. But they did not dare do that until they had gotten hold of the dispatch box, which they thought contained vital evidence. On the other hand, they were afraid he might give them the slip and retrieve the box without their knowing it, so what did they do?”

  “They drugged him!” said Cortland.

  “Right. Your stepmother gave him an opiate, and then Thurlow injected him with the drug that paralyzed him.”

  “I can see how that would keep him from going to get the box himself,” said Sara. “I mean, he couldn’t if he was paralyzed and couldn’t move. But how was it going to help them get it?”

  “I think I know that,” said Cortland. “If he couldn’t go himself, he’d have to send someone else, someone he could trust. Me.”

  “Right,” said Wyatt. “That’s why they got you down from school, thinking you’d be easy to follow when he told you where the box was. There was one complication, however. The curare, or whatever drug they injected him with, not only paralyzed him, but affected his vocal cords so he couldn’t speak. While they were waiting for him to regain his voice, Andrew here found a way to communicate with him, and that was that.”

  “How is he?” asked Andrew. “Dr. Reeves said he thought he was better.”

  “He is. He’s able to move and even talk a little now. It was he who told me the things I’d only guessed about his trip to Germany. And,” he said, turning to Cortland, “he also told me some other things he’ll undoubtedly repeat to you when you see him. For instance, how very proud of you he is for the way you’ve acted all through this affair.”

  “Oh,” said Cortland, flushing with pleasure. “I’m glad that he’s better and that he does think I’ve acted well. I’ve always been very fond of him and … Well, he’s all that I’ve got in the way of a family now.”

  “When did you begin to suspect Dixon?” asked Andrew. “Did that second visit to the Admiralty have anything to do with it?”

  “Yes, it did. There was something about him, his attitude toward Sir Arthur, that made me a little uneasy. Then, the morning after we got Mr. Cortland to the hospital, I received a note from him saying that Sir Arthur had asked him to get a report on Mr. Cortland’s condition, find out if there had been any change. Actually, Sir Arthur had asked Dixon to get in touch with Thurlow, find out from him how Mr. Cortland was doing. Why was Dixon getting in touch with me?”

  “Because, once Mr. Cortland was out of the Cortland house, Dr. Thurlow didn’t know how he was doing.”

  “Exactly. I had one of our men check the Admiralty, and when I knew Dixon was away, I went there with you and young Cortland. I quickly discovered that Sir Arthur didn’t know that Mr. Cortland had been moved to the hospital, hadn’t asked Dixon to send me that note. That meant that Dixon had done it on his own—and done it for the reason you suggested. Because Thurlow could no longer tell how Mr. Cortland was doing, and Dixon had to know, had to find out if he was able to talk yet.”

  “I see,” said Andrew.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Sara, “is why they did it. After all, Dixon and Thurlow are British, aren’t they? And wasn’t Mrs. Cortland Danish?”

  “She was supposed to be, a Danish countess, they said. But I did some investigating and discovered that she was actually German. She had married Captain Cortland on the orders of the German government because they thought it was important to keep an eye on him.”

  “What about Thurlow and Dixon?” asked Andrew.

  “Thurlow is British all right, but I discovered that he went to medical school in Germany. Someone must have approached him then, and he’s probably been in Germany’s pay ever since. As for Dixon, who ever knows how a really great traitor’s mind works, why he is willing to betray his country?”

  “It seems that there’s still a great deal that I don’t know and that you’ll have to tell me about some other time,” said Verna. “All you told me before was that you were engaged in something that was terribly important. That you wanted me out of the way for a while, but that you would be responsible for the children’s safety.”

  “That’s correct,” said Wyatt. “And I did everything I could in that respect. They were watched from the time they left here until they returned here.”

  “Those three men in the bushes outside our house,” said Andrew, “they weren’t with Hodge! They were your men!”

  “That’s right,” said Wyatt. “I didn’t mind your thinking that they were with Hodge and Company because that would make you go get Dixon and bring him here. But actually, one of them followed you to make sure you were all right, and the other two followed Sara and Cortland.”

  “But why did you want them—my stepmother and Thurlow and Dixon—here at the theatre?” asked Cortland.

  “Because while it seemed innocuous, deserted and therefore a place Dixon did not have to worry about, it’s actually been a sort of command post of mine for some time, a base I’ve been using to try to solve another case.”

  “The robberies that have been taking place around here in the theatre district?” guessed Cortland.

  “Yes. As you saw, Burke, the watchman, is one of my men, and I have quite a few others spread out through this area. Andrew’s mother and Mr. Harrison, the theatre manager, knew about it and were quite agreeable to my using it as a base. And since I had all the men I needed available around here, I thought I’d use it for another purpose—the one we just did.”

  “I take it that so far you haven’t been able to catch the robbers or pickpockets who have been working here?” said Cortland.

  “No,” said Wyatt soberly. “And I’m beginning to doubt if we ever will.”

  “Now, now,” said Tucker, who had just entered the dressing room. “Never say die. If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.”

  “Well, even if you haven’t gotten them yet,” said Sara as Wyatt looked balefully at Tucker, “isn’t what you did here tonight much more important? I mean, if I had to choose, I’d rather catch a dangerous spy than some old pickpockets.”

  “That’s right,” said Tucker. “You know what they say. You can’t win them all, and what you lose on the swings, you make up on the coconut shy.”

  “It doesn’t happen to be an ‘either-or’ situation,” said Wyatt. “I was assigned the job of finding the pickpockets here, and I came on this other matter entirely by accident. Besides, if I know the Admiralty and the Foreign Office, not more than a dozen people will ever hear about Dixon’s trial, while the papers will be all over us again tomorrow as a bunch of bungling incompetents because of what our French friend had to say. So don’t try to stay m
e with flagons, comfort me with apples or cheer me up with proverbs or sayings out of Samuel Smiles,” he said, his voice rising and his eyes on the large and loyal Tucker, “or I’ll be the one who’ll be shying coconuts at your non-compos noggin!”

  14

  The Swings

  Verna, Sara, Cortland and Andrew waited while Wyatt talked to the constable, who would be staying on duty at the theatre, then they all left together, walking up the alley toward the Strand. Cortland, bringing up the rear with Tucker, was relieved to see that—far from being disturbed by what Wyatt had said to him—the sergeant was still chuckling over it.

  “Can we take you anywhere?” asked Verna when they reached the street.

  “Thank you, no,” said Wyatt. “I’ve still a great deal to do tonight: reports to make and papers to be filled out. Where’s Fred?”

  She nodded to where Fred waited, standing beside the carriage farther up the street and almost opposite the Savoy.

  “I’ll walk you that far, if I may.”

  “By all means.”

  Things were getting very lively on the Strand. In fact, more was probably going on at that hour than at any other time of the day or night. Well-dressed men and women were leaving the theatres and walking to nearby hotels or restaurants or standing under the marquees, waiting for their carriages or for a hansom or a four-wheeler. The buskers, Alf and Liz, were putting on their final performance of the evening; Liz dancing lightly to the tune of “Paddle Your Own Canoe” that Alf was squeezing out of his accordion.

  “Ever been here at this time of night before?” Sara asked Cortland.

  His eyes big and round, he shook his head.

  “Gay, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  Over the reedy wheezing of Alf’s accordion, they began to hear another kind of music, the distant blaring of brasses and the insistent thumping of a drum.

  “Is that our friends?” asked Andrew.

  “I think so,” said Sara. She looked up at Wyatt, who had paused and was standing there, frowning. “Is something wrong?”