"Nothing more, Jules? You're sure?"
"Sure, I'm sure."
"Very well. . . . Let's go."
"That's all? O.K?"
"Yes. . . . O.K. . . ."
Amy was hanging round the door as Littlejohn went back to the bar. Jules returned to his kitchen and you could hear him rattling pans and whistling. The four men and Knell were still in their places.
"All right, Inspector?"
The doctor seemed to be waiting for an account of what had gone on.
"Yes, thanks. We'd better be going. Glad to meet you all, and thanks for the drinks. . . ."
It was clear that Amy wanted to say something to Littlejohn. She kept fixing him with her eyes, but one or another of the four men at the table kept her in view. She scribbled on the pad of checks which hung on a cord from her waist, and handed one to Littlejohn.
"What are you doing, Amy? The drinks were on me. . . . I'll pay the bill. . . ."
Littlejohn held the slip of paper in his fingers. Amy had torn off two. Her eyes held his again. He was standing with his back to the table and quickly separating the two bills, kept one in his palm, and passed the other for five shillings as he turned to the doctor.
"If you insist, doctor. Thank you. Good day, gentlemen. . . ."
"Good day. If time hangs heavily, Inspector, you're always welcome here. Come again. . . ."
The doctor waved a fat hand.
At the door Littlejohn read the note in the palm of his hand.
Meet me at Curpheys drapers parlement street half hour.
He put it in his pocket.
From the funnel of the Jonee Ghorrym a thick trail of black smoke was blowing over the harbour. Captain Kewley was on the bridge, smoking, his eye on The Duck's Nest. He turned his back on the detectives when they appeared.
"What now, sir?"
"I'm going on the bridge there to have a word with the captain. Whilst I'm there, go down below, Knell, and look at the crew's quarters . . . don't miss anything. . . ."
Captain Kewley turned sharply as they crossed the gangway.
"Hi! No strangers aboard. Keep off."
"I want you, captain. Police."
"Better look sharp. We're due out. . . ."
Littlejohn climbed the iron ladder to the bridge. He could hear Kewley shouting down at Knell.
"Hi. . . . Nobody allowed below. . . . Here. . . . Do you hear? Nobody. . . ."
"A word with you, Captain Kewley."
"Well?"
The captain removed his pipe and spat over the side. He stood like a rock on his bridge, his jaw set, wheezing from his efforts and shouting.
"I'm captain o' this ship. I won't have anybody makin' free of 'er. What are you after?"
"Do you know a man called Alcardi?"
"No. Why should I?"
"He came here last night and asked the man on watch for something. Who was on watch?"
"I know all about it. It was reported. He wanted a passage across. Walker was on duty. He told him, nothing doing. We don't carry passengers. The Eyetalian started to argue. Walker told him to be off, or he'd chuck 'im off. Quite right, too. And now, I've got to get down."
He was uneasy about Knell and what Knell was doing. That was obvious. Littlejohn's bulk barred the way.
"Let me pass. . . . I've got to get below. We're getting steam up. Are you going to . . .?"
He was too late. From where they stood they could see Knell coming from below. He was shepherding two figures before him like a couple of sheep. As they came into the light, Littlejohn felt like raising a cheer. How Knell had done it, he didn't know, but there they were; handcuffed together, too. A bonny pair. Irons and Fannin!
9
THE REPENTANT FORGER
THE Jonee Ghorrym didn't sail that day. Instead, the captain and his two disreputable passengers were taken over to the police-station, situated in the picturesque court-house building.
"Fannin and Irons were drinking tea in the fo'c'sle and were so surprised to see me, that I had the handcuffs on them before they quite gathered what was going on. . . ."
Knell was modest about his share in the capture. A true Manxman, he hated a fuss.
As the party made its way to the lock-up, Littlejohn could see the quartet in the window of The Duck's Nest watching them curiously, and Tremouille followed them quickly to the court-house.
"I'm the advocate for the shipping company," he said explaining his appearance. Littlejohn left them with the Ramsey police whilst he went to find Curphey's shop and keep his date with Amy, the waitress.
Curphey's was an old-fashioned place, almost a Victorian survival, which dealt mainly in feminine matters. You could get carpets and curtains there, but women's dress materials, camisoles, corsets, underwear and tapes were their staple bread-and-butter lines and the arrival of a man in their midst caused a mild panic.
The Misses Curphey eyed the Inspector up and down and one of them snatched a plastic artificial bust from a stand and concealed it under the counter. Then she looked around in alarm. There was far too much allure to hide away from this nice man. . . .
"Do you happen to know Amy, the waitress at The Duck's Nest on the quayside, madam?"
Littlejohn removed his hat, ignored the merchandise, and spoke to the blushing little woman on the other side of the counter.
Miss Caroline Curphey was a small, timid, grey-haired lady, very good at doing a profitable business with members of her own sex, but nonplussed by the invasion of a man in this store of feminine intimacy. She felt she might be being mistaken for a matrimonial agent . . . or worse. Although the name painted on the shop window belied it, Miss Maude Curphey, her sister, had been married once to a man named Hake, who travelled in buttons and tapes. They preferred to forget it, however, for he had, early in their married life, fled on the "Sunday midnight" with their money and jewellery. Miss Maude was, therefore, regarded as the sophisticated one of the firm; the one who had been "through it" and knew it all.
"Do we know Amy of The Duck's Nest, Maude?"
Maude was chubby, grey, and very gay, in spite of the blows of fate, and she played the organ at a Methodist chapel.
"Yes. . . . Why?" Maude eyed Littlejohn archly. Caroline had thoughts of adventurers and naughty men who ruined innocent girls and fled overseas; but Maude hadn't. "Wasn't he nice, Carrie?" she said when the Inspector had finished and gone.
When Maude Curphey heard what Littlejohn had to say and he had proved his bona fides by showing her the café check, she assumed a conspiratorial look, said she pitied Amy, and took him in their private room at the back of the lock-up shop, where they daily brought from home their cat, dog and canary and kept the gas-ring and cash safe. The bird started to chirp, but the two animals, fat and contented, slept through the whole adventure.
"Wait here for her. . . ." And with that Miss Maude retired to the shop.
"Police," she said to Carrie, with her lips only.
"Eh?" framed Carrie's mouth, soundlessly.
"P-O-L-I-C-E. . . . Pohleece. . . ."
Carrie gave a little screech and covered her mouth with her hand.
The bell on the door clanged and Amy entered. One minute she had been peering in the shop window and furtively looking up and down the street; the next second she was in. Maude passed her to Carrie, and Carrie whisked her into the room behind.
"Hullo, Amy. You wanted to see me?"
The girl started and turned paler.
"You gave me a fright. Yes. . . . I can't spare long. They'll wonder where I am. . . ."
"Who will?"
"Jules and the customers. . . ."
She was still in her cap and apron and had evidently just run from the café as she was. She was singularly lacking in feminine charm, with her long face, greasy hair, flat bust, and angular body. And yet, she might have attracted people in trouble, because she was obviously troubled herself. The sort who fully understood the dirty tricks fate can play. . . .
"I said I was coming over to g
et some new serviettes we ordered. I'll be missed if I'm long away."
Even now, she seemed uncertain whether to talk or not.
"What is it, Amy? You in trouble?"
"It's about Mr. Alcardi. . . . Joe. . . . The one who was killed last night."
She did not weep or show any signs of grief. She was numb and taut with emotion, but there was a sort of unbeaten dignity about her.
"He wanted to see you, sir. Joe, I mean."
"How did you know?"
"He told me. Last night, he came to The Duck's Nest after midnight. He telephoned from Douglas about nine o'clock to say he must see me. About eleven, he said he'd be here, but to wait till he got here. He said he'd knock at the front door. I was to slip out from the side door in the alley and meet him. It was a bit awkward, but I said I'd a headache and went to bed at eleven. Then I sneaked down and waited as he wanted. . . ."
The bell rang in the shop and you could hear customers coming in. In the harbour one of the incoming boats blew a blast on her siren.
"He was very late. The quay was nearly dark and while Joe was arguing at the front door with Jules, pretending he wanted a bed for the night, I slipped in the car on the offside and waited. He came back. We couldn't sit there talking, so Joe drove round the Island on the T.T. course while he told me things and then he brought me back to Ramsey and I sneaked back to my room. . . ."
"Nobody saw you?"
"No. I was lucky. Joe was terribly frightened. He wanted to get off the Island."
"Your name is Amy . . . what?"
"Amy Green. I came over from Liverpool for the season. Joe Alcardi used to come to The Duck's Nest to see Jules. We got friendly."
"He was your lover?"
"Yes. . . . He had a wife somewhere in London. He lived there till he was interned in the war. So we couldn't get married. He was a good sort. He took a shop in Douglas, but he couldn't make a living selling souvenirs and his sketches. He was a good artist. . . ."
"So I gather. Especially where banknotes were concerned. . . ."
She didn't seem surprised.
"He told me you were on to him about the notes. He was a clever engraver. It was his trade. I don't mind what you know now. He's dead and past harming. He wanted to tell you everything, but he couldn't find you. You were out when he called. He said unless he found you before they found him, his life wasn't worth much. . . . He was being watched. . . ."
"They. . . . Who's they?"
"I don't know."
"Suppose you sit down and begin at the beginning. . . ."
"I daren't. I've got to get back."
Littlejohn went in the shop and spoke to Miss Maude.
"Ring up The Duck's Nest, if you don't mind, madam, and argue a bit with them about the serviettes they want. Tell them Amy's here and you have been trying to sell her some that aren't quite so cheap as those ordered. Tell them anything, but don't let them suspect she's talking here with me. You understand?"
Maude nodded enthusiastically. Her mouth was full of pins, and the lady she'd been measuring for some intimate article had to wait in discomfort.
"Now, Amy, begin at the beginning."
The girl was still bemused, speaking in a flat, monotonous voice.
"He said I was the only friend he'd got left. He wanted me to tell you if anything happened to him, he wasn't a murderer. He didn't know."
"Didn't know what?"
"He got mixed up with something shady. He'd have gone bankrupt in his shop and then, one day, a man called Irons, who'd lent him money to start with and who was always pestering him, said he knew how Joe could come by some easy money. They were smuggling watches, nylons and liquor in. The sales were easy in the season with all the visitors. Irons had the jewellery and watches, Joe and some others dealt with the liquor, and Captain Kewley brought them in. The Jonee Ghorrym got them, Joe said, from contacts in Dublin and at English ports where she went. There was quite a syndicate working it. The Jonee would meet a boat that put off from the Island and unload, and then the boat would row in at the Llen shore. . . ."
Miss Maude's head appeared round the door to indicate that all was right from her angle. Amy didn't seem to notice it.
"Joe got in their clutches proper. He used to go out with the boat and then deliver the nylons and other things in his car. He got fed-up, though, and said he wanted to break away but they wouldn't let him. So he started a little business on his own."
"Banknotes?"
"Yes. Somebody said how easy it would be here in the season to pass off faked notes. He engraved some plates and a pal on the mainland got the paper. He didn't do many. Irons found out. He saw one of the plates Joe had left lying around when he called. Irons said his orders were that Joe was to stop it. The banks were too clever and if Joe got caught, he'd bring down the smuggling gang. Irons told Joe they didn't trust him once he got in the hands of the police. The truth was, Joe was honest at bottom and it was only his doing so bad in the shop made him turn to something not straight."
"Irons was passing-on orders from a third party?"
"So Joe said. Irons was the mouthpiece of a gang. I'll bet Dr. Smith . . . Harborne-Smith, he calls himself, is head of it. He's chairman of the Jonee Ghorrym Company. He's always around. . . ."
"What about the other two; the builder fellow, and the lawyer?"
"They're directors, too, but Dr. Smith seems to lend money to Mr. Parker, the builder, and they meet at our place to settle-up. Mr. Tremouille comes there when they have to sign papers."
"The Duck's Nest seems to be Smith's headquarters. . . ."
"That's it."
"Now, Amy, what about the murder Alcardi talked of?"
"He told me that Irons rang him up to say that Deemster Quantrell was on his track and on the track of the smuggling too. He'd been snooping around the Lhen and the Jonee Ghorrym. From what Joe said, the Deemster was by way of being a bit of an amateur detective. It was his hobby."
"Irons rang up Joe to say that Deemster Quantrell had got a batch of Joe's dud notes and some smuggled stuff from the Jonee. It was the morning of the Castletown court and Joe said that Irons told him the Deemster had it all in his bag. They'd got to get it. . . ."
"But why choose the court-house of all places?"
"The Deemster always travelled down in company. They couldn't risk holding him up, if that's what you mean."
"Why use Alcardi for the dirty work?"
Amy sighed.
"Joe had been a crook in Italy, and he had all the crook's ways of moving quietly and without fuss. They called him 'The Shadow' in the camp when he was interned. If anything was wanted, Joe was always the one to get it. He stole food, and when the men in the camp wanted silver and such to make souvenirs to sell, he'd get it for them by breaking in the locked rooms of the boarding houses where they were billeted . . . the rooms where all the owners' property was locked up. He said Irons and his party must have got to know somehow and that was, so to speak, their reason for getting him to join up with them."
"Go on with his visit to Castletown, then. . . ."
"I must be going. Jules will wonder. . . ."
"Hurry, then."
She started to gabble.
"Irons went to see Joe. It was the day before the Deemster died. They couldn't steal the bag in which the judge carried the evidence he was going to give to the police because he took it with him in the courtroom. So it was arranged that he should be drugged in his room where he dined alone. The only way to do so was to drug his cough mixture, which everybody knew he took. When he was in court, Joe was to sneak in and put some dope from a bottle into the mixture, which His Honour always had in his coat pocket. Then, when the dope acted after lunch, Joe was to go in, take the stuff from the bag, and bring it away."
"It all sounds very stupid to me. But go on. . . ."
"It was stupid, sir. Joe admitted it, but it was a trick to frame him with the Deemster's death. He wanted to tell you, but he got killed before he could do it. Irons sent the b
ottle of dope round by a sailor who was in the smuggling racket with them. A man called Fannin. It was all planned. They'd got a key to the private door from somewhere. Joe let himself in, put the drug in the bottle which was where Irons said it would be, and went out. He was to go back, but when he got there, His Honour was dead. . . ."
"So . . .?"
"Joe thought he'd given him too much dope. But later it got out that His Honour had been given poison. . . . Joe was sure nobody saw him. He'd thrown away the little bottle. . . ."
"After emptying what was left of it in his little rubbish bin. . . . He wasn't much of a criminal. . . . He was too neglectful of detail. Well?"
"When it got out the Deemster was dead, they all took fright. Irons was packing his bag ready to get away from the Island, but you called and told him you'd see he didn't get away. He rang up Joe to tell him that you were on his track. Joe panicked and bolted, but then thought he'd better make a clean breast of it and tried to get hold of you. When he couldn't find you, he tried to get a passage on the Jonee to the mainland, but they wouldn't take him. Fannin panicked, too, when he got to know that the stuff he brought to Joe was what killed the Deemster. He got himself mixed up with the police some way. . . ."
"Who told you that? Joe was dead by then. . . ."
"He came to The Duck's Nest and I heard him and Smith talking. He said on the way to jail in the police car, he was handcuffed, but hit the bobby in the car over the head with his cuffs, stunned him, got the key and got away. He made for the Jonee and Captain Kewley took him and Irons aboard to get them to Eire out of the way."
"Alcardi brought you back to Ramsey, and then left you?"
"Yes. He said he couldn't wait any longer. He'd have to wake you up. He said he'd only be safe in jail. He was sure whoever was at the bottom of it all, the leader, wouldn't let him rest till he was out of the way. Can I go now?"
"One more thing, Did Alcardi say anything about a boy scout who was killed? You've heard about that?"
"I heard about it and so had Joe, but he didn't know the boy had been killed till the news got out."
"Had he any idea who they were working for?"
Half-mast for the Deemster (Inspector Littlejohn) Page 11