Dusty Death

by Clifton Robbins

  Harrison therefore explained the whole of his adventure on the Saléve and gave the concisest possible summary of the concierge’s story.

  “I don’t know whether I agree with the woman’s being allowed to go like that,” said M. Ringel.

  “That was my own decision,” answered Harrison. “I was afraid you might disapprove. But I had no proof. And still I can hardly bring myself to believe a woman like that could do a thing like that.”

  “Even you do not want to say murder, Mr. Harrison?” said the police chief with a certain amount of amusement.

  “That’s true,” said Harrison. “Women don’t commit many murders, M. Ringel. What is your experience?”

  “They instigate a number of them,” said M. Ringel. “But, since the war, they have been committing many more of them, too. They don’t like violence but poison doesn’t worry them. They don’t seem to object to suffering and there seems to be about the world at present a number of women like this de Marplay, hard, unscrupulous and entirely without emotion, who seem to do it, may I say, for the fun of the thing.”

  “Fun?” queried Harrison.

  “Yes, it’s a curious word but that’s what it seems to be. They must be a war product. At any rate, I sincerely hope they are. If they are more than temporary, it’s a bad look out. Crime is going to be more difficult to detect than ever.”

  “But you will agree, I had no proof?”

  “That’s true enough,” said the police chief. “And you have less against the Baron. If you couldn’t believe de Marplay guilty, I certainly find it difficult to convict the Baron. Besides, you have not told me all the links in the story yet. The Baron goes to Brown’s flat and, according to your account, murders him and disposes of him but we know that Brown was very ill when he reached home. The Baron may not have actually administered the poison, although he acted suspiciously afterwards.”

  “Quite right,” said Harrison. “I’ve got that bit of the puzzle to fill in yet. I think know its shape but that’s not good enough for you, is it?”

  “I’m afraid not,” answered M. Ringel. “I wouldn’t dare arrest the Baron on what you’ve told me.”

  “I don’t want you to,” said Harrison.

  “But what else can we do then?”

  “First of all, we must consider the Baron’s arrest seriously,” said Harrison. “I’ve just said I didn’t want to arrest him, the simple reason being that it would do no earthly good.”

  “I agree.”

  “I don’t mean with the small evidence we have now,” replied Harrison. “But if we had the strongest case in the world, I don’t think it would do any good.”

  “You mean he is too influential?”

  “That is one way of putting it,” said Harrison. “Now, frankly, M. Ringel, would you like to take the responsibility of arresting the Baron in any circumstances?”

  “Certainly not,” answered the police chief. “But if it was my duty—”

  “If your duty led nowhere,” said Harrison, “what would be the use of it. You know the Baron’s position as well as I do. He is popular, he has friends in every quarter, he knows how to organise the Press and he is unscrupulous. That being so, as we have reason to believe, he will easily turn the tables on an accusation of dope-trafficking. You say yourself he helped you occasionally. You would have to admit that as a witness. And so, at the end of it all, the Baron would be stronger than ever and you would be looking for work—hounded out of your job by irresistible forces.”

  “A doleful picture,” said M. Ringel.

  “But pretty accurate, you will admit?”

  “Quite so.”

  “Then there is another point of view. This is an international business. If the Baron were on his trial so much mud might be stirred up, not only in Europe but also in other parts of the world, that we should not be justified in taking the risk. Again, the Baron is ostensibly the friend of the League of Nations. The League is not so popular or so well-established that it can afford to allow its enemies to have a good sneer at its connection with Baron Meyerling. The Baron knows all this and is trading on it. I shouldn’t be surprised if he wouldn’t welcome being arrested by you. It would clear the air a bit for him.”

  “Well, he’s not going to have the opportunity,” said M. Ringel. “Now, Mr. Harrison, I admit the excellent character of your logic and your deductions have been extraordinarily sound but—”

  “I knew there was a ‘but,’” said Harrison, with a smile.

  “But you are keeping something from me,” continued M. Ringel. “Where does all this beautiful reasoning lead us to?”

  “May I ask you a question first?” asked Harrison.

  “Why, certainly.”

  “Then, why did you arrest me?”

  “Because you asked me to.”

  “But why did I ask you?”

  “Because you wanted the Baron to know it.”

  “Exactly. Always the Baron, M. Ringel. He has been urging my arrest pretty freely and now he has got what he wanted.”

  “True.”

  “And so he makes the next move.”

  “And now you wait for the Baron?” asked M. Ringel.

  “Precisely,” said Harrison. “It’s a game of chess in a way, M. Ringel, and I have spent my time studying the moves of the Baron. Luckily my side of the board isn’t as well lighted as his and so I think I am seeing his game clearer than he is mine. There are all sorts of considerations about a man like the Baron. First of all, as you know, each criminal—and the Baron, of course, is a criminal—acquires a technique of his own. If he does similar crimes, he follows similar methods. He signs his work as much as an artist or composer. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “So do his pupils, just like a famous artist and the school he collects around him. That’s important. So first of all I had to get the idea of the Baron’s individual technique. The next point was that the Baron was rather vain.”

  “So are many perfectly honest men,” said M. Ringel.

  “True,” answered Harrison. “But it is the hallmark of a successful criminal to be vain and the Baron has done himself a certain amount of harm by it. He has, of course, attended to a great many details but some of his schemes are too simple to deceive. As I say, he has been too successful and has come to think anything will do. There he made a great mistake. For example, he had a very poor opinion of your intelligence.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes,” said Harrison. “He must have thought his influence was so strong that you would believe everything he said about me and would arrest me at sight.”

  “How very amusing,” said the police chief.

  “I suppose so,” answered Harrison. “But it shows the way the man’s mind runs. Were you to tell him now that we were talking matters over like this, he would hardly believe it. And so we come to his next move.”

  “And what do you think that is?”

  “I can’t help thinking he wants to get hold of me,’ said Harrison. “If you take all the facts into consideration, the Baron is not afraid of arrest, he is not really afraid of exposure but he is really afraid of one man who knows too much. You don’t think I flatter myself?”

  “Not at all,” said M. Ringel. “I am interested. So you had yourself arrested to keep the Baron from doing you any serious harm?”

  “Not quite that,” answered Harrison. “He wanted me to be arrested. That is part of his plan. The first move, shall we say? He wants to get hold of me—very badly—let’s call that the third move. I’m just waiting for the second move that joins up the two of them.”

  “It is all very logical,” said M. Ringel doubtfully.

  “I am sorry you do not really believe it, M. Ringel,” said Harrison. “It is only guesswork. But we have to do a lot of guessing and some of it may be justifiable.”

  The telephone bell rang.

  “You will excuse me, of course?” said M. Ringel, as he took off the receiver.

 
“Perhaps you would like me to go outside?” asked Harrison.

  “No,” said M. Ringel, after listening for a moment. “It’s all about you.”

  Harrison sat quietly as he listened to M. Ringel’s laconic reply to what appeared to be an important message. M. Ringel frowned severely and looked extremely puzzled. Suddenly his eyes sparkled and, after replacing the receiver he took it up again and asked the operator to whom had he been speaking. The answer seemed to give him extraordinary pleasure, and he burst into a loud laugh.

  “Well?” said Harrison.

  “Mr. Harrison, I congratulate you,” said the police chief, holding out his hand and shaking Harrison’s warmly.

  “Why?”

  “You are a free man,” said M. Ringel, with a chuckle. “That was our police office at Berne. A voice, which I much regret I did not recognise, suggested that I had better let you go. They were not certain about your connection with drugs, but you were very important in Great Britain, and very serious complications might follow your detention, so you had better be sent away with all speed and as much courtesy as I could produce. As there were sure to be journalists about the front-door, they suggested, very thoughtfully, that I should send you out by a side entrance.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Harrison.

  “Nor did I,” answered M. Ringel. “It all seemed very curious because I have been in communication with Berne during the day and they know exactly what I thought. So I asked the girl who it was had been telephoning me.”

  “The Baron,” exclaimed Harrison.

  “Precisely,” answered M. Ringel. “It was Baron Meyerling. He is one of the important people who are put straight through to me without the operator having to discover whether I want to speak to him or not. I assume that directly he heard my voice, he got someone else to speak as if from the Berne office. It was not his voice, I know. I congratulated you because your guess, as you call it, was right. This is his second move.”

  “Is it possible to find out where he was telephoning from?” Harrison asked.

  “Certainly,” answered the police chief, and immediately made the inquiry.

  In a few moments he received a reply. “A flat at 28, Chemin des Noisettes,” he said, turning to Harrison. “Does that convey anything to you?”

  “Everything,” said Harrison. “Now the Baron can get hold of me.”

  “You’re not going to walk into his arms?” asked M. Ringel.

  “I’m afraid so,” answered Harrison.

  “I will see you are protected,” said M. Ringel.

  “I certainly shall need a little help,” replied Harrison. “But I must start alone. That message from Berne. The side entrance was an excellent idea. I must give the Baron credit for that. Does he know one?”

  “He has been through one with me when we have come in together.”

  “Good,” said Harrison. “Then that’s the one I must go out of. You see the Baron is quite simple really, and you have to obey his orders as he would expect them to be obeyed.”

  “And then what am I to do?”

  “Well,” answered Harrison, “I shall go out of that side door and I expect I shall be met by a few friends of the Baron, who will escort me to the Chemin des Noisettes. I shall be grateful if you will tell my friends, Mr. Dawnay and Mr. Crill, who are sitting in a car at the front-door, to follow me there, and I think you might do so too with a few of your picked men. When we get to a crisis we may need all the help we can get. Give me a quarter of an hour, and then come up to the flat and smash your way in. Is that all right?”

  “It seems very risky,” said M. Ringel.

  “I know,” answered Harrison. “But it’s the only way I can see of finishing the puzzle.”

  “Very well,” said M. Ringel. “I’ll do exactly what you wish.”

  “I am very grateful,” said Harrison. “And now I’ll be off.”

  He got up from his chair and began strapping the leather wristbands firmly on each wrist.

  “What on earth?” asked M. Ringel.

  “Just another appreciation of the Baron’s technique,” answered Harrison.

  Chapter XXII

  The Baron’s Technique

  Matters turned out pretty much as Harrison had expected for, when he had just walked past the door of the side entrance to police headquarters, strong hands seized him by each arm and some kind of gag was placed in his mouth. He was then bundled into a motor-car which was waiting nearby and driven quickly away.

  His captors sat on either side of him and Harrison did his best to catch a glimpse of their faces. He very much wanted to identify his friend with the bright eyes but was given no opportunity. The car seemed to be driven very quickly, and it was not long before it stopped. For a moment Harrison thought of the risk he was taking. Suppose by any chance, the car was not taking him to the Chemin des Noisettes. The Baron might have some other place in Geneva where he carried out his schemes. It was more than likely. Harrison might have been foolish to pin his faith so completely to one address. He had not told the police to follow the car for fear of making the Baron’s friends suspicious. If he was taken to a spot where there was no likelihood of being discovered, he would be in an excessively dangerous position and, knowing the Baron’s methods, he realised that his life would not be accounted of great value.

  It was therefore with a genuine sigh of relief that he recognised the entrance of the house in the Chemin des Noisettes as he was hustled across the pavement and up the stairs. The journey was not comfortable for, although he made no effort to struggle, his captors were taking no risks and gripped him as if he were showing the most extraordinary fighting capacity.

  The Baron was sitting smoking a cigar as Harrison was pushed into the room.

  “Please, please,” said the Baron. “Not so rough with a guest.”

  “Baron Meyerling,” exclaimed Harrison, acting surprise as best he could.

  “Mr. Clay Harrison, I believe,” said the Baron, with a smile. “The famous detective of that name.”

  “You honour me, Baron,” replied Harrison.

  “Not so,” said the Baron. “You honour me. You called on me rather unexpectedly this morning. In fact I was not ready for you. That was your fault, Mr. Harrison, for not having arranged the interview by appointment. Now I am afraid I have to make you call on me again, this time at my convenience.”

  “Somewhat unusual, Baron,” said Harrison.

  “As unusual as your call this morning, Mr. Harrison,” answered the Baron. “We both of us spend our time doing unusual things, don’t we, only my efforts seem to be rather more successful than yours.”

  “It would appear so,” replied Harrison.

  “Just one precaution before I make you feel really at home,” said the Baron. “Have you any firearms? A guest should trust his host.”

  “None,” answered Harrison.

  The Baron signalled to the men standing by Harrison, who immediately ran their hands over him and nodded in the negative.

  “You do not take my word?” asked Harrison.

  “I’m sorry,” replied the Baron. “A thousand apologies, but a certain gentleman of our mutual acquaintance named Kellerman said you carried them. I hate taking any risks you know.”

  “But a gentleman’s word—” said Harrison.

  “I am deeply grieved,” answered the Baron. “But I know you will accept my apologies. Quite frankly I do not meet many gentlemen of their word in my business.”

  “Is journalism as bad as that?”

  “I said my business. Journalism is my pleasure. Come, come, Mr. Harrison, we can talk freely now. You know enough about me to discuss my business.”

  “Oh,” said Harrison, casually. “You mean drugs?”

  “I do mean drugs,” said the Baron, emphatically. “But come, I’m being a poor host. Do take a chair and a cigar. I bought them at the Des Montagnes after the reception because I liked them so much and I know you appreciate a good cigar.”

  Harris
on lit a cigar and puffed it with evident appreciation while the Baron motioned to his two men to leave them.

  “What I cannot understand, Baron,” said Harrison, thoughtfully puffing out some cigar smoke, “is how you got hold of me to-night. I was told that there were special recommendations from Berne that I should be released and that they even suggested that I should be sent out by a back way so that no one should see me go.”

  “Very true,” said the Baron, with a somewhat self-satisfied look.

  “Then you have means of tapping the police wires?” asked Harrison.

  “Not quite that,” said the Baron. “But I have my ways and means.”

  “I wish you would explain them to me,” said Harrison.

  “My dear Mr. Harrison. I wish I had time to,” answered the Baron, with obviously gratified vanity. “But I cannot give too long to our interview.”

  “That’s a pity,” said Harrison.

  “Your own fault,” replied the Baron. “You would meddle with things.”

  “My job,” said Harrison.

  “I warned you, Mr. Harrison.”

  “I know.”

  “But you wouldn’t listen. A pity.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I should have thought a man of your intelligence would have seen danger from the beginning.”

  “I did, Baron.”

  “I mean that you would have realised what you were up against,” said the Baron.

  “I thought I did.”

  “You may be a good detective in your own country, Mr. Harrison; no doubt you are. I must say you have done your work pretty competently out here. But to think you could pit your wits against myself and my organisation. That was rather ingenuous, wasn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You have been up against a very big problem, Mr. Harrison, very big indeed, and you have been rather led away by the belief in your own success. Why every time you have made a move I have been able to forestall it. You have done your best, of course.”