Dr. Morelle and the Drummer Girl

by Ernest Dudley

  ‘Do you know when he got to the studio?’

  Dr. Morelle shook his head.

  ‘That is a routine inquiry which I shall, of course, follow up,’ he said. ‘That he arrived there at about the time he was expected seems evident.’

  ‘You mean otherwise the film people would know he was late, and would give him away when they’re questioned?’

  ‘It is an obvious point which must have occurred to him.’

  ‘Assuming he is the guilty guy — if he isn’t, then he wouldn’t have to have given it a thought, anyway?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Dr. Morelle agreed. ‘I have no doubt, therefore, that he arrived there at the time that he told us.’

  The other rubbed his chin with a knuckled fist for a moment.

  ‘Can’t imagine him doing anything like that,’ he said at length. ‘Where would it get him?’

  ‘I am bound to admit such an action, on his part, would hardly advance himself in Miss Drummer’s estimation, and might well prove disastrous to his career.’

  ‘Which is putting it mild. You’re absolutely convinced,’ Rolf continued, ‘it isn’t a publicity gag?’

  ‘All the circumstances indicate otherwise.’

  ‘Then if it isn’t Neil Fulton — and we agree he’s not much of a bet — who the hell can it be?’

  Dr. Morelle regarded him levelly.

  ‘You have no suggestion to offer?’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you, and all that — but I’ve told you all I know.’

  The Doctor dragged at his cigarette, and his heavy-lidded gaze was bent on the other. The carefully-tanned face was, he suspected, the result of regular renewals from a sun-lamp. The blond hair, already thinning back from the temples, was carefully brushed to hide an equally sparse crown. The china-blue eyes had a myopic glaze about them. The cinnamon-brown suit with its un-English cut was just a shade too fully draped, the hand-painted tie somewhat over-dazzling, and the dark suede shoes with crêpe soles could have been a little less exaggerated in style.

  Dr. Morelle caught the gleam of the heavy gold wrist-watch and bracelet, the sparkle of the garnet in the gold ring on the little finger of the curiously powerful-looking left hand. His eyes travelled to the rowing-photograph, then moved round the soft-lit room, over the few tastefully-chosen ornaments, and flickered back to the rowing-photograph and then observed the other photos nearby. Involuntarily it occurred to him how Miss Frayle would have goggled at what were patently various members of Hollywood’s film-colony casually on view. He eyed the tip of his Le Sphinx from which the smoke curled in a thin steady spiral, his features smooth and inscrutable.

  Leaning against the baby grand piano Leo Rolf took another drink from his glass.

  Somehow, he is thinking, this bourbon doesn’t taste so good as it did. His eye rests speculatively on the tall, angular figure that now made a move that suggested he was about to leave. The pale face, as if carved in ivory, the finely-chiselled nose, high-bridged to the wide, domed brow. Automatically it crosses his mind what a wonderful type for a film he would make.

  Then he is thinking: Does Bertie know about this? Is that why he called him just now? To give him the news? Hope he’ll ring him again quickly after Dr. Morelle has gone. He can tell Bertie he’s alone now; he can tell him he’s got to see him pronto.

  The run of his thoughts are interrupted; they coil round the little mystery that’s been bothering him off and on. The mystery of Bertie’s job which he’d somehow fixed himself up with soon after his arrival in London, and which he’s held down for the past year. Always refused to say what it was, and so actively disliked being questioned about it — Rolf had given up asking him.

  ‘Permit me to express my gratitude for the information you have given me,’ Dr. Morelle was saying with, Rolf fancied, a faintly sarcastic edge to his voice.

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ he answered with a good-humoured grin. Then he said seriously: ‘If any little thing strikes me which I feel might be any use I’ll contact you at once, if not sooner. You’ll want all this kept very hush-hush, needless to say?’

  ‘I was about to refer to that. It is vital to the young woman’s safety that her disappearance is kept a close secret. I advised her father that his closest friends — even his secretary — should remain completely ignorant of what has happened.’

  ‘Neil Fulton’s been warned to keep his mouth shut, too?’

  ‘He is fully impressed with the danger of the news escaping.’

  ‘How did you explain away her non-appearance at her own party? Must have been a bit tricky.’

  ‘Everyone was individually and discreetly informed,’ came the smooth rejoinder, ‘that Miss Drummer had been urgently called to the bedside of a dear relative suddenly afflicted. This unexpectedly unfortunate event necessitates her being out of town several days.’

  ‘You seem to have thought of everything,’ the other told him.

  ‘It is my invariable endeavour in all circumstances to leave as little as possible to that which erring men call chance.’

  Dr. Morelle took his swordstick and hat. Rolf stood and stared after the tall gaunt figure as it set off with long raking strides down Heath Lane. He watched until, appearing in the lamplight and disappearing in the shadows, the Doctor finally vanished round the corner. Rolf tapped out a fresh cigarette from his packet. The flame of his lighter glared up into his face, giving it a sudden evil expression. He snapped the flame out and looked out at the glow in the sky that was London.

  As he was about to return to the warm light of his house he felt a sudden soft pressure curve round his ankles. He gave a start and then glanced down with a smile at the white cat purring up at him. He bent and scratched the cat’s chin and its purr grew louder. After a few moments he straightened himself and went in quickly, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Nine – Inside Information

  Dr. Morelle, accompanied by Miss Frayle who was clutching a mid-day edition of the Evening Globe, followed the manservant across the small hall of the house in Park Lane. Miss Frayle glanced in the direction of the room where only last evening they had been at the party. Was it really only last evening? she thought. So much drama had been packed into the last few hours, it seemed like days. The manservant — he was the man Harvey Drummer had indicated at the party, only for the life of her Miss Frayle couldn’t recall his name — led the way through a door leading into a small but pleasantly-appointed office.

  The man behind the desk looked up, blinking nervously from the documents over which he was poring. He stood up quickly.

  ‘Thank you, Brethers,’ he said, and rubbing his hands together greeted the Doctor and Miss Frayle. ‘I’m Mr. Drummer’s secretary. Mr. Drummer is waiting for you.’

  The man named Brethers went out, closing the door behind him, as the other moved round his desk. He was a dapper little man with watery eyes behind pince-nez, and a hesitant speech. Miss Frayle noted his remarkably luxuriant hair.

  ‘Will you come in, please?’ he said, and opened the door; the upper part of which was of frosted glass. He stood aside for Dr. Morelle and Miss Frayle to enter.

  Harvey Drummer stopped his pacing of the thick, fitted carpet, and crossed quickly to them. The man in pince-nez went out. Miss Frayle gazed round the room, richly panelled in light oak, the tall windows of which looked out over Park Lane. She noticed that they were double windows which reduced the sound of the traffic outside to a faint murmur.

  ‘This is the business part of my house,’ Harvey Drummer was saying to Dr. Morelle, ‘I keep it shut off as much as possible from the rest. Separate telephone and everything. It’s good enough for me.’

  ‘I think it’s awfully nice,’ put in Miss Frayle.

  Drummer smiled at her. ‘I rather like being so near my job. As I’m what you might call a freelance financier, I don’t need enormous offices or staff. Pearson, the chap you’ve just met has been my secretary, head cook and bottle-washer for over ten years. Watches over me as if I were a c
hild. Oh,’ he smiled, ‘don’t be deceived by his outward appearance. He’s shrewd, sharp and up to all the tricks in the finance world. And there are a few, I can tell you.’

  He indicated a chair for Dr. Morelle and pulled one forward for Miss Frayle. He sat down behind a low flat-topped desk and, with concentrated attention, filled his pipe from a large tobacco-jar. Then he went on:

  ‘From here I manage to keep in touch with odd spots of my business, which takes in anything from oil in Persia to oranges in Panama.’ He tamped the tobacco down in the bowl of his pipe and lit it carefully. He leaned back in his leather-padded swivelchair and jabbed his pipe at the newspaper on his desk. With a nod at the newspaper Miss Frayle was carrying, he said:

  ‘So the advertisement’s in all right?’

  Dr. Morelle inclined his head.

  Drummer drew his newspaper to him; it was folded at the personal advertisements page, and he read out the advertisement which was circled with a pencil:

  “DAUGHTER’S FATHER agreeable to terms demanded. Advise soon as possible when, where and how matter can be settled satisfactorily and home-coming arranged. — H.D.”

  He looked up from the paper, his brows drawn together anxiously.

  ‘Wonder when we’ll get a reply?’

  ‘We have no alternative but to await developments,’ the Doctor murmured.

  ‘But I didn’t drag you round here,’ Harvey Drummer went on, ‘just to tell you something that you know already.’

  ‘I rather gathered that you had some other motive for your invitation,’ Dr. Morelle said mildly.

  ‘I’ve got a great idea.’ Harvey Drummer hunched forward over his desk, stabbing the air with his pipe. ‘A great idea to get Doone back unharmed and without paying our kidnapping friend a penny.’

  ‘How?’ Miss Frayle breathed, leaning forward excitedly.

  ‘This is the way it goes.’ The other stuck his pipe between his teeth for a moment, then took it out again and through a thick cloud of smoke continued eagerly. ‘Our friend, when he answers the advertisement will, of course, demand money. Whatever amount he has in mind. Five thousand, ten thousand, maybe more. But however much it is we can be sure of one thing. He won’t take a cheque.’

  ‘That is a fair assumption,’ Dr. Morelle assented, eyeing the other thoughtfully.

  ‘He’ll want it in the safest form possible,’ Drummer went on. ‘Hard cash. One pound notes will be too bulky, so it’ll be five pound notes.’

  ‘If the sum demanded amounts to anything like those you have mentioned even they will be bulky enough,’ Dr. Morelle said.

  Harvey Drummer nodded in agreement.

  ‘But an ordinary suit-case would carry ’em all right,’ he said. ‘That’s the way I see it. He’ll ask for the money to be paid over in five pound notes — to be delivered at such and such a place at such and such a time. In return he’ll of course hand over Doone. No reason why he shouldn’t. He’s got his money, I’ve got her back, so everybody will be happy.’

  ‘But I thought you hoped you’d get your daughter safely back without having to pay?’ Miss Frayle put in.

  Harvey Drummer gave her a confident little smile.

  ‘Precisely,’ he said. He turned to Dr. Morelle. ‘No doubt you’ve noticed in the newspapers the last few weeks there have been a lot of forgeries?’

  ‘I had noted that.’

  ‘Forged banknotes flooding the country. Been giving the police and the Bank of England a real headache.’

  Miss Frayle suddenly clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘You mean you’re going to pay him with forged notes! How clever of you.’

  But Harvey Drummer shook his head.

  ‘I’m going to be a little cleverer than that,’ he said, and Miss Frayle subsided. ‘As a result of all this forgery business,’ Drummer went on, ‘the Bank of England plan to take certain steps. I happened to have a word with a banker friend this morning. He won’t say definitely, but he hinted very strongly that people in the know, exercising intelligent anticipation, expect all five pound notes to be called in. In about a week’s time it’ll be, and a new note issued. I don’t need to tell you,’ he added, ‘what that means.’

  Dr. Morelle drew at his cigarette slowly.

  ‘It would mean,’ he said, ‘that the kidnapper would be unable to cash his notes without verification by the bank. As the bank would possess the numbers of these particular notes they would not, of course, be met.’

  ‘What a marvellous idea,’ Miss Frayle exclaimed, her face aglow with enthusiasm.

  ‘I must admit I thought it wasn’t so bad myself,’ Harvey Drummer smiled. His expression clouded, however, as he glanced at the Doctor, who sat in silence gazing apparently abstractedly out of the window. Miss Frayle turned to him.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s marvellous?’

  He brought his gaze round to her slowly.

  ‘It is indeed an ingenious scheme,’ he admitted. But his tone was heavy with doubt.

  ‘You don’t sound wildly enthusiastic,’ Miss Frayle said.

  ‘What’s wrong with the idea?’ Drummer queried. ‘Can you see any holes in it?

  ‘It would appear to be flawless, was the reply in a cool, emotionless voice. ‘You may be extremely gratified that you have obtained this useful information. But I prefer to await events before prophesying as to your scheme’s success or failure.’

  Frowning a little Harvey Drummer leaned back in his chair considerably deflated. Miss Frayle threw him a sympathetic look, then glanced sharply at the Doctor. It was obvious to her that he was reluctant to praise the other’s brain-wave simply because it had not occurred to him. She had to admit, of course, in his favour that he hadn’t been in Drummer’s unique position to obtain that sort of inside information, or no doubt he would have thought of the same idea too. Still that was no reason for his dog-in-the-manger attitude. She shook her head at him rebukingly as he stood up and began to pace slowly towards the window. Over his shoulder he said:

  ‘Nevertheless there are one or two other aspects of this case requiring further investigation while we await the reply to our advertisement.’

  ‘Anything you like, of course,’ Harvey Drummer responded.

  Dr. Morelle stood for a moment lost in contemplation of the traffic streaming up and down Park Lane. Then he turned slowly and came back to the desk. He said:

  ‘We might obtain some information by questioning the members of your household concerning their movements yesterday afternoon and evening.’

  ‘That won’t take you long. There’s only Pearson, Brethers and Mrs. Huggins. She’s my housekeeper.’

  ‘Shall we start with your secretary. He is the nearest.’

  ‘As good a reason as any for starting with him first,’ the other agreed, and pressed a button underneath his desk.

  ‘But Doctor,’ Miss Frayle said quickly, ‘how are you going to question him without giving the show away?’

  Dr. Morelle bent his sardonic gaze on her.

  ‘I am confident, my dear Miss Frayle, I shall be able to exercise sufficient ingenuity to avoid that.’

  The door opened and Pearson came in. He advanced towards them, an uncertain smile flickering across his thin mouth, and faced his employer.

  Drummer gave a cough. ‘Dr. Morelle would like to ask you one or two questions.’

  The man turned slowly and raised his eyebrows expectantly over his pince-nez.

  ‘You may recall,’ Dr. Morelle began, ‘I attended the party yesterday.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ the other responded. ‘Many of the guests asked me about you and Miss Frayle.’

  ‘Unfortunately, while I was present,’ Dr. Morelle continued, ‘I suffered the loss of some scientific notes. I might have dropped them somewhere in the house. Alternatively, someone might have ‘borrowed’ them — they were loose in my side pocket — with the object of perpetrating a harmless practical joke.’

  The secretary clicked his teeth in dismay.

  ‘D
ear, dear. How singularly unfortunate.’

  ‘It occurred to me,’ Dr. Morelle went on, ‘that as you were there the entire time you might have noticed something which would help me to recover the documents. They are of relatively minor importance, but I should like to have them back. You were present,’ he asked with disarming casualness, ‘the entire time, of course?’

  ‘All the time,’ was the prompt reply, and with a glance at Harvey Drummer. ‘In fact, as Mr. Drummer will tell you, I was in the house all afternoon and evening.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Drummer affirmed.

  ‘You sleep here?’

  Pearson nodded his head.

  ‘It’s essential for me to be available at all times; the nature of Mr. Drummer’s business demands that.’

  ‘You took care, naturally, that nobody attended the party whose presence was unauthorised?’ Dr. Morelle queried.

  ‘Naturally,’ was the simple response. ‘Everyone, with the exception of the press-photographer, three gossip-writers and two literary critics were personally acquainted with either Mr. Drummer or his daughter.’

  ‘You were perfectly satisfied in your mind as to the bona fides of the exceptions you have mentioned?’ Dr. Morelle tone was suddenly probing.

  ‘Perfectly satisfied,’ Pearson replied.

  Miss Frayle was observing the subtle change in the dapper little man’s manner. There was a sudden suggestion of a wiry strength in that apparent weak frame. A merest sharpening of the expression, a shrewd narrowing of the eyes behind the ineffectual-looking pincenez. She remembered Harvey Drummer’s remark that despite his exterior the secretary was a man of efficiency and acumen. Her gaze shifted from his carefully brushed and shining hair, to the neatly knotted tie which he had started to finger.

  She noticed that the hand, although scrupulously well-kept was deformed, almost claw-like. As she stared at it he caught her gaze and dropped his hand to clasp the other behind his back. Miss Frayle blushed with embarrassment. Poor man, he was obviously sensitive about the appearance of his hands.