Design For Murder

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘I can quite appreciate all that,’ said Perivale rather frigidly. ‘The point is that this case is no joke at all – it has already involved five deaths …’

  ‘Yes, Sir James, I can see your point, and I’m very sorry indeed to have put you to all this trouble, but after all, Miss Beaumont is a free woman; if she likes to disappear for a few days I presume she’s at liberty to do so.’

  ‘Certainly, Sir Donald, she can do that. It’s leaving notes and ear-rings and misleading the police in the execution of their duty that I object to.’

  ‘Is Miss Beaumont with you, Sir Donald?’ quietly interposed Wyatt.

  ‘Yes, she’s waiting outside in my car.’

  Wyatt turned to Lathom.

  ‘Would you mind asking her to come up here, Inspector?’ he asked. Perivale nodded his agreement.

  ‘I think we should talk to that young lady very seriously,’ he said, and Lathom went out at once.

  Angus looked a trifle disgruntled and turned to Sir James.

  ‘Really, I see no need for you to question Lauren. I can give you all the information you require,’ he said somewhat stiffly.

  ‘I’d like to talk to her just the same,’ said Sir James.

  ‘So would I,’ said Wyatt, coming over to Sir Donald’s chair to take his empty glass. He paused for a moment, then said:

  ‘Sir Donald, why do you think “Mr Rossiter” murdered Barbara Willis?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ replied Angus, looking surprised and bewildered.

  ‘Why do you think he murdered Mildred Gillow?’

  ‘How can I tell that any more than—’

  ‘All right,’ said Wyatt sharply. ‘I’d better enlighten you. He murdered them because he had every intention of getting his name splashed across the front page of all the papers. Because he knew that from that moment the name “Mr Rossiter” would strike fear and desperation into the heart of his potential victims.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ shouted Angus, his veneer of bonhomie quite forgotten.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’m getting at, Sir Donald. In my opinion, you received a second note from “Mr Rossiter” demanding a certain sum of money. You kept that note secret because you were scared, and you paid over the money demanded, so your friend Miss Beaumont has been allowed to go free.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ cried Angus fiercely. ‘It’s a dirty lie!’

  ‘Where did you take the money?’ persisted Wyatt.

  ‘I tell you I didn’t!… It’s a lie!’

  ‘Very well, Sir Donald. You’re a pretty powerful man in your own world, and I dare say you’re accustomed to getting your own way. But Sir James and I have quite a number of friends in Fleet Street, and we may decide that this little escapade of Miss Beaumont’s should be published in its fullest details – as a warning to other young girls …’

  He hesitated. Angus looked from one to the other of the faces of the two men. They were quite inscrutable.

  ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘What did you want to know, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘Simply the address where you handed over the money,’ said Wyatt.

  Sir Donald licked his lips nervously. He had gone very pale indeed.

  ‘I can’t … I promised … you see – they threatened that if I told … if I told they’d …’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘All right, Sir Donald,’ said Wyatt forcefully. ‘Supposing I tell you, then if I’m wrong you can correct me.’ Once again he paused, then said:

  ‘You took the money to a man named Professor Reed – at 28 Coster Row, Shadwell Basin.’

  CHAPTER VII

  Miss Beaumont Remembers

  Inspector Lathom tapped softly on the door, but Perivale went over to it and asked him to wait a few minutes before bringing in Lauren Beaumont. Then he returned and faced Sir Donald Angus.

  ‘Well, Sir Donald?’ he challenged. ‘Is Wyatt telling the truth?’

  Angus looked frightened now. He slipped a finger round his collar to ease it, and tried to face the Assistant Commissioner’s accusing stare.

  ‘Yes … that was the address,’ he admitted at last.

  ‘You damn fool!’ exploded Perivale. ‘Didn’t I tell you to get in touch with us the moment you heard?’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ protested Angus. ‘They’d have killed her, as they did the others. I couldn’t stand the scandal … it would have ruined me.’

  ‘Never mind the poor girl’s life,’ put in Wyatt ironically. ‘How much did it cost you to preserve your reputation, Sir Donald?’

  The Scotsman did not reply, and Wyatt repeated the question rather more insistently. Sir Donald swallowed hard, and said in a low voice:

  ‘Fifteen thousand pounds.’

  Perivale thumped the arm of his chair with an imprecation.

  ‘How the devil do you expect us to clear up this business when you play right into their hands?’ he snapped.

  ‘I’d got no choice!’ said Angus desperately. ‘I’ve got a big deal on involving over half a million, and the slightest scandal would ruin everything.’

  Sir James sighed and made a gesture of helplessness. He turned to Wyatt.

  ‘How did you find that address?’ he asked.

  ‘It was the place where Taylor was supposed to take my wife; and I’ve just had the same address over the telephone from another source,’ replied Wyatt. ‘It wasn’t very difficult to put two and two together.’

  Sir James made a note of the address and said:

  ‘Well, I suppose we’d better send a couple of Squad cars down there, but it’s a hundred to one the birds have flown.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, Sir James,’ said Wyatt, ‘I’d like to pop down there myself – it would attract less attention. If there should be any trouble, I’ll arrange with Lathom to have some of your men within easy call.’

  ‘All right, Wyatt, suit yourself,’ grunted Perivale, who suspected that Wyatt had one or two of his own theories that he wanted to follow up in Shadwell Basin.

  ‘Before Miss Beaumont comes in,’ continued Wyatt, ‘I think it might be a good idea if Sir Donald told us what happened that afternoon when we last saw him, and he went back to his hotel.’

  Wyatt suggested this so that Angus and the girl should have no opportunity of hearing each other’s story; he was by no means sure of either of them as a witness, and this was the safest way of getting at the truth.

  Angus agreed with some reluctance, for he was still plainly terrified at the repercussions that might follow.

  ‘Did you go back to the hotel, Sir Donald?’ asked Perivale, in a tone which sounded a trifle sceptical.

  ‘Most certainly I did, Sir James,’ Angus assured him. ‘I intended to follow your instructions to the letter. When I got back to my room, rather a surprising thing happened. I’d been there about five minutes – lying on the bed and trying to relax – when the telephone rang, and I was amazed to hear the voice of that man Luigi, who owns the Madrid Club.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise us, Sir Donald,’ Wyatt informed him. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Well, first of all he asked me if I had enjoyed my visit to Scotland Yard, then he began talking about Lauren.’

  Wyatt refilled Angus’ glass and brought it back to him.

  ‘What did he have to say about Miss Beaumont?’ he inquired.

  ‘He reminded me of what had happened to Barbara Willis – and he talked about another unfortunate accident unless …’

  ‘Unless?’

  ‘I was to pay over fifteen thousand pounds the next afternoon at four o’clock – I had to lock the money in a suitcase and deliver it personally at the address you mentioned. In return I would get full information about the whereabouts of Miss Beaumont.’

  He took a large gulp at his whisky.

  ‘So you went to Shadwell Basin,’ prompted Wyatt.

  ‘Yes, it was a small, dirty shop, with a board over the door which said: “Professor Reed, Veterinary Surgeon”. One of the wi
ndow-panes had been broken and was blocked up with cardboard. In the window there were a couple of boxes with little terriers inside. It didn’t look at all the sort of place to be mixed up in … The moment I opened the door about a dozen dogs started howling. Somebody swore at them, then the shabby curtain in the far corner was pulled aside and a big man in shirt-sleeves – no collar or tie – came lurching in. He was obviously the worse for drink.’

  ‘He didn’t look much like a professor, eh, Sir Donald?’ murmured Wyatt.

  ‘I was very dubious about that myself, and I asked him twice if he were Professor Reed. He got a bit indignant the second time, and I thought for a moment he was going to make a scene. So I thought I’d better tell him my name.’

  ‘Did he recognize it?’

  ‘He was so stupefied with drink that I’m very doubtful if he did – though he had been given his instructions. At first he didn’t see the suitcase – it was rather gloomy in the shop. So I put it on the counter in front of him, and that seemed to refresh his memory. He said he had a message for me, and asked me to have a drink. He poured himself one, and I kept asking him about the message. It was a long time before he could recall it – his brain seemed quite fuddled. However, I held on to the case until I got the message, so he made an effort at last and mumbled something about a seat in St James’s Park near the Admiralty Arch – and said that Miss Beaumont would be waiting there for me. I tried to pump him for more information, but that was obviously all he knew, and he kept repeating it like a parrot. So I gave him the suitcase, came out and got into my taxi again and drove straight to Town. Quite honestly I never expected to see Lauren again, and I was almost out of my mind when we arrived at the park.’

  ‘It must have been a great strain,’ said Sally sympathetically. He looked at her gratefully, then went on with his story.

  ‘Suddenly I saw her. She was sitting on a seat just inside the Park, looking straight in front of her with a queer expressionless sort of gaze. She was very pale, and I immediately had the impression that she’d been drugged.’

  ‘But you said just now that she was perfectly all right,’ Sally reminded him.

  ‘That was before … before I decided to tell the truth, Mrs Wyatt. She was in a terrible condition; at first, she didn’t even recognize me. She seemed quite lifeless, as if someone had beaten the sense out of her.’

  He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ he confessed. Naturally, I was very relieved to see her again, to find that she was alive, but I knew that something had to be done. It was obvious that she would have to see a doctor as soon as possible, but it would be none too easy to explain …’

  ‘Wasn’t she well enough to walk?’ asked Wyatt.

  ‘She seemed to recover slightly in the fresh air, and after a time I got a taxi and we went back to the hotel. We were walking through the lounge on the way to the lift, when Lauren stumbled and I thought for a moment she was going to fall. There was a girl at a nearby table having tea with a young man, and she jumped up at once and came over to us. As luck would have it, she turned out to be a doctor.’

  ‘She didn’t mention her name, by any chance?’ murmured Wyatt.

  ‘Later on she told me she was a Doctor Fraser – she has a place in Wimpole Street. She was a very efficient young woman, and she took Lauren up to my room at once—’

  He broke off and said rather nervously:

  ‘Perhaps I ought to tell you that I introduced Lauren as Miss Smith, and told the doctor she was my secretary.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’ asked Perivale.

  ‘It was all on the spur of the moment. I’d had so many upsets these last few days I felt suspicious of all strangers – for all I knew she was one of that gang. Of course, I realized later that she was quite above board. The doctor examined Lauren pretty thoroughly, and although I couldn’t tell her very much she seemed to know what was wrong. She asked me to wait downstairs in the lounge, and said she’d join me shortly. So I went downstairs, and was hanging about, wondering whether to order some tea, when the young man who was with the doctor invited me to his table. He seemed quite an agreeable sort, though he was obviously a foreigner. He realized I was worried about Lauren, and tried to set my mind at rest by telling me Doctor Fraser was extremely capable.’

  ‘Did the doctor join you eventually?’ asked Wyatt.

  ‘Oh, yes, she came down in about twenty minutes’ time and began to ask me a number of rather awkward questions, because she said it was a most unusual case, and she obviously suspected that Lauren had been a victim of some sort of foul play.’

  ‘How right she was!’ put in Wyatt. ‘What sort of questions did Doctor Fraser ask?’

  ‘Oh, she was obviously trying to establish some sort of background to the case. Then she suddenly asked me if I had heard of a drug called Amashyer, which induces light-headedness and a loss of memory.’

  ‘Did she think Miss Beaumont had been injected with it?’ interposed Perivale sharply.

  ‘She seemed fairly certain about it. I rather got the idea that she had jumped to the conclusion that I had given the girl an overdose of this drug, and I had to tell her that Miss Beaumont had only just returned after two days holiday. So she wrote out a prescription at once, and said that she didn’t think the injection would have any serious effect. She left me her telephone number, just in case, but refused to take any fee.’

  ‘That was very generous of her,’ said Wyatt. ‘Did the tablets she prescribed have any effect?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. An hour after taking a couple of them, Lauren seemed almost normal again. She was still a bit groggy on her feet, but the dizziness had gone. We began to talk over the situation and decided that the best thing we could do was to tell the police that the whole affair had been a sort of practical joke. We didn’t want any further trouble with “Mr Rossiter” …’

  Angus relapsed into silence, regarding the faces of his listeners somewhat anxiously.

  ‘Well, Sir Donald,’ said Wyatt at last, ‘you’ve taken an extremely selfish attitude throughout this business, but I suppose we can hardly blame you for that.’

  ‘I told you before, Mr Wyatt, that I’m in the middle of a very delicate financial transaction, and any breath of scandal would ruin everything. Wouldn’t you have done the same in my place?’

  ‘In your place, Sir Donald,’ replied Wyatt gravely, ‘I rather doubt if I should have become so – er – deeply involved with Miss Beaumont.’

  ‘Talking of Miss Beaumont,’ put in Perivale, ‘I think we might see her now.’ He went to the door and called to Lathom, who came in at once with the lady in question.

  Lauren Beaumont was what some American fiction writers would probably describe as a sultry blonde. Her corn-coloured hair was rolled high above her forehead; she had a lean, rather sallow face beneath her carefully applied make-up. She still appeared a trifle dazed and slow of speech, but Wyatt was not at all sure whether she was exaggerating in this respect, and had come prepared to “act dumb”. As Lathom came through the door behind her, he made an expressive gesture intended to convey that he had made no progress as far as his own questioning was concerned.

  She looked round the assembled group somewhat uncertainly, then addressed herself to Angus.

  ‘I thought you said we were going back right away, Donald,’ she said in a feeble voice. Angus led her to a chair.

  ‘It’s all right, Lauren,’ he reassured her. ‘There’s nothing to worry about; we’re just having a little talk, that’s all.’

  He introduced the various members of the party, and Perivale and Wyatt began to ask questions as informally as possible.

  ‘There’s no need to be nervous, Miss Beaumont,’ began Perivale. ‘We know you’ve had a pretty trying time, and we don’t intend to worry you with a lot of unnecessary questions. You see, we know what really happened.’

  The girl looked worried.

  ‘You mean Sir Donald has told you the truth?�
�� she said in a half-whisper.

  ‘I told them everything,’ put in Angus.

  ‘He told us a very interesting story, Miss Beaumont,’ said Wyatt, ‘but without your side of the adventure, it’s rather incomplete. Have you any clear recollections of what has been happening to you?’

  She passed a hand over her forehead.

  ‘I’ve been trying hard to think of everything – while I was waiting outside,’ she replied somewhat mechanically. ‘I’ve got the first part all right; that’s quite clear in my mind. But after that it’s just as if there were a curtain in front of me.’

  ‘All right,’ said Wyatt soothingly. ‘Perhaps it’ll help if we go right back to the beginning and take it in easy stages. You remember you had an appointment at a shop in Bond Street for a fitting?’

  She looked blank for a moment, then her memory appeared to function.

  ‘That’s it,’ she said quickly. ‘It was a grey costume … I had a fitting for my new grey costume … I remember it quite well now. There was a neat little hat in the window that caught my eye just as I was going in, and as I went through for my fitting I asked the price of it. It was rather expensive – eighteen guineas I remember …’

  ‘Splendid!’ applauded Wyatt. ‘You’re coming along nicely. Did you buy the hat?’

  Again she hesitated for a second, then said:

  ‘No … I decided to leave it until after I’d had my fitting. They took me to the little room at the far end of the shop, and I tried the costume on. It wasn’t quite right, and the woman started making some alterations.’

  ‘You don’t remember this woman’s name?’

  ‘I never knew it. They just called her “Madame” – she seemed to be the one in charge. She moved behind me, pinning up the costume here and there, and suddenly I felt a sharp jab in the top of my left arm. She apologized and said she couldn’t think how it happened; then she went on to talk about the hat in the window and I’d almost forgotten about the pin when I suddenly noticed my left arm had gone completely numb.’

  ‘You didn’t see this pin?’ queried Wyatt.

  ‘No, she was behind me at the time.’