Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 04

by Three Inquisitive People

  CHAPTER XII - SUPERINTENDENT MARROFAT ADMITS TEMPORARY DEFEAT

  “Have you made any attempt to get in touch with Eaton?” Mr. Schatz inquired.

  “Ner,” Simon Aron shook his head.

  “Very wise,” said the other, “very sound. I quite understand your sympathy for your friend, Mr. Aron—but you must keep out of this.”

  De Richleau leant forward. “It would be interesting— extremely interesting—to know if Richard Eaton spent the night at his home, or if on the other hand he did not. I’m not, of course, suggesting that we should involve Mr. Aron in any way, but I take it that you would have no objection to my endeavouring to ascertain?”

  “Not at all—not at all.” Mr. Schatz pushed the telephone across the desk to the Duke.

  “You could, perhaps, give us Richard Eaton’s number?” De Richleau suggested to Simon.

  “Yes—Park 9903.”

  “Thank you.” After a little time the Duke got a reply. “Is that Park 9903?—Yes, I would like to speak to Mr. Richard Eaton—oh—I see—can you perhaps tell me at what time he went out?—Oh, dear me—No, I’m afraid I can’t help you—I’m just a friend.” He replaced the receiver quickly and turned to the others.

  “That, I imagine, must have been some kind of servant. She seemed distressed, and is apparently awaiting Eaton’s return. She thought that I was one of his friends, and it’s quite clear that he has not been home all night. His dress clothes are still on the bed, and the poor woman is anxious as to what has become of him.”

  “Richard’s charwoman,” volunteered Simon. “He can only afford a tiny flat now and has a woman who comes in daily.” He flung himself back suddenly in his arm-chair, and exclaimed: “Oh, this is a rotten muddle!”

  “Looks pretty black against Eaton,” remarked Rex.

  “You thought it looked pretty black against me last night,” Aron replied. “His not having been home doesn’t mean anything. Richard’s nervous—worried out of his wits—he probably got tight, and spent the night out somewhere.”

  “Yet you yourself suspected this,” suggested the Duke.

  “Well, in a way,” admitted Simon. “But then I’m funny. I like to meet trouble half-way—if I can!” He laughed nervously, and added: “What are we going to do about it?”

  “We’ll see the police,” Mr. Schatz replied, “but first we’ll prepare a statement, and we’ll take it with us. You can sign it at Scotland Yard—but we’ll take a copy, then there can be no mistakes!” He turned to De Richleau. “May I use your table?”

  “Certainly, paper you will find here”—the Duke pulled out a drawer—”Ah, I see you have a fountain-pen. In the meantime you will not mind if I inform Superintendent Marrofat of our intended visit?”

  “Thanks. I see, you’re coming, too?” Granville Schatz looked at the Duke doubtfully.

  De Richleau smiled. “But certainly—surely you would not wish to rob me of my little triumph? Besides,” he added with a laugh, “how do we know that Mr. Aron and yourself are not, after all, confederates, and that you apparently take him to the police, but actually—as they say in the United States— you make the perfect get-away? No, I will order my car, and you will permit me to give you a lift to Scotland Yard.”

  “Just as you like,” nodded Mr. Schatz shortly. “Now, Aron, we’ll make this statement as short as possible. Everything of importance has got to go in, but there’s no need to make a novel of it. Young Eaton’s financial affairs are no business of yours. That’s so, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Aron nodded.

  “All right, let’s make a start, then. ‘I, Simon Nathaniel Aron, of—what’s your address now?”—Mr. Schatz began to write in a thin angular script while Simon Aron leant over his shoulder, supporting himself by one hand on the desk.

  In the meantime, De Richleau had arranged himself comfortably with the telephone, and had just succeeded in getting through to Scotland Yard. “I wish to speak to Superintendent Marrofat,” he said decisively. “No, it does not matter what my business is, and no one else will do.” There was a long pause.

  At last he spoke again. “Ah, good morning, Superintendent, how do you do this morning? What?—am I?—I am Monsieur de Richleau—yes—Oh—all that I wish to know is if you have found your friend Silky yet? You have?—good—accept my congratulations. Tell me now, quite honestly, are you satisfied with your examination of this man Silky? You are not. Ah, you have no idea how my respect for you is increased by that admission. You will remember last night I said I might be able to be of service to you. What?—you were coming round to see me about that—but that is excellent—come round by all means. My friend, Van Ryn, and I have a little surprise for you.”

  He rang off and turned to Rex. “Our friend is a little more reasonable this morning. He has the honesty to admit that he brought in the wrong man last night. And although he’s still not overwhelmed with the idea of making us a party to his dread official secrets, he says he’s quite prepared to be grateful if we can assist him to find Mr. Aron.”

  “That’s great,” Rex exclaimed in a low tone. He was anxious not to disturb Mr. Aron and Mr. Schatz, who were still busy compiling the statement, so he led the Duke to the other end of the long room. “You know this murder business gives me a colossal kick. I suppose it’s the hunter’s instinct coming out; but I’d certainly give a whole heap to know just what did take place in that flat last night. Do you reckon it was Eaton?”

  De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows. “Who can say, my friend, matricide is not unknown, but it is rare. It’s just conceivable that if this young man was of a certain temperament he might lose all control when he was thwarted and strike his mother. If that happened she may have recovered consciousness again, sufficient at least to stagger into the bathroom, only finally to collapse afterwards.”

  Rex shook his head sceptically. “She wouldn’t have been lying in the bath that way!”

  “No,” the Duke shrugged, “the floor would have been the more likely place, but it’s not impossible that she should have recovered enough to go to her bath, hoping that it would revive her. You must remember that the human brain is so constructed that if she had sustained concussion her body would probably carry out the plans made for it by that brain before she received the blows. Being, in fact, unconscious, she may have again collapsed and slipped under water. She died as much from drowning, I think, as from the blows upon her head.”

  “You don’t figure that Aron may have done it after all?”

  De Richleau shot a quick glance in the direction of that young man, who was still bent over the shoulder of his solicitor.

  “I hardly think so. After all.” He spread out his slim hands. “What possible motive could he have? If it is correct that he is a partner in the Foreign Issue house of Schröchild Brothers he must be very rich. Even if he were in temporary difficulties he’s not the type to steal a pearl necklace however valuable. He would use other ways if he was criminally inclined—a little forgery perhaps —or the manipulation of his company’s stocks and bonds.”

  “That’s true, I allow. Besides, he went directly to the Berkeley afterwards—at least, so he says—and he must be wise to it that the police’ll check up on all he does say. So if he did do the job—what happened to the pearls? No, I think we can count Aron out of this from now on. Young Eaton must have stayed behind, and it’ud be he that answered Aron on the wire and left the hall door open.”

  “If that were so, why should Eaton seek to involve his friend by bringing him to the house at such a time?”

  “Ah, there you are.” Van Ryn’s mouth took a grim line. “Chap who’d do in his own mother wouldn’t think twice about giving the works to a friend.”

  “I see, you credit Eaton with the double degree of cunning. You suggest that the very idea of bringing his friend into this would appeal to him as being an extra precaution to divert suspicion from himself?”

  “That’ll be about the size of it. Don’t forget this chap’s a boo
kman—maybe he’s read a deal about crimes and psychology. If so it’s all in keeping.”

  “Perhaps you’re right; yet I feel that Aron is no mean psychologist. He is Eaton’s friend and must know him well. He seems quite positive that Eaton is incapable of such a thing.”

  “Maybe now, but what about last night? Did he tip us off about Eaton’s financial jam? No, he did not. Believe you me, he thinks it’s his pal all right; but he was mighty clever, I’ll say. He managed to keep us amused like a couple of village kids, just to give Eaton the wind to quit the country.”

  “You’re quite right there. It’s plain that was his intention and I admire him for it.”

  “It’s pretty near aiding and abetting murder!”

  “True, perfectly true,” the Duke smiled. “I’m afraid I am an unregenerate person; always, you know, I have held life cheaply. I have never made what is termed ‘the safety of society’ my especial care. In fact friendship and personal honour have always appeared to me to be of far greater importance than, shall we say, ‘making the world safe for Lady Shoesmith.’ I am, I fear, as much out of tune with the mental theories that govern democracy as I should be with its governing physical theories if I walked out into the street neatly painted with woad! It would have given me the greatest pleasure to have been in Simon Aron’s shoes last night. Had I suspected one of my own friends I should have enjoyed intensely the feeling that every hour with which I delayed a full inquiry I was giving my friend a better chance of reaching safety. And how skilfully he handled the situation! I tell you, Van Ryn, I like this young man, and if he desires it he may count upon my friendship.”

  “Your way of thinking’s mighty unmoral, from everything I’ve been taught, but I get the idea all right. I’ve a feeling I’d act just that way myself if it was a friend of mine when it came to a show-down; all the same I wish we’d known about Eaton last night!”

  “What would you have done?”

  “Done?—why we might have had the satisfaction of getting the right man after all. Eaton’s not our boy-friend. We could have tipped off Marrofat, and he’d have had every port in England watched. It’s too late now, he’ll have gotten clean away on one of the morning boats.”

  De Richleau shook his head. “In these days it’s not so easy to get clear away. He has a few hours’ start, but that is all. The wireless will begin to twitter soon enough, and then every policeman in Europe will be watching for this young man. That was the tragedy of the Roman world. Every known civilized country was under the dominion of the Empire. There was no place outside it in which those who had committed one fatal blunder might seek refuge. Without, all was savagery and darkness. It was for that reason that the Romans committed suicide— there was no possibility of escape! It is the same today since the new civilization has once more knit the world together; there is hardly a dark forest or an isolated valley where police organization does not penetrate. And the further afield this poor young man goes the more obviously a stranger he will become in the foreign communities with which he mixes, and therefore the more easily recognizable.”

  “That’s interesting, and it’s true,” Rex agreed. “Tell me, what ’ud you do if you had to get out—quick?”

  De Richleau smiled. “I should be sorely tempted to take the Roman way. It would be infinitely preferable to battling for existence among the lower orders at my age, and at any age, better than the ignominy of prolonged imprisonment or possibly a far less pleasant mode of death. Yet I should pray for courage to resist the temptation, because I know that suicide is an act of cowardice, and I feel convinced that help would be given to overcome it.”

  “And say you had a packet tucked away?”

  “Then I think I should seek a rather dingy boarding-house in Bloomsbury. I should not let a word of any language except German—in which I happen to have a fair fluency—pass my lips, leaving people to understand my meaning as best they could and I should settle down to spend at least six months conscientiously studying Egyptian archaeology at the British Museum. Then possibly, but not before, I might attempt to leave the country. If I was successful so far I would, I think, make for one of the great South American cities by a roundabout way, where living is cheap and even the poor find consolation in the sunshine. What would you do?”

  Rex shuddered. “I couldn’t stand for six months not knowing but what I might be spotted any hour of the day. If I had to beat it, I guess I’d pinch an air-plane from Heston or Hanley!”

  “And then?” the Duke asked, smiling. “An aeroplane, remember, has its limit of flight—particularly a light plane such as you might handle alone.”

  “Three hops and I’d be in Russia—you can always buy gas if you’ve got the dough. I wouldn’t think those Soviet Kommissars are extra friendly with the British police, and I’d get a job there easy, teaching flying-school.”

  “I fear the prospect does not attract me,” sighed the Duke. “I am too old to view life as it is lived in Soviet Russia with anything but a purely academic interest.”

  De Richleau’s man entered silently and stooped beside his chair. “Superintendent Marrofat and another officer are waiting upon Your Excellency,” he said in a low voice.

  “Ah, let them come in,” said the Duke, rising to his feet. “Let them come in!”

  CHAPTER XIII - MR. SIMON ARON HIMSELF BECOMES INQUISITIVE

  “My dear Superintendent,” the Duke advanced with outstretched hand, “and our friend Inspector Gartside. Good morning, gentlemen.”

  “Morning, sir, I hope we’re not disturbing you.” The big Superintendent eyed the Duke’s Chinese robe of honour with some surprise, but even as he did so his glance slid over De Richleau’s shoulder to the two figures by the desk. With a quick motion of his left hand he signalled to Gartside to remain near the door.

  “Mr. Van Ryn you have already met,” the Duke continued, “and you will doubtless be acquainted with the legal reputation of Mr. Granville Schatz. My other friend, however, I believe you do not know.”

  “I’ll be very interested to make his acquaintance,” said the Superintendent briefly.

  Simon Aron came forward, smiling slightly, a queer figure in his Chinese satin robe, embroidered with birds, dragons and butterflies in every colour of the rainbow.

  “It gives me great pleasure to present you,” the Duke waved his elegant hand between them. “Mr. Simon Aron— Superintendent Marrofat of New Scotland Yard.”

  “How d’ye do?” said Simon quietly.

  “Am I to understand that you are the person who was found by Miss Winifred Eaton in the hall of Sir Gideon Shoesmith’s flat at about ten o’clock last night?”

  “That’s right.” Simon admitted.

  “In that case I have a warrant for your apprehension. I must warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you.”

  Simon Aron said nothing. Instead, Mr. Schatz came forward. “Superintendent, I’m Mr. Aron’s solicitor; you may know my firm, Bildermann, Schatz and Bildermann, of Northumberland Avenue. I’d like to have a sight of that warrant.” He held out his stubby hand.

  “You may, sir—and here it is.” The Superintendent drew a paper from his inner pocket and handed it over.

  “Ha! I thought as much,” nodded Mr. Schatz, handing the paper back after one quick glance. “You needn’t worry, Aron, I’ll have you out on bail tomorrow. That warrant’s not for murder, it’s only for being unlawfully upon enclosed premises. It’s the old trick of holding a suspected person on a lesser charge while the greater is investigated.”

  He turned to the police officers. “Mr. Aron has already made a statement to me regarding his movements last night. After you have seen it I hope you will withdraw your warrant and spare my client any unnecessary inconvenience.”

  The Superintendent took the paper which the lawyer held out, he turned it over, “It isn’t signed,” he commented suspiciously.

  “Oh no!” Mr. Schatz agreed blandly. “We thought you might like to be present when it was. I
am a commissioner for oaths, so this can be attested at once if you like.”

  Superintendent Marrofat proceeded to read the declaration in a deep voice. “I, Simon Nathaniel Aron, aged 26, Company Director, and partner in Schröchild Brothers, resident at the National Club, Piccadilly, W. I, do hereby solemnly declare that at or about ten minutes after ten o’clock upon the evening of the 22nd of November, 1931, I did call at the flat of Sir Gideon and Lady Shoesmith, situate in Errol House, Curzon Street, Mayfair, my purpose in so doing being to discuss with Sir Gideon certain family arrangements of a financial nature which were contemplated between Lady Shoesmith and her son by her first marriage, Mr. Richard Eaton. I had no interest of any kind in these arrangements other than my friendship for Richard Eaton, and my sole object was to endeavour to persuade Sir Gideon, as one business man to another, of the wisdom of allowing these arrangement to be completed, since I was strongly of the opinion that Sir Gideon was antagonistic to the settlement. I had no previous acquaintance with Sir Gideon and have never yet seen him to my knowledge. I felt, however, that he would know my name as a friend of Richard Eaton’s. I therefore rang up his flat at a few minutes after ten o’clock. I was answered by a male voice which I took to be a servant’s.

  Having stated my name and requested an interview I was told, after a short interval, that Sir Gideon would see me if I could come round at once. This I did, walking the short distance between the National Club and Errol House. Upon arrival I inquired of the hall porter for Sir Gideon’s flat as I had not previously visited his residence, and upon being informed that it was on the first floor I walked upstairs. Having reached the landing, I found to my surprise that the front door of his flat was slightly open. I walked into the passage, thinking that I should find somebody in the hall, but it was empty. I was just about to go out again and ring when a lady appeared who I now understand to be Miss Eaton. She questioned me upon my business, and on my informing her of it she said there must be some mistake as Sir Gideon had been out ail the evening. I therefore left at once and walked down the stairs, passing two gentlemen, whom I later learnt to be Monsieur le Duc de Richleau and Mr. Rex Van Ryn. The porter secured a taxi for me at the entrance of Errol House and I drove direct to the Berkeley Restaurant.