Death on the Agenda

by Patricia Moyes

  “You see, Inspector, how every little detail fits in? Her nervousness that morning when she heard that Trapp was waiting to see you. Her anxiety to go into the office. Her insistence that she had kept the door under observation, and that only you had gone into it. Her collapse after the murder—perfectly understandable when you think of the experience she had just been through, and when you remember that, paradoxically, she still loved him. Yes, all the details fit, with the exception of a few small points in your own evidence. I do not know why you chose to be so mysterious with us, but surely now you can have no reason for concealing the truth. If you will just sign this, it will complete our evidence, and I need not bother you any further.”

  Colliet pushed a piece of paper across the desk to Henry. It was typewritten, and read:

  In addition to the statement of evidence approved and signed by me on May 8th, I wish further to affirm the following facts. During Mr. Hampton’s party on the evening of May 7th, I arranged for a message to be conveyed to Mr. John Trapp, in which I asked him to meet me at the Palais des Nations at 9 A.M. the following morning. I made it clear that the interview would concern the leakage of secret information from the Narcotics Conference. He replied with a note to me (Exhibit H), indicating his willingness to meet me. In fact, I was delayed and did not reach the Palais des Nations until 9.26 A.M.

  HENRY TIBBETT, Chief Inspector.

  There was a dotted line waiting invitingly for a signature. One stroke of the pen, and Henry’s worries would have been over.

  “If I have got any details wrong, Inspector, please correct the wording.” Colliet, beaming, leaned forward over the desk and held out a black-and-gold fountain pen.

  Henry stood up. “You’ve got everything wrong,” he said. “I had no appointment with Trapp. I never sent him a message nor received a note from him. And I don’t believe for one moment that Annette Delacroix is guilty of murder. Otherwise, your reconstruction is masterly, and I congratulate you. I’m going now, and if I can’t produce the real murderer for you tomorrow, you’d better release Annette and arrest me. Good night.”

  He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Colliet, open-mouthed, still tendering his expensive fountain pen to an empty chair.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “DEAR MR. SMITH, how good of you to come. I feared my message might not reach you. Come in…come in.”

  Dr. Mahoumi grabbed Henry’s arm and pulled him urgently into the apartment, closing the door rapidly and softly behind him. Then, somewhat to Henry’s alarm, he locked the door and put the key into his pocket.

  “Let me take your coat…ah, you are not wearing one…foolish of me…please sit down…may I give you a drink? A cigarette? Here, take this chair…it is more comfortable.”

  Henry looked around him. The doors to the doll-sized kitchen and bathroom were both open, and he was relieved to see that he and Dr. Mahoumi were alone, unless, that is, another visitor was concealed, like John Trapp’s secrets, in the oven. It was evident that the little lawyer was in a great state of nervous agitation. Beads of sweat stood out on his dusky brow, which he mopped frequently with his handkerchief, and his tendency to dance had become more pronounced than ever. He hopped and pirouetted around Henry like a distraught jumping bean, making little, ineffectual darts toward the cigarette box, the bottle of wine on the sideboard, and the large, uncomfortable chair into which he was attempting to steer his guest.

  Henry sat down on a camel saddle and brought out his own cigarettes.

  “Here,” he said, “have one of these.”

  He held out his case to Mahoumi, who made a grab for it and took a cigarette with trembling fingers.

  “So kind, Mr. Smith. Thank you… I have been looking forward to our little talk.”

  “Have you,” asked Henry, “decided that you can handle my case after all?”

  “Your case?” Dr. Mahoumi sat down abruptly in the big chair. “One never knows. Who can tell? Anything is possible.” There was a long, nervous pause. “Yes, it is very likely that I can help you to obtain at least part of the money. How much did you say was involved?”

  “I have no idea,” said Henry blandly. “My uncle was a very wealthy man.”

  Dr. Mahoumi shifted uneasily. “If I could arrange for you to receive a part of the money, and if I took no payment for my services, that would be a good bargain, you agree?”

  “Not from your point of view,” said Henry.

  “But I would do it from friendship, Mr. Smith. A friend in need is like a spring in the desert—is that not so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “A friend,” said Dr. Mahoumi earnestly, “must help his friend.” He got up and tripped over to the window, where he peeped behind the curtains, apparently to ensure that the room was hermetically sealed. Then he turned to Henry again. “I help you, you help me. That is friendship, is it not, Mr. Smith?”

  “You and I,” said Henry, “can hardly be described as friends.”

  Dr. Mahoumi bared his white teeth in a caricature of a smile. “Touché,” he said. “Touché, Mr. Smith. But this evening could mark the beginning of our friendship, if you agree. I have offered to help you.”

  “As I understand you,” said Henry, “you are offering me an unspecified sum of money in return for something which you wish me to do for you. Is that correct?”

  Instead of replying, Dr. Mahoumi seized a red leather pouf, dragged it close to Henry, sat down on it, and thrust his face to within an inch of Henry’s nose. Then in a confidential voice he said, “You told me that you were very friendly with poor Mr. Trapp.”

  “I knew him slightly,” said Henry.

  “Very, very friendly,” repeated Dr. Mahoumi. “So friendly that you knew of his death almost before the police did. So friendly that you visited his apartment.”

  “What if I did?”

  Mahoumi retreated a little, and sighed. “The law is a strange profession, Mr. Smith. Very strange. Situations arise in the life of a lawyer which it is difficult for a layman to comprehend. Points of ethic as subtle as the bloom on a peach. Do you know the first, the fundamental rule that a lawyer must obey?”

  “You tell me,” said Henry.

  “Loyalty, Mr. Smith,” said Mahoumi, his voice vibrant with sincerity. “Loyalty toward his client. This law overrides all other laws.”

  “Does it indeed?”

  “Only in certain circumstances, of course,” added Dr. Mahoumi, rather hurriedly. “When such circumstances arise…”

  “As I gather they have arisen now…”

  “Ah, Mr. Smith, how well you understand. I knew you would be sympathetic.”

  “The picture,” said Henry, “is slowly becoming a little clearer. You wish me to do something which a narrow-minded, unlegalistic person might consider to be against the law of the land.”

  “You put it very bluntly, Mr. Smith. Let us say rather, something slightly…unusual. Such a simple thing as a small pledge of our friendship.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t go on about our friendship,” said Henry, irritated. “It doesn’t exist.”

  “Ah, but it does, Mr. Smith. More perhaps than you know. I have already proved my friendship to you, with no thought of recompense. I have been loyal to you, even though you are not my client.”

  There was an undertone of menace in Mahoumi’s voice which Henry did not like. “Just what do you mean by that?” he asked.

  Mahoumi took a deep breath. It was evident that the crux of the matter was at last in sight. “I did not mention to the police,” he said, “that I saw you coming out of Mr. Trapp’s apartment last night.”

  “Me?” said Henry. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

  “No, I am not mistaken, Mr. Smith.” Mahoumi’s voice was strong and confident. “I am not the only one. I have a witness. A…a friend of mine who was with me saw you also. Of course, he does not know who you are, but I happened to ask him if he would recognize you again, and he said that he would. However, there is no need fo
r you to worry. The police would not think of questioning him. However, they have been questioning me; all this morning I had them here. I told them nothing. Now, however, I have to make up my mind where my duty lies. Should I, as a good citizen, reveal to the police all that I know? Or should I protect my friend?”

  “Very nicely put,” said Henry. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Such a little thing, Mr. Smith.” Mahoumi spread his hands wide. “Just a small loan.”

  “A loan? You want money?” Henry was genuinely bewildered.

  Mahoumi tittered. “No, no, Mr. Smith. It is I who am to give you money; if I can break the secret of your uncle’s account,” he added hastily.

  “Then what do you want?”

  “The key, Mr. Smith. Just for ten minutes. The key to Mr. Trapp’s apartment.”

  There was a silence. Henry could almost hear Mahoumi’s heart beating. Then he said, “What do you want it for?”

  “Ah, Mr. Smith, you are inquisitive. You wish to know all. Is that fair? You notice I have not asked you about the purpose of your visit last night. I am discreet.”

  “I’m not,” said Henry. “Why do you want it?”

  “I will tell you this much. It is on behalf of a client.”

  “To whom you are loyal?”

  “Of course. Now you have grasped the heart of the matter. If you have the key with you now…”

  Henry stood up. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Mahoumi.” he said. “I have no key to Mr. Trapp’s apartment, and I never have had one.”

  Mahoumi jumped to his feet. He was shaking, though whether from rage or fright, Henry could not tell. “You are lying!” he cried. “You were there! The lock was not forced! The windows were bolted on the inside! You have a key!”

  “I have no key,” said Henry. “Now, if you’ll unlock the front door, I’d like to go home.”

  “I shall tell the police!” Dr. Mahoumi was beside himself. “I shall tell the police, and my friend will identify you! I offered you good terms, more than fair. I offered you money as well as discretion, and this is how you repay me!”

  “You are a very nasty little man,” said Henry calmly. Suddenly many things had become clear to him. “You are a double-crosser and a coward. You don’t even stick to your own miserable standard of ethics. Tell the police anything you like. Just open that door and let me go.”

  Suddenly, embarrassingly, Dr. Mahoumi collapsed, like a punctured balloon. He sat down on the red leather pouf and he began to weep. “The key,” he moaned. “You must give me the key. He will kill me. I beg, Mr. Smith, just for ten minutes. It’s not much to ask…he will kill me.”

  Henry walked over to him and shook him by the shoulders. “Pull yourself together, for God’s sake,” he said. “Nobody is going to kill you.”

  “You don’t know him. He will kill me.”

  “He won’t,” said Henry. “You’re not important enough. Let me out.”

  Mahoumi raised his head. In an awestruck whisper he said, “You know him?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I shall tell the police.”

  “You’ve already told the police all they want to know,” said Henry. “And incidentally, even if I had a key, it would do you no good. The money has gone.”

  “Gone?” A light dawned in Mahoumi’s eyes. “You took it! You stole it last night! Mr. Smith, I must formally protest, on behalf of…”

  “I didn’t take it,” said Henry. “The police have it. So you needn’t imagine that you’ll ever lay hands on it now.”

  “Is this true?” Mahoumi could hardly get the words out.

  “Yes, it is. You can ring Inspector Colliet and ask him, if you like.”

  The doctor moaned softly. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”

  “I should take the next aeroplane back to wherever you came from,” said Henry, “leaving no forwarding address.” He held out his hand. “Give me the key. I’ll let myself out.”

  Unprotestingly, as if in a daze, Mahoumi handed over the key of the front door. Henry let himself out of the apartment.

  He walked back to the hotel, glad of the fresh air after the unsavory stuffiness of Mahoumi’s flat. He was very thoughtful. A large part of the jigsaw which he was assembling in his mind had fallen into place, and he felt very close to the final solution.

  The hall porter told him that Madame was already in. Henry found the bedroom door unlocked, and heard the bubble of splashing water coming from the bathroom.

  “I’m back, Emmy,” he called. Further splashing was his only answer. He went over to the bathroom door and tried the handle. It was locked.

  Henry sat down on the bed in a mood of mingled guilt, despair, and exasperation. He felt lost and lonely, cut off from Emmy’s loving reassurance. He knew that he deserved to be snubbed, and yet he felt that she might at least be magnanimous enough to make allowances for him in his present unhappy situation. He suffered pangs of guilt for having lied to her, and yet he told himself defiantly that not for anything in the world would he have missed his golden interlude with Mary. But now it was over, and he wanted Emmy, while at the same time being furious at her narrow-mindedness and lack of understanding. So his thoughts chased each other with a superb lack of logic. The splashing went on relentlessly. Henry stood up, sighed, went over to the desk and began working on his long-deferred timetables.

  He was still deeply absorbed in this task when he heard the key turning in the bathroom door. He did not even look up. Emmy came in from the bathroom. It was the unexpected aura of expensive perfume which made him turn to look at her. She was fresh and pink from her bath, and she was wearing a white chiffon peignoir scattered with embroidered pink roses and edged with lace. She went over to the dressing table, sat down, and lit a cigarette which she extracted from a large, shiny, alligator-skin handbag. It was very beautiful and obviously expensive, and Henry had never seen it before. He put down his pen.

  “Hello, darling,” he said.

  Emmy greeted this remark in ominous silence.

  “That’s a nice handbag,” said Henry lamely. “Is it new?”

  “I got it today.”

  There was a crackling pause. Then Henry said, “What did you do all day, besides shopping?”

  “I went out to lunch.”

  “Who with?”

  “I really don’t see that it’s any business of yours.”

  “I only asked.”

  Emmy put out her cigarette, and began rubbing cream onto her cheeks. “You may notice,” she said, “that I am tactful enough not to ask you what you did today.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Emmy.”

  Emmy did not take her eyes off her reflected face. “Mary Benson,” she said, in a voice like a whiplash. “A very beautiful girl indeed, to judge by her photograph. Hardly my idea of the nice kid who’s done a lot of overtime for you. Nor is a lakeside excursion starting at eleven o’clock in the morning exactly the same thing as taking the poor child out for a bite of lunch after a hard morning’s work.”

  There was an endless pause. Then Henry said, “You’re very well informed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Never mind.”

  After another silence, Henry said irritably, “Well, all right. I didn’t tell you the exact truth. I apologize. But really, there’s no need to make such a thing of it. It’s perfectly true that Mary’s been working overtime for me, and I took her out to lunch to say ‘thank you.’ I didn’t explain it all to you in detail because I thought you might misunderstand. And how right I was.”

  Emmy started applying foundation cream to her face. “I suppose you were too busy to take any interest in the fact that Annette is under arrest?” she said.

  “Of course I know about it.”

  “Fortunately the poor girl still has a few friends who don’t spend their time philandering.”

  “Emmy,” said Henry, really angry now. “I will not have you talking like that a
bout…”

  “Please don’t shout,” said Emmy. “There’s no need to make excuses. I understand perfectly. Why shouldn’t you take Mary out? Are you seeing her again this evening?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh, dear, what a pity. I hope you won’t be too bored on your own.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m going out.”

  “You’re…? Who with?”

  Emmy did not answer, but applied herself to her make-up with loving care. Henry stood up, furious.

  “Emmy, answer me. Where are you going?

  Emmy turned from the mirror and faced him. “You might still have time to ring Mary,” she said. “In any case, don’t wait up for me. I may be late.”

  “But…”