“How did you think that a bank cashier could find customers for drugs?”
“We had a better plan than that when we found that the guy thought of nothing but making money. We got him to take that big house in Hampstead.”
“Did you pay the rent?” asked Vincent.
“No fear. The guy had made thousands already out of the bank and we persuaded him that he could make thousands more. When we got the house in Hampstead going we introduced one or two people to him and they introduced others, and what with his card parties and peddling the dope and his winnings out of suckers at the card tables, he was a warm man.”
“Why did he decide to run away?”
“He got the wind up, because the bank was getting nosey.”
“And so you offered to provide him with a passage to France in a motorboat.”
“Of course, we couldn’t desert a pal when he was in trouble.”
“Well, that’s clear as far as it goes, but you introduced a number of people to him and they introduced friends of their own. You knew them all and I put it to you that you would know if someone owed him a grudge, sufficiently strong to induce him to commit murder.”
“Well, I don’t know that, and you may feel sure that if I did I’d have told you before to bear out our statement.”
“You guessed that he would be taking a big sum of money with him when he resolved to bolt.”
“Why, certainly.”
“Did anyone else know that he was leaving the country?”
He hesitated a moment. “Certainly there was one person, but it was a lady.”
“You mean Mrs Pearson,” said Vincent quietly.
“You guys from Scotland Yard seem to know everything. That lady was giving him letters of introduction to her friends in France.”
“You mean her father, M. Laurillard.”
“I do.”
“She used to receive the dope from her father in stout envelopes by registered post addressed c/o Mr Pitt.”
“She did. But that doesn’t give her a motive for having Pitt done in. He was more use to her alive than dead.”
“Was she the only person besides yourselves who knew that he was leaving the country?”
“Well, he had one friend who might have known it.”
“You mean Thelusson?”
“Why should you think of him?”
“Pitt was paying large sums of money to him.”
“But they had no quarrel.”
“I suppose Thelusson is mixed up in this drug business.”
“Up to the neck.”
“Did Thelusson know that Pitt would be taking a large sum of money away with him?”
“He was likely to make a pretty good guess.”
“Well, my sergeant has taken down your answers to my questions and that is all I have to ask you for the present.”
The second man, Blake, proved to be less amenable to questioning, but the answers he did give corroborated his companion’s statement in every particular. Vincent questioned him further about Thelusson. “You were not always friendly with him?”
“We had words once or twice.”
“About payment for dope?”
“Why, yes. He was rolling in money and as mean a louse as crawls on this earth.”
“Your quarrel didn’t lead to blows?”
“No, only to mudslinging. That guy had no stomach for fisticuffs.”
“I have another question to ask you. What do you know about a woman named Alice Dodds?”
“Oh, that woman. She was just running errands for someone else.”
“You used to supply her with heroin. You wouldn’t have supplied it unless you thought that you were safe in doing so. Who guaranteed her to you?”
“Well, as you seem to know such a lot, I don’t mind telling you. It was Laurillard’s daughter, Mrs Pearson.”
“I thought as much. Mrs Pearson used to employ the woman as her maid. She also employed at one time Arthur Green, Pitt’s chauffeur. Was Green ever used by you or Pitt in distributing dope?”
“Not to my knowledge. He wasn’t the kind of man that any of us would care to trust.”
“Do you think Pitt would have employed him without your knowledge?”
“I guess we should have known it if he had.”
“Well, my sergeant has taken down your answers and I’ve no more questions to put before you appear in Court.”
As soon as they were alone Vincent said to Walker: “You and I have seen some crooks in our time, but this little gang would be hard to beat. I want specimens of their handwriting. See whether the inspector will hand over their statements to you, otherwise we must get them photographed. I want to compare them with that anonymous letter received by the bank.”
“But wouldn’t they have been fools to send such a letter?”
“Not if they made a plan to induce Pitt to bolt. They guessed that he would take a big sum with him and they made their offer of a safe passage out of the country, hoping to rob him on the way.”
“Then you think that it was they who committed the murder?”
“No. I think that they planned it, but I’m not sure that their story about a bandit is altogether untrue.”
Chapter Nineteen
VINCENT WAS FORTUNATE enough to reach Croydon in time to receive the afternoon airplane from Le Bourget. The great plane circled above the hangars and came to rest exactly on the spot which her pilot was aiming for. The passengers descended the ladder and were shepherded into the shed where landing permits and passports are inspected, but Vincent had been permitted to approach the plane to receive his friend Goron. They shook hands warmly and strolled together towards the barrier. Vincent’s car was standing outside.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” said Vincent. “I don’t know what powers you’ve brought with you to compel these women to go with you to France.”
“That’s all right,” said Goron, tapping his breast pocket. “In case they should dig in their toes and refuse to come with me, I have a couple of extradition warrants to shake in their faces. Women, as you know, can be obstinate devils, but a piece of blue paper shoved under their noses is apt to put the fear of God into them. Madame Germaine is in a vindictive mood. She alleges that these women had promised her protection and yet she was taken off and immured at La Roche. The women have not paid for the last hats they ordered from her and she alleges that they stole a handful of her bill-heads from the shop. It was on this that she obtained the extradition warrants.”
“I see,” said Vincent dryly. “You can do things in France that would be difficult for us in England. But tell me about a much more influential person—M. Laurillard, the deputy.”
“Ah! There you have touched upon a thorny subject. In fact you have stamped upon a hornet’s nest. From that small beginning of yours in the hat shop of the rue Duphot, you have dragged in another European country, Belgium. That factory at Belfort was supplying many kilogrammes of dope to the Belgian pedlars, always, of course, with the connivance of railway officials. I believe that if we were to make a simultaneous arrest of all men concerned, the trains would cease to run between Paris and Brussels.”
“Have you an extradition warrant for Laurillard?”
“Alas! No. As a member of the Chamber he could claim immunity, and so I did not apply for one. Besides, every other deputy in the Chamber would be up in arms to defend him, not knowing, of course, what we might have up our sleeves as regards their own antecedents. What I want to get from Laurillard now is the identity of some of his collaborators on the railway. He is certain to have made some enemies in the railway service, men who thought that he ought to have paid them more than he did and he will not be above denouncing them.”
“Well, I am driving you straight to Madame Pearson’s house for this momentous interview, and I myself will accompany you as I have questions to put to the lady. Have you brought any female escort with you?”
“She is crossing by boat and will find her own way by rail t
o Newquay.”
For the rest of the drive Vincent tried to satisfy Goron’s appetite for information about his own work in the hunting of Pitt’s murderer since they last met.
“You think that this wild story about a bandit on an English high road can be true?”
“I do, but I have a big task before me in getting proof of my theory. But here we are. This is the street where Mrs Pearson lives.”
The maidservant who opened the door appeared surprised when they asked for Monsieur Laurillard. “Yes,” she said; “he is here, but he only arrived this morning and he’s been resting in his room ever since.”
“This gentleman has come all the way from Paris to see him. We will wait inside while you explain this to your mistress. Here is my card.”
She showed them into the dining room and ten minutes later the door opened to admit Mrs Pearson. They rose as she came in.
“My father is resting,” she said, “and I cannot disturb him now.”
“You might take me to his bedside, madame,” said Goron, diplomatically. “A few minutes of conversation is all that I require.”
“He’s not in bed; he is resting in an armchair. He may even be asleep, but as you insist even after I have told you this I must take you up to his room.”
“And perhaps when you have introduced this gentleman to your father’s room, you will return here. I have one or two questions to ask you,” said Vincent.
“Are you still concerned about that former chauffeur of mine—Arthur Green?”
“Yes, and about one or two other matters in which you can enlighten me.”
There was no undue delay about her return to the dining room. She entered holding her head high, hoping perhaps to induce in her visitor a sense of shame at intruding on her privacy. She made no motion towards a chair and the interview took place standing, she retaining the door handle in her hand.
These were not the conditions under which friendly meetings are conducted, but Vincent felt himself quite equal to measuring weapons with her.
“When we last met, Mrs Pearson, I asked you a question about a woman named Alice Dodds and you told me that you had never employed a woman of that name. May I ask why you thought it proper to tell me an untruth? You must have had some reason, because a lady in your position would naturally tell the truth in answer to a direct question.”
She hesitated scarcely an instant before making her reply. “If I misled you it was in the interest of the woman herself. I did not care to take away her character and so—naturally…”
“And so, naturally, you told me an untruth?”
“If you like to put it that way, I have no objection.”
“You feel, no doubt, that there is no harm in deceiving a police officer, in fact that it can be a meritorious act to do so. I suppose this explains why you told me another untruth.”
“Indeed?” said the lady with the sweetest smile.
“You told me that your only knowledge of Mr Pitt was just the slight acquaintance which a customer has of a bank official when they stand with the counter between them.”
“Did I?” smiled the lady.
“You forgot to mention those registered packages that Mr Pitt used to receive for you.”
‘‘Registered packages?”
“Yes. Packages containing heroin.” Vincent was determined to drag the lady from the saddle of her high horse, but it was not a very easy manoeuvre.
“Mr Pitt is dead. You are trying to fabricate dramatic evidence. I don’t know why.”
“The evidence I have is not fabricated, I assure you, madame. If you ever have to meet it in court I fear that your counsel will have his work cut out for him.”
“You are trying to frighten me.”
“I must have the truth and you will do yourself no good by giving me false answers. You keep a wages book, I suppose. I want to know from your wages book the exact dates when Arthur Green and Alice Dodds were in your service. In fact, I should like to see your wages book for myself.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “If you will wait here I will go and get the book.”
When the book was brought and opened at the appropriate page she said: “It is lucky that I did not destroy this book as so many people do. You will see that it relates to last year, not this one.”
Vincent studied the pages, making notes in his pocketbook. “I see from this book,” he said, “that these two people were in your service at one and the same time. That is what I wanted to know.” He shut the book and handed it back to her.
“One more question before I go. Did Mr Pitt ever pay you for goods with which you supplied him?” Her surprise at this question was so genuine that Vincent could not think that she was lying when she said: “Never.”
“Did you ever ring up the late Mr Pitt’s house in Hampstead?”
“Never.”
“Not even after his death, when you thought that Mr Blake and Mr Lewis might be hiding there?”
“Never.”
“Did Arthur Green, the chauffeur, ever act as messenger between you and Mr Pitt?”
“Certainly not. When Arthur Green left my employment I had nothing more to do with him.”
“Thank you, Mrs Pearson,” said Vincent, taking up his hat. “You will, perhaps, permit me to wait here until my friend has finished his business with your father.”
“Certainly,” she replied coldly before she withdrew. Five minutes later Goron joined him with an air of elation. “I made him talk,” he said, “and he gave me everything I needed.”
“Names?”
“Oh yes; he’d no scruples about giving away his friends. There may be honour among thieves, but honour does not rank high among drug traffickers.”
“Well, as we both have gained our points, we are free to leave the house.”
At the door Vincent drew the uniformed porter aside and asked him: “Do you know where Mrs Pearson garages her car?”
“Yes sir; it’s that Plimsoll’s garage round the corner.”
As they walked to their own car which had been parked a few doors away, Vincent explained to Goron that he wished to interview the French chauffeur of Mrs Pearson and suggested that they should go together to the garage. They were lucky enough to find the chauffeur at work on the car.
“It might be useful if you asked him in French what has gone wrong with the car. He will be startled by being addressed suddenly in his own language.”
Goron took the hint. The man looked up startled and faced his questioners, then when he recognized Vincent he became agitated and threw down his tools on the concrete floor. Goron took advantage of his state of alarm by saying sternly in French: “You will answer all the questions put to you by this gentleman and answer them truthfully or it may go hardly with you.”
In reply to Vincent’s questions they drew from him the admission that he had lied about Alice Dodds. He himself had never seen the woman. He drove his mistress of the house and was paid by her to keep his mouth shut about it. If he was ever questioned he was to tell the lie that he had told Vincent. They were satisfied that they had extracted all the material truth from him and they returned to their car.
“Now,” said Goron, “I must ask you to find me a hotel, for I don’t propose to go down to Newquay until tomorrow morning.”
“You will come with me to my lodging; my landlady will give you a bedroom and it will delight the poor soul to be allowed to provide us with a meal; she is no mean cook. If you don’t mind making a little detour in the car, I want to catch my sergeant and then we shall be free.”
Goron was far too much interested in watching the control of the London traffic to do anything but approve, and they drove through the iron gate which leads into New Scotland Yard. Goron was left in the car while Vincent disappeared into the postern door of police headquarters. He dug Walker out of the sergeants’ room and gave him his instructions in the passage.
“I want that fellow Green watched. You understand that the observation must be very discreet.
Those little houses up in north London are difficult to keep under discreet observation, but if any man can do it you can.”
“Have you any fresh evidence?”
“Not much, but I’ve reason to believe that there’s some connection between him and the woman Dodds. They were in service together with Mrs Pearson and if you remember Anton told us that the chauffeur called one morning and asked whether a lady had rung up. It happened that Alice Dodds had rung up on the previous evening.”
“You want me to do this job myself.”
“Yes, because the man must on no account be scared off. I have not yet seen Thelusson but shall interview him tomorrow.”
“Then you have formed a theory about that chauffeur.”
Vincent nodded. “Early tomorrow morning I want you to dig out the statements of the servants in Hampstead that you took down on our first visit to the house.”
Vincent devoted the rest of the evening to entertaining his friend Goron, whose visits to London had been rare. At breakfast on the following morning Goron remarked: “If I’m going down to Newquay today I shall need an interpreter.”
“Certainly. I’ve arranged for that already. You will take one of our French-speaking officers, Sergeant Campion, with you. He has been warned to be ready.”
Having seen Goron safely off to Newquay with his detective interpreter, Vincent decided that it would not be too soon to call upon the tenant of 41, Arkley Street. The door of the flat was opened by a manservant who exuded discretion from every pore. From him Vincent learned that his employer was at home and he was shown into a sumptuously furnished room. Like all detective officers, Vincent was quick to appraise the financial status of the man he had come to see. The flat was roomy and well- but not over-furnished, in the labour-saving modern style in which there is nothing to catch dust. Its owner bustled in holding Vincent’s card in his hand. He was a man not much over thirty, rather thickset and he looked overfed—certainly, in Vincent’s opinion, not the type of man who would hold up a car in the road and act as a bandit. Vincent plunged into business at once.
The Milliner's Hat Mystery Page 17