A Three Pipe Problem

by Julian Symons

  ‘He telephoned not two hours after the picture had been delivered, to tell me that Dudley Kirk was with him, and that Kirk had said the Corot delivered to him was a forgery.’

  ‘Kirk’s an expert?’

  ‘He’s a professor of fine art, yes, but how does he just happen to be staying with this man Rochester? So this morning I went down to look at the picture.’

  ‘And you found it was a fake, not the one you’d sold him.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The interesting thing is how you hope to prove what you say.’ Devenish was enjoying himself. ‘It looks to me as though that’s going to be difficult.’

  Williams put back his cup noisily on the saucer. ‘I’ve been framed. The picture he has is a crude forgery, painted recently, and by recently I mean in the last few days. Nobody in his senses could possibly believe it to be genuine.’

  ‘But Rochester says it’s the one you sold him? And I expect he’s got some way of proving it?’

  ‘He says he put a cross in red ink on the back of the canvas, and there’s a red cross on the back of the fake. Of course it proves nothing, but he was totally unreasonable. At the same time, I didn’t suppose he would call the newspapers. It’s absolutely outrageous behaviour.’

  ‘Oh, outrageous,’ Devenish said blandly.

  A spot of colour showed in Williams’ cheek. ‘If you’ve come here to laugh at me–’

  ‘I said I might be able to help. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘This man Rochester came into the gallery one day, three or four weeks ago, and said he was interested in Corot. I soon saw that he didn’t know much about pictures, and I gathered he was buying as an investment. Many businessmen do. It struck me that he’d been badly advised if he wanted to buy a Corot as an investment, because there have always been a great many Corot forgeries about. I tried to steer him towards something else, but he’d seen a very pretty silvery Corot I had, a landscape, and liked it more than anything else I’d shown him, even though I told him the provenance wasn’t absolutely certain. He came to see the picture twice before making up his mind.’

  ‘The provenance? That means you couldn’t guarantee it was authentic?’

  ‘In this case it means that it couldn’t be traced back exactly, step by step, to the time it was painted and the first purchaser.’

  ‘If he wanted to say afterwards that you’d sold him a fake, that would be an advantage. The second time he came, did he bring somebody with him?’

  ‘Yes, a tall thin girl with long hair, not much to look at.’

  ‘And she took a photograph of the picture?’

  ‘Yes.’ Williams got up. He looked ridiculous, a plump egg among the egg-shaped furniture. ‘You know all about it, you know what happened.’

  ‘I’m just making educated guesses. Tell me the rest.’

  ‘Rochester said he’d be buying the picture, and he gave me a cheque for it, but he said he didn’t want to take delivery for ten days. His girl wanted to take a photograph, and I saw no harm in that. He called the girl something, some vulgar abbreviation.’

  ‘Chrissie.’

  ‘That’s right, Chrissie. You know her?’

  ‘I’ve heard of her. Go on.’

  ‘There’s nothing more to say. Yesterday the people who do most of my van delivery work collected the picture and took it to him. I don’t understand when the fraud can have been substituted. Are you telling me that the girl was the forger?’

  ‘Right. She worked from the photograph.’

  Devenish could see the wheels turning in Williams’ mind. Agitation disappeared, he looked at home again among his furniture, his odious poise had returned. ‘My dear Devenish, you are so clever. We must drink to your skill, this time in something stronger than Madeira.’ With precise old-maidishness he took a small key from his watch-chain, unlocked a cupboard, took out glasses and a bottle which he held between reverently plump hands. ‘This is not just a malt whisky, but a malt highly refined. A few hundred bottles is all that the distillers produce, and I count myself lucky to have got some of them.’ He poured a careful measure into each glass. ‘I drink to your sources of information. And to your acuity.’ He sipped at the whisky like a bird. ‘I may assume, I’m sure, that you will deal with Mr Rochester, and that I shan’t hear anything more of him.’

  ‘I don’t see why you should assume anything of the sort. If Rochester brings an action the press will have a field day, whether he wins or loses.’

  ‘You wouldn’t let that happen,’ Williams said, but he sounded uncertain.

  Devenish looked at his empty glass. ‘I’m not like you, I don’t know much about whisky, but I should call this a nice drop of stuff.’ He pushed the glass towards Williams who refilled it, less carefully this time. ‘Let’s say we both know who was responsible for this. The point is, what are you going to do about it?’

  Williams took another bird sip. ‘You can leave that to me.’

  ‘That’s just what I’m not doing. You’re up shit creek, Williams, and you want me to give you a paddle. All right, I can do it, but I want something in return. I don’t mind what you think about who was responsible, you can think what you like as long as you don’t do anything about it.’

  ‘I believe that’s called liberal philosophy.’

  ‘I’m not an educated man. I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘You are asking something impossible.’ The rosebud mouth was pursed. ‘Other people can make educated guesses too. If I let this happen to me and do nothing about it, they’ll say Freddy Williams is losing his grip.’

  ‘If it’s impossible, okay.’ Devenish drained his glass. ‘I thought you valued your reputation. As an art dealer, I mean.’

  ‘Whatever I might be willing to do personally, I have associates who wouldn’t be satisfied if I merely kept quiet.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. Your associates do what they’re told. And anyway, this is a private grudge match, they don’t come into it. It’s you that’s being got at. Now, I might be able to put you in the clear. And if you ask me what guarantee is there that the other side will keep the bargain, I’ll see they do.’

  ‘You mean that charges will be dropped?’ Devenish nodded. ‘And that there’ll be no question of my returning any money?’

  ‘I don’t guarantee that. But you’ll either keep the money or get your picture back.’

  The pursed mouth relaxed. ‘Then, my dear Devenish, honour will be satisfied, and I shall be happy to accede to your request. I shall also acclaim you as a miracle man. There’s just one thing. We have established that you are not interested in money. I don’t quite understand your position.’

  ‘I’ve told you already, but I’ll spell it out. If it was just a question of you and the Clabers I’d leave you to get on with it, and let the worst man win. But it isn’t. In a gang war other people get hurt, ordinary harmless b and e men start carrying shooters. Trouble escalates. I won’t have it. If it was me I’d tie the lot of you in a sack, hang a big weight on, and sling it in the Thames, but my bosses won’t let me do that. They’re the liberal philosophers, not me.’

  ‘I take the point.’ Devenish got up to go. ‘It’s been a most valuable discussion. I look forward to hearing from you later, when you’ve had a chance to talk to the other side. One more question, though I think I know how you’ll answer it. Suppose I should hear from you that this little affair has been settled. I am basically a gentle person, but perhaps I might feel impelled after all to attempt some – should I call them reprisals? What would be your attitude then?’

  The policeman stood a head taller than Williams. The black and white walls and the black ceiling seemed to be closing in on him as he spoke.

  ‘If that happened, we’d discover something. Like a false back behind one of these pictures you import, and some packets of H tucked away inside it. Don’t tell me it couldn’t happen, a policeman has to do a lot of things he doesn’t like. And I’ll tell you something, what we found would be connected with
your gallery here. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.’

  ‘Very good.’ The gold-rimmed spectacles gleamed up at him benevolently. ‘Very good indeed. Just the answer I expected. You are a man after my own heart, Devenish. Not a liberal philosopher, as you say.’

  Devenish could not get in touch with Harry Claber until early evening. Then he ran him to earth in the Carrousel. The club had no restaurant, but there was a room adjoining the bar that served thirty different kinds of sandwich, including smoked salmon and salt beef. Harry was drinking milk and eating a salt beef sandwich. They sat in one of the high-backed compartments where the punters came to stoke up after their losses, and gather strength to lose some more.

  ‘Join me, Thumbs. Best salt beef in London.’ Harry’s manner was as jokey as his twisted nose. Devenish ordered the sandwich, but with lemon tea instead of milk. ‘To what do we owe the honour, I might ask, but I don’t need to, do I? You’ve come to see if I’m running a straight game, isn’t that so? Just look around. If you find a table out of true or a dealer who’s cheating, tell me.’

  ‘We check it every month. Sometimes I put a man in as croupier.’ This was not true, but it stopped Harry’s smile for a moment, and Devenish’s next words wiped it away for good. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  ‘What do you think? The picture.’ Claber stared at him. ‘The picture, Harry boy, come on, give, where is it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re a bloody mystery maker.’

  ‘You read the evening paper? Doesn’t matter, you don’t have to. Harry, I didn’t think you’d waste my time like this, I thought you were too smart.’ His sandwich and tea came. He squeezed the lemon against the glass, and said to the waiter, ‘I want a straw.’

  ‘A straw?’

  ‘To drink it through.’

  The waiter looked as if he might protest. ‘Bring him a straw,’ Claber said. The waiter brought two straws and backed away to see what Devenish did with them. He drank through one of them, making a bubbling noise. The waiter retreated.

  ‘I don’t know about a picture.’ He added with emphasis, ‘I don’t know why you should know about a picture either. Is it anything to do with you?’

  Devenish put mustard on the sandwich and bit into it. The salt beef was just as he liked it, moist without being gluey, and with a vein of fat running through it. ‘It has to be something to do with me, I wish it weren’t. You want to show Freddy Williams that he’s got to stop standing on your feet. First you give him a lesson by knocking off one of his boys–’

  ‘I’ve told you I had nothing to do with Halliwell. From what I hear it was another poof who did it.’

  ‘Who says that? All right, I hear you say it, but what have you got to back it up? I don’t want to talk about that though, not now. You had another idea, one that would really hit Freddy where it hurt; you decided to get at him through his art gallery. You know where the soft spots are, Harry, I’ll give you that. And you’re smart. Only, you’re too ignorant to be really smart, you’re half-smart.’

  Claber put aside the rest of his sandwich. ‘Don’t push too hard, copper.’

  ‘You think you were really smart? I’ll tell you what happened, and you can judge for yourself. You talk to an old chum of yours, a con man named Rochester. He’s in the money now and living it up, but he’s got a record long as your arm. Fraud charge in 1965 and sent up for three years with a friend of yours named Snuffy Craven, remember Snuffy? It wasn’t too bright to use someone like Rochester, but he must owe you something, and you think it doesn’t matter, all you want is to hurt Williams. So Rochester arranges to buy a picture from Williams, and pays for it to show his good faith. Who wouldn’t trust a client who pays in advance, after all? The picture’s a Corot, and whether it’s absolutely authentic is just a little bit doubtful. You get a copy of it made by a girl who’s married some thug who works for you. The copy she makes is such an obvious fake it wouldn’t deceive a blind man on a pitch-black night, but again you think that doesn’t matter, because the fraud’s meant to be discovered. The picture switch is made by the van driver. He collects the original from Williams and delivers the copy to Rochester, who just happens to be entertaining an art expert at the time. Expert denounces it, Rochester tells press. And now you’ve got Williams by the short and curlies. Either he gets off your patch or he finds his reputation as an art dealer ruined. You expect him to play ball, in fact you’re certain of it. If he does then the charges are mysteriously dropped, maybe he even gets his picture back. How am I doing?’

  He sucked up more tea, and took another quarter of the sandwich.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Thumbs, you ought to apply for a job telling stories on Children’s Hour.’ But Claber had relaxed, there was no malice in the words.

  ‘You’re with me so far? You think it’s clever?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it. But if someone did some-thing like that, it sounds as though Freddy’s in trouble. Poor old Freddy. I know how he loves his gallery, thinks he’s a cut above the rest of us. But whoever did that, if they did, yes, I’d say it was pretty smart.’

  ‘Wrong. It was half-smart. I’ll tell you why.’ He spoke thickly through salt beef, and marked off points on his fingers. As he did so his thumb stuck out like a lighthouse. ‘One, it was stupid to use Rochester. I know you didn’t expect the case to go to court, but if it had, any decent counsel would have slaughtered him in the box. Two, from what I’ve heard the fake was too crude. I know you meant it to be discovered, but you should have got a better copyist. If an art dealer sells a fake, it has to be halfway decent. I daresay it looked all right to you, but then what do you know about art?’ Claber made an angry gesture, quickly suppressed. ‘So a court case wouldn’t have worked out the way you expected. But then there’s point three, almost the most important. The story in the press has hurt Williams’ reputation anyway, he’s got nothing much left to lose by fighting it out.’

  ‘You mean, even supposing the case was dropped, Freddy would still be in trouble.’ Claber looked thoughtful.

  ‘You’ve got it. Dropping the case would help him, but not much. I reckon the only thing that would put it right for him would be if the genuine picture was found, and it turned out some bits of rubbish that ought to have been slung out had been delivered by mistake. Then Rochester would have his picture, Freddy’s in the clear, everyone’s happy.’

  ‘He wouldn’t bloody want – , Claber recovered himself. Devenish looked at him blandly. ‘Nothing doing. I don’t know why you come to me. I told you I know nothing, it’s nothing in my life.’

  ‘You don’t think you can help?’

  ‘With Sammy Rochester, you mean? I used to know him, you’re right, but I haven’t seen him in years.’

  Devenish had finished the sandwich. Glutinous bits of salt beef had lodged between his teeth. He took a toothpick from the packet on the table and probed meditatively.

  ‘That’s it then, Thumbs. Sorry I can’t help. And now I got a club to run, you’ll have to excuse me.’

  ‘You think you can just let it ride, you think I’d let you do that? You’re not even half-smart. Harry, you’re stupid. Let it ride, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll bring in the girl who did the job, Chrissie. I’ll bring in the driver who got paid a hundred nicker for doing the switch and delivering the picture. They’re not pros, how long do you think they’ll stand up under questioning? Then it’ll be Rochester, and I don’t know what you’ve got on him, but it’ll have to be very good if he’s not going to talk to save his skin. And then we’ll take you, Harry, and that’ll be a pleasure.’

  ‘I know where this comes from. That snooper, the actor.’

  ‘What does it matter where it came from?’

  ‘So Freddy’s got a copper in his pocket. I’d never have thought you were that way, Thumbs.’

  Devenish stood up. ‘If that’s what you want, okay. I came here to offer you a deal, but if you’re to
o stupid to take it, you’d sooner go inside, do that.’

  He was pushing his way out when Claber said ‘All right.’

  Devenish took no notice. He was clear of the booth as Claber repeated, ‘I said all right, what do you want me to do, go on my knees? Sit down again for God’s sake.’

  The waiter moved towards them, but stopped when he saw Devenish’s face. It would have been hard to tell whether the anger on it was real or simulated. The detective sat down, pushed his head forward, and said in a voice as thick as if he had still been chewing the salt beef, ‘To me you’re shit and Williams is shit too. You understand that? You don’t say things like that to me.’

  ‘You can’t take a joke.’

  ‘Not from you.’

  ‘About this picture. Tell me what you want.’

  ‘Sorrel soup. Do you like it?’

  ‘Delicious.’ He would have settled for another salt beef sandwich, but the soup was followed by what Sue called paupiettes de porc, pancakes with some sort of minced pork filling. While he ate them, Sue asked him to explain.

  ‘I don’t see what you were trying to do.’

  ‘Make sure they didn’t start a gang war. It could have been nasty all round, and the AC would have blamed me for letting it happen.’

  ‘But you don’t know that Claber will return the picture, you can’t be sure. He might destroy it.’

  ‘Of course he won’t, what would be the point? He set a trap and it’s come unsprung. He has to accept that. The only thing he stuck at was keeping the picture, and Williams keeping the money that had been paid by his dummy, Rochester. So Williams will get his picture delivered back to him tomorrow, and when he gets it he’ll hand the messenger a cheque. That leaves it straight.’

  ‘And can you be sure Williams will do that?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s fascinating. You make them all sound so honest, keeping their words.’

  ‘Only because it suits them. Williams values his reputation as an art dealer more than anything else, and Claber doesn’t want to find himself inside. So it suits them to do what they’ve promised.’