“He overheard you having your quarrel. He met Anton after he left your caravan. Anton was going to tell him something very important—and before he could do so he was killed.”
“What d’you mean by that?”
“Anton knew too much about someone—or something. Before he could pass on his knowledge he was murdered. Now who was it that Anton knew too much about?”
“’Ow should I know?”
“I just thought you might. You were the last person to have an argument with him.”
“It’d just be this business about Loretta—just a lot of gossip. Don’t you worry your head about that, Minto.”
“All right,” said Mr. Minto, “I won’t. Well…time I was getting a little sleep. Good night, Carey.”
“Good night.”
Mr. Minto left the caravan and walked smartly across the field to the gate leading out to the town. Once again he was conscious of the fact that Joe Carey was watching him leave. He shut the gate carefully behind him, walked fifty yards or so up the street, lit a cigarette, turned and made his way back to the field. The curtains in the green-and-white caravan were drawn. Mr. Minto, scorning the idea of catching a chill, sat down on the damp grass to await developments. It would be most annoying if no developments developed, of course, but that did not seem likely in a circus such as Carey’s.
After half an hour, when Mr. Minto was beginning to feel definitely moist in the seat of his trousers, a development duly arrived in the shape of a man making his way towards Carey’s caravan from the opposite side of the field. Although it was moonlight, Mr. Minto was too far away to make out the arrival clearly, but he had a strange feeling that he knew him quite well.
He watched him go up the steps of the caravan, heard him give the short, peculiar whistle, and saw the door open an inch or two. The man stood motionless on the top step; the door shut and the visitor left without a word having been spoken. Mr. Minto then got rather worried, for the visitor, instead of leaving the field by the way he had entered it, carried straight on and seemed likely to pass within a few yards of where Mr. Minto was sitting. Mr. Minto had no desire to be found sitting in the middle of a damp field at two in the morning: it would have been so very difficult to explain the reasons for such behaviour. He hopped behind a convenient pile of timber props and lay low. The man passed uncomfortably close to him. Mr. Minto was able to get an excellent view of him, and in doing so he got by far the biggest shock of the week. He had been perfectly correct: he knew Joe Carey’s latest visitor very well indeed.
Mr. Minto allowed the man to get out of the field, recovered his breath, nipped his damp seat to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming, and went off at the double to visit his brother Robert.
The priest was not in the habit of receiving visitors at two in the morning, and it took Mr. Minto some little time to get an answer to his knocks and ringings. Claire eventually opened the door, clad in a negligée which made her look rather like the Principal Girl of a pantomime.
“Good lord!” said Claire. “What’s the matter with you? Sleep-walking?”
“I’ve got to see Robert,” said Mr. Minto.
“He’s in bed, and snoring. What’s happened? Sensational developments?”
“Sensational isn’t the word for it,” said Mr. Minto, and took the stairs two at a time. “You go back to bed, Claire. I’ll let myself out.”
“Can’t I hear what’s happened?”
“Sorry. This isn’t for little girls.”
“Pig!” said Claire, and went off to her own room.
Mr. Minto sat down heavily on the edge of his brother’s bed and spent a busy five minutes rousing the priest and getting him into a fit state to answer questions. Once he was in that state, Mr. Minto wasted no time in asking the questions.
“Robert…what do you know about this fellow Claire’s going to marry?”
“Very little. He seems an upright young man.”
“What’s his job?”
“Some kind of canvassing, I believe. Vacuum-cleaners.”
“Do vacuum-cleaner canvassers earn a lot of money, Robert?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Young Mr. Briggs seems to be well supplied with the world’s necessities, doesn’t he?”
“He’s in a position to keep Claire, if that’s what you mean. I made a point of asking him as soon as he—”
“I’m not worrying about that—just now. Is he a Catholic?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Does he do this vacuum-cleaner job all over the place—or just in this district?”
“I understand he covers a considerable area. He’s doing this district this week, and of course they intend to make their home here. But he seems to go all over the country. He was in Leicester last week.”
“Leicester.…You don’t know where he was the week before that, do you?”
“I couldn’t say really. If you ask Claire she’ll tell you.”
“No—I don’t want her in on this just now. You don’t know any of the other places he’s been to recently?”
“No. Well—I know Claire mentioned that he was in Scotland at the beginning of the month—a week in Edinburgh and then a week in Glasgow. Then he came down south…to Hereford, I believe, before Leicester. Why on earth do you want to know this?”
“He’s not the man who confessed to killing Anton, is he?”
The priest sat up in bed and stared at Mr. Minto. He did not answer.
“Well…is he?”
“You must not ask me anything more about that,” said Robert. “I’ve had it on my conscience ever since I told you.…I only told you because it seemed likely that an innocent man was going to be punished. I could tell you who confessed that day, but you know that I must not. And you must not ask me, or try to get me to tell you.…”
“That’s all right, Robert. I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. It—it wasn’t young Briggs, then?”
“Good gracious, no! You’re not suggesting that Claire’s fiancé is involved in this circus business, are you?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Minto, “I am.”
The priest shot two skinny legs over the edge of his bed and showed his brother politely but firmly out.
“I am afraid you have been drinking,” he said. “In the morning, when you are more yourself, I will have a word with you. Just now I think you had better go to bed.”
Mr. Minto went to bed. But not before adding a further question and answer to his questionnaire:
Q. Why is young Briggs on Joe Carey’s visiting-list and what the devil has he to do with this business?
A. Search me!
Chapter Fourteen
Mr. Minto took up work on the case again at five minutes to eight on the following morning, when he paid a visit to Lorimer and Loretta, who were still in their beds.
“Lord, it’s the sleuth!” said Lorimer.
“He’s come to arrest you,” said Loretta, sitting up in bed to see who it was and immediately lying down again and closing her eyes.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Minto. “May I come in?”
“You’re in, aren’t you?” said Lorimer.
“Yes, so I am. Lorimer, would you like to do something to help me?”
“He doesn’t get his salary until Friday,” said Loretta, still with her eyes shut.
“And even then I don’t get it,” said Lorimer. “She does. So I’m afraid it’s no use.…”
“I didn’t mean money. It’s this Anton business. I want to use you as bait.”
“Bait?”
“Bait. I think I’ve narrowed it down to two people—possibly to one person. If you’re willing to help me, I might be able to say definitely who the one person is.”
“Carry on. Bait me.”
“I want to tell Joe Carey that you’ve found out somethi
ng about this case, and that you’re going to pass it on to me.”
“That’s all right. Have I found out something?”
“No. That’s the bait. You’re sure you don’t object?”
“Why should I?”
Mr. Minto sat down on the edge of the bed. He felt it only fair to make the position perfectly clear. Lorimer, after all, was but half awake.
“Well…Anton found out something. Anton was going to pass it on to you. Before he could do so he was stopped. Murdered.…”
Lorimer sat up in bed. He seemed quite wide awake now.
“You mean…?”
“Yes. I want you to take Anton’s place. I want you to allow me to tell Carey that you’ve got hold of something and that you’re going to spill the beans to me—say between the matinée and evening shows today. If Carey is the man who murdered Anton, he’ll do the same to you as he did to him. Shut you up, I mean.”
Loretta sat up in bed.
“Hoi!” she said. “Bump him off, do you mean?”
“Probably,” said Mr. Minto. “It’ll be a great help to me. I’ll be most obliged to you, Lorimer. It’ll prove definitely that Carey is our man.”
Lorimer made an attempt at sarcasm.
“Of course,” he said, “anything to assist a policeman in the execution of his duty. What’s a little thing like an extra corpse if it helps you to solve the mystery? Only too happy to oblige, Mr. Minto. You’ll probably get promotion—over my dead body!”
“And think of the insurance,” said Loretta.
“Shut up!” said Lorimer, and disappeared below the sheets.
“Listen,” said Mr. Minto. “You can look after yourself all right. All you’ve got to do is to keep your eyes skinned and be careful. There may not be any actual violence…Carey might try and keep your mouth shut with £ s. d. for all I know. It doesn’t matter. To me, at any rate. As long as I know he’s trying to shut you up, that’s enough for me. I’ll stick around—I’ll be there if there’s any trouble. And here…you can take this with you.”
“This” was tossed lightly on to the counterpane of Lorimer’s bed. It was an efficient-looking revolver.
“Use it if anything happens,” said Mr. Minto. “You’ll know how to. It’s your own.”
“Mine?”
“Yes. I pinched it from your dressing-tent. I went to make sure you’d put it back.”
“Does this mean that I’m no longer a suspect?”
Mr. Minto looked shocked.
“Good gracious, no!” he said. “Of course you’re a suspect. In fact, I’m almost sure you did it. Well, what about it? Will you let me tell Carey that you’ve found out something and that you’re going to pass it on to me?”
“No damned fear!”
“What a pity,” said Mr. Minto, getting up off the bed. “Because I’ve already told him.…”
“What?”
“So be careful today, won’t you? If Carey has a dirty secret, it’s a hundred to one he’ll try and keep your mouth shut in one way or another. I don’t know how he’ll do it, but he will. And if anything serious happens to you,” said Mr. Minto cheerfully, “I’ll assume full responsibility.”
“Will you take Lorimer’s place in the act?” asked Loretta.
“Certainly,” said Mr. Minto.
“Look here—” said Lorimer.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Minto. “And the very best of luck.”
Mr. Minto’s next move was breakfast, and again he found himself the sole occupant of the dining-hall. As he had done each morning since his arrival in the hotel, he removed the floral decorations, folded his newspaper, had a brief sparring-match with the aged waiter over the respective claims of lean and streaky bacon, and began to squirt grape-fruit juice over the wallpaper. Dodo came in when he was half-way through his meal, and sat down at his table.
“The very man I wanted to see,” said Mr. Minto. “Dodo, you were a great friend of Anton’s, weren’t you?”
“A very great friend,” said the clown. “He was an interesting man. Cultured—very cultured. You don’t meet many like him in the circus.”
“What happened to his belongings?”
“Eh?”
“His belongings. His goods and chattels. His clothes and papers and personal effects and all that. What was done with them, after he died?”
“I—as a matter of fact, I took charge of them. As far as we know he had no relatives in this country. I’ve cabled his sister in Germany, telling her what happened. I merely said that poor Anton had been attacked and killed by the tigers. I thought it better not to worry her with the other business.”
“Much better. And less expensive—on a cable.”
“Quite. He was a fine fellow—Anton. There’ll never be another animal-trainer like him in Carey’s.”
“I’d like to see his belongings,” said Mr. Minto.
“Certainly. I should have told you right away that I had taken charge of them. I didn’t really think that—”
“That’s all right. As long as you didn’t send them to the pawnshop.”
The clown gave Mr. Minto a sad little smile.
“I’ll take you up to my room and show you them after breakfast,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Minto. “Any time today will do. I’m going back to London tonight.”
“I thought you were staying for a wedding on Saturday?”
“No. It’s off.”
“Off?”
“Yes. The marriage will not take place.”
“That’s very distressing. Is your sister very upset?”
“She doesn’t know yet,” said Mr. Minto, and got up and folded his serviette. “By the way, I must have your autograph before I go away—to add to my collection. D’you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll give it you now, if you like.”
“The back of the menu will do. Have you a pen?”
“No—it’s up in my room.”
“Never mind,” said Mr. Minto. “Pencil will do. Here you are.”
The clown wrote his signature and an appropriate message on the back of the menu and handed it to Mr. Minto.
“Thank you. ‘In memory of an exciting week’…very apt.”
“Have you a good collection?” asked Dodo.
“Almost every murderer except Crippen,” said Mr. Minto, and went out of the dining-hall leaving Dodo a little worried by the remark.
Mr. Minto went straight to the reception-clerk’s desk in the hotel foyer.
“218 please,” he said.
The clerk brought the key out of its pigeon-hole and then gave Mr. Minto a suspicious look. His predecessor had lost his job handing over the key of a rich American’s suite to a professional burglar.
“I think you’ve made a mistake, sir. Your room number is 224, isn’t it?”
“I know. I want 218, though. It’s all right—I’m just getting some things out of a friend’s room.”
“I’m very sorry, sir. We’re not allowed to give up keys to anyone else but the—”
“Manager,” said Mr. Minto crisply. “Where’s the manager?”
The manager was produced, wiping egg from the outskirts of his neat little moustache. Mr. Minto explained that he was trying to get the key of room number 218; that he was merely going into the room to get something for a friend; that he had the friend’s permission to go into the room as often as he wished; that the suspicious attitude taken up by certain members of the hotel staff was one which he did not like at all; and that if he never came back to this rotten hotel it would still be considerably too soon. The manager, sympathetic up till this last remark, changed his tune and muttered something to the effect that you couldn’t be too careful and that they had had a lot of suspicious-looking characters hanging about the place recently.
Mr. Minto then lifted the veil. “I’m from Scotland Yard,” he said. “Detective-Inspector Minto of the C.I.D. I can’t force you to let me into that room, but I’ll get a search-warrant and burst the door open if you stand there clucking like an old hen.”
The manager stopped clucking at once and rammed the key into Mr. Minto’s hand. Mr. Minto bounded into the nearest lift, leaving the manager and reception-staff to discuss excitedly the possibilities of the quiet little man in 218 being a bigamist, co-respondent, or cat-burglar. Murder did not enter into their heads at that moment, though it had entered into Mr. Minto’s.
He opened the door of 218 and locked it again behind him. It was going to be difficult to know which were Anton’s things and which were Dodo’s. A general investigation seemed to be indicated.
Dodo had been starting on the fish stage when he had left him in the dining-hall; he would have ten minutes at least for the investigation. Mr. Minto got to work. The wardrobe was filled with an overcoat, a waterproof, and a number of suits of a small size—all Dodo’s own belongings. Three suit-cases were stacked in a corner of the room—two open and the third locked. Mr. Minto tried every key on his own bunch without success. He hunted through the drawers of the dressing-table and found a smaller bunch of keys. The first three were too small to turn the lock; the fourth and fifth too large even to go in the keyhole; the sixth opened the case. Mr. Minto flung the lid back. Anton’s goods and chattels all right.
Two suits, a pocket-book, and a bundle of letters. Mr. Minto felt through the pockets of the suits and took a quick glance through the letters. They were written in German, and consequently were Double-Dutch to him. He was just going to close the suit-case when he noticed a fountain-pen stuck into the waistcoat pocket of one of the suits. Mr. Minto took the pen out and unscrewed the top. The hotel management provided note-paper and envelopes to each bedroom; Mr. Minto removed a sheet of note-paper from the holder and wrote a single sentence on it with the fountain-pen: “Now is the time,” wrote Mr. Minto, “for all good men to come to the aid of the party.”
Mr. Minto appeared to be satisfied with this. He looked at his watch, locked the suit-case, and fled. The lift, as usual, had just passed his floor on its journey down. Mr. Minto took the stairs two at a time and passed Dodo coming up.
Death of Anton Page 16