“You really are rather dangerous, Mr. Garfitt,” said Harrison.
“Thank you, sir,” answered Garfitt, “many a woman has said that, but I have never taken advantage of it.”
“And you’re not going to, now?” asked Harrison.
“Look here, Mr. Harrison,” said Garfitt, “all joking apart. You’ll admit I’m a good journalist and I’ll admit you’re a good detective. We’re not going to quarrel, are we?”
“Of course not,” answered Harrison. “I shall need help, I expect; all the help I can get. I’m up against a tough problem and, as far as I can see, I shall have to work pretty quickly. I’ve one or two ideas but anybody who comes in with me will have to do as they are told. No working independently. If I do my job, the Daily Flight can have what it likes out of it. But if you’re going to ferret round on your own you can’t expect anything from me. You understand?”
“Become a junior member of Clay’s Gang, so to speak?”
Henry looked indignantly towards Harrison, and was surprised to see his master smile broadly.
“Exactly,” said Harrison, “what do you say?”
Garfitt thought for a minute and then held out his hand, saying, “At your service, Mr. Harrison.”
“I always said,” pronounced Mallison, in a kind of pontifical summing-up, “that, taken all in all, and mark you, when sober, Ronnie Garfitt wasn’t a bad sort of fellow. Now let’s have another drink.”
This suggestion was quite welcome to the other members of the party for the heat, though pleasant, was thirst-encouraging. Henry dimly wondered as to the ways of the trams to La Plage. Was it necessary to wait so long for the next to start on its journey or did Mallison carry a mental timetable to be consulted when the time proved ripe? Or, greater thought still, did the trams only move when Mr. Mallison gave the command?
Henry was called back from his wanderings by hearing Harrison ask Mallison if he, too, would give any assistance in his power? A young platoon, thought Henry, Robinson Crusoe with male chorus.
“Only too delighted,” answered Mallison; “although I can’t imagine what use I can be.”
“You have an expert knowledge of La Plage,” said Harrison. “That is going to be very important. You will know most of the newcomers, I expect?”
“Mainly,” was the reply.
“Friendly with the Sport Hotel?”
“Very.”
“Excellent,” said Harrison. “Many staying there?”
“Fair number.”
“Have you ever heard of anybody named Crewe?” asked Harrison.
“I should think I have,” answered Mallison. “Remarkable old lady with a son and daughter.”
“That sounds right,” said Harrison. “Tell me something about them.”
“Well, they practically live at the Sport Hotel,” said Mallison.
“That’s interesting,” commented Harrison, looking at Henry. “And how long do you mean by that?”
“I can’t say exactly, of course,” was the reply. “But I should think they’ve been there, on and off, for two years.”
“Do they go away much?”
“As far as I know, they often go away for an odd week or a fortnight,” said Mallison; “but Madame would know better than I do.”
“Madame?”
“Sorry,” answered Mallison, “I’d forgotten you didn’t know La Plage. Madame, in a way, is La Plage. She keeps the one and only cafe and she knows everybody and everything they do. An astonishing woman.”
“Madame who?”
“I’ve no idea. She is just Madame to everyone. I’ve been in La Plage a fair time and can’t remember to have heard her called anything else.”
“I must meet Madame,” interrupted Garfitt.
“Be careful, Ronnie,” said Mallison. “She’ll certainly give you as good as she gets.”
“I must certainly meet Madame,” emphasised Garfitt.
“But that isn’t all you know about the Crewes, of course, Mr. Mallison,” said Harrison.
“Really I can’t tell you very much,” answered Mallison. “They keep themselves pretty much apart, although one sees them about a good bit. Gossip says that they have an interest in the hotel itself and that their part of it is more like a private flat than hotel rooms. They are also said to have some interest in the Casino. They certainly are there a good bit, and seem to do as they like.”
“Know anything against them?” asked Harrison.
“I don’t think so,” returned Mallison, thoughtfully. “The casual people who come to the hotel don’t think much of them because they think them a bit stuck up and all that sort of thing. But that’s not unusual.”
“What about the son and daughter?”
“He’s not very polite, I am told. I’ve said very little to him myself. A bit of an odd job man, in a sense. He’s playing the piano at the Casino this week, and not so badly, either.”
“That sounds rather odd.”
“Not if they have an interest in the Casino,” answered Mallison. “I don’t know the rights of it, of course, I don’t go there very much myself. Madame would know, that’s certain.”
“Of course she would,” interjected Garfitt.
“The fact is,” said Mallison, looking right through Garfitt, “there’s a girl singing there this week called Drina Esberg—Scandinavian, I suppose. Sings pretty well, so they say. Lost her pianist on the way here from her last engagement, I suppose—anything may happen on this coast—and the Crewe fellow stepped into the breach. Pretty useful.”
“And the girl?”
“Likeable, definitely likeable,” answered Mallison.
“That’s Bob’s way of saying she’s jolly attractive,” said Garfitt.
“Quiet and doesn’t talk much,” said Mallison. “Seems to think only of her brother, at least that’s what they say. No eyes for any other man.”
“Really nothing suspicious, then?” asked Harrison.
“Good lord no,” answered Mallison. “You don’t mean to say you are after them for some crime or other?”
“Don’t suggest that, Mr. Mallison,” said Harrison, “or our friend, Mr. Garfitt, will be dashing off to a telegraph office to wire the good news to his nearest and dearest on the Daily Flight.”
“Ronnie’s under orders,” said Mallison, impressively, “and he’s going to do nothing without permission.”
Garfitt made a mock gesture of resignation and drank a toast to all Dictators, present and past.
“As a matter of fact,” said Harrison, “everybody connected with the Sport Hotel is under suspicion at present. There’s somebody else I want to ask about. A lady named Miss Rich.”
“Ah!” answered Mallison and his face expanded into a broad smile.
“I’ll be bound she’s likeable,” remarked Garfitt, while Henry was all ears for what Mallison would say next.
“She’s extremely likeable,” said Mallison. “She’s only been here about two days and has captured the hotel. A bonny girl and no fool, either. We’re pretty good friends already.”
Garfitt winked broadly at Henry but without effect, for Henry was now looking at Mallison in jealous gloom.
“Tell me some more about her,” said Harrison.
“She certainly lives up to her name,” answered Mallison. “Splashes her money about, as far as she can in a place like this. She knows how to dress, and spends the day in marvellous beach pyjamas. She can swim, play tennis, dance—do anything, I should say.”
“A paragon,” said Garfitt.
“She has certainly impressed you, Mr. Mallison,” said Harrison.
“No doubt of that,” answered Mallison. “But has she been committing crimes, too? I know you delight in beautiful adventuresses and all that sort of thing, Mr. Harrison, but I really can‘t believe it of Miss Rich!”
“Why should you?” said Harrison. “You’re drawing conclusions. I’m not. Has Miss Rich anything to do with the Crewe family?”
“I expect she has talked to
them,” answered Mallison. “She talks to everybody. But that would be as far as it goes.”
“Very useful, Mr. Mallison,” said Harrison, looking at Henry. “I shall pigeonhole what you have told me and look it over later on.”
Henry realised that this was a hint to retain as much as possible of the conversation and transfer it to a notebook at the earliest favourable opportunity. He did not see the value of a good deal of it, but his dark mood vanished as he realised the need for a perfectly clear memory.
“Talk of the—” said Mallison. “Look who’s driving up.”
They all watched an open motor-car of luxurious proportions come slowly to a standstill at the kerb in front of their café. In it was seated a little old lady, dressed in meat black while beside the chauffeur sat a huge negro dressed in a kind of footman’s uniform.
“I forgot to tell you,” said Mallison, “that’s Mrs. Crewe’s bodyguard. She hardly ever stirs out without that great black fellow beside her. Look, she’s beckoning to us. It’s you she wants, Mr. Harrison.” Mrs. Crewe had her bright little eyes fixed on Harrison, and was certainly signalling to him. He left the others and went up to the car.
“How nice to see you down here, Mr. Harrison,” she exclaimed, holding out her hand and smiling.
“You expected me, of course?” asked Harrison.
“Of course,” answered Mrs. Crewe, coolly. “Now you are in Toulon you must see La Plage. You’ve heard so much about it, haven’t you, Mr. Harrison?”
“I certainly intend to visit La Plage,” said Harrison.
“On invitation, of course,” said Mrs. Crewe, smiling again.
“I prefer it,” answered Harrison. “I always avoid the other method, if I can.”
“People are so clumsy, aren’t they, Mr. Harrison?” said Mrs. Crewe, smiling sweetly, although her eyes looked searchingly at his face all the time. “Still here’s the invitation. Tomorrow afternoon at the Sport Hotel. You can bring Mr. Henry, too, if you like.”
“Delighted,” said Harrison.
“That’s settled then,” said the old lady, saying a word to her chauffeur. “Netta will be sorry she missed you today.”
She drove off, and Harrison returned to the others.
“The pantomime is complete, sir,” said Henry.
“In what way, Henry?”
“We’ve had most of Robinson Crusoe already,” answered Henry, “and now,” he pointed to the large negro in the disappearing motor-car, “we have a genuine Man Friday.”
Chapter XV
Good Work By Miss Rich
Almost to Henry’s surprise, Mallison soon suggested a move. Henry had become somewhat sleepy with the afternoon heat, and was pleasantly musing on the idea that the tram to La Plage was a myth and that the rest of his life would be spent lotus-eating at the cafe table in Toulon.
Garfitt seemed to take it for granted that he was now a member of the party and, having discovered that Harrison and Henry were to stay with Mallison, decided that he would recover his worldly possessions from a small Toulon hotel and go there too. There was nothing like being in the same house, he said, and his news-editor would doubtless praise his extreme acumen in thus attaching himself to Harrison.
“I expect you’ve got the measure of Ronnie,” said Mallison, as he, Harrison and Henry strolled along together. “A great boy and a fine journalist. Why he chatters so hard beats me—”
“Hear, hear,” said Henry.
“I should have thought there was no need to,” continued Mallison. “But Ronnie knows the game inside out. And when he talks of his news-editor. Believe me, Mr. Harrison, or believe me not, but his news-editor is frightened to death of him. If Ronnie says he’s going anywhere or doing anything, his precious news-editor has no say in the matter. Ronnie does it. And if anybody argued, Ronnie would just go. The Daily Flight’s lucky to have him. Any other paper would buy him up if they could. But I expect you know that already.”
“Not quite as much,” answered Harrison; “but I guessed it.”
“I must say I was surprised when Ronnie said he’d do what you told him,” said Mallison. “But you can take it from me when he gives his word he sticks to it.”
Henry began to think that a great deal of fuss was being made of Mr. Ronald Garfitt, but the finding of their cases at the station and the discovery that the tram to La Plage was no picture of Mallison’s imagination kept him from voicing his feelings.
Garfitt joined them at the tram stop, carrying the most disreputable-looking bag, which was in complete harmony with the mackintosh still slung over his shoulder. They clambered on board and settled themselves for what Mallison explained was a long and peculiarly painful experience. He told them that the physical results of the imperfections of the track would be most unsatisfactory, while there was always the risk of a breakdown in the current and then heaven alone knew when the journey would be resumed and at what hour they were likely to arrive at his villa.
The journey to the outskirts of Toulon was not unbearable and Harrison was particularly interested in a suburb through which they passed and which, Mallison explained, contained some of the toughest characters in France. They were dockyard workers of violent political opinions who resented interference. Arguments frequently terminated in scenes of a very riotous character and, as these might be looked upon as purely domestic differences, the police did not always think it necessary to interfere. They were on quite good terms with the police, he said, for there was really very little arm in them.
“Communist rather than criminal,” commented Garfitt.
Mallison praised Garfitt for his way of summing-up the situation in a headline. That was exactly what he was trying to convey. The police had objected to meetings being held by parties of the Right in the suburb because of the menace to the public peace, but had done little beyond that, and the inhabitants were left to themselves and, apart from the occasional outbursts he had mentioned, gave very little trouble. Still, if a criminal happened to know about the place, it would be a priceless sanctuary.
Meanwhile Henry was being rudely roused from his lethargy by the tramcar’s lack of stability. It was not so much that the shocks were violent but that they were irregular, and a period of comparative calm would be succeeded by one of successive strain. Conversation dwindled and even Garfitt’s effort of “How does the tramcar come down from Toulon? With a crashing and smashing”, and a number of further epithets, was not greeted as the height of amusing parody.
The journey over, they clambered somewhat painfully to earth and followed a narrow country lane to their destination. Mallison’s villa was of the plain, four-square type with three floors. The windows looked out on to a good stretch of garden, the end of which was partly occupied by a hard lawn tennis court and by kitchen vegetables and poultry run. The path from gate to door was pleasantly trellised for protection from the sun. In front of the house and overlooking the garden was a paved space surrounded by a low coping which could hardly be dignified by the name of terrace but did the same duty. This was shaded by large trees and was invitingly occupied by deck chairs and a table.
Mallison explained that, except in really cold weather, this spot was the general rendezvous. Apart from important meals, everybody lived there. It had a further value because of the fact that voices seemed to carry a long way in this enchanted land. The bedrooms and living rooms mainly had windows looking out over it and, as windows were very seldom shut, a conversation carried on outside was usually to be heard in all parts of the house. Wherever you were, therefore, it was possible to join in and add your own contribution, if you felt disposed, by just leaning out of the window.
“More useful for a journalist than a detective,” said Henry, heavily.
“Paradise,” said Garfitt, cheerfully. “Just lie in bed and listen to your story.”
“I assume there is somewhere else where one could talk in a little more privacy, Mr. Mallison,” said Harrison.
“The whole house is at your disposal, Mr
. Harrison,” was the reply, “I expect you will want to use the drawing-room. We replaced the stable by that and we’re rather proud of it. It’s fairly cool, but still I expect you’ll mainly want to be out here.”
At this moment a vivacious-looking little woman appeared in the doorway and was introduced as Mrs. Mallison. French to the finger tips, she spoke excellent English. She was a perfect contrast to Mallison himself. Her dress was neat and attractive, her manner quick and birdlike. It was obvious from the first moment that she idolised her husband, who looked almost elephantine by comparison.
Mallison explained rapidly the reason for the sudden invasion. Henry expected her to go into hysterical shrieks with a few “Oh, la la”s and the like, and was disappointed when, in the most business-like fashion, she settled down to make arrangements and allot rooms. Harrison and Henry would have adjoining rooms on the first floor, while Garfitt, as a friend of the family, would be accommodated on the top floor. “A better view,” said Mallison, “but a tougher climb.”
“But shall I hear as well?” asked Garfitt, anxiously.
“Quite well enough,” was the reply.
With incredible speed they were all settled in their rooms, and were soon seated round a table in a very pleasant dining room, its window, of course, looking out on to what Garfitt described as the “market-place,” enjoying a kind of high tea.
“Excellent tea,” said Harrison.
“Very kind of you to say so, Mr. Harrison,” said Mallison. “My private opinion always was that Yvette and Marie—that’s the old woman who cooks—couldn’t make tea.” He tasted his own and then exclaimed, “It is good tea, but I’ll swear they never made it.”
Harrison looked at Henry for an explanation.
“Quite right, sir,” answered Henry; “I talked it over with the old lady. She didn’t mind my making it a bit.”
“It doesn’t even taste like our own tea,” said Yvette Mallison.
“I’m afraid it isn’t,” answered Henry. “I had a little in my case and I thought you might like to try it.”
Death on the Highway Page 19