Death on the Highway

by Death on the Highway (retail) (epub)

  The sun was beating down on them from a cloudless sky, and, although they all rhapsodised over the weather, they were all fairly warm when they had passed the gates of the Sport Hotel and were grateful of the coolness afforded by Madame’s.

  The good lady was in her accustomed place behind the counter, as cool and refreshing to look upon as her own cafe. Her eyes smiled with welcome as she saw her visitors, and a very solemn series of handshakings was carried out to open the proceedings. While Garfitt procured his newspaper, Harrison warmly thanked Madame for her help.

  “You are too kind, M. Harrison,” answered Madame, and then she gave a twinkling smile. “They do not love you, those Crewes. You have affected them already. They are watching with more care, and they are guarding the poor Drina like the President of the Republic.”

  Meanwhile, by some sleight-of-hand, Mallison had before him a small glass of the very strange mixture which he habitually consumed, and he obviously wished to discuss something of a highly confidential nature with Madame, Harrison tactfully withdrew to a table where Garfitt and Henry were hungrily studying English newspapers.

  “The Jogger’s all right,” announced Garfitt.

  “Excellent,” said Harrison.

  “And the Daily Flight has a leader about it, too,” said Garfitt.

  “Good,” said Harrison.

  “Good; is that all you can say?” returned Garfitt. “Why, it’s marvellous. Some job to get a leader, I can tell you.”

  “Sorry,” said Harrison. “Marvellous. What does it say?”

  “Compliments the police,” answered Garfitt. “Tells them they were perfectly right to arrest the Jogger and even more right to let him go. Another example of British common sense. No arrest for the sake of getting somebody in jail. Admit an error of judgment and all that sort of thing. They say they know the police have got on to the right track. Most valuable new information and the rest. Sensational developments expected any minute.”

  “That’s you, I suppose?”

  “Aye, aye, chief. When you say the word.”

  “But the papers always talk like that. The police always have valuable information and sensational developments are always expected.”

  “Not in a leader,” answered Garfitt, earnestly. “Never there. You allow a little latitude in a news column, maybe. But I can tell you this, when the other papers see it in a leader they’ll know something’s up, and be all scratching their little heads to know what to do about it.”

  “All the news-editors?”

  “Every man-jack of them except my own little pet,” said Garfitt. “And he’s going to get the goods.”

  “I hope so,” said Harrison.

  “I know it,” answered Garfitt. “Directly you give the word—even without anything else—l could telephone a dazzling column or two straight away.”

  “I’m sure you could,” said Harrison, getting up. “But I think we’d better be trying to get something else.”

  The others followed his example, and Mallison reluctantly left his colloquy with Madame. He explained that Madame seemed to have unusual confidence in his financial abilities. She had a little money she wished to invest and she would do nothing with it except on his advice. At the same time Mallison conveyed that he thought Madame an exceedingly shrewd woman.

  Marching into the lounge of the Sport Hotel where small tables were laid for tea, they found Mrs. Crewe, with Archie and Netta, sitting in state.

  “So good of you to come, Mr. Harrison,” cooed Mrs. Crewe; “and to bring your friends with you, too. We are more than delighted.“

  Harrison bowed politely and introduced his companions. Netta Crewe was certainly looking exceedingly attractive, and he could see that all the others were impressed by her. Archie seemed to be in a similarly truculent mood to that which had possessed him during Harrison’s visit to Overstead House and his greetings were curt, bordering on rudeness.

  “Let us all have tea together,” said Mrs. Crewe, “I know that’s essential to Mr. Harrison’s peace of mind. Archie, put those two tables together.”

  Garfitt found it hard to believe that this was the villainous old lady described by Miss Rich. Here was an elderly woman of the world, fittingly dressed, with an endearing smile and brilliantly mocking eye, pleasantly doing all the honours of a cup of tea. The sort of woman who noticed everything and undoubtedly one of character and will, but the rest didn’t fit at all. In the same way her attractive and very feminine daughter, a great contrast, hardly suggested violence and crime. Archie was a bit nearer, but bad manners are not necessarily an index to evil habits.

  “Anyone would think you were frightened of an old lady like myself,” said Mrs. Crewe, motioning Harrison to sit beside her.

  “Because I bring my bodyguard?” asked Harrison. “Believe me, Mrs. Crewe, in more ways than one you are a very frightening person.”

  “I suppose I must take that as a compliment from the great detective,” answered Mrs. Crewe.

  “It might be an insult,” said Archie Crewe, bitterly.

  “Dear, dear,” said Mrs. Crewe. “Mr. Harrison wouldn’t mean it like that, Archie. We know each other far too well. No, I was only amused that Mr. Harrison might be frightened of an old lady. I can understand a bit more his being frightened of a young one.”

  Here the old lady looked at Netta, who cast her eyes down in the most approved fashion.

  “You see, Mr. Harrison, Netta has told me the whole story,” Mrs. Crewe continued. “Possibly your friends haven’t heard it? You’re very modest, Mr. Harrison; most men boast of their conquests.”

  This time Netta was even able to produce the semblance of a blush.

  “It is really such a good story,” said Mrs. Crewe, turning to Garfitt, “I must tell you. Mr. Harrison, Netta, Archie and I had all been to the opera and he had come back with us for a final drink. When he left us, Netta found some excuse, not a very good or even true one, I’m afraid, to ask Mr. Harrison to come back to her room. Of course, Mr. Harrison did so. You would have done the same, wouldn’t you?”

  Garfitt looked at Netta Crewe, charmingly confused, and did not reply.

  “Of course you would,” said Mrs. Crewe for him. “But then the detective was rather frightened. Alone in a beautiful girl’s bedroom. How terrible. What on earth would happen? What would she do to him? Mr. Harrison’s mind worked with terrific speed and soon afterwards Henry here called to see if his master was quite all right and to take him virtuously home. Of course it was absurdly indiscreet of Netta, and Mr. Harrison’s fair reputation would have been terribly tarnished. Still, Mr. Harrison’s panic was a touching tribute to my Netta’s powers of vamping.”

  “You’re not being very kind to Mr. Harrison, mother,” said Netta, sympathetically.

  “So long as you have forgiven me for being so stupid, Miss Crewe,” said Harrison; “as I can see you have, I’m quite satisfied. The point of Mrs. Crewe’s story is, I’m afraid, that I don’t understand women.”

  Mrs. Crewe looked keenly at him. “Well, to be quite honest,” she said, “I’d much rather deal with men myself.”

  “So would I,’’ said Archie Crewe.

  “But sometimes one is forced to deal with women,” Harrison, slowly.

  “Young or old?” asked Mrs. Crewe.

  “Both,” was the reply, and, at this answer, Netta Crewe wrinkled her forehead in that rather becoming frown which seemed to denote extreme concentration.

  “The Daily Flight, you said?” asked Mrs. Crewe, turning her attention again to Garfitt.

  “That is so, madam,” answered Garfitt. “Just a humble reporter, but anything you may say may be used in evidence.”

  “What a queer phrase, Mr. Garfitt,” said Mrs. Crewe.

  “That’s what they say when they arrest anybody,” explained Archie Crewe.

  “The reporter arrests anyone he can lay his hands on, that’s his job,” said Garfitt. “And everyone’s guilty until they’re proved innocent.”

  “Tha
t’s not true, you know, Mr. Garfitt,” answered Mrs, Crewe. “Your own paper disproves that. And this is a case I happen to know something about. So does Mr. Harrison. I’ve just read the Daily Flight, and it says that a man who was arrested for murder in England has just been released. All the evidence seemed to be against him, didn’t it, Harrison? I remember you argued most eloquently in his favour, but that didn’t alter the evidence. And yet they’ve let him go. And what is more, the Daily Flight is very pleased about it, too.”

  Harrison noticed that the strained atmosphere which had recurred at intervals during his previous meetings with the Crewes seemed to be asserting itself again.

  “But, mother,” said Netta, as if taking her cue, “the paper says that the police have new information.”

  “They always say that, Netta,” answered Mrs. Crewe. “Still, as we have Mr. Garfitt here, he may be able to enlighten us. It isn’t often we meet anybody right in the middle of things as you are, Mr. Garfitt.”

  “The police don’t talk, Mrs. Crewe,” said Garfitt, solemnly, “but you can be sure that they mean what they say.”

  “And a grain of salt,” commented Archie Crewe.

  “Archie,” reproved Mrs. Crewe, with a frown. “By the way, Mr. Garfitt, what brings you to our charming little spot of La Plage?”

  “My nose,” answered Garfitt.

  “I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Crewe.

  “I’m sorry,” was the reply. “My nose for news. Ever reporter IS supposed to have one. I said to my news-editor—” here Mallison and Henry turned their eyes to heaven— “have we ever had any news from La Plage? Paris, yes, Biarritz, yes, Nice, Cannes, Monte Carlo, more than yes, but La Plage, no. He had to admit I was right. Then, I said, I will go and get some. Thank you, Garfitt, he said simply. And that was that.”

  “Rather hard on La Plage, don’t you think?” asked Netta, with a ravishing smile.

  “Reporters have no soul,” answered Garfitt. “Just one mass of inhumanity.”

  “And you think you’re going to be successful?” asked Archie.

  “I trust my nose,” answered Garfitt.

  The atmosphere was becoming normal, and the conversation drifted to general topics. For the time, at any rate, Harrison felt that Mrs. Crewe was giving up the effort of extracting some information from every remark which was dropped. As before, she revealed herself as a well-read and experienced woman, with a fund of interesting conversation and a refreshingly detached attitude to things in general. She was even a worshipper of Kai Lung and his wallet, a fact which shook Garfitt’s belief in Harrison’s judgment of her still more. For to Garfitt Kai Lung was almost a god—and this is not surprising, for his worshippers go to strange lengths of ecstatic admiration. Harrison was also an admirer of the verbal felicity of the famous Chinese, and the conversation dashed backward and forwards between the three regarding his many outstanding excellences. Kai Lung is a great bond, and Mrs. Crewe revealed that she was intimate with his every action.

  Tea had been finished for some time when she turned to Harrison and said, “Kai Lung has added to our pleasure this afternoon, for which we must be profoundly grateful, but I am certain you realise, Mr. Harrison, that I did not ask you to come and see me merely for such a discussion.”

  “I had hoped so,” answered Harrison.

  “I have something particular to say to you,” said Mrs. Crewe, “and if you can trust yourself alone with me, I should prefer not to broadcast my conversation. You understand? Of course, your bodyguard can sit at another table and watch us.”

  “Excellent,” replied Harrison, solemnly. “My bodyguard will do as you wish, Mrs. Crewe.”

  Archie Crewe arose with a snort of contempt, and signalled to Netta. With many farewells, the pair left the lounge while Henry, Garfitt and Mallison retreated to a table in the far comer.

  “You are very cautious, Mr. Harrison,” said Mrs. Crewe. “Still, I suppose, in your profession, that becomes a second nature. I cannot imagine your being really afraid of me.”

  “You wanted to say something privately, Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison, in a business-like manner, ignoring the last remark.

  “Of course I know what brings you here,” said Mrs. Crewe.

  “Better explain,” answered Harrison.

  “Put very shortly,” said Mrs. Crewe, “a pair of boots. It was quite clever of you to see where that trail led. A tramp murdered in Surrey connected by a pair of boots to La Plage in the South of France.”

  Harrison was surprised at this plunge into the heart of his carefully built-up edifice of evidence, but he said nothing and waited for Mrs. Crewe.

  “I suppose you are surprised at that,” continued the old lady, “and yet it is pretty obvious, because I know all about that particular pair of boots. I think it would be only fair to tell you the whole story.”

  “As you wish, Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison, coldly.

  “My children have a habit of confiding in me, Mr. Harrison,” she went on, somewhat put out by his attitude; “you noticed it with regard to that absurd episode over Netta. Archie is the same. He tells me everything. The only trouble is that they usually confide in me when they have done something and expect me to get them out of the mess. Children are like that, aren’t they?”

  “They must have very great confidence in you,” commented Harrison.

  “In a way, I think they lean on me too much,” said Mrs. Crewe. “Well, this is what Archie told me. We had a French servant with us at Overstead House, named Jules. He was very much attached to us, a kind of valet to Archie, and loved the garden, into the bargain. It appears that the day before the murder, the tramp himself came up to the house and begged for food. Jules was having a nap and interviewed the tramp in his stockinged feet. A lot of detail, but it is necessary for understanding what really happened. Jules is the tenderest-hearted mortal in the world and he went off to find something for the tramp. The tramp was duly grateful for the gift and went on his way. Then Jules looked round for his boots and found that the tramp had had the impudence to steal them while his back was turned.”

  “Extraordinary,” said Harrison.

  “Jules was righteously indignant,” continued Mrs. Crewe. “But what could he do. He had no idea where to look for the tramp. He knew nothing about Miss Docket’s kitchen and, foolishly enough, he did not then mention it to any of us. Next morning, Jules had been on some errand or other and was returning home when who should he meet on the road but the tramp himself, gaily trudging along in the stolen boots. This was too much for Jules. He went up to the man and taxed him with his theft. They quarrelled, there was a struggle and Jules left the man lying on the ground.”

  “To be precise, Jules hit him over the head,” said Harrison.

  “I suppose so,” answered Mrs. Crewe. “At an rate, he did not think he had killed him. When he heard that the man was dead, he went straight to Archie and told him all about it. Archie did not know what to do, but he was convinced, knowing Jules’s gentle nature, that the affair was an accident. But accidents like that are difficult to prove.”

  “They are,” said Harrison, grimly.

  “Of course you may not think it was an accident at all,” said Mrs. Crewe. “That would be quite justified. But you don’t know Jules. So Archie decided to await developments. The next one came quickly when you told us that you had noticed that Jules was wearing new boots. Archie saw then that you would soon connect the death of the tramp with poor Jules. Then he acted in the most quixotic fashion. I must say I admire him for it. It was an absurdly chivalrous thing to do. He went along to Millhead and walked off with those boots under the very noses of the police. Then poor Archie thought there would be nothing to connect Jules with the murdered tramp.”

  “Did he think, for a moment, about the man who was wrongly arrested?” asked Harrison, severely.

  “Of course he did,” said Mrs. Crewe, “and I’m thankful now that, quite without knowing it, I gave you that money to help prove the man’s innocen
ce. But just to finish the story, Archie told me that he had news that we must come back to the South of France immediately. It seemed quite genuine and, as we are used to going off at a moment’s notice, we packed up and came straight back.”

  “Bringing Jules with you,” said Harrison.

  “Of course,” answered Mrs. Crewe. “That was where Archie was so foolish. He was convinced that Jules, being a foreigner, would not get a fair trial in England and so he thought it best to get him away.”

  “Mr. Crewe we seems to have behaved with the greatest indiscretion all the way through,” said Harrison. “Still, English justice is not as bad as all that. If Jules’s story is satisfactory, he’ll be treated lightly enough.”

  “Well—” started Mrs. Crewe.

  “I’d better have a word with Jules as quickly as possible,” said Harrison.

  “That’s just what I was going to tell you,” answered Mrs. Crewe, sadly. “You can’t.”

  “Can’t,” asked Harrison. “Why not?”

  “During the night journey from Paris here, Jules disappeared out of the train,” said Mrs. Crewe. “The door of his compartment was found open in the morning. Jules was very sensitive and the whole affair was preying on his mind. I can’t help thinking he committed suicide.”

  “Did you make any inquiries?” asked Harrison.

  “Of course,” answered Mrs. Crewe. “We were very fond of Jules but we heard nothing at all.”

  “It’s a very curious story, Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison.

  “Not unusually so,” was the reply. “I admit that Archie should never have acted as he did. Of course, he had not taken you into account. To his mind, everything seemed so beautifully simple.”

  “As you will have realised, Mrs. Crewe, I have collected a certain amount of evidence myself.”

  “The Daily Flight hinted as much.”

  “You’re not so sceptical about the Daily Flight, then, Mrs. Crewe.”

  “If your journalist friend is a specimen of their staff, I shouldn’t dare to be. I have often told you, Mr. Harrison, I trust myself as a judge of character, and that young man has brains.”