Harrison had announced that he and Henry must say goodbye to Lotusland on the next day. Work was accumulating in London and there was no more to do in La Plage. This was to be the final drink at Madame’s and, as he knew they wanted to ask some questions, he thought such a meeting-place suitable and convenient.
“Where’s Ronnie?” asked Mallison.
“He’ll be here in a minute,” answered Harrison. “His news-editor wanted him on the telephone. That’s what he told me, and for once I think he was telling the truth about that gentleman because he seemed genuinely surprised himself about it.”
At that moment Ronald Garfitt appeared through the bead curtain of the doorway. He was wearing white flannel trousers, a singlet of bright colour much affected by Mediterranean visitors, and carrying the unattractive mackintosh.
“Symbol that Ronald Garfitt is on deck again,” he cried, waving the tattered garment. “A journalist’s life is non-stop variety. I go home tomorrow, good people.”
“Following me again,” said Harrison.
“Not willingly this time, O Harrison,” answered Garfitt; “I am needed at the post of duty. Madame, bring me drink.”
Madame smiled. She did not understand a word of Garfitt’s conversation, but the word “drink” was sufficient guide for her to satisfy his needs.
“And what else did the news editor say?” asked Harrison.
“So the detective has not lost his skill,” said Garfitt. “Why should you imagine he said anything out of the ordinary?”
“That’s my business, Garfitt,” answered Harrison. “But I can see you are almost blushing. Out with it.”
“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Garfitt, with much more hesitation in his manner than usual, “the news-editor was passing on official congratulations on the job here. He said that it was one of the best shows the Flight had ever had. Everybody was talking about it, and it had been jolly good for circulation.”
“Any financial recognition?” asked Mallison.
“There was, Bob,” said Garfitt; “a pleasant little rise. Harrison ought to get it and I told him so. And then what do you think the man said?”
“Give my love to Clay Harrison,” said Mallison.
“Not quite,” answered Garfitt. “But he did say that if the said Mr. Harrison felt so disposed, he could discuss out-of-pocket expenses with him whenever got back to London.”
“That’s very generous of him,” said Harrison. “I don’t think he need do that, but I shall call on him in London all the same.”
“And I hope you’ll mention Mr. Garfitt’s mackintosh,” said Yvette.
“I’m trusting to him to spend the first instalment of his rise on a new one,” answered Harrison. “Now as this is likely to be the last formal meeting of the ‘gang’ I propose to tell you the odd details I’ve discovered, and then you can ask any questions or give me any information you may have obtained. First of all, I have talked with Netta Crewe, Drina Esberg and Martin Hooker. Let me take the last two first. I gathered from them that the million francs was to be swindled out of Hooker.”
“Does the story start at Cannes?” asked Mallison.
“Exactly,” answered Harrison. “Hooker, who is a very likeable person and had no ill effects from his enforced stay in a filthy corner of the deserted factory, had gone to Cannes to look around for a few days. He is a hard-headed American. The possession of a lot of money seems to have made him more so. He saw Drina Esberg in a cabaret one night. She was singing and Wallace Sinclair was playing the piano for her. They seemed a very popular turn and Hooker fell heavily for the girl. He told me that he straightway decided to marry her.”
“Pretty sudden,” said May Rich.
“Hooker is rather sudden but very sound,” answered Harrison. “He told me that he saw at once that there were untold riches of womanhood concealed in that girl and that he intended to add them to his other treasures.”
“A beautiful mind, that man must have,” said Miss Docket.
“He soon got an introduction,” continued Harrison, “and he made no bones about his admiration for her. Unfortunately there were the Crewes in the background. They had a hold on Sinclair and the girl. The soon became friendly with Hooker, and he says he saw through them at once. But he wasn’t going to be put off Miss Esberg by a little thing like that. He just wanted to see how far they intended to go with him and then he would make his plans accordingly. The Crewes were clever enough not to put their proposition up to him themselves. In fact, the first suggestion to invest the million francs in a venture which Archie Crewe was certain could not fail came from Wallace Sinclair.”
“That was the kind of thing Hooker had expected?” said Garfitt.
“Quite,” said Harrison; “and Hooker practically warned him off the course. He even suggested that the company of the Crewes was an unhealthy kind to cultivate. That seemed to keep Sinclair quiet for a few days, and Hooker and Sinclair and Miss Esberg went about together, and were as friendly as before. Then, to Hooker’s surprise—and, I think, disappointment—Drina Esberg raised the question herself. She told him he had been quite wrong about the Crewes and that Archie was only trying to do him a good turn. In fact, he would do very well to make the investment. That rather took his breath away. His pearl among women was obviously a common adventuress and was in league with the Crewes to do him down. So thereupon he shook the dust of Cannes from his feet and went back to Paris.”
“But he could not forget Drina Esberg,” said Yvette.
“Of course not,” said Miss Docket. “When a man’s in love like that what else would you expect?”
“He certainly did not forget her,” continued Harrison. “He told me he kept on thinking and thinking about her until at last he decided that she was only a tool of the Crewes; that she was too frightened of them not to carry out their orders, and back she went onto her pedestal.”
“Poor fish,” murmured Garfitt.
“I think he was right, Garfitt,” said Harrison; “Drina Esberg is a very simple being. She is not cut out even for a minor adventuress. And she was overwhelmed by the Crewes. Of course this took Hooker a good time to decide. He was well into this year when he made up his mind. Then he did an extraordinary thing. He wrote to Mrs. Crewe and offered to buy off Drina Esberg for a million francs.”
“What a splendid man,” said Miss Docket.
“I told you he is a very likeable person,” said Harrison. “This effort produced no answer. He gave it a fair time to sink in, but heard nothing more. Then he decided to go down to the South of France with his million francs in his hand and bargain for himself. So he wrote to Drina Esberg at the cabaret where he had heard her sing, gave her a few days’ grace and off he set like some modern knight errant.”
“That’s fine,” said Mallison.
“Drina Esberg had been under guard in La Plage, the negro being her chief warder, and the letter came on to her,” said Harrison. “Now here is her contribution. She was too frightened of the Crewes not to tell them about it, especially after what had happened—that comes later when I tell you what Netta said. So she wrote to Archie Crewe at Great Crockham. I expect those were orders, and that the Crewes had anticipated something like this. The negro stood over her at a café while she did so, but she was cleverer than he was. She said that, just before the Crewes came to England, she heard my name mentioned. Archie scoffed at it, but Mrs. Crewe paid me the honour of saying that I might be a dangerous enemy. At all events, Miss Esberg managed to scrawl my name on an envelope without the negro seeing her and put it in the letter-box with her other one to Archie Crewe. What she expected to happen as a result I cannot imagine, but in this case the miracle did occur.”
“Did she know why they mentioned your name, sir?” asked Henry.
“No idea, Henry,” said Harrison. “I should think it possible that their excellent intelligence system told them that I was going to be at Great Crockham while they were there. I assume, also, that they heard it after all their plans
were laid, and they decided that it was impossible to alter them.”
“That sounds right, sir,” said Henry.
“And now for Netta Crewe,” said May Rich.
“Her story, of course, filled in all the gaps,” said Harrison. “But first of all you must have now realised that none of the three Crewes were related to one another.”
“Not related?” cried Yvette.
“Of course not,” said Harrison. “I admit they carried off the family atmosphere rather well but that’s all in the game. You should have spotted that when Miss Rich told you of the queer jealousies she had noticed. Netta was much too obviously in love with Archie to be his sister, and she was certainly jealous of any attentions he paid to Drina Esberg. When I lunched with them I was suspicious and, when I dined with them, Netta made me certain when she realised that Archie had had a letter from Miss Esberg, and showed her teeth about it. Mrs. Crewe twisted her arm for that, Miss Rich.”
May Rich gave a cry of alarm and then blushed.
“Besides, Netta gave it away as well,” said Harrison. “When she was off her guard she referred to the old lady as ‘Mrs. Crewe.’ Now that might have been a good Victorian habit, but no girl speaks of her mother like that nowadays. Still, the family disguise was effective, I will say that. Netta told me a lot of things; in fact she answered every question I asked her. She seemed to have drifted into being mixed up with Mrs. Crewe before she realised how deeply she was involved. Wallace Sinclair was a pretty decent sort, if rather weak, and he didn’t like the Hooker business at all. When Hooker wrote again from Paris, offering to pay the million francs, Mrs. Crewe told Sinclair to go to Paris and be pleasant to Hooker. Sinclair had done a good deal of cabaret work in Paris and was pretty well known there. He refused point-blank. And when Mrs. Crewe and the others threatened him, he said he would go to the police. That settled it.”
“Poor devil,” said Mallison.
“I expect they had one of their horrible trials and sentenced him to death,” continued Harrison. “That was another aspect of Mrs. Crewe’s cruelty. But the carrying out of the sentence was not so easy. He was too well known in Toulon and around and in Paris for the usual methods. So Mrs. Crewe decided to starve him and take him to England. I don’t expect she had worked out the tramp idea altogether, but she may have got a hint of Miss Docket’s kitchen and gone to Great Crockham accordingly. Netta said they got him off the boat very easily as a sick relation and took him by night to Overstead House. There they locked him in the attic and perfected plans for his disposal. They took it in turns to see that nobody went on to that floor.”
“Pretty completely organised,” said Garfitt.
“But it’s difficult to think of everything,” said Harrison. “For example, Netta, out of sheer kindness of heart, gave me a most valuable clue. The night Archie went to the kitchen in tramp’s clothes, to give the impression he was Wallace Sinclair, Netta was left on guard. She knew Sinclair was to be murdered next day and so she took pity on him and brought him some food without letting the others know. So while Archie was refusing food to make the last detail accurate, Netta was spoiling the whole thing. The boots, she said, did create a stir. Archie had dressed himself up carefully, made himself dirty and all that sort of thing, and then realised that he had forgotten about footwear. You can spoil clothes but it is difficult to fake good shoes. So he borrowed a pair from Jules, wore them himself, and next day put them on Sinclair. Netta said the plan was for Archie to run down the lane to Overstead House directly he left the Jogger on the main road. Then he and Jules were to get Sinclair out as soon as possible.”
Harrison paused and the blood went out of May Rich’s cheeks.
“I will spare you details,” said Harrison. “But Sinclair then met his fate and was dropped in the ditch.”
“And the ten-shilling note?” asked Henry.
“That was Mrs. Crewe’s brilliant idea,” answered Harrison. “She herself planted it in the middle of the road just as a tramp, who happened to be the Jogger, came into sight. We must admit that was extraordinarily neat. Finally, Netta told me that they used the house as a base for a series of robberies which they were careful to execute outside their own district, and well outside at that. Sergeant Griskin’s boast was therefore rather premature.”
“And what happens to Netta?” asked Miss Docket.
“She has become very involved in the whole business, I know,” said Harrison, “and yet I can’t help liking her. She has helped me exceedingly, and there’s certainly a good streak in her. She’s very much in love with the man and she realises there’s no hope whatever for him. I don’t know what will happen to her, but Manet was struck with her too and he says he will look after her.”
“And that rounds off the story,” said Garfitt. “Anything more?”
“Only my own comment,” said Harrison. “The Jogger loved the open air; Jules loved flowers; Sinclair, I gather, loved music; Surrey and the South of France are gifts from God—so I’m glad we’ve squared accounts with the Crewes.”
“Agreed,” said Garfitt, solemnly.
“And now for questions,” said Harrison.
“You said we could give you information,” broke in Miss Docket, “so I will tell you what I know. I have had a letter from Griskin, somewhat laboured I will admit, but full of news. He has been congratulated and is booked for promotion. The Jogger, Sam, and Flick basked in popularity and free drinks for a few days after the Daily Flight came out with the whole story. But, being true tramps, they found that civilisation palled. They told Griskin that he could have all the other drinks that were coming to them, they were sick of it. So off they went again on the road and heaven knows where they are now.”
“The wind on the heath, brother,” said Garfitt.
“Splendid fellows,” said Harrison.
“Only one other thing,” said Miss Docket; “I am asking May to keep the famous wrist watch as a memory of La Plage on the promise that she will now choose her clothes more tastefully. Besides, her watch keeps better time.”
There was a general laugh, and then Yvette Mallison asked timidly, “And what about Drina Esberg?”
“Hooker’s looking after her,” answered Harrison. “She’s practically all right now and he’s taking her back to the United States and marrying her straight away.”
“And the villainous Mr. Humphrey Bliss?” asked Mallison.
“I had a heart-to-heart talk with him,” said Harrison. “He was in the hands of moneylenders and the Crewes had picked up some of his notes. He has been outrageously unprofessional, I know, but he was in a bad mess and he’s had a fearful shock. He’ll settle down now and become a leading K.C.”
“And the hundred pounds, sir?” asked Henry.
“Oh yes, the money Mrs. Crewe so kindly subscribed for the Jogger’s defence,” answered Harrison. “When I realised the Crewes had been carrying out a series of robberies, I assumed that they had been stolen from a bank. I expect I was right. She may have thought of it as a kind of conscience money. At any rate, some chanty may as well benefit by it.”
Harrison looked round for further questions, but the company was silent. Then he saw that Madame was signalling to him to come across to the little counter. As he reached her, she motioned him to be quiet, and led him to the back of it and pointed to the window which gave on to her own room, the little window through which she could observe customers when not actually in the cafe.
He looked through the pane and saw sitting hunched up in a chair, staring into vacancy, a woman he did not recognise. She looked the picture of grief, with no interest whatever in the world.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“That is the friend of Jules from Cannes,” whispered Madame. “His loss has been great to her. But she will get better. Then she shall help me here.”
“And why, madame?” asked Harrison.
“Why?” asked Madame, in simple astonishment. “She was very kind to my niece.”
THE END
/> First published in the United Kingdom in 1934 by D. Appleton-Century Company
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by
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Copyright © 1934 by Clifton Robbins
The moral right of Clifton Robbins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911420040
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Death on the Highway Page 32