Dancers in Mourning

by Margery Allingham

  The superintendent gave the word and he and Yeo changed significant glances.

  Sock came in looking haggard and exhausted. The pains to which the whole police station had been put to get it into his head that he was not under any sort of arrest, but had merely been invited to stay in the charge room until he remembered why he had not come down by train that afternoon and had merely waited in the booking hall until Campion had come to fetch him, had not been successful.

  The evidence of the station officials had been disconcertingly full. A porter had seen Sock walking up the hill that afternoon. A booking office clerk had seen him phone from the box in the hall and the ticket-collector had watched him kicking his heels on the steps until Campion and the Lagonda had arrived.

  Sock caught sight of Campion as he came in and appealed to him direct.

  ‘It’s a damn silly story. So I have to tell everybody?’

  The superintendent intervened tactfully. He had a vast experience of that other half of the world which he so delightfully called ‘the gentry’.

  ‘We’re all officers, sir,’ he began in a fatherly, not to say motherly, fashion, ‘and we’re all working hard to get to the bottom of the mystery. There’s not one of us here who can’t keep his mouth shut if it be that we’re not called upon to know something in the way of duty. Sit down, sir, and tell us how you come to get into the town.’

  Sock dropped into the chair so lately vacated by the doctor.

  ‘I’m a fool,’ he said. ‘I ought to have told you this right away. I would have done only I felt it had nothing whatever to do with the murder and –’

  ‘Ah, you must let us be the judges of that, sir.’ The superintendent was still parental but firm. ‘Your car’s been stolen in London and you come down to a country place the next day, and the first thing you see on your way from the station is your car with a murdered body in it – well, that’s a big coincidence now. We had to check up on your story as a matter of form and we found out you didn’t come by train like you said you did. Well, that sets us thinking. We feel we’d like to have a talk to you. You don’t want to talk to us and so we say we’re very sorry but we’d like you to sit downstairs until you decide to tell us something. That’s fair, now. You can’t say that isn’t fair.’

  Sock laughed and looked remarkably young again.

  ‘You’re perfectly right, superintendent,’ he said. ‘I’m an idiot. I was driven down here by car this afternoon – that is to say Saturday afternoon; it’s Sunday now, isn’t it? I left London by train Saturday morning and went to Watford. From there I was driven down here to Birley in a Hillman Minx. I got out at the station because the driver of the car didn’t want to go to White Walls. The rest of my original story is perfectly true.’

  ‘I see, sir.’ The superintendent paused long enough for the constable in the corner to complete his shorthand notes. ‘Now, who was the driver of the Minx? You’ll have to tell us that.’

  Sock sighed helplessly.

  ‘Eve Sutane,’ he said.

  Yeo beamed and Inchcape sat forward.

  ‘The address in Watford where the young lady met you?’ murmured the superintendent with the delicacy of a good maître d’hôtel.

  Sock hesitated.

  ‘Is this really necessary? I’m betraying a confidence.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir. What address?’

  ‘St Andrews, 9, Cordover Road.’

  ‘And the name of the occupier?’

  ‘Major and Mrs Polthurst-Drew. For God’s sake don’t drag them into it. Eve’s been staying there with the daughter. Her name’s Dorothy. Is that enough?’

  Yeo leant forward and touched the superintendent’s arm and a nod of mutual understanding passed between them. Yeo cleared his throat and the side of Mr Campion’s mind that was not sick with apprehension noticed with amusement that the county superintendent’s velvet-glove technique had impressed the Yard man and he was inclined to pay it the sincerest form of compliment.

  ‘There are just one or two little points I should like to clear up, Mr Petrie,’ he began affably. ‘Why did Miss Sutane hesitate to drive you right up to her own home?’

  Sock fidgeted and suddenly capitulated.

  ‘She’s very young,’ he began awkwardly. ‘She ran away on Wednesday and Jimmy – I mean Mr Sutane – and I have had the devil of a job looking for her ever since.’

  His audience took some seconds to digest this information, and when he spoke again Yeo had resumed his familiar sharpness.

  ‘The young lady was missing for three days and no one mentioned it … why was that?’

  Sock smiled disarmingly. He was at home with brusquerie.

  ‘We’d had a spot of bother already, Inspector,’ he murmured. ‘As you know, she’s ridiculously young and her brother wanted to keep her out of the newspapers if possible. That was quite natural. I think he said she was staying with friends, and after all that did prove to be true. She went to Town on Wednesday afternoon and called at the Drury Lane studio of some art-school friends whose name is Scott. They’re sisters. While she was there she met the Polthurst-Drew girl, whom she knew, and who asked her down to Watford for a day or so. Mr Sutane saw the Scotts at once. It was the first place he thought of looking. But they had some barmy idea of shielding their dear little pal from cruel guardians and whatnot, and like little lunatics they swore they hadn’t seen her. It was only Friday night, when we’d tried everywhere else, that I got the idea of going back to the Scotts with a romantic yarn of deserted but undying affection and they coughed up the right address. I went down there this morning and she drove me as far as Birley in Dorothy’s car. I was trying to get her to come home, but she wouldn’t listen to me. No one knew that there’d been a spot of difference – no one at White Walls, I mean; except Jimmy, of course – so I thought I’d pretend I’d come down from Town by train. There you are. I’ve told you the full strength.’

  He sighed and lay back in his chair.

  ‘It’s a great weight off my mind,’ he said frankly. ‘I didn’t bash any unknown car thief over the head and you can go through every moment of my time in the last twenty-four hours and prove it.’

  Yeo nodded gravely. There was a preoccupied expression on his round face.

  ‘You spoke of a difference between Miss Sutane and her brother,’ he said. ‘What was that?’

  Sock’s hesitation was barely noticeable and his reply was glib and convincing.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it was important. Eve is inclined to be – well – young, you know, and Jimmy is naturally nervy. It was probably something very trivial. It usually is when they have a row. Perhaps he told her she was spending too much or using too much lipstick … I don’t know.’

  ‘She didn’t tell you?’

  ‘She drove me here in silence. I was nearly frozen out of the bus.’

  The local superintendent smiled indulgently.

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to tell us all this before?’ he murmured. ‘We had to hold –’ he coughed, ‘– ask you to wait, because of your car turning up so strangely.’

  ‘I know. That’s fantastic! Why should it happen here? It’s an incredible coincidence.’ Sock looked about him earnestly. ‘It’s crazy,’ he said. ‘Was there anything in the man’s pockets to show who he was?’

  No one answered this unprofessional question, but the superintendent, who seemed to have taken an incomprehensible liking to the young man, made a little concession.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t robbery. He had quite a quantity of money on him. That’s not for publication, mind.’

  ‘Not robbery?’ Sock repeated dully. He shook his head. ‘I’m all in,’ he confessed. ‘My mind doesn’t work any more. Can I go now? Coming, Campion?’

  The lank figure in the corner roused himself.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting for something. You take the car. Someone will run me down in the morning. Make my apologies, won’t you?’


  The superintendent glanced up.

  ‘Stay in the district, won’t you, sir?’ he murmured pleasantly. ‘Just till we get the address verified. It won’t take long. Tomorrow tea-time, perhaps. We’ll let you know. Meanwhile we’ll have to hold the car.’

  ‘Lord, yes! I don’t want it. This has put me clean off it.’ Sock’s smile was sickly. ‘Good night, everybody. I’ll do the polite for you, Campion. I’ll tell ’em you’re not exactly on the tiles. So long.’

  When he had gone Yeo frowned.

  ‘It seems a straight story,’ he said. ‘Why make such a mouthful of it? He knows more about the row than he cares to admit. I’ll have to get that out of the girl.’

  The telephone bell silenced them all. The instrument stood trilling on the superintendent’s desk for what seemed a full minute before Yeo leapt upon it and clapped the receiver to his ear. Campion saw his face light up.

  ‘Good man!’ Yeo said enthusiastically to the weary Cooling in London. ‘Oh, good man! Wait a minute.’ He pulled a pad towards him and wrote from dictation.

  As the minutes went by his spirits soared and his comical face became jubilant.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said at last. ‘Just what I wanted. Stay where you are and do the necessary. Oh, he’s still there, is he? Give him my compliments and tell him this is my show. Don’t put him off. I want the old ferret right on the trail. Yes, right-o. I’ll ring you later. Don’t say I called him a ferret. That’s a breach of discipline and you never know. Yes, fine. Good-bye.’

  He hung up the receiver and sat grinning at them.

  ‘Listen to this. Just listen to this,’ he said at last without attempting to disguise his delight. ‘They’ve got the prints on the files and here’s the dope we want.’

  He began to read from his notes in a steady, monotonous drone.

  ‘Georg Kummer, alias Kroeger, alias Koetz, thought to be a Pole. About forty-four or forty-five years old. First attracted police notice in this country in January, nineteen twenty-eight, when he appeared before the Bow Street magistrates on a charge of failure to register as an alien. Papers found to be unsatisfactory. Deported. Reappeared June, twenty-nine. Charged with felonious conspiracy in Glasgow and sentenced to six months in the second division in company with four others. Deported. Next heard of in France, following year, in connexion with arson charge. No sentence, but deported from France. Became mysteriously wealthy during and just after Repudiation of Arms agreement by Severino Government. Reappeared in England, nineteen thirty-two, and was apprehended by police after he had been working in a firework factory for three months. Once more deported. Last heard of, nineteen thirty-four, when he was acquitted by a Viennese court on a charge of concealing arms and war material. (Foreign information by courtesy of Austrian Police, who applied to us for English details concerning him.) Note: This man is known to have been employed by several governments in his capacity as a chemist. He is believed to hold valuable degrees in his subject, but has always come to grief through a crooked streak. He is subject to sudden and great changes in his financial condition. During the last two years his headquarters have been in Vienna. Last permanent address: 49, Wienstrasse 7.

  Yeo paused and cleared his throat. His eyes were dancing.

  ‘I didn’t read the physical description because they’ve checked it up that end. He’s the chap who pinched the car all right. The paper-seller described him to a ‘T’. Well, there you are. It’s what I’ve had in the back of my mind ever since I saw the stains on his hands. See who he is? He’s the man who made that ruddy bomb.’

  26

  AT SIX o’clock breakfast arrived from the ‘Red Lion’ over the way and the superintendent entertained his own inspector and the two distinguished visitors to the meal in his office. Yeo had become a new man since the message from the Records Department. The hunt was up and he was getting into his stride. His good humour had developed a certain vigorousness which might have been almost horrific in a less attractive personality. He sat eating a great plateful of bacon, fried egg, sausage and steak, his round eyes sharp and eager and his stubby fingers crumbling his bread as if he felt it represented an enemy.

  ‘It must have been blackmail,’ he said. ‘I knew it as soon as I saw the body and heard the story of Petrie’s stolen car. There had to be a connexion between the two cases. I’m not prepared to accept a miracle. We’re not out of the wood yet, but if this should turn out to be another stroke of chance, then I’ll resign and go in for conjury.’

  ‘When shall we know?’ inquired Inchcape, who had been startled into meekness by this sudden turn of events.

  ‘I can’t say.’ Yeo was ready and happy to talk. ‘Cooling will have gone ahead under our Super’s direction. The Austrian police may take their time, but I don’t think so. Foreigners often seem to be a bit quicker than us,’ he added naïvely. ‘We’ll find out how long he’s been over here and we’ll find his lodgings. Once we can take a look at them I think we’ll be sitting pretty. My guess is that he’s been over here about ten days and when he came he brought that grenade with him.’

  The local superintendent looked uneasy.

  ‘About the gentleman we’re after …’ he murmured. ‘Since there were no finger-prints on the car, other than the deceased’s and Mr Petrie’s, it shows he wore gloves, don’t it? Probably they were ordinary gloves which he didn’t trouble to take off. He’d never have wiped the whole car clean even if he’d thought of it, would he now?’

  ‘The lamp was wiped,’ said Inchcape with his mouth full. ‘Still, every kid knows about finger-prints these days.’

  Yeo looked at Campion.

  ‘We’re going to catch this fellow, you know,’ he observed. ‘I don’t see how we can help ourselves. Did you ever hear of a chap who behaved so silly? There’s no subtlety about him at all. He’s behaving as if he’s a god or something.’

  ‘Ah, they’re often like that,’ said the superintendent. ‘Not insane. Just sort of exalted.’

  Yeo went on with his harangue, addressing Campion in particular.

  ‘I see a chap who is a sort of great white chief in his own little world,’ he said meaningly. ‘A bloke who’s used to getting his own way in everything. The people who work for him think he’s something a bit bigger than life, and, because they stand for him doing the most amazing things, he thinks he can do the same elsewhere. He wanted to get rid of Konrad, and he must have had a good reason, mind you, or he wouldn’t have bothered himself, so what did he do? He thought out a scheme which sounded all right and did what he was in the habit of doing in his business. He called in an expert. The expert delivered the goods and was paid for his trouble. Our man put his stunt into action and it went wrong. Instead of simply killing Konrad he raised little hell and got the police on him hot and strong. He kept his head – or more probably didn’t quite realise what he had done – and went on with his own work in his own admiring circle. However, the expert who had delivered the grenade wasn’t barmy. He could read the papers and he knew a good thing when he saw it. Our man was blackmailed by him. That settled it. Having found a simple way of getting rid of tiresome people, the man we have in mind proceeded to get going once again. He borrowed a car, choosing the one that he knew would be in a certain spot at a certain time. He seems to have got Kummer to do the pinching and I think how he did it was this. I think he stood at the end of the street, making the excuse that he was buying a packet of fags or something, and asked the chemist to bring the bus down for him. He probably just pointed it out and said: “Bring it along, will you, old boy?” or something like that. Then he got in and they drove out to the most convenient lonely spot he knew, a spot from which he could either walk home or pick up his own car. Then he made the other chap pull up for something, threw the rug over his head and beat him up with a spanner.’

  ‘But why so near home?’ protested Inchcape.

  ‘Why chuck the bicycle lamp out into the garden?’ retorted Yeo. ‘Because it never dawned on him that we might be able to p
rove anything against him. I’ve known plenty of men like that. Forty-five per cent of the criminal classes have that bee in their bonnet. Be careful of your finger-prints and you’re okay; that’s their motto.’

  Campion stretched his long legs under the table. He looked haggard and weary.

  ‘If the murder took place about nine or nine-thirty –’ he began and paused.

  Yeo was regarding him with a slow, not unsympathetic smile.

  ‘Mr Sutane wasn’t at the theatre after four o’clock on Friday,’ he said. ‘He didn’t appear that night. Phil Flannery, his new understudy, went on. I didn’t know that until after you left us yesterday or I’d have told you. We were going to interview him yesterday evening and then this broke. I thought it would be best to wait to identify the body.’

  Campion sat still and Yeo eyed him.

  ‘My case is mainly theory, I know that,’ said the Yard Inspector. ‘Several points have got to be cleared up before we can make an arrest. That’s why I particularly don’t want anyone scared. We want that motive.’

  Campion hardly heard him. His pale eyes were hard and introspective. As he sat staring down at the uneaten food congealing horridly on the coarse plate it dawned upon him painfully that the moment had arrived. The inevitable hour when he must pay for his return to White Walls was now at hand.

  He got up.

  ‘I’m going back now,’ he said. ‘If you’d care to run me down in the police car, Inspector, I’d like to have a word with you.’

  Yeo rose with alacrity.

  ‘I’d like to. This last business makes all the difference, don’t it?’ he remarked as they moved towards the door. ‘I must say it wasn’t in my book at all. I never thought he’d do it again so soon. The quicker we can pull him in the better. We don’t want him taking a dislike to someone else.’

  He coughed. His heavy jocularity had struck the wrong note, even to his own ears.

  The telephone delayed them. It was the local sergeant phoning from the station to say that no one at all had joined the late down train on Friday night. The ticket collector remembered the occasion perfectly.