The Tiger In the Smoke

by Margery Allingham

  ‘Well, I mean, I was telling you. You’ll have to listen, won’t you? I must get a word in, mustn’t I? Fair’s fair, I mean to say. It was just when we were opening.’ Her voice was gentle, placatory, and never ending. ‘I was just getting my keys for the spirits when I looked round and there he was …’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?’ She had lost her sense of theatre and was on the defensive, but her wits were gathering about her. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Well, it was like this, see. Bill, I mean Mr Slaney, told me what he looked like. I mean he came in and asked me had I seen anyone like him in any of the bars today, and I had, so naturally I said so. I’m only trying to help, aren’t I? Don’t listen if you don’t want to. Bert and I don’t want to go into any witness-box. That sort of thing is not as good for business as you may think. But I did see both men. They came in …’

  ‘Both?’ The circumflex accents which served Luke for eyebrows shot up on his forehead. Behind Mrs Gollie, Slaney signalled confirmation, and they let her flow quietly on.

  ‘I was in a hurry, see, so I didn’t notice them particularly. I thought they’d come off a train. The lights were shocking. I told Bert so. He was farther along the bar in the saloon, and I called to him that I’d have to have bigger bulbs if I was to see what I was doing. All the time these two were talking. The other man – not the one who was killed – gave the order. Two small gins, they had.’

  ‘Were they alone in your little bar?’

  ‘I’ve just told you so. We were hardly open.’

  ‘Did they meet there or did they come in together?’

  ‘They came in together. I’ve said so. Oh do listen, Mr Luke. They came in talking very quietly, confidentially, as if they had business. Well, I know enough to stand back when I see that going on. I haven’t been in what you might call my own business for five years without learning when customers want me and when they don’t, so I just served them and went along to Bert for the bulbs. When I came back, I was just in time to see the smaller man – that’s the one Bill asked me about, the one with the well-cut sports jacket, green pork-pie, and pale delicate sort of face – shoot out through the door, pulling his arm away from the other chap.’

  ‘Pulling?’

  ‘Yes, you know, shaking him off.’ Her white elbow, round and milky, shot out from the folds of camel-hair with a jingle of gold bracelets. ‘The other chap started after him, remembered me, and shoved ten bob down on the counter. Then he went after him. All night I expected him to come back for his change, but he didn’t come in.

  ‘Did you hear anything they said at all?’

  ‘I didn’t, Mr Luke. It’s no good me saying I did. I didn’t listen, you see. Besides, there was such a row going on. Bert had the wireless in the saloon, listening to a play. There was a band in the street bawling. I was talking myself about the electric-light bulbs …’

  ‘In fact the place was the same old parrot house it always is.’ Luke spoke without heat. ‘What did the second man look like?’

  She clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘I wish I’d looked, but I never thought of a murder, see? He was tall and he was clean, sort of scrubbed looking. A thorough-going gentleman, if you can imagine what I mean. Might have been in the Navy. He smiled when he gave the order, but not at me. I might have been any sort of girl.’

  ‘Was he fair or dark?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. He had his hat on. He’d got brown eyes, and although he was young he looked important. Respectable, that’s the word I’ve been looking for. Respectable. I know I was surprised to see him run. It was like seeing him turn into an ordinary man.’

  ‘Not the usual Crumb Street type, perhaps?’ murmured Mr Campion.

  ‘You’ve got it.’ She shot him a surprised smile. ‘He wasn’t. I mean there he was in a good dark overcoat, black hat and white collar. He wasn’t this district at all.’

  ‘Formal clothes.’ Luke scribbled on the blotter. ‘Why couldn’t you say so before?’

  ‘Because I didn’t think of them before.’ Her voice was soothing and patient. ‘When this gentleman here mentioned Crumb Street I remembered why I thought he’d come off a train. He had a navy tie with two little stripes on it, very wide apart. Silver-grey and sort of puce and a little sort of flower with a bird’s head coming out of it, very small, between,’

  ‘Had he though?’ Campion sighed. ‘I wondered about that.’ He leaned over Luke’s shoulder and wrote on the blotter, ‘Phoenix Rugger Club tie. Geoffrey Levett?’

  Luke stared at the scribbled words for a moment before he straightened his back and stared at his friend.

  ‘Get a-way!’ he said softly. ‘You thought you saw him outside here this afternoon, remember?’

  Mr Campion looked very unhappy. ‘It hardly proves – ’ he began.

  ‘Lord, no. It doesn’t prove it wasn’t King Farouk, but there’s a healthy supposition there. Hallo, Andy, what’s that?’ The final remark was directed to the clerk who was hovering at his elbow, his round face shining with excitement.

  ‘Going through the deceased’s effects as directed, sir, this was in the wallet. Note the postmark, sir.’

  Luke took the used envelope from him and turned it over. It was addressed to G. Levett Esquire at the Parthenon Club, but on the back an office address with a telephone number had been added in pencil. The postmark was unusually clear and the date was the current one. The letter had gone through the mail that morning.

  Luke pointed to the pencil. ‘Is that his handwriting?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. That’s his own office address, of course.’

  They stood looking at one another and Luke put the thought into words.

  ‘Why did he give him his address, and then run after him and – ? That won’t wash, will it? I could do with a chat with that young man.’

  ‘Well, have I helped?’ It was Mrs Gollie, glowing with excitement. ‘I mean I – ’

  Luke turned to her and stiffened. The door behind her was opening and a tall sad figure came quietly into the room.

  Assistant Commissioner Stanislaus Oates, Chief of Scotland Yard, wore his honours as he wore everything else, gloomily. He had not changed since Campion had first met him over twenty years before. He was still the shabby dyspeptic figure, thickening unexpectedly in the middle, who peered out at a wicked world from under a drooping hat brim, but he brightened a little at the sight of his old friend and, after nodding to Luke who was standing like a ramrod, came forward with outstretched hand.

  ‘Hallo, Campion, I thought I might find you here. Just the weather for trouble, isn’t it?’

  A great reputation has many magical qualities: for instance, Detective Slaney got Mrs Gollie out into the C.I.D. Room without her uttering a single word, Galloway faded into the recess which contained his desk, and the three in charge of the case were to all intents and purposes alone in a matter of seconds.

  Oates took off his ancient raincoat and folded it carefully over the back of a chair.

  ‘Superintendent Yeo is tied to his telephone, all his telephones,’ he said, his cold eyes resting on Luke for a moment, ‘so I thought I’d slip down and see you myself, Charles.’ He had a sad voice. The words came slowly, like an old schoolmaster’s. ‘You may have a little more on your plate than you realize. How far have you got?’

  Luke told him, reeling out the essential details with a minimum of gesture and the precision his training had taught him. The Assistant Commissioner listened, nodding gently from time to time as if he were hearing a well-learned lesson. When it was done he picked up the envelope and turned it over.

  ‘Humph,’ he said. ‘He must have been waiting for Duds outside here. Probably kept an eye on the doors from the foyer of the hotel opposite.’ Mr Campion spoke thoughtfully. ‘When we let Duds go, he must have followed him, taken him into the first pub, tried to get the tale out of him, failed, given him his office address, and then – what?’

  ‘Duds was windy b
ecause he wasn’t on his own – wasn’t working on his own, that is,’ Luke supplemented, ‘so as soon as he got a chance he hooked it. Levett went after him, pausing to pay his score, which argues he wasn’t fighting mad, and missed him because Duds doubled back up Pump Path. We know where Duds finished, but what happened to Levett? Where is he now?’

  ‘Your Superintendent would like to know that, because that apparently is what three-quarters of the people who are still influential in this bedevilled old town keep telephoning and asking him.’ Oates made the announcement with a sour little smile. ‘Mr Levett seems to have planned quite an old-style evening: telephone calls half over the world, an after-dinner speech at a banquet, and a business interview with a gentleman from the French government in his flat after that. None of his friends can find him and they want to know why we can’t.’ He glanced at the clock over the desk. ‘He’s staying out late, isn’t he, for such a busy chap?’

  Mr Campion slid off the table where he had been sitting, his hands in his pockets, his foot swinging.

  ‘Medical opinion, for what it’s worth, is that Duds was kicked,’ he said. ‘I don’t see Levett doing that, you know, I really don’t.’

  Old Oates looked up. ‘Do you see him killing at all, Mr Campion?’

  ‘Frankly, no.’

  ‘But on the other hand, do you see him cutting all his appointments like this? They’re important appointments, every one of them.’

  ‘It’s odd.’ Campion was frowning. ‘Geoffrey is a punctilious, solid sort of chap, I should have said. On the sober, stolid side. Unadventurous, even.’

  ‘That’s what most people think.’ The Assistant Commissioner’s grey face was puckered into the faint smile which showed he was enjoying himself. ‘But he’s not, you know. I’ve been hearing about him. He’s Levett’s Ball Bearings and one or two other very sound old-fashioned little companies, and he’s a very rich man. But we don’t like riches in this country these days, and what we don’t like we get rid of. I’ve been making some inquiries tonight and I hear that when Levett came back from the war he found that after he had provided for all the people whom he felt had a genuine claim on his family and estate – his pensioners and so on – he found he had thirty-seven pounds five shillings and threepence per annum to live on himself after taxation had been paid. There were two courses open to him. He could spiv around with an army of accountants, looking for loopholes in the law, or he could gamble on the exchange. For two years and six months he was one of the biggest gamblers on this side of the Atlantic. He quadrupled his fortune. Then he stopped.’

  Mr Campion’s pale face showed no astonishment. ‘I’d heard that, but I’d also heard that his name was excellent.’

  ‘It is.’ Oates was vehement. ‘I’m saying nothing against him. He’s done nothing illegal and nothing reprehensible. Gambling is the only thing they don’t call you to account for these days. It’s not like working; you can be penalized for that. Gambling is respectable. I have two bob on the pools myself every week. I’ve got to think of my old age. My pension won’t keep me. I only say that boy Levett is not unadventurous. He’s not a man who doesn’t take risks. For over two years he took risks all the time, and once you’re used to taking risks you’re used to ’em. The drawbridge is down. You’re not impregnable any more.’

  Charlie Luke had begun to fidget. The muscles on his back showed through his jacket as he strode restlessly down the little room.

  ‘Duds wasn’t alone,’ he said. ‘He was terrified on the station and he was terrified in here. And he wasn’t frightened of me and he wasn’t frightened of Levett. He couldn’t have been working for Levett, as I had thought at one time, because in that case he wouldn’t have had to have the office address written down for him. Levett must have given him that in the pub. The envelope was new. It only went through the post last night.’

  ‘That is why I slipped along.’ The Assistant Commissioner felt in his pocket. ‘Seen any Express Messages tonight, Charles?’

  Luke pulled up sharply, his forehead wrinkling. ‘No, sir, can’t say I have. I’ve been on this business since I came back tonight.’

  Oates waved his hand. ‘Don’t excite yourself, my boy. Quite probably it hasn’t come in yet. Very occasionally they tell me an item first. By some oversight, of course.’ He was dourly amused. ‘We’re wonderfully highly mechanized at Central Office these days, Campion. Teleprinters, radar, coloured lights everywhere. It’s only when we get a power cut that the whole blessed police system is liable to go out of action. Well, I put on my hat and came down here myself because a convict called Havoc has made a getaway from the Scrubs.’

  Luke drew a deep sigh and his smile became contented.

  ‘Havoc. That was the man who was cased with Duds. They did the hold-up together. So that’s it. I wondered when we were going to see a little daylight.’

  Oates did not respond. He had taken two blue slips of paper from his pocket and was busy comparing them. He looked indescribably mournful, his spectacles crooked on his sharp nose.

  ‘It’s very unsatisfactory,’ he said at last. ‘Your people picked up Duds Morrison’s body at six forty-two, I see, but at six forty-five Jack Havoc was only just making his break half across London. He was killing another friend of his, as a matter of fact – at least I assume he’s dead. The report which I saw just before I came out said “sinking”.’

  Charlie Luke became uncharacteristically annoyed. He stood jingling the coins in his pockets, his dark face lowering.

  ‘These perishing crooks, who do they think they are all of a sudden?’

  ‘Gods,’ said Oates calmly. ‘Splendid and superior beings, with winged heels and thunderbolts in each hand. Yet you’d think that any old bit of looking-glass, let alone a long period of prison food, would cure any man of a delusion of that sort. But it never does. You know that as well as I do, Charles. But what you don’t know is why I’ve come traipsing down here, splashing the beautiful motor-car with which a thoughtful Police Council provides me, so that the shabbiness of my clothes doesn’t undermine my authority.’

  He paused, and Campion, who had been watching his old friend curiously, became aware that the new thing about him was that he was embarrassed. This was so very unlike him that the younger man was astounded. Clearly the old man had something on his mind of which he was more than half ashamed.

  Meanwhile the Assistant Commissioner leaned back in his hard chair, his legs stretching out across the room.

  ‘I received the two reports side by side, and then I had a word with Yeo and he told me what had come through from here on your interview with Duds this afternoon. I thought it over and presently I thought I’d come down myself. Havoc, I remember Havoc. Everyone is looking for him and the chances are that he’ll be pulled in in two or three hours, but if he’s not, then I think you’ll be finding traces of him here in your manor, and I thought I’d like to talk to you about him. Both you and Campion were overseas when we jailed him last and so you missed him. You missed quite a phenomenon.’ He repeated the words softly. ‘Quite a phenomenon.’

  Mr Campion found himself fascinated. Oates was stepping right out of character. No one in the world had spoken with more force or at greater length on the stupidity of creating a legend round any wrongdoer. It was a creed with the old man and he preached it freely. His theory was that every crook was necessarily a half-wit, and therefore any policeman who showed more than a kindly contempt for any one of them was, ipso facto, very little better. This was a new departure with a vengeance.

  Oates caught his expression and met it steadily, if not with ease.

  ‘Havoc is a truly wicked man,’ he said at last. ‘In all my experience I’ve only met three. There was Harris the poisoner, a fellow called Timms whom I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of, and this fellow Havoc. I thought at one time that Haigh was going to qualify, but when I met him and talked with him I decided he didn’t, quite. He was mentally deformed. There was a sense missing there. The thing I’
m talking about is rather different. I can’t describe it but you’ll recognize it when you see it, if you have time. It’s like seeing Death for the first time. Even if it’s quite new to you, you know at once what it is.’

  He laughed to and also at himself. ‘I know what I’m talking about,’ he added, and Campion, who had never known a time when he did not, was prepared to believe him.

  Charlie Luke had not known his chief so long. He was far too intelligent to appear sceptical, but he hastened to bring the conversation on to a more specific basis.

  ‘Are you saying he’s a born killer, sir?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ The heavy lids flickered up and the old policeman’s chilly glance rested on his subordinate for a moment. ‘He kills if he wants to. But he’s not casual about it like your gangsters. He knows exactly what he’s doing. For a crook he’s unusually clear-sighted. Take this latest performance of his. If Sir Conrad Belfry is dead – ’

  Campion sat up. ‘C.H.I. Belfry?’

  ‘That’s the man. Distinguished doctor. About half past six tonight Havoc throttled him and slid off down the fire-escape without the warder, who was sitting outside the door of the consulting room – strictly against regulations, by the way – hearing a sound.’

  ‘Good lord! Where was this, sir? Not at the Scrubs, surely?’ Luke was describing the narrow proportions of a cell window in the air.

  ‘No. In a second-floor consulting room in Wimpole Street. After badgering the authorities for months, Belfry had got Havoc out for an experiment.’ Oates leant forward as he spoke. ‘This will give you some idea of Havoc. It’s taken that man three years of careful self-discipline to get his nose outside prison wails, and I’ll lay a fiver he’s done it just exactly as he intended to do it from the moment the idea entered his head. Sir Conrad’s murder was planned before Havoc even knew the man existed. When Havoc was sentenced he was sent first to Chelmsford, where his conduct was bad, and he got moved to Parkhurst. No one but a mug tries to break from there because of the water, and for a time he seems to have attempted to work his ticket to one of these new-style open prisons. But his record didn’t fit that bill.’