by Sapper
He entered the box and picked up the receiver.
“Hullo! Ginger: that you?”
With remarkable clearness he heard Lawson’s voice from the other end.
“Drummond speaking from Geneva.”
“Geneva! What on earth are you doing there?”
“Too long to tell you now, Ginger. I’m writing you a full report this morning, but it will be two or three days before I’m back. For reasons I can’t go into at the moment I’m not going through France. I shall either fly from Brussels or cross via Ostend or the Hook.”
“Postpone it for a day or two, old boy,” came Lawson’s voice. “It’s providential you’re in Switzerland. Do you know young Cranmer – Archie Cranmer?”
“Vaguely. He’s with you, isn’t he?”
“That’s right. But he’s new on the game. At the moment he is in Territet at the Grand Hotel. Will you go over and get in touch with him? I’ll wire him to expect you.”
“All right, Ginger. It’s urgent, is it? Because I want to get back to England as soon as possible.”
“It is urgent, Hugh. It concerns the Chief’s murder. And I’d feel easier if you were helping Archie.”
“ ’Nough said, Ginger. I’ll get off my report to you, and then go straight to Territet. By the way you have Ronald’s from Cannes, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I recognised the writing and opened it. We are keeping an eye on the gentleman he mentions from here. Is Ronald with you?”
“No. I’ll explain everything in my report. So long, Ginger.”
He rang off, and having paid for the call he wandered upstairs in search of the writing-room. It was the part of the job that he disliked most, but he dared not bank on the fact that Standish would get another report off from France. And so for an hour he toiled laboriously: then with a sigh of relief he addressed the envelope and slipped it in his pocket. A shave; a drink; Territet – that was the programme as he proposed it. And that was the programme as he carried it out.
He arrived at Territet at three o’clock, having lunched at Lausanne Station, and went straight to the Grand Hotel. And the first person he saw sitting in the glassed-in verandah was Archie Cranmer.
“How are you, young feller!” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Drummond.”
“Of course I do,” answered Cranmer getting up. “But it almost seemed as if you expected to find me here.”
“I did,” laughed Drummond. “I’ve come over from Geneva especially to see you at Ginger Lawson’s request. Have you had a wire from him?”
“No.”
“It’ll come. And in the meantime let’s hear all about it.”
Cranmer shook his head.
“Very sorry, Drummond. I’m sure it’s all right, but…”
And once again he shook his head deliberately.
“Good for you,” said Drummond with a grin. “I was only trying you out. In our game, Cranmer, a man ought not to trust his own mother. However, I don’t think we’ll have long to wait. This page boy has the appearance of one who bringeth news. A telegram, my lad? There’s the gentleman.”
Cranmer opened it; then with a smile passed it over to Drummond.
Work with Hugh Drummond. – Lawson.
“So that’s that,” he said. “Sorry if I seemed suspicious, but your appearance was rather unexpected. How much do you know already?”
“Merely that you are here in connection with the Chief’s murder,” answered Drummond.
“I see. Then I’d better begin at the beginning. You remember, don’t you, that he always used to walk to and from the office?”
Drummond nodded.
“On the morning of his murder it so happened that for some reason or other he did not walk, but took a taxi. Incidentally both Lawson and I are convinced that if he had walked they’d have got him then. However, that is beside the point. The instant he reached the office he sent for both of us.”
“‘I had a visitor last night,’ he began. ‘At my flat. A peculiar card.’
“You remember that funny sort of clipped way he had of talking.
“‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘a very peculiar card. At first I thought he wasn’t all there. Mallows showed him into the study, and he kept looking round as if he expected a trap. Little, short, dark man with a whacking great moustache. Obviously not English though he spoke it quite well.
“‘It transpired that he kept a barber’s shop down Elephant and Castle way, which he ran under the name of Timpson. Further, that he was naturalised.
“‘I always believe,’ continued the Chief, ‘in letting a man tell his story in his own way, but after a bit I got a trifle bored.
“‘ “Get down to it, Mr Timpson,” I said. “I assume you haven’t come here merely to tell me you cut hair.”
“‘He leaned forward impressively.
“‘ “Colonel,” he said, “I have very valuable information for you.”
“‘ “Good,” I answered. “Fire ahead.”
“Then one got his real character in his cunning, greedy eyes.
“‘How much is it worth?’
“‘That,’ I said, ‘depends entirely on what it is. If it really is valuable you won’t have any cause for complaint.’
“‘Very good. I will trust you. Now you will understand, sir, that many foreigners come to my shop, as well as English. And frequently I overhear their conversations. This afternoon there came two. They were speaking French, but it was not the French of Frenchmen. And as I listened to what they said I realised what they were. They were Swiss. After a while they were joined by two Englishmen, and they all talked together in low tones. Much of what they said I could not hear, but one or two things I did catch.’
“The little man’s voice sank to a blood-curdling whisper.
“‘And one of them was your name often repeated.’
“Apparently,” continued Cranmer, “the Chief sat up at this. Why four scallywags should be discussing him in a cheap barber’s shop was not easy to follow. He pressed this man Timpson as to how he knew it was him, since Talbot was not a particularly uncommon name. Answer was that Orme Square had been mentioned, which seemed fairly conclusive, and the Chief waited for more. He soon got it. The two Englishmen were known to Timpson as thoroughly dangerous characters, though he knew nothing about the Swiss. And it, therefore, seemed obvious that the conversation was not likely to have concerned a presentation of plate to the Chief.
“‘Not that that worries me in the slightest,’ he went on. ‘In the ordinary course of events I should take no notice at all. But coming so soon after Jimmy’s death I have notified the Yard, and I expect to hear from them at any moment. Why I’ve sent for you two fellows concerns the one other item of interest that Mr Timpson gave me. It’s an address which he heard the Swiss mention two or three times: Villa Bon Ciel, Veytaux.’
“‘Where’s Veytaux?’ asked Ginger.
“‘Just what I wanted to know myself,’ said the Chief. ‘It’s apparently a sort of continuation of Montreux and Territet going towards Chillon Castle. And that’s where you two boys are bound for. A nice holiday in beautiful Switzerland.’
“At that moment the telephone rang, and the Chief answered it. And when he put down the receiver his face was grave.
“‘Mr Timpson has not yet returned to his shop,’ he said. ‘His bed has not been slept in. I very much fear that he has more than earned the fiver I gave him.’
“‘You think they’ve got him?’ said Ginger.
“‘My flat was probably being watched?’ he said. ‘Of course he may have gone on the binge and is sleeping it off, but…’
“The shrug of his shoulders was eloquent; it was obvious what he thought. And then for a time he sat there drumming on the desk with his fingers.
“‘I don’t like it,’ he said at length. ‘There’s something going on I can’t understand. Anyway you two had better keep your eyes skinned before, during, and after your visit to Veytaux.’
“With that he dismissed us, and it was the last time I saw him alive. Those swine got him, as you know, when he was walking home that afternoon.”
“What of this man Timpson?” asked Drummond after a pause.
“There was no trace of him up to the time I left. You see, the Chief’s death altered things. Ginger had to stop on in London, so I came over here alone.”
“Quite,” said Drummond absently. “Quite. When did you get here?”
“Early this morning by the Orient express.”
“Have you done anything as yet?”
“I took a walk towards Chillon Castle, and located the villa.”
“Good,” said Drummond. “What sort of a place is it?”
“An ordinary sort of shanty standing way back up the hill, overlooking the lake. It’s got a glassed-in verandah much like this one, only very much smaller, of course.”
“Any other houses near it?”
“Nothing, I should say, within a hundred yards.”
“How close did you get to it?”
“I didn’t. I saw it from the main road down below. That’s this one that goes past the hotel.”
“And what were you proposing to do next?”
“To tell the truth, Drummond,” said Cranmer with an apologetic laugh, “I wasn’t quite sure what to do next.”
“I don’t wonder. The problem is not a very easy one.”
“I thought I might make enquiries of the concierge as to who lives there.”
Drummond shook his head.
“Certainly not that. In a place of this sort things get round in an incredibly short time. And if it came out that two Englishmen were interesting themselves in the owner of the Bon Ciel the pitch is queered at once. No, my boy; nothing so direct as that. You didn’t get near enough to find out if the owner kept a dog?”
Cranmer shook his head.
“In any event it would probably have been inside the house,” he said.
“Not of necessity,” said Drummond. “A lot of these people here keep a dog on a long chain, simply as a watchdog. Then they don’t have to pay a licence. However, we can but find out. Got any rubber-soled shoes?”
“No.”
“Nor have I. Now look here, Cranmer, we’ll split this job to start with. I will go down the town and buy two pairs of rubber shoes – your size looks about the same as mine. You will get hold of a telephone book, remembering that under no circumstances must you let the concierge know why you want it. You will then go laboriously down the list on the chance of finding that the villa is on the phone. If it is we shall get the name of the owner, though not of necessity the present tenant. It may help; it may not. Then when I return we will both take a walk past the villa to ensure that we can find it tonight.”
“And tonight?”
“We will take another walk,” said Drummond with a grin. “And then we will be guided by circumstances.”
“Good Lord!” cried the other, “you don’t intend to break in, do you?”
Drummond’s grin grew more pronounced.
“Let us call it a tour of investigation,” he remarked. “Get busy with the telephone book.”
He left Cranmer settling down to his monotonous task, and walking down to the station stood waiting for a tram.
On the opposite side of the lake rose the mountains of Haute Savoie culminating in the giant Dent du Midi, golden crested in the westering sun. A thin wisp of fog lay like a serpent against the dark massif, and in the distance the same steamer that Standish had missed the day before was pursuing its lawful occasions.
A tram came grinding to a standstill and he boarded it. Facing him, two very English old ladies were discussing church affairs with interest: he gathered that all was not going as it should do with regard to the approaching sale of work.
And just for a second a faint smile twitched round his lips. They were so very earnest about it, and the ever-amazing contrasts that go to form this thing called life tickled his sense of humour.
He found a shoe shop without difficulty, and made his purchases. Then, strolling through the empty market-place, he started to walk back to the hotel along the lake front.
Gulls, shrieking discordantly, rose from the railings as he approached, only to resume their perches when he had gone by. And at one corner a man of unbelievable antiquity, who was fishing with the longest rod Drummond had ever seen, had just landed a fish nearly two inches long.
He arrived back in the hotel, and told the concierge to have the parcel sent up to his room. Then he went through to the bar to find Cranmer who held up his thumbs as soon as he saw him.
“Luck’s in up to a point,” he said. “The house belongs to a man called Maier, but since Maier is about as common here as Smith is in England it doesn’t seem to help us much.”
“Still, it’s something,” answered Drummond. “Your shoes are in my room.”
“I’ll get ’em after dinner,” said Cranmer. “Shall we do a spot of scouting now?”
Drummond nodded, and Cranmer rose.
“We go out by the other door,” he went on. “My hat’s in the hall.”
In silence the two men strode along the main street until they came to a road branching off left-handed and leading up into the hills.
Below them, about half a mile away, sombre and grim, Chillon Castle jutted out into the lake, whilst above it, far off in the distance, the peaks of the Dent du Midi had turned to purple.
There was a nip in the air, and they walked briskly. At first the houses were continuous, small ones of the working-man type. But shortly they ceased, and scattered villas took their place – villas which were approached by drives of varying length.
“There it is,” said Cranmer. “The next one on the right.”
“Good,” cried Drummond. “Don’t pause; we’ll walk straight past.”
It stood about thirty yards back from the road and below it. Though obviously inhabited there was no sign of any inmates. Nor was there any indication of a dog.
An upstair window was open, and the curtains were stirring in the faint breeze. And as they passed a light was suddenly switched on in the room, and a man leant out. His back was to the light, so that all they could see was the silhouette of a broad-shouldered figure. Then he disappeared.
They walked on another hundred yards when Drummond stopped.
“About turn,” he said. “There’s nothing more to be found out now. Let’s go back to the pub. Two things, old boy, which may help us. There’s undergrowth on each side of the drive, and from the road one can see into the upstair window. Let us hope that the night may bring us luck.”
“Probably bring us jug,” laughed Cranmer. “However, the Swiss are a humane race. I don’t suppose they torture their prisoners.”
The bar had filled up when they returned, and having ordered two drinks they stood by it. In an adjoining room four people were playing bridge, and in one corner of the bar itself a large cosmopolitan party was drinking cocktails. They were talking French, but some were obviously Germans, and the remainder Americans.
“You see the very tall gentleman facing you, sir,” said the barman in an undertone to Drummond. “That is your consul here – M’sieur Lénod.”
“The devil it is,” murmured Drummond. “He is a Swiss?”
“Mais oui, m’sieu. But he has spent much of his time in England. He speaks it perfectly.”
“Thank you,” said Drummond and turned to Cranmer. “I wonder if he could help us over Maier,” he went on in a low voice.
“No harm in trying,” answered the other. “By Jove! he’s coming ov
er here.”
It was true: Monsieur Lénod was crossing to the bar to give an order.
“Excuse me, m’sieur,” said Drummond when he had finished his instructions, “but I understand you are the British consul here.”
“That is so,” returned the tall man.
“I wonder if I could have a few minutes’ conversation with you this evening?”
“If you wish to see me on business,” said Monsieur Lénod, “you will find me at my office tomorrow morning.”
“I’m afraid tomorrow morning will be too late,” said Drummond. “I should esteem it a very great favour if you could waive professional etiquette on this occasion. I can assure you that it is very important.”
“Under those circumstances, gentlemen, I will join you as soon as I can get away from my party.”
With a courteous bow he moved back to his table, and Drummond turned to Cranmer.
“It may come to nothing,” he said, “but as you say, it’s worth trying. There’s a vacant table over there. Let’s go and sit down.”
Ten minutes later the consul joined them.
“Well, gentlemen,” he remarked. “What can I do for you?”
“In the first place,” said Drummond, “we had better introduce ourselves. My name is Drummond, Captain Drummond, and this is Cranmer. We are over here, M’sieur Lénod, in connection with the murder of Colonel Talbot in Hyde Park, which you have doubtless read about in the papers.”
The consul raised his eyebrows.
“Police?” he murmured.
“No, not police. Shall we say – Secret Service!”
Drummond paused for a moment and lit a cigarette.
“It has come to our knowledge,” he continued, “that there is a certain villa in Veytaux which is in some way connected with the crime. In what way we don’t know, but this villa was mentioned by men who are believed to be implicated in the murder.”
“And the name of it?” asked the consul.
“The Bon Ciel.”
The consul nodded thoughtfully.
“Monsieur Carl Maier,” he said. “Well, gentlemen, I am not altogether surprised. Why he should be concerned in the murder of Colonel Talbot is completely beyond me, but if anybody here is concerned in it he would be the man I should pick on.”