by J. V. Turner
Finally Paling scribbled a note, handed it to the waiter and gave him Elaine’s room number. The waiter turned to find the Yard man winking at him. Paling drummed on the table with his fingers. The messenger quickly returned and placed a note before him. The man read it, scowled, and flung it into the fireplace. Then he strode out into the booking office. When he returned it was to inform the waiter that he no longer wanted the table. He ordered food and wine to be taken to him in his bedroom. He retired.
The waiter handed the detective a menu card while he walked over to the fireplace. From there he picked up the piece of crumpled paper. On the back of the menu card was scribbled:
‘Please hurry. I am tired of waiting.’
On the paper salved from the grate was pencilled:
‘A thousand apologies. I have a headache and have decided to stay in my room.’
The Yard man beckoned to the waiter, handed him a pound.
‘Settle my bill for me and find out the number of that man’s room. Give me, also, the number of the room to which his note went.’
Within a couple of minutes he had both. Leisurely he ambled into the foyer towards the reception office, informed the clerk that a friend of his was staying in Room 78 and requested Room 79 as a favour. He was compelled to accept room 77. He certainly did not act like one desiring sleep when he reached the bedroom. He spent some time balancing the advantages of the hinges and the keyhole for purposes of observation. By comparison there was little to be said in favour of the keyhole. So he set the door at a convenient angle, turned out the bedroom light, selected a chair and sat down by his observation point.
Two hours passed and the noises of the hotel died down into the stillness of the night. It was tedious waiting. The Yard man rubbed his legs to prevent stiffness. At last he heard a creak of boards on the corridor floor and peered through the door hinge. Paling stood outside the woman’s room.
Softly the man tried the door handle. The detective heard him mutter. The door was locked. Paling beat lightly on the panel. No sound came from Elaine’s bedroom. He repeated the signal and again there was no answer. This time he knocked more insistently.
‘Who is there?’ called Elaine.
‘Paling,’ whispered the man. The detective could hear both of them. There was a pause before the woman called angrily:
‘If you don’t go away I’ll raise the hotel.’
‘You little fool,’ muttered Paling savagely. Then he dropped his voice to a pleading tone: ‘It is me, Elaine. I want to speak to you.’
‘Oh, it is you,’ called the girl in a full, round voice. She spoke almost as though she thought Paling was deaf. He glanced with apprehension along the corridor. So far there was nothing to disturb him. He sent a penetrating ‘shish’ through the door to warn her. Apparently she did not hear him. Her tones were more penetrating as she called:
‘I thought it was a thief. What a pity that I can’t open the door. I’m in bed. You’ll have to wait until the morning.’
‘What I want to say can’t wait,’ he insisted.
‘It must,’ shouted the girl, speaking as though stifling a yawn.
‘Just listen to me, Elaine. If you—’
He ceased suddenly. The tinkle of an electric bell sounded in a distant part of the hotel. After a moment of silence a door banged. Voices were heard and the approach of footsteps. Paling swore again, this time in a louder voice. But he returned hastily to his own room.
Elaine had summoned help! A night floor waiter appeared and knocked on her door.
‘Yes, madame? You rang?’
‘I thought some man was knocking at my door.’
‘There is no one here, madame.’
‘Thanks. Sorry to have caused this trouble.’
The waiter retired. So did the Yard man. In a couple of minutes he was heading towards Whitehall. The hour was late, but he found Petrie and Ripple waiting for him. The Inspector was yawning and miserable. Petrie was immersed in a copy of the Fishing Gazette. They listened for ten minutes to the story told by the detective. Amos appeared intensely interested.
‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘You’ve done a very fine job of work. Now you’d better get along to bed. See you tomorrow.’
As the door closed Ripple yawned again.
‘And what exactly has that taught you?’ he inquired.
‘You’d be surprised, Sunshine. Human nature is very funny.’
‘I think that every time I meet you. Joking apart, what sort of headway have we made? None. You’ve miked around with the whole affair ever since it started. Every time I suggest that we do things you tell me that you’re waiting for the inquest. Why? Do you think that it’s going to present you with a solved murder?’
‘Not a bit, Angel. But I fancy it will tell me where to start, and that’s something to be going on with. I know plenty even now, but if I make a rush I’ll probably spoil the whole shoot. Be patient, little one, and see what the inquest brings forth.’
‘You can afford to talk like that, but I can’t. If anyone has to take a fall it’ll be me—not you. Had you thought of that?’
‘I had. Tell me, Sunshine, have I stopped you making any inquiries? Have I fastened you down in your chair, and told you to be a good boy and stay in the nursery?’
‘Damn it all, though, this isn’t an ordinary murder. They haven’t found a servant girl battered to death in Battersea, or a tramp throttled in Tooting. The dead man was the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the murder was in the House of Commons.’
‘You surprise me. Who told you all this? Better have a sleep and see what tomorrow brings forth. That’s what I’m going to do. And, little one, next time you want to find a man for promotion you might remember the lad who did that job tonight. It was smart.’
‘Quite good. I’ll see you here in the morning—unless I’ve been sacked in the meantime for doing nothing.’
‘No, I won’t come here. I’ll see you at the inquest, but don’t sit with me. I’d rather find my own place.’
‘Getting rather fastidious, aren’t you?’
‘Always was. We fishermen were born that way. It’s an old angling custom. Watch the folks carefully at that inquest, Ripple. You might see more than you’ll hear. Adios. I’m on my way.’
Petrie walked to his bachelor flat whistling cheerfully, but most catastrophically out of tune. He had no head for music.
CHAPTER X
THE INQUEST
LOLA REARDON imagined that inquests were unpleasant, but she never anticipated that the discomfort could be so considerable. Her seat was greased and blackened by the clothes of those who had occupied the benches before her and the air was tainted with the smell of carbolic, dirt and perspiration. Beyond all that, however, the Frenchwoman was sitting not more than three yards away. Watson, her father, and her solicitor tried in vain to assure her that all was well, that everything would soon come to an end.
Ripple sat facing the Coroner’s table, immediately in front of Lola and her party. To his right were Curtis, John Ferguson, Sam Morgan, the Home Secretary, and Tranter. To his left were Elaine, Paling, Petrie, and Sir Norris Wheeler. It was most assuredly a distinguished inquest. That was one of Lola’s main objections. She had attended with the deluded idea that inquests were matters for the police and members of the deceased’s family. Watson, out of sympathy for Lola, was staring indignantly at Elaine, but she didn’t wilt for a second under his glance. Still, there were shadows under her eyes. It seemed that there had been some inroad made on her self-control.
The Coroner’s Officer bent over the English widow:
‘Excuse me, madame, have you seen the body?’
The solicitor protested without success and she was led downstairs and across a yard to a wooden shed in the rear where she viewed her husband’s remains through an imperfectly-cleaned window. The Coroner’s Officer raised the draperies so that she might have a better view. Watson tried to smooth the way for her. While this gruesome ceremony was proceeding Amo
s Petrie was trying to make things awkward. He was with the deputy for the Coroner of the Household, priming him with information, offering confidences about the difficulties connected with the inquiry, insisting upon points that required elucidation.
Mrs Lola Reardon was the first witness and it was not long before she discovered that it was easier to get on the witness stand than it was to leave it. Even over the matter of simple identification there was a difficulty. Whether her nerves were shaken or whether her conscience troubled her she alone knew. But she baulked over saying that she was the deceased’s widow, and had been his wife. The hesitation irritated the Court.
Mr Deputy Coroner Leyland had a complexion not unlike that of the corpse. His mouth was closed in a thin, impatient line, and his cheeks twitched reproachfully—like a pair of ears that move. To close the matter Lola produced her marriage certificate from her vanity bag. She was less difficult when asked about the last occasion when she saw her husband. Before he entered the Chamber she was with him in his private room.
‘And did he seem happy when he was with you, or did it seem to you that he was worried about something?’
‘He seemed quite happy as he talked to Mr Ferguson and myself.’
‘So the President of the Board of Trade was with you both?’
‘That is so. I remember that Mr Ferguson offered to show me the Budget before the speech was delivered.’
‘Mr Ferguson did? Sure you’re making no mistake?’
‘I’m quite certain that I’m not.’
‘How did Mr Ferguson come to be in possession of it?’ Leyland seemed astonished. A murmur of whispering passed round. Ferguson raised a hand and loosened his collar.
‘I don’t know that he was in possession of it,’ replied Lola. ‘I suppose he could have got it from somewhere if I wanted to see it. He certainly didn’t have it in his hand if that’s what you mean. He may just have been joking with me.’
John Ferguson rose to his feet somewhat haughtily:
‘Perhaps I may assist the Court? As a member of the Cabinet I would naturally know the contents of the Budget. At most, had I spoken, it would have meant a disclosure to a Minister’s wife. No such disclosure was made. Insofar as the witness is concerned the papers remained locked in the morocco case.’
‘Thank you,’ said Leyland.
The Deputy Coroner put his finger on the vital point: ‘You are sure, Mrs Reardon, that the case containing the papers was locked?’
‘Oh, no. I’m not. I can’t swear to that. I assumed that it was, but I don’t know. My husband would have had the key in any case.’
Her reply caused some uneasiness in Court. The witness was making heavy weather.
‘Did you see the speech, or hear what was in it, until your husband commenced to deliver it?’
‘No. I was in France when my husband was preparing it.’
Amos had not prepared Leyland for any answer like that. It was news to him. Leyland blundered in:
‘Was it your husband’s wish that you should be away during that period, Mrs Reardon?’
Petrie waited anxiously. Leyland saw the apprehensive expression on the little man’s face and his cheeks twitched.
‘He didn’t exactly tell me to go away. But he did not want to go to Paris himself so I went alone.’
Elaine sat back on the bench and smiled. Petrie did not.
‘Were you in the private room all the time Mr Ferguson was?’
‘No, but he was present the whole time I was there. I actually left the room with Mr Ferguson.’
‘Did either Mr Ferguson or your husband drink wine while you were in the room?’
‘No. I didn’t see any wine at all. I don’t know how many people saw my husband in that room before he entered the Chamber but there were others. Mr Watson must have been one of them and I heard—’
‘No, no, no!’ said Leyland raising his hand. ‘Don’t tell me what you heard. We must get that in direct evidence from another source. Only tell me what you know. Did you see Mr Watson in the room?’
‘No. But he was my husband’s Parliamentary Private Secretary. They hadn’t met for a week. Mr Watson had been in Paris.’
A whisper ebbed round the room.
‘Was Mr Watson with you in Paris?’ asked Leyland tonelessly.
‘Most certainly not!’ snapped the witness indignantly. ‘I was with my father.’
Mrs Reardon spoke:
‘Of course, I met Mr Watson in Paris. He happened to be staying in the same hotel as my father and myself.’
‘Then he was with you?’
‘Only in that sense.’ She reached for her smelling bottle. Watson was becoming hot round the neck. Amos glanced quickly round the Court as each question was asked and answered.
‘You must forgive me for asking these questions,’ apologised the Deputy Coroner. ‘I don’t know the facts and it is my duty to ascertain such facts as I can. May I take it shortly that you did not go to Paris to meet Mr Watson, or because he was there?’
‘Certainly not. I went with my father as I have told you.’
‘You probably did not know that Mr Watson was going to stay at this hotel at all?’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference if I had. The hotel is much used by English people and I was with my father.’
Leyland frowned. There was a little too much insistence on the presence of the father. He recalled someone saying that a chaperon could cover a multitude of sins. Mrs Reardon seemed determined to talk herself into trouble. Before Leyland could ask another question she added:
‘Mr Watson has been a friend of mine for years.’
‘Did you meet Mr Watson at all last night?’
Petrie bent forward with a hand cupped over his ear.
‘Yes. He called to see whether there was anything he could do for me in my trouble.’
‘Did you meet Mr Watson by any chance the night before?’
Both Ripple and Amos waited eagerly for the answer. Leyland had reached the night of the robbery at Watson’s flat.
‘No, I did not. I was too upset to meet anyone. I wanted to be alone with my troubles. I was heart-broken. I remember that I was getting into a terrible state of nerves and went for a walk towards the lake in St James’s Park. I was beside myself.’
‘I well understand that. What time would it be when you took this short walk, Mrs Reardon?’
‘Dreadfully late. It must have been almost midnight.’
‘Of course you would not be out for long?’
‘Certainly not more than half an hour.’
Petrie was working things out. So was Ripple. They glanced at each other significantly.
‘Do you know of anything which would make a person wish to cause your husband’s death?’ The Coroner had got back to the questions which might be recognised as part of his routine.
‘On the contrary, he was always on the best of terms with everyone. I don’t think he had an enemy in the world.’
‘Had he any living relatives except yourself, Mrs Reardon?’
‘None that I know of.’
‘That is not true!’ shouted Elaine, springing to her feet and moving towards Lola. ‘You know that is a lie!’
‘Silence!’ roared the Coroner’s Officer. Elaine refused to leave the centre of the stage.
‘Do you know that woman?’ the Coroner asked Lola. The solicitor jumped up to speak. He was too late to prevent his client.
‘I saw her for the first time yesterday,’ said Lola slowly.
‘Who is she?’ inquired the Coroner.
The solicitor raised a restraining hand. Mrs Reardon refused to be curbed. She eyed Elaine, twisted her lips scornfully.
‘I don’t know very much about her. She puts forward some absurd claim to be my husband’s wife. I believe she was his mistress in Paris many years ago. Because of that I have agreed to make her a compassionate allowance.’
Elaine’s face blanched; her body shook. Paling shifted nervously on his seat, waited fo
r the outburst.
‘That is a deliberate lie, a most foul lie,’ shouted Elaine. Then she added, as though further emphasis might be effective: ‘It is a damn lie and she knows it is.’
The Coroner’s officer bellowed a demand for silence. His chief flung down his pencil, cheeks twitching in agitation. But there were other and more active spirits in the room. A shuffling broke out near the door. The Coroner’s officer put his mouth into shape for another shout. But before he could call, silence had been restored, unexpectedly restored.
Paling had bundled Elaine out of the room.
Amos admired the piece of stage management. He succeeded in attracting the attention of the Coroner, nodded to him. The old man looked towards Ripple and the Yard man also bent his head.
‘It seems unproductive to proceed further with this inquiry until further evidence has been secured,’ said the Coroner. ‘I will adjourn the inquest for seven days.’
There was no opposition.
CHAPTER XI
AMOS PROBES DEEPER
ON returning to Scotland Yard Petrie settled down beside the telephone. First he rang up Reardon’s solicitors. His reception was coldly cautious.
‘I am anxious to obtain some information about your client’s financial dealings with the man Paling,’ he said after introducing himself. ‘Would you mind assisting me?’
‘We don’t know very much about the affair.’
‘But you know enough to give me a little help.’
‘I don’t see that we can offer any assistance.’
‘You must have papers, documents of some sort.’
‘We have not got such documents as would enable us to supply the necessary information.’