by J. V. Turner
‘I don’t think they could both hide behind that screen.’
‘Nor do I. I think there’s only one of ’em!’
‘Looks as though we’ll have to begin the hunt all over again from the start. Hell! By Christmas we might get a useful lead.’
‘Forget it, Depression. You’re falling into the dumps again. The man we’re looking for couldn’t be anybody. He’d have to be someone with Hepworth’s very peculiar gift of self-effacement. Otherwise he couldn’t get out of the room again without attracting attention. Think, laddie. How would an ordinary man exercise those gifts in the House of Commons? I’m not troubled by that. I want to know when he was last here—and how I’m going to prove it.’
Where design failed, chance helped. Petrie, for the first time, was in luck. He wanted to step out the distance between the Ferguson residence and Watson’s flat. He stopped by Lambeth Bridge to explain why, and as they leaned against the Embankment parapet they watched the river flowing sluggishly over the sleek green bed. Someone touched the Yard man’s shoulder. He turned to find a grinning taxi driver by his side.
‘Hallo, sir. I’ve taken you back home many a time from there.’ He pointed a thumb towards the Yard. ‘Mind giving me a bit of advice?’
‘So long as it doesn’t take long for me to give it.’
The driver fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a note.
‘I had a fare the other night, sir, and he gave me this. It was dark, and I didn’t know till he’d gone that the note was foreign. What can I do with it, mister?’
Petrie bent over, spurred by idle curiosity. The driver held in his hand a Belgian hundred-franc note.
‘Mean you couldn’t tell that from an English note?’ he asked.
‘It was passed to me in the dark, sir—House of Lords porch in Palace Yard. I turned round to the lamps, but he said, “Ten bob,” and I knew he wouldn’t try to twist me.’
‘You’ve driven him before then?’
‘Often, sir. That’s why I didn’t look at the note. The man’s a gent—a perfect gentleman.’
Ripple commenced to laugh. But Petrie showed no sign of amusement.
‘Funny,’ said the driver, ‘the last time I saw him he was standing just where you are now. Oh, I’ll recognise him all right when I see him. I only thought you might tell me what to do with the note.’
‘When did this happen?’ asked Petrie. ‘You’ll remember that, eh?’
‘’Course I do, sir. It was after midnight last Tuesday.’
Amos took his spectacles off, wiped them on his handkerchief.
‘You interest me. Mind telling me what you did that night? You said you dropped your fare in Palace Yard. After that I suppose you remained in your cab?’
‘I went on to the bridge for a cup of coffee with George,’ he replied, pointing his finger towards Westminster Bridge.
‘Splendid idea, too. How long were you with George?’
‘Best part of an hour. It must have been mostly one o’clock when I left his stall.’
‘That’s very extraordinary. If you left your fare in Palace Yard, stayed at the stall for an hour, and then saw him again here he must have been walking very slowly.’
‘He’d stopped walking altogether.’ The driver laughed. ‘First he took off his coat, and then I reckon he stopped for a rest.’
‘Didn’t you offer to pick him up again?’
‘I hooted, sir, but he waved me on.’
‘I suppose you didn’t happen to notice his overcoat?’
‘I did when he got out of the cab, sir. It was one of them loose raglan things.’
‘You seem to have noticed a lot, seeing that you missed the note.’
‘I knew he wouldn’t twist me, sir, and I didn’t find out about the note until I got home about six.’
‘I’d like you to drive us round to Scotland Yard if you will. In the meantime hand me that note. I’ll give you three pounds for it. You can take it from me that should be about right.’
The men climbed into the taxi. The driver smiled cheerfully.
‘This seems too good to be true,’ said Ripple. ‘Luck like this never happens to me. There must be a catch in it somewhere.’
Arriving at the Yard, Amos led the driver to Ripple’s office, and talked in a whisper to the Yard man.
‘All the men involved in this case are well known, Sunshine. There must be photographs of them somewhere about the place. Collect pictures of Ferguson, Watson, Curtis, and tell them I want Paling brought up to me at once.’
Ripple hurried away, and Petrie talked to the driver about most things—except his midnight fare. Paling arrived before the Yard man returned. Petrie questioned the driver:
‘Ever seen this man before, cabby?’
‘No, sir. That’s not the gentleman I drove.’
‘Thanks. Sorry to trouble you, Paling. I’ll see you in a minute.’
Paling retired, and Ripple arrived with the photographs in his hand. Amos handed one of Watson to the driver: ‘Is that the man you drove?’
‘No, sir, nothing like him at all.’
‘What about this one?’ He handed over a picture of Ferguson.
Again the driver shook his head.
Petrie had a singular glint in his eye when he passed the third photograph to the cabby.
‘What about that one, eh?’
There was no trace of hesitation. The driver’s face broadened.
‘That’s him, sir. I’d know him anywhere. Couldn’t mistake him if I tried to. He’s the one who gave me that foreign note.’
Dick Curtis had been identified!
They sent the driver into the waiting-room. Ripple was genuinely horrified. He looked like a bad case of concussion.
‘What—what does all this mean? Do I get another waiting-room ready for Curtis? Everybody’s gone mad, completely barmy.’
‘Sunshine, you do not get another waiting-room ready. You get the best man you’ve got to see that Curtis doesn’t move out of this country between now and Monday. After that you swear out a search warrant. On Monday we’ll visit the chambers of Mr Curtis together.’
‘You think we’re entitled to swear out a warrant?’
‘I’ll say we are. Ripple, we’ve both known an industrious man who walked a quarter of a mile, committed a murder and picked up an alibi—all in twenty minutes. What is to stop a beginner doing a comparatively simple housebreaking job in twice that length of time? Get your search warrant, and don’t get the jitters.’
‘I don’t think we ought to leave it until Monday. All sorts of things can happen between now and then. What about doing it now?’
‘I’m not going to hurry, Ripple. We’re not dealing with an ordinary man. There are a few odds and ends to clear up before we take the jump, and I want to think them out a bit. Curtis isn’t only a genius in crime—he’s a first-class barrister who knows every loophole in the game. If we make one mistake we’re permanently sunk.’
‘I don’t like doing it, but you’d better have it your own way.’
‘Grab Paling for me again. I want to see him before I go home.’
When the man arrived Petrie’s questions were brief and succinct.
‘Reardon made heavy payments to you early this year. I was told that they were blackmailing payments, that you were extorting money from him in connection with the alleged French wife. Explain.’
‘That’s all rubbish. The payments he made to me were only made for me to transfer them to the Hermanos account. I never had a penny of it. The only person who was swindled was me.’
‘What’s all this about the French wife?’
‘Quite genuine. Reardon introduced her to me in Paris one night when he was drunk. She told me the whole story. I’ve been friendly with her ever since. But I never used that information.’
‘You tried to get money out of that woman, tried to start her bleeding Mrs Reardon for more. Why?’
‘It seemed my only chance of getting some of my own money back.’
‘That was your first attempt to use that information?’
‘Certainly. Now I’ve told you everything, can I go home?’
‘I’m sorry. You will be released on Monday, Paling.’
‘Why on earth can’t I go now that I’ve cleared myself?’
‘Because you’re a lot safer where you are. I’m holding you in order to protect you. Be grateful for that. See you on Monday.’
CHAPTER XXIV
NEARING THE END
AMOS was busy throughout Monday morning. His interviews with Ferguson, Watson and Mrs Reardon were brief. He emphasised to the Minister that he did not now want the names of the nominees. Petrie visualised Ferguson visiting Dick Curtis for advice! He drew Watson to one side and whispered to him:
‘For a man of your age you behave very childishly, Watson. Any trouble you’ve struck is your own fault. Next time you fall in love don’t make a fool of yourself over it. That’s all.’
Watson blushed, but offered no retort. He had spent most of the weekend considering his course of conduct. Now he realised that he had done nothing of which he might be proud. As he left them Petrie made a last request:
‘I am most anxious that you should all remain in your homes until you hear from me. That’s not an order. It’s a very urgent request.’
Returning to the Yard, he asked Ripple to collect half a dozen of the best men he could find, men with plenty of brain and with mouths as close as oysters. The Inspector soon found them.
‘I want you men to look after the entrances of the House of Commons as closely as you can without attention. You all know Dick Curtis by sight. If he tries to enter the House, don’t let him in. Try any sort of an excuse. Tell him, if you like, that I want to see him here. Then dump him in a waiting-room, keep an eye on him and telephone me at his Temple Bar number. Don’t make him panicky.’
The two men had lunch. Then, armed with the search warrant, they presented themselves at Curtis’s chambers in the Temple. A young man opened the door, informed them that Mr Curtis was out, and commenced to close the door again. Ripple showed him the warrant.
‘I’m his secretary,’ said the man, with sagging jaws, gaping mouth. He led the way inside. Curtis used the rooms for a dual purpose. His offices were there, and at the rear was his home. Petrie closed the door and looked on the back of it. There was no overcoat to be seen.
‘Was Mr Curtis wearing a raglan overcoat when he left here?’
‘No, sir. He didn’t take an overcoat with him.’
Amos walked through into the sitting-room, and then turned to Ripple: ‘You’ve got a man downstairs. Tell him to take this young man to the Yard and hold him until he hears from us. We don’t want him prowling round here.’
The Inspector disappeared, and Petrie began a close search. The drawers of the desk were locked. Amos produced a bunch of ‘twirls,’ and opened them. Underneath a pile of legal documents in the bottom drawer he found a small mortar and pestle. Tucked inside a dry cleaner’s box on the top of a cupboard was a collection of laboratory apparatus. Ripple returned and joined in the search. The safe in the corner defeated them. He telephoned the Yard, asking the barrister’s secretary whether he had a key. The youth informed them that it was always hidden in the bottom of the clock in the office. There Ripple found it. Nearly all the documents in the safe were of a type one would normally expect to discover in a barrister’s office. But one small sheet, dotted all over with figures, certainly had nothing to do with the law. Petrie studied it with interest.
‘I see,’ he said, ‘that Mr Price has made out an account of Mr Hepworth’s Budget speculations and left it with Mr Curtis. Odd, eh?’
In the meantime Ripple had been experimenting with the typewriter in the office. He raised the sheet of paper with a smile.
‘Some hot evidence here. Look at this busted capital H. That’s exactly the same as the H on those Hepworth telegrams.’
‘Splendid. Neat work. But where the hell is that overcoat?’
‘I can’t see it. Perhaps it’s in the domestic quarters.’
‘Very unlikely. We’ll walk through and take a look.’
They arrived in the kitchen to surprise a woman working furiously over an ironing board. She dropped the iron and retreated. Ripple commenced to explain who they were, and why they had come. Her fears seemed to grow.
‘Don’t let us interfere with your ironing,’ said Petrie.
She seemed glad to have something to do, slammed the iron on the gas ring with unnecessary force, and threw the holder on to the table. Petrie’s eyes turned involuntarily towards the holder. He continued to stare. It was a curious iron-holder—not a thing bought made up, but an improvisation. As it fell on the table so it unfolded. The cloth was dark, rather like a Cheviot in texture, and it was sewn all round the edges. While the Inspector searched round the kitchen Petrie picked up the holder. It looked as if it had originally been a pocket sewn on to some garment.
‘Where did you get this?’ he asked the woman.
‘Off something the master threw out.’
‘Off a coat?’
‘No. Just an odd piece of cloth.’
Petrie, to the woman’s astonishment; picked up the holder, and took it into the other room. There he slipped his fingers into the slight opening between the surrounding seam. He could feel nothing. Moving nearer to the window, he drew a knife from his pocket and scraped round the seam. For a minute or two he found nothing but dust. Then something attracted his attention, and he tipped the dust from the palm of his hand on to a sheet of white paper, spread it out and pulled the magnifying glass from his pocket.
A broad smile creased his face when he stood erect and called to Ripple:
‘Come and take a look at this.’
The Yard man looked for a while before he could discern anything. He straightened with a frown on his forehead.
‘I can see a few bits of dust and a shred of silk. That’s all.’
‘It’s quite enough. That shred of silk, my lad, is one of the silken tails from the golden kite. A million pounds to a bean that it’s the filament from a strophanthus seed!’
‘My God! Of course it is.’
‘And this iron-holder, Sunshine, is all that’s left of Curtis’s overcoat. He tried to be too cautious.’
Things moved rapidly in the first few minutes after that. Ripple ordered the charwoman, housekeeper, cook general, or whatever she was, out of the premises, telling her to return at six o’clock. Amos seized the telephone and rang the Yard. Ripple was astonished to hear the little man’s voice ringing through the rooms in a way that amazed him. Amos was growing more red in the face each second.
‘Stop him!’ he shouted. There was a pause. ‘He’s gone? No, I’m not saying that it is your fault. But don’t let him get into the House of Commons, whatever you do. Try Ferguson’s place. On the Chelsea Embankment, yes. Damn the warrant! It’ll be my funeral. Charge him with the murder of Edgar Reardon. That’s all you need worry about. Yes. We’ll stay here in case he comes home to change his clothes. Yes, all his clothes are here. Eh? Certainly, telephone me here at his place.’
Petrie laid down the receiver with a loud sigh and spoke to Ripple savagely:
‘The man has had the damned nerve to call on Watson. I must have missed him by minutes when I left Watson.’
‘Talk about nerve! That fellow’s got a brain like an iceberg.’
‘I’ll say he has—the impudence of the devil. That’s what first started me thinking about him. You can’t tell to what extremes a man like that will go.’
‘What’s all the excitement about him not getting back to the House of Commons?’
Petrie laughed and settled down in a chair.
‘If he does manage to arrive there you’ll know why I was worrying about it. You might even have something to worry about yourself then. And I mean real worry, not the sort of stuff you manufacture.’
‘What do we do now? Twiddle our thumbs?’
‘W
e sit tight here until we either see Curtis or hear from the Yard. Here’s your chance to take a sleep for a while.’
‘Lordy, I can’t sleep now. What made you start thinking about Curtis?’
‘Light your pipe and I’ll tell you. It’ll pass the time away.’
While Ripple filled his pipe Amos turned again to the papers he had taken from the safe, running through them casually to pass the time away. The Yard man was searching for his matches when Amos pursed his lips and whistled softly. In his hand he held a sheet of foolscap paper. Ripple puffed out smoke and bent forward.
‘What’s all the new excitement? Thought we’d had enough for the time being. Have you found a written confession?’
‘No, but I’ve got something almost as damning. I think a smart cross-examiner could put Curtis in a tough corner with about four questions. I told you about the missing opinion from Quiller, and you know what Curtis told me about it. I’d love to see how he faced these four consecutive questions in the witness box. “Reardon left you at the corner of the corridor and went to his room, taking Quiller’s opinion with him?” The answer must be “Yes.” “You did not enter the deceased’s room before he entered the House of Commons?” Obviously, the reply must be, “No.” “And you were never alone with him again?” Curtis must reply, “No.” “Then will you tell the jury how Quiller’s opinion came to be found in the safe at your private office in the Temple?” I’ll leave Curtis to work out the answer to that one himself. He’ll need all his ingenuity, Sunshine. There can be no argument at all about it.
‘This is the opinion given by Quiller, the one that was missing. Curtis must have been given it by Edgar Reardon. Incidentally, Quiller thinks the French marriage was illegal, void in law. But that is neither here nor there. We’ll come back to Curtis, and I’ll tell you what I thought about the case.’
CHAPTER XXV
AMOS EXPLAINS
‘BEFORE you start,’ said Ripple, ‘I’ll be honest with you and say this: I thought it was a neck-and-neck race between Paling, Watson and Ferguson. I even had doubts about the widow.’