Ask For Ronald Standish

by Sapper

  “Well, Parker,” said Ronald after a pause, “the situation as I see it is this. You’re getting a fiver a week and the run of your hash. I don’t like this impersonation business at all, but it may be only a family matter, in which there’s no harm in it. You are old enough and ugly enough to take care of yourself, and my advice to you is to hang on drawing your fiver and to keep your eyes skinned. And the instant anything occurs which you don’t like – hop it. You know my address, and a line here will always get me.”

  It was a fortnight before the next development took place, and this time it was Mr Graham Meredith who came to see us.

  “Look here, Standish,” he burst out even before the door was shut, “I wish you’d give me your advice. You remember young Terence, don’t you? Now would you put that boy down as being a thief?”

  “A thief!” echoed Ronald. “Most certainly not. Who says he is?”

  “His employer – Mr Charles Follitt,” cried Meredith indig-nantly. “I was in my garden this morning when a man I’d never seen before drove up to the house. He turned out to be Mr Follitt, and the first thing he said to me when he found out who I was left me gaping. ‘Naturally I can’t employ him any more,’ he said, ‘but if he lets me have the money back I’ll say no more about it. Perhaps I was to blame in leaving it lying about.’

  “‘What the deuce are you talking about?’ I cried.

  “‘Hasn’t Terence Parker come back here?’ he asked.

  “‘He has not,’ I said. ‘Why should he? Isn’t he still with you?’

  “‘He went to bed as usual last night: did not appear this morning. And his bed had not been slept in. In fact, he’s gone. And I’m very grieved to have to tell you, Mr Meredith, that a hundred pounds of my money has gone also.’

  “‘You mean to say,’ I cried, ‘that you’re accusing young Terence of stealing a hundred pounds of yours. Because I don’t believe it’

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ he said. ‘Nevertheless, the fact remains that the notes have gone, and so has he.’

  “‘What about the servants?’ I cried.

  “‘I have only one woman who comes by the day, and she wasn’t there yesterday or today. It’s a shock, I know,’ he went on ‘It was a terrible one to me, because I liked him. But I really can’t afford to lose a hundred pounds.’

  “‘The instant I am satisfied that Terrence took your money,’ I assured him, ‘I will send you a cheque for that amount.’

  “And with that he departed. What do you make of it, Standish? I’d stake my whole reputation that that boy is no thief.”

  “I agree,” said Ronald. “And yet this man Follitt would hardly dare to make such an accusation unless he had good grounds for believing it. Have you heard nothing from Terence?”

  “Not a word. I got quite a cheerful letter from him about three days ago, and that’s the last I’ve heard of him. But nothing,” he reiterated, “will make me believe that boy is a thief.”

  “Well, Meredith,” said Ronald, “I’m extremely sorry for you. But it seems to me that there’s nothing to be done except to wait and hear his side of the story. From what Mr Follitt told you he’s not going to call in the police, and that is something, at any rate. Because, however innocent he is, police inquiries are always unpleasant.”

  “An unexpected development, Bob,” he remarked when Mr Meredith, still vehemently protesting that the thing was outrageous, had gone. “He struck me as being a remarkably nice youngster.”

  “You think he took the money?” I said.

  “If he didn’t, the whole of Mr Charles Follitt’s story is a lie. And why should he lie? What is his object? The fact that young Parker has disappeared can easily be verified. And if for some reason or other they’ve had a row and Follitt wants to get his own back, he’d make his accusation of theft as public as possible. He wouldn’t go to Meredith, as he did do, and announce his intention of keeping the whole thing quiet.”

  “And yet I don’t believe that youngster would steal,” I said.

  “Sudden temptation. A hundred quid is a lot of money. May have been betting, or something of that sort. And yet I agree with you. Let us put on our considering caps, Bob. Let us try and evolve a solution, which would cover the facts as we know them, based on the assumption that young Parker is not a thief, and that therefore Follitt is lying.”

  “Thank you kindly,” I said, “for the little word ‘us.’ I, personally, am going round to the club to have a drink.”

  He joined me there at lunch, and I asked him what luck he had had.

  “None,” he answered. “I’ve tried three possibles, but each of ’em fails on one point or another. You remember our assumption – that Follitt is lying. That being so one fundamental fact emerges. If young Parker did not take that money, but just quit the job after a row, Follitt would never have dared to go to Meredith with a cock-and-bull yarn about stealing. He would naturally have assumed that Parker would have got there before him. Am I right so far?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You are.”

  “Let’s go a step farther. Follitt did go to Meredith, therefore he knew Parker could not get there before him. How could he know that unless young Parker has not disappeared?”

  “You mean…” I began.

  “I mean this. If Follitt is lying, that youngster is a prisoner somewhere. And I can think of no more likely place than the house itself.”

  “But what’s the great idea?” I cried. “I can think of two or three, Bob,” he said gravely. “Are you on for a visit on the quiet to Fordham House?”

  “Of course,” I answered.

  “Because I think we’ll go after lunch. Mr Follitt does not know either of us.”

  We found the house without difficulty, and strolled casually past it. It was a smallish place, standing back from the road, and there was no sign of life in any of the rooms.

  “I’m going to take the bull by the horns, Bob,” said Ronald. “It’s acted before: I’m travelling in linoleum. You keep out of sight.”

  He produced a bundle of samples from the car, and walking up to the front door, he rang the bell. But a few minutes later he had joined me again.

  “No answer,” he remarked. “Which may or may not mean the house is empty.”

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked.

  “Because it rather points to Follitt’s story being true.”

  “I know it does. And yet… Look here, Bob,” he said suddenly, “it’s not fair on you… You go back to Town.”

  “What the devil are you driving at?” I cried. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to wait till it’s dark, and then have a closer look.”

  “I’m with you,” I said resignedly. “We’ll ask if we can share the same cell.”

  We put through the afternoon somehow, and then had dinner. But it was nearly eleven before Ronald deemed it safe to start. We left the car some way from the gate, and then stood in the shadow reconnoitring. The house was in darkness, and in the faint light of the moon that came filtering through the fir trees it seemed that all the windows were shut.

  “Come on,” whispered Ronald. “It’s now or never.”

  He climbed the gate and I followed him, creeping along the grass verge that bordered the drive. The trees were creaking slightly in the breeze, and our footsteps made no sound, as we skirted round to the back of the house. This, too, was in darkness, and with infinite care we approached one of the windows. The curtains were drawn, but when one got close to, a faint glow came from inside. It was the dying embers in the kitchen grate.

  And then I began to sniff, and Ronald put his lips to my ear.

  “Smell it, Bob? “he breathed. “It’s paraffin. I’m breaking in.”

  Came a sharp crack as he used a peculiar implement of his own on the catch, and cautiously lifted the bottom window. And the next moment we both recoiled involuntarily: the place literally reeked of paraffin.

&nbs
p; “Something wrong here,” he muttered, and switched on his torch. “My God! Bob,” he cried, “look there!”

  I could scarcely believe my eyes. Sprawling in a chair, his mouth and chin covered with blood, was young Parker. Stacked up around him was a mass of shavings and paper, whilst at his feet was an overturned lamp. And the floor was swimming in paraffin.

  “The devil!” snarled Ronald. “The foul devil! Come on, Bob, though I’m afraid we’re too late.”

  And then he gave a cry of triumph as he reached the youngster.

  “Not dead, Bob; not dead. Only insensible.”

  And as we carted him to the window something fell with a tinkle on the floor. I picked it up: it was a plate of six false teeth.

  We laid Parker down on the grass and turned the torch on him. He was breathing deeply and regularly, but his mouth was a shocking sight. And Ronald examined it more closely.

  “What’s happened to him?” I said.

  “Six teeth hauled out,” remarked Ronald softly. “May heaven have mercy on Mr Charles Follitt when I get hold of him. Let’s get Parker to the car, Bob: then we will come back and await the gentleman.”

  But that was not to be. Hardly had we got the youngster in the car when a sudden blaze of light shone through the trees from behind us. We could hear the roar of the flames and see the smoke pouring out of the house.

  “Just in time, Bob,” said Ronald, even more softly. “Mr Charles Follitt will not return tonight. It did not occur to me that he was so well versed in scientific arson. We will now go to the police station, and doubtless in time we shall be able to return his bona fide false teeth.”

  “To Mr Charles Follitt,” I remarked.

  And Ronald’s reply was enigmatic.

  “A rose by any other name,” was all he said.

  I suppose I was dense, but even then the truth did not dawn on me. That Mr Charles Follitt had deliberately set fire to Fordham House by means of some incendiary device timed for a certain hour was obvious. Further, that he had intended the wretched Parker’s charred body to be mistaken for his own was also clear. He had been thorough, too. Realising that he himself had false teeth, he saw the impossibility of leaving a corpse that had not: he had therefore extracted six of the youngster’s and left the plate of false ones to be found. The fact that it did not fit could never be discovered after the fire. Also he had spun the only story to Graham Meredith which would account for Terence Parker disappearing: the disgrace of having taken the money would prevent the boy going back to the man who had treated him so well. His insistence on his secretary not having any near relatives who might make awkward inquiries: all the details of the plot were clear, save the one crucial one. What was his motive? Why did he want the world to think he had been burned to death?

  It could not be a question of insurance, either fire or life. If he was supposed to be dead, claiming the money became a little difficult. And then Mr James Palliser began to loom up in my mind. He might help there. As the only relation he would inherit anything his cousin might leave, and he would be in a position to claim the insurance money. Then, after a decent interval, he could join Follitt abroad and split the cash. A risk on Follitt’s part, undoubtedly: he was putting himself completely at Palliser’s mercy. And since, from what Parker had told us, there was friction between the two men, the risk seemed a large one. However, that appeared the only possible solution, and I said as much to Ronald, who smiled.

  “The swine will lie doggo for a bit,” I remarked, “and then get out of the country.”

  “Think so, Bob? Well, we’ll see. Anyway, to make him easy in his mind I have persuaded the Inspector to put up a little mild deception. Here it is.”

  He tossed over a sheet of paper, and I read the contents.

  “Fordham House, near Woking, the residence of Mr Charles Follitt, was completely gutted by fire in the early hours this morning. It is feared the unfortunate owner perished in the blaze.”

  “A nice little paragraph for the newspapers,” he remarked, “which may help matters. And now all we can do is to get Parker back to Meredith’s house and make him as comfortable as possible.”

  The youngster recovered consciousness the next day, and for a time, as was only natural, he seemed completely dazed. His mouth was hurting abominably; the teeth had been wrenched out in the crudest way. And even when he could speak coherently all we got out of him was that he had felt queer at lunch and after that remembered no more.

  “That’s when Follitt drugged him,” said Ronald. “He was in the house when Bob and I called, and probably Follitt was, too.”

  “I’m very anxious to meet Mr Follitt again,” remarked Meredith quietly.

  “And so you shall,” said Ronald. “In the very near future.”

  “But, damn it,” I cried, “the man is pretending to be dead. He’s not going to show his nose anywhere.”

  “An even fiver, Bob,” he grinned, “that with the help of Mr James Palliser we lay our hands on him within the next few days.”

  “You mean Palliser will split,” I cried. “What a precious pair of blackguards they are.”

  To be exact, it was three days later that Ronald rang me up.

  “If you want to be in at the death, old boy,” he said, “come round to the office of the South British Insurance Company in Pall Mall at midday.”

  I went there, to find the Inspector I had seen at Woking, with Ronald and a stranger who proved to be one of the directors of the company.

  “You were quite right about the insurance, Bob,” said Ronald. “Follitt had insured his life for thirty thousand, and his house for five against fire. And Mr James Palliser is coming shortly to claim his cheque. Will you and the sergeant wait in the next room, Inspector? We don’t want to alarm our bird. And we may have to use unpolice-like methods.”

  He arrived almost immediately, and I must say I have seldom seen a more peculiar-looking man. He was dressed in black, and as he greeted us the two missing teeth were most noticeable.

  “Mr James Palliser, I believe?” said Ronald. “Please sit down.”

  He took a chair, and one could see his eyes blinking behind the dark glasses.

  “A terrible affair,” he remarked. “Terrible.”

  “I see from the policy in which you are mentioned as next of kin to Mr Follitt,” said Ronald, “that you live near Birmingham.”

  “That is so,” said ‘Palliser. “I have had a house there now for two years.”

  “But you frequently visited your cousin at Woking?”

  “Frequently. And he came to see me. Not during these past few weeks, but before that he was often a visitor.”

  “You have been to his house quite a lot recently, I believe?”

  “Four or five times, I suppose. To be frank, we have not been on quite such friendly terms of late. A private matter, connected with a lady on which we did not see eye to eye.”

  “You know he had engaged a secretary, don’t you?”

  “I do. I met the young fellow on two or three occasions. But my cousin telephoned me – let me see, it was actually the day of the fire – that he’d decamped with some money.”

  “Most fortunate for him he wasn’t involved in the fire too,” remarked Ronald. “Did you know, Mr Palliser, that when your cousin engaged him he made the peculiar condition that his secretary must be prepared at times to impersonate him?”

  Mr Palliser sat forward.

  “I did not,” he said. “Impersonate him! Then that accounts…” He leaned back and sighed. “However, my cousin is dead. Let us not speak ill of him. It is the private matter I mentioned. One day when I thought he was at Fordham House, it must have been his secretary I saw. Poor Charles!”

  He sighed again, and put his fingertips together.

  “I suppose you couldn’t tell us the name of the lady,” said Ronald.

  “Really, sir! What possible bearing can it have on the case?”

  “I thought that perhaps she might like a little momento of your cou
sin,” answered Ronald blandly.

  “But I understand that the house was completely gutted.”

  “There is always partial salvage, Mr Palliser,” said Ronald, still more blandly.

  And to my utter amazement he produced from his pocket the set of false teeth and put it on the table in front of him.

  But if I was surprised, the effect on Mr Palliser was electrical. A hoarse sort of gurgling noise, came from his throat and he plucked at his collar with both hands.

  “You seem upset, Mr Palliser,” continued Ronald, and his voice was no longer bland. “Strange, isn’t it, that these teeth show no signs of the fire.”

  “I don’t understand,” stammered the other. “What have my cousin’s false teeth to do with me?”

  “That remains to be seen,” remarked Ronald. “I was going to suggest that if the lady would not like them they might come in handy for you. Your own seem sadly wanting.”

  Mr Palliser rose from his seat as Ronald approached him.

  “Don’t touch me,” he shouted. “Don’t dare to touch me.”

  And what happened then was, as Ronald had said, not strictly police-like.

  “Hold his head, Bob,” snapped Ronald, and in a second the transformation had occurred. Off came the moustache and glasses: out came a set of false teeth with the centre ones missing.

  “Now, Mr Charles Follitt, you ineffable blackguard, you can put in the complete set or not, as you like.”

  “Mercy!” screamed the wretch. “I… I…”

  “Did you show mercy to your secretary?” cried Ronald. “Luckily we got him out in time, which unfortunately saves you from the gallows. Take him away, Inspector. Attempted murder and arson should keep him happy for some years to come.”

  “You were very nearly right, Bob,” he said to me later. “At first that was my solution, and then the incredible risk of Follitt putting himself completely in the hands of a distant cousin, with whom he was not even on the best of terms, ruled it out. Inquiries were made, of course, and, sure enough, a Mr James Palliser was found to have a house near Birmingham, where he’d been for two years. He, too, had one old woman who looked after him, and from her we found out that he was frequently away for a month at a time. Then we went to Mr Charles Follitt’s servant and discovered that he, up to the time young Parker went to him, also indulged in these long absences, And it was then that I saw the immense significance of the fact that Parker had never seen ’em together. Heard ’em, yes – but not seen ’em.