De Richleau laughed. “Oh, no—no, I would not dream of putting my good friend Sir Anthony in the distressing position of having to refuse my request. Which it would most certainly be his duty to do. But are you quite, quite sure that you have made no mistake, and that it was the same young man that passed us on the stairs this evening as you have seen, not once but a number of times, having supper at the Berkeley?”
“Absolutely dead sure!” Van Ryn brought his large hand down with a thump upon the arm-chair.
“And have you seen him there within the last ten days?”
“Yes, I’ve suppered there three times in the last fortnight and I’m pretty sure he was there each time. He was there on Wednesday night for certain. I recall thinking to myself what a pretty girl it was he was hitting it up with. She was a lovely, and no mistake, and a lady too—or I’ve got her all wrong.”
“Excellent, my friend.” The Duke rose to his feet. “Excuse me but one moment, and I’ll speak to the policemen. Help yourself to another drink.”
“Thanks—I will.” Rex also rose, and stretched his long legs.
De Richleau returned after only a couple of minutes’ absence. “I’ve left a message,” he said, “asking that our big friend the Superintendent will honour us with a few minutes of his time before he leaves the building.”
“That’s great.” Rex sat down again. “I wonder what the motive could have been. That chap was evidently a stranger in the Shoe-smith apartment, yet when we were across nobody put it up that there might have been a burglary, and that’s how it occurred to me the moment you told me about the woman’s head.”
“You shouldn’t attach too much importance to that, I think. In your own country, I know that robbery with violence is, unfortunately, an everyday affair, but here the professional thief is of meeker temperament. He dislikes, above all things, to kill. To make a robbery, that is his business, and he is prepared to face a certain term of imprisonment if he is caught, but—almost, I think, in the majority of cases—he would rather be caught than kill.”
“Well, I’d be interested to know if they find anything missing, all the same.”
De Richleau smiled. “If my little plot comes to fruition, your wish will be gratified shortly. If not, we shall have to wait for the newspapers to tell us.”
“There didn’t seem to be much in that apartment worth going for, I’ll allow,” Rex admitted. “Expensive sort of furniture, and all that, but not the kind of home where there’d be a stack of old silver or a Van Dyck. Still, there may have been jewels.”
“There were jewels—that I can tell you, because I’ve passed Lady Shoesmith once or twice on the stairs. She was a fine-looking woman—and, if I’m any judge of such things, her jewels must have been of considerable value.”
At that moment the Duke’s man came in, he stooped a little beside De Richleau’s chair and said, very softly: “Two police officers are asking for Your Excellency.”
The Duke nodded. “Show them in.” And he rose to greet Superintendent Marrofat and his companion.
“Very nice of you to come over, Superintendent. I wanted a word with you, because my friend and I felt that we might be of some slight assistance to you.”
“Very good of you, sir, I’m sure.” Marrofat was polite but not encouraging. “In any case I’d like to take the opportunity of warning you gentlemen that you may be needed for the inquest on Monday. I’ll let you know the time.”
“I see. Well, we will attend, of course, if you need our evidence. But now, Superintendent, sit down for one moment, and you, Inspector. I won’t keep you long, but there are one or two things which it would interest me to know in this strange affair.”
“Sorry, sir,” the big man shook his head, “I’m afraid we must get back to the Yard.”
“Of course, you have a lot to do.” The Duke spoke soothingly. “But, as I said, I think my friend and myself may be able to help you.”
“Yes, sir, I know you’ve been of great assistance, but, honestly, we must get along now.”
“I think we can offer you a little special information which might interest you, but first you will not object, I think, to satisfying my curiosity as to if my theory of death was correct?”
“There’s no harm in that, sir. The police surgeon confirmed your view.”
“Good. Then I have by my indiscretion saved you perhaps an hour, thereby enabling you to complete your preliminary investigation already. If you can spare a few moments now, it is at least possible that I may render you still more important service.”
The Superintendent shrugged his broad shoulders and sat down. “Any information you’ve got, sir, will be very welcome, of course.”
“Excellent, my dear Superintendent. I felt sure that an officer of your rank would not be so foolish as to resent an offer of assistance just because it came from a civilian source.”
“What exactly do you mean, sir?” Marrofat looked puzzled.
“Simply this—my friend and I are interested in this business. Who would not be in the circumstances? We have a very human curiosity, therefore we should like to follow the inside of the affair. I know enough about police methods here to understand that, except for a very special reason, you would not tell us one single thing, and would resent any attempt on our part to interest ourselves in the case. We do not suggest doing so for one moment, but we would enormously appreciate the privilege of being able to formulate our own theories, upon such evidence as you may be able to secure from time to time.”
“I’m afraid we couldn’t do that, sir.”
“Not if we could put you on the track of this murderer—tell you of a certain place which he frequents, where you would most certainly be able to secure some sort of line upon him?”
Marrofat raised one bushy eyebrow. “So you’ve made up your mind who did the job?”
De Richleau shrugged his slim shoulders. “Perhaps that’s saying too much, but there is one strange figure whose presence is not accounted for?”
“You mean the young man that you met on the landing?”
“Exactly. My information is not so up-to-date as yours. Perhaps you know already what he was doing so curiously unannounced in the corridor?”
“No,” said the big detective, slowly. “No, but I think I should warn Your Grace that it is your duty to give any information which you may have to the police, and it’s no part of our business to tell you what we think.”
“My duty! Ah!” The Duke spread out his elegant hands. “A horrid word, but, like many much greater people than myself, I have not always in my life done what appeared to be my duty.”
“The withholding of information is a serious matter, sir.”
“But I withhold nothing. On the contrary, I am anxious to help you. Come, at least in exchange give us the pleasure of a little excitement at second hand, let us hear tomorrow what you have done tonight.”
The Superintendent stood up. “I’m afraid, sir,” he said stiffly, “we are wasting each other’s time.”
“Surely not. If I could tell you of a place where this young man may be, even at this present moment—a place from which there must be many lines of inquiry, one of which might enable you to arrest him in a few hours?”
Marrofat smiled grimly. “I’d be very surprised if you could, sir. And what’s more, I’d be very interested to know how a gentleman like Your Grace ever got in tow with an East End crook like ‘Silky’.”
“You know him, then?”
“Unless I’m very much mistaken, I do, and that’s why I’m not going to bring a charge against Your Grace for withholding information. Good night to you, gentlemen.” With this parting shot the big man turned on his heel, and walked heavily out of the room, followed by his attendant Inspector.
7
The “Dark Haunt” Of Silky
Rex Van Ryn threw himself back in the big arm-chair, and positively shook with laughter. “Can you beat it?” he stuttered to the Duke. “Talk about the frozen mitt!” And his w
ide mouth opened wider to more gusts of laughter.
De Richleau smiled ruefully. “Not a very great success, eh, that little plot of mine?”
“Forgive me,” Van Ryn’s laughter subsided to a broad grin, “it was great of you to try and get us in on this, but I just couldn’t help being tickled by the way that big stiff turned us down.”
“We were hardly to know that he had recognised a well-known criminal from our description. That was bad luck. But you realise one thing—do you not?”
Rex looked vague. “No—give it a name.”
“That we’re no longer under any moral obligation to this marvellous police force. We are, my friend, the stones that the builder rejected. If it should amuse us to do so, we are now quite free to continue the investigation on our own account.”
“How?” Rex became suddenly grave. “Just what precisely do you mean, Duke?”
“Simply, that if you’re still anxious to follow up the affair—why not? It is not unusual for the really big criminal to have two or more completely separate identities. In this case the police believe our man to be an East End crook, while we have knowledge that he frequents a smart West End hotel. Let’s follow up our idea on our own initiative, and seek this young man in a place where obviously the police would never dream of looking.”
“By Jove, you’re right!”
“Perhaps, at all events, it would provide us with a little mild amusement if luck were with us, and we succeeded in running this ‘Silky’ to earth before our fat friend.”
“Come on,” Rex heaved himself to his feet and towered above his elegant host. “Let’s get to it right away.”
The Duke rose to his feet more gently. “You agree? That’s excellent, but let us hasten slowly!” He laid his hand upon Van Ryn’s arm. “Let us first settle the details of our campaign.”
“We’ll go right over and beat up the Berkeley. There isn’t a hope in hell he’ll be there, but we’ll get on to Ferraro, and the hall porter, and all the boys. They’re bound to know him. It’s ten to one he signs his bills. That’ll give us a line, and if he’s got an account, they’ll have his address.”
“And then?” inquired the Duke.
“We’ll go right down to his place; if he’s at home we’ll call the police, if he’s not there we’ll sit on the mat till he turns up.”
De Richleau nodded. “That seems sound, but wait one moment. If we get his address, make our call and if he is at home, how do you propose to keep him till the police arrive? You must remember that he saw us both this evening upon the landing of the flat. The criminal has a trained memory, and whatever excuse we might give for our call he will recognise us instantly and immediately escape.”
“Not on your life,” Rex laughed aloud. “If I set eyes on that bird, trust me to sit on his head all right.”
The Duke smiled grimly. “Delightfully irregular, my dear fellow. Since we have no warrant for his arrest you will most certainly be liable for assault; but I should be completely disappointed in you if you did less. Let us go forth and see if we can catch our man.”
As they came downstairs the hall porter ran out to open the door of De Richleau’s car, which was still waiting in the foggy street.
“One moment, Frederick.” The Duke called him back into the sheltered hallway.
“Yes, sir?” the ex-soldier saluted respectfully.
“This is a sad business, Frederick, about Lady Shoesmith.”
“It is indeed, Your Grace.”
“Were you on duty downstairs at the time?”
“I was, sir. I come on at eight o’clock.”
“I see—a terrible thing,” the Duke went on thoughtfully, “yet one cannot help being interested. Were you here all the time, Frederick?”
“Yes, sir, I was sitting reading my book, and after that the evening paper. I’ve never moved from here.”
“Then you would have been quite certain to have seen any unusual person come in or out?”
“Quite, Your Grace.”
“And you saw no one?”
“No one at all, sir, except the young gentleman the police are so interested in. They asked me a lot of questions about him—the time he came, and the time he left, and what he said, and so on.”
“I wonder, Frederick, if you would mind giving these particulars to me?”
“Certainly, sir. He came a little after ten, walking he was—not in a car, and he just said to me: ‘Sir Gideon Shoesmith?’ no more, no less. I told him first floor on the left, so he nods and walks upstairs—in a bit of a hurry he seemed—that would be a little after ten; but he wasn’t upstairs no longer than a few minutes, because Your Grace arrived with this gentleman, and you’d hardly gone up when he comes down and asked me, very polite, did I think I could get him a taxi. As luck would have it, one set down only a few doors away, and all I had to do was to beckon the driver up, and the young gentleman gives me a shilling for my trouble.”
“And how long do you think he was actually in the flats?”
“Five minutes maybe—not that, I wouldn’t think.”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“No, Your Grace, not that I know of.”
“Do you know young Mr. Eaton?”
“Oh! yes, I know Mr. Eaton, sir, he comes quite frequent to see his mother.”
“And do you happen to remember what time he left this evening?”
“It would be before ten, sir.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Quite certain, sir. I stood up as he came down into the hall and put me book down—I remember looking at the clock and wondering if I’d be able to finish it before ten; I had just four more pages to go, that’s what makes me so certain.”
“Thank you, Frederick, thank you, I am much obliged.” The Duke turned and, followed by Rex, climbed into the waiting car.
“He didn’t exactly go to sleep here, did he?” Rex commented; “five minutes or less.”
“Enough,” said the Duke quietly, “if he came for her jewels and knew his business. If she was dressing at the time they would probably be in the bedroom, scattered about; perhaps he knew that and chose his time with care.”
The big car nosed its way carefully forward through the gloom. “What’ll we do,” inquired Rex suddenly, “if the people at the Berkeley can’t give us any information? That’ll pretty well put us up against it!”
The Duke leaned forward for a moment to peer out into the fog, then he settled himself comfortably back, despite the shortness of the journey.
“Don’t worry, my dear fellow,” he said cheerfully. “If it is as you say, and our quarry is really an habitué, we shall find somebody who will be able to tell us something about him. I know Ferraro well, he is a charming fellow, always a table for his old friends, even when the restaurant is crowded to the ceiling—a maître d’hôtel of the old type who knows his business, an artist, too—he paints in his spare time, and paints well. He once presented me with a little picture—a charming thing, and when I speak to Ferraro he will tell us what we want to know, even if he has to question every one of his men as to when they have seen this man before. A waiter’s fortune lies in his memory, you may be certain that there will be some information for us to go on.”
As the Duke finished speaking they arrived before the hotel. In the entrance of the restaurant they found Ferraro: dark, curling hair brushed smoothly back across his high forehead, blue shaven chin, spotless white double-breasted waistcoat. Quick, smiling, authoritative, with but two eyes and two ears, yet seemingly one for every waiter and every guest.
The revolving door had not ceased its turning before he had seen the new arrivals. He did not come forward, but stood near his desk, arms hanging loosely from his broad shoulders, smiling as he made his little bow.
“Monsieur le Duke—you are quite a stranger. Vercini!” he snapped his fingers in the air to one of his lieutenants. “Numero vingt-cinq—M. le Duke’s old table—What you say? Ah! I am getting old—numero trent
e-deux—it is better, we have redecorated the room since M. le Duke has been to see us. Mr. Van Ryn—good evening, sir, a pleasure to see you ‘ere.”
M. de Richleau returned the greeting. With one quick glance into the restaurant, he had seen that his favourite table was already occupied, an Indian potentate apparently.
Ferraro caught his glance and knew he knew, and the Duke knew Ferraro knew too, but they were charming to each other, and respected each other for their knowledge.
“My friend,” declared the Duke amiably, “we will sup later perhaps—but I come to talk to you a little, a most inconvenient hour I fear, but I will not keep you long. Can we find a quiet corner?”
Ferraro gave one quick glance round the crowded restaurant. The after-theatre rush was over, only a few couples lingered at the tables in the passage; then, muttering a few words to an underling in rapid Italian, he turned and led the way down the corridor.
He took them to the little lounge behind the grill; it was quite deserted and the strains of the band came faint and muted from the distance. The Duke lost no time in describing the young man of whom they were in search.
“But, of course,” Ferraro played with something in his waistcoat pocket, “the gentleman M. le Duke seeks is Monsieur Aron—Monsieur Simon Aron. I know him well—he is here this evening.”
“Now what have you got to say to that?” Van Ryn exclaimed.
“One moment,” said the Duke. “Tell me, Ferraro, how long has this young man been here?”
“Since ’alf past ten—perhaps a bit before. ‘E was before the theatre tonight, he told me he expected someone—his friend Mr. Eaton; but Mr. Eaton ‘as not come so ‘e is alone.”
De Richleau nodded to Van Ryn, then he turned again to the Italian. “Have you known this Monsieur Aron long?”
“Oh yes, he is a good customer. Sometimes he do not come for a long time, then all at once he is here, three times—four times—in a week, and if things are bad that is a sure sign Monsieur Aron will come ‘ere and spend money; but if things are good or things are bad—it does not matter, always I have a table for Monsieur Aron.”
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