“I understand,” the Duke smiled, “yet he is not, what shall I say, one of the young men who have grown up with you since Eton and Sandhurst—what is it you say. The Berkeley Boys! is it not?”
“Ah! no, Monsieur le Duke, quite different, but Monsieur Aron, he understands about good food, and good wine, it is a pleasure to serve such a gentleman—always so quiet, so smiling —and with a knowledge just as to how a dish should be done.”
“And does he pay well, this Monsieur Aron?”
Ferraro laughed again. “Does ‘e pay! Always—not foolishly, but generous, you understand—and sometimes ‘e ‘as put me on to things where I make nice money. If Monsieur Aron ask me to len ’im a hundred pounds one night—’e can ’ave it.”
“I am most grateful to you,” the Duke replied. “I know that you’re busy so we will not keep you any longer. We shall I think, be supping later, my friend and I. In the meantime if Monsieur Aron should show any signs of leaving you might be kind enough to let me know.”
“M. le Duke—Monsieur,” the ever-smiling Ferraro bowed to them in turn and slipped away.
Once alone the other two faced each other. “Congratulations, my dear Van Ryn,” proffered the Duke. “It’s our man, without a doubt; you heard he was expecting Eaton to join him for supper?”
“Yes, and that’s pretty strange to my mind—why should young Eaton be friends with an East End crook?”
“Possibly they both had a hand in it?”
Rex shook his head. “No, I judge we can cut that idea right out, you’re forgetting it’s the boy’s own mother.”
“True.” The Duke stroked his ascending eyebrows thoughtfully. “Perhaps our friends the police are on the wrong track altogether.”
“Maybe—all the more fun for us, but anyway you look at it we’ve got our man! What’ll we do next?”
“Well, the one thing we cannot do is to adhere to our original programme. If I remember, you were to sit on his head until the police arrived.”
“We can call the Superintendent on the wire and watch Aron till he turns up!”
“Yes,” agreed the Duke with a sigh. “That is, I suppose what we must do, but almost it seems too easy!”
8
The Unofficial Policemen and the Unofficial Crook
The Duke and Van Ryn regarded each other silently, both were turning the situation over in their own minds. There could no longer be any doubt but that they had discovered the whereabouts of that unannounced visitor who had been found in the Shoesmiths’ flat. It would be no small triumph to ring up Superintendent Marrofat and inform him politely that they had found his man.
Yet both were a little disappointed that the chase was over so quickly. The Duke’s words: “It seems almost too easy,” echoed in Van Ryn’s ears; he had visions of all sorts of interesting inquiries and questionings, leading eventually perhaps to the visitation of mean streets in the East End, or upon the south side of the river, and finally running their man to earth in the early hours of the morning.
And now the whole business had ended so tamely. Well, there was one consolation Rex felt, at one time it had looked as if he’d have to cut Lady Ingram’s dance altogether—now he’d be certain of seeing Felicity. He spoke slowly.
“I suppose you’d better get on to the big boy while I watch the restaurant.”
“You’re right,” the Duke agreed; “at least the Superintendent should show us some consideration for our find.”
But it was fated that the evening should not end just like that, for as the Duke de Richleau turned towards the doorway of the little lounge he saw a thin, stooping figure in the entrance—it was Mr. Simon Aron!
“Good evening,” said Mr. Aron quietly. He looked full at the Duke, his quick, dark eyes taking in the other thoughtfully. “Ferraro told me that some friends of mine wanted to see me before I left—but I don’t think we’ve met before?”
The Duke smiled. “I fear, Mr. Aron, that for once Ferraro has proved indiscreet. We cannot claim your acquaintance, nor did we send any message. I simply told him that if you left the restaurant he was to let me know.”
“I see.” Mr. Aron very deliberately removed his pince-nez, put them in their case, and then produced a fat cigarette, which he lit from a gold lighter—but never once did his eyes leave the Duke’s face.
“May I—” he inquired hesitatingly, “may I ask why?”
“Certainly,” the Duke lied promptly. “My friend”—he waved his hand in the direction of Van Ryn—“and myself are acting on behalf of Scotland Yard.”
“Really?” Mr. Aron commented with the faintest suggestion of amusement, but he said no more.
“The police are very anxious to ask you one or two questions, Mr. Aron,” the Duke continued. “Perhaps therefore, you would not object to accompanying us to Scotland Yard?”
“I should mind very much,” replied the young Jew evenly.
“Nevertheless, it is necessary,” said the Duke with some firmness.
“Oh!” the other nodded his bird-like head slowly. “You’ve got a warrant, of course?”
“No, we have no warrant, but we can procure one with very little delay; I suggest, therefore, that you should spare us that trouble.”
“Oh, so you haven’t got a warrant? I see, now that’s a bit awkward for you, isn’t it?” Mr. Aron’s voice was sympathetic.
“Don’t you worry,” Rex remarked with a grim smile, “we’ll hold on to you until we get one all right.”
“Will you?” Mr. Aron brought his head forward to the lower level of his cigarette, his eyes flickered from Van Ryn to the Duke and back. “I’m afraid you’ve made some mistake,” he said evenly. “I’m going home.”
Rex had moved a little so as to be just between Aron and the door. “I’ll say you’re not,” he grinned. “You’re going to stay right here while the Duke gets the police, and that’s all there is to it.”
Mr. Aron had also moved a little, so that by an almost unnoticed gesture, his hand rested upon the bell. “I—er—don’t know who you are,” he said still quite calmly. “Of course, it may be some kind of joke—I don’t know—I don’t care, really, but if you don’t stand away from that door I’m going to ring for Ferraro and have you chucked out.”
Monsieur de Richleau realised that they had gone too far; evidently this young man could not be bluffed. He shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Mr. Aron,” he temporised, “my friend, you will understand, is from the United States, he has forgotten for the moment that in England things are done differently; but you will realise I’m sure, that if the police wish to speak to you—they most certainly will—and it is only a question as to if it is to be now or in, perhaps, two hours’ time.”
Mr. Aron nodded slowly. “Quite—but—er—forgive me if I’m wrong—I don’t think you are the—er—police?”
“No, I confess that we are not; but I am quite justified in saying that we are acting on their behalf. It’s true that they are very anxious to see you; and may I suggest that even if we are unable to prevent you leaving this hotel you also cannot stop us following you when you go. Neither can you prevent us asking every policeman who we may pass to inform his headquarters that we have you in view. I am told that what they term the flying squad is of an amazing rapidity. We should all be picked up quite soon.”
Mr. Simon Aron’s full lips curved into a wide smile. “Yes,” he agreed slowly, “that sounds quite reasonable; but may I ask exactly who you—er—are?”
“My name is De Richleau,” volunteered the Duke, “my friend is Rex van Ryn.”
Mr. Aron nodded to each in turn, his slightly open mouth gave the impression that he was still somewhat amused. “And—er,” he went on, “just what sort of trouble am I supposed to be in?”
“You will perhaps recall having seen myself and my friend before this evening?” said the Duke.
“Ner,” replied Mr. Aron, and he pronounced it just like that, with his mouth still slightly open, and a little sideways shake of the h
ead. “Ner—I don’t think so,”
“Upon the staircase in Errol House in Curzon Street about ten past ten?”
“Now wait a minute.” Mr. Aron drew the hand that held the cigarette across his long receding forehead. “Of course I do, you were coming upstairs as I was going down, that’s right.”
“Exactly. You had, I think, been to Sir Gideon Shoesmith’s flat?”
“Um.” Quite unperturbed, Aron nodded in the affirmative once more.
“It’s in connexion with your visit to Errol House that the police are so anxious to see you.”
“Really?” Mr. Aron seemed to consider, his gaze flickered from the Duke to Van Ryn. “I am afraid I—er don’t see why?”
Monsieur de Richleau hesitated. If this man had actually been guilty of the crime committed less than two hours ago he was, in any case, forewarned that the police were on his track. What further harm, then, could be done by speaking of the murder?
“Perhaps,” said the Duke, “you do not know that Lady Shoesmith died a few hours ago?”
“What?” Simon Aron scarcely breathed the word, and his wide mouth stood open. “Lady Shoesmith dead?” he said in a quick whisper. “That rather alters things, doesn’t it?”
There was silence for a minute in the little lounge. Then he asked suddenly: “How did she die?”
“There is some reason to suppose that she was murdered,” replied the Duke quietly.
“Murdered—Really! I say!” said Simon jerkily. “Seems we’re in a bit of a muddle here.”
“You will appreciate,” the Duke continued, “that since the murder, if it was murder, was committed within a few moments, perhaps, of the time at which you visited Errol House this evening—how anxious the authorities are to hear what you have to say.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t follow that I want to—er—say anything to them, at the moment.” Aron gave a nervous little cough into the hand that held the cigarette. “Tell me,” he continued jerkily, “what—er—part do you play in all this?”
De Richleau shrugged. “It just happened that my friend and I were present when the alarm was raised, and the tragedy discovered. Also that we chanced to see you on the staircase. Van Ryn remembered that he had seen you before, and where—so here we are—it is quite simple.”
“Awkward, isn’t it, very awkward,” said Mr. Aron, with just the suspicion of a smile.
“I should judge it’ll be pretty awkward for you to explain just what you were doing in that apartment,” remarked Van Ryn, who had remained a silent spectator for some time.
“Yes, and pretty awkward for you when Ferraro has you chucked out on the pavement,” suggested Mr. Aron. “But don’t let’s talk about that!”
For a few moments he puffed slowly at a new cigarette which he had lit from the stub of the last, then he went on carefully, his eyes travelling quickly from one to the other. “Now, I’ll tell you, I don’t like it, it’s much too bad a muddle, and even if you had a warrant I wouldn’t answer any questions—not tonight. If I could get hold of my solicitor it would be different, but I can’t—not till tomorrow.” He paused, and then went on again, shooting out his short, jerky sentences. “But look here, tell me—what exactly are you out to gain—I’ll tell you what I think, shall I? You’re out for an evening’s fun!”
The Duke smiled. “You’re perfectly correct. Mr. Aron, we have allowed ourselves the somewhat childish pleasure of endeavouring to forestall the British police, and it so happens that we have succeeded.”
“Exactly,” Aron nodded. “Now, having found me, are you in a hurry—I mean for an hour or so—to hand me over to Scotland Yard?”
“No, not particularly. All that we wish, Mr. van Ryn and I,” the Duke was exceedingly amiable, “is the pleasure of your company till we do.”
“I see. Well, that’s splendid, because I was just going to put up a little suggestion to you.”
“By all means,” the Duke agreed blandly, “as long as it is not that you should leave us?”
“Ner—oh, ner—I give you my word that I won’t run away.” For the first time Mr. Aron left his strategic position by the bell. He began to walk up and down the small apartment, one hand in the pocket of his very shapely dress trousers, the other, which held the fat cigarette, constantly going back and forth to his full lips as he talked. He no longer kept his eyes fixed upon either of the others. But, as he went softly to and fro with his head thrust forward, he occasionally gave a rapid sideways glance to see how they were taking his suggestions.
“It’s like this,” he said jerkily. “If you try to force my hand—I’ll get out. Ferraro’s an old friend of mine—he wouldn’t like to see me arrested, not a little bit. I might, or I might not, go to Scotland Yard later—I don’t know—but, in any case, I’d have to talk to my solicitor. But if you’re not in a hurry for a bit and cared to join me for—er—a little supper—we could talk things over, and then see how we feel. Is that all right?”
Rex grinned. He was beginning to like Mr. Aron a little better than he had at first. “An armed neutrality while we get better acquainted—eh—Is that the idea?” He turned to the Duke. “What do you say?”
“I?—Oh!” said the Duke de Richleau affably, “I shall be delighted to accept Mr. Aron’s very kind invitation. I was just beginning to feel like supper.”
9
Mr. Simon Aron Entertains
It was a strange trio that filed into the restaurant a few moments later. The Duke led the way, and it was at him that people turned to look. Even Van Ryn’s well-proportioned height and attractive head did not dwarf the distinction of the older man, and De Richleau’s fine, sensitive face held many glances as they passed down the long room. Simon Aron brought up the rear of the procession, a position which he had taken naturally as host. Van Ryn had pressed him to go behind the Duke—but Aron had been insistent, and his quick smile flashed out as he caught the American turn to see if he were really following. He knew quite well it was in the other’s mind that he might seize the opportunity to slip away.
Once seated at the table Mr. Aron produced his pince-nez, and ran his eye down the long carte quickly. However he laid both the glasses and the carte aside and turned to his guests.
“Now, I wonder what you’d like? The croûte should be very good just now,” he suggested hesitantly. “I always used to go to Paris for a few days in November to sample the first one at the Ritz—couldn’t go this year—little bit of a muddle one of my friends got into—had to stay in town.”
“That’ll be fine for me,” Van Ryn agreed. And the Duke nodded his concurrence.
“Good, then—what about a bécasse?” Mr. Aron went on. “Ferraro does a bécasse very well, you know.”
“You are, I perceive, a gourmet, Mr. Aron,” smiled De Richleau. “The bécasse is a bird for which I have a quite exceptional partiality.”
“Don’t count me in.” Rex waved the suggestion aside. “The foie gras and a good long drink will do me well.”
“Are you—er—sure?” Simon Aron carefully wiped his pincenez with his handkerchief, and placed them beside his plate. “We did say that we weren’t in any particular hurry, didn’t we?”
“That’s true,” Rex admitted. “All right, I’ll have the woodcock, too.”
“Splendid. Then after that we shall see? We might manage a peach, perhaps, done with a little Kirsch or something—but we’ll see later. Now what would you like to drink?”
“We are, I am sure, quite safe in your hands,” said De Richleau amicably.
“Well, personally, I’d say burgundy with the bécasse. Ferraro has a little Romanée la Tache, 1906, which is not on the wine list. Nice wine—but perhaps you would prefer champagne?”
“If it’s all the same to you,” said Rex. “I’d rather drink champagne. Some time before the night’s out I’ll be going on to a party, and burgundy would send me right off to sleep.”
Mr. Aron nodded to Ferraro, who was taking down the order in person. “Better have a magn
um of Bollinger put on the ice.”
“Very good, Mr. Aron, and a little salad with the bécasse—eh! salade Japonaise? All right—I send the wine at once. Very good, Mr. Aron.”
As Ferraro moved away a rather awkward silence fell upon the three men at the table. It was the Duke who broke the ice. “Is it not curious,” he began, “that we three, who to all outward appearance must seem like old friends spending a pleasant evening together—would none of us have known the other two had we lunched here at adjacent tables earlier in the day.”
“You didn’t know Mr. Van Ryn until this unfortunate business, either?” Simon Aron inquired.
It was Rex who answered. “No, I didn’t meet the Duke in exactly that connexion, but I only made his acquaintance tonight. And I’ll say he’s given me an interesting evening all right!”
“It is to chance you are indebted, not me, my friend,” the Duke smiled; “but now we’re agreed not to endeavour to procure the arrest of our host until after supper, can’t we inquire a little further into this interesting tragedy which has brought us together? What do you think, Mr. Aron?”
Simon Aron’s eyes flickered from one to the other. “It all depends,” he said non-committally. “What exactly do you want to know?”
De Richleau leant forward. “Mr. Aron, quite frankly we have no shadow of justification for prying into the affairs of other people; it is, in fact, almost an impertinence, but since we have become drawn into this affair we have given way to a quite shameless curiosity. It would interest us greatly to learn just what your association with the Shoesmiths may be? Why you called at Errol House this evening? How long you were there? Who you saw and what you did?”
“I see, well—I promise nothing—you understand? Nothing at all. But I’m quite in the dark as to what happened. If you—er—care to tell me what you know ‘I’ll see if I can add anything.”
“I wonder”—the Duke raised his well-marked eyebrows—“how far I should be justified in doing that. You will be aware, Mr. Aron, that the police rely very largely upon any admission that may be made by the suspected person in the first examination. The person questioned is in a very difficult situation, because he is quite in the dark as to what the police know, and what they have failed to find out. Now, I think I may say that we know very nearly as much as the police. If I were to tell you what we know, I should therefore, suggesting you were guilty, be enabling you to prepare your defence.”
Three Inquisitive People Page 6