“Yes, Your Excellency, the chauffeur got back with them a little time ago. I did not like to disturb you while those—er—gentlemen were here, but the chauffeur brought a message for Mr. Aron.”
“Indeed, please give it to Mr. Aron then.”
The discreet valet turned to Simon. “The chauffeur was asked to say, sir, that there is a gentleman who is waiting to see you at your club. He said, sir, that the matter was urgent, and he would wait there until you could come.”
“Did he say anything else?” asked Simon quickly.
“No, nothing else, sir, except the gentleman’s name. It was Mr. Richard Eaton.”
14
A Page From the Life of Richard Eaton
Less than half an hour afterwards, Simon Aron led the way into his club. Owing to the manner in which he had learnt of Richard’s arrival there, it had been impossible for him to conceal it from the Duke, Van Ryn, and Mr. Schatz, even if he had wished to do so. In consequence he and the Duke had dressed with all speed, and it had been agreed that since Richard Eaton’s situation could not be made worse by the presence of the others, and Mr. Schatz, at least, might prove useful, the whole party should accompany Aron round to the National.
At this hour of Sunday morning, the club was almost deserted. They found Richard Eaton all alone in the big, cheerless, guests’ waiting-room. Simon went forward to greet him, and the others remained in a little group near the door.
“Hallo, Richard!” Simon Aron’s rather toneless voice did not altogether hide his suppressed emotion. He held out his hand. “I’m awfully pleased to see you.”
Eaton took it quickly. He was a young man of medium height, with rather an attractive smile, but his smile was a little tired as he said: “I’m in a muddle, my boy, in fact I’m in the hell of a mess!”
“Um—I know,” Simon nodded quickly.
A puzzled expression crossed Eaton’s face. “How can you? Oh, of course, you’ve seen about Mother in the papers.”
“Yes,” Simon nodded again.
“It’s pretty ghastly, isn’t it? I was terribly fond of her, though it hasn’t had time to sink in yet, and I shall feel it frightfully later on, I know. But as a matter of fact, when I said I was in a muddle—I didn’t just mean that I was cut up by her death. This is a special muddle that I’ve got myself into by going round to see her last night.”
“I know,” said Simon Aron once again.
“My dear fellow, how can you know?” said Richard Eaton, almost sharply.
“Well—er—I happen to know a bit about it, anyhow,” affirmed Simon. “But I’d like to introduce you to these friends of mine.” He jerked his head in the direction of the others, who at his glance had moved over to join him. “This is Mr. Granville Schatz, my solicitor—the Duke de Richleau—Mr. Van Ryn—er—Mr. Eaton.”
Richard Eaton gave a pleasant nod to each in turn. He was polite, but obviously found it difficult to restrain his annoyance at their presence. He turned to Simon: “Look here, you don’t think me rude, old chap, but what I want to talk to you about is rather urgent. Can you spare me five minutes alone?”
“Yes, if you like, of course, but give me a chance to explain who these gentlemen are; I take it you want to talk over last night’s business? If I’m right, it would be rather useful to have Mr. Schatz with us, don’t you think?”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right.”
“Now the Duke de Richleau and Mr. Van Ryn are also in this, in a way—it was they who—er—found your mother. As a matter of fact I spent the night with them because of this business; that’s why the Duke’s chauffeur came to the Club for my things. They were both with me when I got your message.”
“I see,” Richard looked dubious.
“Mind you,” Simon put his hand on his friend’s arm “don’t think I want you to discuss anything in front of anybody, if you’d rather not, but they do know all about this muddle, and sometimes four heads are better than two.”
“Mr. Eaton,” the Duke stepped forward. “I must quite frankly apologise for what must seem to you the entirely vulgar curiosity of myself and my friend; but having been drawn into this very tragic affair, we should consider it the greatest privilege if you would allow us to remain and hear your version of what took place last night.”
Richard looked into De Richleau’s bright, intelligent eyes, and suddenly he smiled. “Simon’s right.” he said. “Simon’s always right, four heads are better than two—if you’re friends of his by all means stay.”
“Splendid,” Simon nodded. “Now let’s sit down and talk things over.”
“Yes, let’s—but for God’s sake give me a decent cigarette. I haven’t had time to go back to my flat this morning, and I hate the shop Turkish that you buy on railway stations.”
Simon produced his case. “Here you are, old chap, have an Al Rashid, same as you smoke yourself.”
“How curious,” remarked De Richleau, “that you should smoke Al Rashids. I smoke them, also, when I smoke a cigarette at all, but mine are longer than that—about three and a half inches long.”
“This is the ordinary size, but I’ve had the long ones. I think they’re the best in London.” Simon turned to Richard. “Now let’s hear where you’ve been all night.”
Richard blew a ring of blue smoke. “I caught the 11.52 to Dover,” he confessed, “and I was going to cross by this morning’s boat to Calais, but I saw this awful news about my mother in the paper, so I came hareing back to town by the 8.26 this morning.”
“Um,” Simon nodded. “And you thought you’d like to have a chat with me before you saw the police, eh?”
“Saw the police! What the devil for?”
There was a sudden silence in the long, heavy room. It was De Richleau who said quietly:
“I fear, Mr. Eaton, that you are not, perhaps, very fully informed regarding the present situation.”
“How do you mean?” Richard inquired.
“You—er—wouldn’t know, for instance,” Simon said with his jerky laugh, “that I was—er—very nearly arrested for the murder of your mother last night?”
“Good lord, no! But why—What in the world made them suspect you?”
“You remember that we were to meet at the Berkeley for supper?”
“Yes, I tried to let you know that I didn’t mean to turn up. I thought you were dining with your mother, so I telephoned, but you weren’t there.”
“No, she put me off—so, I had plenty of time on my hands, it occurred to me that a little chat with Sir Gideon wouldn’t do any harm; thought I might persuade him to advise your mother differently.”
“My dear fellow, how awfully nice of you—I’ll bet you couldn’t though. I had a ghastly row with the old man in the afternoon.”
“As a matter of fact I never saw him, but it must have been just about the time that I called that—well,” Simon wriggled his neck quickly, “the police thought it was me!”
“Simon, how awful! But from what you say, I gather they’re chasing someone else by now?”
“Um,” agreed Simon briefly.
“What’s the latest idea, do you know?”
“Yes, they’re looking for the last person to leave the flat before I arrived.”
“And who was that?”
“Well, Richard, as a matter of fact it was—er—you.”
“What?” Richard Eaton’s face expressed blank surprise. “Me!” he exploded suddenly. “Simon, you’re joking!”
Simon shook his head. “’Fraid not, we’ve just this moment left the man who’s in charge of the case. Rotten, isn’t it?”
“But it’s impossible,” Richard burst out. “What nonsense! Although—I don’t know—” he added more gently. “No wonder you all looked so strangely at me when you turned up here. This is a ghastly mess!”
“’Tis a muddle, isn’t it? Still, I’m awfully glad to see you, Richard. The moment I heard you were at the Club, I knew for certain that you hadn’t done it—but I don’t mind telling you t
hat there was a time, last night, when I thought you had!”
“You really thought for a moment that I—”
“Um,” Simon interrupted. “I did—I knew you were in a muddle, you’ve been living on the edge of a nervous breakdown for weeks. You might have got tight—gone off your head—anything—I didn’t know. The very nicest people are capable of all sorts of things if they’re abnormal at the time.”
“You certainly ought to know, Mr. Eaton,” Rex remarked, “that, rather than let suspicion fall on you, Mr. Aron wouldn’t come across with a single thing until this morning. Just to give you a chance to make a getaway.”
“That was awfully decent of you, Simon,” Rex smiled gratefully, “but just like you—I understand, too, what you mean by anybody being liable to go off their head for a bit, and do the most incredible things. It seems absurd when applied to oneself, but I quite understand how you feel about it.”
Simon shook his head. “Mr. Van Ryn’s exaggerating. All I said was—that I wouldn’t talk to the police till I had my solicitor with me, a very normal sort of precaution that, and we couldn’t get hold of Mr. Schatz till the morning.”
“No, I know you too well to believe it was only that. You deliberately held the fort to give me a sporting chance to get out of the country. It was damn decent of you, Simon.”
“My dear old chap, don’t be silly.”
“It was. But I say—look here—” A sudden frown overspread Richard Eaton’s face. “Until a moment ago I hadn’t an idea that the police suspected me. I was only worried about what I did last night, and now, by George, that very thing’s going to make it a thousand times worse.”
“‘Fraid they do suspect you, old chap. You see, there’s no trace of anybody but you and I having been near the place. And after all, your movements last night are—er—a bit difficult to explain.”
“I know. Give me another cigarette. Thanks.” Richard sat smoking in silence for a moment, then he said: “Look here, I’d better tell you the whole thing from the beginning. This is actually what happened.
“After lunch yesterday I thought I’d have another go at old Gideon. So I went round to the flat. As you know, up till now he’s been as nice as pie—butter wouldn’t melt in the old brute’s mouth. It’s always been: ‘Well, Richard, I’ll have another talk with your mother. We’ll see what we can do to help you,’ and then he puts me off by asking for more figures, and more figures, and more figures.
“You know, Simon. It’s been going on for months now, and every week my wretched creditors get more and more pressing.”
“Yes, I know,” Simon nodded. “You’ve had a jolly rough time; most people would have had a breakdown long ago.”
“It has been pretty bad. My bank’s been very decent to me, but naturally they’ve got their limit, and I had no securities or anything of that kind that I could lodge with them for cover against a larger overdraft, and I had to keep the Press going or else the whole show would have blown up. They said I was a fool to try and carry on, anyhow, and I dare say there’s something in that. Beautifully printed books and limited editions have simply gone to blazes in the last eighteen months, and there was never enough capital behind the business to stand a bad patch like this. I was quite prepared to wind it up, if that could have been done decently. Mother’s never cared about ‘Cardinal’s Folly,’ and it’s been shut up practically ever since my father died, but I love the old place, and I was quite willing to go down and rusticate in one wing if Mother would have made me an allowance of a couple of hundred a year, but I insisted that the business must be wound up first, and I was determined that I wouldn’t let my creditors in.
“Whenever I saw Mother she was awfully sympathetic, but I simply couldn’t get her to do anything; all she would say was that she was quite willing to help me, but Gideon was to advise how it was to be done. Well, I had six writs in last week. I managed to scrape the cash together to settle four, but there are two big debts, and even if I was lucky Monday, and Tuesday, and had much more money than I could hope for in the post, I might manage one, but I couldn’t possibly do both. If either of them is allowed to get a judgement against me, I’m done. It was no longer a matter as to the manner in which I was to be helped, it was a case of getting a thousand pounds from somewhere, or going under. So I saw Gideon after lunch yesterday and put it to him straight. What do you think the old devil said?”
“Don’t know,” Simon murmured.
“He advised me to go bankrupt! Can you believe it? Go bankrupt, and let everybody in!”
“I’ll say that’s a bad show,” Rex agreed sympathetically.
“Well, he did. I tried to point out to him that it was commercial suicide, that I’d never be able to be a partner or director in anything, or even get a job in a decent firm again. ‘Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,’ he said. ‘You haven’t done anything dishonest; you’ll get your discharge in six months—much better file your petition. You can settle your creditors at six bob in the pound—you’ll be clear then, and your mother will see what she can do to help you later on.’ Jolly, wasn’t it?”
“Pretty thick,” Simon grinned. “Lot of help you’d have got later on, if it had depended on him.”
“Yes, I expect his next bright idea would have been to ship me off to the Colonies, and you know about how much use I’d be out there!”
“The great open spaces where men are men …” laughed Rex.
“Well, I don’t mind telling you, Richard.” Simon half closed his eyes. “I knew you couldn’t go on much longer unless something was done. That’s—er—why I thought I’d go and have a chat with Sir Gideon myself. Did you decide anything?”
“Yes, I told him that I had no intention of filing my petition, and that if I couldn’t find any other way out, I’d call my creditors together, put the whole situation before them, and abide by their decision.”
“Certainly, proper thing to do,” said Mr. Schatz.
“Um,” agreed Simon. “I don’t believe they’d have made you bankrupt; probably they’d have let you carry on with a creditor’s committee. We do, if we can; we don’t believe in smashing people.”
“Well, anyhow, the old man said that all he wanted to do was to advise me for the best, so I left it at that, and cleared out. Pretty sick I was, too.”
“What time was this?” Mr. Schatz inquired.
“About four o’clock. I tried to get you, Simon, at your Club, but you were out, so I went back to the office. It was shut, of course being Saturday afternoon, but I always carry a set of keys, so I dug myself in there. I started to make out a list of the creditors, and to prepare, as far as I could, an approximate statement of the position to date. I was there for about four hours, then I decided to have a last cut at Mother. I knew Gideon was dining out, so I’d be able to get her on my own.
“I got to Errol House about half past eight, I think. She was just finishing dinner with old Winnie. I had some coffee and kümmel. I couldn’t have eaten anything if I’d been paid. I told her I had dined—although, of course, I hadn’t. I suppose for three-quarters of an hour we just made conversation. At least, I did. I didn’t want to talk about business with Winifred there; but Mother was full of the plays she had seen and all sorts of other things, so I just let her run on, occasionally saying ‘Really!’ ‘How nice!’ ‘What fun’ and so on. I was waiting till Winifred cleared out, although, as a matter of fact, I was dying to launch the fresh arguments that I’d been turning over in my mind on the way there. Anyhow, at about a quarter past nine, Mother said she must dress because she was going out to supper with Gideon. I went into her bedroom with her.” Richard paused suddenly, swallowed, and looked away. Aron patted his arm.
“What’s the matter, old chap? Feeling rotten?”
Richard half-laughed, and swallowed quickly again. “Silly of me,” he said. “So sorry. But ever since I’ve been a small boy I’ve sat and talked to Mother while she changed for dinner, in an arm-chair by her dressing-table. It seems strange
to think that I shall never do that again.”
“You have my very deep sympathy, Mr. Eaton,” said the Duke in a low voice.
“Thanks. Well, as I was saying, directly we got in the bedroom I opened up at once. I told her about my talk with Gideon that afternoon, and I asked if she couldn’t possibly see her way to selling the Slough property, even if Gideon didn’t approve, and guaranteeing a loan for me at my bank in the meantime. She was awfully nice about it, but quite firm; she said that even if she let me have the thousand that I wanted for this week, how did she know that I wouldn’t be wanting another thousand next—or two, or four—or ten? She never had pretended to know anything about business, but she really thought Gideon’s idea was best. Let the business go altogether, and then she’d see about utilising the money which should go to my creditors, to doing something for me instead.
“I tried to explain what an awful thing it was for a young man like myself to go bankrupt, and that even if one paid up everybody in full afterwards, other people never knew that, and the stigma clung to one all one’s life. I pointed out that it would absolutely ruin my chances of getting another job. But all she would say was ‘Gideon says lots of people do it in these days. Gideon is a business man, he ought to know;’ and she was quite certain he would never suggest anything that was dishonourable. So what the devil could I say? It was like trying to explain the differential calculus to a child of three. She simply didn’t understand.” He paused.
“And what happened then?” Rex prompted him.
“Well, after we’d been arguing for about half an hour, she said she simply must have her bath or she’d be late, so ‘I must run along now, and mind and let her know how I was getting on!’ So I kissed her good night and she went into the bathroom. Then, just as I was passing her dressing-table to leave the room—I saw the pearls.”
“Good God!” Simon Aron sat up with a jerk in his arm-chair. “It was you who pinched the pearls?”
15
“Here’s to the Crime”
Three Inquisitive People Page 11