Warrant for X

by Philip MacDonald

  “Know her?” said Anthony.

  Avis shook her head.

  There was silence. Anthony, after regarding the card for a moment, put it back into the wallet and returned the wallet to his pocket. He said:

  “You saw it was crumpled. When I found it it was bent double. It had been shoved into the wallet in a hurry. Rest of the wallet shows neatness. . . . In the circumstances a call to Richmond-0246 is indicated.”

  She looked at him intently. “I don’t know what you’re driving at.”

  “Nor do I,” said Anthony. “But we’ll find out.” He crossed to a corner table and sat by it and lifted the receiver from the telephone and worked the dial. Avis twisted in her chair to watch him.

  “Hello!” said Anthony. “Richmond-0246? . . . Is Mrs Kenealy there? Oh, I see! This is a friend of Mr Sheldon Garrett speaking. Mr Garrett has met with an accident and——” He was cut short by a perfect flood of talk from the telephone. The metallic cackle rang in Avis’ ears. She rose and crossed the room and went swiftly to the table and stood by Anthony. He said into the telephone as she reached him:

  “I see. . . . No, it wasn’t anything to do with that. . . . He was coming to dine with me and he met with this accident just outside my house. . . . What? Oh! Martin; Theodore Martin. I live in South Kensington. . . . Yes. . . . Yes. . . . Yes, I’m afraid it was a nasty accident. . . . Must have been hit by a car which didn’t stop in the fog. You know what these motorists are! . . .”

  Again Avis was forced to listen to a cackling outburst from the receiver at her visitor’s ear. Again she could not distinguish a word. Unconsciously she put a hand upon Anthony’s shoulder; a hand whose fingers dug painfully.

  “I see,” said Anthony to the telephone. “Most extraordinary thing! . . . Yes, obviously his unlucky day! . . . Yes.

  . . . Yes. . . . I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. . . .

  Oh, I see! Yes, I’ll tell him. . . . Yes, by all means—my number’s Flaxman-00123. . . . Yes. . . . Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . . Yes. . . . Good night. . . .”

  He replaced the receiver firmly He turned in his chair and looked up at his hostess. He said, smiling:

  “What long, strong fingers you have, Grandmamma!”

  Avis Bellingham looked down at the hand which had been digging into his shoulder. She said, taking it away:

  “Oh, I’m sorry! . . . What was that, Anthony? I couldn’t get a word. I didn’t——”

  Anthony rose. He rubbed at his shoulder and smiled at her. He said:

  “That? That was another oddity in a maze of oddities. Curiouser and curiouser! Mrs Claude Kenealy says that she met Mr Garrett for the first time this evening. On the Piccadilly railway. She hadn’t known him before. She was standing beside him on the westbound platform when somebody slipped in the crowd behind him, just as the train was coming in, and very nearly pushed him in front of the train. . . .”

  “God!” said Mrs Bellingham.

  “Quite,” said Anthony, “but by an effort which Mrs Kenealy thinks miraculous Mr Sheldon Garrett saved himself. In saving himself he was forced to clutch at Mrs Kenealy. In clutching he damaged her fur coat. They travelled together as far as Knightsbridge, where Mr Garrett got out. Mrs Kenealy insists that the damage to her fur coat doesn’t matter but Mr Garrett—always the gentleman—insisted that it did and exchanged cards with Mrs Kenealy. Two men witnessed the near accident but Mrs Kenealy doesn’t know who they are. As far as she knows Mr Garrett—who seemed shaken, but who in the circumstances was marvellously self-contained—did not exchange names and addresses with them. Mrs Kenealy was definite in the assertion that neither of these two men was the person who originally caused the near accident. Mrs Kenealy thought that Mr Garrett was a most prepossessing young man, though American. She wishes very much to be informed of his progress. . . . So I gave her the number of Mr Theodore Martin who lives in South Kensington. It’s actually the private number of a fellow called Gethryn. Message ends.”

  Avis sank into a chair. She said, and seemed to have some difficulty in saying it:

  “That’s three! In one day! And—and——” Her voice shook but she mastered it. “Isn’t that—isn’t that—well, queer?”

  Anthony went back to the mantelpiece and retrieved his glass. He said:

  “I don’t think so. Accidents are queer; but if, in one day in London, when you are deeply interested in a business more than queer, you meet with three happenings, any one of which might cause your death, they cannot be accidents. Therefore they are not queer. At least, not queer in the sense in which you mean. For there’s nothing irrational in desiring the obliteration of a person and setting out to cause that obliteration.”

  She stared at him but she said: “I knew you were going to say that. At least, I knew you were going to say that these things weren’t accidents . . . that someone was trying to—to kill him. But . . .” Her voice trailed off into silence.

  Anthony smiled down at her; a reassuring smile. “But you didn’t know that I was going to suggest that the attempts were anything to do with Miss Murch, et omnes?”

  She nodded without speaking.

  “They must be,” said Anthony. “Listen!”

  3

  And “Listen!” said Anthony an hour later into a telephone at the other end of which was Lucas. [3]

  “I shall be in your office,” said Anthony, “at nine forty-five tomorrow. Ack emma.”

  “Go to hell!” said the telephone sleepily.

  At twenty minutes past ten upon the following morning Sir Egbert Lucas sat back in his chair and turned his head to look at Superintendent Pike. They both looked at the long and lean and recumbent form in the armchair beneath that window which, it is popularly supposed, has the best river view in all Scotland Yard.

  There was a silence which Lucas broke. He said:

  “Very interesting, Gethryn! A pretty story! A little forced, perhaps, but who can help that nowadays with so many people writing these things?” He was all irony. “But what, exactly, d’you think we can do?”

  Superintendent Pike looked at Colonel Gethryn—but said nothing.

  A voice came from the armchair. “It isn’t so much what I expect, Lucas; it’s what I hope.”

  Lucas smiled sourly. “Still the master of persiflage! Elucidate.”

  Anthony sat up. “I was hoping that for once you’d exercise your real function—or what should be your real function—and help me to shut a stable door before a horse is stolen.”

  Superintendent Pike continued silent; but he also continued to stare with speculative eyes at Colonel Gethryn.

  Lucas lit a cigarette. Through smoke he said:

  “I’m sorry but I can’t see any door that wants shutting. I can see an overheated imagination at work; but that’s all. I——” A telephone upon his desk rang shrill. “Just a minute !” He picked up the receiver and spoke into it and listened. He said:

  “What’s that? . . . Who? . . . How do you spell it? . . . Oh! . . .” There was surprise in the last ejaculation. “Who’s the divisional surgeon? . . . Oh yes. Good man! . . . What did you say? . . . Yes. . . . Yes. . . . That’s something to be thankful for, anyhow. Well, get on to Andrews and get all the detail done and have the usual report sent. . . .” He put back the receiver and looked once more at Anthony. “Sorry!” he said. “But that was business.”

  Pike looked at him with an eyebrow inquiringly cocked.

  Lucas said: “No bother. Suicide. There’ll be a fuss; though. It was old Ballister’s wife. Personally, no suicide in his family would surprise me. I once sat——”

  He broke off to stare across the table at the suddenly risen form of his visitor. “What’s the matter?” he said.

  Anthony came up to the far side of the table and leant his hands upon it and stared across it at its owner. His face was devoid of expression but yet there was about him a certain tensity which a moment before had not been there. Superintendent Pike continued to stare, now with a deep frown between h
is brows.

  “Alice Ballister?” said Anthony. “Wife of Charles Montague Ballister, major general et al?”

  “Yes,” said Lucas.

  “When?” said Anthony.

  “Found this morning,” said Lucas. “An hour ago, to be precise. Divisional surgeon says she may have been dead three hours. Definitely suicide.”

  Anthony sat himself sideways upon the desk. He said: “Well, well! And that’s that! Now, Police, you’ll have to help me with my stable door.”

  Lucas sat back in his chair. He said with rude clarity: “What in the name of God are you talking about?” Anthony said: “Alice Ballister was the employer of Sheldon Garrett’s Janet Murch. I saw her myself.”

  The right hand of Superintendent Pike began to rub reflectively at his lantern-shaped lower jaw.

  “What!” said Lucas. And then: “Must be a coincidence.

  “You,” said Anthony, “are one of these survivals who live by the application of old wives’ tales; the sort of man who thinks that an albino can divine gold and that a right-footed sock from a left-handed man will cure the staggers! Coincidence my eye!” He looked down at Lucas with an air blent of tolerance and irritation. He said after a pause:

  “Listen! You obviously need the whole thing again—only this time including the unfortunate Ballister woman. . . . Are you ready? We’re off! A man hears two women talking. He is convinced that they are planning a crime or crimes, part and parcel of which is the kidnapping of a child. He is a stranger to this town and country and has difficulty in finding anyone to believe that he is not a scaremonger with a hypersensitive imagination. But he gets help at last and he and his helpers find that the only clue he had leads them to a friend of one of the women that he heard but never properly saw. From the friend they get the woman’s name—Janet Murch—and the information that Murch is working in the household of General Ballister. Helper Gethryn—by unprincipled use of a common acquaintance—calls upon Lady Ballister and asks to interview Janet Murch. But Janet Murch has left the Ballister service, of her own accord! Lady Ballister cannot tell Gethryn Janet Murch’s address but she does tell Gethryn that she got Janet Murch in the first place through the KJB Domestic Agency of 14 Brabazon Road, South Kensington. Gethryn leaves with this information—and also with the knowledge, acquired by his observant eye and receptive personality, that, at the time of the interview at least, Alice Ballister is a harassed and extremely frightened woman. He does not—why should he?—associate this harassment and fear with the subject of his own search but merely files it in his encyclopedic brain for future reference, noting also the fact that as he entered the Ballister house a nasty little man, most unlikely to have been a social visitor, was leaving the house. Armed with the one piece of fresh Murch information—to wit, the address of the agency—he goes back to Mr Sheldon Garrett. They decide that the next step is to go to the address of Janet Murch’s aunt, furnished previously to another helper by Janet Murch’s friend. But when they get there the aunt is flown! She has, most inconsiderately and indefinitely and suddenly, departed for Scotland—in great excitement and a taxicab. The next morning Garrett visits the KJB Domestic Agency—under the nom de guerre of Leslie Schumacher, a visiting and parental American in search of Janet Murch, said to be the world s champion nursemaid. The manager of the agency—a certain Hines—is cheerful and obliging but he cannot help his prospective client because Janet Murch has severed her connection with the agency. Mr Hines endeavours, naturally enough, to induce Mr Schumacher to let KJB procure him another nursemaid but Mr Schumacher, also naturally enough, will not commit them to this course. This was on Saturday. On the following Monday Mr Sheldon Garrett about his own business—visits, in the fog, the theatre where his play is running. He then meets with the accident of the stage door which you will remember. In the evening he sets out to dine with Gethryn and is first nearly pushed under a tube train and then hit by a mysterious something which I’ll bet you a quarter’s income to a sixpence was a. sandbag—on the back of the head on his way to Gethryn s house. The next day Gethryn comes to Scotland Yard to tell his story and to use what appears to be an entirely mythical influence. After he has told it the would-be satiric gibbenngs of the assistant commissioner of Metropolitan Police are interrupted by a telephone call which announces the death, apparently by suicide, of Lady Alice-in-brackets Ballister.

  He broke off, looking from one of his listeners to the other. He said:

  “And that’s that. And more than enough.

  Lucas said: “It looks odd. I’ll agree to that. But then, anything can look odd.” He turned his glance on the third of the trio. “What do you say, Pike?”

  Pike did not look up as he answered. He seemed to be regarding the tip of one of his shining boots. He said:

  “I agree with both, sir, as you might say. What I mean: I see that the way Colonel Gethryn looks at it, it’s a very queer business and one that could do with looking into and ought to be looked into. On the other hand, I know what mean. sir. . . . It might just be coincidence.”

  “Yes, and again no,” murmured Anthony. “Pike, you ought to be in the Foreign Office!”

  Lucas said: “Its all conjecture.” His tone was peevish. “What’s more, it’s not even complete conjecture. You want us to stop somebody from doing something but you don’t know who’s going to do it or what they’re going to do. . . . Damn it all, Gethryn, it makes about as much sense as Lewis Carroll.”

  That s saying a lot,” said Anthony. “But you’re not even right at that.”

  Pike said: “Gosh! I wonder whether . . .” He looked hard at Anthony. “You mean to suggest, sir, that Lady Ballister didn’t commit suicide?”

  Anthony shook his head. “No. It’s a possibility, of course. But then . . He turned to Lucas. “Who was the divisional surgeon?”

  “Latrobe,” said Lucas.

  Anthony said: “In that case it’s a hundred to one that it was suicide.” He looked at Pike again. “And it fits much better that way.”

  “Really?” Lucas was ironic again. “What fits what? What do you mean, ‘fits’?”

  Anthony said: “You remarked just now that I wanted you to try and stop an unknown human quantity from committing an unknown crime quantity and didn’t know either of the quantities. Right?”

  Lucas nodded.

  Anthony said: “You meant, in other words, that I had no case against anyone. Right?”

  Lucas nodded.

  Anthony said: “[ say that two cases lie. The first is against the absent Janet Murch. The second is against the present KJB Agency.”

  Charges?” said Lucas. “Do you want me to find Janet Murch and put her in the dock on the charge of being such a good servant that her leaving caused the suicide of her mistress? Or do you want——”

  Anthony interrupted. “What I do want is absolute ’ush! . . . Rex versus Janet Murch: Janet Murch is overheard talking about a possible crime which entails a new job along the nursemaid line. She gives up her nursemaid job, voluntarily, with Lady Ballister. She does not leave any address with Lady Ballister. She does not go and stay at her only other known address and the other owner of that address, the aunt, also leaves mysteriously. Reasonable inference—Janet Murch has taken up a nefarious job: we have indications that she was going to and her behaviour strengthens and colours them. After Janet’s leaving Lady Ballister commits suicide. A man attempting to trace Janet Murch is nearly killed three times almost immediately following his inquiries. Presumption: That Janet Murch and/or her associates are unpleasant and criminal persons with whom the police should make acquaintance.”

  Lucas and Pike exchanged a glance. Lucas frowned and picked up a pencil from his desk and began to draw horses’ heads upon a blotting pad.

  Anthony said: “Rex versus the KJB Domestic Agency. The KJB Domestic Agency furnish Janet Murch to Lady Ballister. Janet Murch leaves Lady Ballister. Lady Ballister commits suicide. The KJB Domestic Agency are approached in regard to Janet Murch and cause the attempte
d murder of the inquirer. Presumption——”

  “Whoa!” said Lucas; and Pike stirred in his chair.

  “Yes?” said Anthony politely.

  Lucas said: “Even if we assume that the three—er—adventures of Mr Garrett yesterday were not coincidental accidents but deliberate attempts to murder him we cannot assume that the attempts necessarily had anything to do with this agency.”

  “Well, well!” said Anthony and looked from Lucas’ face to Pike’s.

  Pike nodded. He murmured: “That seems right enough, sir.”

  “And why?” said Anthony.

  Lucas repressed a movement of irritation. He began to draw again.

  Pike said after a moment: “Because although Mr Garrett did go and ask about this Murch at this agency there’s plenty of other people, according to your own story, sir, who’ve been approached about Murch and who might’ve been the people who were trying to do away with Mr Garrett.”

  “No,” said Anthony.

  Pike stuck to his guns. “But surely, sir! F’rinstance, there’s this friend of Janet Murch—the one that gave her address in the first place. And there’s all the other people who were asked while you were trying to find the address——”

  Anthony said: “I triumph; but it’s a cheap triumph because I may not have explained properly. The attempts on Garrett must have been made by KJB, or by those in association with it, because none of the other inquiries were made by him. Further, no one of the other persons questioned can have associated Garrett with the inquiries because (a) they never saw the inquirers more than once, (b) were given—where names were used at all—false names and (c) had no means whatsoever of following the inquirers. You can take that from me as being not supposition but fact. How different with Garrett and KJB. He goes into their office, having walked from South Kensington station. He gives a false name and inquires about Janet Murch. He will not take any other answer but Murch. He walks away and it is a simple matter to follow him back to the Savoy, inquire from a servant, entirely unsuspiciously, who he is and find out, not only that he is not Mr Leslie Schumacher, but that he is unmarried. How simple, too, to follow the KJB line of reasoning when they have this information. Thomas Sheldon Garrett is a young American playwright. He has been in London for only a few weeks. Under a false name and on a false premise he is trying to find out how he can get in touch with Janet Murch. Though possible, it is very highly improbable that he needs a nursemaid—so wherein lies his anxiety? Janet Murch is engaged in nefarious business; why is anybody so interested in her? They talk it over and talk it over. They come to the conclusion that there is a possibility that Garrett has in some way come into possession of knowledge which has made him suspicious concerning the doings of Janet Murch. Anyone snooping about Janet Murch at the moment is most undesirable. It can do no harm to try and eliminate this sole snooper, providing the elimination is done in such a way as not to bring any suspicion to bear upon the eliminators. . . .”