The place was tidy; the dead man’s brushes, combs and collar-box were neatly arranged on the top of the chest of drawers; his studs and links filled a little glass tray on the dressing-table.
There was no sign of confusion, and Lowe’s eyes sparkled.
‘I think we interrupted the intruder before he got as far as this,’ he said. ‘Probably he was just on his way upstairs when we came.’
He set the lamp down on the top of the chest of drawers and pulled open the wardrobe.
There were two suits of clothes carefully hung up on hangers and three pairs of shoes complete with trees.
He went through the pockets, but they were empty.
‘You try those drawers, Shadgold, while I look through the dressing-table,’ he said, nodding towards the chest; and the Scotland Yard man went over to it.
There was very little in the dressing-table — a few ties and handkerchiefs in the right-hand drawer, and nothing at all in the left.
‘Any luck?’ he asked.
‘Nothing but shirts and underclothes,’ grunted the inspector disgustedly. ‘Not a scrap of paper anywhere.’
Lowe frowned and rubbed his chin.
‘Well, there’s nowhere else to look,’ he said irritably.
‘Afraid there isn’t.’ Shadgold closed the last drawer with a vicious bang.
‘Wait a minute, though,’ said the dramatist. ‘What about his luggage? He must have brought his things here in something. Suitcases or a trunk.’
He went quickly over to the bed and lifted the valence.
‘Yes, here we are,’ he said triumphantly. ‘What a fool I was not to have thought of this at once.’
He stooped and dragged out a cabin-trunk.
It was an ancient battered affair, and when he tried to open it he found it was securely locked.
Pulling out Lucia’s bunch of keys, he tried three that looked as if they might fit, and the third one did.
Raising the lid, he peered inside and gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
‘This may give us something,’ he said. ‘Look here!’
They looked and saw that the trunk was half-full of papers and letters.
Lowe picked up one of the letters and glanced at the address, and as he did so his lips formed into a silent whistle.
‘So that’s who Mr. Lucia of Paris was,’ he said softly, and handed the envelope to Shadgold.
The inspector took it, and as he read the name and address the surprise on his face was almost ludicrous.
‘Good God!’ he ejaculated. ‘And we thought he was a crook!’
The envelope was addressed to:
‘MONSIEUR HENRI DUPIN,
DIRECTION DE LA SÛRETÉ GÉNÉRALE,
PARIS.’
Chapter Twenty-Three – Surprise
There was no doubt that the dead man’s real name had been Henri Dupin, and less that he had been an officer of the special branch of the French Sûreté.
At the bottom of the trunk Lowe found his passport and papers of identification, which proved this apart from anything else.
He had just finished glancing through these when Superintendent Hartley arrived and the discovery was made known to him.
He was justifiably astonished.
‘What was he doing in Stonehurst?’ he said. ‘Do you think he can have been here on the same job as we are?’
‘There’s not the slightest doubt he was,’ answered Lowe. ‘But we may be able to make definitely certain when we’ve been through these letters. They appear to be answers to reports and further instructions, and have apparently been sent on to him from London under a covering envelope. There is no Stonehurst postmark on any of them. I suggest that we take this trunk as it stands back to the house and go through the contents at our leisure.’
Hartley agreed, and between them they carried the trunk down the stairs and out to the waiting car.
Except for the bloodstain on the step there was no sign of the tragedy when they arrived at the house, and they found Ian McWraith and Inspector Murley — the latter’s wrist neatly bandaged — sitting before the fire in the drawing-room.
While Shadgold hastily explained to Murley what had happened Jim and Hartley brought in the trunk and helped Lowe transfer its contents to the table.
Drawing up a chair, the dramatist began to sort the papers and letters, and spent the next hour going carefully through them.
They were all in French, and when he had read them he found that he was just a little nearer the solution of the mystery.
One document in particular was most illuminating, for it consisted of a rough draft of what was evidently the report prepared by Dupin for his superiors in Paris.
Lowe passed on his discoveries to his interested and impatient audience.
‘It seems,’ he said, ‘that the man was here primarily to investigate the drug business. There are letters here from the Prefecture of Police that prove that conclusively. It had apparently come to their notice some months ago that cocaine, heroin, opium and other drugs were being smuggled from Germany and Belgium through France, and then going to some unknown destination in England. How Dupin discovered or suspected that that destination was Stonehurst there is no record, but in this draft report he mentions a ship at anchor two miles out at sea, which he has seen on several occasions and always at night. He also mentions something about ‘nine,’ though whether this refers to a time or a number there is nothing to show. The draft is very sketchy; more a collection of disjointed notes than anything else.’
‘Anyway,’ remarked Shadgold, ‘it proves that we were right. Stonehurst is the headquarters of this bunch of crooks.’
Lowe nodded.
‘Oh, yes, it proves that,’ he answered, ‘but unfortunately it doesn’t mention any names.’
‘It’s a great pity that that diary was destroyed, sir,’ said Superintendent Hartley. ‘It possibly contained a lot more information.’
‘It is a pity,’ said the dramatist, ‘but it can’t be helped. We can only be thankful that we arrived in time to prevent these papers being destroyed too.’
‘I wonder why this fellow didn’t enlist the help of the Yard,’ muttered Murley. ‘It seems funny, don’t you think so?’
‘There’s a letter here from the Sûreté suggesting that he should,’ replied Lowe. ‘Why he didn’t, of course, I don’t know, but I should imagine he was trying to collect something more definite before doing so.’
‘Well, sir, the thing that seems most vital at the moment,’ said Superintendent Hartley, ‘is what line of action are we going to take?’
‘We could get in touch with the Sûreté,’ grunted Shadgold, ‘and find out what they can tell us. But apart from that we’re no better off than we were before. Short of arresting everybody in the village I don’t see what we can do.’
‘It is a little difficult,’ admitted Lowe, frowning.
‘A little difficult!’ Shadgold snorted, and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. ‘It’s impossible! We’ve no real evidence against a single soul.’
‘What we’ve got to do is to find some,’ said Lowe cheerfully. ‘I suggest that careful inquiries should be made about all these fresh inhabitants. We’re almost bound to come upon something. Remember, these people are not amateurs, they’re professional crooks, and they’ve got a past. The thing to do is to find out all about them. Who they are and where they came from.’
‘That shouldn’t be difficult,’ said Murley.
‘It shouldn’t,’ agreed the dramatist, ‘providing we’re allowed to do it.’
Something in the tone of his voice made Shadgold look at him quickly.
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ he asked.
Lowe rose to his feet and crossed over to the fireplace. With his back to the fire he looked from one to the other for a moment in silence.
‘I’ll tell you what I mean,’ he said at last seriously. ‘I think we’re all of us in considerable danger. At the present moment we
’re the only persons who know anything definite about this criminal organisation which is dangerous to their safety. Scotland Yard is aware of the existence of such a gang, or rather suspects that it exists. The French police are in a similar position, but we have more knowledge than anybody. We know that this gang consists of the residents of Stonehurst or some of them. We don’t know who, but we’re getting sufficiently close to make them uneasy. And they know this. The person who controls them knows it. And they’re not going to sit down quietly while we pursue our inquiries further.’
‘What can they do?’ demanded Shadgold.
Lowe shrugged his shoulders.
‘What did they do in the case of Locker, Scory and the other men who stumbled on their secret?’ he said grimly. ‘What did they do when they found out that Calling, North and his wife were going to squeal? What have they done with Arnold White and, more recently, to Dupin —’
‘But,’ interrupted Shadgold, ‘they can’t do anything to us.’ He look hastily round. ‘There are six of us —’
‘There are probably a great deal more of them,’ said Lowe before he could complete his sentence. ‘We don’t know how many there are, but we do know they are desperate people who will stick at nothing to ensure their safety. And we represent the only immediate danger to that safety. I’ve no doubt that we’re being watched, and that the man who escaped from that cottage has reported by now that he was interrupted before he had time to finish his job. They therefore don’t know how much we may have discovered and what Dupin left behind, and if they have any sense they will do their utmost to prevent that knowledge leaving Stonehurst. So long as we are prevented from imparting what we know and suspect to anybody else they’re comparatively safe.’
‘Good heavens, sir!’ ejaculated Superintendent Hartley. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that some attempt will be made on us to-night?’
‘I am!’ declared the dramatist gravely. ‘I’ve been trying to put myself in the place of these people and conjecturing what I should do under the same circumstances.’
‘By Jove!’ exclaimed McWraith. ‘If you’re right, it looks as though we’re going to have a pleasant time.’
‘I think you’re rather exaggerating, Mr. Lowe,’ said Inspector Murley, shaking his head. ‘These people would never dare attempt anything against us. With the Frenchman it was different. He was only one man —’
‘Supposing, though, that Mr. Lowe should be right,’ put in Jim Winslow. ‘Wouldn’t it be a good plan for somebody to get on the phone to Scotland Yard and tell them exactly how the matter stands at present? That would be some sort of safeguard.’
‘It’s an excellent idea,’ agreed the dramatist. ‘Don’t you think so, Shadgold?’
‘I do,’ grunted Shadgold, struggling to his feet. ‘I’ll go and do it now.’
He went out into the hall, and they heard him lift the receiver.
A minute later he was back again, his expression rather troubled.
‘There’s no answer from the Exchange,’ he announced soberly. ‘The line is dead.’
Hartley sprang up with a startled exclamation.
‘You mean —’ he began and stopped.
‘He means,’ said Lowe quietly, ‘that the line’s been cut!’
‘Then you were right,’ muttered Jim.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said the dramatist. ‘And I think you would find, if you tried, that Stonehurst has been cut off from all telephonic and telegraphic communication with the rest of the world to-night!’
The words had scarcely left his lips when Shadgold, who had remained standing by the open door, suddenly swung round.
‘Listen!’ he said sharply.
They listened, startled by the suddenness of his ejaculation. At first they could hear nothing, and then they heard the sound that had attracted his attention — the sound of hurried running footsteps coming up the drive.
They were light steps and uneven, as though the runner was exhausted. They heard them patter up the stone steps leading to the front door and then there came an agitated knocking.
Shadgold made a half-turn towards the hall, but Lowe’s voice stopped him.
‘Be careful,’ warned the dramatist; ‘you don’t know who it is.’
‘It sounded like a woman,’ grunted the inspector.
The agitated knocking was repeated, louder and more frenzied.
‘Mr. Winslow!’ came a faint voice. ‘Mr. Winslow, let me in! For God’s sake, let me in!’
‘That’s Miss Heyford’s voice,’ cried Jim, springing to his feet. ‘We must let her in, Mr. Lowe. Something serious may have happened.’
He was across the room and at the hall door before he had finished speaking. Wrenching back the catch, he flung the door open, and Jill Heyford almost fell into his arms.
‘Shut the door,’ she said weakly. ‘Shut the door! They’re coming!’
Supporting her with an arm round her waist, Jim half-led, half-carried her into the drawing-room, and sat her down on an easy chair.
‘Who are coming?’ he demanded.
She tried to speak, but for a moment she was too breathless, and could only point shakily in the direction of the still open front door.
Lowe went out into the hall and shut it, taking the precaution to slip the bolt.
‘That what you wanted?’ he asked; and she nodded.
‘Yes,’ she panted huskily. ‘Shut all the doors and the windows —’
‘It will only be a waste of time,’ said a harsh, metallic voice from the doorway. ‘Put up your hands, please — everybody, or we’ll drill you so full of holes you won’t know where the draught’s coming from!’
Chapter Twenty-Four – The Sentence
They had been so occupied with what the girl was saying that none had noticed that the hall and open doorway had become filled with men.
Now, as they swung quickly round at the sound of that harsh, grating voice, they could see them lined up behind the masked figure that had entered the room and was covering them with a heavy automatic held in one of his gloved hands.
The other men carried automatics too, the muzzles of which were all pointing steadily at the little group round Jill Heyford.
‘Rather a surprise to you,’ said the spokesman, his eyes above the handkerchief that was tied over nose and mouth moving restlessly from one to the other. ‘The girl’s warning came too late — anyway, it would have been too late. We came in through the Tower. We had our own keys.’
‘What do you want?’ asked Lowe.
‘What do we want?’ mimicked the man with the automatic. ‘What do you think we want? A friendly chat and a drink? Because if you do, you’d better think again. Keep your hands up!’
He swung the pistol towards McWraith with a snarl, as the big Scotsman’s arms moved.
‘What’s the idea?’ began Shadgold, his face purple with anger, but the other interrupted him.
‘You’ll know soon enough,’ he snapped. ‘At the moment keep quiet and do as you’re told!’
Without turning his head he addressed the crowd of men behind him.
‘Come and tie them up!’ he ordered, ‘and make a good job of it.’
Six of them stepped forward, dragging thin blindcord from their pockets as they did so.
Inspector Murley uttered an exclamation as one of these, a ferrety-faced little man with a broken nose, approached him.
‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You’re ‘Sniffy’ Smith. We wondered where you’d be hiding yourself.’
‘You keep your mouth shut, Murley,’ snarled the little man. ‘You won’t be wonderin’ about anythin’ long!’
‘You will!’ retorted Murley coolly. ‘You’ll be wondering why you were such a damned fool when you hear your sentence.’
‘I won’t be hearin’ no sentence,’ growled ‘Sniffy’ Smith. ‘You can take that from me.’
‘Don’t talk,’ said the man in the mask impatiently. ‘Get on with what you’ve got to do.’
In fifteen m
inutes it was all over. Under the menacing muzzles of the automatics held by the remainder of the gang Lowe and the others were securely bound and reduced to helplessness.
They had to submit quietly, realising that in the circumstances it would have been suicidal to offer any resistance.
‘That’s right,’ said the man approvingly when his orders had been carried out, and pocketed his pistol. ‘You can put your guns away, boys.’
‘You’ll suffer a heavy penalty for this,’ growled Superintendent Hartley, his voice hoarse with rage.
‘I don’t think so,’ was the answer. ‘In fact it is to avoid the possibility of suffering any penalty at all that I have taken this step.’
‘What do you think you’re going to do?’ asked Lowe steadily. ‘If you’re thinking of murdering us as you did Dupin and the others, I assure you you won’t get away with it. The police know we’re here and —’
‘Do you think I’m a child?’ said the man in the mask contemptuously. ‘You’ll die, but nobody will know how you died. They won’t know that you were deliberately killed. The whole world will sympathise with you over the terrible accident, though I’m afraid you will get neither satisfaction nor consolation from the fact.’
Lowe felt himself go rather cold at the malignancy in the man’s voice. What horrible things had he in mind? What was this accident that he had planned?
Something of what he was thinking must have been expressed in his face, for the man went on quickly:
‘I see that your curiosity has been aroused. I’ve no doubt that your companions are equally curious. That’s only natural, so I’ll tell you exactly what is going to happen to you all.’ He seated himself on the arm of a chair and looked from one to the other.
If he expected them to say anything he was disappointed, for nobody spoke.
‘When it first became clear to me that the only way to safeguard myself and my friends was to kill you,’ he began calmly, ‘I was faced with rather a problem. Ordinary murder was out of the question; enough of that had been done already, and any further crime would only have the effect of defeating my object. If six of you were found dead by unnatural means the whole of that very efficient organisation, Scotland Yard, would be put into operation to find out the reason. The result of that would undoubtedly mean disaster for us — I do not pretend that we can hope to fight the entire police force. But for several unfortunate incidents which could not be avoided, the searchlight of suspicion would never have been turned on Stonehurst at all — I read that phrase in a book somewhere, but it fits very well in this case. But now that it has been, the light has got to be turned out, and quickly. You people at the moment represent the light. With you silenced suspicion may remain for a little while, but providing we are careful and lie low, it will gradually die down. The murders that have already been committed will pass into the ‘unsolved crimes’ category, and everything will be, from our point of view, as it should be. To revert to the means by which I mean to dispose of you. If you think for a moment, I am sure you will realise that there is only one way by which your deaths could be achieved without it being obviously murder. Only one ‘accident’ that could logically account for six people being killed under one roof. That way is — fire.’
Terror Tower Page 17