Murder in Wax

by Peter Baron

  Monsieur Blatz admitted the soft impeachment and Jerry drew him out of earshot of the aggrieved commissionaire, who was merely waiting the order to step in and conclude the interview to his own satisfaction.

  To his amazement, after a short debate, Monsieur Blatz turned abruptly on his heel and motioned to the Lag to follow him.

  Jerry stayed to produce a cigarette.

  “Match, Buttons,” he ordered coolly, and under the eagle eye of the manager, who had turned round at that moment, “Buttons” had no choice but to obey. Tossing the dead match down on to the carpet, Jerry strutted magnificently away in the wake of Monsieur Blatz.

  Monsieur opened a door at the end of the hall and, standing aside, allowed the Lag to enter the room.

  It was little more than an ante-room and the manager indicated a door on the right with a wave of his hand.

  “In there,” he said nervously, and, closing the door, recrossed the lobby, pausing as Freddie Leicester, reclining on an upholstered couch with his uncle, hailed him.

  “M’sieu?” said Blatz deferentially.

  “Is that collection of dust and undergrowth a new member, comrade?” asked Freddie flippantly.

  The manager crimsoned and fidgeted uneasily.

  “No, m’sieu,” he stammered. “He is—that is—he wishes to speak to a member of the staff.”

  Freddie nodded benignly: “Don’t forget to count the silver soup ladles,” he remarked, and the manager, with a sickly smile, withdrew.

  Freddie’s uncle looked after the departing figure, and sighed woefully.

  “What is this club coming to?” he moaned weakly. “Once it was select——“ He waved his hands helplessly. “Now they have converted it into a dustman’s union.”

  He rose to his feet. “I think I shall dine,” he said with slightly more enthusiasm. “Are you in a hungry mood, you pest?”

  Freddie shook his head.

  “Go and glut your own bestial appetite,” he said dramatically. “I would commune with Nature awhile—undisturbed.”

  “Which means,” grumbled His Grace, “that I shall find you sleeping here in an hour’s time.”

  He eyed his nephew sorrowfully.

  “I shall not save you any of the chicken,” he said coldly, and withdrew to the restaurant.

  Freddie smiled peacefully and composed himself for sleep. But it was not to be.

  A chance glance at the massive swing doors revealed the fact that Leslie Richmond had just entered with Jimmy Craven. Freddie sighed resignedly and, rising to his feet, tiptoed away.

  Lovers were a gruesome anomaly, best left to bore each other, and it had occurred to Freddie, in a rare flash of inspiration, that they might require him to dance—the last thing on earth that he wanted to do.

  Monsieur Blatz bowed deeply to the newcomers and ushered them to a secluded, reserved table in the dance room.

  Returning, he gazed anxiously at the door to which he had conducted Jerry some time previously. The Lag’s sudden appearance had shaken Monsieur Blatz considerably.

  Jerry in the meantime had finished his cigarette and, extinguishing it, rose to his feet. Rummaging in his pockets, he produced a black silk mask which he adjusted carefully, and with a cautious glance round, stepped to the door at the farthermost end of the room and, opening it, entered the room beyond. Unlike the room he had just left, this one was long and narrow. In the center stood a long oak table and around it ten chairs. The room was paneled throughout. At two different places in the right-hand wall, long heavy plush curtains hung, and noticing a faint stir in the folds, Jerry rightly surmised that they covered windows.

  Seating himself at the table, Jerry looked round the room. Opposite the door he had entered was another door, situated at the far end and above it a clock. Over his head a single bulb lit the room. There were no prints or pictures and the bareness gave something the aspect of a board room.

  At the end of five minutes the door by which Jerry had entered opened again, to admit another arrival.

  The newcomer, masked like Jerry, was a short rotund man. He took no notice of the Lag but, seating himself at the table, stared fixedly at the wall opposite. Jerry paid little attention to his companion. He was used to the Squid’s conferences and also to the inadvisability of breaking the Squid’s rules, one of which demanded absolute silence between members of the gang, a protective measure that prevented members either recognizing or betraying one another. Jerry had often wondered who the little fat man was, as he had indulged in speculation about the others, but beyond that he had not permitted himself to go. The clock above the far door showed the time to be eight o’clock and in the next half-hour seven more men entered the room, tall men, short men, fat men, slim men, all masked and all preserving the same rigid silence.

  Jerry’s lips curved behind his mask. Inspector Elveden would be interested in this little gathering, he reflected. There was not a man present who was not an artist in his own particular line. Not a man, doubtless, who was not “wanted” for something or other and that, he knew, constituted the Squid’s hold over the little band. The Squid knew each member individually, but none of them knew what face the gruesome mask hid. The organization had its advantages, Jerry mused, since none of them singly could have planned or executed the enterprises which the Squid proposed and engineered.

  Nine of the places at the table were occupied now. The vacant chair at the head, with its back to the door beneath the clock, awaited the arrival of their leader. Jerry glanced at the clock. Twenty-seven minutes to nine. They had not long to wait. The Squid was always punctual.

  The thought had barely crossed his mind when the door underneath the clock opened suddenly and the Squid stood framed in the doorway.

  With one accord the nine men rose to their feet and bowed deeply, Jerry a little awkwardly.

  The cold eyes in the Squid’s mask watched them attentively. He nodded briefly, and, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, walked to the table to take his place at the head of it.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said quietly, and sat down.

  No one answered him, but the words were the signal for them to seat themselves.

  Simultaneously nine pairs of inquiring eyes were turned on the Squid and the nine men produced metal-tipped pencils.

  “Number One,” said the Squid in an even, impassive voice.

  A man on his right tapped steadily on the table with his pencil, in morse, for a few seconds and Jerry automatically translated the word “Present.” As soon as Number One had finished the word, he produced a slip of paper and, writing one letter on it, handed it to his chief.

  The Squid glanced at the letter, folded the slip and said: “Number Two.”

  Number Two went through the same formula and a second slip of paper was passed to the Squid. Jerry followed and passed up a slip bearing the letter “Q.”

  And so the ceremony proceeded until the Squid held nine slips of paper in his hands. Placed in the order of receiving, the nine letters spelled the word “acquiring.” He produced a box of matches and, lighting one, held the slips over the flame, turning them to blackened ash and scattering them on the floor.

  Jerry watched the operation indifferently. He had seen it many times and wondered each time what the full word was. None but the Squid knew, and had there been one letter incorrect...

  It was an effective protection against an unwelcome intruder.

  The Squid looked round the table.

  “Number One,” he said, “take the door behind me. Number Four will guard the other door.”

  Two men rose from their places and took up their respective positions.

  “And now to business,” said the Squid.

  He leant forward and looked round the table.

  “Tonight,” he continued in his dull, emotionless voice, “we shall give our attention to the Incorporated Trust Company’s office in Kingsway.”

  The nine nodded assent.

  “Number One will deal wi
th the policeman on point duty at that corner of Kingsway. Choose your own methods and assume the policeman’s uniform. You will patrol the beat. There will be no bungling and the man must not be allowed to give any warning.”

  Behind him the man at the door tapped out the word “Agreed” on the wood paneling.

  “The change must be effected by one o’clock,” said the Squid. “Number Four will remain on guard at the Kingsway entrance to the Company’s offices.”

  The Squid looked up at the man guarding the door opposite. “You will take care to remain in the shelter of the portico, to guard against the possibility of being observed by chance pedestrians.”

  He waited again while Number Four tapped out agreement.

  “Number Two will perform a similar service at Parker Street. In the event of a policeman appearing, you will deal with him and assume his uniform. Understand, no fire-arms are to be used except in emergency. In the event of a mishap and the likelihood of the gang being attacked, the member who receives the warning will as usual give two short blasts on his whistle.”

  “Numbers Nine and Seven,” the Squid continued, after the usual formula had been enacted, “will force the Kingsway entrance of the offices in the usual way. The entrance will be effected silently and numbers Six, Eight and Three will deal with the watchmen. There are two. Chloroform will meet the case, I think.”

  A pencil started to tap on the table on the left of the Squid. He sat motionless, listening attentively.

  Jerry mechanically translated the message.

  “What time do the watch make their rounds, and on what floors are they?”

  “Every hour,” replied the Squid. “One watchman supervises each floor. Don’t enter till ten past one. By that time the ground floor watchman will be in the basement.”

  He looked across at the man who had made the query and, receiving no further question, proceeded.

  “Numbers Six, Eight and Three will enter the vaults, having disposed of the watchmen. The vaults are reached by a short staircase at the end of the passage which leads into the building from the main entrance. At the foot of the stairs is another door of steel, which should give no difficulty. Beyond that door is a short passage leading to a third door, which leads directly into the strong room.”

  He drew a sheet of notepaper from his pocket and pushed it across to Jerry.

  The Lag took it and, glancing at it, saw that it was a rough plan of the building, showing the position of the vaults.

  “You will superintend the transferring of the Company’s property to the van, Number Three. Numbers Seven, Nine, Six and Eight will assist you. Number Five will drive the van.”

  He looked across at a man on the left.

  “You will leave Parker Street at the latest by a quarter to three. At three o’clock the man on the Kingsway beat is relieved and, shortly after, the Inspector, or Sergeant, of police will make his rounds. The van must be clear by then. You will drive to the top of Northumberland Avenue and await me there. The rest of you will disperse at once and await my instructions.”

  He sat back in his chair and looked round him.

  “You will, of course, observe the usual caution. Gloves, rubber shoes, etc. No lights are to be shown on the ground floor, or upper floor. In the basement it will be immaterial. You will remember that Parker Street bends slightly, leading to a square. It would be advisable to park the lorry there until it is actually needed. Are there any questions?”

  He looked slowly around. Absolute silence greeted him, but the man on Jerry’s left raised his hand suddenly in warning.

  Nine pairs of eyes focused inquiringly on him and he nodded with his head in the direction of the nearest set of curtains.

  The gang sat perfectly still, those with their backs to the curtains not venturing to turn to see what had aroused the interest of Jerry’s neighbor.

  The Squid’s eyes gleamed vindictively and his hand came away from his pocket, holding a revolver. He rose, and his move was the signal for the others to come silently to their feet.

  Each man held a revolver and all eyes were fixed intently on the curtains.

  Setting his chair silently aside, the Squid moved swiftly away from the table and crossed to the wall, flattening himself against it and edging slowly and quietly in the right direction.

  Reaching a point where the curtains were in touching distance, he paused.

  In all, ten pistols were directed at them.

  The Squid signaled mutely to Jerry to take up a similar position on the other side of the window and the Lag obeyed, moving with a silence entirely foreign to his usual shuffling gait.

  The Squid nodded to the man by the door beneath the clock and Number One’s hand moved to the electric light switch.

  The light went out and simultaneously the Squid snatched the window curtains aside.

  The precautions were unnecessary.

  Stretched at full length on the window seat and sleeping peacefully was Freddie Leicester!

  XV. KINGSWAY

  Apparently the Squid’s sudden action had not disturbed Freddie. A faint snore broke the silence and the Squid, motioning to Jerry to assist him, leant down. The sleeper was jerked suddenly to his feet.

  Freddie, rubbing his eyes, stared blankly around a circle of masked faces and, glancing down at the pistols his captors held, shivered slightly.

  “Silence,” said the Squid coldly, “is golden.”

  Freddie eyed him nervously.

  “Never was talkative,” he mumbled. “Mum as an oyster and all that sort of thing.”

  “How long have you been behind that curtain, Mr. Leicester?” asked the Squid.

  Freddie’s eyes widened with astonishment.

  “You’ve got the jolly old handle pat,” he acknowledged. “Meantersay, I don’t seem to remember being introduced.”

  “Answer my question,” snapped the other. “My time is valuable.”

  “But why this harshness to little Fred?” bleated that young gentleman in a pained tone. “Only too anxious to please, my dear old soul——”

  The barrel of the Squid’s revolver shifted ominously.

  “Not been here long,” mumbled Freddie hastily. “Retired for a drop of snooze.”

  “How much of the proceedings in this room did you hear?” asked the Squid in the same level dispassionate tone.

  “Old friend,” said Freddie gently, “when one sleeps, one does not hear.”

  He cast an anxious glance over each shoulder. The ring had tightened until he was hemmed in the center of a circle whose smallness made him think swiftly.

  At his back two men stood passively awaiting the Squid’s orders and Freddie disliked the situation.

  “Jolly little party, what?” he bleated cheerfully. “Fancy dress or something?”

  The Squid made a gesture of impatience.

  “Dose him,” he said briefly, nodding to one of the men behind Freddie.

  “Here, I say——“ protested Freddie in an alarmed tone.

  It remained unsaid.

  Freddie sank limply into the arms of the men behind, and the man who had stunned him pocketed his pistol.

  “Gag and tie him,” instructed the Squid, signaling to Jerry.

  The Lag produced a handkerchief and a length of whipcord and, stepping up to the man who held the limp figure, relieved him and dumped the unconscious Freddie none too gently on the floor.

  With deft, swift movements he tied him hand and foot and stuffed the handkerchief into the Leicestershire mouth, knotting it behind his head.

  The Squid stirred the inanimate figure with his toe.

  “Number Two,” he instructed, “carry that out to my taxi and drive round to the garage. Dump him in the van, and if he shows any signs of coming round, give him a dose of chloroform. I’ll take him with me tonight.”

  Number Two nodded obediently and, picking up the unconscious Freddie, walked to the door. Turning his back, he removed his mask and passed out with his burden.

 
The Squid looked up at the clock. It was exactly a quarter past nine.

  “Good-night, gentlemen,” he said and, turning on his heel, left the room.

  No one moved until twenty past nine. At that time one of the men rose to his feet and left by the door through which he and the others had entered. At twenty-five minutes past nine a second member left the room and the rest followed at five-minute intervals, no word being exchanged.

  Jerry was the last to leave. Turning out the lights, he pocketed his mask and passed out to the little ante-room, making his way into the lobby of the club.

  Pausing only to light a cigarette, he crossed the hall to the main entrance.

  “Good night, Buttons,” he said maliciously to the commissionaire and strutted away into the darkness.

  Monsieur Blatz, who had observed his retreat with covert satisfaction, sighed his relief and made his way to the dance room.

  Near the wall he discovered His Grace of Framlingham, sipping an orange-colored drink and eyeing the dancers with disfavor.

  He made his way to the Duke’s table and bowed gracefully.

  “Not dancing, your Grace?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Do you call that Kaffir shuffle dancing?” asked the Duke coldly, indicating a pair of dancers. “Only a girl with nice legs should kick them about, yet that spindle-shanked piece of naughtiness has been showing me the birthmark on her left hip for the last ten minutes.,,

  He snorted. “Also,” he added, “she has been flirting outrageously with me. Who is that knock-kneed wench?”

  Monsieur Blatz smiled indulgently.

  “That is Lucille, the modiste of Regent Street,” he answered blandly.

  “Modiste? Immodiste is nearer the mark.” The Duke frowned portentously. “This club is not what it was, Blatz,” he lamented disapprovingly. “It has become a rendezvous for all that is least desirable, including my nephew Freddie. Which reminds me, have you seen that imbecile lately?”

  M. Blatz had not.

  “I will have him paged, your Grace,” he said obligingly, and a small uniformed toddler made his way round the club, shouting energetically.

  “You introduced me to rather a nice girl the last time I was here,” reflected the Duke thoughtfully. “She was one of the few women I have danced with who did not tell me point-blank that I was a bad dancer and that she had corns. Where is she? Lead me to her.”