Read A Murder is Arranged Online
Authors: Basil Thomson
A Murder is Arranged (12 page)
Richardson unfastened the cards and went through them, nodding his recognition of four of them but pondering over the fifthâthat of James Oborn. This was a printed and not an engraved card and it had the address, Hotel de l'Univers, written in the corner. The other four cards were those of Huskisson, Graves, the Marquis de Crémont and M. Henri. He returned to the report.
“I asked the woman whether she could remember what these persons looked like. She shook her head. âWhat will you, monsieur; all Englishmen are much alikeâtall and elegant.' I asked her which of them made the most frequent visits and was told that with the exception of M. Henri they had made but one visit each.
“I went on to the Hotel de l'Univers and had an interview with my obliging acquaintance, the proprietor. I asked him whether a Mr Oborn had stayed in his hotel last September. He ran down the names in his guest book and showed me the name of James Oborn, who stayed for one night only. I asked him to see whether Arthur Graves had stayed there at the same time and found that he had. I then went on to see M. Verneuil at the police station attached to the Grand Palais and asked him whether an identity card had ever been taken out by James Oborn. To my surprise I found that he was in a position to give me the information immediately and even to produce the card with its photograph attached. He told me that the address furnished was that of an apartment house in the 9th Arrondissement. The photograph is not that of the Oborn who is staying at Scudamore Hall: it is that of an older and stouter man. I went to the address given and learned from the concierge that Oborn had stayed there for some time but had left at the end of November without leaving any address for forwarding letters. I asked for any letter that might have come for him. At first she demurred, but when I told her that I was working in conjunction with the police of the 8th Arrondissement she handed me one letter which, she said, had been received on the day following his departure. I gave her my name and the address of M. Verneuil and I took the letter back with me to his office. He gave me permission to open it and we steamed it open. I gave him a running translation of its contents and he allowed me to take a copy of the original. It ran as follows:
D
EAR
J
IM
,
I've had a rather serious tiff with Henri, who is not the lamb that he used to be. He has had a bad attack of indigestion over my story about the âlost' jewel and it was all I could do to dissuade him from ringing up the flat-footed brigade and giving me in charge. The air of Paris is not agreeing with me at this moment and I am off to England. There is an old fool, an Englishman, staying in this hotel. He and I have got pally and he has invited me to go and stay with him at a place called Scudamore Hall. I am taking over some quite decent stuff for our friend Fredman, but I'll have to be careful about how I make contact with him. I don't want the flat foots to get across my track, in case they shoot off a line to their fellow nuisances in London. Those Yard people are the very devil!
Huskisson has also got an invitation to the old fool's hospitable roof, so I'm going to be strictly respectable until I feel safer. The address is:
Scudamore Hall,
   Marplesdon,
       Surrey,
          England.
For heaven's sake don't indulge your usual habit of using old letters as pipe lighters. If necessary I can get an invitation for you to the same haven of refuge.
Yours,
M
ARGARET
“It is obviously essential that, if possible, the man who uses the name of Jim Oborn should be traced and that his relationship, if any, with Douglas Oborn should be established, but since he appears no longer to be in Paris and his whereabouts are unknown because he did not comply with the requirement to register his new destination with the police, he can probably be traced more easily by letters from the department to its opposite numbers abroad than by my endeavouring to trace him from Paris. In that case I will report myself to you as soon as I receive a letter of recall.
“A
LBERT
D
ALLAS
,
Detective Inspector
.”
Richardson rang the bell and sent for Superintendent Lawrence, the controller of the rank and file of the C.I.D.
“Have you sent off the report which Inspector Dallas was to have in Paris?”
“Not yet, sir, but it is all ready to go. As a matter of fact it ought to be on your table at this moment.”
Richardson pushed over the pile of papers as yet unread and asked him to find it.
“Here we are, sir.”
“I think that I may want you to add something. Hold on while I read it.”
He read the report aloud.
Acting on your suggestion that we should endeavour to find out from Mr Forge who introduced the Marquis de Crémont to him, we sent for the private detective Spofforth and asked him to ascertain in discreet conversation this fact. His report has just reached us. Mr Forge told him that it was Mr Huskisson who made the introduction. The report also states that one of the guests, Mr Douglas Oborn, had penetrated his disguise and had accused Mr Forge of employing a detective to spy upon his guests. Mr Oborn told Mr Forge that he had employed a ruse to confirm his suspicion that his room was being searched and had fastened a slender thread to a drawer containing private papers in such a way that it could be opened only by breaking it and that he had found the thread broken. Spofforth declares that he did not go to the drawer and therefore could not have broken the thread if it was really fixed as alleged. Either someone else had been investigating and had broken the thread, or Oborn had invented the story in the hope of getting some admission from Mr Forge.'”
“Look here, Mr Lawrence,” said Richardson; “you had better add a line or two before the letter goes off. I'll scribble out the paragraph that I want you to add.” He wrote rapidly and then read it aloud. “âBefore returning to England you should again get into touch with Monsieur Verneuil and see whether he can obtain for you an interview with the Marquis de Crémont, who, I understand, is now in prison. You ought to be able to get from him information about Huskisson or the mysterious James Oborn. When applying for this interview you should impress upon the French authorities that the interview should take place in an ordinary office with a fire and not in the visiting room usually provided, in which one has to face the prisoner behind two sets of wire netting with a warder between; moreover, even if one can make oneself heard above the din of other visitors the room is so cold that both the interviewer and the prisoner long to get the visit over.' There, Mr Lawrence, that ought to do for Dallas.”
“Yes sir; I think that will do, but while I'm here I would like to consult you about this man Spofforth. If it is now general knowledge below stairs in Mr Forge's household that he is a detective in disguise it seems scarcely worth while to keep him there.”
“But it was a guest who made the discovery.”
“You haven't forgotten, sir, that the butler is an ex-convict and would have been the first to penetrate Spofforth's disguise?”
Richardson smiled. “No, I haven't forgotten that and I think that it may turn out to our advantageâ¦We mustn't forget that he's employed by Mr Forge and not by us.”
At that moment the messenger entered, carrying a visiting card.
“Who is it, Edwards?” asked Richardson impatiently.
“A Mr Forge, sir.”
Richardson turned upon Lawrence with a smile and said, “You'd better stick here while I see him. Show him in,” he added to the messenger. He was curious to see the man who had been so much in their thoughts during the last few days.
The messenger, who had tiptoed out, now returned, ushering in the visitor. “Mr Forge,” he announced.
Forge was not in the least like the mental picture which Richardson had formed of him. Instead of the successful profiteer with “bounder” writ large upon him he encountered the deprecatory gaze of a trapped rabbit.
“Won't you sit down,” said Richardson, pointing to the armchair reserved for visitors. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. I have come to you more for advice than anything else. In fact it is about that detective whom I took on as under butler on the advice of your man Dallas.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it's this way. He's given himself away and I'm wondering whether he's the right man for the job, but I thought I'd better get advice from you before I sack him.”
“I'm sorry. I could, of course, give you the name of another retired detective who takes private work, but in your place I should think twice before I changed. You see, if another man goes down to take over Spofforth's place, everyone will assume that he's another police spy.”
“But why not send him off and do without any detective in the house?”
Richardson turned to Lawrence, who was standing at the end of the writing table. “Shall we tell him?” he asked.
“I think we might tell him after binding him to secrecy. Look here, Mr Forge; I must let you into a little secret in police work. When an effect has to be produced one adopts one or other of two opposing methods; either we make our enquiries secretly, or we make them as openly as possible, simply in order to produce an atmosphere of suspicion and alarm. We are now working this second method and from what you tell me it seems not unlikely to produce results.”
Forge had wilted during these remarks and he now turned as if for protection to Richardson. “Does this gentleman mean that I'm to keep on this man Spofforth when everybody has tumbled to it that he's a detective?”
“Unless something happens in the meantime,” said Richardson, “I suggest that you keep him on for a week and then if we have got no further you come to us again.”
M
R
F
ORGE DESCENDED
the stairs and the granite steps, which so many had trodden before him with apprehension, and crossed over to Huskisson's waiting car.
“Well,” said that depressed-looking young man. “How did you get on? You don't look cheered by your visit.”
“And I don't feel cheered. The little gang in that building are enough to depress anybody. When I asked them for advice as to whether I should keep on that fellow Spofforth they said, âWhy, man, you haven't given the poor devil time to pull his weight.'”
“They used those words?”
“Well, perhaps not those words exactly, but that was the impression they gave me.”
“Well, it's always something that you got out of that building without being accused of shooting Margaret Gask. They've got in reserve on the other side of the street a row of cells and they used to have an unpleasant habit during the war of shoving people into them to cool their heels. There have been suicides in them, but of course when the inquest is called they put the whole of the blame onto the deceased.”
“Are you pulling my leg?”
“Not a bit of it. There was a suspected spy during the war who hanged himself from the cell ventilator, so I've heard, and they just swept him up and planted him in Kensal Green, no questions asked.”
“Look here, Huskisson, I'm in no mood for fooling. What I have to do is to make up my mind whether I'm going to keep on this detective under butler or sack him outright.”
Huskisson dropped his bantering tone. “Which did they advise you to do in there? They must have said something.”
“They did; they advised me to keep him on, at any rate for a week, and if nothing results from it to come and see them again. I tell you that an interview with this far-famed âbig five' takes away all one's appetite for lunch.”
“If you really want my advice you will keep the man on. He's no fool, or they wouldn't have recommended him to you.”
“But if that fellow Oborn spotted his disguise he must be a fool.”
“Don't worry about Oborn,” said Huskisson. “Probably he's only trying to get the wind up you, or he's playing to get you to dismiss this under butler of yours.”
“Why should he do that? Have you got suspicions against Oborn?”
“We've all got our suspicions: this affair is getting on our nerves. Where's your friend Dallas?”
“Fooling about in Paris, I believe. I should have thought he could do more good over here than pottering round with the French police.”
“Don't run away with the idea that the French police are a washout. They're a clever set of devils and if they're not quite up to our standard, remember that the law gives them a licence which is never allowed to our men.”
“You mean that they can use what journalists call the third degree?”
“Not only that; they can use methods for getting the truth out of a man that our fellows would never dare to employ.”
“Torture, do you mean?”
“Oh, dear me, no; that would be a good deal too crude for French policemen. It's true that in some police offices in Paris they use a little gentle persuasion to get a man to talk, but in the majority of cases the very sight of the persuasive implements loosens the tongue so that you can't stem the flood of confession.”
“It must make police work very easy.”
“It would if the confessions were true, but the French criminal is a person endowed with imagination and the police officers know it and make allowance accordingly.”
“Well, all this is beside the point. What matters is that I'm going to keep on this fellow Spofforth for a week at any rate.”
“That's obviously the thing to do.”
They were approaching the gate that led to Scudamore Hall when they encountered a tall man in uniform on a motorcycle, who saluted them. Forge turned round to look at the cyclist and saw that he had dismounted and was turning round his machine.
“That was an A.A. scout,” he said. “Apparently he wants to speak to us. Hadn't you better slow down and see what he wants?”
