A Murder is Arranged (17 page)

On arriving at the station it became clear that Lawrence not only knew his way about but had a friendly acquaintance with the men on the floor upstairs. He wasted no time in going to the cloakroom, but, leaving Spofforth and Rawlings on the wide platform below, he ran up the stairs to the room of one of his acquaintances, who rose to shake hands with him.

“I'm very glad to see you, Mr Lawrence. It's some time since you had occasion to pay us a visit. What can I do for you?”

Lawrence explained his business.

“Oh, that's a very simple matter,” said Mr Cummings. “In fact I can do it off my own bat. You don't want to carry the package away but only to see what's in it?”

“Yes, but if it contains anything in the way of evidence for us I shall want you to hold it and not give it up to the depositor until you hear from us again.”

“Very good; that shall be done. You say you have the number and date of the deposit receipt?”

“Yes, here it is.”

“I'd better come down with you. We're a bit short-handed at this season and I can't get the cloakroom man to come here, but we shall be quite private at the back of the office down there.”

They made their way to the cloakroom and entered it by a side door at the bottom of the stairs. Mr Cummings called, “Somers,” and the principal cloakroom attendant came forward. “We want to have a look at a package deposited under this number. This gentleman comes from the Yard. You might bring the package round to the back where we shall be private.”

Somers went to a shelf above their heads and descended the stepladder with a suitcase.

“It's locked,” said Cummings. “I don't like to force it open.”

“Oh, that's all right. I'll fetch my colleagues: one of them is an expert at this kind of job.”

He went out and beckoned to the two men standing on the platform outside. “It's a suitcase,” he explained, “and it's locked, but I suppose that little fact won't stand in your way, Rawlings.”

“No sir. I've never yet met a suitcase that would baffle me. Ah! That's it, is it?” He examined the two locks and clicked his tongue. First he tried half-a-dozen keys from his bunch but failed to stir the lock. “Of course,” he observed, “there's no difficulty, but I don't want to leave any marks behind me if I can help it—otherwise this gentleman will be getting an impassioned letter of complaint. ‘Gently does it' is my motto and that of all competent luggage thieves.”

While he was talking his fingers were busy with the locks and in a moment or two he was able to snap back the catches and throw the suitcase open. “There we are, sir,” he said in the intonation of a conjuror when he has brought off a trick.

Spofforth found it difficult to control himself when the lid was thrown back, but in truth to the others the contents were disappointing—nothing but a neat parcel tied with string with at least a dozen knots and legibly addressed to “M. Henri, Rue Royale, Paris.”

“We'll have to open this parcel,” said Spofforth, pulling out a pocket knife.

“Steady,” interjected Lawrence. “We've got to do the parcel up again without a sign that it has been tampered with. Don't cut the string: we must undo all those knots.”

“Lord! That ‘ll take us half the morning.”

“Not a bit of it; a little patience and what the newspapers call a ‘blunt instrument' is all we want.”

Rawlings' dexterous fingers solved the problem. In an incredibly short time he was unfolding the paper wrappings and disclosing the contents, which caused Spofforth to leap into the air with excitement: it was a lady's coat of mink fur.

S
POFFORTH'S EXCITEMENT
awoke the curiosity of Mr Cummings. “So this is what you were looking for?” he said.

“Yes, and it may prove to be the first step up the ladder to the gallows,” said Lawrence grimly.

“Of course you'll take this coat to the Yard with you?” said Spofforth.

“No. We'll leave it here if Mr Cummings will arrange to telephone to me at the Yard as soon as the ticket is presented and in the meantime leave the depositor to wait and cool his heels.”

“Certainly; that shall be arranged,” said Cummings.

“And now we will tie that parcel up much as it was before and ask Rawlings to get to work with that patent tool of his and lock it up.”

The three men returned to the Yard together and Lawrence and Spofforth went straight to Richardson's room to report what they had discovered.

Richardson listened thoughtfully and then said, “This is a case which calls for direct action, as the Labour leaders term it. We will send a polite invitation to Huskisson to call here on a matter which will interest him.”

“Shall I take the message, sir?” asked Spofforth.

“No,” said Richardson decidedly. “What you have to do is to resume your duties at Scudamore Hall as if nothing had occurred to interrupt them. We will attend to the rest of the business. Above all, not a hint of any kind to Mr Forge.”

“Very good, sir,” said Spofforth resignedly. He was dejected at the thought that he would now be debarred from swanking to Mr Forge of the great discovery that he had made; but orders were orders…

When Spofforth had left the room Richardson indicated his retreating figure with the blunt end of his pen. “There goes a most trustworthy man, Mr Lawrence, but trustworthiness is not everything that is wanted in our job. However, if he's done no more than track that mink coat into a cloakroom he's been worth his salt. After all, the service requires more than two sorts of men and a service composed of nothing but super-sleuths would let the country down in every direction. We need a strong leaven of the mediocre person who obeys orders and is content to use such brains as have been served out to him by his Maker. Our friend won't go very far in his profession, but he won't let us down.”

“If this coat proves Huskisson to have been the murderer,” said Lawrence, “we shall all be thinking of the public money thrown away in letting Dallas chase all over France to find in the end that the man he has been chasing has no graver charge to answer than one of dangerous driving.”

“Quite so,” nodded Richardson; “but those are risks that we have to take every day. We should get nowhere if we hesitated to take them. And now we must see about getting our friend Huskisson down to face the music.”

“Yes sir. It's a fishing excursion and he may turn out to be a very wary old fish.”

“Never mind; I have at my right hand a very wary old fisherman. You had better take on the job yourself, Mr Lawrence, and I won't ask how you did it.”

Lawrence left the room chuckling at the compliment and swearing to himself that he could ask nothing better than to serve so generous a chief as Richardson. One thing was clear. Nothing must be done to alarm Huskisson since, if he were to destroy that cloakroom ticket, all their labour would be brought to nought. And yet how could he be inveigled into visiting the Yard without arousing his suspicion? Perhaps the straightforward way would prove in the end to be the best.

Chance played into Lawrence's hand when he reached the drive at Scudamore Hall and saw Huskisson making for the garage. He quickened his pace until he was within speaking distance of the retreating figure.

“Excuse me, Mr Huskisson,” he called out. “Can I have a word with you?”

“As many as you like.”

Lawrence thumped his chest in his endeavour to recover his wind.

“Well, sir, I've just come from the Yard. Information has reached us concerning the late Miss Gask which we think that you will be able either to corroborate or deny. Will you be kind enough to accompany me to the Yard and see Chief Constable Richardson? I have my car here and it can bring you back after the interview.”

“Very good. I'm always glad to assist the police in any direction that I can, but I can't imagine what this new information can be.”

“I'm afraid I'm not in a position to enlighten you.”

During the drive Lawrence's attempts at cheerful conversation fell upon deaf ears. He could get nothing out of his passenger, not even an endorsement of his strictures upon the inclemency of the weather.

“Now, sir,” he said as they pulled up at the main entrance to the famous building, “I think we will go straight up to the chief constable's room. We may have the luck to find him disengaged.”

Richardson, as they learned from his messenger, was disengaged at the moment and they went straight in.

“I've brought Mr Huskisson with me, sir,” said Lawrence. “I think you have some questions to ask him.”

Richardson rose from his chair, shook hands with his visitor and indicated a padded armchair opposite to his table. “Sit down, Mr Huskisson. You must be cold after your drive. Mr Lawrence, no doubt, told you why we want to see you.”

“I told him, sir,” interjected Lawrence hastily, “that we wanted him to corroborate or to refute information that had come to us about the late Miss Gask, but I gave him no details.”

“Those are soon given,” said Richardson. He paused a moment and then said, “We have had information about that unfortunate lady which is not entirely to her credit. In plain language, did you know that she was mixed up in several very undesirable transactions?”

“The lady is dead and I would rather not discuss her character.”

“I'm sorry to press my question, but I should not do so unless it were necessary. We know now that the emerald stolen from Mr Forge was passed by her into the hands of a receiver well known to the police, in Crooked Lane on the night of her death. The emerald was purchased by Mr Forge from the Marquis de Crémont, who had been introduced to Mr Forge by you. We feel it only fair to you to ask for any explanation you may be able to give. I may add that the Marquis de Crémont is now in prison in France; he has been implicated in jewel robberies to an astonishing amount.” Richardson was quick to notice the look of concern upon his visitor's face and he took advantage of it. “I can see that this is news to you, but that it was not altogether unexpected. I suggest to you that your wisest course will be to lay all your cards on the table and withhold nothing.”

“Are you trying to insinuate that I knew the character of this so-called marquis?”

“That is what we would like you to tell us,” said Richardson with gentle gravity.

“Well, I can tell you this much. When I introduced him to Mr Forge all I knew about him was that he was a French aristocrat in need of funds and was anxious to sell the family heirlooms.”

“Did you know of the connection between him and Miss Gask?”

“At that time I knew nothing.”

“But afterwards?” insisted Richardson.

“Oh, afterwards I may have guessed.”

“In fact you
did
guess.”

“I see what you are trying to foist upon me—an admission that I was an accessory after the fact.”

A solution of some of the evidence he had read at the beginning of the case flashed across Richardson's brain. He leaned forward towards his visitor and said, “Is it not a fact that on the morning of Miss Gask's death you were with her in the library at Scudamore Hall and you were struggling with her for possession of that emerald?” Huskisson changed colour.

“You seem to know a great deal about what went on. I did try to retrieve from Margaret Gask the emerald belonging to Mr Forge. I wished to restore it to its owner.”

“You knew that she had stolen it?”

“Yes. Inadvertently she had let it fall from her handkerchief in which it had been rolled.”

“I see. And let me ask you this. Did you follow her into Crooked Lane that evening and make another attempt to recover it?”

“Most certainly not.”

Richardson looked at him fixedly for at least half a minute before putting his next question and Richardson's gaze had always proved to be extremely disconcerting to persons who had anything to hide.

“What was in that suitcase that you deposited at the cloakroom in Waterloo Station on the day following Miss Gask's murder?”

The question was so disconcerting that Huskisson wilted. “That's my business.”

“Not altogether, I think. It may turn out to concern us also and that is why I'm questioning you.”

“I've sometimes wondered whether you policemen come across anything that you regard as not being your business; but the contents of that suitcase belong to a friend of mine in Paris and I intend to restore them to their proper owner.”

“In that case I am sure that you will have no objection to our seeing the contents before they go over to Paris. Have you the ticket in your pocket?”

At this point Huskisson lost his temper. “This is a bit too thick. You knew all along what was in that suitcase and I'll even bet that you've had it unlocked by some damned locksmith.” He felt in his waistcoat pocket, produced the cloakroom ticket and flung it on the table. “There, that's the ticket and you can do your damnedest.”

Richardson made the soft answer that turneth away wrath. “This will save us all a lot of trouble, Mr Huskisson. Mr Lawrence will take the ticket to Waterloo himself and bring back the suitcase. Would you care to go with him, or would you prefer to wait here until he arrives?”

“I've a telegram to send. I suppose I'm not under arrest?”

“Oh no, certainly not; but we should like you to be here when the suitcase is brought in order that you may unlock it in our presence. You'll find the telegraph office quite close to the bottom of the stairs.”

“Very well. I'll be back in twenty minutes.”

“I shall be back by then,” said Lawrence, making for the stairs.

Left to himself, Richardson rang for his chief clerk of the C.I.D. Registry. “I want the file of that murder case in Surrey.”

“You mean the Gask case, sir?”

“Yes; it ought to be on my table.”