Read A Murder is Arranged Online
Authors: Basil Thomson
A Murder is Arranged (19 page)
“What I find difficult to understand, mademoiselle, is that you should have quitted the country without trying to obtain possession of the coat, which, after all, was the property of your employers. It was surely the object of your quest in England.”
“It was.” She paused a moment and then proceeded to pick her words slowly and carefully. “I came to the conclusion that poor Margaret Gask was only a tool in the hands of more important people. I felt sure that she had met her death at the hands of one of these. The hue and cry for the fur coat was likely to lull the murderer into a false security, as he would know that she was not wearing it on the night of her death. I therefore decided to let the investigations go on a little further before I showed my hand.”
“I see. As we are both engaged in the same investigation, let me ask you one question. Have you any reason for suspecting Mr Huskisson of being concerned in any way in the activities of these people?”
“Certainly not,” she said decidedly. “The strictest investigations have been made recently and nothing has been found against him.”
Lawrence entered with the suitcase in his hand. He placed it on the table and opened it, disclosing the coat. Mlle Coulon jumped up and took it out. She passed her hand almost reverently over the fur and said, “There is no possible doubt: this is the coat.”
“No doubt Monsieur Henri will be able to prove this beyond dispute,” said Richardson.
“Certainly, monsieur; but stop! You can prove it for yourself. If you undo the lining you will find Revillon's initials, E.R., stamped on every skin. Not only can Monsieur Henri prove it but Monsieur Revillon himself. But first will you permit me to feel in the pockets?”
“Certainly. We have not yet done so.”
With deft fingers Pauline Coulon explored the pockets which were in the lining of the coat. She brought out a visiting card and read the inscription aloud. “âMonsieur Salmond, Boulevard des Invalides.'”
“I have heard that name before,” said Richardson. “It has figured in the reports of my agent in Paris.”
“Ah yes! Monsieur Dallas. He and Monsieur Goron together will clear up this case, I promise you. See what is written in the corner of this card. âAlways at home after 8 P.M.' This may seem a small thing, but it may turn out to be very important for us. It proves that Miss Gask knew Monsieur Salmond.”
“I believe that Monsieur Goron has a theory about that,” said Richardson.
“He has. And now I would like to ask Mr Huskisson one or two questions. Is he still waiting downstairs?”
“Yes,” said Lawrence. “I left him to wait until we called him. I'll fetch him.”
“Is it your wish to see him alone?” asked Richardson. “Not at all, provided that you say nothing that will cause him to tighten those thin lips of his.”
“Have no fear. It is not the first time that I have had to put questions to reluctant witnesses.”
At this point Lawrence ushered Huskisson into the room. Richardson motioned him to a chair.
“Now that we're all together,” he said pleasantly, “Mademoiselle would like to ask you one or two questions.”
“Go ahead, Pauline,” said Huskisson with a readiness that surprised Richardson, who had hitherto seen him only in aggressive or defensive moods.
“The coat has been found, my friend. There is no longer any concealment necessary over that. So much is known about poor Margaret now that it is useless for you and me to defend her character. All we can do is to help in bringing her murderer to justice.”
“That devil shall be found,” said Huskisson through his clenched teeth.
Pauline Coulon turned to Richardson. “Voila! You see that we have an ally, not an antagonist.”
“I am very pleased to see it,” said Richardson. “I'm glad that Mr Huskisson no longer regards us as his natural enemies.”
“And I hope,” retorted Huskisson, “that the police no longer regard me as the murderer of Miss Gask whom they have to bring to justice.”
“Now,” said Pauline, drawing her chair a few inches nearer to the table, “this is my first question. Did you ever hear Margaret speak of Monsieur Salmond?”
“You mean the senator who was murdered last November? Yes, I once saw her dining with him at the Boeuf sur le Toit.”
“You were not pleased?” suggested Pauline gently.
“I was not,” he agreed, “but she told me that she had been hoping to get him to help her in establishing a dressmaking business, which was difficult at that time for a foreigner.”
“Can you tell me how she took the news of his death?” Huskisson hesitated a moment and Pauline added, “She took it badly, no doubt?”
“Yes. I may as well tell you what happened. I met her at the Café Veil for an
apéritif
and I had just bought a paper. I opened it and found on the front page in big type, âA Senator Found Dead. Was It Murder?' Margaret snatched the paper from my hand, saying, âWhat is his name?' When she read Monsieur Salmond's name she was very much upset.”
Richardson interposed a question. “In thinking it over quietly would you say that her agitation was no more than you would expect her to show at the loss of an influential friend?”
“In thinking it over now I should say that her agitation was due to terror.”
An exclamation of satisfaction escaped from Pauline.
“I must lose no time in getting back to Paris to put Monsieur Goron in possession of these new facts.”
“You can't go back tonight,” said Huskisson; “it's too late.”
Pauline wrinkled her forehead in thought. “Perhaps I might ask Mr Forge to give me hospitality for the night and let me catch the first plane from Croydon tomorrow morning.”
“I'm sure he would be delighted. I'll go out and telephone to him. I have my car here and could drive you down to Scudamore Hall.”
When Huskisson had gone Richardson said with a smile, “Your visit, mademoiselle, has had one useful result. It has removed one of our suspects from the list.”
“Ah, that poor Monsieur Huskisson. He is his own enemy. Unfortunately my chief, Monsieur Goron, in Paris suspects him also and it is a serious matter for those who have drawn Monsieur Goron's suspicions to themselves.”
“Nevertheless,” said Richardson, “having seen that fur coat, it is clear to me that she was not wearing it when she was murderedâotherwise there must have been bloodstains and there are none. Therefore we need not detain the coat.”
While he was speaking Pauline's deft fingers had been busy in detaching the lining from the fur; she disclosed the back of three or four skins and showed that each had stamped upon it the initials E.R.
“There is my proof, monsieur, and if you will allow me I will take it back to Paris with me and return it to Monsieur Henri. Having recovered it, you understand, will be what you say in English âa feather in my cap.'”
 A knock at the door announced the return of Huskisson.
“I've telephoned to Mr Forge and he was beside himself with pleasure at the thought of entertaining you again.”
“I'm ready,” she said, “and if you will lend me your suitcase we'll take the coat with us to Scudamore Hall, so that I shall not have the delay of fetching it in the morning.”
“If you get any further information,” said Richardson as they shook hands, “you will of course pass it on to us through Mr Dallas.”
“That shall be done, monsieur, and I shall also let you know how Monsieur Henri behaves when his property is unexpectedly restored to him. His transports of joy will be worth recording.”
As she took her seat in the car beside Huskisson she said, “Did I not tell you, my friend, that your police were mistaken in thinking that when they found that fur coat they would have found the murderer?”
“You did, and I wondered then how much you knew and how you came to know it.”
“Ah! I mustn't give away the secrets of my profession. But do tell me why you are continuing to stay with Mr Forge.”
“Well, I realised that the police would follow me wherever I went; also Forge likes to have me and he's rather a decent sort.”
“And one more reason?”
“Well,” he admitted reluctantly, “there is another reason. I can't help thinking that in that house we shall find the clue to Margaret's murderer and I won't rest until he's been brought to justice.”
“Do you mean that you are carrying on private detective work?”
“Not that exactly, but I'm searching for a revolver or a bloodstained wrap of some kind.”
“But surely the police have searched the place thoroughly?”
“The police have searched the lane and the neighbourhood thoroughly for the revolver; I am searching inside the grounds.”
“Do you suspect a member of the household?”
“Well, I've really no grounds for suspicion, beyond the fact that I don't trust the butler.”
“The butler? You mean the good Curtis?”
“Well, I'll tell you one thing that I saw. On the morning when I was going to take this suitcase to the cloakroom at Waterloo Station I got up early and took it to the garage before I thought anyone would be about. The garage door was locked, but I knew that the key was kept hanging on a nail in one of the sheds close by. There is a loft in this shed which is reached by a removable ladder. I saw the butler dragging a tin suitcase after him up the ladder. There is nothing suspicious about that, you will say, but there was something suspicious about his manner when he saw me.”Â
“In what way?”
“Well, he looked disturbed and he entered into quite unnecessary explanations as to why he was taking the box up to the loft.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, that the lumber room in the house was getting chock-a-block with empty trunks and he was moving some of them. Since then I've made it my business to go up the ladder and I found that the loft was empty except for that one trunk, which is locked. Although it is not very heavy I'm sure that it contains something and that it wasn't empty, as he said it was.”
“You didn't think that what you saw was important enough to report to the police?”
“No; I didn't want to look a fool. I made up my mind somehow or other to find out what the trunk contained, but so far I haven't had the chance.”
“If I were staying long enough I think I could find a way. It would be good fun to see the face of that butler.” The car swung through a gate. “What, are we here already?”
“Yes; I'll drive you up to the front door in style and then take the car across to the garage.”
“I will study well the countenance of the butler when he opens the door to me,” said Pauline as she sprang lightly out.
But it was not the butler who responded to the front doorbell. It was Spofforth, who was closely followed by Mr Forge.
“Oh, mademoiselle,” said her host, “I thought you were the doctor. I am delighted to see you again, but at the moment we are rather upset. There has been an accident and I telephoned for the doctor.”
“An accident?”
“Yes; my butler has fallen from the loft to the cement floor of the shed and we are afraid that he is rather badly injured.”
T
HERE ARE ALWAYS
ups and downs in the business of detection and Richardson had spent a restless night in thinking over the day's work that lay behind him. He had not covered himself with glory. Perhaps it was because he had allowed his mind to dwell too much upon details such as the recovery of that fur coat and too little on the real object of his questâthe murderer of Margaret Gask. After all, the discovery of that fur coat was only a link in the chain, an important link no doubt, but no more than a link. In the course of his broodings he fell asleep and woke late, a very unusual occurrence for him. He was a little later than usual in arriving at his office.
On his table lay a letter addressed to him personally in Dallas' handwriting and bearing the Paris postmark. He slit the envelope open with more impatience than was usual to him. The document it contained was long, but he read it with the concentration that he always brought to bear upon his most interesting cases.
“In spite of every effort made by M. Goron and the French Sûreté Generale I have to report that so far the Sûreté have been unable to trace the car that James Oborn took in exchange for his own from the garage at Montargis. This has puzzled the French authorities because the net has been spread to cover the entire country, including in particular the places on the coast from which cars are shipped as well as the various frontier posts of Switzerland, Spain, Belgium and Italy. The easiest method for baffling pursuit at one time would have been to traverse the Pyrenees into Spain by one of the least guarded passes, such as Dancheronea, but at present the whole of the Spanish frontier is closely guarded. This is not to say that particular frontier guards, military or civil, cannot be âsquared.' M. Goron clings to the theory that James Oborn is still in France.”
The report broke off here and the remaining pages were dated a day later.
“We have been following a fresh clue. In a former report I said that the pearl necklace found on Arthur Graves was suspected of being one stolen from Mlle Saulnois, the actress, from her villa at Nice. She has now identified it definitely as being her property. At the time of her loss she was entertaining friends in her villa at Nice. All except one of these guests are still staying with her. This absent guest, who left her villa about a week after the robbery, was a priest who had escaped from a Spanish monastery on account of the civil war.
“Mlle Saulnois's theory is that a cat-burglar entered her room through the window while the necklace was lying on her dressing table. She was called away by a domestic contretemps that had arisen. Her cook was discovered drunk with the dinner only partly ready and she had to get it ready to be served by standing over the rest of the staff. In the kitchen crisis she forgot about her necklace and did not return to her bedroom until some hours later, when she discovered the loss. She immediately telephoned to the police who sent up Commissaire Ponchot, a very intelligent officer, who brought with him Brigadier Lammas to assist him in the enquiry. A new terrace was being built outside her bedroom and scaffold poles were lying about the wall; one of these had been propped against her window and the commissaire was convinced that this had been the mode of access. The staff had all been busy under the eyes of their mistress at the time and were, therefore, clear of suspicion. There had been an epidemic of these burglaries in the neighbourhood and in spite of the efforts of the police there had been no arrests.
“In view of Arthur Graves's statement that he had received the necklace from the Marquis de Crémont, M. Goron and I went together to the prison for a second interview with the marquis. For some time he stuck to his story that the jewels were heirlooms in his family, but when M. Goron pointed out that his sentence might be doubled for the theft of the necklace he changed his tune and declared that he would tell the truth. As is common in such cases, the story that he told is probably only part of the truth. He said that he bought the necklace from a Spanish priest who had escaped from a monastery in Spain. He readily gave the name of the man as Father Collet and also the name of the hotel at St Raphael in which they were both staying at the time of the transaction. He said that the priest was in such dire need of money that he offered the necklace for five thousand francs, a sum far below its real value and he added with a shrug of his shoulders, âYou will understand that I could not resist such a bargain.' Goron pressed him very hard in an attempt to get further information, but neither threats nor hints that he might obtain remission if he told the truth could induce him to enlarge any further on his story.
“On our way back from the prison, I passed on to M. Goron the information you sent me concerning James Oborn's early lifeâthat he had been educated for the Roman Catholic priesthood. M. Goron at once rose to the bait. There must be some connection between that Spanish priest and James Oborn, he declared. Although in my opinion the connection seemed slight I consented to his proposal that we should take a fast police car and run down to the Riviera to make enquiries on the spot.
“We went first to the hotel at St Raphael and verified the fact that a Spanish monk who signed his name Père Collet had stayed there during the first week in November. He seemed to be much depressed at having, as he said, been turned out of his own country and was making for Switzerland. The hotel manager, an old acquaintance of M. Goron, gave us one interesting item of information. The Spanish monk could not speak or understand much of his own language. This was made clear by some other Spaniards who were staying in his hotel and were anxious to enter into conversation with a fellow refugee, particularly as he belonged to a religious order. His French was fluent, but there was an unmistakable foreign accent in his pronunciation. We asked the manager whether it was possible that he was an Englishman posing as a Spaniard. He thought for a moment and then said yes, that was quite possible.
“We then asked the manager whether the Marquis de Crémont had been staying at the hotel at the same time. He turned over the pages of his registration book and said yes, he had stayed one day longer than the monk.
“M. Goron next enquired whether there was any monastery near at hand and was told that there was one near Fréjus. We held a private consultation and came to the conclusion that this monk and James Oborn might be one and the same person. As he had on that occasion assumed the disguise of a priest it seemed more than possible that he might be enjoying the hospitality of some monastery at the present moment. We decided to call on the monks at the St Augustin House.
“When we arrived there we were kept waiting a considerable time before we could have an interview with the abbot, but at last we were shown into a private room. When the abbot presented himself Goron went straight to the point, telling him that we were in search of an Englishman who was probably disguised as a Spanish monk. The abbot was not communicative: he said that we could get the information we required on application to the prefecture. Noticing our surprise, he said, âHave you not heard of what occurred here yesterday? No?' He then told us that two days before an Englishman, who said that he was a refugee from Spain and that he was a monk but had escaped in civilian clothes, had begged hospitality for a few days. He had arrived in a motorcar. The day after his arrival a gendarme had called; he said that this car had been traced to the monastery and that the driver was wanted by the English police. The refugee, who had given the name of Collet, was sent for; but he strenuously denied that he was the man of whom the English were in search. The gendarme said that he must accompany him to the prefecture to clear himself before the préfet. One of the rules of the monastery was hospitality and the gendarme was invited to
déjeuner
. He accepted and during the meal the refugee was lodged in the serving room, with two brothers to act as guards at the door. There was no other exit from the serving room except through the dining room and yet after the meal it was found that he had disappeared. None of the brothers who served the meal could have connived at his escape.
“We questioned the abbot about the looks of the escaped man and he said that to all appearances he was what he professed to be; he was wearing sandals on bare feet and he was correctly tonsured.
“Being unable to get more information from the abbot, Goron decided to apply for an interview with the préfet. This official made no secret of the man's escape. He said that they had had a telegram from Paris requiring them to keep a lookout for a certain car and detain the driver. It had been traced to the monastery; a gendarme was sent with the result, which we already knew, that the man had escaped. He was able to tell us how the escape had been contrived. It was discovered afterwards that a white suit with cap of a cook's assistant was missing from the serving room. Evidently the prisoner had slipped on this disguise, seized a dish, walked through the dining room and out into the grounds and made good his escape. The gendarmerie were now hunting for him, but so far without result.
“We asked the préfet whether the car had been detained and whether the luggage of the escaped man had been taken from the monastery. He said that both had been done and that both were in the hands of the local gendarmerie. We went on to the gendarmerie and were received in friendly fashion by the local commandant, M. Lemare, who was very pleased to see M. Goron, his chief in Paris. He explained that he was at the moment preparing a report for him.
“In the car they had discovered a box containing a number of tools such as are used by expert burglars, together with a rope ladder with hooks at one end for attaching it to a balcony or window sill. There were no valuables or marks of identification of the owner of the tools. The few fingerprints found on the varnish were blurred. The luggage contained two ordinary lounge suits, in addition to underclothing with the maker's name, Burberry, Paris. There were no papers of any kind: any documents that he may have had must have been carried on his person.
“While we were there a gendarme came in, mounted on a motorcycle: he had been one of the party sent out to search the woods at Valescure. He had brought with him a priest's soutane which he had found rolled up behind the hedge bordering the road near Valescure. It bore no identification marks. M. Goron readily agreed with my suggestion that under his clerical garments the man was wearing ordinary civilian clothes: that would make his escape much easier, since the instructions to the gendarmerie had been to hunt for a man in clerical clothes. Provided that he had a sufficiency of funds, his escape would now be fairly easy, with the exception of one pointâhis tonsured head. That would certainly be an important point in identification; unobservant people might take the tonsure for ordinary baldness, but not the police who were pursuing the fugitive.
“I suggested to M. Goron that the first thing he would do would be to provide himself with socks, shoes and a hat. Goron agreed and said that to obtain these he would have to go to Cannes, and asked M. Lemare to have enquiries made at all men's clothiers.
“Having left these instructions, we decided that it would be useless for us to remain in the neighbourhood, since any incident in the pursuit would be telegraphed to Paris.
“On our return to Paris I decided to question Arthur Graves once more. I found him in a very depressed state of mind and he assured me that he would gladly give me information, but he knew nothing more than what he had already said. I asked him if he knew that James Oborn was a Roman Catholic priest. He remembered having been sent by James Oborn to the post office to fetch a letter which had been addressed poste restante. He gave him an identity card made out in the name of James Collet with the profession marked as priest. The letter was handed over without question by the official. Graves confessed that he was very curious about this letter, as James Oborn had seemed anxious to have it but seemed afraid to go and fetch it himself.
“This seems to confirm the fact that Collet and James Oborn are one and the same person. I was also able to get from Graves the information that James Oborn had landed in England from France at the end of November. I shall not fail to report any further developments and I shall remain in Paris meanwhile.
“A
LBERT
D
ALLAS
,
Detective Inspector
.”
