A Murder is Arranged (21 page)

Lawrence did not answer immediately. He had picked up the paper in which the sandals had been wrapped and was scrutinizing it, especially where a piece had been torn off. “And, if I remember rightly, sir, another clue that Monsieur Goron had in that case was a strip of paper taken from the continental edition of the
Daily Mail
.”

“You are right,” said Richardson. “These things ought to be sent to Monsieur Goron at once. Has Mademoiselle Coulon left yet?”

“Yes sir; she was to leave for Croydon in Mr Huskisson's car soon after we left Scudamore Hall.”

Richardson looked at the clock. “The next plane leaves in a little over half an hour. If you break the speed limit you may just do it. It's worth trying.”

Even while his chief was speaking Lawrence was stowing his papers safely away in an inside pocket and was halfway to the door. “I'll do it,” he said.

“Good luck to you,” called Richardson before the door was shut.

Lawrence did do it. By good luck his car evaded all traffic jams and even overtook the passenger car which conveyed travellers to the aerodrome. He was in time to catch Pauline before she climbed into the machine and to hand over to her the papers to be conveyed to M. Goron of the Sûreté Generate.

“You are not coming, monsieur?” she asked Lawrence.

“No, mademoiselle; but we can trust Monsieur Goron to pass on any information useful to us through our colleague, Mr Dallas.”

“Yes, you can trust him to do that.”

“And the documents could not be in safer hands than yours,” said Lawrence with unwonted gallantry: he had been converted by this nimble-witted young Frenchwoman to confidence in her sex. “The note was discovered in a pocket of the monk's robe that we found in that trunk this morning and the newspaper is what the sandals were wrapped in.”

“And I may examine them?”

“Certainly.”

There was no time for more; the engines were turning over; the cry of “Stand back, please,” came from the chief attendant at the aerodrome. It was a necessary warning, for at that moment the engines increased their speed and drove a fierce blast upon the onlookers; their roar prevented any further conversation; the draught they caused seemed strong enough to tear up the grass by the roots; the plane was now skidding along the field and imperceptibly its wheels ceased to revolve: it was in the air.

Left to herself, Pauline took the documents from their envelope and scrutinized them, paying particular attention to the copy of the
Daily Mail
. The journey from Croydon to Le Bourget was uneventful. Pauline took a vacant taxi and drove straight to Goron's office. To her great joy she found him at work.

“Behold me, monsieur. I come from the British shore laden with spoil. First let me ask you to telephone for your English colleague, Monsieur Dallas. I have here something that will be of particular interest to him.”

“I am expecting him at any moment. We have been busy and he has gone to eat. What have you?”

“First I bring back with me the fur coat which is Monsieur Henri's property.”

“Then they have discovered the murderer of Miss Gask?”

“Not yet, monsieur. Margaret Gask was not wearing this coat when she was killed.”

“Then when was it found?”

“Well, it's a story of a broken romance. Shall I tell it to you now, or shall we wait for Monsieur Dallas?”

Scarcely had she spoken when the door opened to admit Dallas. After the usual greetings she opened the suitcase and displayed the fur coat. Dallas' English phlegm was proof against any show of emotion. He took it to the window and began to examine it.

“No, monsieur, you are wasting your time. You will find no bloodstains on it.”

“Come, mademoiselle,” said Goron; “you have whetted our appetite for your story and you are baulking it.”

“My story is soon told. Poor Mr Huskisson, whom you suspected of being a double-dyed villain, is cleared. He, like Monsieur Henri and others, was seduced by Margaret's charms into thinking her a blameless angel. When he discovered that she was, to put it baldly, nothing but a common thief it was a great shock to him. He had persuaded her to let him restore this coat to Monsieur Henri, but before he had done so she was murdered. Partly out of fear and partly out of chivalry towards the woman he had loved, he had kept it hidden. You, monsieur,” she said to Dallas, “will be pleased to know that it was through your Mr Spofforth that it was found.”

Dallas listened with growing interest to her story of the cloakroom ticket, but Goron, on the other hand, was drumming on the table with his fingertips in his impatience to hear about the other things she had brought. Pauline watched him with a twinkle in her eye and then passed him the unsealed envelope which she had received from Lawrence. “I fancy that these papers may be of interest to you.”

Goron drew out first the copy of the continental
Daily Mail
and after a quick glance at each page he strode over to his safe and took out of it an envelope containing a scrap of newspaper. This he fitted to the page from which a strip had been torn off.

“It is it,” he exclaimed with excitement. “This is the paper from which the strip was torn and it was used by the murderer of the senator, Monsieur Salmond. Where did you get it?”

“I will tell you, but first I have one other piece of news about the coat. In a pocket we found this visiting card of Monsieur Salmond.”

She passed it to Goron, who said, “My deduction was right. That woman and Monsieur Salmond were acquainted and we shall find that my other deduction is correct—that the two were killed by the same person. Now tell us where you found this newspaper and this bank note.”

Pauline related the story of the tin trunk and was pleased to see that for once Dallas showed by his quick breathing that his interest had been thoroughly aroused.

“This butler,” he explained to Goron, “is an ex-convict liberated from Dartmoor a few months ago.”

“But surely a monk's robe would be a strange thing for an ex-convict in your country to have in his possession.”

Dallas explained that between the butler and Douglas Oborn, the brother of James, there was a secret understanding. “Depend upon it,” he concluded, “they connived at the escape of James from England; but they can help him no longer now, seeing that he is in your country.”

“Now that we believe him to have been the murderer of Monsieur Salmond it is more important than ever that we should find him.”

“Is it possible,” asked Dallas, “that the father abbot at that monastery is shielding him from pursuit? We know that he is fertile in inventing excuses, sufficient to deceive an innocent ecclesiastic.”

“It would be very easy for them to hide him,” said Pauline, “if he had won their sympathies.”

“Let us think,” said Goron. “Presumably this same man was staying with Mademoiselle Saulnois at Cannes last November. He returns again now and takes refuge in the monastery. Did he get into touch with the father abbot in November? I think that the answer to that question is no. The abbot and every monk that I questioned declared emphatically that they had never seen him until he sought their hospitality a few days ago. If it had not been true they would have either evaded the question or declined point-blank to answer it. Therefore, if he was a complete stranger and they now know from us that he is an ordinary criminal, they are not likely to be hiding him.”

“As a monk's habit appears to be his favourite disguise, would it not be well to widen the quest to cover all religious houses?” said Pauline.

“That is being done,” said Goron, “but he had thrown away his monk's robes; it was found by a gendarme rolled up behind a hedge. However,” he added, “I refuse to be discouraged. This paper that you have brought me supplies the missing clue that I need in my evidence against the murderer of Monsieur Salmond.”

“And the bank note,” suggested Pauline.

Goron examined the bank note for the first time. “I myself will go to the Credit Lyonnais; it may be possible to trace the fact that it was paid out to Monsieur Salmond. I don't think that it is usual for them to stamp their notes.”

“I am wondering,” said Dallas, “whether I am of any further use here. When James Oborn is caught you will detain him for a murder committed within your jurisdiction. If you want my corroboration I can always come over again.”

“It is complicated, my friend,” said Goron, “because although we believe them to belong to James Oborn, the newspaper and the note were found in your country in the possession of that ex-convict.”

“Who is now dangerously ill,” put in Pauline.

“I think you are right,” said Goron. “You can really do more good now in your own country by watching over that man and getting his statement as soon as he recovers. I have here many hours of reading in this mass of stuff that came in while we have been away at Cannes.”

“I will telephone to my chief in London and take his instructions.”

Dallas demanded London and gave the number, Whitehall 1212, but had to wait some minutes before the call could be put through. When at last an English voice responded he asked for Mr Richardson of the C.I.D. The response was immediate. Dallas explained as shortly as possible the position of the enquiry in Paris and asked for instructions whether he should continue to wait in Paris until James Oborn was found or return to London. The answer was prompt and clear. He was to remain in Paris and assist in the hunt for James Oborn.

D
ALLAS RETURNED
to Goron's room. “My tidings may not be altogether to you taste, Monsieur Goron, but the instructions I have received by telephone are clear. I am to remain in Paris to assist you, if required, in tracing that rascal, James Oborn.”

Goron slapped his thigh. “That is good news; after all, you have become one of us. Your colleagues in London can quite well take a statement from the injured butler as soon as he is well enough to be questioned. I am now reading a further account of the life of the Marquis de Crémont. Between us I feel sure that we shall make our coup.”

Pauline Coulon had been silent. She now said, “Listen, messieurs; I recall a conversation that I once had with the dead woman. I had been giving her good advice and telling her how to resist the temptations put in her way by the buyers of American houses and she said, ‘Well, when I've had my fling, if they pinch me I can always retire to a convent and make my peace with God.' ‘In your own country?' I asked. ‘Oh no,' she replied. ‘I know of a certain convent in the Gers, the loveliest spot in France, where I can be quite happy milking the cows, plucking the chickens…' ‘And killing the pigs?' I said. ‘Well, no; I might draw the line at that: they squeal so dreadfully.' She went on talking in that strain and I put it down to her love of mischief, but she did say that the chaplain to this convent was a fellow countryman.”

“
Tiens!
” exclaimed Goron. “There may be something worth following up in those remarks.”

“Where is the Gers?” asked Dallas.

“Between Toulouse and Bayonne. It is truly a Godforsaken country.”

“You mean a desert?”

“No; the land is good if it were cultivated, but the greater part of it has been deserted by the French peasants and left to Italians, who exhaust the land and then drift away to the towns. The French peasant farmers can get no labour and so the soil reverts day by day. The last time I passed through it I talked to one of these peasant farmers about the land and we drank an
apéritif
at my expense in the village inn. He took me by the arm and pointed to a church in the next village. ‘There,' he said, ‘you can see the whole church down to its foundations, but when I was a boy you could see nothing lower than the spire; the rains have washed away all the hills between and that is why the soil has become unprofitable.'”

“Are there monasteries there?” asked Dallas.

“Yes, and the monks contrive to make a fat living out of their farms. I know a Trappist brotherhood, mostly English or Irish, who converse only by signs.”

Dallas pricked up his ears. “That sounds a likely hiding place for our man.”

With his usual enthusiasm Goron jumped at this new clue. “To the Gers we will go ourselves and not leave it to my subordinates. Will you come with us, mademoiselle, in case we fall into difficulties with the grim ladies who rule the convents?”

“You must not call the superiors grim. If they rule their convents well no doubt they appear to be severe, but the work they do is of inestimable value,” said Pauline, who was a good Catholic. “But after I have seen Monsieur Henri I will gladly come with you.” Her face fell. “Ah! There may be one difficulty. My expenses?”

Goron laughed. “How like a woman,” he said. “Had you been of our sex, mademoiselle, you would have said nothing about expenses until the day of reckoning. Then you would have bounced into the room, planked a vast account sheet under my nose and demanded instant settlement. As it is, I can see that you would like to have a settlement since human life is always uncertain, but you make no demands; you trust to your charming personality and stand there with open hand. When I have had time to glance through your account it shall be settled without delay.”

“I have it here, monsieur.”

“Good; then tomorrow before we start for the Gers settlement will be made. The expenses of our trip I will be responsible for; our car will leave in the morning at nine-thirty.”

“Then all I have to do is to make my peace with Monsieur Henri. May I soften his heart by restoring to him his fur coat?”

“Certainly. The person who stole it is dead and cannot appear before any French tribunal. Before you go, mademoiselle, you must listen to what I have to tell. As I said, I have been reading a report from a member of my staff who has succeeded in tracing the earlier history of that
soi-distant
Marquis de Crémont. This is his career. His real name is Edouard Cottin; he was born in the department of the Aisne in the year 1900. From his early childhood he was noted as a liar and a thief and in order to cure him of these propensities he was sent to a priest who kept him by his side for three years, but he could do nothing with him. Then he entered the military school at Fontainebleau whence he graduated as sub-lieutenant. While in garrison he made friends with the monks of a neighbouring monastery and this became a subject of chaff with his comrades. He resolved to desert. He came into touch with a Dominican monk who persuaded him to take the cowl. He entered the monastery and played his cards so well that the prior appointed him quêteur, the brother selected to seek subscriptions for the monastery. Money was a temptation that he could not resist. He returned from his first mission several thousand francs short in his accounts. It was a favourable moment for disappearing. He went to the prior and informed him that he had come into a large fortune but dared not claim it, since technically he was a deserter from his regiment. Would the prior protect him? On this the prior gave him introductions and credentials from the monastery. His first act was to obtain 200,000 francs from the bankers by false pretences and he then threw off his monk's habit and became the Marquis de Tolosant and by scheming and false pretences was able to gain large sums of money and to pose as a man of fashion. He eluded our police by going to Italy, where he placed himself under the protection of a venerable French priest who vouched for him. He then began to fleece his new friends by wonderful schemes for getting rich quick. Then he decamped from Rome and returned to France as the Marquis de Crémont. Since that time he has been successful in a series of lucrative robberies, but as you know, we have him now lodged safely in prison.”