‘Yes, I’ll do that. Trombones. He sounds innocent enough.’
‘Famous last words!’ said Littlejohn.
Meanwhile, the routine reports from the local police had arrived. There was nothing useful in them. The police had visited all the houses in the locality of Mountjoy without any results. Nobody had seen intruders there on the night of the crime. After the crime the usual curious sightseers had turned up for a grisly thrill but had contented themselves by inspecting the gateway. They had been disappointed; there was nothing whatever to satisfy their appetites.
Kaltbad, the owner of Mountjoy, had left an address in Hamburg with Antrobus & Co., and Scotland Yard had already contacted the German police for information about him. This was not yet to hand.
Cromwell, during Littlejohn’s absence at the hospital, had called on the Tolham police for any available details about the Orchard Court flats and The Limes. The Inspector there, a youngish, cheerful officer called Toft, seemed quite satisfied with the occupants of the flats, but found those of The Limes a bit colourful and intriguing.
‘The owner’s an oil tycoon from Texas, who hardly ever visits the place. His wife, who seems fond of it though, is frequently in residence and brings some queer guests now and then. Artists, spongers, weirdies of all kinds. We see them about the town, but so far none have given us any trouble and we’ve had no complaints.’
‘Do you know Cairncross, the security man about the place?’
‘Yes. He calls in regularly about the burglar alarms, which are connected with us here. Mrs. Havenith carries a fortune in jewellery about with her and they have the most up-to-date American alarm arrangements there. We have a plan of the wiring here. Care to see it?’
‘I would.’
Cromwell thought it well to inform the young Inspector exactly what his visit was about. He told him of the murder of Charles Blunt.
‘One of the most skilled and careful cracksmen in London. He made one or two early mistakes during what we might call his apprenticeship, and we gaoled him for petty crimes, but he had thoroughly learned his trade since then. His jobs were few and far between, but seemed to have earned him enough to live luxuriously. We were almost sure that quite a list of jewel thefts were his work, but we could never pin them on him. His technique seems to have been to thoroughly acquaint himself with a residence occupied by his victim, the comings and goings of the owners and servants, and the general layout of the house. Then he chose his time and robbed them. At the time of his death he was living in a flat at Orchard Court which overlooks The Limes. The windows of his flat face the very rooms in which Mrs. Havenith ornaments herself with the jewellery of which, we think, he was eventually going to relieve her.…’
Toft whistled.
‘Under our very noses, sir. We’d no idea what was going on.…’
‘Neither had any of us, Toft. The first we would have heard about it was that Mrs. Havenith had been robbed. The quiet gentlemanly occupant of the flat in Orchard Court would have slipped away, perhaps to the south of France, and lived in luxury until the money ran out again, quietly visiting London now and then to see his aged father and then off again to his retreat. Had he not been murdered he’d probably have got away with it again.’
Toft produced the drawings of the alarm system at The Limes. It was a monumental effort, covering every outside entry by doors and windows and all the main inner doors. Except that round one window there was a ring in red ink.
‘What’s that, Toft?’
‘That’s the weak link in the whole system. It’s Mrs. Havenith’s bedroom.’
‘So I see. Is it not wired with the rest?’
‘Yes. But there’s a cut-out for the windows there. It’s just like her. The place is foolproof and then she insists that she can’t sleep with the alarm on; it makes her nervous and jumpy. So.…’
‘So, that’s the one vulnerable spot in the circuit?’
‘Yes. Apparently she has no idea of money or the value of things. She seems to think there’s plenty more money available if she wants it. Which is true I guess. Her husband’s rolling in it and gives her whatever she asks for. It’s like her to insist on sleeping with the alarm off. She’s neurotic. She’s like an uncle of mine, who used to set his alarm clock and then couldn’t sleep waiting for it to go off.’
‘I guess Cairncross keeps an eye on the weak spot.’
‘Yes, sir. And when she’s not occupying the bedroom he sees to it that the alarm’s switched on.’
‘Has Cairncross got a similar plan to yours of the alarm system?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where does he keep it?’
‘Locked in his desk in his flat.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He showed it to me when I called about the security of The Limes.’
‘I’d be prepared to bet that Gentleman Charles had examined the flat and all in it, including the chart of the security set-up. What do you think of Cairncross?’
‘He’s a bit difficult to deal with. He knows everything and gives nobody else any credit for being as well-informed as he is. But he’s an efficient chap. Ex-police, somewhere in the Cotswolds, and then a guard with a security firm. Mr. Havenith took a fancy to him and put him on his staff at, according to Mr. Cairncross, a fabulous salary, although he’s never quoted the amount to me.’
‘Does he ever take any time off?’
‘Yes, I meet him about the town from time to time. He has his own flat over a shop in the main street. He once told me he liked to be independent and have a place of his own.’
‘He keeps in touch with you then?’
‘Yes. We try out the security arrangements about once every fortnight. He’s very meticulous about it.’
‘Have you met Mrs. Havenith?’
‘No. Nothing practical seems to be in her line. Her life, according to what I hear, is one long round of enjoyment. She leaves anything practical or needing thought to her stepson and man of affairs, Leo. He’s Mr. Havenith’s son by one of his divorced wives. He’s been married, they tell me, four or five times. Leo is quite a capable man when he sets his mind to things, which is very rarely. Our dealings with him have been about motoring offences. He’s a specialist in fast cars and has been booked a time or two. We’ve at last convinced him that money and smart lawyers won’t prevent him losing his driving licence next time he misbehaves.’
‘Is it true that there’s gossip about his relations with his stepmother?’
Toft coughed behind his hand.
‘I wouldn’t like you to take this for gospel, sir. There’s no proof and you know how people talk. But it is said that she’s his mistress. What old Havenith would say if he knew I can’t even guess. But, as an expert in divorce, I’m sure he’ll know what to do. Leo is a good-looking man and, I believe, a bit older than his stepmother.’
‘You’ll keep your eyes open then, Toft, and tell your men to do the same. I think our attentions will have to be transferred to The Limes from Orchard Court very shortly and, if necessary, we’ll have to get a search warrant for The Limes. I don’t think Mrs. Havenith will welcome our attentions there.’
‘I don’t know, sir. If the arrival of the police gives her a new thrill she may prove very accommodating.’
‘We’ll have to see. Meanwhile, there’s one thing all of us must remember; the culprit in this case is a vicious killer and we’ve got to lay our hands on him before he does any more damage.’
And he told Toft about Hassock’s misadventure and left him duly impressed.
Chapter 7
The Cellars at ‘Mountjoy’
‘Good morning, Tom.…’
Cromwell greeted Littlejohn with his usual cheerful smile.
‘Morning, Bob. What’s good about it?’
For the most part he was right.
It was raining cats and dogs outside and even crossing from the car park to his office Littlejohn had got almost wet through.
The files on his desk were equally dep
ressing. The Hamburg police had no news about Kaltbad. All they could say was that two vans of furniture were waiting on the docks for attention by an owner of that name and hadn’t yet been claimed. Kaltbad had fled from Hamburg before the war and the records, attenuated by bombing and other wartime disasters, were incomplete and contained nothing under ‘Kaltbad’. An old retainer of the police records office, now on pension, had, however, sworn that a Kaltbad had once passed through his hands before the war and he was almost certain that he was a fence. They had never been able to pin any crime on him, but were very near it when Kaltbad vanished and was said to have fled to England. He was a Jew, so that was not to be wondered at in the circumstances which had then prevailed in Germany. The report stated that the informant’s memory was uncertain. Inquiries continuing.
‘This may be the missing fence. We could never find out how Blunt disposed of his loot, if any.’
‘But wasn’t Kaltbad a trombone merchant or something of that kind?’
‘Quite a good front for a fence, although, judging from the size of his house, he was fairly well-off. I don’t think there’s much profit in selling brass instruments, do you?’
‘I wonder if Hassock knew anything about him. According to the latest bulletin he’s making good progress. As a matter of fact, the reason I’m here is to tell you he’s asking for you again, Tom. His wife’s been on the phone already inquiring if he’s fit to move. She told the hospital that although she’s a broken reed she’s sure she can look after him better than they can, and she wants him home. There was a report from the Swiss police, too. Their inquiries about numbered accounts and secret security boxes were like the mills of the gods. So far, they had no helpful information at all. No. QZ53647 might mean anything and would probably resemble a needle in a haystack.’
Finally, a telephone message from Inspector Toft of Tolham, reporting that Mrs. Havenith and her retinue had returned to The Limes. Mrs. Morgan who apparently kept in touch with her mistress when she was on circuit, had reported the visit from the police.
It never rains but it pours!
All this accumulation of information meant that a full-dress inquiry must be opened at The Limes; the disappearance of Kaltbad and the mystery of Mountjoy must be further investigated; and Hassock’s urgent request to see Littlejohn must be granted.
Both detectives put on their damp raincoats and sodden hats again and parted at the gates of Scotland Yard, one to Tolham and the other to Hassock’s bedside.
Hassock looked much better in spite of the bandages which swathed his head. His voice was firmer and his tearful condition, presumably due to shock, had gone. The doctor gave Littlejohn ten minutes.
‘He’s not to be excited.’
Hassock began by apologising for troubling Littlejohn.
‘I know you’re busy, sir.…’
‘No need to apologise, Hassock. I was coming to see you, but you got in your invitation first.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I ought to have told you that I intended going across and inspecting Mountjoy, but I thought you wouldn’t wish to be disturbed by trivial reports of routine.…’
Poor Hassock never seemed to miss a chance of turning the knife in his wounds!
‘As it was, it was a fruitless journey. I came to grief before I even started to inspect the house.’
‘You called our attention to the place, which I think is going to be important. We’re going to give the house a good turning over. You’ll be surprised to learn, Hassock, that Kaltbad has disappeared. He was supposed to be going home to Hamburg. In fact, he doesn’t seem to have turned up there. The German police have been trying to locate him without success. His furniture is standing in two vans on Hamburg docks and hasn’t, as yet, been claimed or dealt with.’
Hassock gave Littlejohn an excited look.
‘I always thought he was a queer fish. We never had any contact with him in the course of duty, but I always had an instinctive feeling about him. I’ve made a point of trying to get to know as much as possible about people on my patch. One never knows when we’ll need the information. Kaltbad was naturalised. He didn’t mix with people. Kept himself to himself. It always puzzled me how he found the money to buy a place like Mountjoy out of selling musical instruments. And I heard it was well furnished inside, and he kept a gardener and a housekeeper.…’
‘I wonder if we could trace them.’
‘The gardener got another job in a house nearby. We could easily get hold of him. He’s called Dodds. A bit of a scrounger. Sergeant Reaper, one of my fellows, could put his hands on him. The housekeeper was elderly and I think left his service well before Kaltbad went to Hamburg. We might be able to trace her.’
‘Do you think he was a fence?’
‘He might well have been. Living quietly, foreign connections, a shop in the West End.… A good set-up for that sort of thing.…’
‘Where was his place in the West End?’
‘Old Pump Street. I once looked it up when I was down there. I got his address from the telephone directory, I remember. I had to phone him. Someone stole his car but it was soon recovered. He had a sort of old-fashioned shop, long and narrow.… They’re pulling it down now to build a new block.’
‘What did you hope to find there when you visited Mountjoy?’
‘I’d nothing really in mind. I thought I ought to investigate it, that’s all.’
‘I think I’ll go and take another look at Mountjoy myself. I’ll try to find Dodds, the gardener, and see what he has to say for himself. And now I must be going. The doctor said I could have ten minutes with you and I’ve exceeded my time.’
A sister bustled in and thrust a thermometer in Hassock’s mouth, presumably to let Littlejohn know that his time was up. She was a small attractive girl, but Hassock didn’t seem moved by her at all. Hassock removed the thermometer.
‘How is my wife getting along, sir? She’s not well enough to travel, especially with all the bustle going on in trains and buses. She telephones now and then.…’
A vast understatement. Mrs. Hassock was on the telephone to the hospital and to Scotland Yard every ten minutes. Or so it seemed.…
‘She seems to be managing all right. She’s eager to get you home, so that she can look after you herself.’
‘I’ll not be long before I’m home, now. I’m looking forward to it. Will you tell her, if she telephones again? She worries about me. She’s a fine woman although I say it myself. I miss her.’ And he replaced the thermometer.
After all the joking and chaff which went on among Hassock’s colleagues about his married life, Littlejohn felt chastened!
The nurse returned, removed the thermometer, read it, and made a note on the chart.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take his blood pressure.…’
Littlejohn took the hint and departed after Hassock had thanked him for his visit and apologised for taking up his time.
Hassock had given him the key to Mountjoy, which since his violent encounter had lain neglected in the pocket of his tunic, and Littlejohn drove to the house and let himself in. The silence of the place enveloped him again. The cat he had released on his last visit joined him with its tail upright and stiff, and followed him, rubbing against his trousers. It must have belonged to Kaltbad. It seemed surprised at the emptiness of the place and must have wondered where the furniture had gone. It grew uneasy as it followed him from room to room and finally, when they reached the cellar door, it took fright and fled into the open air. Later, the cat returned to the scene of the crime and the Hassocks adopted it.
Littlejohn descended to the cellars, which were quite extensive. One section had evidently been used for storing wine and the empty racks had been left intact. The whole place had been swept clean, like the rooms upstairs. A small quantity of coal had been left in the coal cellar. A dim light penetrated through a grid in the wall, but Littlejohn had to switch on the electric bulb, which hung there without a shade. He examined the coal closely with his pocket tor
ch. The floor consisted of stone slabs and whoever had so conscientiously swept out the house and cellars had neglected or overlooked the coal which was spread in a thin layer across one corner. Littlejohn smiled grimly at his own thoughts. Surely not another Crippen case with a body under the coal hole! He returned to the ground floor again, locked up the house and made his way to the local police station.
Sergeant Reaper was on duty and an Inspector named Milton was holding the fort for Hassock. The two of them seemed to be blundering through the Blunt affair, assured in their own minds that, as Scotland Yard were intruding in the case, all would end well. Reaper was heavy and swarthy and professed to be ‘well-up’ in local affairs. Littlejohn had no wish to embarrass them by his presence and asked Reaper right away if he could lead him to the gardener at Mountjoy.
‘Archie Dodds? Certainly, sir. Very good gardener, sir, but drinks like a fish. We’ve booked him a time or two. Very disorderly when drunk. He was once a bantam-weight champion in the Army. A bit difficult to handle when in drink.…’
‘Can you get hold of him now?’
‘Yes. He does for the Bracknells at Sunny Meadows now that he’s not at Mountjoy. Shall I bring him in?’
‘No; take me to him if it isn’t too far.’
‘No. It’s just near Mountjoy.’
‘Right.…’
There seemed to be nobody at home at Sunny Meadows and they found Dodds extended in a deck chair in the potting-shed, smoking a cigarette.
‘Just takin’ my elevenses,’ explained Dodds, and extricated himself with difficulty from his resting-place.
Bantam-weight was a good description of Dodds. He was small, thin, with long arms and huge hands and a face like a ferret’s. He greeted Reaper with a familiarity which showed no malice from his past encounters with the police.
Devious Murder Page 8
