"That's all, I'm afraid. Criminology is more in Burnaby's line than in mine. I only happened to notice,' Pettis admitted, with a jeering look at his own clothes, 'so as to decide whether I ought to wear overshoes. Habit ... As to the person who imitated my voice, why try to implicate me? I'm a harmless enough old codger, I assure you. I don't lit into the role of gigantic Nemesis. The only reason I can think of is that I'm the only one of the group who has no definite orbit on Saturday night and might not be able to prove an alibi. But as to who could have done it - Any good mimic could have pulled it off; still, who knew just how I addressed those people?'
'What about the circle at the Warwick Tavern? There were others besides the ones we've heard about, weren't there?'
"Oh, yes. There were two other irregulars. But I can't see either as a candidate. There's old Mornington, who has had a post at the Museum for over fifty years; he's got a cracked tenor that would never pass for me. There's Swayle, but I believe he was speaking on the wireless last night, about ant life or something, and should have an alibi ...'
'Speaking at what time?'
'Nine - forty - five or thereabouts, I believe, although I wouldn't swear to it. Besides, neither of them ever visited Grimaud's house - And casual drifters at the pub? Well, some may have listened or sat down at the back of the room, though nobody ever joined the conversation. I suppose that's your best lead, even if it's a very thin one.' Pettis took out a cigarette and closed the case with a snap. ' Yes. We'd better decide it was an unknown quantity, or we shall be in all kinds of quicksand, eh? Burnaby and I were Grimaud's only close friends. But I didn't do it, and Burnaby was playing cards.'
Hadley looked at him. 'I suppose Mr Burnaby really was playing cards?'
'I don't know,' the other admitted, with flat candour. 'But I'll give you odds he was, all the same. Burnaby's no fool. And a man would have to be rather an outstanding fathead to commit a murder on the one night when his absence from a certain group would be certain to be noticed.'
Clearly this impressed the superintendent more than anything Pettis had yet said. He continued to drum on the table, scowling. Dr Fell was occupied with some obscure, cross - eyed meditation of his own. Pettis looked curiously from one to the other of them.
'If I have given you food for thought, gentlemen -?' he suggested, and Hadley became brisk.
'Yes, yes! No end! Now about Burnaby: you know he painted the picture which Dr Grimaud bought to defend himself?'
'To defend himself? How? From what?'
'We don't know. I was hoping you might be able to explain it.' Hadley studied him. 'The taste for making cryptic remarks seems to run in his family. Do you know anything about his family, by the way?'
Pettis was evidently puzzled. 'Well, Rosette is a very charming girl. Er - though I shouldn't say she had a taste for making cryptic remarks. Quite the contrary. She's a little too modern for my taste.' His forehead wrinkled. 'I never knew Grimaud's wife; she's been dead some years. But I still don't see -'
'Never mind. What do you think of Drayman?'
Pettis chuckled. 'Old Hubert Drayman is the most unsuspicious man I ever met. So unsuspicious that some people think it hides a deep and devilish cunning. Excuse me, but have you got him on the carpet? If you have, I should forget it.'
'We'll go back to Burnaby, then. Do you know how he came to paint that picture, or when he did it, or anything about it?'
'I think he did it a year or two ago. I remember it particularly, because it was the biggest canvas at his studio; he used it as a screen or a partition, turned up endways, whenever he needed one. I asked him once what it was intended to represent. He said, "An imaginative conception of something I never saw." It had some French name, Dans L'Ombre des Montagnes du Sel, or something of the sort.' He stopped tapping the unlighted cigarette on the case. His curious, restless brain was probing again. 'Hullo! Now that I remember it, Burnaby said, "Don't you like it? It gave Grimaud a hell of a turn when he saw it".'
'Why?'
"I paid no attention. I naturally supposed it was some joke or piece of bragging; he laughed when he said it, and Burnaby's like that. But the thing had been lying about the studio, collecting dust, for such a long time that I was surprised when Grimaud came charging in on Friday morning and asked for it.'
Hadley leaned forward sharply. 'You were there, then?'
'At the studio? Yes. I'd dropped in early for some reason or other - I forget what. Grimaud came stumping in -'
'Upset?'
'Yes. N - no. Say excited.' Pettis reflected, studying Hadley covertly. 'Grimaud said, with that machine - gun snap of his, "Burnaby, where's your salt - mountain picture? I want it. What's your price?" Burnaby looked at him in a queer way. He came hobbling over and pointed to the picture and said, "The thing's yours, man, if you want it; take it." Grimaud said, "No, I have a use for it and I insist on buying it." Well, when Burnaby named some fool price like ten shillings, Grimaud quite solemnly got out a chequebook and wrote a cheque for ten shillings. He would say nothing except that he had a place on the wall where it ought to go, in his study. That's all. He took the picture downstairs and I got him a cab to take it away in ...'
'Was it wrapped up?' asked Dr Fell, sharply; so sharply that Pettis jumped a little.
Dr Fell had been showing more interest, not to say fierce concentration, in this recital than in anything Pettis had yet said. The doctor was bending forward with his hands clasped over his stick, and Pettis regarded him curiously.
'I wonder why you ask that?' he said. 'It's what I was just going to mention - the fuss Grimaud made about wrapping it. He asked for paper, and Burnaby said, "Where do you think I'd get a sheet of paper big enough to go round that? Why be ashamed of it? Take it as it is." But Grimaud insisted on going downstairs and getting yards of brown paper off one of those rolls in somebody's shop. It seemed to annoy Burnaby a good deal.'
'You don't know whether Grimaud went straight home with it?'
'No - I think he was going to have it framed, but I'm not sure.'
Dr Fell sat back with a grunt and let the subject go without more questions, in spite of Pettis's hints. Although Hadley kept on questioning for some time, nothing of importance was elicited so far as Rampole could see. On the personal side Pettis spoke guardedly; but there was, he said, little to conceal. There had been no friction in Grimaud's household, and none in the immediate circle except an antagonism between Mangan and Burnaby. Burnaby, although nearly thirty years older, had a strong interest in Rosette Grimaud, at once lazy and jealous. Dr Grimaud had said nothing about this; if anything, he encouraged it, although so far as Pettis could observe he made no objection to Mangan.
'But I think you'll find, gentlemen,' concluded Pettis, as he rose to go when Big Ben - was striking ten, 'that all these are side issues. It would be difficult to associate the crime passionel with any of our group. As to the financial side of affairs, I can't tell you much, either. Grimaud was fairly well - to - do, I should think. His solicitors, I happen to know, were Tennant and Williams of Gray's Inn ... By the way, I wonder if you'll all have lunch with me on a dreary Sunday? I'm just the other side of Russell Square, you know; I've had a suite of rooms at the Imperial for fifteen years. You're investigating in that neighbourhood, and it might be handy; besides, if Dr Fell feels inclined to discuss ghost stories -?'
He smiled. The doctor cut in to accept before Hadley could refuse, and Pettis left with a much more jaunty air than he had worn at his entrance. Afterwards they all looked at each other.
'Well?' growled Hadley. 'Straightforward enough, it seemed to me. Of course we'll check it up. The point, the impressive point, is: why should any of them commit a crime in the one night when absence would be bound to be noticed? We'll go after this chap Burnaby, but he sounds out of it, too, if only for that reason ...'
"And the weather forecast said it wouldn't snow,' said Dr Fell, with a kind of obstinacy. 'Hadley, that shoots everything to blazes! It turns the whole case upside down someho
w, but I don't see - Cagliostro Street! Let's go on to Cagliostro Street. Anywhere is better than this darkness.'
Fuming, he stumped over after his cloak and shovel - hat.
CHAPTER 13
THE SECRET FLAT
LONDON, on the morning of a grey winter Sunday, was deserted to the point of ghostliness along miles of streets. And Cagliostro Street, into which Hadley's car presently turned, looked as though it would never wake up.
Cagliostro Street, as Dr Fell had said, contained a thin dingy overflow of both shops and lodging - houses. It was a backwater of Lamb's Conduit Street - which itself is a long and narrow thoroughfare, a shopping centre of its own, stretching north to the barrack - windowed quiet of Guilford Street and south to the main artery of traffic along Theobald's Road. Towards the Guilford Street end on the west side, the entrance to Cagliostro Street is tucked between a stationer's and a butcher's. It looks much like an alley that you would miss it altogether if you were not watching for the sign. Past these two buildings, it suddenly widens to an unexpected breadth, and runs straight for two hundred yards to a blank brick wall at the end.
This eerie feeling of streets in hiding, or whole rows of houses created by illusory magic to trick you,, had never deserted Rampole in his prowlings through London. It was like wondering whether, if you walked out of your own front door, you might not find the whole street mysteriously changed overnight, and strange faces grinning out of houses you had never seen before. He stood with Hadley and Dr Fell at the entrance, staring down. The overflow of shops stretched only a little way on either side. They were all shuttered, or had their windows covered with a folding steel fretwork, with an air of defying customers as a fort would defy attackers. Even the gilt signs had an air of defiance. The windows were at all stages of cleanliness, from the bright gloss of a jeweller's farthest down on the right, to the grey murkiness of a tobacconist's nearest on the right: a tobacconist's that seemed to have dried up worse than ancient tobacco, shrunk together, and hidden itself behind news placards headlining news you never remembered having heard of. Beyond there were two rows of flat three - story houses in dark red brick, with window - frames in white or yellow, and drawn curtains of which a few (on the ground floor) showed a sportive bit of lace. They had darkened to the same hue with soot; they looked like one house except where iron railings went to the front doors from the lone line of area rails; they sprouted with hopeful signs announcing furnished rooms. Over them the chimney - pots stood up dark against a heavy grey sky. The snow had melted to patches of grey slush, despite a sharp wind that was swooping through the entrance and chasing a discarded newspaper with flaps and rustlings round a lamp - post.
'Cheerful,' grunted Dr Fell. He lumbered forward, and there were echoes of his footsteps. 'Now let's get this all straight before we attract attention. Show me where Fley was when he was hit. Stop a bit! Where did he live, by the way?'
Hadley pointed at the tobacconist's near which they were standing.
'Up over that place; just at the beginning of the street, as I told you. We'll go up presently - although Somers has been there, and says there's nothing at all. Now, come along and get roughly the middle of the street ...' He went ahead, pacing off a yard at a stride. 'The swept pavements and the marked street ended somewhere about here; say, more or less, a hundred and fifty feet. Then unmarked snow. A good distance beyond that, nearer to another hundred and fifty - here.'
He stopped and turned round slowly.
'Half - way up, centre of the roadway. You can see how broad the road is; walking there, he was a good thirty feet from any house on either side. If he'd been walking on the pavement, we might have constructed some wild theory of a person leaning out of a window or an areaway, with the gun fastened to the end of a pole or something, and -'
'Nonsense!'
'All right, nonsense; but what else can we think?' demanded Hadley with some violence, and made a broad gesture with his brief - case. 'As you said yourself, here's the street; it's plain, simple and impossible! I know there was no hanky - panky like that, but what was there? Also the witnesses didn't see anything; and, if there had been anything, they must have seen it. Look here! Stay where you are now, and keep facing the same direction.' He paced again to a point some distance farther on, and turned after inspecting the numbers. Then he moved over to the right - hand pavement. 'Here's where Blackwin and Short were when they heard the scream. You're walking along there in the middle of the street. I'm ahead of you. I whirl around - so. How far am I from you now?'
Rampole, who had drawn off from both of them, saw Dr Fell standing big and alone in the middle of an empty rectangle.
'Shorter distance this time. Those two chaps,' said the doctor, pushing back his shovel - hat, 'were not much more than thirty feet ahead! Hadley, this is even rummier than I thought. He was in the middle of a snow desert. Yet they whirl round when they hear the shot - h'm - h'mf...'
'Exactly. Next, as to lights. You're taking the part of Fley. On your right - a little distance ahead, and just beyond the door of number 18 - you see a street lamp. A little distance behind, also on the right, you see that jeweller's window? Right. There was a light burning in that; not a bright one, but still it was there. Now can you explain to me how two people, standing where I'm standing now, could possibly be mistaken about whether they saw anybody near Fley?'
His voice rose, and the street gave it a satiric echo. The discarded newspaper, caught again by an eddy of the wind, scuttled along with a sudden rush; and the wind tore with a hollow roar among chimney - pots as though it blew through a tunnel. Dr Fell's black cloak flapped about him, and the ribbon on his eye - glasses danced wildly.
'Jeweller's - ' he repeated, and stared. 'Jeweller's! And a light in it... Was there anybody there?'
'No. - Withers thought of that and went to see. It was a show - light. The wire fretwork was stretched across both the window and the door; just as it is now. Nobody could have got in or out of there. Besides, it's much too far away from Fley.'
Dr Fell craned his neck round, and then went over to look owlishly into the protected window. Inside were displayed velvet trays of cheap rings and watches, an array of candlesticks, and in the middle a big round - hooded German clock with moving eyes in its sun of a face, which began to tinkle eleven. Dr Fell stared at the moving eyes, which had an unpleasant effect of seeming to watch with idiot amusement the place where a man had been killed. It lent a touch of the horrible to Cagliostro Street. Then Dr Fell stumped back to the middle of the street.
'But that,' he said - obstinately, as though he were continuing an argument - 'that is on the right - hand side of the street. And Fley was shot through the back from the left side. If we assume, as apparently we must assume, that the attacker approached from the left - or at least the flying pistol travelled over from the left - I don't know! Even granting that the murderer could walk on snow without leaving a footprint, can we at least decide where he came from?'
'He came from here,' said a voice.
The rising of the wind seemed to whirl the words about them, as though they came from empty air. For one second in that gusty half - light Rampole experienced a worse shock than he had known even in the days of the Chatterham Prison case. He had a mad vision of flying things, and of hearing words from an invisible man exactly as the two witnesses had heard the hollow murderer whisper the night before. For one second, then, something took him by the throat - before he turned and, with a drop of anticlimax, saw the explanation. A thick - set young man with a reddish face and a bowler pulled down on his forehead (which gave him a somewhat sinister air) was coming down the steps from the open door of number 18. The young man grinned broadly as he saluted Hadley.
'He came from here, sir. I'm Somers, sir. You remember, you asked me to find out where the dead one, the Frenchie, was going when he was killed. And to find out what landlady had any sort of rum lodger that might be the man we're looking for ... Well, I've found out about the rum lodger, and it oughtn't to
be difficult to find him. He came from here. Excuse my interrupting you.'
Hadley, trying not to show that the interruption had been unpleasantly startling, growled a pleased word. His eyes travelled up to the doorway, where another figure stood hesitating. Somers followed the glance.
'Oh, no, sir. That's not the lodger,' he said, and grinned again. 'That's Mr O'Rourke; chap from the music - hall, you know, who identified the Frenchie last night. He's been giving me a bit of help this morning.'
The figure detached itself from the gloom and came down the steps. He looked thin despite his heavy overcoat; thin and powerful, with the quick smooth steps carried on the ball of the foot which mark the trapeze or high - wire man. He was affable, easy, and bent slightly backwards as he spoke, like a man who wants room for his gestures. In looks he was rather swarthily reminiscent of the Italian: an effect that was heightened by a luxuriant black moustache with waxed ends, which curled under his hooked nose. Beneath this a large curved pipe hung from one corner of his mouth, and he was puffing with evident enjoyment. His wrinkled eyes had a humorous blue gleam; and he pushed back an elaborate fawn - coloured hat as he introduced himself. This was the Irishman with the Italian pseudonym; he spoke like an American, and in point of fact was, he explained, a Canadian.
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