‘That’s about it, Wyatt,’ nodded Lathom. ‘I think that Tyson was crazy, most probably a schizophrenia case. He murdered Barbara Willis and Mildred Gillow—’
‘Here, steady on, old man,’ said Sir James. ‘You don’t really think that Tyson and this “Mr Rossiter” …’
He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a sergeant came in to tell Lathom that he had a caller waiting below.
‘I can’t see anyone at the moment,’ said Lathom, with some annoyance.
‘If you’ll excuse me, sir, I think it’s important.’
Lathom looked annoyed.
‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘A gentleman named Sir Donald Angus, sir. He particularly wanted to know if you were in charge of the Willis case.’
‘Sir Donald Angus?’ echoed Perivale. ‘Do you know him, Lathom?’
‘No, sir. But I’ve heard of him, of course. He’s the millionaire shipowner. His company bought up the East African shipping combine about six weeks ago. You must remember, sir; it was in all the papers.’
‘I remember,’ nodded Perivale. ‘Bring Sir Donald in here, Sergeant.’
The sergeant went out and presently returned with Sir Donald Angus, a bullet-headed little man of fifty, with piercing pale blue eyes and noticeable Scottish accent. He seemed somewhat nervous, but Wyatt could not decide whether this was due to his strange surroundings or to something that had upset him.
Perivale manœuvred the visitor into a chair facing the window, then introduced Wyatt and Lathom.
Sir Donald turned to Perivale and said: ‘Sir James, I want you to realize that this matter is confidential. It would spell absolute disaster to a man in my position if this leaked out.’
‘You can rely on us, Sir Donald,’ said Perivale, with the merest suggestion of irony in his tone.
‘I hope so – I’m sure I hope so.’
The little man looked from one to the other.
‘Well, now, I don’t quite know where to begin. I don’t want ye to get hold of the wrong end of the stick, as ye might say.’
‘The beginning is usually the safest,’ suggested Wyatt gravely.
‘Verra well, then. Last Sunday I came down to London from Glasgow and booked a room – that is to say a couple of rooms – at the Royal Astoria Hotel. I had a friend with me, a young lady, and we were due to stay at the hotel until the end of this week.’
He noticed Wyatt and Sir James exchange a glance, and immediately said: ‘Now, gentlemen, ye mustn’t get the wrong impression. She is an awfully nice girl, and she was merely acting as my secretary on a little business deal I’d come to see through while I was up here.’
No one else spoke, so he went on rapidly.
‘We had breakfast this morning – downstairs in the dining-room, of course … and after that my friend decided to go out and do some shopping. As a matter of fact, she told me that she had a fitting at a shop in Bond Street, so I arranged to meet her for lunch at the Ritz – it’s handy ye know – at a quarter to one. When I arrived, there was no sign of her.’
‘You were there on time?’ queried Wyatt.
‘Right on time,’ he replied somewhat severely. ‘I’m a man who believes in punctuality. My time is fairly precious and I keep to a schedule. My programme was badly thrown out today because the lady had not arrived at a quarter to three.’
‘I take it you were there all the time,’ said Perivale.
‘Oh, yes, I left a message with the commissionaire, the head porter and another with the head waiter – and I should certainly have seen her if she had turned up. At a quarter to three I began to get a bit worried – thought she might have been in an accident – so I walked up Bond Street and went to the dress shop she’d mentioned. To my utter astonishment, they said she had never been near the place.’
‘I shouldn’t worry too much, Sir Donald,’ said Wyatt. ‘She may have met an old school friend or—’
‘Wait, Mr Wyatt,’ said Sir Donald, with a note of desperation in his voice. ‘I thought of all those things. Finally, I decided I had better go back to the Royal Astoria, and see if they’d seen anything of her there. I asked quite a number of the staff, but they hadn’t seen her since she went out after breakfast. I went up to our – to my bedroom to try and fathom things out, and there on the dressing-table was a small parcel that had been delivered by special messenger.’
He fumbled in his coat pocket and took out a small leather-covered box. He passed this to Sir James Perivale who opened it. Inside, lying on a layer of black velvet-like padding, was a single pearl ear-ring.
‘You recognize this?’ asked Perivale.
‘Of course. It was one of the ear-rings my friend was wearing when she went out this morning.’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘Quite certain. As a matter of fact, I gave them to her myself – a birthday present,’ he added hastily. ‘You see, she’s an old friend of the family and—’
Perivale nodded. ‘I see.’
He passed the box to Wyatt. ‘Was there anything else in this box?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes, there was this card.’
Angus took out his wallet and extracted a piece of pasteboard about two inches square.
On it was written in red ink the word: “Wait”, followed by the signature, “Mr Rossiter”.
They all looked at the card, recognizing the now familiar writing. At length, Lathom laid the card on the desk.
‘I’d like you to describe this girl as fully as possible,’ he said.
Sir Donald considered for a few moments.
‘She’s about five feet two … her hair is sort of honey-coloured; she has brown eyes … nice teeth … she’s attractive I suppose in a sort of way …’
‘Her age?’ asked Lathom.
‘That I can’t tell ye.’
‘I thought you said she was an old friend of the family.’
‘Of course – but it was on my wife’s side ye see … I could guess her age … I should think about twenty-eight …’
He licked his lips nervously.
‘Inspector, I want ye to understand that this affair must be treated with the greatest secrecy.’
‘Don’t worry, Sir Donald,’ said Lathom somewhat curtly, ‘we’ll look after that. Now, can you tell me what the young lady was wearing?’
Sir Donald twisted uneasily in his chair.
‘Yes … she had on a brown costume and rather a fancy sort of hat with a coloured little feather stuck at the side … she had brown shoes and …’ He broke off again, and said in an anxious tone: ‘Inspector, I hope ye realize that a man in my position can’t afford to be mixed up in any sort of scandal. It’s very important that this should be handled with discretion and—’
‘Exactly, Sir Donald. That’s why it is equally important that we should know the whole truth,’ replied Lathom imperturbably. ‘Now, Sir Donald, how long have you really known this girl?’
‘I’ve told ye, she’s a very old friend of the family. My wife has known her since she—’
‘I said the whole truth,’ interrupted Lathom with surprising force. They glared at each other for some seconds. Then Sir Donald sank back in his chair.
‘Just over a fortnight,’ he admitted in a lifeless tone.
‘That’s better,’ said Lathom. ‘Now we’re beginning to get down to facts. And the next fact I want from you is the young lady’s name – or at least the name you know her by.’
Sir Donald Angus looked at his questioners for a moment, hesitated, licked his lips again, then said quietly:
‘Her name is Beaumont – Lauren Beaumont.’
CHAPTER V
The Girl Who Knew too Much
Lathom was about to continue with another question, but Wyatt suddenly stepped forward and said quietly:
‘That’s rather an unusual name, Sir Donald.’
‘Yes …’ nodded the little man. ‘Have you ever heard it before, Mr Wyatt?’ he demanded somewhat anxiously.
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p; ‘If you’re wondering whether Miss Beaumont has a police record, the inspector will get that looked up for you in a few minutes. What I’m concerned with is her appearance. You say she was a blonde … about five feet two?’
‘She might have been a shade more.’
‘Would you say she was well spoken?’
‘Well, she had a sort of slight American accent – like you hear on the films.’
Wyatt frowned thoughtfully. This description of Lauren Beaumont tallied in no respect with that of the woman giving that name who had seen Doctor Fraser. In view of what had happened to Barbara Willis and Mildred Gillow, it certainly looked as if she was in considerable danger. Wyatt decided to try a new line of questioning.
‘I take it you and the lady have been around quite a bit this week, Sir Donald. Shows and night clubs and all that.’
Angus hesitated.
‘Well, we went to one or two places in a modest, quiet sort of way,’ he replied uneasily. ‘I don’t want anybody to get the impression that we’ve been painting the town red.’
‘Where did you go last night, for instance?’
Sir Donald plainly did not relish the question.
‘It wasn’t much of a place,’ he said deprecatingly. ‘Quite respectable, of course. I was told they give you a good meal there, so we went on from the theatre …’
‘Can’t you remember the name?’ said Wyatt pointedly.
‘Aye, let me see now, it was called the Madrid.’
‘The Madrid!’ repeated Lathom in some surprise.
‘Do you know it, Inspector?’ asked Angus cautiously.
Lathom grunted. He had a plain-clothes man visiting there most nights, but he saw no reason to inform Sir Donald of the fact.
‘It was Lauren’s idea,’ went on Angus, as if to justify himself. ‘I had never been there before, and of course I’d no idea what sort of place it was. I think she goes there occasionally – she assured me it was all above board. Though I must say I didn’t think much of the food.’
‘What time did you get there?’
‘Just about ten – and we left soon after midnight.’
‘Did you see anyone you knew?’
‘Of course not. I told you I’d never been there before.’
‘What about Miss Beaumont?’
‘She seemed to know one or two people – sort of casual acquaintances. There was the fellow who owns the place …’
‘Charles Luigi?’ prompted Lathom.
‘That’s the man. He came over to our table once or twice and had a little chat.’
‘What about?’
‘Oh, the usual nonsense,’ said Angus, somewhat irritated. ‘I couldn’t stand the fellow. He seemed to be laughing at me all the time, as if he had some private joke.’
The recollection obviously stirred up a considerable amount of annoyance, and Angus went on abruptly: ‘What the devil’s the good of talking about last night? It’s today that worries me.’
Perivale, who had been jotting down one or two notes on his pad, looked up and said quietly:
‘At the moment we should be glad if you would confine yourself to answering our questions, Sir Donald.’
But Angus, obviously a man of action, was chafing with impatience at this delay. He had expected that as soon as Sir James had heard his story, there would be a spate of brusque orders, radio messages and Flying Squad cars rushing in all directions. All Sir James was doing at the moment was tracing an elaborate design on his blotter.
‘What am I going to do, man? You must understand my position, Sir James!’ insisted Angus with some heat.
Perivale shrugged his broad shoulders and flung down his pencil.
‘There’s only one thing you can do, Sir Donald – and that is wait. Go back to your hotel and wait till this “Mr Rossiter” gets in touch with you again, and the moment he does so, telephone us immediately.’
‘Is that all ye’ve got to say?’ demanded Angus heatedly. ‘Is that the only advice the head of New Scotland Yard can offer?’
‘I don’t happen to be the head of the Yard, Sir Donald,’ retorted Sir James, faintly amused, ‘but I’m sure he’d give you exactly the same instructions. If you don’t follow them I won’t answer for the consequences. The moment you hear from “Mr Rossiter”, get in touch with Inspector Lathom. Meanwhile, we’ll circulate a description of the girl. Perhaps you’ll be able to recollect a few more details if you go down to Inspector Lathom’s office and talk it over quietly with him.’
Perivale nodded to Lathom, who went over and opened the door for Sir Donald. When they had gone, Sir James turned to Wyatt.
‘Well, what do you make of that?’
Wyatt put down the card he had been examining through a small pocket magnifying glass.
‘If Sir Donald was telling the truth,’ he murmured, ‘then it’s obvious that our friend “Mr Rossiter” isn’t a mental case after all. He’s in it for what he can get out of it.’
‘You think he’s going to blackmail Angus … yes, I suppose he must be,’ mused Perivale. ‘He knows Angus is a wealthy man, apparently with a weakness for the opposite sex, and he’s going to cash in on it. But I still think there must be more to it than that, Wyatt. After all, we still have to explain Barbara Willis and Mildred Gillow.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Wyatt. ‘You are trying to tell me that this “Mr Rossiter” is a gentleman with quite a number of interests.’
‘It’s my opinion,’ averred Perivale slowly, ‘that he is the leader of a highly developed organization. I should imagine he has a hold over quite a number of influential persons, and he uses it without scruple.’
He was about to develop his theory further, but was interrupted by the buzz of the telephone. The call apparently came from one of his colleagues, but Wyatt could not gather exactly what it concerned until Perivale cradled the receiver and said:
‘This is a curious coincidence, Wyatt. You remember asking us to trace the number of the car that tried to force that fellow over the bridge at Shorecombe?’
Wyatt nodded.
‘I put the boys on to it right away,’ said Perivale, ‘and it seems that the car belongs to the man Sir Donald just mentioned – Charles Luigi, of the Madrid Club.’
‘Very interesting,’ said Wyatt thoughtfully. ‘I’ve often wondered if Mr Luigi was on the level …’
‘You know him?’
‘Not very well.’
‘What sort of place is the Madrid?’ asked Perivale curiously.
‘Oh, the usual night club-cum-restaurant. Perhaps a little more elaborate and expensive than the majority. They often put on quite a good floor show, and their dance hostesses are not quite so friendly as some!’
‘And what do you know about Luigi?’
‘He’s rather a curious mixture. Foreign, of course – half Rumanian I believe. A pretty shrewd bird, taken all round.’
‘Is he likely to be mixed up in this business?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘You don’t think he’s “Mr Rossiter”?’
‘I don’t know,’ smiled Wyatt, ‘but I’ll make a point of asking him.’
Sir James grunted and opened a drawer in his desk, from which he extracted a small bunch of keys.
‘We’d like to have you handy on this job,’ he explained as he passed them over.
Wyatt looked at the ivory tag on the ring; it had 17 Cumnor Mansions printed on it in block lettering. He knew this was one of the three flats reserved by the Yard for special visitors of all classes, varying from foreign police chiefs to men in fear of their lives, who had to be kept under special observation.
‘It’s going to make things a bit difficult down at the farm,’ he said with a worried frown. ‘I’ll have to see if we can get help there.’
‘The sooner you’re through with this case, the sooner you can get back to your turnips,’ grinned Sir James.
Wyatt smiled, picked up his stick, and went off to meet Sally for lunch, over whi
ch they planned for Fred to run the holding in their absence, with occasional voluntary help when available from the Agricultural Committee.
After lunch Wyatt went back to the Yard to see if there had been any further developments. The photos of the fingerprints in Tyson’s cottage had arrived, and were almost entirely those of the dead man, the exception being those on a tumbler in the living-room cupboard. These were not in the Yard records. He was discussing the various angles of the case and possible lines of investigation with Lathom, and did not notice how quickly the time was passing, until he suddenly realized it was seven o’clock. He remembered that he had arranged to meet Sally for dinner, and it suddenly occurred to him that here was an opportunity to take a quick survey of the Madrid Club. So he telephoned Sally, arranging to meet her there at eight.
Sally had been having a busy time settling in at the flat and had to take a taxi, as she was late for dinner. She found a cab waiting just along the road, and gave the driver the address of the Madrid Club, then rather anxiously opened her bag to see if she had any small change, for she hated having to ask taxi-drivers to change a pound note.
When she looked up again, she was suddenly aware that the cab was not moving in the right direction, but was proceeding at a lively pace through the back streets of Soho. She pulled back the partition at once and called to the driver, noticing for the first time that he was a shabby young man in the late twenties, with a cloth cap and scarf.
‘This isn’t the way to the Madrid Club!’ cried Sally. ‘You must have taken the wrong turn out of—’
‘I know what I’m doin’, lady!’ he snarled. ‘You keep that ruddy window shut!’ And he slammed the glass partition. Sally pulled it open immediately.
‘How dare you speak to me like that! Stop this cab at once!’ she ordered.
‘Sit down!’ he snapped.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded in complete bewilderment.
‘You’ll find out. Now, keep that ruddy window closed and your trap shut, or there’ll be trouble.’
Sally fumbled in her bag.
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