Design For Murder

by Francis Durbridge

‘All right, driver, if you want trouble,’ she said, ‘here it is.’ As she spoke the end of the barrel of a neat little .22 pressed into the back of his neck.

  ‘Sit still and keep driving,’ she ordered, her voice much steadier now. ‘It’s only a small revolver, but it’s deadly at this range.’

  He half-turned in his seat, and saw she was not joking.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Stop acting like Humphrey Bogart, and take me to the Madrid!’ she said, pressing the revolver more firmly into his none-too-clean scarf.

  As luck would have it, when they got there, Wyatt was standing in the vestibule talking to Inspector Lathom. Sally flung open the taxi door and beckoned to them frantically, so that they came running up. She explained the situation in a couple of terse sentences, and Lathom took command at once.

  ‘Leave this to me, Mrs Wyatt,’ he said, then turned to the driver.

  ‘All right, you – drive round to Savile Row station,’ he ordered, jumping into the cab. ‘I’ll tell you more later, Wyatt,’ he promised as they moved off.

  Wyatt placed a protective arm on Sally’s shoulder, and noticed that she was still trembling a little.

  ‘Why should he want to kidnap me?’ she said in a puzzled tone.

  ‘It may not have been you ’specially – he may have been on the look-out for any well-dressed woman,’ Wyatt reminded her, ‘Anyhow, we can leave it to Lathom for the time being. They’ll hold the man overnight, and if he hasn’t talked, I’ll go and see him myself in the morning. I’m damned glad you had that gun with you, Sally. You don’t usually carry one round. What made you?’

  ‘I don’t quite know. I think maybe it was something in your voice when you mentioned the Madrid on the telephone. I got the impression you were up to something, and I knew you weren’t carrying your own gun, so I thought …’

  ‘Come and have a drink,’ he said, patting her shoulder. ‘You’ve certainly earned it.’

  He led the way through a small alcove and into a circular bar with ebony-black walls and chairs upholstered in vermilion.

  ‘You seem to know your way around this establishment,’ she commented, after he had given the order.

  ‘Some people never forget a face: I never forget a night club.’

  ‘There’s no accounting for tastes – or talents,’ said Sally with a tiny shrug.

  As they were sipping their drinks, Sally suddenly nudged her husband.

  ‘Darling – here’s Maurice Knight,’ she whispered.

  Knight was advancing on them, a half-smile on his handsome features.

  ‘I didn’t expect to find you two here,’ he said after they had exchanged greetings.

  ‘If it comes to that, I didn’t expect to see you either, Mr Knight.’ The young man laughed, then became rather more serious.

  ‘I wonder if, by any chance, we are both here for the same reason,’ he murmured.

  ‘I should rather doubt that,’ said Wyatt, ‘because I’m here simply on account of my wife. I’d promised her an evening out on our first day back in Town.’

  Knight looked round cautiously to make sure that they were not overheard.

  ‘I came here because I found out about the car, Mr Wyatt,’ he confided in low tones. ‘You remember the car that tried to force me over that bridge?’

  ‘Of course … you got the number, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes – and what’s more, I’ve traced it!’ announced Knight with considerable satisfaction.

  ‘Did you, by Jove,’ exclaimed Wyatt.

  ‘You’re improving as an amateur detective, Mr Knight,’ smiled Sally.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got results this time, Mrs Wyatt. That car belongs to Charles Luigi, the man who owns this club.’

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ murmured Wyatt. ‘Have you seen Luigi?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just had a chat to him. He’s got some story about the car being laid up for over a fortnight at the garage.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s his word against the evidence of my own eyes. I saw a car answering to the description of Luigi’s, with the same number, trying to force me off the road. If he had anything to do with that affair, is it likely that he would admit it?’

  ‘You seem to have the main qualification for a detective, Mr Knight – a suspicious nature,’ said Sally pleasantly. ‘In the first place you insisted that Tyson was mixed up in this business …’

  ‘And I still think so,’ interrupted Knight. ‘If you want my frank opinion, I think that Tyson was well paid to—’

  ‘Tyson happens to be dead,’ said Wyatt somewhat abruptly.

  ‘Dead!’ repeated Knight in amazement.

  ‘He was shot yesterday morning, soon after Mrs Wyatt and I arrived at the cottage.’

  ‘Then you saw who shot him?’

  ‘We did not. The police seem fairly certain that it’s suicide. But for the fact that “Mr Rossiter” left his compliments, I might be inclined to that view myself.’

  ‘You mean “Mr Rossiter” left a card?’

  ‘The usual message in red ink.’

  Knight looked bewildered.

  ‘Are you quite sure there was no one in the cottage when you got there?’

  ‘I searched it myself.’

  The young man shook his head helplessly.

  ‘This affair seems to get more and more involved,’ he said rather sadly. ‘I think I’ll go and have some food; I haven’t eaten much today. I’ll be in there if there’s anything else to discuss.’ He indicated the room at the far end of the bar. Wyatt and Sally slowly finished their drinks, and were just debating whether to indulge in another when a dapper little man wearing evening dress came in and snapped his fingers to attract the barman’s attention.

  He was moving away again when he caught sight of Wyatt. He came over to them at once.

  ‘Well, well, Mr Wyatt. It’s a long time since you visited the Madrid.’ The little man had a foreign accent.

  ‘I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about us,’ he went on, flashing an artificial smile at Sally.

  ‘Night clubs aren’t much in my line, Luigi,’ said Wyatt.

  ‘Then why do you come this evening?’

  ‘Just to see you,’ said Wyatt coolly.

  Luigi favoured him with a little bow.

  ‘I am honoured! I did not think I could attract the attention of Mr, Wyatt, the famous flying ace. Am I to be introduced to your friend?’

  Wyatt smiled.

  ‘Ex-flying ace,’ he said, ‘and this happens to be my wife – Sally, this is Charles Luigi.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Luigi apologized, ‘but gentlemen do not always bring their wives to the Madrid. If I had known you were paying us a visit, Mrs Wyatt, I would have had a little present for you … maybe some pure silk stockings.’

  ‘Is that another of your sidelines, Luigi?’ smiled Wyatt. But Luigi refused to be drawn.

  ‘I hear you’ve been having a chat to Maurice Knight,’ went on Wyatt, watching Luigi shrewdly.

  At first he did not appear to know the name, then he nodded: ‘Ah, yes, you mean that young fellow who was asking me a lot of silly questions about my car. A very inquisitive type, Mr Wyatt. I hope he isn’t a friend of yours.’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be from Scotland Yard, by any chance?’ persisted Luigi.

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ grinned Wyatt. ‘I should have thought you’d have known him well. He looks the type who would spend a lot of time in night clubs. He was engaged to Barbara Willis.’

  ‘That was the girl who disappeared, Mr Luigi,’ put in Sally.

  ‘Ah yes, I have been reading about that. Something to do with this mysterious “Mr Rossiter”, eh, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that,’ said Wyatt casually. The little man shrugged.

  ‘Was that what you came specially to ask me, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ said W
yatt. ‘I looked in because I thought you might be able to tip me off about a girl named Lauren Beaumont.’

  Luigi repeated the name thoughtfully, then slowly shook his head.

  ‘I know of no one with that name,’ he replied.

  ‘That’s rather strange,’ said Wyatt quietly. ‘She had dinner here last night, Luigi, and you spoke to her.’

  ‘I speak to all my guests,’ replied Luigi imperturbably, ‘but I do not necessarily know their names. What was she like?’

  ‘She was a blonde, about five feet two. She was here with Sir Donald Angus, the millionaire.’

  ‘Would you say she was attractive?’

  ‘I should imagine so – or she wouldn’t be here alone with a married man.’

  Luigi hesitated a moment, then shook his head.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said firmly, ‘I don’t remember the girl.’

  There was rather an awkward pause, then Wyatt said lightly: ‘Oh, well, if that’s your story, Luigi, I hope you’ll be able to stick to it when Inspector Lathom looks in.’

  ‘What has Lathom to do with Lauren Beaumont?’ asked Luigi sharply.

  ‘We happen to be looking for her, that’s all.’

  ‘You mean she has disappeared?’

  ‘We wouldn’t be looking for her otherwise.’

  ‘But I read in the papers that Inspector Lathom was in charge of the “Mr Rossiter” case,’ said Luigi with a little frown puckering his smooth forehead.

  ‘The papers were quite correct,’ said Wyatt. ‘This is the “Rossiter” case.’

  Luigi nodded his head several times, as if he were slowly taking in this information.

  At last he leaned over and spoke confidentially to Wyatt.

  ‘Tell me, my friend, are you investigating this “Rossiter” affair?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if you are, then as an old friend I should like to give you a word of advice.’

  Luigi was smiling expansively.

  ‘Well?’ said Wyatt.

  ‘Don’t stick your neck out, my friend! Don’t get involved in matters which do not concern you. It might be dangerous.’

  Wyatt leaned back in his seat and regarded Luigi thoughtfully.

  ‘Is that a warning, Luigi?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you what it is – just a nice piece of friendly advice.’

  Wyatt took out his cigarette-case, and offered one to Sally and then to Luigi, who refused. Wyatt lighted Sally’s cigarette, then said in an even tone:

  ‘Luigi, I suppose you wouldn’t be “Mr Rossiter”, by any chance?’

  He watched Luigi carefully as he spoke, to see if he showed the slightest reaction. But the little man only seemed amused at the idea.

  ‘Why do you waste your time at Scotland Yard, my friend, when you have such an exquisite sense of humour?’ He turned to Sally. ‘I envy you your married life – there must be very few dull moments when Mr Wyatt is around.’

  He was about to continue in this vein when one of his assistants came up and whispered that he was wanted on the telephone, and he excused himself.

  The soft strains of a small dance band came floating in from the supper room, waiters were moving around busily, and the bar was beginning to fill up.

  ‘Well, what do you think of our Mr Luigi?’ asked Wyatt.

  ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him!’ retorted Sally.

  ‘Yes, he’s a wily bird and no mistake,’ mused Wyatt. ‘I’m always meaning to ask at the Yard if they have anything against him in the files.’

  Sally had now recovered from the shock of her experience in the taxi, and was beginning to feel hungry, so they went down into the dining-room, where the head-waiter conducted them to a table on the edge of the tiny dance floor. Wyatt would have preferred somewhere less conspicuous, but it was the only table vacant at that moment.

  As they sat down a dance ended, and Sally noticed a small group of girls returning to a table near the band. They were obviously dance hostesses, very carefully chosen for their contrasting styles. There was a willowy brunette, a graceful blonde, a petite redhead, and a platinum blonde whose hair appeared to be almost silver when she stepped into the bright lighting.

  After Wyatt had ordered their meal, Sally sat watching the girls until the next number started. They were joined by a tall, fair-haired girl, who carried herself with assurance. She sat down and looked around the room, and her eye caught Sally’s almost at once. As soon as the music started, the blonde girl came over towards them. She was wearing a striking green and silver dress, and her poise and air of sophistication would have made many women envious. She stopped at their table, and said in a low, husky voice:

  ‘Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Wyatt, rising. ‘I’ll get another chair.’ He found one at once, and brought it over.

  ‘I mustn’t stay long – it isn’t safe,’ she said.

  Wyatt tried to recall where he had seen her before, but was unable to do so.

  ‘Did you come here to try to find Lauren Beaumont?’

  ‘What do you know about Lauren Beaumont?’ demanded Wyatt, somewhat surprised.

  She was about to speak when a waiter arrived. When the waiter had gone she said:

  ‘Lauren Beaumont was here last night – she was with a thick-set little man – a Scotsman, I think …’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Wyatt encouragingly. ‘What else do you know about her?’

  ‘She’s disappeared, hasn’t she?’

  The girl looked round furtively as she spoke, obviously anxious not to be overheard, though this was extremely unlikely, as conversation was none too easy amidst the music and the chatter of the dancers. Wyatt gave a quick nod in reply to her question, but did not speak.

  ‘I knew she would!’ said the girl tensely. ‘Listen, Mr Wyatt, we can’t talk here – my name is Coral Salter – I’m a dance hostess here, and I happen to have found out—’

  She broke off again as the waiter came to the table. Wyatt dismissed him as quickly as possible, and turned to Coral Salter again.

  ‘You were about to say you’ve found out something, Miss Salter. Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because I swore I’d get even with that rotter!’ There was a vicious note in her voice. ‘Anyhow, we can’t talk here. Could you meet me in my flat in about an hour? The cabaret comes on then, and I can slip out …’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed.

  ‘I’ll tell you everything I know … I reckon I’ll level up some old scores …’

  ‘You didn’t tell me the address,’ Wyatt reminded her, noticing that Charles Luigi was making his way over to their table. The girl noticed it too.

  ‘I’ll give it to the cloakroom attendant – pick it up on your way out, Mrs Wyatt,’ she concluded hastily, and a second later Luigi was standing at her elbow.

  ‘What is this – a family party?’ he began on a note of bonhomie. ‘I didn’t know you had met Mr and Mrs Wyatt, Coral.’

  ‘They asked me to have a drink,’ she explained with a touch of defiance.

  ‘That was very kind of them, my dear. But I am sure you have a number of clients waiting. I like to see those pretty legs of yours on the dance floor.’

  Coral Salter rose rather sulkily, nodded to Wyatt and Sally, and went off to the table by the band.

  Luigi turned to Wyatt with a helpless gesture.

  ‘Tut! Tut! These young ladies – they’re too temperamental for words.’

  Sally smiled understandingly and complimented him upon the band. After chatting with them for a minute or two, he excused himself and went off to greet a small party that was just coming in.

  Sally watched Coral Salter dancing.

  ‘That girl knows something; I’m pretty sure of that,’ she told her husband. ‘What are we going to do, darling?’

  ‘Finish dinner first,’ he decided. ‘Nothing like a solid foundation if there’s anything unpleasant to be tackle
d.’

  ‘We’ll still have some time to wait before she’s free.’

  ‘H’m,’ murmured Wyatt, eyeing the very limited floor space somewhat dubiously. ‘I suppose we could dance. It’s supposed to be wonderful exercise, even for old crocks like me.’

  By the time they had finished dinner the floor was even more crowded, but they made some pretence of dancing a waltz and a couple of fox-trots.

  Sally was glad when Wyatt at last decided it was time to be moving, for she did not like the atmosphere of the Madrid. She couldn’t help feeling that it was liable to be raided at any moment.

  In the cloakroom, she asked the girl rather tentatively if Coral Salter had left her any message, and was given a somewhat grubby envelope. She opened it when they were outside in the taxi. It contained a latchkey and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled in pencil the address: 14 Sutton Mansions, Milton Rd., St John’s Wood.

  They found the flat was one of a recently erected block, standing well back from the road. The flat they sought was on the second floor, and both the hallway and stairs were deserted when they went up.

  ‘I wonder what her idea was in giving you the key,’ mused Wyatt, as they mounted the stairs.

  ‘She may have anticipated having a bit of trouble in getting away, and didn’t want us to be left standing on the stairs.’

  ‘H’m … well, it was a good idea of hers to come back here separately, anyhow.’

  He opened the flat door, and they went into a thickly carpeted hallway. Wyatt fumbled for the light switch, and they found their way through a half-open door into a very expensively furnished lounge.

  ‘By Jove! This is certainly home sweet home, and no mistake,’ said Wyatt, appraising a mahogany cocktail cabinet that must have cost at least a hundred pounds. Sally went over to the window and drew the heavy velvet curtains.

  ‘I wonder how Coral Salter can afford a flat like this?’ she speculated.

  ‘Sally, this is hardly the time and place to start examining the facts of life,’ smiled Wyatt.

  ‘All the same, I shouldn’t have thought she earned a great deal in that job,’ murmured Sally.

  ‘My dear Sally,’ said her husband patiently, ‘Coral Salter is an extremely beautiful girl. Attractive girls have many peculiar ways of their own of augmenting their incomes. Didn’t you discover that when you were at the Yard?’