The little man’s hands clutched frantically at his shabby cap.
‘Blimey! You don’t think I ’ad anything to do wi’ any o’ them jobs …’ he stuttered.
‘I don’t, Mr Taylor,’ replied Wyatt indifferently. ‘But I’m just telling you that Inspector Lathom does!’
The little driver looked round the room like a cornered animal.
‘I swear I got nothing to do with this “Rossiter” business,’ he repeated hoarsely.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ nodded Wyatt. ‘Providing you’ll take my word that I’ll treat your story with confidence. Now, what happened last night?’
Taylor swallowed hard, then said in a low voice:
‘I was paid fifty quid and told to pick up Mrs Wyatt an’ take ’er to an address in the East End.’
‘Who paid you the money?’ demanded Wyatt.
‘I dunno … and that’s the truth, guv’nor.’
Wyatt was quite sure that he was lying, but he was determined to be patient.
‘You know, Mr Taylor, the position is really quite simple,’ he said reasonably. ‘You’ve got to make a decision, and it’s entirely up to you. I’m certainly not going to influence you one way or the other. But this is the point: if you don’t tell me what really happened yesterday, there’s a sporting chance that Inspector Lathom might convince me, and a whole lot of other people, that you’re one of the leading lights in this “Rossiter” business. Maybe you don’t know that it’s already involved four murders to date. On the other hand, if you do come clean with me, then I don’t doubt that I can convince Inspector Lathom, and others, that you have no connection with “Mr Rossiter”.’
Taylor seemed to hesitate for several seconds, obviously weighing up the pros and cons of the situation.
‘Could I have a cigarette now, guv’nor?’ he said eventually. Wyatt passed over his case, and with his other hand flicked open his lighter. Taylor inhaled deeply several times, then expelled a long stream of smoke.
‘It was like this, guv’nor,’ he began in a rather more convincing manner. ‘I park my car at Layman’s Garage, the other side o’ Vauxhall Bridge, and I was fillin’ up there yesterday mornin’ when I saw a bloke watchin’ me. ’E was a funny-lookin’ customer – swarthy sort of bloke, gettin’ on for fifty I should think. Just as I was gettin’ ready to move orf, he comes over and makes me a proposition … fifty quid to pick up Mrs Wyatt and take ’er to an address down East. Made out it was a sort o’ practical joke, though I ’ad me suspicions all along.’
‘What was the address?’ interposed Wyatt.
‘’E said it was a vet’s place – a sort of shop – the address was 28 Coster Row, Shadwell Basin.’
Wyatt hastily scrawled it on the back of an envelope.
‘Had you ever been there before?’
Taylor shook his head.
‘Don’t often go down that way. They ain’t got much use for taxis there as a rule.’
‘And what about this man who gave you the money – had you ever seen him before?’
‘Never set eyes on the bloke. Jolly sort of feller in a way. Foreign, of course.’
‘How tall?’
‘About five-feet-eight, I should think.’
‘You’d be able to recognize him again, of course.’
‘Blimey, not arf! I could pick ’im out of a regiment.’
Wyatt stubbed out his cigarette. He felt reasonably certain that Taylor was telling the truth.
‘Look here, Taylor,’ he said amiably, ‘I’m going to take a chance and get Sir James to release you. Mrs Wyatt won’t be bringing any charge against you, if you’ll just do one little thing for me.’
‘OK, Mr Wyatt,’ said the little man eagerly. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I want you to pick me up at my flat this evening at eight o’clock and take me to the Madrid – you know, where my wife directed you last night.’
‘I know it, guv’nor. Is that all?’
‘Not quite,’ said Wyatt deliberately. ‘When we get there, I shall want you to come in with me and have a look at the proprietor, a man named Charles Luigi …’
Wyatt was just knotting his tie when the bedroom door opened and Sally came in.
‘Mr Knight’s outside,’ she said. ‘He seems to be het up about something. From what I can gather, Inspector Lathom has been putting him through a mild form of third degree.’
Wyatt peered at himself in the mirror, adjusted the tie to his satisfaction, picked up his stick and went into the lounge.
Maurice Knight was pacing to and fro.
‘Hello, Mr Knight, what’s the trouble?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Afraid I haven’t much time – I’ve a taxi ordered for eight.’
Knight seemed to have some difficulty in controlling his temper. His hair was unruly, his tie a little on one side, and his coat unbuttoned.
‘Mr Wyatt, did you know they were going to send for me?’ he demanded flatly, facing Wyatt as he came through the door.
‘Who were going to send for you?’
‘Scotland Yard! I’ve been there this afternoon. They’ve been hurling questions at me for two hours. Good heavens, anyone would think that I was a suspicious character—’
‘But you are a suspicious character, Mr Knight,’ replied Wyatt pleasantly. ‘Would you like a drink?’
He went over to the cocktail cabinet.
‘What did you say?’ demanded Knight.
‘I said would you like a drink?’
‘Wyatt, let’s put our cards on the table,’ said Knight abruptly. ‘Why was I forced to visit Scotland Yard this afternoon? Why do you consider me a suspicious character?’
Wyatt handed him a glass in which there was a generous measure of whisky.
‘Drink that first; then I’ll tell you.’
Knight took a long drink.
‘Now,’ said Wyatt. ‘In the first place, you were not forced to visit Scotland Yard: you were invited to do so. Secondly, I did not say I considered you a suspicious character: I say that you are a suspicious character. Would you like to know why?’
‘I should be extremely grateful if you would tell me why,’ replied Knight, not without some bitterness.
‘All right then …’ Wyatt took a sip at his own glass. ‘The first girl to be murdered by “Mr Rossiter” was your own fiancée, Barbara Willis. Now that, in itself, is quite an interesting point, Mr Knight. Then we must add to it the fact that when Tyson committed suicide, or was murdered, you were in the vicinity. You were actually staying at Teignmouth.’
Knight slumped into an armchair and gazed moodily out of the window, but did not speak, so Wyatt went on in a level tone:
‘Last night, a professional dancer named Coral Salter was murdered. Although the body was discovered in a flat at Sutton Mansions, the police are fairly certain that she was murdered at the Madrid Club. You see the connection?’
‘Yes,’ said Knight reluctantly, ‘I was at the Madrid last night. It was quite a coincidence, of course.’
‘I have only your word for that,’ said Wyatt smoothly.
‘But you know why I went there – to see Luigi about the car.’
Wyatt nodded.
‘You may have had a good reason for going to the Madrid, but the fact remains that you went, and were obviously there when the girl was murdered. I happened to catch sight of you myself about that time.’
Knight drained his glass and set it down on a side table. Then he produced a cigarette-case, offered Wyatt a cigarette and took one himself.
‘I’m sorry I was rude just now,’ he apologized. ‘I’ve been rather upset this afternoon in one way or another. Though it’s a matter of complete indifference to me what you or Scotland Yard or anyone else thinks about me.’
There was a note of defiance in his voice now, and he drew upon his cigarette before continuing.
‘When Barbara was murdered, I made up my mind to investigate this case. It wasn’t that I fancied myself as an amateur detective; I’m well aw
are I’m not cut out for that sort of thing. But I made up my mind that if Scotland Yard didn’t get this “Mr Rossiter” by orthodox methods, then, by jove, I’d try the unorthodox. And I shall keep on trying, Mr Wyatt, whether you or Sir James or the Big Five like it or not!’
Wyatt smiled.
‘Well, that seems fair enough, Mr Knight. But do you realize the risks you’re running?’
Before Knight could reply, Sally came in to say that Wyatt’s taxi had just turned the corner.
Wyatt asked his visitor if he could drop him anywhere on the way to the Madrid, and his visitor said he was due at a party in Bond Street. Knight showed some curiosity as to Wyatt’s reasons for revisiting the Madrid, but did not pry too obviously into the matter. Wyatt advised Sally not to wait up for him, picked up his coat and went out with Knight.
‘Shall we walk down?’ asked the visitor.
‘No, we may as well use the lift,’ said Wyatt, pressing the button.
There was a soft whirring, and presently the lift slid gently into view. As the light inside was switched off, it was not until Wyatt had his hand on the gate that he realized it was occupied.
In the far corner a figure of a man had slumped on to his knees, and as the lift came to a standstill with a slight jerk, he toppled over and lay full length on the floor.
Wyatt wrenched the gate open, then switched on the light. He immediately caught the gleam of metal, and saw the long knife between the man’s shoulder blades. He bent down and turned the man’s face towards him, gave a low whistle of recognition.
‘Who is it? Do you know him?’ Knight queried anxiously.
‘Yes – it’s a taxi driver named Victor Taylor. He was going to take me to the Madrid.’
‘Is he dead?’
Wyatt made a quick examination, then slowly nodded.
‘I’m afraid so …’
Wyatt left the gates open so that the lift could not be summoned from any other floor, then rushed downstairs, leaving Knight on guard. The hall of the flats was quite deserted, and Wyatt had some difficulty in finding the head porter. The porter swore that he had seen no visitors. There was nothing for it but to go back upstairs and telephone Scotland Yard.
He found Inspector Lathom in his office and briefly related the facts to him.
‘Well, well, murder on your own doorstep now, eh, Mr Wyatt?’ he commented, and Wyatt thought he could detect a note of smugness in his tone. However, Lathom promised to come round immediately and bring a police surgeon and ambulance.
When he arrived he also had Sir James Perivale and a sergeant with the ‘murder bag’, who immediately busied himself taking photos of the body and any likely fingerprints.
All this time Sally had remained in her bedroom, in a state of considerable agitation. Wyatt forbade her to leave the flat.
However, after Lathom and his assistants had left, Sir James asked Wyatt if he could have a word with Sally, and they went into the lounge.
‘Now, Sally, I take it you’ve a rough idea what’s happened,’ began Sir James.
‘Well, Lionel told me the taxi driver had met with an accident, then I heard him on the phone to Inspector Lathom.’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Perivale. ‘Now, there’s just one little point I want to check up with you. I understand that Wyatt and Mr Knight were here in the lounge when you came in and said the taxi had arrived.’
‘That’s right, Sir James,’ nodded Sally. ‘I happened to be crossing the hall and caught sight of the taxi driving up.’
‘Ah, you saw the taxi,’ agreed Perivale. ‘But did you see Taylor?’
‘I’m afraid I couldn’t swear to that, I didn’t take particular notice of the driver.’
Wyatt leaned his elbows on the radiogram and frowned thoughtfully.
‘It’s quite obvious that Taylor wasn’t driving,’ he declared. ‘Someone else brought him here and dumped him in the lift.’
Sir James rubbed his chin.
‘You say you dashed downstairs as soon as you found the body?’
‘And didn’t see a soul. Of course, I didn’t search everywhere. Somebody might have been hiding. But I brought out Jerrams, the porter, and he hasn’t seen anyone go out since, apart from Knight and your people.’
‘You looked in the cab, I take it?’
‘Just a quick glance,’ nodded Wyatt. ‘It seemed to me quite empty: your man has examined it pretty thoroughly.’
Perivale sat back in his chair and tried to piece the evidence together. This latest development seemed to point directly to Luigi. Wyatt had intended to take Taylor to the Madrid for the purpose of identifying Luigi as the man who had paid him to kidnap Sally.
Perivale’s reflections were cut short by the ringing of the telephone. Wyatt answered it and heard the distinctive voice of Doctor Fraser.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Wyatt,’ she said, ‘but they gave me your number at Scotland Yard, and I’m in something of a quandary. Maybe it’s just my imagination making a mountain out of a molehill, but I can’t get the thing off my mind.’
‘Surely a psychiatrist should be able to cope with a little problem like that,’ said Wyatt.
‘It isn’t as easy as all that,’ she assured him. ‘You remember I told you about those mysterious cases, and how the girls disappeared …’
‘Yes,’ said Wyatt at once. ‘Are there any more developments?’
‘There’s just been a new one – about half an hour ago. I had a telephone call from a man who said he was Professor Reed. He told me that his daughter had been taken seriously ill, and that he had been recommended to me by his local practitioner, Doctor Stenman.’
‘You know Doctor Stenman?’
‘I do not, Mr Wyatt. And I have certainly never heard of Professor Reed. To be quite frank with you, Mr Wyatt, he didn’t sound very much like a professor.’
‘I see,’ said Wyatt. ‘So you’re highly suspicious about the whole business?’
‘I’ve been trying for some time to trace Doctor Stenman, both in the phone book and the Medical Directory, and I’m getting more and more suspicious.’
‘You sound a bit upset, Doctor.’
‘Wouldn’t you be upset, Mr Wyatt? In view of what I told you had happened before?’
‘All right,’ said Wyatt. ‘We’ll try to prevent it from happening again. I take it this Professor Reed gave you an address?’
‘Yes, that’s another thing. The address was – well – unusual, to say the least. It was 28 Coster Row, Shadwell Basin. Isn’t that in the East End?’
‘Just a minute,’ said Wyatt, fumbling in his pocket for an envelope on which he had scrawled the address Victor Taylor had given him. It was exactly the same.
‘Twenty-eight Coster Row …’ he repeated slowly. ‘Yes, it’s the East End all right.’
‘Well, what do you think I should do, Mr Wyatt? I mean, should I make the call? If there really is a girl who’s very ill …’
‘Leave it for tonight,’ said Wyatt. ‘If you’ll telephone me first thing in the morning, I’ll probably have something more definite for you then.’
‘Very well, Mr Wyatt. I’ll do that. Thanks a lot.’
Wyatt thoughtfully cradled the receiver. He was about to tell the others what had happened when Lathom came in to inform them that Sir Donald Angus was outside.
‘I thought you went back to the Yard, Lathom,’ said Sir James.
‘Yes, sir, he was waiting there, and I thought I’d better bring him back here. He’s had some rather important news.’
‘Bring him in,’ said Wyatt, and Lathom went out to return with Sir Donald, who looked a little whiter than usual. There was a strained expression in his eyes.
Wyatt noted all these signs, and was the more surprised to find Sir Donald inclined to be somewhat aggressively cheerful. His eye caught the whisky decanter and regarded it so longingly that Wyatt was impelled to ask him to have a drink.
‘That’s verra nice of you, Mr Wyatt. I don’t indulge much, but se
eing as this is rather a special occasion, I think, perhaps, just a small one …’
Perivale swung round in his chair.
‘Did you say a special occasion?’ he asked.
‘That’s right, Sir James. I don’t mind telling you this business has been a great strain on me, but it’s all over now, thank goodness.’
‘You mean you’ve heard from “Mr Rossiter”?’
The little Scotsman tossed down his drink.
‘No, and I won’t be hearing from him, either. It’s all over and done with now. The lassie’s turned up again. It was all a practical joke.’
‘Practical joke?’ stuttered Perivale.
‘Rather a queer sense of humour,’ said Wyatt quietly.
‘Perhaps you’ll explain yourself, Sir Donald,’ said Lathom.
Angus was making strenuous efforts to be hearty, but Wyatt noticed that the worried look was still in his eyes.
‘Has Lauren Beaumont come back?’ asked Sally.
‘Yes, she’s back, and she’s all right … quite safe and sound. That’s what I want to explain. It was all a practical joke. You see, she never really disappeared at all; she simply decided to pay a surprise visit to some old friends of hers.
‘You mean she walked out on you?’ demanded Perivale with some annoyance.
‘Aye, I suppose you could put it that way,’ replied Sir Donald, apparently unperturbed. ‘She’s a girl who acts a good deal on impulse.’
He switched on a smile that was as patently artificial as the teeth it displayed.
‘But what about the note?’ asked Sally. ‘And then there was the ear-ring.’
‘Ah, yes, I must tell you about that,’ said Angus with a noticeable effort. ‘You see, Lauren’s got rather a queer sense of humour – as Mr Wyatt said. She’d been reading in the papers about this mysterious “Mr Rossiter”, so she thought it would be rather a lark if she played a joke on me. She’s a girl who’s very fond of the limelight, ye understand,’ he added somewhat apologetically. ‘She’s always wanted to go on the stage, and she likes to dramatize her private life.’
Design For Murder Page 9
