Design For Murder

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘He’ll be in a pretty strong position if we don’t get a line on him fairly soon,’ agreed Wyatt, moving restlessly around the room. Sally went off to the kitchen to get the coffee, and her husband continued to roam around impatiently. He picked up the evening papers once or twice, then threw them down again. Then she heard him on the telephone, but he finished his conversation when she returned with the coffee.

  ‘Was that Sir James you were talking to?’ she asked.

  ‘It was. I was anxious to know what he’s done about Luigi.’

  ‘Didn’t he say he was issuing a warrant?’ asked Sally, pouring the coffee.

  ‘That’s right. He’s just got it made out – says he’ll serve it in about an hour’s time. So drink your coffee as quickly as possible, Sally, and we’ll get down there.’

  ‘You’re going to the Madrid tonight?’ she asked in some surprise.

  ‘Yes, I want to see Luigi before they serve that warrant. It’s rather important.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s “Mr Rossiter”, do you?’ asked Sally, rather anxiously. ‘Because if he is, I’m afraid there might be some trouble.’

  Wyatt patted her arm.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling; there won’t be any rough house at the Madrid. Luigi knows better than that.’

  He gulped down his strong, black coffee and waited somewhat impatiently for Sally to finish hers. He could not repress a feeling of excitement; Perivale had sounded somewhat tense in their brief conversation, and Wyatt had the impression that matters might well come to a head in the Rossiter affair before the night was out.

  ‘Get your hat on, and I’ll ring for the lift,’ he said as soon as Sally had finished her coffee. When she came out of the hall five minutes later he was chafing impatiently, for he had already summoned the lift twice, and other occupants of the flats had summoned it from his floor. However, when it returned they went down to the street, where Wyatt had left the car.

  Sally still seemed a trifle dubious about the expedition, but she made no comment. However, she felt carefully in her handbag to make sure that her tiny .22 was still there.

  As they moved along Hill Street, she suddenly turned to her husband and asked:

  ‘Lionel, why were you so surprised to see Hugo Linder when he came up in his car this evening?’

  ‘Did I look surprised?’

  ‘You certainly did! His headlamps caught you full face, and you were obviously pretty startled.’

  ‘Well,’ said Wyatt slowly, ‘I suppose it was understandable considering that Doctor Fraser had just told me on the telephone that Linder had been with her all the evening.’

  It was Sally’s turn to look surprised.

  ‘But I thought Doctor Fraser didn’t know Linder,’ she said. ‘That’s what she told us at Shorecombe.’

  ‘She’s apparently decided he’s worth knowing after all,’ he murmured, switching on the dashboard light to ascertain the time. Then he added quite casually: ‘By the way, you were right about the perfume. She does use Château Number Eight.’

  Sally caught her breath as she ranged over the possible implications of this development.

  ‘Do you think she went to see Reed tonight?’

  Wyatt shrugged.

  ‘She says she didn’t … but she’s already told us one lie, so we can only reserve our opinion.’

  Sally brooded over this for a little while.

  ‘I can’t think she’s as sinister as all that,’ she said at last. ‘In fact, she impressed me as being quite a nice sort of person.’

  ‘Maybe that was just her bedside manner,’ smiled Wyatt, manœuvring the car into a car park just round the corner from the Madrid Club.

  Business was apparently proceeding as usual at the club, for they could hear the throb of the dance orchestra as they entered the vestibule.

  ‘We may as well have supper while we’re here,’ Wyatt decided.

  He caught the head waiter’s attention, and they were shown to a table in a corner. As the waiter held the chairs for them Wyatt said:

  ‘Is Luigi here this evening?’

  ‘I think he is in his office, sir. He usually is about this time. It’s at the top of the balcony staircase.’

  Wyatt nodded and sat down while he gave the order.

  The waiter had just made a note of it when Sally, who had been looking round the dancers, caught sight of the bulky figure of Sir James Perivale in the outer lounge. She drew Wyatt’s attention to him as soon as the waiter had gone, and he rose at once.

  ‘I won’t be a minute, Sally,’ he promised, and went over to the door. Perivale was surprised to see him, as Wyatt had made no mention on the telephone that he intended to visit the Madrid. He had hoped to see Luigi before Perivale arrived on the scene, but the latter was ahead of schedule.

  After some discussion Sir James agreed to let Wyatt have a short talk with Luigi, and they arranged to meet at the table in the supper-room ten minutes later. Perivale passed the word to the superintendent who was with him and went off to join Sally.

  Just before he left him at the foot of the balcony stairs, Wyatt said:

  ‘By the way, have you got the whole place covered?’

  Perivale nodded.

  ‘I thought I saw one or two of your stalwarts on the dance floor,’ said Wyatt, somewhat amused. ‘You really should arrange for them to take dancing lessons, Sir James.’

  ‘I have a feeling Luigi might make a dash for it,’ said Perivale, ignoring Wyatt’s levity.

  ‘No, he’s much too shrewd for that,’ Wyatt assured him. ‘See you later.’

  He moved lightly up the stairs and knocked discreetly at a door marked “Private”.

  ‘Come in!’ called a voice that was unmistakably Luigi’s.

  It was an expensively furnished office, with an elaborate glass-topped desk, concealed lighting, and heavy green velvet curtains. One wall was covered with signed photos of cabaret stars who had appeared at the Madrid. Wyatt noticed a door in the opposite wall which looked as if it might lead to a fire-escape.

  Luigi was as affable as usual; he could not have appeared more charming if Wyatt had been his most regular client.

  ‘I did not expect to see you here, my friend – it is quite a pleasant surprise,’ he began, clasping his slim, well-manicured hands in a gesture of welcome. ‘How are you, Inspector?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ replied Wyatt blandly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Never better, my friend. Business is good just lately.’ He stooped and opened a drawer to bring out a large cigar box.

  ‘Try one of them, Mr Wyatt.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Wyatt. ‘I’m going down to supper shortly. I just wanted a word with you first.’

  Luigi indicated a chair with a lavish gesture.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Wyatt. What can I do for you?’

  Wyatt accepted the invitation, and sat looking round the office for a few seconds before he spoke.

  ‘You must have been here nine or ten years now, Luigi,’ he began in a conversational tone.

  ‘Nearly ten years.’

  ‘H’m … it’s a long life for a night club. You’ve done pretty well.’

  Luigi nodded and rubbed his hands together. Wyatt noticed that he was wearing two rings, one with a diamond and the other a ruby.

  ‘I hope you have not been sent here by the Ministry of Food, Mr Wyatt,’ Luigi was saying with the merest suggestion of an acid tone.

  ‘Oh, dear, no. I’m just a comparatively harmless copper, Luigi.’

  Luigi showed his even teeth as he switched on his expansive smile. ‘You will have your little joke, Mr Wyatt.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing particularly funny about the question I want to ask you,’ said Wyatt quietly.

  Luigi became more serious.

  ‘Ah, you mean about poor Coral Salter, of course. That was all most unfortunate.’

  ‘Unfortunate?’ queried Wyatt with a slight lift of the eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, indeed. She was a ver
y good dancer – extremely popular with the gentlemen.’

  ‘She was very unpopular with at least one gentleman – the fellow who killed her.’

  Luigi looked at Wyatt quizzically with a helpless little gesture.

  ‘It was all most unfortunate,’ he repeated, ‘but I am afraid Miss Salter was perhaps a little too generous with her favours, and not particular enough in the choice of her gentlemen friends. I am sorry I cannot throw any more light on the matter.’

  ‘The police seem to think you might be able to throw quite a bit of light on several matters, including a certain telephone call.’

  For the first time, Luigi appeared to be visibly taken aback.

  ‘Which telephone call was that?’ he demanded quickly.

  ‘The one you made to Sir Donald Angus.’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ said Luigi in what appeared to be genuine bewilderment. ‘I have nothing to do with Sir Donald Angus …’

  ‘Well, I hope you can prove it,’ said Wyatt calmly, ‘because the police are so convinced you’re mixed up in that affair that they’ve issued a warrant for your arrest.’

  Luigi leapt to his feet.

  ‘But what am I supposed to have done?’ he demanded, thumping his fist on the desk.

  ‘Do you deny that you telephoned Sir Donald Angus and instructed him to deliver fifteen thousand pounds to Professor Reed?’

  ‘Of course I deny it! I have never heard of this man Reed.’

  Wyatt leaned back a little in his comfortable chair and endeavoured to decide whether or not Luigi was acting.

  ‘Angus recognized your voice,’ he went on presently. ‘He’d spoken to you the previous night when he came here with Miss Beaumont, and he’s positive that it was you.’

  ‘Then quite obviously the man is lying!’ exclaimed Luigi angrily. ‘This is a trap of some sort … somebody is trying to get the club closed down … they are always trying …’ He broke off as a thought seemed to strike him, and he began to talk more reasonably.

  ‘You say Sir Donald Angus is absolutely convinced that it was my voice?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what he says. And the police believe him.’

  ‘Do you believe him, Mr Wyatt?’

  ‘I’m prepared to keep an open mind,’ said Wyatt cautiously, wondering what was coming next.

  With a sudden movement, Luigi snatched up his house telephone.

  ‘Is that you, Jules? Will you send Carver into me … yes, right away.’

  He slammed down the receiver. ‘Now we shall see what’s been going on behind my back, Mr Wyatt,’ he said triumphantly.

  ‘May I ask who is Carver?’ inquired Wyatt.

  ‘He is a young man who has been working here as a waiter for the last few weeks, although he is obviously a person with some education and no doubt better suited for something more responsible. Yes, he is a young man of considerable talents.’

  The object of their conversation suddenly knocked and opened the door. Wyatt turned to look at him with considerable interest.

  Carver was in his twenties, pale, expressionless face and lemon-coloured hair.

  He seemed in no way overawed by Luigi and his opulent surroundings, but stood quietly at the door and said:

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ His voice was almost as characterless as his face.

  ‘Come in, Carver, and close the door,’ said Luigi, coming from behind his desk. ‘This is Mr Wyatt of New Scotland Yard. We’ve been having a little argument about you, Carver.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’ The young waiter hardly seemed to be interested.

  ‘Mr Wyatt refuses to believe that you have this particular flair for imitating people. I want you to prove to him that he’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not professional, sir,’ replied the young man deprecatingly.

  ‘Go on,’ urged Luigi. ‘I have been boosting you for nearly ten minutes … telling Mr Wyatt that I shall put you in my next floor show. He’s one of my customers, and I am anxious to get his reaction.’

  The waiter looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if he did not know where to begin.

  ‘Say something, Wyatt! Recite a little poem, so that he can hear your voice,’ urged Luigi.

  Wyatt laughed. ‘Poems aren’t very much in my line, but here’s a little limerick if that’s any use …

  ‘There was a young lady named Bright,

  Who could travel much faster than light;

  She started one day in the relative way,

  And came back the previous night.’

  ‘That’s fine!’ applauded Luigi. ‘Now, Carver …’

  The young waiter cleared his throat rather nervously then slowly began to repeat the poem with an air of intense concentration. Towards the middle, he was speaking at a normal pace, and although it is extremely difficult to recognize an imitation of one’s own voice, Luigi recognized the resemblance at once. When Carver repeated the poem again as Luigi would have spoken it, Wyatt could hardly believe his ears, so uncanny was the mimicry.

  ‘There! You see?’ cried Luigi.

  The young man seemed much more animated and confident now. ‘Is there anyone else you’d like me to do, Mr Luigi?’ he asked.

  Luigi ignored him completely and addressed himself to Wyatt.

  ‘Now perhaps you see what I was trying to get at, Mr Wyatt,’ he said deliberately. Wyatt looked from Luigi to Carver, but did not reply. Luigi suddenly swung round upon the waiter.

  ‘You do a very good impersonation of me, Carver. How long have you been practising?’ he barked.

  Carver was completely taken aback by his employer’s change of demeanour.

  ‘Not very long, sir,’ he stammered.

  ‘It wouldn’t be you who impersonated me on the telephone this week, would it, Carver?’ persisted Luigi with growing intensity.

  ‘No, sir, of course not,’ replied Carver nervously.

  ‘You are quite sure?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir … quite sure …’ The waiter shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  ‘You are lying!’ shouted Luigi, advancing upon him. ‘You are lying!’

  He raised his arm as if to strike Carver.

  ‘Who paid you to impersonate me?’ screamed Luigi. ‘Who paid you? Answer me!’

  The young man licked his lips nervously, then said in a low tone:

  ‘It was a woman …’

  ‘A woman, eh? You mean Coral Salter?’

  ‘No, Mr Luigi … a woman called Doctor Fraser.’

  CHAPTER IX

  A Woman’s Intuition

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Wyatt.

  He went over and restrained Luigi, gently pushing him into a chair, where he sat mopping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. Wyatt turned to Carver.

  ‘So you know Doctor Fraser?’ he asked quietly.

  The young man nodded without speaking.

  ‘Who is this Doctor Fraser?’ cried Luigi. ‘Why does she want people to impersonate me? I have never set eyes on the woman!’

  ‘You’ve set eyes on a lot of people you can’t put names to, Luigi,’ Wyatt reminded him grimly.

  ‘Do you know this woman, Mr Wyatt?’ queried Luigi in a slightly injured tone.

  ‘Yes,’ said Wyatt slowly. ‘I know her.’

  ‘Then who is she?’

  ‘She is a very attractive woman,’ replied Wyatt evasively. He turned to Carver again. ‘When did you see Doctor Fraser?’ Carver seemed to hesitate, then said:

  ‘About a week ago.’

  ‘Where did you meet her?’

  ‘At her flat in Wimpole Street,’ replied Carver rather reluctantly. ‘I don’t remember the number.’

  ‘You went there by appointment?’

  Carver nodded. ‘Perhaps I’d better explain it all from the beginning,’ he offered, and Wyatt motioned him to a chair. He sat down, clasping the arms of the chair.

  ‘It was like this, Mr Wyatt,’ he began hoarsely. ‘I’ve always been keen on impersonating people a
nd that sort of thing, and I thought that if I got a job here as a waiter, then I might get a chance in cabaret. And that’s what happened about a week back, when Walter Haylor – he does songs at the piano – got a touch of food poisoning and was off for a couple of nights.’

  ‘And you took his place,’ put in Wyatt.

  ‘That’s right, sir. My little act went rather well—’

  ‘Never mind that,’ snapped Luigi. ‘Get on with your story!’

  ‘Yes, Mr Luigi. Well, it seems that this Doctor Fraser happened to catch the act one night, and the next day she phoned and asked me to go round to her flat. She didn’t say what she wanted – just that it was a little business matter. I suppose I must have sounded a bit doubtful, because she immediately went on to ask if I’d be interested in two hundred pounds.’

  ‘H’m, that’s quite a lot of money,’ commented Wyatt.

  ‘It’s a hell of a lot of money,’ retorted the waiter with sudden emphasis. ‘And God knows I can do with it. You see, I’m thinking of getting married,’ he added, half-apologetically.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Wyatt dryly. ‘So you made an appointment to see Doctor Fraser?’

  ‘Of course! Catch me turning down a chance like that!’

  Wyatt went and stood over the young waiter.

  ‘Now this is rather important, Carver,’ he said. ‘We’ve had Doctor Fraser under observation for some time, and I want to check up as many details as possible. Could you remember, for instance, the dress she was wearing when you saw her?’

  Carver looked somewhat puzzled.

  ‘It wouldn’t be a sort of honey colour – to match her blonde hair,’ prompted Wyatt.

  ‘Yes … yes, I believe it was,’ nodded the waiter.

  ‘Go on!’ said Luigi. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well, she asked me inside … there was no one else there. We went into a sort of consulting-room – I remember there was a big couch under the window. As soon as I got inside she said she’d put her cards on the table without wasting any time.’

  ‘And what was the little job she wanted you to do?’

  Carver spoke with an effort.

  ‘She wanted me to telephone Sir Donald Angus and give him a message, using Mr Luigi’s voice. She had the message all written out on a slip of paper …’