“Oh no. That is his private flat; I’ve been there to play cards.”
“Does he play for high stakes?”
“He did, sometimes—like the rest of us. If that’s a crime I shall plead guilty and take the consequences.”
“Did you ever hear a quarrel or a disagreement at any time between Thelusson and Pitt?”
“They had a minor row on one occasion. I fancy Thelusson had reproached Pitt about the kind of friends he entertained and called them ‘a b—— lot of thieves’!”
“Was this at Pitt’s house or at Thelusson’s flat?”
“At Pitt’s house in Hampstead.”
“Was it the kind of row that might have led to something more serious—you can tell me confidentially.”
“No. If you mean was it enough to culminate in murder, the suggestion would be absurd. Thelusson is rather a gay dog. He has plenty of money and he takes life easily; but why don’t you call and size him up yourself?”
“I mean to when the proper time comes, but I mustn’t take up any more of your time and make you late for lunch.”
“That’s all right. Come and see me again if you think I can be of any use to you. Good-bye.”
Mindful of Richardson’s instructions to get all possible information about Thelusson before he called upon him, Vincent resolved to have one more interview with Anton. He drove himself to Hampstead.
He found Anton restored to his usual polite calm. Peace had been unbroken since Vincent’s last visit; there had been no disturbing telephone calls; the sensational press had ceased to be interested. Vincent went to the point at once.
“Among the visitors to your late employer, do you remember a Mr Thelusson?”
“Oh yes, sir. Mr Thelusson was a very good friend of Mr Pitt; he came often.”
“And they never had a quarrel?”
“Mr Thelusson never quarrelled with Mr Pitt. No, but there were quarrels.”
“Who quarrelled?”
“Well, sir, there were loud voices between Mr Blake and Mr Thelusson one night. You could not help hearing,” he added apologetically, as if to excuse himself for eavesdropping.
“Of course, I understand that you couldn’t help hearing the quarrel. Now think carefully and tell me what you did hear.”
“Well, Mr Thelusson, he say Mr Blake is a cheat.”
“He meant that he cheated at cards?”
“I suppose so, but they did not mention cards. Mr Thelusson say: ‘I have paid you twice, you cheat,’ and Mr Blake say: ‘You never paid me for last time. You are a worse kind of cheat, a miserly cheat.’ They say other words, very bad words.”
“Was this long ago?”
“Oh no. Only just before my master went away.”
“Did you hear quarrels between Mr Pitt and anyone else?”
“No, Mr Pitt never quarrel. There were never quarrels in this house except that one; that is why I remember it.”
“Well, Anton, I’m glad you have a good memory. By the way, has the chauffeur been to see you since?”
“No, he hasn’t been again.”
“You and the rest of the staff didn’t like him?”
“No sir; no one liked him.”
“Did Mr Pitt like him?”
“Mr Pitt must have liked him very much, because he let him do what he liked.”
“Thank you, Anton. If I think of anything else that you can tell me I will come round here again, and if anything unexpected happens you ring me up immediately.”
After a light lunch in the mess-room, Vincent went downstairs and looked into the sergeants’ room. He narrowly escaped collision with Walker in the door-way.
“I was just going out again, Mr Vincent. I looked in to see if you had left a message for me.”
“I want you to come down to Newquay with me. As you know, the local bench remanded those two rascals in custody and I want to interview them again about some further evidence that has come to hand. They are to come up again tomorrow and unless something fresh transpires we shall have to ask for another remand, so we must get down to Newquay tonight. I suppose you’ve found nothing compromising about those payments?”
“Only in one case, Mr Vincent, but it’s an important one. Among the payments was a cheque drawn by a Miss Hellier for seventy-six pounds. This woman has been up before the Court quite recently on a drug charge and she was reported to the Bench as being a drug addict. The magistrates put her on probation and she is under the care of friends.”
“Where can we find her? I should like to have an interview with her before we go down to Newquay.”
“I have her address here. Her friends are very well to do. You see, their house is only twenty miles from Charing Cross.”
“Have you had your lunch? Yes? Then come along; we’ll start at once.”
The house proved to be an old Georgian one. They were shown into a library and a few moments later a very charming elderly lady came in, holding Vincent’s card in her hand.
“I suppose that you’ve come to see Miss Hellier. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, I would rather give you the information you require myself. This is her hour for resting and we must if possible keep any disturbing influence away from her.”
“I’m afraid you may not be able to give me the information I want. It concerns the payment by her of a cheque to the late Mr Bernard Pitt, and I want to know what this payment was for.”
She smiled sadly. “I suppose you suspect that it was a payment for drugs.”
“Well, to be quite frank, we do.”
“Is that the man who was murdered recently?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can tell you that she was greatly upset when she read of the death in the newspapers. In fact she took to her bed for a couple of days.”
Vincent saw that she was ready to help him if she could. “I don’t want to upset your establishment in any way. The fact is that I have to trace this connection between Miss Hellier and Mr Pitt, and if I am able to do it indirectly through you it will be quite sufficient.”
“I will tell you frankly what I have learned from her during the past fortnight. I must tell you that she is the daughter of a very old friend of ours and that she was left a considerable income at his death. She was headstrong and insisted upon living her own life without advice from anyone. I can’t tell you when or how she first came to take drugs, but I do know that a few months ago she took into her employment a maid who was herself a drug taker.”
“A woman named Alice Dodds?”
“Exactly. You seem to know a great deal about the case.”
“As a matter of fact this woman, Alice Dodds, is now detained by the police and is seriously ill in hospital. I wanted to trace the connection between Dodds and a lady who is French by birth and British by marriage.”
“I can help you there, I think. The woman was recommended to Miss Hellier by a Mrs Pearson. I must add that the woman Dodds seemed able to obtain as much of the drug as she wanted.”
“Thanks to the information you have given me, I need not see Miss Hellier today. I hope that under your care she will continue to improve.”
“Thank you, and for my part I am grateful for the help and forbearance shown to us by the police.”
Chapter Eighteen
AS SOON AS they were in the car Walker spoke. “So Mrs Pearson was lying when she said that she had no knowledge of Alice Dodds.”
“She was, but the important feature is that she should think it worth while to lie over such a trivial matter; she must have had a strong reason: she may have been afraid that Dodds would give her away as a purveyor of drugs.”
“I should think that’s a strong enough reason. You don’t think that it had something to do with that ten pound note that Dodds changed at the bank?”
“I don’t think that Mrs Pearson murdered and robbed Pitt if that’s what you mean. Pitt withdrew that money from the bank on Friday and was murdered on the following day; he had time to dispose of some money in those twenty
-four hours before his death. There’s one fact that I don’t want to lose sight of, and that is that the chauffeur Arthur Green and Alice Dodds were in Mrs Pearson’s service at the same time.”
“Don’t you think that the chauffeur might have some useful information he could give?”
“I do, but for the present he won’t, and Alice Dodds can’t tell what they know. Now, with these two men we are going to see at Newquay it may be different. Men of that type are very apt to squeal if they think they can save their own skin by giving their pals away. They’ve told us this incredible story about the bandit who murdered Pitt and they know it’s up to them to help us to prove their story. If there was anyone who had the motive of revenge or robbery for killing Pitt, they must have some idea of his identity. I’m going to question them about Thelusson, although Mr Brooklyn scouted the idea of Thelusson being the murderer.”
“I suppose you’ve never formed a theory that it was Mr Brooklyn himself? When you get one of these cases mixed up with drugs and jealousies and losses at cards, nothing would surprise one.”
Vincent laughed. “I got beyond any theory of that kind by finding that Mr Brooklyn had a watertight alibi for that Saturday morning.”
As they were approaching Newquay Vincent remarked: “We cannot see any of the prisoners tonight; that must wait until tomorrow morning, but we can have a talk with the police inspector, who may have something useful to tell us.”
The car drew up at the police station. The station sergeant relieved them by saying that the inspector would be found upstairs; if they would take the trouble to go up to the first door on the left, he would announce their arrival on his house telephone.
There was an air of relief about the inspector when he shook hands with them. “I fear,” he said, “that you can’t see any of the prisoners tonight; they will be brought in under escort tomorrow morning in ample time for their appearance in the Court, but it may interest you to know that the two women assert that they are not legally married to the men, and each woman is demanding to be represented by her Consul—in the one case the Austrian and in the other the Russian Consul. Whether these gentlemen will instruct solicitors to represent them at the hearing tomorrow I do not know.”
“How did they communicate with their Consuls?”
“The governor of the prison allowed them the use of his telephone for the purpose this afternoon. He rang me up to tell me.”
Vincent smiled. “I suppose they are counting upon being tried in this country. If they thought that their trial would take place in France they would begin running round in circles.”
“I understand that their defence will be that they knew nothing whatever about drugs being concealed in the hat trimmings; that they bought the hats in good faith from a milliner whose name they gave and they demand that she be sent for.”
“They are quite intelligent enough to know that it is very unlikely that this milliner would come and that we can’t force her to come. What they don’t seem to have realized is that with the aid of a Paris police official whom I know, they could be taken over to France to be tried there and I fancy that it would not be a pleasing prospect for them. The fact is that the French authorities are more in earnest about the drug traffic than we are in England. They have just run to ground a chemical factory where heroin was being made, and closed it. These women were concerned in distributing the poison; they will get no mercy from a French tribunal. Look here, Inspector, can your telephone officer get on to M. Goron” (he spelt the name) “at the Ministry of the Interior, Paris, tomorrow morning at nine? I’ll be here to take the call.”
“Certainly, I’ll warn him at once. The same man will be on duty at nine.”
“Good! Then I can get my telephoning over before the prisoners arrive here.”
There was nothing more to be done that night. Vincent and Walker went off to their hotel carrying their suitcases.
At nine the next morning Vincent found himself standing over the telephone operator who was ringing up Paris. There was the usual delay, but at last the answer came in the strangulated accent of a far-off French voice trying to pronounce English.
When Vincent was satisfied that he heard Goron at the other end of the wire, he explained briefly the kind of defence that the women were relying upon: “They are throwing the entire blame on to that milliner in the rue Duphot; of course they know that she will not come over to give evidence against them.”
“Have no fear, my friend. I want those two women here, and with your permission I will come over and fetch them. I have also other fish to fry—is that not what you say? M. Laurillard, the deputy of whom you know, is taking a holiday in England at the house of his daughter, we believe. You have her address. It is a holiday demanded by his state of health, since at this moment the air of France would not be conducive to the recovery of his peace of mind.”
Vincent laughed. “You have a very neat way of putting these things, my friend.”
“So you see, I have two missions to perform in England. First to question M. Laurillard, who has taken himself off to avoid me, secondly to bring back with me those two women. I shall bring with me a female officer of the Sûreté to escort them.”
“But will they go with you?” asked Vincent. “Drug trafficking is not an extraditable offence.”
“Quite true, but theft is. They stole bill-heads from Madame Germaine, who is prepared to swear if necessary that they have stolen hats from her also. Have no fear, if they will not come willingly, then I shall bring with me extradition warrants.”
“Well, you know your own business best. In this country I should not dare to go so far, but our courts never question an extradition warrant. When will you arrive in England?”
“This afternoon I shall leave by air.”
“Then I may be back in time to meet you at Croydon Aerodrome.”
The thought of meeting his old friend Goron was a great solace to Vincent, who had been inclined to gird at the legal circumlocution prevalent in his own country as compared with France, where the liberty of the subject was in many directions less consulted than in England. He told the inspector the result of his telephone conversation.
“In that case,” said the inspector, “if the women will not go voluntarily I will get the magistrates to back the extradition warrant and we shall be rid of these two creatures, which will be a great relief to everybody concerned. When do you count upon being able to hand me the warrants?”
“Early tomorrow morning, before the Court sits, I hope.”
“Very good, Mr Vincent; I’ll get the magistrates to remand the women until tomorrow. Will you want to see them before they appear?”
“No, not the women; only the men. I suppose that they have not expressed a wish to make statements since I last saw them.”
“Nothing fresh, but both men wrote out statements in prison, which the governor has forwarded to me, containing the story they told you.”
“Well, I’d like to see Lewis first. Of the two I think that he is the more likely to squeal.”
Vincent had barely time to dictate to Walker notes of his telephone conversation, when the arrival of the prisoners was announced. Lewis was brought into the room by the station sergeant.
“Sit down,” said Vincent, who knew the value of having a man’s eyes on the level with his own when questioning him. “You made a statement the other day to account for the murder of Mr Pitt. On the face of it your statement was difficult to believe and it is now up to you to modify it or strengthen it by giving additional particulars. Did you know Mr Pitt well?”
“I guess I knew him as well as the other people who played cards with him did.”
“When and how did you first meet him?”
“That’s quite simple. My friend and I engaged rooms in lodgings in Bloomsbury and he had rooms in the same house. We used to pass each other on the stairs and pass the time of day as you say in this country.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Getting on
for two years ago.”
“When did you first become mixed up with him in selling drugs?”
“I’ve told you before that I’ve never been mixed up in the drug traffic.”
Vincent held up his hand. “I’d better tell you at once, Mr Lewis, that the French police have just raided the factory in Belfort from which you obtained your stock in trade, so lying about it will not help you. We know more than you think. Let me remind you that in this country the punishment for murder is death, while the punishment for traffic in drugs may be as low as imprisonment for a month with deportation at the end of it. You can only help yourself out of a charge of murder by telling me the plain, unvarnished truth.”
“Well, I guess you have me cornered, so get on with your questions and I’ll answer them.”
“I have already asked you how long ago it was that you got mixed up with Mr Pitt in selling drugs.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, and you can believe me or not, as you like. We lodged in the same house and one night I and my friend needed a corkscrew. I set out to borrow one from Pitt. I tapped at his door and pushed it a little way open, and there he was sitting at his table with a heap of accounts before him and a camel’s hair brush in his hand. There was a little cardboard box with two bottles in it. I knew the stuff. It takes out ink without leaving a trace. He turned green and swept a newspaper on to the table to hide everything and asked me what I wanted in no very polite manner. He said he hadn’t got a corkscrew and got rid of me quick. I consulted my friend, who said that he’d been told that the man was cashier in a big bank, so we thought it our duty to tell him where he got off. It wasn’t what you would call a pleasant interview with smiles and handshakes, because we put it to him straight that he was robbing his employers and altering the books to hide what he was doing. Of course, we took the high line with him—the Sunday-school line—and talked of acquainting his employers. That brought him down with a bump. So we struck a bargain. We told him that we had stuff to dispose of and if he found us customers for it, which was easy for a man in his position, we’d say nothing about what we’d seen, otherwise we’d feel it our duty to put his directors wise.”
The Milliner's Hat Mystery Page 16
