Death in Room Five (A Chief Inspector Littlejohn Mystery)

by George Bellairs

  ‘Thanks for what you’re doing, Chief Inspector. Bolchester is grateful. Get the swine who did this to Dawson!’

  He didn’t seem concerned with Sammy or Henri!

  Humphries was dancing attendance on Marie Ann Blair, and Marriott was several inches too small, so, by universal request, Littlejohn joined Sheldon, Gauld and Currie in carrying the coffin to the grave.

  Littlejohn and Sheldon stood together at the front of the cortege and the Chief Inspector wondered what were the thoughts of his partner. Solemn, upright, with a guileless look on his face, Sheldon kept casting his eyes in his wife’s direction, as though to reassure her. She was dressed in white with a small black hat—the only chic member there—busy whispering to the Mayor. She had found some black earrings somewhere.

  Marriott wore his tweed suit, a black tie, and carried his white cap. Littlejohn’s eye caught the cap and he looked puzzled.

  The English chaplain began to intone the burial service. Dawson’s funeral seemed simple beside that of a neighbouring one, with a priest, an acolyte, the aspergillum, and the sonorous Latin of the committal. The deep black of the nearby mourners, too, contrasted sharply with those of the English party.

  The ropes creaked as Dawson descended to his earth. A few handfuls of soil on the coffin by those gathered round; it seemed out of place to call them mourners. They looked too wrapped up in their own sorry plight with the police to grieve much. The only one who appeared in any way moved was Mrs. Beaumont, who remained behind for a minute after the rest had gone and was seen detaching a rose from one of the large bunches and dropping it into the open grave which the diggers were already itching to fill in.

  The civic party from Bolchester were eager to depart. The Mayor was to be the guest of the Mayor of Cannes at the restaurant at Var airport and, after a brief round of handshakes and farewells, the corporation officers divided themselves from the Turnpike excursionists and made for their cars. The Mayor, in departing, promised to communicate with the M.P. for Bolchester as soon as he got home and see that what he called ‘the unjust detention of British subjects’ should be dealt with.

  ‘Get whoever is responsible for this, Chief Inspector, as soon as possible. It’s appalling!’

  The Mayor wrung Littlejohn’s hand warmly, shook hands all round again, and was gone.

  Sheldon tacked himself on to Littlejohn as they made their way back to the coach from Bagatelle.

  ‘Are we likely to be allowed to make our way home very soon, Chief Inspector? This suspense and the upset of recent events are tellin’ badly on my wife’s nerves. She’ll have a breakdown if it lasts much longer.’

  He was as red as a turkey-cock from exposure to the sun, and the top of his bald head was beginning to shrivel and skin from the heat.

  ‘Mind if we walk back to Bagatelle, sir?’ asked Littlejohn. ‘It isn’t far and I’d like to talk with you.’

  ‘Certainly. I’ll tell Fowles we’re not joinin’ the party.’

  Sheldon hurried to the coach and spoke to the driver and his wife. She seemed annoyed and looked back at Littlejohn with a scowl. She was never happy unless her husband was near, dancing attendance.

  ‘My wife seems a bit put out. She depends a lot on me, Littlejohn. I told her we’ll be back almost as soon as they are.’

  The motor coach started and all the occupants looked anxiously at the two men left behind, as though Littlejohn were detaining Sheldon and they might never see him again.

  Still difficult to concentrate on the case. The pair of them might have been taking a stroll; just a couple of companions thrown together on a holiday. There was even a spirit of comradeship between them. Sheldon took out his pouch, offered it to Littlejohn, and then filled and lit his own pipe.

  ‘It’s an English mixture I managed to get at a shop on the Croisette. You’ll like it, I think.’

  Trim villas ablaze with flowers, the hot sun, parties of holiday-makers passing in cars, and beyond, the sea alive with bathers, little boats, and the white sails of trim yachts taking part in a race.

  ‘Do you know Cannes, Sheldon? Ever been here before?’

  Sheldon nodded. He didn’t seem to suspect that he was being questioned with a purpose, paused to look at the distant blue water and the long stretch of splendid coast, and breathed deeply in appreciation.

  ‘Yes. I like it. Spent my honeymoon here. Been married twice. First wife came with me. Lost her years ago in India. Always wanted to see the place again. Can’t say I’d have chosen these circumstances, though.’

  He stopped to admire one of the gardens they passed.

  ‘Wish we could raise flowers at home like they do here. I’m a bit of a gardener myself. Fond of exotic stuff. Colourful, eh?’

  ‘The place changed much since you came years ago?’

  ‘Can’t say it has. Stayed at the Carlton in the old days. Can’t do it now on the allowance and I must confess I’m not so flush with cash as I was then. Retired pay, you know.’

  ‘Talking of cash, did you give any money to young Henri before he died?’

  Littlejohn almost held his breath. But if he expected their relations to change through the question, he was mistaken.

  Sheldon removed his pipe, tapped out the ash in the palm of his hand, and flung it away.

  ‘Can’t say I did. Why?’

  ‘Think again, sir. You were seen handing over some notes to the boy. Were you sending him on an errand, or giving him a tip, or what?’

  ‘I really don’t understand quite what you’re gettin’ at, Littlejohn, but if you’re suggestin’ I had anythin’ to do with that boy or his unhappy end, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. It’s hardly fair of you to suggest…’

  Littlejohn halted in his stride and faced Sheldon.

  ‘Look, sir. You and I haven’t had a talk since the murders occurred. I’ve got to question you all until I get the truth about everything that’s happened at Bagatelle since you arrived. Unless I do and find out something very quickly, the French police will intervene with more ruthlessness than I’ve shown.’

  ‘But you’re not insinuatin’ that I…?’

  ‘I may as well tell you the truth, sir. Unless you’ve a very good tale to tell me, you will soon find yourself at the police station undergoing a typical French grilling. Are you aware that the local police found, hidden among Henri’s possessions, some banknotes which have been traced to you?’

  A funny thing about Sheldon; he looked hot-blooded and peppery, and yet he never seemed to lose his temper or his self-possession. He was either very stupid, very cunning, or else a man of strong and invulnerable character. Littlejohn was beginning to think it was the latter. Instead of losing his nerve at the news, Sheldon stood there, filling his pipe again, looking puzzled.

  ‘What is all this about, Chief Inspector? You’re not tellin’ me that the police suspect me of all these crimes. As for the banknotes, how do I come in there?’

  ‘You went to the casino the other day, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I intended havin’ a little flutter at roulette. Had to pay a sort of entrance fee to the gamin’ tables, so bought a ticket which certainly cost me more than I intended. Felt a bit of a fool when they told me the price, but paid it. Then, Mrs. Sheldon came up and made me see how silly it was payin’ through the nose with currency so short. Saw her point. Explained matters to the man in charge. Refunded the money. Must say it was very decent of them.’

  ‘And the thousand-franc notes you got back were found among Henri’s belongings, sir. So you see…’

  Sheldon gave one of his rare laughs, but it was a troubled one.

  ‘I can explain that. My wife wanted some money and I’d nothin’ but thousand-franc notes. Bit awkward, you’ll admit, although they’re only worth a pound a time. All the same, a woman wants some small change. Was goin’ downstairs to see if anybody could change me a couple of large notes for smaller ones. Met young Henri on the stairs and asked him if his father could do it, or if he could get them changed. Y
oung blighter said he could do it himself. Pulled out a fistful of small change and handed me the equivalent. Must have been those two notes the police found.’

  ‘Have you spent all the small change Henri gave you?’

  ‘No. Gave my wife the cleanest and kept the rest in my pocket-book. Want to see what are left? I paid for tobacco and some odds and ends, but I think I’ve about five hundred in hundreds or fifties here.’

  He paused again. They were by this time nearing Bagatelle and to finish the talk before they got there, Littlejohn drew Sheldon to a wayside seat and they sat and examined the money which Sheldon produced.

  ‘Here it is. Bit dirty. Somebody seems to have scraped the bottom of the barrel to produce a lot like this. Can’t think where the boy got ‘em.’

  They were a soiled lot and one of them had been frayed at the edge and repaired with a strip of gummed-paper. There was the faint impression of a rubber stamp on the adhesive strip. Littlejohn held it up and could just make out the words.

  FOWLERS BAN…

  ‘Looks like Fowlers Bank, Littlejohn. Must have been brought over by someone from the old country, what?’

  ‘Have they a branch in Bolchester, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t use ‘em myself, but it’s the biggest bank in the town. Use the North and South bank, myself. Looks as if one of our party brought it over and gave young Henri a pourboire, as they call ‘em over here. What?’

  ‘It does. If what you say is true, sir, I’m very relieved. You see, I suspect Henri knew something about Dawson’s death, or Sammy’s, and was perhaps being paid to keep his mouth shut. If your explanation of the money which passed between you is right, it should prevent more awkward questions for you. Who of the party uses Fowlers Bank in Bolchester?’

  Sheldon thought a moment.

  ‘Can’t help you, Chief Inspector. I’m not familiar with the party except as a fellow-traveller on the Turnpike excursion. Must confess that but for my wife, I wouldn’t be here. She likes parties and people. I’d rather be just the pair of us together on a holiday. Perhaps you think I’m a queer cuss. Made that way, though.’

  Sheldon seemed completely to have missed the implications of Henri’s possessing a banknote given him by one of the party, and it was perhaps as well. He looked very relieved. In fact, his step was more springy and his shoulders well set back, like a man who’s shed a burden.

  ‘There are just one or two other questions before we turn in, sir. The night Dawson was stabbed. The statement shows you and your wife retired to bed at eleven. You left the party after being with them all the time since dinner.’

  ‘Quite correct, Littlejohn. Why?’

  ‘Did you turn in right away?’

  ‘Absolutely. Sleep in the same room as my wife. She’ll tell you I did. Felt tired after the trip. Wanted a bath badly, but this blasted French plumbin’…Somebody’d used all the hot water. The tap was runnin’ stone-cold. Cold bath at bedtime not in my line. Left it till mornin’. Washed and turned in.’

  ‘Did you hear anything going on after you reached your room? For example, did you hear noises of cars or motorbikes near Bagatelle?’

  ‘There seemed to be plenty on the road goin’ past. The windows are thick glass and soundproof, but can’t bear sleepin’ with ‘em closed. Heard quite a lot of traffic. Bit of a nuisance havin’ to sleep with the windows wide here, though. Mosquitoes, you know. Hell of a pest.’

  ‘No sound of anyone driving up and putting away a car or anything at Bagatelle?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  Littlejohn didn’t answer the question.

  ‘Did you know the fellow Sammy, who was murdered? He keeps a bar near Palm Beach.’

  ‘I’ve seen the place. Had a drink there, I think. A woman served us. Wouldn’t know Sammy from Adam.’

  ‘On your way to bed the night Dawson was attacked, did you see anyone on the stairs or landings?’

  Sheldon thought again, smoking his pipe in hasty little puffs.

  ‘Think we saw that lad Henri goin’ up the stairs to the upper floor. Understand he slept there. Yes, I remember remarkin’ to the wife that he was late up.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘No. He was dawdlin’ along, apparently lost in his own thoughts.’

  They were within sight of Bagatelle and they could make out Marriott standing by the charabanc, which Fowles was polishing at the gate, ready for garaging it.

  ‘Bit of a nuisance, that little fellah Marriott. Common little chap. Wine-merchant in Bolchester. Can’t stand that white cap he wears. We’ve all got hats with us and we abandoned ‘em when we got over here. One or two bought panamas for the sun, but this fellah got a linen cap a shade too big for him. Awful thing. Lets the side down, you know.’

  ‘Has Marriott been in these parts before?’

  ‘Says not. Says he was in France in the 1914-18 war and knows a bit o’ French, but I’ve yet to find him make himself understood. As I said before, prefer not to be with parties. Never know what you’re gettin’, do you?’

  Marriott spotted them in the distance and waved to them. Then he set out to meet them.

  ‘Hello, you two. Solved the mystery on the way? Time the thing was settled, Inspector. You know we can’t stay here for the rest of our lives, nice as it is. Give me ‘ome sweet ‘ome after this. Any nearer the solution?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m doing my best, but three murders is rather a tall order.’

  ‘Are you comin’ to join us for a bit o’ food? The new cook’s not so bad, but I’ll be glad when I’m sittin’ down with me knees under me own table back ‘ome in Bolchester and a nice steak and chips on me plate. I’ve ‘ad enough.’

  A hoot on a car-horn and Dorange drew up.

  ‘I’ve safely seen your Mayor of Bolchester to the airport, and left them all enjoying an excellent meal. Can I give you a lift anywhere, old man, or are you staying at Bagatelle?’

  Littlejohn had noticed Dorange leaving the cemetery with the official party and guessed the French inspector was giving him a further chance to pursue his inquiries. He knew now that the answer was expected which would either free Sheldon from suspicion, or else call for his arrest and questioning by the local police.

  ‘I’ll come with you to the town hall if you’re going there.’ It was a relief to get away from Bagatelle and the Turnpikers for a bit.

  ‘Well? Anything new to report, Littlejohn?’

  They were cruising along the Croisette again. Dorange seemed always intent on combining business with pleasure.

  ‘Yes. Sheldon changed the large notes he got from the casino for smaller ones. Henri did it for him from a wad he had in his pocket. Sheldon seemed quite surprised.’

  Dorange shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Without Henri here to confirm that, we can’t rely on the statement much. Anybody might say that, when driven in a corner…’

  He skimmed across the roundabout near the town casino, the constable on duty there saluted smartly, and they drew up at the police station.

  The atmosphere between the two men was getting strained. No more suggestions about lunch or an apéritif now. Dorange was nursing the impression that Littlejohn was shielding his compatriots just because they were English.

  ‘That’s not all, Dorange. Among the small notes which Sheldon got from Henri, there is a frayed one bearing on the adhesive tape used to repair it, the stamp of a bank in Bolchester.’

  Still the shrug of the shoulders.

  ‘Who’s to say that Sheldon wasn’t showing you small notes which have no connection with the event, just to prove his case?’

  ‘The note has passed through the hands of one or the other of Sheldon’s fellow-trippers. He doesn’t bank with the firm whose name appears on the note.’

  ‘What’s the next move, then? I think I ought to warn you, Littlejohn, that the Prefect has been speaking with Paris, who, in turn, have contacted the British Embassy. He has complained that the discretion asked by your Embassy is hampering the inv
estigations of the local police.’

  Dorange handed Littlejohn one of his cheroots, just to show he was still friendly, and lit both of them.

  ‘This is not my doing. The head of the Surete at Nice keeps asking me for results. I tell him word has gone forth that the affair must be treated with discretion. He has lost patience. My instructions now are to bring in and interview every suspect. Sheldon is the first. I have complained about pressure of today’s business. The time limit is ten tomorrow morning. Sheldon is to appear at the police station then.’

  ‘So that gives me just tonight?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it that way. We aren’t antagonists, you know. Both of us want to bring the guilty man to justice. You can be present at the interview.’

  ‘The passage á tabac?’

  Dorange smiled sadly and shrugged again.

  ‘I’m sorry. We both have our own ways of doing our duty.’

  ‘May I telephone?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Littlejohn put an urgent call through to Bolchester and asked for Haddock. The humble detective was soon speaking back, with what sounded like a plum in his mouth, for his agitation at the importance of a long-distance call from his famous new friend had almost bereft him of speech.

  Littlejohn asked him to find out from Fowlers Bank, if he could, who had been issued with the damaged note and, failing that, to find out which of the Turnpike trippers was a client of Fowlers.

  Dorange, who had been listening, again shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It doesn’t seem much to go on, old fellow, but I hope it works. After all your trouble and a spoiled holiday, you’ve earned success. And a good lunch. Let’s go the Champs Elysées and drink to your success.’

  They left the police station arm in arm.

  14 - A Lady Vanishes

  The lunch wasn’t very successful. They ate a spread of hors d’oeuvres, omelettes, cheese, and then went on to coffee and more of Dorange’s cheroots. Both men tried to be sociable, but each had his own problem. The French detective was the more serious of the two. He was obviously worried, wondering if his confidence in Littlejohn was going to be misplaced.