by Bruce, Leo
‘I am all ears,’ he said with small exaggeration.
‘Do you happen to be free about four o’clock this afternoon?’
‘I shall have completed my business by then, I trust. I intended to catch a train for Newminster at 5.7.’
‘Would you oblige me by coming to Bayswater?’
‘Bayswater, my dear Deene? A most reputable district, I believe. I have no objection to accompanying you to Bayswater. But what is the nature of the service I can render you there?’
‘Just to make a phone call. From a public box.’
Mr Gorringer considered.
‘I cannot help but feel, my dear Deene, that such a task could be undertaken by any of your numerous acquaintances. It seems scarcely necessary to ask your headmaster.’
‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ said Carolus shortly.
‘In that case,’ said Mr Gorringer, ‘I should require to be informed of the circumstances.’
‘Yes,’ said Carolus. ‘I see that.’
He proceeded to recount the events at the Fleur-de-Lys with frankness while Mr Gorringer ate and listened. Then he waited for the headmaster’s pronouncements.
‘It seems,’ said Mr Gorringer, ‘a most distasteful affair. Blackmail, protection, extortion, possibly murder, these are scarcely suitable as the concern of the senior history master at Queen’s School, Newminster. Nevertheless, as you outline the case I see that once having involved yourself you have acted with courage and determination. I cannot criticise your conduct on that score. But the question remains, Deene. Where will this end?’
‘In Bayswater. This afternoon.’
Carolus went on to tell him of his call on John Moore and the upshot of it.
‘I have come to you,’ he added, ‘because as you will see, I need help from someone I can count on absolutely. I know it is an imposition. But that phone call really may be a matter of life and death. These people stop at nothing.’
Mr Gorringer looked more solemn than ever.
‘Since you put it like that,’ he said, ‘you leave me no alternative. I scarcely supposed when I accepted this headmastership that it would involve me in acting to protect the physical security, possibly the life of one of my assistants from the violence of a dangerous gang of thugs. I scarcely imagined that I would be called on to travel to Bayswater to rescue a colleague threatened by criminals. But—tout comprendre est tout pardonner. You have explained the matter frankly and I do not see how I can refuse. Please outline the plan of action.’
‘We will go there in a taxi. There is a public call box in the same street. If when we drive up it is occupied we shall have to drive about until it is free. When it is, the taxi will stop and you will go into the box where you will appear to be in conversation for five full minutes. Should anyone show impatience for the use of the box you will ignore it. It is essential that you keep possession of it for that time.’
Mr Gorringer seemed already to be rehearsing in his mind.
‘So much I can undertake,’ he said solemnly.
‘Meanwhile you will keep your eye on the entrance to Gaitskell Mansions. If I come out during those five minutes it will mean that I have been unable to get into Montreith’s offices and the whole operation will have to be abandoned or postponed. If I don’t come out you will call this number.’ He gave him Moore’s. ‘Ask for Detective Superintendent John Moore. He will probably answer the phone himself.’
‘Shall I reveal my identity?’ enquired Mr Gorringer with the air of a conspirator.
‘No need to. Simply tell him …’
‘But,’ interrupted Mr Gorringer, ‘it would surely add weight to what I shall tell him if he was aware that the headmaster of the Queen’s School himself was speaking?’
‘He’s prepared for this call. All you have to tell him is that you have reason to think that a man is being forcibly held in the offices of a solicitor named Montreith in Gaitskell Mansions, Attlee Avenue, Bayswater. He will act on that. You will have rendered me a great service, headmaster, and may still be able to catch the 5.7.’
‘You don’t think that any disguise will be necessary, Deene?’
‘Disguise? What for?’
‘I need scarcely tell you that my features are familiar to a wide public concerned with education. The people against whom we are taking these steps may well recognise them. Nothing must be done which could in any way involve me or the school in this affair. You should surely be the first to realise that?’
‘You won’t be involved.’
‘My role ends with the telephone call? You do not think it would be wise for me to remain on the spot to render assistance, if necessary, at a later stage?’
‘I don’t. I think it would be most unwise.’
‘Yet I would not have it thought that I abandoned a sinking ship. Like the immortal Macbeth, “I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none.” ’
‘I know. I appreciate it. But I assure you that you should not hang about.’
‘It is true that Mrs Gorringer is expecting me on the 5.7. And by the way, Deene, we will make no mention in Newminster of this episode. It might be found inconsistent with my status in the town. You appreciate that, I am sure.’
‘Certainly.’
‘Then let us prepare ourselves for the ordeal. We go at once?’
‘No. There is something I have to do first in Bayswater. Perhaps we could meet there?’
‘Though it is not a region with which I am particularly familiar I believe that on its outskirts is to be found a department store familiar to me in childhood. In a word, Whiteley’s. I will await you in the optical department of that store.’
‘Why the optical department?’
‘Despite your somewhat peremptory dismissal of my suggestions, Deene, I intend to take the elementary precaution of wearing a pair of tinted spectacles.’
‘Say four o’clock, then?’
‘Four o’clock it shall be.’
Sixteen
It took Carolus less time than he anticipated to find Antoine’s light blue Vauxhall Victor Estate car number YYY808. It was in the subterranean parking place of a big garage some three hundred yards away from Gaitskell Mansions. He could, however, learn nothing about it from the busy staff of the place except the time and date on which it had been left and these exactly fitted with the time Bridger would have reached London if he had come straight to Attlee Avenue.
It was fair to assume that Bridger had gone to Montreith’s offices. Either he had remained there or if he had emerged it was not with freedom to recover the car and drive away.
Reaching Whiteley’s, Carolus found the optical department and was not surprised to see Mr Gorringer standing there resembling the store detective of fiction and the films. Carolus hurried him out and they were lucky to get a taxi from which some eager shoppers had alighted.
Carolus directed the taxi driver to Attlee Avenue.
‘What part?’ asked the driver.
‘Would you just drive along it and I’ll tell you?’
They found that the telephone booth was occupied by a woman.
‘Unfortunate,’ said Mr Gorringer. ‘My experience of the conversational propensities of the other sex augurs ill.’
‘Where to?’ asked the taxi driver and Carolus described a circuit he could make.
‘Joy riding, are you?’ he said.
It was a relief to all of them when they returned to Attlee Avenue to see that the woman had gone. Mr Gorringer alighted with urgency and resolve and occupied the box. Telling the taxi driver to drive round the next corner, Carolus paid him liberally.
‘Now I wonder what you two are up to,’ the driver observed aloud. ‘Would it be something to do with horse-racing? You get all sorts in my job so you can’t help wondering, can you?’
‘Yes,’ said Carolus firmly and walked back to Attlee Avenue. He passed the telephone booth on the other side of the road and observed Mr Gorringer diligently in conversation while he watched the
entrance to Gaitskell Mansions. Was he, Carolus wondered, reciting verses learned by heart as a schoolboy? Or repeating the names and dates of the kings of England? No one waited to use the booth so his efforts were art for art’s sake.
At the entrance to Gaitskell Mansions Carolus ventured to turn and look across. He received a ponderous nod.
Humbledon was in the hallway and without actually barring Carolus’s entry seemed to expect to be approached.
‘ ’Evening,’ said Carolus. ‘Mr Montreith in?’
Humbledon examined Carolus carefully.
‘I’m not to know, am I? He might be or he might not.’
Carolus put a pound note in a palm already half extended.
‘Haven’t I seen you before?’ Humbledon asked.
‘Quite likely. Is Montreith in?’
‘Yes. He’s got two of them with him.’ Humbledon’s eyes suddenly widened to a stare. ‘Aren’t you the man that came that night when someone banged one of them on the head in the car? Didn’t I show you out the back way?’
Carolus saw at once that this recognition, relayed to Montreith by telephone, would help him achieve his object.
‘That’s it,’ he said.
‘I shouldn’t go up there then, if I was you.’
‘I have to see Montreith.’
‘I’m not saying any more. You go up there if you like. Only don’t say I didn’t tell you.’
Carolus moved towards the staircase. Even as he began to ascend he saw Humbledon enter his cubby-hole, doubtless to use the telephone.
On the first floor was the sign Rowland Montreith, Solicitor. Enquiries. It faced Carolus as he reached the wide landing. It was a neat sign, neither too large nor over-discreet. He rang the bell. There was a pause of a few minutes before Rivers opened the door. When he saw Carolus he gave his not quite inane laugh and said, ‘Come in!’
Carolus did not ask to see Montreith and Rivers made no enquiry as to his business but showed him into a small waiting-room and left him.
Carolus was calculating time. To hasten things was dangerous for himself but delay here might mean the arrival of the police before he was ready.
He was about to walk in to the inner office when Rivers came back to say mirthfully: ‘He’ll see you now.’
There was nothing showy about Montreith or the room in which he sat at a plain, old-fashioned but not antique desk. He was wearing a dark-coloured suit with a plain dark tie, not elegant but not in the least shabby. Seeing him from close at hand Carolus judged his age as forty-two, but there was something seedy and unhealthy about him and he had a muddy and colourless complexion. It was, as Bridger had told him, the eyes which one noticed. ‘Cold, nasty-looking,’ Bridger had said. They were more than that, cruelly impassive, as far from smiling as the eyes of dead fish, of icy grey-green. He looked more composed and at the same time more dangerous than he had appeared in the Tourterelle.
At a smaller table on the right were two seats at which were Rivers and Gray, apparently occupied with books and papers.
No chair had been set for Carolus and no unoccupied chair was in the room. This, Carolus guessed, was by design. He promptly went up and sat on the corner of Montreith’s table.
Montreith, he judged, had remarkable control. Until he had heard what Carolus had to say and learned a great deal more about him, he did not lose his temper.
‘Do you want a chair?’ he asked frigidly.
‘Of course I want a chair,’ said Carolus.
‘Give Mr Deene a chair,’ said Montreith to Rivers.
Carolus noted, but did not remark on, Montreith’s knowledge of his name.
‘What can I do for you?’ asked Montreith.
‘I want to consult you. I understand you have a large criminal practice.’
Montreith watched him without changing his expression, but did not immediately answer. He was trying to decide what was the meaning of Carolus’s intrusion. At last he said, ‘Well?’
‘I want to consult you in the matter of a man named Bridger,’ said Carolus.
He was aware of stirrings from Rivers and a quick glance from Gray.
‘Yes?’ said Montreith.
‘He was assistant chef at the Fleur-de-Lys at Farringforth. But he was also the local representative, as it were, of a gang of petty blackmailers and thugs who were trying to extort money from a man named Rowlands or Rolland, the proprietor of the Fleur-de-Lys.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Montreith.
Time was passing dangerously.
‘He has disappeared,’ Carolus went on. ‘He was called on the telephone to account for something he had revealed and summoned to London. He borrowed a motor-car and came up. He has not been heard of since.’
Montreith spoke at last. He had a harsh but somewhat high-pitched voice.
‘You say this man was called to account for something he had revealed? Surely that would explain his disappearance.’
‘Yes, but not his whereabouts.’
‘And you have come to consult me on that?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What is your connection with this matter?’
‘That of an incurably inquisitive man.’
‘Curiosity, in fact? That’s easily cured.’
‘Not when it’s tied up with a very strong prejudice against blackmail and murder.’
Montreith’s expression did not change but again there were movements at the other table.
‘Where is Bridger?’ Carolus asked calmly.
‘I wonder why you ask me that.’
‘Because the car he borrowed is not far from this building.’
This caused a complete hush, an atmosphere of suspense in the room. In spite of the outward imperturbability of Montreith, Carolus felt that he was faced with the necessity of instantly reaching a decision. And that decision was—should he or should he not cause Carolus to be killed. As simple as that.
His next remark was so unexpected that Carolus had to suppress his amazement.
‘I am looking for a partner,’ he said, those cold fish eyes on Carolus. Again there was silence.
Suddenly there broke in on them the sound of the telephone and Montreith lifted the receiver.
Now he showed that his calm could snap. He jumped up.
‘Get him out of here!’ he almost shouted to Rivers and Gray.
‘Quick. And stay out yourselves.’
The two came forward at once. Carolus gave very little resistance—this was what he wanted. Gray pinioned him and he was hurried across the floor of the room.
An electric bell sounded.
‘The back room,’ said Montreith.
Carolus was propelled through a door behind Montreith, across a passage and into a bare room. Yes, Bridger had been right. It was windowless.
Carolus continued to struggle weakly. He had learned enough of Montreith and his friends to be pretty sure these two would not act without their chief’s authority, would in fact limit themselves to keeping him quiet and secure. But he wanted it to be clearly established that he was being detained against his will. He freed an arm for a moment and managed to land a blow on Gray’s jaw.
He hoped they would produce rope, but apparently none was handy for Rivers pulled off a long knitted tie and secured Carolus’s wrists.
Carolus raised a shout but was immediately gagged with a handkerchief. He then sat down.
The two men did not speak but Rivers lit a cigarette.
Carolus’s mind worked fast. He thought of what could have misfired in his preparations. Gorringer, for all his absurd self-importance, was not likely to have failed in his mission, and John Moore had perfectly understood the situation and its dangers. Some wholly unforeseeable delay in getting here? Breakdowns could happen—even to a squad car. But what could have caused Montreith’s moment of near panic if it was not Humbledon calling to tell him that the police where on their way up? It all seemed cast-iron, but without being melodramatic about it, Carolus knew that his life was not worth much if there h
ad been the smallest slip-up. Or—scarcely conceivable—if Montreith succeeded in bluffing John Moore to leave the place without searching.
It seemed to Carolus at least five minutes before somebody from outside the room tried the handle of the door. Rivers had turned the key and now stood irresolute.
‘Open it,’ said Gray whose brain was quicker than his companion’s. It would only have been a moment before the door would have been forced.
What seemed strange to Carolus, when he recalled it afterwards, was the comparative silence with which everyone moved. John Moore and two hefty followers entered the room and neither Gray nor Rivers resisted handcuffs. Then Moore removed Carolus’s gag and pulled out an old-fashioned pocketknife with which he cut the knitted tie. They then returned to the office where two men had remained with Montreith. He too was handcuffed.
‘Sit down, you three,’ Moore said, and nodded to one of his assistants, who left the room.
Carolus lit a cheroot but said nothing. This was Moore’s scene, however much Carolus might have done to bring it about. He realised that the two CID men were searching the premises and waited, as John Moore did, for them to report.
‘Let’s have a smoke,’ said Gray. A policeman lit a cigarette for him.
It must have been five minutes before the two men returned to the office.
‘There’s a dead man upstairs,’ one of them told Moore.
‘Bridger,’ said Carolus.
‘See if you can identify him, will you, Mr Deene?’
Carolus noted the formality of this but followed one of the CID men from the room without speaking.
He led the way to another back office in which there was a spiral staircase of iron. They climbed this to another small room also rather bare though one wall was covered with tightly filled bookshelves and the floor was thickly carpeted. As he crossed a landing Carolus had time to notice a Sheraton table, a painting by Francis Bacon and more books in eighteenth-century bindings.
They entered a large bedroom, large enough to make an immense Jacobean four-poster bed stand without appearing to fill the area. On it was a man, his face turned away. He looked as though he had thrown himself down in his clothes and gone to sleep.
