by John Creasey
“Do something for me,” asked Gideon.
“Just name it.”
“Give it to her a day or two before you leave the country. She’ll love it.”
“Never miss a trick, do you?” said Quincy. “May I bring it in person?”
“Of course.”
“It’s a deal!” Quincy pushed the box back into his pocket quickly as Kate came into the room.
“It’s Leslie Scott,” she said. “He says it’s to do with a man named Schumacher, and you would know about him.”
Gideon said, “Oh. Yes, I know.”
His mood and his manner changed with the words, and instantly he recalled his decision not to have Schumacher followed wherever he went. He stood up slowly, looked meaningfully at Lemaitre, and with a kind of massive deliberation went out. Kate’s manner changed subtly too; she was always sensitive to his moods.
“Think I ought to go, Mrs. Gideon?” Quincy asked.
“No, of course not,” Kate said. “Lem, pour out another beer for Mr. Lee, will you? I’ve some sandwiches and tarts in the kitchen.” She went out, squeezing past Gideon, who hardly seemed to notice her as he said;
“Give me that again, Les.”
Superintendent Leslie Scott, who was the senior night duty officer at the Yard, repeated what he had just said.
“Elliott Henderson called from the Bingham Hotel twenty minutes ago to say that his stepdaughter is missing. She was last seen by Abel Schumacher about four o’clock, leaving the Victoria and Albert Museum. Schumacher says she went to meet some friends she’d made on the Queen Elizabeth. You left a note to be told if there was any kind of trouble with Henderson or Schumacher, and I know Schumacher’s reputation.”
Gideon said, “Thanks for calling so quickly.” Already he had decided what to do. It was too early to be sure that it had been a grievous mistake to take the watch off Schumacher but, mistake or not, he had to make sure this inquiry was handled well from now on. No one else knew much about the confidence trickster, while Henderson was not a man to be left to ill-informed subordinates. “Tell Henderson I’ll be at the Bingham in about half an hour. Meanwhile, you check on anything we know about Schumacher’s movements today.”
“I can tell you he’s with Henderson now,” Scott said promptly.
That was a relief, in its way, and Gideon was a little less grim when he went back to the others.
10: Henderson’s Wife
“I quite understand, Mr. Gideon,” Quincy said. “You’ve got to take care of the bad men. I’ll vamoose.”
“Stay here, will you, and talk to Lem and my wife,” Gideon interrupted. “If you don’t I’ll be on a sandwich and lemon-curd tart diet for a week. I’ll call you when I’m through at the Bingham, Lem. You can drop Quincy on your way after that.”
No one argued. Kate went to the door with Gideon, squeezed his hand, and asked, “Think you’ll be long?”
“Shouldn’t be too late,” Gideon said. “Don’t wait up, though.”
He looked up at the stars as he walked to his garage round the corner. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and it was pleasantly warm, both for the law-abiding and for the criminal. As he drove toward the West End he thought about all he knew of Schumacher and the Hendersons. Henderson was in tobacco, cotton, real estate and citrus growing, fabulously wealthy, with commercial and business interests in most of the world, and a private collector of works of art. Three or four years ago he had married the widow of a Texas cattleman, who had one daughter. Nina Pallon was worth millions of dollars in her own right, while her mother had also inherited a huge share of Texas oil.
They’re made of money, Gideon reflected.
The years of experience had taught him not to be ill at ease with any man; they had also taught him that it was almost impossible not to regard a millionaire as some people regarded film stars; as being in another world. The really worthwhile ones acquired more than money; they acquired judgment of people, understanding, a sense of responsibility.
He suspected this was true of Elliott Henderson as soon as they met in the sitting room of a luxury suite. Henderson had a fine-drawn look and there was anxiety in his eyes.
No one else was in the room.
“Good of you to come yourself, Commander. I greatly appreciate it. And I know I can be absolutely frank with you.”
“I hope you will be,” Gideon said.
“Be sure I will. Can I get you a drink?”
“Mr. Henderson,” Gideon said, “minutes could make a difference.”
Henderson eyed him levelly, and said, “You’re certainly right, Commander, it’s time I got straight to the point. The point is very simple. I made a mistake in sending for the police. I’m sorry.”
Gideon didn’t speak.
“Sure about that drink?” asked Henderson.
Very slowly, Gideon said, “Quite sure, thanks. So she’s been kidnapped?”
Henderson didn’t answer.
“And you’ve been telephoned and told not to report to us.”
Henderson still didn’t say a word. He was much smaller and leaner than Gideon, yet Gideon was unaware of it, knowing only that this was a man of great stature, whose willpower matched and might well surpass his own. It would be impossible to browbeat him.
It was very quiet in the room. Gideon wondered whether Felisa Henderson had gone into the bedroom, to help maintain a conspiracy of silence; and he wondered where Schumacher was.
“Commander,” Henderson said at last, “I’m really sorry I sent for the police when there was no need to.”
“May I see your daughter?” asked Gideon.
“My stepdaughter is spending the night with friends,” Henderson replied.
There was no mistaking the emphasis he put on the “stepdaughter.” Gideon, trying to assess the situation with intelligence as well as detachment, considered the possible reasons for that. After a while, he said probingly: “If she were your daughter, Mr. Henderson, would you act in the way you are doing?”
“There is no other way I can or wish to act at this juncture,” Henderson declared, but Gideon thought he had been shaken by the question.
“Mr. Henderson,” Gideon said flatly, “of the last five kidnappings of this nature, only two of the victims were returned safely to their families, although the ransom money was paid in every case. I can’t make you tell me the truth, but I can and do emphasize the danger and the gravity of the decision you have to make. Whether it be from conviction or out of consideration for your wife - even at her insistence - it is both morally and materially wrong to try to buy off the kidnappers. Speed is vital. Unless we can find your stepdaughter quickly we might never find her at all.”
Henderson’s unwinking eyes were more green than grey. He moved to a table, and poured himself a whisky and soda; there were three glasses on the tray.
“You talk as if you expected Nina to be - to disappear, and if she disappeared, would know where to find her.”
“I didn’t expect it. I did expect you to run into some kind of trouble in London. When a man of your wealth makes the mistake of trusting a man on too short an acquaintance, trouble is as predictable as a hangover. As a matter of fact, sir, we have reason to believe that Schumacher is a confidence trickster.”
The blood drained from Henderson’s face; even his lips seemed to lose their colour. He put the glass down, the drink hardly touched, and moved back to Gideon.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t judge the time was right. If Schumacher knows anything about your stepdaughter’s disappearance, he’s changed a lot from being a confidence trickster.” Gideon hesitated, and then went on with a bitterness meant only for himself, “But, after all, he did win your confidence.” Henderson hesitated, still pale, giving the impression that he could not decide whether to blame Gideon or not. The decision was taken out of his hands. The communicating door opened and Felisa Henderson entered. Gideon, used to all kinds of people under stress of anxiety, had never seen one
make quite such an entrance. It wasn’t stagy, it wasn’t artificial, it did not even seem rehearsed. Yet there was a veneer of unnaturalness about it, perhaps because of the woman herself. She was tall, slim, and strangely beautiful, strangely in the sense that her skin seemed to be burnished with a layer of polished perfection on features which were a little too thin and too sharp in themselves. Spanish, thought Gideon. Her hair was raven black. She was sheathed in a dress which looked as if it were of beaten gold, and yet it did not seem ostentatious.
“No,” she said to Gideon, “Abel Schumacher won my confidence, not my husband’s.”
Nine out of ten men would have been quick to deny that. Henderson made no attempt to. His colour was better, his eyes brighter.
“Felisa, this is Commander Gideon of the Criminal Investigation Department at New Scotland Yard.”
“I wish I were happy to know you,” Felisa Henderson said, with a quiver at her lips. “I’m sure you know what I mean. Does a confidence trickster customarily resort to kidnapping?”
“Seldom.”
“Then why do you assume the worst now?”
Gideon said bluntly, “Only you can tell me whether the worst has happened or not. Has it or hasn’t it?”
Felisa moved across to her husband and touched his hand, an unexpectedly intimate gesture.
“Thank you for trying, darling,” she said. “But I’m afraid Mr. Gideon is right.”
“He may be,” Henderson conceded very slowly, “but even he can’t guarantee results. Can you, Commander?” There were challenge and defiance in his manner.
“No, I can’t,” Gideon admitted.
“Elliott, I still think he is right. Won’t you handle the situation as if you thought so too?”
Henderson drew in a breath which seemed to hurt him physically. In the long pause that followed Gideon did not feel at all sure how this would work out. Then Henderson said: “If you knew for certain this was kidnapping, how would you deal with the investigation, Commander? Would you immediately tell the newspapers?”
“I most certainly would not.”
“Presumably you would tell me to go ahead and pretend to meet the kidnappers’ demands and be ready to act when the money was to be paid over.”
“It might come to that,” Gideon agreed. “It might even come to making a deal with the criminals, but only if we can be absolutely sure your daughter is alive and will be returned uninjured.”
Very quietly Felisa Henderson asked, “You think she may be dead already, don’t you?”
Nina Pallon was not dead, but she lay on a small bed in a London suburb, as still as death.
Felisa’s question seemed to hover about the big room. She did not look away from Gideon, who was trying to probe beyond the facade of calmness, but it wasn’t easy. Only the dark-brown eyes seemed to have any expression; they seemed to smoulder.
“Please tell me the truth,” she said abruptly.
“We both want absolute frankness,” put in Henderson.
There was only one possible attitude to take: be absolutely truthful.
“Yes, I think your daughter may be dead, but I don’t see any reason to assume it yet,” said Gideon. “I think the moment of greatest danger will come just before any exchange arrangement is concluded, at the time when the kidnappers think they can get the money and murder her.”
“But why should they then?” Felisa’s voice was almost shrill.
“She could describe and perhaps name the men,” Gideon answered. “Money wouldn’t be any good to them in prison. How much have they asked for?”
“A million dollars,” Felisa announced, and somehow the amount did not sound out of place, she spoke so matter-of-factly. “Mr. Gideon, I want you to understand one thing. Compared with the safety of my daughter, a million dollars is insignificant. If we could absolutely guarantee her safety we would pay ten million. You will confirm that, Elliott, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Henderson answered.
He did not need a moment to consider; he could contemplate paying - losing - ten million dollars, without giving it serious thought. In all his working life, Gideon would not earn half a million dollars, less than two hundred thousand pounds.
He said, “I don’t think I really grasp that, but I know what you mean. Mind if I use your telephone?”
Felisa started to speak, as if to ask him, Why? Henderson gripped her arm, and silenced her.
“The red telephone is a direct line,” he said. “The other goes through the hotel switchboard.”
“Thanks.” Gideon lifted the red receiver, dialled his own number, and was not surprised when Lemaitre answered. “Lem, it’s what we thought but it’s not as straightforward as I’d like it. . . . Yes, Schumacher’s probably involved but we can’t be certain yet. I should think he had some local talent to help him, if he did lay it on. I want you to go to the Yard and talk to the Central Divisional superintendents. We want to find out if anyone’s heard a whisper about a big kidnapping job, or heard if anyone who might play with this kind of fire has had any recent dealings with an American. You know the kind of thing. . . . No, don’t send it round on the teleprinter, we don’t want it to spread too far yet. We might pick up something quickly. Another thing: tell Photographs we’ll want a big print job started tonight - I’ll bring the original photograph over myself, about midnight. We may not need to use the prints but I want ‘em ready. All clear?”
Lemaitre said, “I’ve got you, George.”
“How are things at home?”
“Couldn’t be better,” replied Lemaitre. “Quincy said he’d forgotten what lemon-curd tarts tasted like. I– George!”
“Yes?” Gideon was aware of the Hendersons watching with increasing tension, but Lemaitre’s tone meant that he thought he had had a brainwave.
“Quincy could put his ear to the ground. He’d pick up word about anyone with an American angle quicker than most.”
Gideon hesitated.
“Come on! It couldn’t do any harm!”
“It could do a lot of harm to Quincy,” Gideon said.
“But he’s going to see all his old buddies. You know how old pals open up when they haven’t seen each other for years.”
“Talk to him, tell him the situation, make it clear there isn’t the slightest obligation,” Gideon said. “I’ll see you at the Yard.”
He replaced the receiver and turned to the Hendersons.
“Sorry that took so long. One of our problems is that we can never concentrate on one job at a time. But I’ve no doubt you’re familiar with that particular difficulty, Mr. Henderson.”
“Only too well.”
“Well, I’m not,” Felisa said in a harder voice than Gideon had yet heard her use. “I want to make sure this case is given absolute top priority, Mr. Gideon.”
This time Henderson made no effort to quiet her. Gideon saw her eyes flash, as if fire was breaking out of the smouldering. She drew closer to him. He saw her beautifully made-up lips quiver and her hands clench; perhaps no one would ever realize how hard it had been for her to prevent the anguish from breaking down her composure.
“Do you understand me?”
Gideon answered quietly. “Yes, this is something I can really understand, Mrs. Henderson. If a daughter of mine needed hospital treatment or an operation, I’d want her to have absolute top priority - and I’d get it if I possibly could. But this isn’t our only case of urgent importance. At this minute we are combing London for a paranoiac killer who we know will kill again if we don’t find him quickly. You asked for absolute frankness, Mrs. Henderson. This is it. I will give every minute I possibly can to searching for Nina. I will put the investigation in charge of one of the best officers on the Force, a man who can handle a case like this from experience. I will consult you and Mr. Henderson at every stage. I shall not attempt to stop you paying over the money if that seems the only chance to save your daughter. But–”
He broke off.
The woman’s eyes were shiny
with unshed tears, and it was Henderson who winced at that “But –”
Gideon seemed to be quiet for a long time, before going on:
“If this were a case with the same high emotional content, if the same portent of tragedy lay over a family who never knew what it was to have a full larder or a safe income, I would treat it in exactly the same way. And if I seem to consider other things and other people too much, will you try to remember this? Crimes are contagious. A successful kidnapping might well lead to others. If we at the Yard mishandle this in any way - any way at all - then some other parents and some other child might have to pay a terrible price. I can’t handle this entirely for you, the parents. I must give absolute priority to Nina and to others who might suffer in the same way.”
Felisa heard him out, then turned away and almost ran to the door; her shoulders were shaking and she had one hand at her face. She pulled open the door and disappeared; the door slammed. The sound still seemed to be echoing a long time afterward, when Elliott Henderson said: “I think you can be sure we shall want you to handle this however you think best, Commander. But before I go to my wife, will you answer me one question?”
“If I can,” said Gideon.
“How are we to deal with Schumacher?” Henderson asked.
11: London Night
Gideon moved across the room, without answering, and picked up one of the two empty glasses. He twisted it round and round in his big fingers, trying to make up his own mind about the way to deal with Schumacher.
“Was he here just before I arrived?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know you’d sent for the police?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
Henderson said bitterly, “I didn’t notice it at the time but I can now recall that he seemed shocked.”
“Did he disapprove?”
“He questioned the wisdom, just as my wife questioned it.”
“When did the ransom demand come?”
Henderson closed his eyes. In that moment he looked a man in his sixties; earlier, he might have been taken for one in his late forties. Without opening his eyes, he answered: “Ten minutes or so after Schumacher left the apartment.”
