‘And Cling was given the job.’
‘Yes. For a time after each of the other two incidents, he was assigned to me. We were quite familiar with one another, although I can’t say that I liked him.’
‘Why?’
‘He was a queer sort of chap. He seemed so fanatically dedicated to his job that he couldn’t even smile.’
‘He stayed at Mont-Choisi, in Ferney, with you I gather.’
‘Yes. He got on very well with the butler, although he wasn’t what you’d call matey.’
So, it would appear, Cling had been lodged in the servants’ quarters at Mont-Choisi. Hardly fair to a Chief Inspector.
‘How long have you been in Switzerland, Sir Ensor?’
‘Five days, exactly. We arrived just before the police conference began. Cling accompanied me.’
‘I don’t suppose he was with you twenty-four hours every day, sir. What did he do in his spare time?’
‘I never asked him and he didn’t volunteer the information. As for his hours of duty, if you care to call them that, he accompanied me whenever I went to Geneva. We drove there in the car and then he deployed himself. I made it plain from the beginning that I wasn’t having him with me shoulder to shoulder, so to speak, and that he could keep an eye on me without breathing down my neck.’
‘What about when you kept other engagements, social ones, for example?’
‘He went with me but discreetly disappeared, although I’m sure he was watching me from somewhere. A very conscientious man. Once when I told him he needn’t follow me everywhere, he politely told me that that was what he was here for and if anything untoward happened to me, he’d feel he’d been lacking in duty. My daughter used to call him the sea-green incorruptible. Once, when I dodged him and went off to Coppet to take a look over the château there, he was furious. You’d have thought he was the master and I was the man. One couldn’t help admiring his diligence.’
‘So, as far as you were aware, Sir Ensor, Cling had no friends, nor any other associations in Geneva?’
‘If he had, he’d have kept it to himself. He never confided in me. Whenever we were left to ourselves – and it wasn’t often – we hardly exchanged a dozen words. He was always polite, but completely lacking in conversation. I assumed in the end that he was concentrating on his task of keeping me safe and out of mischief and couldn’t persuade himself to relax for a minute.’
This view was borne out by the butler at Mont-Choisi when Lindemann interviewed him. A typical maître d’hôtel called Pflüger, dressed in dark green uniform on special occasions and in a striped waistcoat with long black sleeves when engaged on more menial tasks, he was middle-aged, dark, and wore his grey hair en brosse. He had a narrow, shrewd, clean-shaven face and he didn’t seem to care much for Sir Ensor.
‘Sir Ensor Cobb treated Mr. Cling like a servant, which was hardly fair. He ought, for example, not to have been lodged in the servants’ wing, but that was what Sir Ensor wished. Luckily, Mr. Cling did not seem to mind. He said he’d been used to all kinds of lodgings and this was magnificent compared with some places he’d slept in. We got on very well together.’
‘Did you find him talkative and sociable?’
‘Yes. When he and Sir Ensor arrived home and Sir Ensor had settled with his family, Mr. Cling would come to my room and drink a glass of brandy and smoke a cigar. He normally smoked a pipe, but told me he was partial to a good cigar and could obtain them cheaply in the village.’
‘What did he talk about?’
‘He never discussed his duties or Sir Ensor, but he was a very well-read man and could talk on many subjects. He had travelled all over the world and was entertaining in his descriptions of what he had seen.’
A different picture from that given by Sir Ensor.
‘Did he tell you anything about his career or his home life in England?’
‘In reply to a direct question or two from me, he did. But he didn’t say much about it. He had, I understand, been a detective in the Metropolitan police in London until the last war, when he joined the British military intelligence. There, I gathered, he had proved himself so efficient, that when he returned he was given special duties, which included acting as detective to certain politicians and other important people when they travelled abroad or when it was considered that they were threatened with danger of any kind.’
‘Did he say he was married?’
‘No. He said he lived alone in a flat in London and was a good housekeeper and cook. He seemed to have no place in his life for women. From which I assumed that at some time or other, his affairs of heart had not gone well.’
‘I suppose he got some time off in the day.’
‘Yes, sometimes arranged, when Sir Ensor stayed resting or entertaining at Mont-Choisi. And sometimes, Sir Ensor took off without Cling, which made Cling very annoyed.’
‘How often did that occur?’
‘Several times. Sir Ensor would get up early in the morning and take a long walk, before Cling was dressed and about. And often we would find he’d gone for a walk in the evening on his own, whilst Cling was with me, thinking Sir Ensor was relaxing with his daughter and son-in-law. It wasn’t fair of him to do it. It worried Cling.’
‘And when Cling took, let’s say, an afternoon off, what did he do with his time?’
‘He had been here once before with Sir Ensor Cobb. As you know, the village of Ferney was built by Voltaire, who lived at the château here for many years. Cling seemed to develop a great interest in Voltaire and spent a lot of his free time in enquiring about him in the village and seeking out places associated with Voltaire. Mr. Cling had even read most of Voltaire’s books and letters. He once confided in me that Voltaire’s religious views coincided with his own. From which I also gathered, that, as a Voltairean his political views were not those of Sir Ensor Cobb. However, as I was saying, Mr. Cling pursued his studies about Voltaire in his spare time.’
‘Which took him all over the district?’
‘Yes. For example, I am acquainted with some of the staff at the château, which is, of course, private and occupied regularly by the owners. I was able to obtain permission for Mr. Cling to go over the château, which gratified him very much. He was most enthusiastic about it.’
‘Did Cling speak French, then?’
‘Only a little. Also a little German and he said he could get along with Spanish, too. I speak English myself. I was, in my young days, a waiter at the Savoy in London. I went there to learn the language. We got on very well in the matter of conversation.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. For a man of his sort, he was very fond of children. Dr. Vincent’s three boys were on vacation from school whilst he was here. He played cricket with them frequently. He was a good cricketer. It is not a game I appreciate, but the boys are very keen on it and greatly admired Mr. Cling.’
And that was that. Two different Clings. Laconic, almost sullen, on duty; sociable, talkative and entertaining in his off hours and with his own kind.
Lindemann allowed Littlejohn to read his file on the enquiry and there it all was.
In the midst of his packing, the telephone rang for Littlejohn. It was Lindemann.
‘Could we meet before you go home, Superintendent?’
‘Of course. My plane doesn’t leave until 15.45.’
‘Could we lunch together? I’ll call and pick you up.’
They met at noon and Lindemann drove him to a quiet lakeside hotel at Chambésy where the owner himself cooked excellently and the wine was local and good.
Lindemann was tall, fair, well-built and in his early forties. He looked to have come from the country and told Littlejohn later that his father was a farmer in the hill country behind Morges.
‘If we dine quietly, we won’t be disturbed. This place is really very good. My wife and I often come here in the evenings.’
They ate salmon trout and followed it by a fondue of cheese cooked in white wine.
It
was hot and sunny and they enjoyed the view of the lake backed by the panorama of the mountains of Savoy. Nothing was mentioned about Cling and his case until they reached the stage of coffee, kirsch and tobacco. Littlejohn felt he didn’t care if l’affaire Cling was forgotten. The good food and wine, the sunshine and the shady garden of the hotel brought back the holiday feeling.
‘You read the Cling file, sir?’
Lindemann, in spite of the current decline in deference to age and experience, regarded Littlejohn as a great detective and treated him with the respect due to a celebrity.
Littlejohn had handed back the file when they met. It now lay on the table beside them, like a shadow across the pleasant afternoon.
‘Yes. What do you think of the case, Lindemann?’
‘We are completely baffled by it. What in English you call a dead end.’
‘You have no theory about what happened?’
‘None whatever.’
The Swiss policeman sipped his liqueur and waited respectfully for Littlejohn to say something.
‘Neither have I. I think that most probably the bulk of the case lies hidden somewhere in England. It will never be solved over here. You agree?’
‘Yes. This is a small country and we of the police reckon we know most of what goes on here. But this affair goes beyond our frontiers. Its roots seem to lie in three countries; Switzerland, France and England. Geneva, Ferney-Voltaire and London.’
‘Agreed.’
‘We know Sir Ensor Cobb very well. Part of his family live in Ferney, which is a suburb of Geneva. His son-in-law is an eminent surgeon, Dr. Vincent, who practises in our city as well as in France. Sir Ensor often visits them. He has been doing so for more than seven years, since the Vincents came to live at Mont-Choisi in Ferney. Cling we also knew. Not as well as Sir Ensor, but fairly well enough. It is good for personal detectives of travelling celebrities to keep in touch with the local police. Cling always did that. Nevertheless, I must confess we never enjoyed what I’d call warm personal relations. He was a cold fish.’
‘You knew little of him, then, apart from official contacts?’
‘That is true. As you see from the file, we have some information about how he spent his spare time, when he was not keeping an eye on Sir Ensor. Pflüger, the maître d’hôtel at Mont-Choisi, found him sociable and talkative, but never very confiding. He was a well-read man, we learned, widely travelled, interested in what he saw whilst abroad. He was also extremely interested in Voltaire. That, in itself, shows rather a shrewd and enquiring mind, especially in an Englishman, if you’ll forgive my saying so.’
‘You have been able to trace most of Cling’s movements since he arrived in Geneva with Sir Ensor Cobb?’
‘Yes. They seem quite innocent. When off duty he behaved like an intelligent and interested tourist. We’ve found no signs that he had any travelling companions. He seemed to enjoy his own company best.’
‘When did Sir Ensor and Cling arrive here?’
‘Six days ago; just before the police conference began.’
‘And I see from your file that Cling’s solitary excursions were in no way suspicious. According to the railway booking office in the Hôtel du Roi, where he bought his tickets, he went twice to Annecy, and then once each to Lausanne, Berne, Zermatt and Zürich. In five days he must have had a fair amount of time on his own, as these trips are whole-day ones.’
‘I asked Sir Ensor about that. He told me the conference was a busy one and frequently sat for a full day. On such occasions, our own police were around and he gave Cling the day off. He added that Cling was always reluctant to leave him. He would accompany Sir Ensor to the conference hall in the morning and then, after his return, Cling would call for Sir Ensor in the late afternoon.’
‘Sir Ensor must have used pressure to get rid of Cling on such occasions. Cling wasn’t the type of man to do a job by halves. The idea of leaving his chief unguarded all day whilst he took a trip to Annecy or Zermatt wasn’t the conduct Cling would fancy, I’m sure. Did you ask Sir Ensor if he had insisted on Cling taking days off?’
‘Yes. Sir Ensor said that was so. He’d even had to get annoyed with Cling to make him take any rest at all.’
Their conversation was thereupon interrupted by the arrival of visitors, a male-voice choir from Brig, enjoying an outing and calling for lunch at the restaurant. They seemed so full of song that whilst the tables were being laid, they burst into three sentimental glees, one after the other. It was all very pleasant, but not helpful during a post-mortem examination of Alec Cling. Littlejohn and Lindemann removed themselves to a distance and settled on a seat by the lake in the sun. The background music, which continued, seemed to surround the memory of Cling with an aura of tragic nostalgia.
‘I wonder what Cling was up to with my hired car. He took great risks and trouble to get the key, as though almost desperate to make use of the vehicle. Why?’
‘We can only assume he wanted it either for flight or pursuit.’
‘Unless he thought he’d take a little excursion in it whilst Sir Ensor and I were involved at the banquet. He was perhaps bored. In any case, I can’t help admiring his cheek.’
‘He presumably knew where you’d hired the car and which was yours of those in the car park.’
‘He was a trained observer and, of course, he knew me. I can’t say that, although we were in the British police together, we could be described as comrades. But Cling would normally be interested in his own countrymen operating in Geneva. As for the car, he’d instinctively notice the details even if I merely passed him in it somewhere.’
‘So, urgently needing a car, he appropriated yours.’
‘And the reason, I’d guess, probably has its roots in England.’
There was a pause. Lindemann was evidently making up his mind about something and turning over suitable language in which to express it.
‘I agree with you about the root of this affair being in your own country. That is why I would be grateful if you could take a look into Cling’s affairs over there. I have no official status for operating in England. I could ask through official channels for the help of Scotland Yard. But as I know you well and admire your work, if I may say so, I would regard it as an honour and a favour if you would do this.’
‘Unofficially?’
‘Not exactly. I could ask our Ministry to arrange for you to deal with it for us in England. Failing such a step, I’m afraid the affair of Cling will remain unsolved. I wouldn’t like that to happen.’
‘Nor would I. I’ll do what I can. It would be more appropriate if, as you suggest, your authorities made the request officially to Scotland Yard or our Home Office. Will you see to that?’
‘Of course. And thank you. We have already taken the liberty of asking your police if they’d kindly arrange for Cling’s flat to be examined with a view to discovering anything which might help us. They have sealed the flat …’
Lindemann paused and his fresh countenance grew flushed. Littlejohn laughed. ‘The whole matter was cut and dried before you asked me?’
‘Not exactly, sir. But we have asked for help. They said had we anyone in mind. We replied Superintendent Littlejohn. Of course, had you found yourself unable …’
‘After a week of such hospitality from the Geneva police …? I’ll do my best.’
‘And now we must get you to Cointrin for your plane, sir.’
The glee-singers, still exploding with energy, were singing the Erl King before they sat down to lunch.
3
Things Past
I leave devise and bequeath and appoint all my estates … to my wife Florence Agnes Cling absolutely …
Cling’s flat was almost as neat and orderly as he himself had been and in his desk a card had been placed in a prominent position. In the event of my death refer to J. Q. Havelock, Solicitor, 2b Tite Street, London, E.C.3.
Mr. Havelock was well known at Scotland Yard and frequently assisted the staff there in personal matters.
Littlejohn rang him up and found him waiting in his old-fashioned office off King William Street. He received a hearty welcome.
Mr. Havelock was the type of family solicitor rare in the City, to whom strange people brought strange troubles. He had plenty of troubles of his own in his time and knew most of life’s problems. He had lost one eye in the war and wore a black patch over the socket. His wife had been killed in the bombing of London and his son in North Africa. The partner he trusted had embezzled the funds of the firm and run away with a client’s wife. Mr. Havelock, nevertheless, read the lessons in church every Sunday, handled a vast amount of charitable work, and dispensed free legal aid to those who couldn’t afford to pay for it.
A little dapper man with a shock of iron grey hair and a pale sardonic face; first impressions of him were very deceptive.
‘Cling? Yes. He left a will with me.’
And Mr. Havelock briefly explained the contents.
Littlejohn told the solicitor about Cling’s death and of the many other details he had learned about his life and adventures in Geneva.
‘I thought he was unmarried.’
‘So did many others. His wife left him over twenty years ago. During the war. Cling was then a divisional detective sergeant seconded to Special Branch. He was never at home. In fact, nobody quite knew where he was most of the time. His wife wasn’t the type to put up with that state of affairs for long.’
‘What kind of woman was she?’
‘Very poor. He made her acquaintance in a night club. She was then little better than a prostitute but he seemed to become infatuated with her. And he seemed to remain so until the end. At the time he married her, he risked his career, but it didn’t seem to matter. I suppose he thought as others have done before him, that all would be well if he married her and gave her a home. That was just before the war. Then, the war came, Cling vanished about his duties and his wife took up where she had left off. When Cling was due back at the end of the war, Flo ran away with an American soldier and settled down in Chicago. I gather she’s still there and they are living as man and wife and have two children.’
Death of a Shadow (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery) Page 2
