‘Newcastle is larger than Durham, is it not? Besides, it is a port city and ports are more easy-going than inland places. Newcastle offers greater opportunities for anonymity, no doubt. Yes, if I were Anthony Smight I might well make Newcastle my base. So there is one more request I must make of you, Superintendent. Choose a group of your most reliable men. Put them on a rota watch at the railway station but not in uniform. Let the man on duty keep particular note of travellers between Durham and Newcastle, one for each platform. If he sees someone fitting Smight’s description either boarding the Newcastle train or alighting from one here, he should follow him to see where he goes — but always exercising the utmost caution since I believe we are dealing with a ruthless murderer. Have you got men up to the task?’
‘Of course I have,’ said Harcourt, divided between wanting to show willing and at the same time assert his own interests, or rather those of the Durham force. ‘But, Inspector, you are aware we are dealing with our own murder. This man Flask.’
‘Yes. In my experience, though, heightened police activity directed towards one purpose sometimes uncovers other criminals along the way. Give me more details of your affair this evening when we are snug in the bosom of your family. The murder of this Eustace Flask might after all be connected with the arrival of Doctor Smight.’
‘Which you have already called coincidence.’
‘A coincidence is only so until it is proved otherwise.’
He is quite the police philosopher, this William Traynor, thought Harcourt as they strolled through the old town and across the river to the County Hotel. But naturally he said nothing of his annoyance and contented himself with pointing out some more of the sights of Durham.
By good fortune they encountered Tom and Helen in the lobby of the hotel as they were leaving after their meeting with Major Marmont. Neither of the Ansells was exactly pleased to see Superintendent Harcourt again but he was quick to reassure Helen that their call was nothing to do with the Flask business. He introduced Inspector Traynor, explaining that the detective from Great Scotland Yard had significant information which concerned the couple.
William Traynor spoke to the hotel porter. He required somewhere quiet where they might chat. The four were directed to an empty snug next to the hotel dining room. Tom and Helen sat together on an old ottoman, the two policemen in armchairs opposite with a low table between them. The smell of food together with the distant chink of plates and cutlery reminded Harcourt that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The London detective seemed tireless, unaffected by hunger. Fuelled only by the meat pie from Derby station, he had already spent a lengthy period in the police-house, visited Miss Howlett’s house and questioned a chemist, besides suggesting a couple of investigative lines. Harcourt thought this must be the pace at which police business was conducted in a big city. He wondered whether to send a message to Rhoda that he and his special guest would be late for supper.
It took some time for even an abbreviated form of the story which Inspector Traynor had to tell. First, he checked that the Ansells had indeed attended the seance in Tullis Street at which Seldon, a policeman in civilian clothes, exposed Ernest Smight.
‘But Mr and Mrs Seldon are dead,’ interrupted Helen. ‘I saw it in the paper. I mentioned it to you, Tom. An accidental gas leak, wasn’t it, Inspector?’
‘It was no accident, Mrs Ansell,’ said Traynor, observing the I-told-you-so look which passed between wife and husband. Swiftly he outlined his reasons for concluding that the death of the Seldons was an ill-disguised murder. He explained the part played by Doctor Anthony Smight, his motive being revenge for the suicide of his brother, Ernest. He said he believed that the Ansells were next on Smight’s list.
‘That is hard to believe,’ said Tom. ‘I admit I would have been ready to testify against Ernest Smight if I had been summoned, and I can’t say I had any sympathy with the man in the first place. But I — we — were sorry to hear of his death, even if it was by his own hand. Surely this involvement of ours is too small and insignificant for his brother to want to… harm us as you’ve described? It’s not rational.’
‘Mr Ansell,’ said Inspector Traynor, allowing the smallest of smiles to creep across his face, ‘you’re a lawyer, as I understand it. You are surely aware of just how irrational people can be. That is why the law was invented.’
Then, as he had at the chemist’s, he produced the police artist’s sketch of Doctor Tony. A less impassive man than Traynor might have been gratified by the effect the picture produced on the couple.
‘My God,’ said Tom. ‘It is the man on the riverbank.’
‘Which man is that, Mr Ansell?’
‘A few days ago we were out for a walk and the person in this picture tried to return a handkerchief which he said my wife had dropped.’
‘It wasn’t my handkerchief,’ said Helen. ‘I told him so quite clearly. At the time I thought he was being very insistent. It was as if he wanted to find some excuse to speak with us, to see us face to face.’
‘That’s probably what he did want,’ said Traynor.
‘There is more,’ said Helen, taking the picture from Tom and studying it carefully. ‘I knew that this individual reminded me of someone. There is a likeness between him and the unfortunate medium, the one from Tullis Street. See, Tom.’
‘I do now,’ said Tom. ‘Something about the eyes and forehead. Not surprising if they are brothers.’
‘In one way, this is good news,’ said Traynor. ‘It confirms, Harcourt, that the man we are seeking is in Durham. But it also underlines the threat facing Mr and Mrs Ansell. Doctor Anthony Smight is on your trail. Do not be afraid, though, for we are on his.’
Despite the reassurance, Tom and Helen automatically glanced round as if the murderer might be lurking in a corner of the oak-panelled snug.
‘I cannot help being a little afraid,’ said Helen. ‘Fear seems justified on this occasion.’
‘You really think we are in danger, Inspector?’ said Tom.
‘We shall act as if the danger to you and your wife is real, Mr Ansell,’ said Traynor.
‘It is real,’ said Helen firmly. ‘Before we left London there was a person keeping watch on our house. Remember, Tom, I told you that as well. He was asking questions about us at the grocer’s.’
‘That was most likely George Forester,’ said Traynor. ‘It was lucky that the two of you left London for Durham when you did. You might have ended up like the Seldons otherwise.’
Tom put his hand over Helen’s. He said. ‘We will be all right. At least we know the danger now.’
He spoke with more confidence than he felt. He was conscious of the need to keep his voice steady. He was conscious, too, that Helen had been correct in every one of her fears and forebodings. She thought they were partly responsible for the suicide of Smight, although she had nothing to do with it. She’d been alerted by the snooper asking questions about them and uneasy over the deaths of the Seldons. She sensed something odd about the man on the riverbank — Doctor Anthony Smight — and now she was being proved right on all counts.
‘I will have my men keep watch over you,’ said Harcourt. ‘A discreet watch when you are out and about in the city and there will be a police presence in your aunt’s house too.’
‘Could not this man Smight have been responsible for the murder of Eustace Flask also?’ said Helen. ‘Or are there two murderers at large in Durham?’
‘Either of those things is possible,’ said Traynor. ‘The Superintendent here has given me an outline of the local murder. I understand from him, Mrs Ansell, that you were unlucky enough to discover Flask’s body and even more unlucky to be held in custody for several hours, although anyone meeting you could see that you were no more capable of committing a murder than Harcourt or I.’
Frank Harcourt looked shamefaced, and Helen let him stew in his own discomfort for a few moments before saying, ‘I saw the man in the picture on a second occasion. He was walking on the riverbank at ar
ound the time Mr Flask was killed. I even saw him near the scene of the murder.’
‘Why didn’t you say so before, Mrs Ansell?’ said Traynor. He spoke mildly.
‘The circumstances were not… propitious. At the time I was more concerned with establishing my own innocence.’
‘Of course,’ said Traynor, with a glance at Harcourt who refused to meet his eye. ‘I’d have reacted in the same way myself.’
‘But what would be Smight’s motive for killing Eustace Flask?’ said Tom. ‘Flask was a medium, like Smight’s brother.’
‘Who can tell? We won’t know until we have Anthony Smight safely under lock and key. But it is my view that this doctor is unhinged. He has gone bad, and when a doctor goes bad he is more dangerous than almost anybody else. He has nerve and experience. Furthermore Smight is an opium addict, a habit which we believe he first acquired in the East. Prolonged indulgence in the drug quite saps the moral sense and sweeps away all inhibitions. Once embarked on a course of murder, such a man will find it very hard to stop.’
‘There is another mystery,’ said Helen. ‘According to you, Inspector, this Anthony Smight is determined to do us harm because we were present at the seance after which his brother killed himself. If that was the case, he ought to have been pleased when I was under suspicion for the death of Eustace Flask. He might have been happy if things had gone much further and I had been put on trial-’
‘That never would have happened, dear lady,’ said Traynor.
‘I am glad to hear it. But, if you accept what I’ve just said, then explain why Smight took the extraordinary step of sending the murder weapon and a note to the police announcing that I did not do it.’
Tom wondered why Helen was so troubled by this question. She’d already raised it with him. What did it matter who had sent the mysterious box with the dagger as long as it exonerated her? But Traynor had an answer, one which was disquieting.
‘As I’ve said already, there is no accounting for human behaviour, Mrs Ansell. It is possible that Anthony Smight did not want you to face the rigour of the law. He wanted you released so that he could… well, I shall say no more.’
‘You don’t need to,’ said Helen. ‘Your meaning is all too clear.’
‘You should talk with Major Marmont, the magician,’ said Tom. ‘We have just been to see him. He is a client of my firm.’
‘I have already spoken with him but I intend to interview him again,’ said Harcourt, then under his breath, ‘And look who is here…’
There was the sound of the door to the snug opening. Tom and Helen were sitting with their backs to the door but Harcourt, who was facing it, raised his eyebrows while even Traynor’s impassive expression was replaced by a look of curiosity. Five people entered the snug. They were the magician and his Indian assistant, Dilip Gopal, together with Marmont’s three sons. They were on their way to the Assembly Rooms for that evening’s performance. Marmont conferred briefly with his entourage then indicated that they should leave without him. He walked briskly to where the others were sitting.
‘Superintendent Harcourt, I didn’t expect to see you so soon but this is a timely meeting. I have only a few minutes to spare and will give you a full statement later. But you should know that I possess some information about the weapon which was apparently used to kill Eustace Flask.’
‘Information which you have withheld from me, Major Marmont?’
‘Not deliberately withheld. I did not know it was relevant.’
The Major remained standing. He glanced at Traynor and Harcourt made a show of introducing him as a detective from Great Scotland Yard.
‘Give us the facts, sir, the bare facts if you please,’ said Traynor.
Rapidly Marmont explained how Flask had stolen the Dagger on the night during which he had disappeared from the Perseus Cabinet. He made no reference to the Dagger’s chequered history. Regarding the theft as an act of opportunistic revenge, Marmont had gone to see Flask the following morning only to find that the medium had left the house in Old Elvet.
‘Flask’s companion, the woman called Kitty, will confirm that I came calling. Also that Flask had departed by then.’
‘We are one step ahead of you,’ said Harcourt. ‘She has already given me her story.’
‘You went on looking for Flask after you called at the house?’ said Traynor.
‘I didn’t know where to look. Kitty said he had gone to meet someone but she couldn’t say who it was or where they were meeting.’
‘Well, it would hardly have been you he was meeting,’ said Traynor. ‘From what you are saying he would have been glad to get away from you. No, our thoughts are turning in a different direction.’
The Inspector glanced automatically at the drawing of Anthony Smight which lay on the table. Marmont appeared to notice it for the first time. He picked up the drawing and studied it carefully. He even ran his fingers lightly across the picture. He nodded once, then again, a gesture more for himself than the others.
‘This is the man you are looking for?’
‘Yes sir,’ said Traynor.
‘Is he in Durham?’
‘We believe so. I could say we are almost certain of it. You have seen him, Major Marmont?’
‘Not in Durham, not at all. I would take an oath on that.’
‘But from your expression you seem to know him.’
‘It is many years since I have seen this gentleman. It is a very odd coincidence and I have not spared him a thought, let alone referred to him, for ages and yet…’
Sebastian Marmont seemed undecided whether to say more. He looked towards Tom and Helen.
‘Out with it, sir. We are used to coincidences by now,’ said Traynor.
‘When I was in India in the army, I was caught up in the Siege of Lucknow during the Mutiny. I have only just now described my experiences to Mr and Mrs Ansell here. Well, there was a doctor in the infirmary in the city. There are more lines on the face in the picture and altogether a changed cast to his features, but this is the man from the infirmary.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Smight,’ said Major Marmont. ‘Doctor Anthony Smight.’
Act Four
The Major says, ‘Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, you will witness something quite unprecedented. As you can see, I am not equipped with any props except for this simple kitchen chair and this — ’
He draws from his pocket a silk handkerchief. He sits in the chair which is positioned to face the audience. He claps his hands. One of his Hindoo assistants answers the summons. The Major hands the handkerchief to the boy and sits, arms folded, while the boy ties it over his eyes. When the Major is blindfolded, the boy leaves.
The Major’s colleague, Mr Dilip Gopal, now enters. He is immaculate. He looks at the magician and shakes his head. Evidently he is not satisfied with something. He takes another handkerchief from his pocket and proceeds to bind that one too about the head of Sebastian Marmont so that the unfortunate Major looks like a casualty of battle. But it is surely impossible for the Major to see a thing.
‘Now,’ says the Major, ‘my associate Mr Gopal will pass among you, the audience. Any one of you is at liberty to hand him an object which you have about your person. Any object, I say. Mr Gopal will hold the said object in his hands before returning it to you. Using his mind, he will transmit through the ether an image of that object, a mental image. I will receive the image as it is borne through the ether and I will tell you, ladies and gentleman, what it is that Mr Gopal is holding.
‘To avoid any imputation of trickery or collusion, Mr Gopal will say nothing, not a word, as he receives the objects from you. Not a word beyond the normal courtesies of course. I am not permitted to ask him questions nor would he be allowed to answer them. Mr Gopal, if you please…’
Mr Dilip Gopal descends into the audience. He looks to the right and left and at first no one meets his eye. Then a fellow at the end of the stalls beckons to the Indian as if he were a servant. Mr Gopal
goes towards him and executes an almost military salute, bringing his heels together and inclining his head. The fellow in the stalls slips something into his hand. Mr Gopal examines it. Apart from the little matter of the double blindfold, there is no possibility that the Major can see what he is holding — nor can most of the audience, come to that — since Gopal’s back is to the stage. Marmont keeps his swathed head fixed forward, his arms now resting on his knees.
‘I thank you, sir,’ says Dilip Gopal.
‘Mr Gopal, I am receiving an image of what is in your hands. Concentrate on it if you please. Just a little more concentration. Yes, I have it. A cigarette case, a silver cigarette case. It is inscribed, I believe, but the image is not clear enough for me to decipher the message. There is a slight disturbance in the ether tonight.’
Dilip Gopal holds up the item. It glints. It is a cigarette case. He returns it to the owner and a ripple of applause spreads round the auditorium. The besuited Indian moves down the aisle. A woman catches his attention. She has something for him. Mr Gopal comes to another smart halt, clicking his heels. He takes the item and looks at it. He says in his formal manner, ‘Thank you, Madam,’ but nothing further.
‘Let me see, Mr Gopal,’ says the Major, ‘or rather let me not see. I think that what you have in your hand is — yes, a picture is being transmitted to me even now — it is a purse, a small and delicate purse.’
Dilip Gopal duly holds up a purse to the admiring audience. Now he moves towards the back of the stalls. A sallow-faced man is holding out an item. The Indian takes it, with thanks.
‘Now concentrate, Mr Gopal-’
Suddenly Major Marmont breaks off. Those in the front rows notice that his posture stiffens. After a moment the magician and mind-reader seems to recover his poise.
‘I have a distinct impression of this item as it crosses the ether between Mr Gopal’s mind and my own. It is, yes it is a cravat pin, a stickpin.’
Dilip Gopal again holds up the object to the audience, most of whom have to twist in their seats or crane forward to have a glimpse. But it does indeed appear to be a cravat pin, a rather fine one topped with a pearl. The Indian returns it to the man in the stalls. They look at each other. The man smiles in a way that Mr Gopal could only describe as mirthless.
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