The Chessman

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  ‘Did the insurance money come to you, Lady Vardon?’

  ‘Oh no. Matthew dealt with all the financial side of things. He had such a head for figures.’

  ‘Have you found that catch yet, Haldean?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘I’ve nearly got it … Bingo!’ He glanced at the paper before handing it over to Ashley. ‘One signed document, as stated.’

  ‘So that’s true, at least,’ grunted Ashley. He read it quickly and put it in his pocketbook. ‘Thank you very much for your time, Lady Vardon. You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Not at all, Superintendent.’ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and sat rigidly. ‘I would like to remain here for a few minutes. I feel so close to poor Matthew in this room.’

  Thomas turned to Jack and Ashley. ‘I’ll show you out.’

  He ushered them onto the landing. ‘You must excuse my stepmother,’ he said as they walked down the stairs to the hall. ‘I’m starting to get quite concerned about her. This spiritualist nonsense has gone to her head. I didn’t even attempt to explain my father’s part in the theft. She’d never believe it. Talking of which, Superintendent, what’s going to happen to Ryle?’

  Ashley sighed. ‘Ryle’s a ruddy nuisance. He’s certainly guilty of conspiring to steal the diamonds, but it’ll be nasty for your stepmother when all the facts come out.’

  ‘Why d’you think your father needed money?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Search me. I suppose my father’s solicitor might help you. He’s a chap called Flood of Newson, Harvey and Flood in Gray’s Inn. I’m going to see him tomorrow. I need to find out the true state of affairs with the estate.’ He paused. ‘As a matter of fact, it might be worth your while speaking to Simon. I was going to call on him anyway, after I’ve seen old Flood, and now we’ve found out the truth about Ryle, I really do need to see him. He knew far more about my father’s shares and investments than I do.’

  ‘Shares,’ repeated Jack thoughtfully. The word struck a chord. Edward Castradon had told them how Simon Vardon tried to extort – if Castradon’s account was correct, extort wasn’t too strong a word – shares in the company that Matthew Vardon and Castradon’s father had started.

  ‘I’d like to have a word with your brother,’ said Jack pleasantly.

  Thomas Vardon gave a disgruntled snort. ‘I’d like to have a word with him myself. He was supposed to meet me off the ship, but he didn’t turn up. He said he’d come home for a few days, but goodness knows when he’s going to arrive. I expected a note from him at least, but I can’t get hold of him.’

  A suspicion, an only too believable and grim suspicion, crossed Jack’s mind. It was possible, yes, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. ‘Does he live with anyone? Anyone who’d know where he was?’

  Thomas looked at him in surprise. ‘That’s a funny question. I suppose someone must know where he is but he doesn’t live with anyone. He’s got a service flat off the Haymarket. I imagine there’s a charwoman, but she doesn’t live in.’

  ‘Is he on the telephone?’ Thomas nodded. ‘Would you mind telephoning him now, Vardon? I really would like to speak to him.’

  ‘Just as you like,’ said Thomas in some surprise. ‘The telephone’s in the hall.’

  Ashley drew Jack back a pace as Sir Thomas led them down the stairs. ‘What’s in your mind, Haldean? What’s all the fuss about these shares?’

  ‘It’s not shares I’m worried about,’ said Jack in a low voice. ‘It’s the Chessman.’ He lowered his voice still further. ‘The Chessman’s got a grudge against the Vardons. Simon Vardon is missing.’

  Ashley’s eyes widened in apprehension. ‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘I wonder if you’re right.’

  Sir Thomas picked up the telephone and, after a brief word with the exchange, was put through. After what seemed like a long wait while the telephone bell shrilled, the girl from the exchange came back on the line.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no answer from that number, caller.’

  ‘I knew it,’ said Thomas. He turned to them with a wry grin as he hooked the earpiece back on the stand. His grin faded as he saw Jack and Ashley’s serious faces. ‘What’s the matter? Simon’s bound to turn up eventually. He always does.’

  Ashley drew his breath in. ‘Could we have a word with you in private, sir?’

  ‘If you like,’ said Sir Thomas, puzzled. ‘Come into the morning room.’

  The morning room was off the hall. Thomas led them in and Ashley shut the door firmly behind them.

  ‘Now, sir,’ said Ashley. ‘I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but we do have a murder on our hands.’ He paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘As a matter of routine, we have to check up on any man reported missing. Your brother …’

  ‘My brother?’ repeated Thomas Vardon incredulously. He sat down on the arm of a chair and gazed up at them in disbelief. ‘You can’t honestly think that there’s the slightest chance that my brother’s been murdered.’

  ‘He is missing,’ said Jack.

  ‘I haven’t seen him, I grant you, but that’s not missing. The man in the church can’t be Simon. It just can’t. Why, he never comes here …’ His voice trailed away. ‘He was here earlier this week, wasn’t he? Before I arrived home.’ He swallowed hard. ‘No. I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. You simply have to be wrong.’ He put a hand to his mouth. ‘We’ll go up to London,’ he said after a pause. ‘There must be somebody in the flats who knows where he is.’

  Ashley cleared his throat. ‘There’s perhaps a quicker method, sir. As you know, we found the body of a man. I’m afraid the face is beyond recognition but are there any marks or identifying features you could recognize your brother by?’

  That, thought Jack, was a tall order. The body was so mutilated there was precious little left to identify. He hoped – hoped very much – that it wouldn’t be necessary to show those ghastly remains to Thomas Vardon. The poor beggar seemed to have gone into a trance.

  ‘Sir?’ prompted Ashley.

  Thomas turned to him with a shudder. ‘Simon’s about my height but slighter in build.’ The two men waited patiently. ‘I can’t think of anything else.’

  Dr Lucas had said the victim had an appendix scar. ‘Did he ever have appendicitis?’ asked Jack.

  Thomas nodded. ‘Yes, he did, now you come to mention it.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I know! He had a tattoo!’ He clapped his hand to his left bicep. ‘Here, on his arm. He had it done in Limehouse for a dare. It was a Chinese thing, a charm that was supposed to bring prosperity.’

  The body didn’t have a tattoo but there was an apparently inexplicable injury to the left arm, an injury that would conceal the fact there’d ever been a tattoo there.

  The shocked look in Ashley’s eyes told Jack he’d had the same thought. ‘I think, sir,’ said Ashley, speaking very gently, ‘although it’ll be very distressing for you, it’d be as well if you took a look at the body.’

  Ashley presented their credentials at the mortuary. They were shown into a large room containing a deal table and six chairs, where they were met by a gruesomely respectful attendant. He escorted them through a cheerless brick lobby and down a short flight of steps into a white-tiled room.

  Gas lamps showed a human shape shrouded by a thick canvas sheet on a stone-topped slab. The air was cold, cold enough for their breath to show in little puffs of condensation. The smell of chemicals hung bleakly in the still air.

  Ashley had asked the attendant to keep the corpse’s head covered. The face was completely unrecognisable and the process of identifying a body was harrowing enough.

  Jack stood next to Thomas as the mortuary attendant turned back the sheet. He saw the muscles of his jaw flex. Thomas blinked very rapidly, fighting back tears. He made a little noise in the back of his throat, then wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. He reached out and touched the dead man on the shoulder. He turned to them and tried to speak, but could only swallow.

  ‘Is it your broth
er, sir?’ asked Ashley, quietly.

  Vardon nodded, dropped his hand and backed away. ‘Yes. It can’t be anyone else, can it? Not with that scar and …’ His voice broke. ‘And where his tattoo was.’ He stopped, staring at the needle marks on the arm. ‘What are those?’

  Ashley didn’t answer.

  Thomas looked at him in bewilderment. ‘I’ve seen marks like those before. In Hollywood. There’s a raft of drugs used in Hollywood. Simon didn’t use drugs.’ His voice wavered and he repeated what he’d said. This time it was a question. ‘Simon didn’t use drugs?’

  ‘You never suspected your brother of using drugs, sir?’

  ‘No, I …’ Thomas began, then broke off. ‘His letters,’ he said softly. ‘Sometimes – recently I mean – they were disjointed, incoherent. Then he’d sound all right and I thought everything was okay.’ He turned to face Ashley. ‘I was uneasy about him. I think that’s why I was so keen to see him as soon as I arrived.’

  He thrust his hand out, as if to ward off the sight of the naked man on the marble slab. ‘For God’s sake, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Can I get you anything, sir? A cup of tea perhaps?’ asked the mortuary attendant as Vardon strode past him and up the steps.

  Vardon waved him away. ‘No. God, no. I’ll be in the car.’

  ‘Poor devil,’ said Jack with feeling, after he’d gone. ‘That was a nasty experience for him.’

  ‘It always comes as a shock,’ said the attendant as he covered up the body. ‘Mind you, it’d shock anyone seeing a cadaver in this condition. We have some nasty cases in here, with traffic accidents and the like, but this is the worst I’ve seen done deliberately.’

  He stood mournfully by the corpse for a moment and then turned to Ashley. ‘You’ll have to see the mortuary superintendent, now you’ve got an identification, sir. If you would like to come into the anteroom, I’ll tell him that you’re waiting.’

  It was twenty minutes later before Jack and Ashley returned to Vardon in the car. He lit a cigarette from the butt of the one he was smoking.

  ‘That letter I got,’ said Thomas abruptly. ‘The one from the Chessman. Did the Chessman do this?’

  Ashley had been expecting the question. ‘We believe so, sir.’

  ‘So who’s next?’ demanded Thomas. ‘Me? First my father, now my brother. What are you doing to stop this maniac?’

  Ashley paused, weighing up Vardon’s tense face. ‘Do you want an honest answer or a reassuring one?’ he asked eventually. ‘Because the honest answer is that I don’t know who’s behind this, Sir Thomas, but I intend to turn Croxton Ferriers inside out until I get them.’

  Thomas Vardon sank back on the leather seat. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re doing all you can.’ He stared ahead blankly. ‘We’d better go up to his flat, I suppose. I’ll have to sort out all his things. I’ll have to tell my stepmother. His mother.’

  ‘I must ask you not to visit your brother’s flat without us, sir.’

  Thomas looked up angrily. ‘What d’you mean? Why the hell can’t I go where I want to?’

  ‘Because his flat might contain evidence as to his killer, sir. I’ll need to get the Yard in on this, Haldean,’ he added in an aside to Jack. ‘Sir Thomas,’ he added gently, ‘I’ll need some details from you about your brother.’

  ‘Oh, anything you damn well like,’ said Vardon, resting his forehead on his hands. ‘And then you’d better take me home.’ He shuddered. ‘I’ll have to break the news to my stepmother.’

  TWELVE

  The next morning, Jack, together with Ashley and Vardon, drove up to London.

  Simon Vardon’s flat was part of a new building, curved in an elegant bow of brick and glass round Waldeck Court off the Haymarket. Jack was pleased to see his old pal, Chief Inspector Bill Rackham, as ginger-haired and as untidy as ever, waiting to greet them on the pavement outside the flats.

  Ashley had telephoned him yesterday and brought him up to date with the events in Croxton Ferriers. Bill, who knew Ashley well, had offered all the help he could give.

  ‘This is Sir Thomas Vardon,’ said Jack, introducing him, as they climbed out of the car. Thomas still looked strained. He had been uncharacte‌ristically quiet on the journey up, but tried to smile as Bill shook hands.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear of your loss, Sir Thomas.’

  ‘I’m still trying to believe it,’ said Thomas. ‘It doesn’t seem possible somehow, that Simon’s actually dead.’ He looked up at the flats and squared his shoulders. ‘I suppose we’d better go in. His flat was number twelve, on the first floor.’

  ‘I know,’ said Bill, as they stepped in off the street and into the lobby. ‘I’ve had a word with the porter.’ He glanced at Ashley. ‘After your phone call last night, I called round and picked up the key. I wanted, not that it’ll do any good, to prevent the charwoman going in this morning. Unfortunately for us she’s got a reputation as being a very conscientious cleaner and tidier, but it was the least I could do.’

  He looked at Thomas. ‘The porter was very sorry to hear the news about your brother, Sir Thomas, as you’d expect, but also said that if there’d been any wrongdoing, to find a chap called Alan Leigh. Apparently he’s seen a lot of your brother recently. He’s stayed here a few times. The porter described him as a very queer customer indeed.’

  ‘Alan Leigh?’ said Thomas in surprise.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Leigh? Yes, I know him. He’s a distant cousin. We always knew of him, but we didn’t get to know him well until the war. Simon, Leigh and I were in the Royal Sussex. Simon was a subaltern in Leigh’s company. Leigh was a damn good sort. He saved my brother’s life on the Somme. Whatever did the porter mean, by calling Leigh a queer customer?’

  ‘I asked him that. Apparently Leigh’s very highly strung and moody—’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ interrupted Thomas impatiently, ‘but as I say, he was a decent sort.’

  ‘I looked up his record,’ said Bill flatly. ‘After what the porter said, I more or less had to. He’s got a conviction for drug offences.’

  Thomas froze. ‘Drugs?’ he repeated in a whisper. ‘Drugs?’

  There was no mistaking his emotion. Bill, evidently surprised by Thomas Vardon’s horrified reaction, gave Jack a puzzled look.

  ‘Simon Vardon took drugs,’ explained Jack. ‘I’m afraid that was evident from the body. Sir Thomas knew nothing about it.’

  ‘Leigh’s to blame,’ said Sir Thomas fiercely. ‘He must’ve dragged Simon into his filthy habits.’

  ‘Where’s Leigh now?’ asked Ashley. ‘Have you any idea, Rackham? Granted he knew Simon Vardon well, he might be a valuable witness.’

  ‘I can request a search for him, certainly. The other piece of evidence I’ve turned up concerns Mr Vardon’s car.’

  He took out his notebook and flipped it open. ‘A car, a 20 h.p. Austin four-seater coupé, number LC 3083, registered to Simon Vardon of this address, was left at London Bridge station last Tuesday morning.’

  ‘That’s Simon’s car, all right,’ said Thomas. ‘He bought it second-hand some months ago.’ His voice wavered slightly. ‘He mentioned it in one of his letters.’

  Ashley nodded. ‘Tuesday morning? That adds up. We know Simon Vardon visited Croxton Ferriers on Tuesday afternoon.’

  Bill unlocked the door of number twelve and they crowded into the hall. A folded-over piece of notepaper, and a few letters, obviously put there by the charwoman, lay unopened on the hall table.

  Thomas Vardon picked up the note and read it. ‘“Wednesday 22nd”. That’s last Wednesday.’

  The day after, Jack thought, Simon had been killed. The same thought clearly occurred to Thomas. He glanced at the note, then thrust it at Jack. ‘You read it. I can’t.’

  ‘All right. “Simon, where are you?”,’ Jack read. ‘“I expected you back last night. I know you said to keep out of it, but I’m going to Croxton. Alan.”’

  ‘He went to Croxton Ferriers?�
�� said Ashley. ‘No one’s seen him, as far as I know.’

  Thomas Vardon’s chin jerked up, a light in his eyes. ‘No one’s seen him? Then …’ He broke off. ‘No, forget it. It was just an idea.’

  ‘What, sir?’ asked Ashley.

  Thomas shrugged. ‘I just wondered if the body in the church could be Alan Leigh.’

  ‘You identified the body in the mortuary as your brother’s,’ said Ashley.

  Thomas nodded. ‘I know,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It was Simon, all right. I don’t want it to be Simon,’ he added savagely.

  He picked up the letters and rifled through them, then stopped. ‘My God,’ he said quietly, and held it out to Ashley.

  The envelope, with its typed inscription, was horribly familiar. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. It was from the Chessman.

  Ashley slit open the envelope with a paper knife on the table and held the letter carefully by the corners. ‘Listen to this. “If you want to stay alive, keep away from Sussex. Your next visit will be your last.”’ He checked the envelope. ‘It was posted in Croxton Ferriers last Monday.’

  ‘And on Tuesday …’ Thomas began. His mouth tightened. ‘My God, I wish I could get my hands on this maniac.’

  Bill nodded sympathetically. ‘Maniac’s about right, from what I’ve heard.’

  Ashley laid the letter out on the table and, taking a bottle of grey mercury powder from his bag, tested the letter for fingerprints.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said in disgust. ‘Still, it was worth trying.’

  The rest of the letters were mainly bills and receipts, including a bar bill from the Courtland.

  ‘That was his club,’ said Thomas.

  His club, thought Jack, might be worth a visit.

  The only other item of mail was a ship to shore cable sent by Thomas last Thursday from on board the Olympic, giving the estimated time of the ship’s arrival in Southampton.

  ‘I didn’t realize, when I sent this, what I was coming home to,’ was Thomas’s comment as he handed it to Ashley. ‘If I had, I’d have stayed in America. Poor Simon.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I was annoyed with him for not coming to meet me.’