“Are you suggesting that Captain Benesh did not really look for him?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that he left several minutes after Sergeant Tucker and I did—left very unobtrusively by the rear, service entrance in a four-wheeler that was brought there specifically for that purpose.”
“I know nothing about that,” said Katarov emphatically. “Nothing at all. Do you, Captain Benesh?”
“Certainly not!”
“I was afraid of that,” said Wyatt with an unhappy sigh. “In that case, could we talk to Stub Pollard?”
“Who?”
“Stub Pollard. A slight, dark chap who walks with a decided limp. He is a well-known cat burglar and served two sentences for robbery before he fell from a roof and broke his leg.”
“And what makes you think he is here?”
“Sergeant Tucker and I both saw him leaving here yesterday soon after we had been here. It was he who brought the four-wheeler to the embassy’s rear door when Macy left so suddenly and quietly. And Pollard himself left by way of the rear entrance at about ten o’clock last night and returned after midnight.”
“It sounds to me, Inspector,” said Katarov with obvious restraint, “as if you have been keeping a very close watch on the embassy.”
“Oh, we have,” said Wyatt cheerfully. “Very close.”
“Do you mind telling me why?”
“Not at all. I told you that we are very concerned about George Vickery, who disappeared about a week ago in Bucharest. What I did not tell you was that we are even more concerned about his three-year-old son, Michael, who was kidnapped from his home in Somerset six days ago and brought here to London.”
Tucker, following Wyatt’s instructions to watch Benesh, saw him stiffen and then force himself to relax.
“Are you suggesting, Inspector,” said Katarov with dangerous calm, “that someone here at the embassy had something to do with that?”
“Let me tell you what else we know, Colonel, and see if that answers your question. We know that Zack Macy drove the hired carriage in which the boy was taken from his house in Somerset to Bath. We know that Macy came down to London with two other people and engaged the cab that took them from Paddington to some unknown destination. Doesn’t it seem logical to you that the reason he left here so abruptly was because he didn’t want to be questioned as to the whereabouts of the boy? And the reason he was killed was because someone wanted to make sure that he never could be questioned?”
“That does not answer my question, Inspector. I repeat: are you suggesting that someone here—and by that I mean someone who is here in an official capacity—had something to do with the criminal action of which you have just told us?”
“There’s a simple way in which you can prove that no one here did, Colonel. Give us permission to search the embassy and convince ourselves that the boy is not here.”
“That,” said the colonel, striking the desk with sudden violence, “is the most outrageous thing I have ever heard! You insult us by implying we have been involved in criminal behavior—and then suggest that we exonerate ourselves by asking for something that is a violation of our diplomatic immunity! I must ask you to go, sir—go and not come here again! And you may be sure that I shall make the strongest representations about this to your Foreign Office!”
“By all means do so, Colonel,” said Wyatt bowing politely. “Good morning to you. And to you too, Captain,” he said to Benesh. Then, with Tucker beside him, he walked casually and unhurriedly out of the room and across the entrance hall. The footman opened the door and, still with no haste, the two policemen went down the three steps.
It was only when they had turned left and were walking up Court Street that Tucker said, “Well, well, Inspector, aren’t you ashamed?”
“Should I be?”
“Indeed you should. You gave him a chance to make one of the most highfalutin’ speeches I’ve heard since the Gaiety Theatre burned down, and what do you say in answer? You, not a blinking foreigner, but an Englishman, a descendant of Shakespeare. ‘Good morning to you.’”
“What should I have said? ‘Thy conscience hath a thousand several tongues and every tongue brings in a tale and every tale condemns you for a villain’?”
“Better. Much better. I watched Captain Benesh-Benson the way you told me to. And when you said the boy had been brought here to London, he twitched like he’d been jabbed with a sailmaker’s needle.”
“I know. I saw it.”
“What do we do now?”
“What I thought we’d have to do. Let’s go see friend Galt.”
They continued up Court Street to the hotel. Mr. Galt, the heavyset, smiling owner was talking to one of the guests when they came in. He excused himself and came over.
“Good morning, Inspector … Sergeant. As you know, it’ll be a while before The Footman opens. In the meantime, would you like some coffee?”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Galt,” said Wyatt. “I could use some coffee. But there’s something else we’d like—something much more important.”
“Oh?” said Galt, looking at him sharply. “You said you might want to set up a base here—a kind of command post. Is that what you mean?”
“It is.”
“I told you that the writing room is almost never used. You’re welcome to that.”
“Thank you. It looks ideal. One more thing. I’d like to engage some rooms upstairs for as long as we stay here. A two-bedroom suite would do.”
“Very good, Inspector. I’ll tell the clerk.”
“So you expect to be spending nights here as well as days,” said Tucker as Galt went off.
“I think it’s very likely, but I wasn’t just thinking of myself. I suspect that when Mrs. Vickery hears what happened, she and Mrs. Wyatt will want to be closer to the scene of operations than St. John’s Wood.”
“I suspect you’re right. Do you have any orders for me?”
“I will have. But let’s go outside first, look over the terrain, and decide how we’ll dispose our troops.”
They went out, looking up the street toward the embassy, and Wyatt pointed out where he wanted men stationed.
“Well, here’s a do,” said Tucker, glancing past him. “You don’t see many of them in this part of London.”
Turning, Wyatt saw Jasper and Daniel Lee, the Gypsies he had last seen in the Somerset police station, coming toward them. And striking as they had been there, they were even more so in the drab London street. For they were dressed exactly as they had been when he last saw them.
“What are you doing here?” Wyatt asked.
“Why, looking for you, Inspector,” said Jasper politely.
“Why?”
“You were there when the other inspector questioned us about our plans, and I promised to keep in touch with the police.”
“I remember. But what he meant was for you to keep in touch with him, not with me.”
“Is that so? I’m sorry I misunderstood. But, as you can see, I’m here now.”
“Yes. How did you know where I was?”
“Why, we went to Scotland Yard, and they told us.”
Wyatt turned to Tucker, who was looking at the Gypsy with interest and amusement.
“Never,” said Tucker.
“I agree,” said Wyatt. “No one at the Yard would tell you where I was.”
“No? Then maybe they didn’t have to. I told you that my mother was a chovihani, a witch.”
“Yes, you did. That must be the answer,” said Wyatt. Then, noticing where Jasper was looking, “Do you know what that building is?”
“Which one?” asked Jasper innocently. “That one? No. Except … isn’t that the Rumanian flag?”
“Probably. That’s the Rumanian Embassy.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” He looked at Jasper closely, intently. “Who the blazes are you anyway?”
“You know. I gave you my name.”
“You gave me a name.”
“Well, one is as good as another. May I ask you a question, Inspector?”
“You can always ask. Whether I answer is something else again.”
“That boy, the one who was stolen in Somerset, you haven’t gotten him back yet, have you?”
“No. Why are you so interested in him?”
“You know why. We talked about it in the police station. The inspector there thought that we had taken him. Or at least had something to do with his being taken.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“No, you didn’t. You think he’s there, in the embassy, don’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know you’re looking for him and you’re here.”
“Do you think finding him is the only case I’ve got on my books?”
“I’m sure you have others. But I still think he’s important to you. One final question. We heard that the boy’s mother came down to London with you. True?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“How do you expect a woman to be whose child has been kidnapped and who doesn’t know what has happened to her husband?”
Jasper nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. He dropped his eyes, then looked up again. “Since we are here and not in Somerset, Inspector, may we keep in touch with you? May we stop in from time to time to see how this case is going?”
Wyatt did not answer immediately, but Tucker, who had learned to read him over the years, knew that a great deal was going on behind his steady gray eyes.
“Yes, Jasper,” he said finally. “By all means stop by.”
11
The Foreign Office Is Concerned
“Which building is it?” asked Verna.
It was that afternoon and they were looking out of the window of the hotel room Wyatt had engaged—Verna, Mrs. Vickery, Wyatt, Andrew, and Markham.
“That one,” said Mrs. Vickery. “The white one with the flag, on the other side of the street.”
“That’s right,” said Verna. “I forgot that you had been there.”
“I was there twice to ask about my husband. And now you tell me that that is where my boy is,” she said to Wyatt.
“Not exactly. I said there is a good chance that that’s where he is.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“No.”
She nodded. She had not taken her eyes from the embassy since they had entered the room and was staring at it as if, by sheer force of will, she would be able to see through the walls.
“It was very thoughtful of you to let me come here,” she said, “but there’s still a great deal I don’t understand.”
“The extraterritoriality?” said Verna. “The diplomatic immunity?”
“No. I can see how an embassy must be protected just as a diplomat must and therefore you cannot just go in and search the place; but … if they did take him, why did they do it? Why do they want him? It’s not as if they were criminals and want ransom.”
“No,” said Wyatt. “And I’m not absolutely sure why they do want him. But I have some ideas about it, and there are several things I am looking into.”
“Things that may help us to get him back?”
“They may.”
“Let me ask you this. What would happen if I went over there, told them who I was, and asked them if they had Michael?”
“What did they say when you asked them about your husband?”
“They said they knew nothing about him. That they did not believe he had ever gone to Bucharest.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
“No.”
“In other words, they lied to you. If your boy is there, don’t you think they’d lie to you about that too?”
“I suppose they would. Then there’s nothing we can do except wait.”
During all the time that she was talking, she never raised her voice, and somehow Andrew found this more affecting than if she had been shrill and hysterical. He looked at her—her pale, drawn face and her eyes that were dark with pain—and then looked away. A movement outside caught his eye.
“Wyatt, look!” he said.
Wyatt glanced at the four-wheeler that had drawn up in front of the embassy.
“Ah, yes. Please stay here,” he said to Verna and Mrs. Vickery. “I’ll be back soon.” Walking quickly, he went out.
Andrew glanced at Markham. Wyatt hadn’t said anything about them, so they hurried out, too. They went down the stairs and had just reached the street outside the hotel when the door of the embassy opened and Captain Benesh came out with a lady on his arm. He was in full fig, wearing a top hat, striped trousers, and a frock coat, and she was all in black, apparently in deep mourning, for a heavy veil covered her face. He helped her into the carriage, gave some instructions to the driver, and was about to get in himself when Wyatt and Sergeant Tucker strolled up.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” said Wyatt politely.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” said Benesh shortly.
“May I ask where you are going?”
“What?” Benesh stared at him. “How dare you ask me that? What possible concern is it of yours where I go?”
“It’s of great concern. Don’t forget that one of your employees was murdered. I can do nothing about anything that happens inside your embassy, but I am responsible for anything that happens outside. Therefore I’d like to know where you are going so that I can, if it seems necessary, send a constable along to protect you.”
“That is unnecessary. This is Madame Zorn, the wife of one of our attachés. She has just received word that her father died and I am taking her to Victoria Station so that she can return home to Rumania for the funeral.”
“My sympathies, Madame Zorn,” said Wyatt. He bowed to her, and she inclined her head. “How did she get this word?” he asked Benesh.
“How?”
“Yes. As you know, we’ve been keeping a close watch on the embassy—for your protection—and you received no telegrams today.”
“No, we did not,” said Benesh venomously. “But we got our mail, and the word came by letter. Does that satisfy you?”
“Of course.”
“May we go then?”
“By all means.” While Wyatt and Benesh were talking, Sergeant Tucker had gone around to the other side of the carriage where Madame Zorn was sitting and looked, first at her and then down.
“Thank you,” said Benesh ironically. Getting into the four-wheeler, he slammed the door.
Tucker was now looking at Wyatt and apparently sending him a message for, as the driver shook the reins and prepared to drive off, Wyatt said, “Just a second. I’m not sure the other door is shut. Will you try it, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Inspector,” said Tucker. He opened and shut the door. Then, apparently not satisfied, he reached inside to test the latch. When he did, Madame Zorn’s veil must somehow have become entangled with the door handle. For when Tucker opened the door again—pulling on it hard and opening it wide—her veil was pulled off. Not only her veil, but the wig she wore underneath it, revealing the cropped hair, pasty face, and close-set eyes of Stub Pollard.
Pollard stared at Tucker for a moment, his mouth slightly open. Then despite his limp, he jumped out of the carriage and ran up the embassy steps so quickly that no one could have caught him if they had tried—though it must be admitted that neither Wyatt nor Tucker did try. Someone inside the embassy must have been watching, for the door opened and he slipped inside. But as he did, Andrew saw that the sole of one of his boots was built up so that it was much thicker than the other. That, of course, must have been what Tucker had seen.
Now Benesh jumped out of the four-wheeler also.
“Wait!” he said to the driver and, with a furious glance at Wyatt, he ran up the steps and into the embassy also.
“Well done,” said Wyatt to Tucker.
“Thank you. I must say I rather liked it myself. You didn’t want Pollard yet, did you?”
�
��No. I’d just as soon he stayed in there where he can worry them. One way or another, we’ll pick him up when we’re ready for him.”
“Do you know what they want him for?” Markham asked Andrew under his breath.
“I think so,” said Andrew. “I think they think that—under orders of course—he killed Zachariah Macy.”
“Right you are, old sleuth,” said Tucker. “We’ve already got two witnesses who saw him at The Eight Bells at the right time. When we’re ready, we’ll bring them face to face and make sure.”
“Are you waiting for something?” Andrew asked Wyatt, who was standing negligently next to the four-wheeler.
“Yes,” said Wyatt. “After all, they told the growler to wait.”
The embassy door opened again, and this time Colonel Katarov came out. He was dressed as formally as Benesh had been, in a top hat and frock coat. His color high and his lips tight with suppressed rage, he bowed to Wyatt.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” he said. “I understand you wanted to know where Captain Benesh was going. Would you like to know where I am going? Or do you perhaps know?”
“I think I can make a fairly good guess,” said Wyatt. “The Foreign Office.”
“Exactly. My compliments. You will be here when I return with—I hope—someone of some importance?”
“I will be here.”
“Excellent. Thank you. The Foreign Office on Whitehall,” he said to the cabby and got into the four-wheeler. Tucker closed the door for him and turned to Wyatt as it drove off.
“Now that,” he said, “was more like it. In fact, it was top-hole.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” said Wyatt.
“It seems to me,” said Markham, “that if you’re not besieging the embassy, you’re doing the next thing to it.”
“That’s about it,” said Wyatt. “I want them to know without any question that if the boy is in there, they’re not going to be able to get him out.”
“Will that help to get him back?” asked Andrew.
“I’m hoping it will keep them from hurting him. In the meantime, we’ll be exerting pressure on them in other ways.”
“Through the Foreign Office.”
The Case of the Watching Boy (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 9) Page 8
