The thirteenth apostle, p.4
The Thirteenth Apostle, page 4
part #2 of Dr Harris Mystery Series
The lift ground to a halt as it nestled into the rectangular shell at the apex of the shaft. The same expressions of recognition met him in multitude when the lift doors opened and he stepped out onto the platform. He surveyed the faces. Only one or two of the people were familiar to him, but it was obvious that none had a problem recognising France’s greatest policeman. In fact a couple of murmurs of ‘Toussante!’ were audible even above the whine of the breeze whipping above the enclosed platform.
There was no shyness or pride in Toussante at this fame. He was used to it, and it came with the job. There could not be more than a handful of people throughout France who did not know his face, but he did not delude himself; he knew that their close attention to his exploits were primarily owing to the fascination with Le Fantôme. In fact on the day he did his job properly, and caught that devil, maybe his time in the sun would come to an end, and both his name and face would fade from the public consciousness. It was a day he looked forward to, not because of the effect on his privacy, but for what he must necessarily accomplish to get there.
Once more he hoped that moment would come tonight.
At the same time it was clear that none of those currently present were his host for the evening’s business. All wore similar masks of nervous apprehension, and the uniformly desperate turn to the lift as the doors opened indicated they were all waiting for someone to show up and explain what on earth they were doing there. His eye was particularly drawn to an extravagant figure, whose features were shadowed beneath a large, rakish hat, and behind whom a cape caught in the slight breeze. He had met Armand, Duc de Laroche, on a couple of occasions, and was surprised to see him amongst the number.
It was an awkward atmosphere; no one was particularly in the mood for social introductions and small talk, yet the alternative of standing around individually and trying to pretend there was not some common bond joining those in attendance was equally uncomfortable.
The face of Michel Danvers was one that Toussante was at least familiar with. On more than one occasion Danvers had been dispatched to the Sûreté to lend his idiosyncratic help to a difficult situation. Toussante nodded curtly at the younger man and strode over.
‘M. Toussante,’ Danvers greeted him in understated manner. ‘What a surprise to see you here at this little gathering. I don’t suppose you know any more than the rest of us what it’s all about?’
‘I wish I did. I’ve racked my brains over what it could be.’ Toussante gestured at the other guests. ‘I take it no one else knows either?
Danvers shook his head. ‘No. They’re all baffled and quite scared. And I’ll tell you frankly that I don’t like it. Whatever is going on here, it’s not good news.’
Far below, the sound of the lift mechanism rasped into life once more.
‘You’re not here in an official capacity then?’ asked Danvers. ‘I thought this might have something to do with that ghost fellow you seem to have trouble with from time to time.’
‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers,’ smiled Toussante. ‘However you’re right, I’m here privately. But,’ he added after a brief pause, ‘that’s not to say Le Fantôme isn’t mixed up in all this.’
Danvers nodded and smoothed his hair down. The gesture was futile as a draught immediately whipped the errant strands back into the air. It was a mild night, but at nearly a thousand feet the chill air moved quickly, and although this lower floor of the top level was enclosed, the stairwells rising to the exposed upper floor still permitted enough breeze to be noticeable.
The grinding gears pulling the lift groaned into silence, and the doors opened once more. This time there were two men inside. On the right was M. Jaeger, finally ascended from the second level. He was pushing the trolley that had stood by the lift doors below, now divested of its cover to reveal a bottle and a number of wine glasses, alongside a large box-like object.
It was the second man that drew a strong emotion from Toussante. He was of slightly less than medium height and dressed in a vaguely shabby tweed jacket. His white hair and unkempt beard suggested an age that was immediately belied by the vitality of the piercing blue eyes. The strength of that gaze was magnified, ironically, by the fact that the spectacles that framed them were empty, devoid of any lenses.
The inconvenienced, faintly cantankerous expression was one Toussante had seen on a number of occasions and although it adorned its wearer’s face most of the time, he knew it was more often than not a pretence.
This was Dr Samuel Harris, sometime Cambridge professor of applied mathematics, but unofficially a man that Scotland Yard, and even occasionally the Sûreté, had turned to in the past for help when usual methods of detection were not working. It was not only Harris’ brutally logical analysis that made his powers of deduction so useful, but the way he saw the problem, stripping it down to its core components and methodically developing a strategy to unravel it, as though it were merely a complicated equation waiting to be solved.
Harris’ ingenious solution of the Lestrange case had earned him an esteemed reputation at the Sûreté. Hugo Lestrange, a one-armed man, had, according to all evidence, killed two people twenty miles apart at the exact same time. For a spell it had looked like being the only case in history where a man might be acquitted of a crime on the grounds of an alibi that he was busy murdering someone else at the time. As damning as the evidence for each murders was, it seemed impossible for any jury to convict beyond a reasonable doubt in either case, until Harris brilliantly solved the problem. His methods were solidly grounded in logic – the peculiar logic of the applied mathematician, and not the curiously absent-minded intuition sometimes found in detectives of literature – but he would often land on that path through some whimsical association of ideas. His mind was not exactly childlike, and yet it saw the world in a fresh and bold simplicity that adults rarely do, decomposing it to a clarity which age usually chooses to complicate in an effort to feel sophisticated.
If there was one man Toussante would have chosen to be up here with him for what lay ahead, it was the very man stepping out onto the platform at this moment.
A broad grin spread over the policeman’s face, almost matched by a reciprocal smile from Harris. They greeted each other warmly and Toussante introduced Danvers.
‘Dr Harris, I’ve heard many great things about you. I wonder if they can all be true?’
‘They probably are. All except the one about the Russian countess. She absolutely propositioned me first.’
Harris alone in the congregation seemed relaxed and at ease. The other guests, still wary and not comforted by the camaraderie in their midst, watched silently as M. Jaeger wheeled his trolley over to a corner, and carefully arranged the refreshments on it. Then he turned his attention to the large box on the lower tray, which he picked up and placed on a small table already in position. The box had an electrical cord snaking out from its rear and M. Jaeger bent to plug this into a nearby socket, before lifting the lid to reveal a gramophone, a record already on the turntable.
This task completed, he turned to the group and coughed in a deferential way that had nothing to do with clearing his throat and everything to do with respectfully calling the group’s attention without presumption.
The group, just waiting for an indication of something that might explain the purpose of this event, subconsciously gathered closer and quietened, making his task easier.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could ask a few moments of your attention? I regret I cannot answer any questions you may have about why you are here tonight; the man who employed me gave me no such information. I was merely instructed to bring you up to the third level; and, once everyone was present, to leave these refreshments with you and return to the second level after turning on this gramophone recording. I am told it will give you the information you wish to know.’
With that the man pressed a button on the player and carefully placed the needle into the outside groove. Oblivious to the clamour of voices, all ignoring everything he had just said, he walked deferentially but firmly back to the elevator and stepped inside.
As the doors closed and the mechanical groaning signalled the lift’s departure, a soft static hissed from the gramophone horn.
Chapter 3
The last remnants of indignant voices faded, until the white noise of the gramophone was the dominant sound, even above the wind gusting outside the windows.
Into this pregnant pause a soft voice began speaking from the horn, and proceeded to shatter the lives of everyone listening.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my little soiree. I hope you have been made comfortable. By way of introduction, you will understand if I decline to give my true name; suffice to say the newspapers usually refer to me as Le Fantôme.’ The words were clear but the voice sounded muffled, beyond the limitations of the recording, as though it was originally spoken through a cloth. It was not even clearly a male voice. ‘It would be wrong of me to describe myself as your host for this evening, as I regrettably cannot be with you. M. Jaeger, who has just departed in the elevator, is acting as my representative for the night, and I trust has attended to your needs. Incidentally, M. Toussante, pray do not agitate yourself over this information. I have employed M. Jaeger just for this one night, and I assure you he would not know me if we passed on the street. He, like all of you, is here under a certain degree of sufferance, but he has been amply remunerated and I know he will have made you welcome.
‘You are, naturally, here as my guests – although I regret that you are also, to all intents and purposes, my prisoners. M. Jaeger will not return with the elevator until a certain signal is given – more on this later – and the emergency stairs have been locked as usual for the night. You are, of course, free to avail yourselves of the services of gravity, but safer methods of descent are temporarily unavailable.
‘In case you have not already been so forward, I would like to make some brief introductions, to break the ice as it were. Some of your number are famous enough to perhaps already be known, but I would be grateful if each of you would acknowledge your presence as I say your name.
‘M. Henri Toussante, chief of the Sûreté – and my great nemesis, at least according to the newspapers – is, I am sure, familiar to you all.
‘M. Georges Lacomte, deputy curator of the Louvre.
‘Armand, Duc de Laroche, the infamous recluse so beloved by our illustrious press.
‘Mrs Delilah Brooks, wife of the American ambassador, Mr Chester Brooks IV.
‘Mr Hubert Allingworth, distinguished gemmologist from London.
‘M. Michel Danvers, political tsar who does more behind the scenes of French government than any of you could possibly dream.
‘Dr Christophe Miyati, one of Paris’ finest physicians.
‘Mlle. Emmeline Boullante, whose father is the French ambassador to England.
‘M. Philippe Dechampes, son of the late shipping magnate Patrick Dechampes.
‘Captain Neil Oakes, an employee of the British government who claims to be here on a recuperative holiday.’
The voice stressed this last sentence with barely disguised sarcasm.
‘And finally Dr Samuel Harris, professor of applied mathematics at Cambridge University and an old adversary of mine.
‘And now all the introductions are out of the way, you deserve an explanation for why I brought you out here on this Spring evening. I pride myself that you may be acquainted with some of my successes over the years in obtaining various items I wished to own. But since I began my, ah, career, there has been something I coveted above all else. Two things, actually – the twin Bombay Diamonds – and I have always known that their acquisition would be the pinnacle of my calling.
‘As you may know, one of these diamonds resides permanently in the Louvre whilst the other has most recently been on display at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. However the latter is temporarily on private exhibit at the Palais de Chaillot, the new building you can see across the Seine, where the old Trocadero used to stand, constructed for next year’s Exhibition. To be more accurate, it was on private display there, since tonight I have stolen it.’
M. Toussante’s body jerked as though an electric shock had run through it.
‘Once again, my dear Toussante, do not trouble yourself. The theft is history and I have long departed the scene.
‘Of course this was only half the task, and the easier half at that. The remainder of the plan, to steal the twin from the Louvre, will be more difficult still, especially as security will be understandably increased in light of my escapades tonight. M. Lacomte, I am sure you are even now thinking of what steps to take to prevent this coming to pass.’
The expression on the face of the deputy curator indicated this was very much what he had been thinking.
‘In fact it is all of you who will help me steal the second diamond.’ The recording left a pause, for the expected volley of gasps and curses, before adding with dramatic emphasis: ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Naturally you may be asking – if I might borrow the vernacular of Captain Oakes – “Why the devil you should do such a thing?” Well, the very fact that you are here indicates that you recognised in my invitations a hint that I may know something you would prefer I didn’t. To put it bluntly, you all have secrets, and I know what they are. Please do not waste energy on outraged denials to each other; I assure you that none of you are saints. Each and every allegation is true, and I have evidence for them all.’
All around the group faces blanched and energy was wasted in outraged denials anyway, until some shushed the rest to hear the next part.
‘I understand that most of you will feel unnerved by the prospect of playing a role in a theft, especially of such a priceless diamond, but I promise you that your part in the scheme will not be evident; I flatter myself that the plan is perfect, and no culpability can be traced back to anyone. Most likely no connection will be made with any of you at all. At most some minor but unforeseeable negligence will be attributed to you, and soon forgotten.
‘To show my gratitude for your help in this endeavour, upon the successful completion of the theft, the original documents and evidence in my possession of your various indiscretions will be returned to you, to be disposed of as you wish, along with five thousand francs as a token of my thanks.
‘To reiterate: the completion of these simple and quite legal acts will result in all evidence of your unfortunate errors of judgement disappearing forever. If, however, any one of you fails to fulfil your assigned task, each and every one of you will have their secret exposed publically.
‘For obvious reasons, I need unanimity in your decision to comply. Whilst none of you are asked to perform any actual criminal activity, I understand you might need to give thought and consideration to my offer. So I suggest that, as this recording ends, you avail yourself of the refreshments and take some time to discuss my proposal together. Once you have a unanimous verdict on whether you will comply, shine the torch you will find on the east side of the upper viewing platform three times, and the lift will be sent up for you. In the event that your unanimous decision is in the negative, or if any attempt is made to renege on this plan, please do not believe that I will have any qualms about exposing your secrets.
‘M. Jaeger knows nothing of what has been discussed here, and is expecting only to hear a simple “yes” or “no”. He has instructions on how to convey that decision to me. For ease, I suggest my old sparring partner, M. Toussante, act as spokesman for the group when M. Jaeger returns.
‘In a few moments this recording will end. If you look under the cloth on the trolley, beneath where the gramophone was originally placed, you will find an envelope addressed to each of you. These contain directions for your precise role in the theft, as well as copies of the evidence I spoke of, in case you need convincing that my knowledge of your indiscretions is genuine. Please take a few moments to examine these and convince yourself that this is no idle threat. For your convenience there is a metal bucket and a box of matches by one of the stairwells, so that you may dispose of these if you wish.
‘I hope for all our sakes that you agree to my proposal, and that we have a brief but mutually beneficial working relationship. Good night, my friends.’
The crackling voice died away, leaving a brief interlude of static from the gramophone horn until the recording ended. The air was pregnant with a dozen comments, cries and expletives ready to erupt. Then Michel Danvers stepped forward and lifted the cover of the trolley, revealing a pile of plain brown envelopes, each marked only with a name in bold capital letters. The group surged to him and anxiously grabbed for their own, for fear anyone else might see what was concealed inside. Then, as though an imaginary starting pistol had been fired, a chaotic free-for-all erupted among the group.
Some immediately tore open their envelopes and their distress at what they found within was communicated in groans, shouts and even a near-scream. Others first tried to put their impotent rage into words, but even if they had found the eloquence, no one else was listening. Captain Oakes strode over to the lift doors and stabbed hopefully at the plain button in a fashion that seemed optimistic even to the troubled minds of the rest.
Even Danvers, who was assumed by the others, simply on the strength of his appearance, to be calm and unflappable – and, as those who knew him would attest, was all that and more – looked pale and shaken as he scanned the documents in his envelope. Of the group, only Toussante and Harris seemed in full control of their faculties. They took their envelopes last and opened them more with an intrigued curiosity as to what might be inside than with any dread. Toussante nodded at his contents as though they were exactly what he expected, and Harris actually grinned slightly at the single sheet of paper he withdrew.
