Complete works of peter.., p.203
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 203
Beldoces went down with a wheezy gasp.
Callaghan went on top of him, straddling him, kneeling on his bicep muscles, sticking the knee point on the muscle joint, rolling with his legs until Beldoces began to sweat with pain.
'Listen, you greasy louse,' said Callaghan softly. 'You're goin' to talk, an' you're goin' to talk quick. You answer yes or no, or I'm goin' to work the nose trick on you. Now, then, was it you who put Eulalie up to ditchin' Bellamy over that alibi at her flat? Come on, yes or no!'
Beldoces said nothing. He was in agony. A whimper escaped from his tightened lips.
Callaghan put his thumb squarely on Beldoces' nose and pushed, pushed until the nose was flat. A scream broke from the foreigner. He twisted and wriggled under the torturing thumb.
'I tell you,' he gasped, 'I tell you. Yes. I tell 'er to do eet. I tell 'er!'
Callaghan removed his thumb.
'Good,' he said. 'Now you tell me somethin' else.'
He stopped talking, cocked his head... listened. Then he jumped backwards away from Beldoces, spun towards the door, became casual, felt for his cigarettes.
The door opened. Gringall came in. Beldoces, bleeding, his nose the colour of a piece of raw steak, got to his feet, staggered to an arm-chair.
'Good-evening, Slim,' said Gringall. 'Been having a little chat with the proprietor?'
Callaghan grinned.
'Yes,' he said. 'We were just talking...'
He moved over to the door.
Gringall looked at Beldoces and then at Callaghan as the latter put his hand on the doorhandle.
'And you're the fellow who was talking about third degree,' he said.
Callaghan could see that his mouth was twitching.
'Well, good-night, Slim.'
'Good-night, Gringall,' said Callaghan.
He closed the door behind him, stood listening. He heard Gringall begin to talk.
'I've just been looking in at the Green Signal,' said Gringall. 'I've taken Bellamy Meraulton on a drugs charge—unlawful possession—and I want to know if you know where's he's been getting the stuff...'
Callaghan walked quietly down the stairs.
VIII. — WHAT THE EYE DOESN'T SEE!
A GLEAM of winter sunshine came through the drawn curtains of Callaghan's room in the Axford Private Hotel, and, lighting squarely on his face, awakened him.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Then he rang for some tea, and while he was drinking it allowed his mind to dwell on the present situation of things in the Meraulton murder case.
Whatever he was going to do had to be done quickly. Gringall was not going to be the mug for very long. Faced with Bellamy's denials of knowledge of the grey homburg hat, or how it even got into the flat at Pointers Mews, Gringall was going to find out where that hat came from. It would take him perhaps two days to trace it, after which the knowledge that Callaghan had gone, within a short time of its purchase, to see Bellamy, would tell Gringall all he wanted to know.
He would know that Callaghan had planted the hat on Bellamy. He would know that he, Gringall, had been pushed into bringing the 'unlawful possession of drugs' charge against Bellamy, merely as a pretext for holding him, by Callaghan. He would know that Callaghan had deliberately pulled a red herring across the path of the forces of law and order, and he would promptly come to the conclusion that Callaghan had not only faked the alibi for Cynthis Meraulton, but was going to the most extreme lengths to keep her out of the case.
She would be more suspect than ever.
Gringall would go out to find Cynthis Meraulton with every possible assistance that he could get from anywhere. He would flood the press with her photographs, advise every hall porter, night porter, railway porter and every other possible source of information to look out for her.
Cynthis Meraulton would see the papers, know that Callaghan had led her up the garden path, dislike him even more than she had in the first place, and would probably take a walk round to Scotland Yard merely for the purpose of inviting inquiry and proving that she was not running away. A very pretty little situation, thought Callaghan, with a yawn.
Well, he thought, he had two days... possibly three... certainly two. And there was another factor to be reckoned with, and that factor was Bellamy.
Bellamy would first of all be frightened. When he found that the drugs charge was merely a 'front' put up in order to hold him as a suspect for the murder, he would be furious. He would probably begin to talk. He would tell Gringall that he had himself seen Cynthis in Lincoln's Inn Fields. True, this would constitute an admission that he had been in Lincoln's Inn Fields himself, but he would rely on his alibi with Eulalie. Eulalie would let him down over that, and Gringall would find himself wondering which of the two—Cynthis or Bellamy—had killed August Meraulton.
He might even lead himself to believe that they'd both done it!
Callaghan got himself out of bed and sat in an arm-chair admiring his new blue silk pyjamas. He rumpled his thick black hair and pondered on the difficulties of a policeman's life—especially when it came to proving murder, which must be proved without any reasonable shadow of doubt.
He put on his dressing-gown, took himself to the bathroom, bathed, shaved and returned. He fumbled in his clothes and produced the money he had collected up to date.
Out of the original five hundred pounds paid by Cynthis Meraulton on her first visit, there was left two hundred and eighty pounds. In addition to this there was the three hundred pounds he had collected from Willie Meraulton, plus the two hundred that he had got from Bellamy the night before—seven hundred and eighty pounds. Callaghan thought that he hadn't enough for what he wanted to do, that he'd have to get some more from somewhere.
He had already considered this possibility and had some ideas as to where it might come from, but he thought that the process of getting it was going to be remarkably tough.
He went carefully through the banknotes, checking on the numbers, putting them in his little black notebook.
Then he dressed, and his mind went to Cynthis Meraulton's maid. He wondered just how smart or otherwise this young woman was. He imagined that the police had already been on to her at her mistress's Victoria Street flat, asking her where Cynthis was, and generally finding out anything that was going. Callaghan grinned to himself, knowing that the girl couldn't give any information, because she didn't know anything.
All the same, he thought, he would wander round and see her.
But he'd got to work fast, because once Gringall was wise to his game in throwing suspicion on Bellamy he'd be after him. There were two or three different charges that Gringall could get him on. There was a very nice old-fashioned one (from the 1896 Act)—'perverting the true course of justice'—which would suit Gringall just as well as anything else.
Callaghan visualized himself picking oakum, and grinned a trifle ruefully.
He went down to breakfast.
While he was waiting for it he wandered out into the lounge and into the telephone call-box. He rang through to Revenholt, asked him if he'd got anything yet.
Revenholt laughed into the telephone.
'I've got plenty, Callaghan,' he said. 'You'll say I've earned that other eighty.'
'We'll see about that,' Callaghan answered.
He told Revenholt to come round to the Axford at once.
Revenholt looked at Callaghan across the table. He looked fresh and well turned-out. His eyes were clear and bright. Callaghan found himself wondering why it was that people always looked different to what they were really like inside.
Revenholt produced a sheet of paper.
'It was fearfully easy,' he said, 'and quite interesting.'
He lit the cigarette which Callaghan offered him.
'Three and a half years ago,' he said, 'Paul Meraulton bought no less than four companies which had been originally registered donkeys years ago. That is to say he bought the names of these companies. You know how that's done? A company is registered and does some business and goes broke. It goes into liquidation and is wound up. Well, anybody who likes to come along and pay the Liquidator's fees—which in these cases were very small—can have the assets of the company and revive it. The assets of the company usually consist of a few bad debts and the title of the company.
'Well, this is what Paul did: For the sum of about one hundred and twenty pounds he bought four old companies which had gone into liquidation and been wound up for years. Here are their names.'
Revenholt pushed the slip across the table. Callaghan read:
The Connecticut Export and Trading Co. Ltd., The Freshwater and Ilworth Trust Co. Ltd., The Endeavour Coal Finance Syndicate Ltd., The Greater Atlantic Bond Co. Ltd.
'Paul Meraulton bought the first two companies early in 1934, and the last two at the end of the same year,' Revenholt went on. 'I thought you'd like to know who the directors and shareholders in these companies are, so I did a little more searching. Here is what I found:
'In each and every case Paul Meraulton is the managing director, and the only other shareholders—who are also directors—are Bellamy, Percival and Jeremy Meraulton. The registered address of the four companies is 22 Greeneagle Street, Russel Square, which consists of a third floor office, containing a desk, a telephone and a few books. Paul Meraulton goes there about once a fortnight and stays for an hour—to see if there is any correspondence, I suppose.'
Revenholt gave himself another cigarette.
'Is that what you wanted?' he asked airily.
Callaghan grinned.
'That suits me very well,' he said. 'Nice work, Revenholt.' He got up. 'There's just one other little thing you can do for me,' he said, 'an' then you can go an' see Darkie an' collect the eighty-pound balance that's comin' to you. Here's the thing: Jeremy Meraulton has got a girl—a Spanish-American girl, they tell me. Now I want to know where this woman is. Maybe she's with Jeremy at that place he's got on this side of Oxford—the Show-Down, they call it—but maybe she's not there all the time. Perhaps she comes up to town to do a little shoppin'; maybe she stays up here for a day or so sometimes. Find out. I want to get that girl when she's on her own. I want to have a little talk with her on the q.t. D'you think you could find that out for me?'
Revenholt nodded.
'That shouldn't be difficult,' he said. 'I can contact somebody who'll know someone employed at the Show-Down, and they'd be able to tell me. Or,' he added darkly, 'there are other ways.'
'All right,' said Callaghan. 'You find out, an' if you can find out by this afternoon, you telephone through to my office in Chancery Lane at four o'clock. If I'm there I'll talk to you, an' if not an' you've got some address where I can get at this Mayola Ferrival—that's her name—you tell Fred Mazin, who's keepin' an eye on things at the office, to make a note of it an' let me know when I contact him. Got that? An' directly you've put the address through, you can touch Darkie for that eighty. All right?'
'That's excellent,' said Revenholt. 'I'll get it as soon as I can—for my own sake, if not for yours.'
He shot one of those flashing smiles—all teeth and good humour—which had temporarily deluded more than a few discontented women, took his hat and went off.
Callaghan stood looking after him, smiling.
Callaghan sat in the lounge of the Axford Hotel until twelve o'clock thinking, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Then he packed his bag, paid his bill, took a taxi to Victoria Station and left his suitcase in the luggage-room.
He wandered down Victoria Street slowly, walking on the side of the street opposite Greenford Mansions, where Cynthis Meraulton had her flat. When he arrived in the vicinity of the flat he stood in the crowd at the bus stop, watching the building, seeing if there was anyone who looked like a plain-clothes man hanging about. Then, satisfied, he walked over, went up to the first floor and rang the bell.
He liked the look of the girl who answered the door. She was about twenty-two years of age, a red-head with the clear skin that usually goes with that colouring. She had frank eyes and a humorous mouth. She looked a trifle worried.
'Good-mornin',' said Callaghan. 'Are you Miss Meraulton's maid?'
She nodded.
'But she's not here,' she said, 'and I don't know...'
Callaghan stopped her with a grin.
'I know you don't,' he said. 'My name's Callaghan. I'm a member of the firm of solicitors who act for Miss Meraulton, an' I want to talk to you.'
She stood aside.
'Please come in, sir,' she said.
He went in, crossed the hall and went through the door which the maid held open. Inside he turned and faced her. His face shone with benevolence, honesty, friendship and what-will you.
'What's your name?' he asked.
'Jenny Appleby,' she said.
She stood waiting.
'Listen, Jenny,' said Callaghan quietly. 'You read the papers, don't you? All right—well, you know what's happened, and you know that Miss Meraulton has gone away, although you don't know where she's gone to.'
He lit a cigarette and smiled at Jenny, who was awaiting further information with her mouth open. He sensed that she was the sort of girl who would be thrilled by a good movie, that she had a sense of the dramatic.
He dropped his voice.
'My firm—I—am out to protect Miss Meraulton, Jenny,' he said. 'And we know who are her friends and who are her enemies. We know that you are one of her friends.'
'I'd do anything for Miss Cynthis,' said Jenny. 'She's the best friend I ever had. She...'
'I know,' said Callaghan wisely. 'I know all about it. She's told me all about you,' he went on, lying with his usual smoothness.
He sat down and indicated that she should do likewise. Jenny sat as near the edge of her chair as she could without slipping off.
'I expect you've had some callers, haven't you, Jenny?' asked Callaghan winsomely. 'I expect Mr. Gringall from Scotland Yard's been round here, hasn't he? He told me he was going to come round and have a little talk with you.'
She nodded.
'He was round here last night,' she said. 'He asked me if I knew where Miss Cynthis was. He asked me about her going away and if I knew where she'd gone to. I said I didn't and that anyhow if Miss Cynthis had wanted me to tell people where she was going to she'd have told me herself.'
She tossed her red head.
'Good girl,' said Callaghan. 'What else did he ask?'
'He asked me some funny things,' said the girl. 'He asked me if I knew whether Miss Cynthis had a pistol. I told him she had, that she'd had one for years—one that her father used in the War. But I said that it was only a little one.'
Callaghan nodded. That wasn't so good, he thought. August Meraulton had been killed with a 'little' pistol—a .22.
'I could see what he was getting at,' Jenny went on, 'so I told him something else. I told him that Miss Cynthis hadn't any ammunition for it, that it was just a relic of the War.' She paused. 'I didn't know then that she had got ammunition for it. I didn't know there were any bullets in the place until this morning when Mr. Willie came and took them away.'
'Ah,' said Callaghan smiling. 'That was just the sort of nice thing that Mr. Willie would do, isn't it?'
He lit another cigarette.
'Tell me about Mr. Willie coming round and taking the bullets away,' he said. 'Do you think that there was a chance that anyone saw him coming here?'
She shook her head.
'He came in by the tradesmen's entrance,' she said. 'He asked if anyone had been round. I told him about Mr. Gringall, and he looked terribly worried. When I told him about telling Mr. Gringall about the pistol and that I'd said that there wasn't any ammunition, he said, "Thank God"—just like that. He asked right away if he could go into Miss Meraulton's room for a moment. I said of course he could, and he went in and went straight to the drawer—the bottom drawer where the pistol was kept—and turned out the things that were in it—Miss Cynthis used to keep a lot of old trinkets and boxes there—and after a minute he found it. There was a box of bullets—a little square box.'
Jenny dropped her voice.
'Mr. Willie put the box in his pocket,' she said, 'and told me to forget that he'd ever taken it away. He said that I wasn't to tell any one except you; he said that if you came round and asked me what had happened I was to tell you about Mr. Gringall coming here and about the box of bullets and that he'd taken them.'
Callaghan nodded.
'You're a fine girl, Jenny,' he said. 'Now I want to ask a favour. There's nothing like making absolutely certain. Can I go and take a look in that drawer, too?'
'Why, of course, sir,' she said. 'It'll be all right for you to look.'
She led the way to the bedroom.
Callaghan turned out the drawer. It was filled with trinket boxes, lengths of material and brocades, old gloves, the hundred-and-one things that a woman keeps without quite knowing why.
Callaghan was methodical. He took every box out of the drawer, every piece of material, every glove. He turned everything inside out, examined every box.
Then he looked at Jenny with a grin. Shaking a length of crepe de chine, something fell out. He held it out to her. It was a .22 bullet.
'You can't be too careful,' he said. 'Cartridges always fall out of the silly cardboard boxes they pack them in, because they're heavy, an' when the box gets turned upside down one or more come out. Give me a hand, Jenny. I'm goin' through all these drawers.'
They searched the chest of drawers, the dressing-table drawers, everywhere. There were no more bullets.
Callaghan put the bullet in his pocket.
'Tell me something, Jenny,' he said. 'Do you ever remember either Mr. Paul, Mr. Percival, Mr. Jeremy or Mr. Bellamy coming into this room—being in here alone?'
She thought for a moment.
