Complete works of peter.., p.228
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 228
'Take her down to Doughty Street an' give her all the liquor she wants. She's fond of gin. But don't let her stir out until twelve o'clock tomorrow night. Then tell her she can go home, that everything's all right. You got all that?'
'I got it,' said Darkie. 'Is she likely to start bawlin' for the blue-inks?'
'Not on your life,' said Callaghan. 'She doesn't like policemen at any time. At the moment she hates 'em. I don't suppose you'll have much trouble. Tell Fred to get a move on.'
'OK,' said Darkie. 'So long, guv'nor. Pleasant dreams.'
Callaghan hung up. He went out into Knightsbridge and began to walk towards Piccadilly. The rain had stopped.
He stopped to light a cigarette, then he continued strolling in the direction of Berkeley Square.
He was quite satisfied. It had been a very nice day.
XI. — THURSDAY: INTERVIEW WITH RESERVATIONS
CALLAGHAN sat up in bed, drank coffee and ate toast and marmalade off a tray. The fact that the Chinese clock on the mantelpiece had chimed twelve o'clock disturbed him not at all. He was thinking about Azelda Dixon.
Azelda was, he thought, an intriguing type. He imagined that she had been rather a nice sort of woman at one time. Probably life had been a little tough on her and she had hit back in the only way she knew. He thought it a pity that the Azeldas of life 'couldn't take it' and must forever be trying to score off the fates that treated them—from their point of view—too harshly for endurance.
Callaghan, a piece of toast poised half-way between the tray and his mouth, wondered just how much she really knew, just how much she was merely a 'stooge'. He thought it was probably a fifty-fifty job. He did not think that Azelda was a brave woman, but she might produce a little desperation if and when love was concerned. After all, she was getting on, and if a man is kind to a woman who is getting on it doesn't matter how fatuous or tough or silly he is, the woman will always endow him with qualities he hasn't got, will produce for him a remnant of courage born of desperation.
He thought that it was probably like that with Azelda. Of course she was a bad hat, but being a bad hat was, after all, a matter of comparison. No one ever thought themselves really bad. Callaghan, finishing his coffee, found it in his heart to be a trifle sorry for Azelda—especially having regard to what he thought was coming to her.
He took a shower and began to dress. Half-way through he telephoned through to Darkie.
'Good mornin', Darkie,' he said cheerfully, 'How's your visitor?'
Darkie grunted.
'You didn't 'arf give me a bleedin' 'andful this time, Slim,' he said. 'She's a fair knockout an' as rorty as 'ell. Of course I've sort of made 'er see that it ain't any good 'er goin' orf the deep-end, but you ought to 'ave 'eard 'er last night. Blimey...! I've never 'eard such a flow. She's quietened down a bit this mornin' an' my ole girl's 'ad a talk with 'er an' sort of smoothed 'er over a bit.'
'I suppose she wanted to know all about it?' asked Callaghan.
'She did... not arf she didn't!' said Darkie. 'But I was very mysterious about everythink. I said that it was for 'er own good an' that the big feller 'ad sent word to me that she was to be picked up an' kept out of 'arm's way until tonight. I told 'er she could go 'ome tonight. I sort of made out that the coppers were stickin' their long noses in all round the place askin' questions an' that if they couldn't get 'old of 'er they couldn't ask 'er anything she didn't want to answer. That seemed to satisfy 'er an' she piped down.'
'All right,' said Callaghan. 'Let her go at twelve o'clock tonight, an' get Horridge to drive her back to Court Mansions in his cab. Tell him to get her back there about twenty past twelve, because maybe I'll want to see her about then. So-long, Darkie.'
He finished dressing and went down to the office. He read the papers, smoked a cigarette. Then, at a quarter to one, he telephoned through to Scotland Yard. He asked for Mr Gringall.
Gringall came on the line.
'Hallo, Slim,' he said. 'How are things with you?'
Callaghan said, 'To tell you the truth, Gringall, I'm a bit worried....'
'I don't believe it,' said Gringall. 'My belief is that you'd sleep, through murder, arson and pillage with a smile on your face. If any thing's really worrying you it must be something gigantic.'
'It is really,' said Callaghan. 'It's this dam' Riverton case.'
'Well,' said Gringall. He spoke a little more slowly. 'I don't think you've got anything to worry about. I don't think there's anything you can do. I don't think there's anything for anybody to do. It's in the bag.'
Callaghan's voice was glum.
'I'm afraid it is,' he said. 'Still, I'd like to have a word with you about it, if you could spare the time. I'd like to ask your advice.'
'Oh, yes...!' Gringall's voice took on a tone of slightly amused suspicion. 'So it's advice, eh? I'm always a bit scared when you want to ask for advice. It usually means that you've got something funny up your sleeve. Are you coming round here?'
'I'd like to,' Callaghan replied. 'I'd like to come round about three if that's all right with you.'
Gringall said that would be fine so far as he was concerned.
Callaghan rang the bell for Effie Thompson. When she came in he took out his note-case and extracted twenty ten-pound notes.
'When you go out to lunch I want you to buy me a bit of jewellery, Effie,' he said. 'Something really nice and expensive with diamonds in it. You'd better get it in Bond Street. You can spend all this.'
He laid the twenty ten-pound notes on his desk. She picked them up.
'I suppose it's for a woman?' she queried.
He noticed that her eyes were very green, and her figure especially trim.
'Yes, Effie,' he said. 'It's for a very nice woman. I thought something like a true lover's knot in diamonds on a platinum backing would look good.'
'Nothing could be better,' she said.
As she was on her way to the door, Callaghan said:
'Congratulations on the new belt, Effie. It's a great success.'
She turned.
'I know you notice most things,' she said, smiling, 'but I didn't think your observation took in everything. You're quite right, though.... I bought myself a new belt yesterday at a sale. I'm glad you like it,' she added primly.
Callaghan grinned.
'I'm glad you're glad, Effie,' he said.
'Thank you, Mr Callaghan,' she said. He saw the mischief in her eyes. 'I didn't think you were interested in my figure.'
'You'd be surprised,' said Callaghan as she closed the door.
GRINGALL was looking out of the window, smoking a short pipe with obvious pleasure, when Fields came in. He said:
'D'you get anything else?'
'A bit more on the same lines, sir,' answered Fields. 'I put two detective officers in at the Privateer Bar last night. I borrowed them from "K" Division so that they wouldn't be recognized. There was a certain amount of talk going on about Riverton. Quite one or two of the boys there seemed to know about him.'
'Did they?' said Gringall, still looking out of the window. 'That's funny.'
The Detective Sergeant looked surprised.
'Funny... why?' he asked.
'I'll bet any money that young Riverton never used the Privateer,' he said. 'Why should he? It wasn't his sort of place and the people who use it are not his sort of people.'
Fields hung up his hat and sat down at his desk.
'I wouldn't like to be too sure of that, Mr Gringall,' he said. 'If there's a tie-up, it's from the dope angle. Henny The Boyo has been peddling on and off for years. We've had him twice for it. Once in '24 and again in '35. He's been a bit more careful during the last year or two, that's all.'
Gringall nodded. He walked to his own desk and sat down. He began to draw fruit on the blotter for a moment or two, then gave it up for the more congenial task of cleaning out his pipe with a hairpin extracted from a packet—stolen from Mrs Gringall—that he kept in a drawer.
After a while he said:
'Well, what did they get?'
'The idea was that Henny knew that Riverton was fed up to the back teeth with Raffano,' Fields answered. 'Apparently the Dixon woman—the woman they call "Swing-it"—used to go round there sometimes and talk to Henny. She used to get excited quite often. She was the woman who was getting about with Riverton.'
'What's she got to say?' asked Gringall. 'Have you seen her?'
'I'd got her down for today,' said Fields. 'She lives at a place called Court Mansions in Sloane Street—quite a nice place. It's fairly expensive. I'd left her for a bit because you remember you said we were to be careful about her. There's nothing known against her and she's supposed to have an income of her own. She's a very excitable type....'
'All those night-club women are excitable types,' said Gringall. 'If they weren't they wouldn't go on doing it. Well, when are you going to see her?'
'I went round there this morning,' said Fields. 'She wasn't in. She went out last night and she hasn't come back. The hall porter thinks she might be on a jag. He says she often stays away for a day or so.'
Gringall nodded.
'All right,' he said. 'You find out if she's back tomorrow. Give her until tomorrow afternoon, and then telephone through and see if she's back. If she is I'll go round and see her myself. If she isn't I think I'd like to know where she is. We'll have to find out. I want to talk to that lady.'
'Very good, sir,' said Fields. 'Is there anything else you want done?'
'Yes, there is,' Gringall replied. 'I want to know what young Riverton was doing on Saturday afternoon and evening before he went down to Falleton. Haven't you found out where he was living? What's all the mystery about his address?'
Fields looked puzzled.
'It is a bit of a mystery,' he said. 'He's done a certain amount of moving about. First of all he had a flat in Welbeck Street—quite a nice sort of place. He got out of that four months ago and sold the furniture. It was good furniture too. I s'pose he was hard up. Then he took some furnished rooms in Mortimer Street. He paid three guineas a week for them, but he was only there about five weeks. Then he had a room out at St John's Wood—Acacia Road—a rooming house kept by two old ladies. He was there two weeks. He never seems to have had any correspondence and he didn't leave any forwarding address when he left. Then he went and lived in a room in Victoria Street. He was there quite a time—eight weeks. But I can't find where he went to after that. It does seem a bit odd....'
'It'll be damned odd for you if you don't find out,' said Gringall. 'I want to know. And I want to know what he was doing on Saturday afternoon and early evening. It's important—and I want to know how he got down to Falleton. Have you seen the railway people down there?'
'Yes, but I've drawn a blank,' Fields replied. 'He could have gone down by train to Ballington, or Swansdown Poulteney, or any of the places around there, and taken a bus over to Falleton. There are good bus services down there. None of the railway people remember seeing him or anybody like him. He might have gone down by Green Line bus. Or he might have gone down by car.'
'All very interesting,' said Gringall. 'And he might have gone down there by balloon—or walked. Supposing somebody gets out and does a little leg work and finds out just how he did get down there.'
He resumed his artistic efforts on the blotter. He drew a cucumber, examined the result with his head on one side, rubbed it out and began to draw it again.
'Callaghan's coming in at three o'clock,' he said. 'I don't want you to be here when he comes. He says he wants to ask some advice from me.'
He looked at Fields. Fields grinned.
'With a bit of luck I'll get hold of something,' said Gringall. 'I know Callaghan's technique in asking advice.'
Fields got up.
'I'll go and see the ballistics merchant if you like,' he said. 'They've got the report done on the bullet that came out of Wilfred Riverton.'
'That's an idea,' said Gringall. 'Come back in an hour.'
Fields went out. Gringall began to put the finishing touches on an illustration of a prize pumpkin.
IT was ten past three when Callaghan was shown into Gringall's room. The Detective Inspector, looking up with his usual non-committal smile, noticed that Callaghan was not looking so pleased about something. The fact did not excite him. He knew Callaghan's abilities as an actor.
He opened a drawer and produced a box of Player's cigarettes. He nodded towards a chair and pushed the cigarettes towards Callaghan.
'Nice suit, Slim,' he said cheerfully.
'Yes,' said Callaghan. 'I'm lookin' a bit dressy today, I know. I wish I felt like it.'
'What's wrong?' asked Gringall. 'Mind you,' he went on, 'you know you don't have to talk about the Riverton business. You and I are on opposite sides of the fence, but you're much too old a hand for me to have to tell you that you've only got to say what you want me to hear. I'm not asking for anything.'
Callaghan nodded. He took one of the cigarettes and lit it. He leaned back in the arm-chair and looked at Gringall.
'I know all about that,' he said. 'But I don't want to get myself into a jam, and I certainly don't want to get in bad with you boys round here.'
He began to blow smoke out of one nostril, and watched the effect.
'Look, Gringall,' he said. 'I'm goin' to put my cards on the table. Here's the fix I'm in. I want to tell you something that may help you quite a bit, but I don't want to start openin' my mouth if the time's not right for it. D'you see...?'
Gringall began to grin. Callaghan was at his old tricks again. He said:
'D'you remember when we had that bit of a row here, in this very room, about the Meraulton case, the time when you threatened to go to the Commissioner about the lousy deal I was giving you...?'
Callaghan grinned. They grinned at each other.
'Oh... that,' said Callaghan. 'That was just a bit of technique... that's all that was.'
'Quite so,' murmured Gringall. 'And how do I know that this isn't a bit of technique too?'
Callaghan shrugged his shoulders.
'If you answer me one question,' he said, 'I'll talk. An' then you'll see that there's dam' little technique about my comin' round here this afternoon.'
'All right,' said Gringall. 'What's the question?'
Callaghan blew a smoke ring.
'When are you goin' to charge Wilfred Riverton?' he asked.
Gringall raised his eyebrows.
'You've got your nerve,' he said pleasantly. 'I might as well ask you to tell me what young Riverton told Gagel—that solicitor you've got in on the job—when he went down to Ballington the other day.'
'That's all right,' said Callaghan. 'I don't mind tellin' you that.'
'What!' said Gringall. 'Are you telling me you're going to disclose your client's original statement and practically hand me the line the defence is going to take on a plate?'
'Why not?' said Callaghan glumly. He leaned towards Gringall. 'What the hell's the use of playin' with this situation?' he asked, spreading his hands. 'It's in the bag, an' you know it. You know dam' well that if there'd been any sort of real defence I wouldn't have gone to Valentine Gagel. You know that, don't you?'
Gringall permitted himself to nod.
'I must say I sort of surmised something like that,' he said. 'So you're telling me that, in fact, there's no defence. That means to say that Gagel's going to find a hell of a lot of mitigating circumstances, dire provocation, near-temporary insanity through dope and drink, and anything else he can lay his or anybody else's hands on.'
Callaghan said sadly, 'I wish I could even say that.'
Gringall looked amazed.
'My God!' he said. 'You're not telling me you're going to let him plead guilty, are you?'
Callaghan hesitated.
'No,' he said, 'I wouldn't go so far as to say exactly that, but...'
He shrugged his shoulders expressively. 'When are you going to talk to him, Gringall?' he asked. 'Come on... let's get this feinting for an openin' over. Let's get down to hard tacks, for the love of Mike!'
'All right,' said Gringall. 'There isn't any real reason why you shouldn't know now. The papers'll all have it tomorrow night anyhow.'
He began to refill his pipe.
'I'm going down to Ballington tomorrow,' he said. 'Our surgeon says he's all right to talk now, that without any slip-ups he's going to make a good recovery. His constitution was good enough to stand the drink and stuff he's been sucking in as well as Raffano's bullet. All right.... He can say as much or as little as he likes. I'm not going to ask him to say a word. I'm going to charge him in spite of the fact that I didn't want to do it until I'd found something out.'
He looked at Callaghan.
'What did you want to find out, Gringall,' said Callaghan, 'that you haven't been able to find out?'
'I wanted to get that fellow who was on the boat,' said Gringall. 'The cove who telephoned through to the Yard and told us about the shooting. That cove must have phoned through from the call-box on the grass verge that's about a hundred an' fifty yards from the top end of the Falleton main road. And it's quite obvious to you why I wanted that man. He was on the boat. He either got there after the shooting or else he was there when it happened. If this fellow is an ordinary decent citizen I don't see any reason why he shouldn't have given his name and come forward and told us the whole story. The fact that he's behaved in the way he has makes me think he might have been on the San Pedro when the shooting took place and is keeping out of the way for reasons best known to himself.'
He paused to relight his pipe.
'The Commissioner wanted me to pick up that fellow—if I could—because he didn't want the defence to get hold of him and suddenly produce him with some cock-and-bull story at a later stage... some story about self-defence or something, that was going to gum up our case. Well, I haven't been able to do it.'
