Complete works of peter.., p.236
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 236
"This," the lawyer went on, "is where Mr. Lancelot Vendayne comes into the story. As the next owner of the jewellery, and the one to whom it would actually belong in its entirety with power for him to do as he liked with it, he is, naturally, most perturbed about the situation. After all he was entitled to regard it almost as being his own property. My client is fifty-five years of age and has a weakness of the heart. He is not expected to live a great deal longer.
"To cut a long story short," said the lawyer, "Mr. Lancelot Vendayne has become more and more perturbed about the attitude of the Insurance Company. It had been arranged between him and Major Vendayne—and I think the young man's attitude was most generous—that when the claim was settled he should receive £75,000 and my client would be entitled to keep the remaining balance of £25,000.
"Two weeks ago Lancelot Vendayne went down to the Manor House and saw my client. He suggested to him that as the police seem to be doing very little in this matter it was time that outside help was brought in. Apparently," said Mr. Layne, looking at Callaghan over the top of his pince-nez, "Lancelot has heard about you. Your reputation," he continued with an icy smile, "has evidently preceded you. He insisted that my client should retain your services and that you should endeavour to find out if possible, first of all, what happened to the jewellery, and secondly why the Insurance Company are taking up the attitude which they have adopted."
Callaghan said: "I can answer the second part of that question now. I've done a lot of work for Insurance Companies. I know their methods. They just don't like the claim. They're stalling for time."
The solicitor said: "So I gathered. But Lancelot Vendayne —and for that matter my client—would like to know why."
The lawyer got up. He crossed over to the fireplace and stood, his hands behind his back, looking at Callaghan.
"Would you like to take up this case, Mr. Callaghan?" he said.
"Why not?" Callaghan answered. "It sounds an interesting case. I like the idea. I shall want a retainer of £250. If I get that jewellery back I'll put in a bill. It'll be a big bill. If I don't get it back, I'll put in a bill not quite so big."
The lawyer nodded.
"That is agreeable," he said. "I'll have the cheque sent to you to-morrow. I expect you'll want to go down to Margraud. I believe there is an excellent train service. Will you go to-morrow?"
"Maybe," said Callaghan, "and I never use trains anyway."
He lit another cigarette.
"Mr. Layne," he said, "supposing you tell me something about the Vendayne family, or isn't there a family?"
The lawyer nodded. A little smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. Callaghan thought it was a cynical smile.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Callaghan," he said, "there is a family. I will describe it to you. There is my client—Major Vendayne—who as I have told you is fifty-five years of age, with a not very good heart. Then there is his eldest daughter, a most charming young lady—Miss Audrey Vendayne. She is I think thirty years of age. There are two other daughters—Clarissa aged twenty-eight and Esme aged twenty-five. They are all extremely attractive. Clarissa and Esme," the lawyer went on, "are thoroughly modern young women. In fact, I suppose that people of my generation might possibly consider them a trifle wild. They have what I believe is called, in these days, temperament as well as looks."
Callaghan said: "I see. They're all good-lookin' and attractive. But Clarissa and Esme are a trifle wild and they've got temperaments. Audrey is good-looking, but she hasn't got a temperament and she's not wild. What has she got?"
Layne said very coldly: "Miss Vendayne is a most charming, agreeable and delightful young woman. She is unlike her sisters merely in the fact that she is not at all wild and has no temperament to speak of."
"I see," said Callaghan. "I'm sorry I interrupted."
He grinned amiably at the lawyer.
"These three ladies and my client live at the Manor House," continued the lawyer. "The only other member of the family living, as I have already said, is Mr. Lancelot Vendayne. He does not live in Devonshire. He lives in town."
Callaghan nodded.
"Do you know his address?" he asked.
"He lives at the Grant Hotel, in Clarges Street," replied the lawyer. "He is an interesting young man and has made, I believe, considerable money on the Stock Exchange. He is a lucky gambler they tell me. He plays golf and has a fondness for night clubs. He is quite a nice sort of person. In the evening he is usually found at the Ventura Club, where he drinks a great deal and plans fresh raids on the stock market. As I told you, he is responsible for your being called in on this unfortunate business."
Callaghan got up. He stubbed out his cigarette.
He said: "Thanks for the information. I'll probably go down to Devonshire some time. Maybe to-morrow. You might let Major Vendayne know I'm coming. I'll telephone the Manor when I'm on my way. I'd like to stay there. I shall take an assistant with me."
"Very well, Mr. Callaghan," said the lawyer. "I'll inform my client. He'll expect you. I wish you good luck."
Callaghan said: "Thanks."
He picked up his hat and went out.
It was nine-thirty when Callaghan finished his dinner. He came out of the Premier Lounge and turned down Albemarle Street. He walked into Bond Street, through Bruton Street, through Berkeley Square into the region of Shepherd's Market. He turned into the long mews that bisects one corner of the Market and turned into the passage on the left. At the end of the passage the entrance of The Ventura Club formed a cul de sac. Over the door was a green "blackout" shaded light. On each side of it a miniature tree in a tub.
Callaghan paused before the entrance and produced his cigarette-case. He was lighting the cigarette when the woman came out of the shadow beside one of the tree tubs.
She said: "Mr. Callaghan?"
He looked at her. She was tall and slim and supple. Callaghan had a vague impression that she was very well dressed and that she emanated a subtle and discreet perfume. There was a peculiar quality in her voice that was, he thought, extraordinarily attractive.
He said: "Miss Vendayne, I imagine? Somehow I thought I'd find you inside..."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I didn't know where to make an appointment to meet you," she said. "I discovered that your office was off Berkeley Square. I thought this would be as good a place as anywhere."
Callaghan said: "Why not?"
There was a pause. He stood, inhaling his cigarette smoke, looking at her. After a moment she said:
"Can we go somewhere? I want to talk to you."
Callaghan grinned in the darkness.
"I rather imagined you did," he said.
He turned and began to walk down the passage into the mews. He could her her high heels tapping just behind him.
In Charles Street, they found a wandering taxi-cab.
Callaghan said: "There's a not-too-bad club I know near here. Would you like to go there?"
He stopped the cab. In the darkness he could almost feel her shrugging her shoulders.
They drove to the club in Conduit Street. On the way he amused himself trying to identify the perfume she was wearing. After a while he gave it up.
When the cab stopped, Callaghan helped her out. She drew her arm away quickly as her foot reached the pavement. He paid off the driver. As he turned away from the moving cab the moon came out and he saw her. He had a sudden picture of a white face, half-hidden by a short veil, framed with dark hair, of two large dark eyes, a straight and attractive nose with sensitive nostrils and a superbly chiselled mouth. Callaghan, who liked looking at women's mouths, thought that hers was quite delightful. He remembered Nikoll's wisecrack about her voice... "music an' promises of rewards an' all that Omar Khayyám stuff...." He wondered if Nikolls was right.
His eyes wandered quickly over her. She wore a coat and skirt that fitted as a suit should fit. She had style, Callaghan thought. He wondered about Clarissa and Esme...
The cab disappeared. They stood for a moment looking at each other. Then Callaghan said:
"I wouldn't do anything you didn't want to do. You don't seem awfully sure of yourself. You look to me as if you'd rather be somewhere else."
She smiled. It was a small smile. Then she said arrogantly:
"I would. I'm not used to having heart-to-heart talks with private detectives whom I don't know. But as I'm here I'd better go through with it."
He grinned at her.
"Too bad," he said. "It must be awful for you. Come inside. Maybe you'll feel better after a drink."
They went up the stairs to the first floor. The club was a one-room affair—a big room with a bar at one end. It was empty except for the bar-tender. Callaghan led the way to a table and, when she was seated, went to the bar and ordered fine maison and black coffee. When he got back to the table she said:
"I suppose the best thing I can do is to say what I've got to say and be done with it."
Callaghan smiled at her. She noticed his white even teeth.
"That's always a good idea," he said. "Only the devil of it is that when we've said what we've got to say, very often we're not done with it."
She smiled. It was a very cold smile.
"You're fearfully, clever, aren't you, Mr. Callaghan?" she said. "I've heard that about you. I suppose I ought to be rather frightened or something..."
Callaghan said: "I wouldn't know."
He sat down.
The bar-tender brought the brandy and coffee. He offered her a cigarette and, when she refused, lit one for himself. He drew the smoke down into his lungs, exhaled it slowly through one nostril. He said:
"Well... ?"
He was grinning amiably.
She looked towards the window. Then she said: "I would like a cigarette, please."
He gave her one and lit it. As he held up the lighter he thought that Miss Audrey Vendayne had something—as Nikolls would say—even if she was finding it a little difficult to bring matters to a head.
She smoked silently for a moment. Then she said very quickly:
"Mr. Callaghan, I don't want you to handle this case for my father. I don't think it's necessary."
"I see," said Callaghan. "I suppose you've got a good reason for wanting me not to handle it?"
"The very best of reasons," she answered. Her eyes were cold. "The matter has been put into the hands of the police," she went on. "I think the police are very efficient. I do not see why the services of a private detective are necessary."
Callaghan said nothing. There was a pause. He began to sip his coffee.
"Of course," she went on, "if you go out of the case now... if you give it up—although you haven't even started it—I think you ought to have some sort of compensation."
Callaghan shook the ash off his cigarette. Then he looked at the glowing end for quite a while. One corner of his mouth was curled up in an odd sort of smile. He could sense her feeling of impatience.
He said: "I think that's very nice of you. Very sporting. The devil of it is I've already seen Mr. Layne—your father's lawyer. I've practically accepted the case."
He looked at her. She was looking towards the window. Callaghan thought that even if, as Layne had said, Audrey Vendayne was not wild and had not a lot of temperament she still had plenty of something. Anyway, Callaghan had little opinion of the abilities of lawyers to sum up character.
Her glance returned to him. She said casually:
"Possibly. But I don't see any reason why you can't be bought off the case. Can you?"
Callaghan looked at her for a moment. Then he began to grin wickedly.
"Of course, Miss Vendayne, I'm always open to be 'bought off' a case. What compensation would you suggest? And I think compensation is a hell of a word. I like it. Having regard to the fact that there's nothing to compensate me for, I think it's good."
She flushed. She said quietly:
"You're making fun of me?"
"I never make fun of a woman who is as serious as you are," Callaghan answered. "I was merely curious about the compensation."
She nodded. She looked down at the table and made as if to pick up the little glass of brandy. She did not. Then she looked at him and said:
"I don't think my father should be worried any more about this business of the jewellery being stolen. He's been terribly harassed about it. And he's not well. He should be left alone. It doesn't matter sufficiently."
"No? queried Callaghan. "I should have thought that a hundred thousand pounds worth of jewels would have mattered to any one."
"That is a matter of opinion," she said. "I don't think it matters."
Callaghan nodded.
"Excellent," he said. His voice held a definite tinge of insolence. "So you don't think it matters. And where do we go from there?"
Her eyes blazed.
"I wonder has any one told you that you can be fearfully impertinent, Mr. Callaghan?" she said.
He grinned.
"Lots of people have, Miss Vendayne," he answered. "And I suppose I should be considered even more impertinent if I said—so what!" He blew a smoke ring and watched it rise in the air. "If you've got a proposition I'm listening," he went on. "I suppose we didn't come here to discuss my ability to be impertinent."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"You're perfectly right," she said. "Very well then, briefly, my proposition is this. I am willing to pay you two hundred pounds immediately if you decide not to take the case."
Callaghan said softly: "Mr. Layne offered me two hundred and fifty to handle it. Your offer would have to be over his."
She said: "I'll give you three hundred."
"Done," said Callaghan.
She looked at him for a moment. Then she began to open her handbag. She stopped suddenly and said:
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"You don't," said Callaghan.
He lit another cigarette.
She said something under her breath. It sounded like "pig"... Then she opened the bag and took out a packet of banknotes. She extracted six fifty pound notes from the pile and pushed them towards Callaghan. He put them in his waistcoat pocket.
She got up.
"Good-night, Mr. Callaghan," she said.
Callaghan stood up.
"Thanks for the money," he said. "But aren't you going to drink your brandy, Miss Vendayne? Or don't you drink with strange men?"
He stood looking at her.
"Good-night, Mr. Callaghan," she repeated.
She walked to the door and went out. He could hear her high heels tapping down the stairs.
Callaghan sighed. He sat for a moment, looking at her undrunk glass of fine maison and the now cold cup of black coffee. He walked over to the bar and ordered a brandy and soda. He drank it, put on his hat and went out.
It was eleven o'clock when Callaghan came into the office. Nikolls was seated at the desk in the outer room playing patience.
Callaghan said: "Windy, you can get around and do a little fast work. Go round to the garage and hire a car. Go home, get a few hours' sleep, pack your bags and get down to Devonshire. Stay at an hotel near—but not too near—Margraud Manor, near Gara Rock. You should be there early to-morrow morning."
Nikolls said: "That suits me. I could do with some sea air."
Callaghan went on: "Collect all the local rumours about the Vendayne family. There are three daughters—Audrey, Clarissa and Esme. Clarissa and Esme are supposed to be a little wild. Check on them. Find out if they've got any boy friends locally, how they spent their time and all the rest of it. Understand?"
Nikolls said: "I've got it. Did you see the Vendayne dame?"
"I saw her," Callaghan replied. "The eldest one. She paid me three hundred pounds to throw the case."
"Marvellous," said Nikolls. "Here's once we get paid for not doing something."
Callaghan went into his office. He sat down at the desk. Nikolls ambled in and stood looking at him.
"You'll meet me the day after to-morrow," said Callaghan. "You'd better wait for me around six o'clock at the Clock Tower in Newton Abbott. Have your bags with you. I'll pick you up. Have that information about the Vendayne family by then and don't let any of the local wise-guys get on to you. Understand?"
"I got it," said Nikolls. "I'm practically there."
He went to the door. When arrived he turned and said:
"Am I dreamin' or does this case stink?"
"I don't know," said Callaghan, "but I don't think you're dreaming."
Nikolls fished about in his coat pocket for a Lucky Strike. He said pleasantly:
"I think it's a nice case. The eldest Vendayne doll hands you three hundred to walk out on it an' you're not walkin' out. She can't say anything because quite obviously she don't want anybody to know she's paid you to throw it. Nice work. You make both ways."
Callaghan said very softly: "I don't remember asking your opinion, Windy."
Nikolls flushed.
"Sorry," he said. "Me... I always talk too much."
"Don't worry about that," said Callaghan. "I can always stop that if I want to by knocking a few of your teeth down your throat. By the way, you'd better pack a tuxedo. And when we get to Margraud go easy on those Canadian tales. Sometimes people like the Vendaynes don't appreciate 'em."
Nikolls said: "I'll be so Fifth Avenue it's gonna hurt. So long, Slim..."
He went out.
Callaghan leaned back in his swivel chair and put his feet on the desk. He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly. Then he took his feet off the desk, reached for the desk pad and wrote a note to Effie Thompson. It said:
Effie,
Directly you get here telephone Gringall at the Yard. Tell him I'd like to see him. Afternoon if possible. Tell him that I've been retained in the Vendayne jewellery steal.
S.C.
He put the note in the righ-hand drawer of her desk in the outer office.
