Complete works of peter.., p.254
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 254
"Never," said Paula. "Never... while I can stand on my feet I always keep my word."
"Fine," said Callaghan. "I knew I'd picked the right woman. I'll put you in a cab, Paula. You'd better go home."
Miss Rochette got up with dignity. She said:
"Maybe you're right, sweet'eart. I think I will lie down for a bit, because I've got a feeling if I don't lie down, I'll fall down."
Outside, as Callaghan put her into the taxicab, she said:
"So long, Slim. I shall always remember you as the perfect gent. Only next time we meet you'd better come round and have a drink at my place. I think it does everybody good to relax sometimes...."
The cab drove away. Callaghan heaved a sigh. He walked quickly back to Berkeley Square. Let himself into the office, sat down before Effie Thompson's typewriter, inserted a quarto sheet of plain typing paper and began to type...
Grant's Hotel, Clarges Street...
At eleven-thirty precisely Callaghan walked into Grant's Hotel in Clarges Street. He went to the reception desk. He said:
"I've come to see Mr. Vendayne. He's waiting for me. Where's his room?"
The clerk told him. Callaghan walked up the stairs to the first floor. When he came to Lancelot's door he pushed it open and went in.
He found himself in a well-furnished sitting-room. To the left was an open door leading off, he imagined, to a bedroom. In the centre of the sitting-room was a table and on the other side of it sat Lancelot. Callaghan noted with appreciation that there was a bottle of whisky, a siphon and glasses on the sideboard.
Lancelot said: "You've got a hell of a nerve, Callaghan. I really don't know why I stayed here to talk to you. If I did the right thing I'd call the police."
Callaghan walked round the table past Lancelot and went to the sideboard. He poured himself out four fingers of whisky, drank it, followed it with a chaser of soda-water. He walked back to the table and stood looking down at Lancelot.
Callaghan said: "You're just a big air balloon, Lancelot. You're tall, you're good-looking, you look like a man ought to look, but inside you're all air. You make me feel sick."
Lancelot jumped up. He aimed a wild blow at Callaghan's face. Callaghan caught the punch easily with his left hand, then he stepped back and hit Lancelot fairly between the eyes.
Lancelot went over the back of his chair. He lay on the floor for a minute, then began to scramble up. When he was fairly set on his feet Callaghan knocked him down again. He said:
"That's that. Now let's finish with this idea of rough stuff; you're no good at it. You're no good at anything. Just sit down and relax. I'm going to talk to you."
Vendayne wiped the blood from his mouth. He said:
"All right, but I'm going to even up with you for this. You wait."
His voice was almost petulant, like that of an angry woman.
Callaghan said: "I'll chance that."
He went to the sideboard, mixed a stiff whisky and soda, brought it back, put it on the table before Lancelot.
"Drink that," he said. "You need it. I told you you couldn't take it."
He returned to the sideboard and got himself another drink. Then he moved to the fireplace and stood, his back to the empty grate, the whisky glass in his hand, looking at Lancelot.
"If you're wise," he said, "if you have any brains at all, you're going to listen to me very carefully. I'm going to tell you two stories. One of them is the truth. The second one is a little variation on the truth evolved by me. When you've heard it, you'll realise that the second story sounds as if it's the true one, and that the first story, which is in effect the truth, sounds as if it were false. Now here's the first story:
"Last year you got your uncle, Major Vendayne, to put a large lump of his capital into some wild-cat share scheme of yours. It must have been a good-sounding scheme because, not only did you get Major Vendayne to put his money into it, but you got Gabby Ventura to put money in too. Well, it didn't come off. Both Major Vendayne and Gabby lost their money, but whereas the Major probably considered that it was just bad luck that the deal didn't come off, Gabby wasn't prepared to be so accommodating. He had the idea that you anyhow had made something out of it. He didn't like that. I imagine he got rather tough with you about it, and in trying to excuse yourself you told him that he wasn't the only person who'd lost his money; that your own uncle had gone down too.
"At this time there was an idea about that you might marry Audrey Vendayne. Because of this the Major said nothing to Audrey about the share deal. Afterwards, when she decided she didn't like you very much—and I don't blame her either—he couldn't tell her. The reasons don't matter.
"Anyhow in those days you were hanging about Margraud, probably trying to get Audrey to change her mind, and you were hanging about there when Esme came back from Cape Town.
"Esme wasn't feeling so good. She was worried. She had to confide in someone and she wanted money. She wanted money to keep Blaize quiet. She tried everything she knew, but eventually she could do nothing more and as a last resort she came to you. She told you the story. She told you how she'd married Blaize in Cape Town, how Blaize was blackmailing her. She told you how he had come over and taken the Yard Arm so as to be in the vicinity. She told you how he'd promised, if he got sufficient money, he'd allow her to divorce him quietly without the news of the marriage coming to the ears of her father or family.
"I expect you were interested—possibly you were amused," Callaghan went on. "But you didn't do anything about it. When you came back to town I've no doubt that you told Gabby Ventura the news as an amusing tit-bit. You were trying to make friends with Gabby. You'd never been particularly happy since that business of the share deal. You were rather afraid of him.
"All right. The next thing is that you hear that the Vendayne jewellery has been stolen. You know that both the local police and Scotland Yard believe it to be an inside job. Well, it didn't take very much intelligence for you to put two and two together. You guessed that Esme had found a way of paying off Blaize. You guessed that she'd let him into the house, given him the combination of the safe. You didn't even guess, you knew. You knew Blaize had that jewellery.
"Well, that suited your book. What did it matter to you? In the normal course of events you would neither have had the jewellery nor the proceeds from the sale of it until after the Major's death. The burglary was all right for you provided the Insurance Company paid up. You just stood around and watched points. You noticed that the Major didn't seem in any hurry to put in a claim to the Insurance Company. You practically forced him to. Incidentally, I expect you wondered why he hadn't done it earlier.
"But even after the claim had gone in, the Insurance Company weren't keen to pay, so you thought you'd use another lever. You got me brought in on this job, the idea being that when I went down to Margraud, Esme would get the wind up, tell her father the truth, and in order to save his daughter's reputation he'd come in on your side. He would insist on an immediate payment of the claim, and when he'd got it I imagine you'd have wanted all the money.
"When Audrey Vendayne heard the scheme for putting in a private detective on this case, she didn't like it—her reasons don't matter—I know and understand them. She came up to town. Her idea was to keep me out of this case. She thought she'd need some money to do it with, so she asked you to lend her £300. You lent it to her, not knowing what she wanted it for, because you thought you might make a come-back with her, but you didn't lend her your own money—you hadn't got £300. You borrowed it from Ventura, and Ventura lent it to you because at that moment it suited his book.
"Naturally," Callaghan went on cheerfully, "you weren't very pleased when I told you that I'd got Layne to withdraw the claim against the Insurance Company. You went snooping around and found that I'd arranged to represent them too, so you rang through to Audrey and tried to make things tough for me. Well, it just didn't come off.
"In fact," said Callaghan, looking more amiable than ever, "I have for once done my complete duty. I've not only represented the Vendayne family fairly adequately, but it looks to me as if I've also saved the Insurance Company a whole lot of money. That," said Callaghan with a grin, "makes me feel very good."
Lancelot said nothing. Callaghan lit a cigarette, drank a little whisky and soda.
"Now, Lancelot," he said, "that's the truth—the whole truth and nothing but the truth. That's the story which, if I tell it to the police, they won't believe. You'll agree that to any normal policeman such a story would sound impossible.
"So," Callaghan continued, "I've another story, a story which isn't true, but which matches up with the facts. I'm going to tell it to you. When I've told it to you, you're either going to agree to do what I want, or I'm going to tell this second story to the police. I think it'll put you inside. Listen to it."
Lancelot sat back in his chair. He had finished dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief. He took a gulp of whisky and soda. His eyes were interested.
Callaghan said: "This Vendayne case is a scream. It's one of the funniest stories I've ever heard in my life. I'm going to give you laugh number one: when Blaize got into Margraud and stole that jewellery, he didn't get the real stuff. He got imitation jewels—fakes that the Major had had made in place of the originals. Esme didn't know that, and you didn't know it, at the time. But my story is going to be that you did know it. My story is that when Esme came to you and said she needed money, you suggested to her that Blaize should steal the Vendayne jewellery, knowing it to be imitation, so that the Major should be forced to put in what was in effect a fake claim on the Insurance Company, of which you would take £75,000 and out of which you promised you'd settle up with Blaize. If you examine the situation you'll find that the evidence points to that being the actual case, although, as you and I know, it isn't.
"Blaize knew about you," Callaghan went on. "Esme had probably told him that she was trying to get money from you. He also knew that when the Major died the jewellery came to you. When Blaize discovered that it was fake, that all his trouble and risk had been for nothing, he was naturally annoyed, so he tried to make things hot for Esme. He sent you an anonymous note—you showed it to me yourself—saying that the jewellery wasn't worth £40. You didn't do anything about that note," said Callaghan, "because you hoped the Insurance Company would still pay. That makes you out to be a crook, because you knew then that the jewellery that had been stolen was fake. But you told one person—I believe you told Ventura."
Lancelot said: "What's all this stuff about Ventura? How does he come into this?"
"That's no business of yours," said Callaghan. "When I want you to ask questions I'll tell you."
Callaghan finished his whisky and soda.
"I've got an appointment at Scotland Yard to-morrow," he went on. "I've got to tell something to this policeman Walperton, who's in charge of this job. Walperton is keen. He's thirsting for somebody's blood. Well, I'm going to give him somebody—I'll give him you, Lancelot."
Lancelot said bitterly: "I see. So I'm to be the one to suffer. But if you do that, tell me one thing: what explanation will you give to the police about the switch over of the jewellery? My uncle must have been responsible for that. Well, what will you tell them about that?"
Callaghan smiled. His smile was beatific.
"That's easy, Lancelot," he said. "The Major will tell them that he suspected an attempt, was going to be made on the jewellery, so he had it replaced by imitations—a most praiseworthy thing to do."
"I see," said Lancelot. "So that's the story. But at the same time you've got to admit one thing. He allowed that claim to be put in on the Insurance Company, knowing that the jewellery was fake."
"All right," said Callaghan. "Didn't you do the same thing? When Blaize wrote you that note and told you the jewellery was fake, did you go down to the Insurance Company and tell 'em about it?"
Callaghan's grin was broader than ever.
"You're beat, Lancelot, and you know it. If you've got any sense you'll play things my way. That way you'll get something."
Lancelot looked at the table. After a minute he said:
"Well, what's your way?"
Callaghan put his hand in his pocket. He produced the quarto sheet of notepaper. He said:
"I have typed out a little document here. You're going to sign it. I'll tell you what this document says. It says that as final and last owner of the Vendayne jewellery after your uncle's death, you're entitled to sell that jewellery. It says that you're prepared, with his consent, to sell it now, and that you're prepared and wish to divide the proceeds of approximately £100,000 with him.
"That means," said Callaghan, "that you'll get £50,000 and no accusation from me. Well, that's fair enough, isn't it, Lancelot?"
Lancelot said: "That's all right so long as I get some money. But how can we sell the jewellery? We haven't got it."
Callaghan said: "Don't you worry about that, Lancelot. I'm going to get it."
He walked over to the table and put the sheet of notepaper in front of Lancelot. He handed Lancelot his pen. He said:
"Of course you could say this document was obtained from you under duress. You could say a lot of things, Lancelot, but you won't, because if you do you know exactly what I'll do to you. I'll get you a sentence as an accessory before and after the Vendayne burglary. If Esme is brought into this, you're going to be brought into it too, and whatever she gets you'll get too. Remember that."
Lancelot said impatiently: "Very well, I've got no choice. I agree to sign the document."
As he laid down the pen he said: "And what about Blaize?"
Callaghan said: "You don't have to worry about Blaize. Nobody has to worry about him." He picked up the sheet of notepaper, his pen and his hat. "He hasn't even got to worry about himself," he said.
"Good-night, Lancelot."
Callaghan stood outside the entrance of Grant's Hotel in Clarges Street. He looked at his watch. It was twelve o'clock. He began to walk towards Berkeley Square.
Miss Rochette's alarm clock, which she had set carefully for midnight, exploded with a jangle. Paula, who, dressed in her cami-knickers, was lying full length on her bed, indulging in a little quite lady-like snoring, awoke with a start. She yawned, stretched, sat on the edge of the bed, ran her fingers through her hair. After a moment she got up. She went to a cupboard and extracted a bottle of gin, poured out a full measure, drank it. She went to the dressing-table and picked up the card which Callaghan had given to her. She walked a little unsteadily to the telephone, sat down by it, took off the receiver and dialled the Ventura Club. She said:
"I want to speak to Mr. Ventura... Never mind who I am, you can tell him it's urgent. It's a matter of life and death."
Her voice was dramatic. Paula was enjoying herself. After a moment Ventura's voice came on the line. Paula said:
"Is that you, you fat slob? This is Paula Rochette. So you're the feller who's going to have me barred from working in the West End clubs, are you? All right. Did anybody ever tell you that 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'? Well, you listen to this: I've been dining with a friend of yours tonight. Maybe he's not such a friend as you think. His name's Callaghan. He told me something in confidence, and I ought not to tell you. But I'm going to. You get those big fat ears of yours open and listen to this:
"Callaghan's got you. He's going to slam you inside. He knows all about the Vendayne jewellery. He knows all about you. You big fat false alarm, you haven't got a leg to stand on, and when they get you stuck behind the bars I'm coming down every day just to make faces at you. Good-night, sweetheart."
Miss Rochette slammed down the receiver. She looked at herself in the glass. The mascara from one eyebrow had run into her eye. She was not pleased with the effect. She sighed, drank a little more gin, saw Callaghan's five ten-pound notes folded on her dressing-table, sighed contentedly and went back to bed.
XIV. — ONE FOR THE ROAD
IT was exactly twelve o'clock when Detective-Inspector Walperton braked his well-polished two-seater to a standstill outside a block of apartments in Chelsea.
He went inside, got into the lift and ascended to the second floor. He walked along to the flat at the end of the corridor and rang the bell. Then he lit a cigarette and waited.
Three minutes afterwards Chief Detective-Inspector Gringall, in a blue dressing-gown and with a surprised expression, opened the door. He stood for a moment looking at Walperton. Then he began to smile. It was a nice, sympathetic smile. It was the smile of a parent who has experienced certain difficulties in life and who realises that someone not so experienced as himself is beginning to discover them too.
Gringall raised one eyebrow quizzically.
He said: "Callaghan?"
Walperton nodded.
"Yes, Mr. Gringall," he replied. "Callaghan... you've said it."
Gringall said: "Come in. I rather thought you'd have something to get off your chest about the Vendayne business."
He led the way into his study, closed the door, got out a bottle of whisky, a siphon of soda and two glasses. He began to mix the drinks. Walperton sat in one of the big leather armchairs.
"Go ahead," said Gringall. "What's our friend Callaghan been up to now?"
Walperton took the glass from his superior's hand.
"I got a letter from Callaghan this afternoon," he said. "It was sent round by hand. It was a funny sort of letter. Perhaps you'd like to read it."
He brought the letter from his pocket, handed it to Gringall. Gringall read the letter. When he had finished, he said:
"I've had letters like this from Callaghan too. They tell you nothing. They suggest that Callaghan knows a lot and that in due course, if you're good and wait around, you'll know it too."
"It's like his damned insolence," said Walperton.
Gringall smiled.
"Quite," he said. "He is an insolent fellow, isn't he? But he's damned clever. What's the position, Walperton?" he went on. "Is there anything fresh in the Vendayne case?"
