Complete works of peter.., p.275
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 275
He stopped the lift at the office floor. Walked along the passage, opened the outer office door, went in, sat down at Effie Thompson's desk. On one corner acting as a temporary paper-weight, was the book she was reading—a Crime Club book. Callaghan grinned. One of his occasional relaxations was the Crime Club. Where clues were so neat and tidy, where logic was so relentless, where detectives were so apt, where the reader's brain, one step behind that of the author, fitted together the pieces of the jig-saw puzzle that pictured the mystery, only to discover, in the last chapter, that he had foozled with the main piece; that the author had still something up his sleeve.
If only life was like that. Being a private detective meant only too often that one had nothing up one's sleeve except one's arm, which, used only as a last resort, was hardly adequate for bluffing.
Callaghan opened the top right-hand drawer of Effie Thompson's desk, opened the big box of Player's cigarettes which she used to replenish the silver box on his desk, took a cigarette, lit it, put his elbows on the desk top and considered just how much he was going to say—just how little....
He made up his mind, groped for the telephone directory, flipped it open, searched for the number. He found it eventually—G. H. P. Gringall, Riverside Drive, S.W., RIV 67452. He dialled the number, and waited.
He waited a long time. He began to blow smoke rings, ruminating on the scene within Gringall's flat. Gringall would be struggling into a dressing-gown, cursing, wondering who it was wanted him at such an unearthly hour. Then he would guess. He would guess that it would be Callaghan. And he would wonder what it was that Callaghan had to say and just what he, Gringall, would say if Callaghan said so-and-so or, alternatively, so-and-so.
Gringall's voice said hallo.
Callaghan said: "Good-morning, Gringall. I suppose they haven't rung you up from the Yard?"
"No," said Gringall. "By the same token, what are you doing, ringing me up at this hour? I thought you never got up till lunch time? And why should the Yard have telephoned me?"
"Well," said Callaghan, "I called through to them about half-past four this morning. I asked the Information Room to pick up a couple of people at a place called the Salem Club, near Fitzroy Square. I said I thought you'd probably want to talk to these two birds. That's all."
Gringall said: "Ah...." There was a pause. Then: "What two birds, and why?"
"Well..." said Callaghan, "I went along to the Salem Club last night. It seems that Lionel Wilbery used to go there with Doria Varette. The Salem Club is by way of being a Spieler, see? Quite a good class one. All the usual things, you know, roulette, chemie, poker..."
"I know," said Gringall.
"I won forty pounds too," said Callaghan cheerfully. "Anyhow, while I was there I thought I'd have a word with the boyo who runs the place, a person name of Salkey. This Salkey seemed quite a nice sort of fellow, at first that is. He was nice enough until I began to ask questions."
"People are always nice until you ask for something," said Gringall. "But don't let me interrupt you."
"I won't if I can help it," said Callaghan amiably. "Well, to cut a long story short, I stayed on there after every one else had gone. Then I had a little talk with this Salkey boyo. He just didn't know anything about anything at all. He said he'd met Lionel and he remembered Varette. He remembered what a hell of a fine woman she was. Beyond that his memory didn't seem to work very well. So I thought I'd have to try and do something to give it a gyp."
"I see," said Gringall. "So you gypped up his memory a bit. Would it be curious to ask you how you did that?"
"I took a bit of a liberty—with you I mean," said Callaghan. "Thinking things over I realise I shouldn't have done it, but you know how things are, you sort of get carried away."
"Like hell you do," said Gringall. "The day that something or somebody makes you get carried away I'll eat my hat in Piccadilly Circus."
Callaghan grinned into the transmitter. He went on:
"Well, anyway as I said, I took a liberty. I forgot for the moment that I was using a bit of private information that possibly you didn't want divulged. I told this Salkey lad that he'd better gyp up his memory a bit, otherwise the Yard, who were holding Santos D'Ianazzi as a suspect in the Varette murder, might want to ask him some questions."
"Nice work," said Gringall. "How did he react to that one?
"He didn't seem to mind that one a lot," said Callaghan. "He wasn't worrying about any 'accessory before and/or after' charge. He'd got a cast-iron alibi. He told me that he was out of town when Varette was killed."
Callaghan paused, blew a careful smoke ring.
"The joke was," he said, "I hadn't told him when Varette was killed."
"Quite," said Gringall. "But on the other hand he might be a lad who's out of town an awful lot. Anyhow, I expect he could suggest that he was. But go on...."
"There was another lad there," said Callaghan. "A real, proper boyo, this other lad. A tall, thin, rangy sort of one. A very wiry one. A perfect sweetheart. Used a little make-up too, and had a cupid bow mouth. One of those. With all the nasty temper they usually have too. He didn't like me a lot."
"I'm not surprised," said Gringall. "And what did he do—or didn't he?"
"I was saying," said Callaghan, "they didn't seem to be bothering a lot about any connection between Santos D'Ianazzi and themselves—not a lot. So I tried another line. I suggested that Santos hadn't got a passport, that he'd said that somebody had taken it off him. I also said that the Cuban Legation didn't know anything about him. I suggested that possibly, even if he had a Cuban passport, it was a screwy one. That seemed to make 'em think a bit."
"Did it?" said Gringall. "Fancy that now. And what gave you the idea that the D'Ianazzi passport might be a fake?"
"Nothing gave me the idea" said Callaghan. "I knew it's a fake. The last visa on the D'Ianazzi passport is that of the Cuban Consulate at Naples. If they don't know anything about him here it's a stone certainty that that visa is a forgery. After all, anybody can make a rubber stamp and do a little faking with a pen, can't they? Or they might even have pinched a rubber stamp from the Cuban Consulate at Naples."
"Quite," said Gringall. "So that's where Santos' passport went to. You've got it."
"Right," said Callaghan. "I've got it. Aren't you shattered with surprise?"
"Like hell I am," said Gringall. "I knew you'd get it. Just as I know it was Nikolls who manhandled Santos."
"No!" Callaghan looked pleased. "Now that's clever. How did you know that?"
"You invariably hit them with your elbow joint," said Gringall. "I remember that fellow Piercer. It catches 'em under the jaw an' telescopes one side of the jaw. But somebody had slugged Santos right on the nose—hard, and then on the mouth. The nasal frontal bone's cracked a bit, and he's got four teeth missing. That, I imagine, would be the Nikolls technique. But go on... it seems this was a nice sort of party."
"It was grand fun," said Callaghan. "When I got on to the screwy passport angle, Wulfie—the little sweetheart—didn't like me a bit. He was going to start something. I was sitting down and had to kick him. Salkey was getting rather forcible too. He was trying to get a gun out. I had to be a bit rough."
"A bit rough!" said Gringall. "You're telling me. Why, Salkey's jaw's telescoped. He's in the hospital now, and as for little Wulfie, I doubt if they straightened him out yet. Little Wulfie was still doubled up when they brought him in."
Callaghan said: "I thought they hadn't rung you up from the Yard?"
"Ah..." said Gringall. "That was before I knew you were going to talk. You're such a slippery customer, aren't you?"
"Shocking," agreed Callaghan. "Unscrupulous too...."
"I know," said Gringall.
There was a pause. Then Gringall said:
"Are you going to be in London?"
"Not for long," said Callaghan. "I've got an idea I'm going to Norton Fitzwarren some time this afternoon. Why?"
"Well," said Gringall, "I've got an idea that I shall be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square some time this afternoon. And you might as well have that D'Ianazzi passport waiting for me. I want it. Who the hell do you think you are hanging on to Exhibit 'A' like that?"
Callaghan said: "I'll be glad to see you. But don't be later than, say four-thirty. Why don't you come to tea?"
"Tea!" Gringall was laughing. "I didn't know you drank anything else but neat rye round at that spider's web you call an office."
"We drink tea as a chaser," said Callaghan. "We might also give you a piece of cake. And mind you wipe those big feet of yours before you come in."
Gringall said: "I'll be with you about four-thirty. Just take care that nobody kills you before I've done with you."
Callaghan sighed.
"Now, who would want to do a thing like that?" he said.
"I know about sixty people who'd stretch your neck with pleasure if they could get away with it," said Gringall. "And I don't know that I'm not one of them."
"I like that," said Callaghan. "Who was it brought you that Riverton job on a plate? Who was it that stood by and got nothing while they made you a Chief Detective-Inspector with a room of your own, and all sorts of things?"
Gringall laughed.
"So you got nothing," he said. "I like that. You ought to have retired on what the Riverton lawyers paid you for that crooked job. And look at that Vendayne case. The police did all the work and you got about two thousand pounds out of it. Besides which..." He stopped suddenly.
"Besides what?" asked Callaghan.
"Oh, nothing," said Gringall airily. "By the way, how's Miss Vendayne?"
"She was very well the last time I saw her," said Callaghan.
Gringall said: "I think somebody ought to warn these women about going out with private detectives with warped minds like you've got. Unscrupulous too. I can never make out why your women clients get stuck on you. I think it's disgraceful."
"Don't be jealous," said Callaghan. "You can't expect to understand nice women—not with that awful mentality of yours. It even makes me shudder. Good-bye, flat-foot. I'll see you at four-thirty—if I remember it."
He hung up quickly.
IV.
Gringall stood, twisting the tasselled cord of his dressing-gown between his fingers. His expression was one of amiable contentment. He walked out of the hallway into the small, tidy kitchen, put the kettle on the gas stove, prepared an early morning tea tray. For the business of being Chief Detective-Inspector, and the ramifications of this case and that, did nothing to affect the habits of George Henry Porteous Gringall—one of which was the serving of his wife's early morning cup of tea.
Having lit the gas under the kettle, and filled and lit a small, chubby pipe, Gringall went into the sitting-room. He sat down at the telephone table and dialled the Scotland Yard number.
He said: "This is Mr. Gringall. About those two who were brought in from the Salem Club this morning. Just keep 'em on ice for the time being. If they start shouting for a lawyer let 'em have one—or a dozen if they want. They probably won't. They'll probably be canny and silent. When Fields comes in you can tell him that they'll be charged under a Section of the Defence of the Realm Act. I'll see the Assistant Commissioner about that when I arrive. I shall be there at nine o clock."
He said good-bye, hung up. He went into the kitchen and stood watching the kettle, drawing on his pipe.
V.
Callaghan stubbed out his cigarette, took a fresh one, lit it, thought that he felt tired.
His headache was gone. A tinge of neuralgia remained to remind him that life is a matter of comparison between having a pain and not having a pain—mental or physical.
He sat looking at the desk, drawing great breaths of tobacco smoke down into his lungs. After a while he leaned across the desk, switched on the dictaphone. He said:
"Effie, directly you get here ring through to Nikolls at the Grasscutter. Tell him to telephone through to Miss Wilbery at Deeplands and ask her to meet him as soon as possible. He is to find out from her whether Milta Haragos is with his sister Sabine at The Vale, or whether he is in town. Miss Wilbery will have to find this out by some means known to herself. But she's to do it unobtrusively. If Milta Haragos is in London, he'll probably be at the Haragos flat at Rufus Court. Wherever he is Nikolls is to get on to his tail. If he's at Rufus Court, Nikolls must get back to London as quickly as he can. That means that Miss Wilbery must get the information by ten o'clock so that Nikolls can get up to London by two o'clock. Nikolls is to get on to Milta Haragos immediately he arrives here so that he can report to me here at four o'clock. That's that.
"Secondly, I'm now going to bed. I want to be called at half-past three with some strong tea. I want my blue pin-head suit pressed. Tell the valet. Also Mr. Gringall is calling about four-thirty. When he comes show him into my office and give him some tea if he wants it. Thank you, Effie."
He switched off the dictaphone, locked the office door, walked along to the lift and went up to his flat. He took off his dressing-gown, vest and shorts, put on a pink silk pyjama jacket, got into bed. In three minutes he was asleep.
VI.
Callaghan sat at his desk drinking tea. He was cleanly shaved, well-dressed. He wore a blue pin-head suit fresh from the valet's pressing, a pale blue silk shirt and collar, a navy blue tie. He wore a few violets—extracted from a bunch worn by Effie Thompson—in his button-hole.
The office clock struck four. Nikolls came in. He walked through the outer office, stuck his head round Callaghan's door, grinned, walked across the room, inserted his large body in the big chair opposite Callaghan's desk.
Callaghan threw over a cigarette. Nikolls caught it, put it in his mouth, lit it with a match struck artistically on the seat of his trousers. In order to strike the match he had to lean sideways off the chair. Callaghan wondered why it was necessary to light a cigarette like that.
He said: "Milta?"
Nikolls grinned.
"It's O.K.," he said. "I got tabs on that baby. He's at Rufus Court, an' he's stayin' there. He's got some manicure jane workin' on him at the moment an' then he's gonna bath an' have the barber in for a haircut. I been workin' fast. I got up here at three. I got the express. Leonore was swell. When I met her this mornin' she did a 'phone call to the Vale an' got the works from Sabine."
Callaghan said: "That's all right. But don't lose Haragos. I'm leaving here about five o'clock. I shall be down at Deeplands by about nine to-night."
Nikolls yawned.
"This case is gettin' me down," he said. "I hope I don't have to go down to that Grasscutter dump again. That jane in the saloon bar is after my blood. She's a determined baby. She won't take no for an answer...."
"I expect that's the trouble," said Callaghan. "I expect you wouldn't take no for an answer in the first place."
"Well...." Nikolls spread his large palms. "I gotta get results, ain't I? I gotta find things out. The way to a man's heart is through his belly, an' the way to a woman's information is... but let's skip it. All I gotta say is I'm goddam glad to get away an' I hope I don't haveta go back there. If I do I'm gonna stay some other place otherwise that jane is gonna scalp me when I ain't lookin'. That dame has got too much character for me. She reminds me of a baby I usta know in Wyoming. Did I ever tell you about that kiddo?"
Callaghan said: "No... I don't think I heard about the Wyoming one."
"It was terrible," said Nikolls. "I got myself in a jam with some baby in Chicago, an' this baby was the berries, I'm tellin' you. She was sorta fond of love. In fact I christened that dame Muscles because she was in every guy's arms. Every guy she met up with she fell for. But when she met me she fell with such a bump that she thought she'd been bombed.
"O.K. Well, I took a run-out on this doll. I took a run-out when I heard she was lookin' for me with a lovin' smile an' a jack-knife. I went as far away as I could. I went to Wyoming. When I got there I stayed on some farm. The farmer's daughter was one of them babies you read about. She had everything. She was like a picture off the front of a magazine with lots of class an' what it takes. I take one look at this doll an' she practically faints in my arms. This is the effect I have on this dame.
"O.K. Well, there I am. Right in the heart of ranchin' country, with lovely sunsets, four meals a day, unlimited hooch an' this baby hangin' on my every word. What a dump—everything to hand an' no extras.
"One night I am sittin' on the porch an' I get sorta confidential. I tell this baby about the dame in Chicago. An' before I know where I am she has issued me a smack on the beezer that you could hear out in Honolulu."
Callaghan said: "Well, you asked for it. She was jealous of the other woman."
"Nope," said Nikolls. "You got it wrong. The other woman was her sister. She'd written an' told her what some so-an'-so had done to her, an' this dame recognises me by the description. It just shows you how small the world is, don't it? An' also you should never let your right hand know what you'd like to be doin' with your left. Me—I don't like determined women. I mean to say I don't like women who are determined about the right things at the wrong moment."
Callaghan said: "When you pick up Milta again, don't lose him. You'd better keep in touch with the office up till one or two o'clock in the morning. I may be coming back. If Milta decides to go home and go to bed, come back to the office and leave a message on Effie's dictaphone. If that happens you can lay off and go to bed."
Nikolls heaved himself up.
"O.K.," he said. He walked to the office door. He turned and said. "I suppose we haven't got any ideas where Lionel is yet?"
Callaghan shook his head.
"Is it troubling you?" he asked.
"Not much," said Nikolls. "Except for that Leonore baby. She's worried sick. She's a nice kid that one." He looked at Callaghan and grinned. "She's sorta taken a bend on you, hasn't she?" he said. "She sorta thinks you got everything that opens an' shuts. It just shows you, don't it?"
He closed the door quickly behind him.
Callaghan lit another cigarette. He put his feet on the desk and thought. He was thinking about Lionel Wilbery—which was something he had almost forgotten about.
