Complete works of peter.., p.287
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 287
Gringall said: 'I wonder what you really came here for?'
Callaghan said: 'I told you if I had any information I'd give it to you. Well, I've done my best, and look at the thanks I get.'
Gringall put his pencil down. He said:
'What you really came here for was to tell me that you're going to see the Globe & Associated and get yourself taken in on this job. You wanted to see my reaction. You wanted to see whether I wouldn't like the idea.'
Callaghan said evenly: 'And do you?'
Gringall said: 'I'm not saying anything. If the Globe & Associated like to employ you, well... they're entitled to. You might even find something out—who knows?'
'Quite,' said Callaghan. 'I might even come to you and talk to you about it.' He sighed. 'The amount of work I've done for this office during the last six years is just nobody's business.'
Gringall smiled. He said.
'You've got the most appalling nerve I've ever met. The work you've done for us! Damn it... look what we've done for you. You ought to be grateful to us for not slinging you inside on a charge of obstructing the police on half a dozen occasions. Look at that Riverton case... look at that Vendayne business. In both those affairs you skated on such thin ice that we could almost hear it cracking. You're incorrigible! By the way, d'you ever hear anything of Audrey Vendayne?'
Callaghan said: 'She called through to the office to-day. She said Devonshire was looking wonderful...'
Gringall said: 'It beats me how your clients can even bother to speak to you. You charge the most terrible fees. You're uncouth. You're cunning. Your methods are unspeakable. And yet charming women like Audrey Vendayne call you up and tell you that Devonshire is looking wonderful. I can't understand it.'
Callaghan opened the door.
'Of course you can't,' he said airily. 'You're just another policeman. You're much too coarse to understand the really fine relationship that exists between Callaghan Investigations and its clients.'
He grinned at the astonished police officer.
'Women have intuition,' he said. 'They have an additional sense. They know that they're safe with Callaghan's Investigations.'
Gringall said: 'My God... safe with Callaghan Investigations... I'd rather be in the hands of the Gestapo. If I were a client of yours I'd probably shoot you...'
'If you were a client of mine I'd probably shoot myself,' said Callaghan. 'So long, Gringall. And work hard. Otherwise they'll send you back to that beat where you really belong...'
The door closed behind him.
Gringall got up and went to the window. He stood there for some time looking out on to the Embankment.
When he returned to his desk he was smiling. He picked up the telephone, asked the operator to give him Inspector Maynes's room.
He said to Maynes: 'About that Gardell case. Apply for a fornight's adjournment at the inquest. Give the usual reasons. And don't do anything—except routine—until I give you the word. Understand?'
'Very good, Mr. Gringall,' said Maynes. 'Has something happened?'
Gringall smiled into the transmitter.
'Callaghan's happened,' he said. 'He's going to cut himself in. He's on to something. He's at his old game of drawing red herrings all over the place.'
Maynes said gloomily: 'That means trouble for everybody. Is he working for any one interested?'
'He's suggesting that he's going to work for the Insurance people concerned,' said Gringall. 'That may be bluff. Perhaps he's working for somebody else. Who gets the money under the policy, Maynes?'
'Miss Gardell,' said Maynes. 'Miss Desirée Gardell—the daughter.'
'Ah!' said Gringall. 'Well... if she's going to get forty-five thousand pounds, you can bet next month's pay Callaghan will be working for her...'
Maynes said: 'I don't think so, sir. I don't think she's the type to use a private investigator. She's much too classy. I don't think she'd like Callaghan at all.'
Gringall sighed. He said:
'They never do at the start, Maynes. Mark you, I'm only guessing, but if Callaghan has made up his mind to work for her he'll do it...'
'Whether she likes it or not?' asked Maynes.
Gringall said: 'Maynes... when you know Callaghan as well as I do, you'll know that when he works for a client the client stands for it and likes it.'
Maynes said: 'Well... if that's so, Mr. Gringall, he must have something.'
'He's got something all right,' said Gringall. 'He's got a system. He just follows his nose. And he can do all sorts of things and say all sorts of things that we can't.'
'That's all very well, sir,' said Maynes. 'But if he interferes... I shall be very tough with him if he interferes.'
Gringall said: 'You be tough, Maynes, and see where it gets you. and Callaghan never interferes with the police. Oh no! He just helps. Personally I'd rather be assisted by the devil himself.'
'I see,' said Maynes. 'Thanks for the tip. I'm keen, as you know, Mr. Gringall, on making a good job of this Gardell business. It's my first job since I got my stop...'
Gringall said: 'If I can do anything, just let me know. In the meantime ask for that adjournment and see that you get it. I want a little time before you move at all drastically.'
'You think something will happen?' asked Maynes.
Gringall laughed.
'I'm damned certain it will,' he said. 'If I know anything of Callaghan he's going to make something happen. We might as well see what it is.'
He hung up. Then he relit his pipe and began to draw a water-melon.
III.
Callaghan followed the ancient butler along the oak-wainscoted corridor that led through the house towards the rear lawn. Over the shoulder of the old man he caught a glimpse, in the distance, of the flower garden.
They came out into the fading sunlight. In the far corner of the garden Callaghan saw Desirée Gardell, a trowel in her gloved hand, busy transplanting. She saw them, dropped the trowel, stood waiting, relaxed and smiling.
Callaghan thought here's a hell of a woman. Manon had not exaggerated. Desirée presented a picture calculated to make any normal man catch his breath.
She was a little taller than Manon—a brunette. She wore an olive-green coat and skirt of corduroy velvet, with a primrose-yellow jumper. Her hair, severely dressed, was bound in a scarf that was a mixture of green and orange and olive. Her stockings were light sun-tan, and her small feet were exquisitely shod in well-polished oxford shoes.
The butler said, 'Mr. Callaghan,' and went away. They stood looking at each other. Then she smiled. It was an easy, casual sort of smile. It might have meant anything.
He was waiting for her to speak. He wondered what her voice would be like. He thought that a woman with a face and figure like that must have a poor sort of voice. It would be too much if that was as beautiful as the rest of her.
It was. It was low—like a husky flute, Callaghan thought—and soft and casual. She said:
'I'm glad to see you, Mr. Callaghan. I hope you'll stay to dinner, and I hope we shall be able to feed you adequately. At any rate it ought to be better than the nearest inn.'
'Thank you,' said Callaghan. 'I'm sorry to arrive at such an inconvenient time. But I thought you might like to see me as soon as possible.'
She said: 'I don't know now... possibly the cause of urgency has disappeared. One can't say. Well have to talk about it. Please smoke if you want to.'
He offered her his cigarette case. She shook her head. Callaghan lit a cigarette and took a long time over the process. He was smiling to himself.
A sweet set-up, he thought. So the 'cause for urgency' had disappeared, 'possibly...' Like hell it had disappeared. Manon Gardell, having done her scouting act and reported to Desirée, that lady had now decided that any urgency had disappeared. The decision being based on the fact that Manon had concluded that the time was not ripe to talk to Callaghan... possibly never would be ripe.
He drew the tobacco smoke down into his lungs and took a long look at Desirée Gardell. Here was a nice piece of glamour. Definitely an alluring picture—a picture that made the most of a superb figure, a perfect poise. She was shading her eyes with her hand, looking into the distance towards the wood that topped the hill a couple of miles away. A nice attitude, thought Callaghan. It suited her.
He said: 'Well, Miss Gardell, if you think there's nothing important for us to talk about I might as well go back. There are lots of things I can do...'
'Are there?' she said. She did not alter her position or turn towards him. Her voice was very casual. Callaghan swore under his breath. It was obvious that Miss Gardell could be very difficult—if she wanted to be, and it seemed, at the moment, that she wanted to be.
She said: 'I always think this view is so beautiful at this time in the evening. I like looking at it.' She turned towards him. 'I expect you've lots of important things to do in London,' she went on. 'So, if you like, you can go back immediately after dinner—and we needn't talk at all. Perhaps you think there isn't anything that needs talk.'
Callaghan thought: You'd be surprised if you knew just how much talk there is going to be. You've got everything cut and dried, haven't you, madame...?
But he said evenly: 'That's for you to decide, of course.' His voice became a trifle humble. 'I thought that possibly you wanted to make use of the service of Callaghan Investigations; that you had thought we might help you?'
She smiled at him. She said:
'Do you know, I haven't really thought very much about it...'
Callaghan thought: You're a damned liar, Desirée. You've thought plenty about it. He could hear Manon saying: 'We've got to be careful of this Callaghan person, Desirée. He's quite intelligent. At moment he almost appears to have brains. Not a bit like one's ideas of a private detective, my dear. He's almost possible...'
He said: 'Anyhow, my journey won't have been wasted. There are one or two questions I'd like to ask you...'
'Are there?' she said. She smiled again. He noticed that her teeth were quite perfect and that her eyes were changed from violet to blue. 'I do hope I shall want to answer them...' Her voice was mildly sarcastic.
You'll answer them and like it, thought Callaghan. But he said smilingly:
'That, of course, depends on you.'
She said: 'Of course. Will you forgive me if I leave you now. I'd like to change. Please ask Grant for anything you want. I'll tell him to bring you a cocktail here. You might like to stay and admire the view...'
She flashed another smile at him, went towards the house. Callaghan watched her. He felt happy... he was almost contented... This, he thought, is going to be good. Damned good!
IV.
Grant, the butler, brought coffee into the little sitting-room with french windows that overlooked the terrace. Out of the corner of his eye Callaghan was watching Desirée Gardell, wondering about her. A clever one, he thought. For once, here was a beautiful woman who had brains. She looked exquisite. She wore a plain black crêpe-de-chine dinner frock with a small diamond buckle at its belt and soft beige ruffles at throat and wrists. Her hair, loosely but artistically dressed, was tied at one side with a black water-silk ribbon.
During dinner she had been smiling and attentive, a perfect hostess, indulging in generalities of conversation. Now she sat silently, a cigarette between her fingers, looking towards the sunset.
Callaghan said: 'This is delightful. A wonderful contrast to the humdrum existence of a private detective.'
'Is it, Mr. Callaghan?' she said. 'I was afraid that this rusticity might have bored you.'
Callaghan said: 'It doesn't bore me a bit. I like looking at things and people. I can be very patient.'
'Can you?' she asked. She said suddenly: 'Mr. Callaghan, what do you expect to get out of this business?'
Callaghan said evenly: 'I don't think I quite understand.'
She laughed—it was a delightful laugh. She said:
'Oh yes, you do. You don't mean to tell me that you came down here for your health?'
Callaghan said: 'I came down here because you gave my office to understand that you wanted to see me urgently. Naturally we don't expect to work for nothing, and I wasn't to know that since you rang my office something had happened to make you change your mind.'
She said, with a hint of impatience in her voice: 'So I've changed my mind. You seem to add thought-reading to your other attributes, Mr. Callaghan.'
'Not always,' said Callaghan. He was smiling as pleasantly as she was. 'Only sometimes. Are you trying to tell me that you haven't changed your mind?'
She said: 'I'd rather ask you a question. Since you say I've changed my mind, perhaps you'll tell me what was responsible for the process.'
'I could make a guess,' said Callaghan.
'May I know what it is?' she asked.
'Certainly,' he said. 'I should say that your cousin Manon is responsible for your change of mind.'
She said casually: 'So you've seen Manon?'
'You know I've seen Manon,' said Callaghan. 'I imagine she was a scouting expedition sent forward in advance to see what sort of person I was. Apparently she didn't consider that I was quite the type. So she talked a lot and said nothing.'
She looked away over the terrace and lawns. She said: 'Ah!' There was a long silence, then: 'Mr. Callaghan, you thought that I might want to use your services. Well, that's true—I might. When I telephoned your office, I did want to see you urgently. I wanted you to tell me about the interview you had with my father.'
Callaghan said: 'And now you know I've nothing to tell you. Your lawyer's already told you that I didn't see the Admiral?'
'Yes,' she said. 'That's true enough. But even so you think that you can help me in some way.' She smiled charmingly. 'I like being helped,' she said. 'Have you a suggestion?'
Callaghan said: 'You know that the County police and Scotland Yard have a very definite idea that the Admiral was murdered. Did you know that your cousin Manon was just as certain that he committed suicide?'
She said: 'Mr. Callaghan, you must have a very poor opinion of me. Do you think if I honestly thought my father had been murdered I should be as calm and collected over this business as I am?'
'I don't know,' said Callaghan. 'I don't know you well enough. So you think he committed suicide, and you can be calm and collected about it because you knew that his suicide was inevitable?'
She nodded.
'You know, Mr. Callaghan,' she said, 'in order to understand the way I think about my father's death you'd have to know me. Life hadn't very much to offer him. He was old, tired, irascible. If I thought that by dying he'd have lost anything, I should have been sorry. But I know he's gained peace. That was what he wanted more than anything else.'
Callaghan said: 'Then we need not be sorry for the Admiral. He got what he wanted. But the fact remains that the police believe he was murdered.'
She said: 'Does that matter?'
'It might matter considerably,' said Callaghan, 'to you.'
She raised her eyebrows.
'Really!' she said. 'How could it matter to me?'
Callaghan asked: 'May I have another cigarette?'
She nodded. He took one from the silver box on the table, lit it. He said:
'Miss Gardell, you've got an idea that within a few days the Globe & Associated Insurance Company are going to pay you the sum of forty-five thousand pounds, haven't you?'
She said: 'Yes, my father's life was insured for that amount.'
He said: 'Supposing they didn't pay the claim?'
She looked at him. Her eyes seemed a little larger. Also he was certain now that their colour was violet.
She said: 'But how ridiculous. They've got to pay the claim.'
Callaghan smiled.
'Oh no, they haven't,' he said. 'They haven't got to pay anything.'
She said: 'Mr. Callaghan, do you mean to tell me that an Insurance Company is in the habit of bilking its customers?'
Callaghan said: 'A policy is issued under certain conditions, Miss Gardell. If the insured doesn't keep to those conditions, or if there is any other legal angle that needs examination, the Company are quite entitled to hold up the claim until they are satisfied.'
She said: 'Oh, I understand. You mean the two years' clause about suicide? That a Company won't pay if the insured person commits suicide within two years of the issue of the policy.'
Callaghan's smile became broader.
He said: 'I imagine it was that clause in the policy that the Admiral wanted to see me about. But when he called on Vane he discovered that the period had elapsed; that committing suicide wouldn't do any good—that the policy would be paid.' He stopped for a moment. Then: 'Did you know that his idea in committing suicide was so that the policy should not be paid?'
She said: 'I didn't know, and I don't believe anything of the sort.'
Callaghan shrugged his shoulders.
'All right,' he said. 'You didn't know and you don't believe. So what?' His tone was nearly insolent.
She said: 'Well, in any event what does it matter? Can you give me another reason why the Insurance Company shouldn't pay?'
Callaghan said: 'I think there's an obvious reason, Miss Gardell, and I should have thought that you were intelligent enough to know what it is.'
She said coldly: 'Perhaps I am not as intelligent as you think, Mr. Callaghan. Also I would like to tell you that I don't awfully like your tone of voice.'
'Don't you?' said Callaghan. 'That's too bad. I wonder what I'm to do about that.'
She did not answer. Callaghan got up. He said:
'Miss Gardell, I should like to thank you for a very interesting evening and an excellent dinner. It's quite obvious to me that Callaghan Investigations aren't going to be of much use to you.' He smiled. 'I don't think you like us a lot, do you?'
'I hadn't thought about that, Mr. Callaghan. Must you go?'
He said: 'I ought to be getting back.'
She got up. They went back through the dining-room into the hallway. Callaghan took his hat and coat from the butler. She came with him to the entrance steps.
