Complete works of peter.., p.446
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 446
"All right," he said. "Anyhow, thank you for answering my questions. By the way, where's Herbert? Is he on another of his nocturnal jaunts tonight?"
She laughed. "Oh, yes," she said. "Herbert spends all his time and his money, as you know, 'chasing the high spots,' as he calls it. To-night I believe he is at a midnight dance at the Pear Tree Club, one of those nasty little places which some young men find so interesting."
Bitterly nodded and made a mental note of the Pear Tree Club. Then he took her home.
He left her on the doorstep. He said "Good-night" at the door of the house and walked slowly back to his rooms. He was even more worried. He was beginning to suspect Diane.
CHAPTER VII Saturday, November 11, Midnight.
BITTERLY had spent an hour walking up and down his sitting-room, considering the interview which he proposed to have with Herbert, considering Herbert's mentality and wondering just whether he knew anything about the man Lariat, whether by any chance he was aware of the truth of the circumstances which had taken place in Ceylon between Lariat and his sister.
At last he knocked out his pipe, put on his hat and took a taxicab to the Pear Tree Club. This club was one of those places which call themselves clubs, but which anyone may enter, providing one has five shillings and doesn't look like a policeman in plain clothes.
Bitterly found Herbert seated at the far end of the dingy smoke-laden dance-room, filled with the usual crowd of over-dressed young Jews and flashy, jaded women. Herbert was busily engaged in a rather too intimate conversation with one of these who looked as if she had put her lipstick on with a trowel and he was not too pleased when Bitterly told him that he wanted to talk to him.
Eventually, however, Herbert's weak good nature asserted itself and, together, they left the club.
"What's the trouble, Michael?" asked Herbert, a little drunkenly. "Something must be very wrong when the great Michael Bitterly condescends to chase me about the West End in the dead of night. What's the matter?"
"We'll go and have some coffee," said Michael, "and I'll tell you about it."
A few minutes later they were seated in Lyons' Corner House in Piccadilly Circus.
When their coffee had been brought, Bitterly started: "Now listen here, Herbert. I don't want you to get the wind up, and I don't want you to take a too serious viewpoint of what I'm going to tell you, but I believe that forewarned is forearmed. Here's the point.
"Just how much you already know about what I'm going to tell you I don't know, but I'm going to take it for granted that you don't know anything. The position is this: Last Monday morning a man by the name of Vincent Lariat called at the flat and saw Diane. This man, apparently, had known Diane and Charles and possibly yourself in the old days when you were on the plantation in Ceylon. Anyhow, this man has some hold, slight or otherwise, over Diane, and he called on her for the purpose of blackmailing her into giving him some money. She hadn't got any. She told him so and she threatened him with the police. He went off, swearing vengeance. Diane was, naturally, frightened and she did me the honour of asking me for my advice and help.
"Rightly or wrongly I was not inclined to do anything for her until she told me the whole truth about the matter. She refused to do this for some reasons best known to herself.
"If you've seen the papers this morning you know that a man was found dead on a pile of bricks at the bottom of Derham Crescent. This body was that of the man Lariat, the man who called on your sister and threatened her last Monday."
Herbert took a gulp of coffee and lit a cigarette. Bitterly thought that his face was a little white.
"Well, what about it, Michael?" he said. "What's it got to do with me?"
"It hasn't got anything to do with you," said Bitterly with a smile. "But it may have a lot to do with Diane. You see, ever since this man has been in this country, which is a matter of just over a week, he's been trying to find out where Derham Crescent was. Obviously he wanted to find your sister. At the present moment the man is classified by the police as unknown, but in point of fact, he isn't a bit unknown. I know who he is, my chief crime reporter knows who he is, and, maybe, other people know too.
"Do you realise that if somebody recognises the description of this man in the newspapers and comes forward and identifies the body and the police discover that this was the man who called on your sister last Monday, Diane may very easily be dragged into this business?"
Herbert's face took on a look as near indignation as was possible.
"Why?" he asked more soberly. "What's it got to do with her? Even if this fellow did go to see her it doesn't mean that she'd know anything about what happened afterwards on Saturday morning."
Bitterly considered for a moment.
"We may know that, Herbert," he said. "But, however much we like to think that, it doesn't mean that the police will think that. Supposing, just for the sake of argument, they become sufficiently interested in this man to order a post-mortem. Supposing, for the sake of argument, they found that he died from some other cause than having his back broken. Don't you see that they would then look for a motive?
"Don't you see that there is one person who would have a motive for removing Lariat? In point of fact, one might easily believe that, as this man had only been in this country for a week, there was only one person who really wanted him out of the way, one person with a motive for putting him out of the way, one person only who had cause to fear him and who knew him, that person being Diane.
"Don't you see this?" Bitterly continued. "This man made trouble for your sister in Ceylon. He went to see her last Monday morning when it's known that he's penniless, but on Monday night he has money, sufficient money to move his rooms and to buy himself clothes. It may easily be that people might believe that it was Diane who found that money for him, because she was frightened. Don't you see that, beside the landlady, nobody seems to have seen or talked to this man since last Monday morning, when he called at the flat, except Diane?"
Herbert leant across the glass top table.
"Oh, really," he said. "Well, don't you believe it, Michael. Don't you believe it. Maybe I can surprise you."
Herbert grinned. "Maybe you'd like to know that this Vincent Lariat came to see me on Monday, too."
For a moment Bitterly's habitual calm deserted him, he was amazed. Herbert grinned.
"I thought that would surprise you," he said. "Look here, Michael, if you think anybody is going to hang anything on to my sister because this fellow made a lot of trouble in Ceylon, because he came to see her last Monday, because he's dead now, you can think again.
"You say you wouldn't help her because she wouldn't tell you the whole truth. I'll tell you why she wouldn't tell you the truth. She didn't tell you the whole story because she wouldn't give me away."
Herbert paused for a moment, stubbed out his cigarette and lit a fresh one. Bitterly noticed that his fingers were trembling.
"I didn't know that the swine had been to see her last Monday," continued Herbert. "If I had I might have lost my temper with him, although, heaven knows, he had me in a tough corner."
Bitterly nodded.
"You know, Herbert," he said. "I think the best thing you can do is to tell me all about this right from the start. Let's have some more coffee."
They waited for the coffee to be brought; then Herbert went on.
"This is the way it is," he said. "I suppose I am a bit of a fool, but then I always have been. You know, when we were out in Ceylon, Charles and Diane were running the plantation, Charles' plantation. I used to work in the offices of a big tea firm out there. I had a decent job and this fellow Lariat was the office manager. Well, to cut a long story short, one day Lariat discovered some cash was missing. He also discovered that I was the person who had had it. He was a nasty bit of work, was Lariat, a fellow who was always very proud of his success with women, and he was very keen on Diane.
"Instead of having me kicked out of the place and arrested, he went to Diane and made some pretty lousy suggestions to her. I've got to say, in fairness to myself, that I didn't know this at the time. Diane told him to go to blazes, but naturally she was very worried about the matter. She didn't want her brother to see the inside of a convict prison.
"Eventually, Lariat compromised. He stopped pestering her and said that he would be quite prepared to forget about it if the money were put back and he had £200 for himself.
"Well, Diane did it. She begged, borrowed, did everything she could. She got the money and she was able to put back what I had taken, and she was able to give Lariat the £200. But, as a result of this business, her name got coupled with Lariat's, and Charles, who, as you know, is a pretty nasty specimen, made things pretty hot for her. This was just before we left Ceylon.
"Now you've got to realise that I'm now working in the London office of the same firm, and if they know what I'd done out in Ceylon they'd fling me out as soon as look at me. The fact that the money had been put back would mean nothing to them, and Lariat knew this.
"He was waiting for me outside the offices last Monday at lunch time. He looked like a tramp. He told me he wanted to have a talk with me and I was pretty frightened, I can tell you. I took him over to a pub near by, and gave him a drink. He told me that he was down and out and broke, that he'd got to have some money and that I was going to find some for him or there'd be trouble. He said he'd tell the firm about what happened in Ceylon and I'd be flung out. I told him that I hadn't got any money and I told him that I was up to my neck in debt and couldn't raise any. He said that didn't matter, I'd got to get it from somewhere, that he'd give me till 7.30 that night to get it or next morning he'd blow the gaff.
"He said something else, too, that was rather peculiar, having regard to what happened afterwards. He was, obviously, in a rage. I know why now; he'd just left Diane. She had just threatened him with the police. Anyhow, he was pretty livid as he said this. He said that if he had two million pounds he'd still make me find some money just to annoy me.
"I didn't know what to do. Eventually, I thought there was just a chance I might raise a few quid by the evening, so I asked him to meet me at 7 o'clock at the Green Fly in Mayfair. I said I'd do what I could. He said he'd be there and I had better have some money, and went off.
"Well, my luck was out. I couldn't raise a bean. I suppose I've borrowed money from everybody I could. Anyhow, I turned up at the Green Fly at 7, and a few minutes afterwards in he came.
"What a change had taken place! He'd got a new suit on; he looked quite decent. He slapped me on the back and told me I was the best fellow in the world. He said I was to forget about everything he'd said that morning, that he was only having a game with me, that he liked me a lot. He insisted on buying drinks and gave me a big cigar. He was flashing ten-pound notes all over the place.
"He stayed with me for half an hour, then he went off, waving goodbye to me as he went out."
"I see," said Bitterly. "So he got some money from somewhere and he wanted to be your friend? He wanted you to forget everything he'd said that morning. That's rather funny." Bitterly thought for a moment. "Devilish funny," he continued. "In the morning after he has left Diane, he is livid with rage, he tells you that if he had two million pounds he'd still make you find some money. But in the evening he wants to be very friendly with you. He's got some money and he buys you drinks.
"I'd like to know where he got that money. Anyhow," he continued, "let's get to the important part of this business, Herbert, let's get to Friday night."
Herbert looked up, obviously interested.
"What about Friday night?" he said.
"Just this," said Bitterly. "It seems that Diane was alone in the flat at the time when the police surgeon believes this Lariat died. Charles, apparently, had gone to drive Bardon out to Beaconsfield, his usual Friday night job. Mrs. Vallery was with friends in the country, and you weren't there either. What time did you get back to the flat, Herbert?"
Herbert thought for a minute. "I suppose it would be about half past three," he said. "I'm afraid I was a little bit binged. I shouldn't have noticed the time except that Diane commented on it."
Bitterly nodded. "Tell me, Herbert," he said, "exactly what happened after you arrived home?"
Herbert considered. "I let myself into the flat," he said eventually, "and had a look into the sitting room. I thought there was just a chance that Charles might have got back early, but it was empty, so I switched off the light and went upstairs to the kitchen. I expect I made a bit of noise, and you know Diane's bedroom is immediately opposite the kitchen.
"Anyhow, eventually I decided I would make myself some tea. I tried to keep as quiet as I could, but I expect I must have rattled the teacups a bit, because, a little while afterwards, Diane came into the kitchen. She asked me if Charles were back, and I said 'No'. Then she said she thought she'd have some tea. Then the trouble started—I'd made my own tea and drunk it and there wasn't any milk; I'd given it all to the cat.
"I think she was annoyed about it. She was annoyed with me generally. She gave me a little lecture on the hours I've been keeping," said Herbert, looking a little bit sheepish. "That's how we came to notice the time. It was twenty-to-four. I suppose she thought I was in a mood to take a good telling-off.
"She was annoyed about the cat, too. One of my jobs," continued Herbert, with a grin, "is wandering round the neighbourhood, finding the Shah when he gets lost, which is a business which happens about four times a week."
"I see," said Bitterly. He lit another cigarette and drew at it slowly. He was thinking. Here was an incongruity. When he had talked to Diane she had told him that there was no milk for her tea because Herbert had drunk it all. Now here was Herbert telling him that there wasn't any milk for her because he had given it to the cat. Yet a second afterwards, he had said that she was additionally annoyed with him because he hadn't been to look for the cat. How could Herbert have given the milk to the cat if he had not been to look for it? Bitterly made a mental note.
"What were you doing on Friday night, Herbert?" he asked.
"I was at the Pear Tree Club till about half past twelve," said Herbert. "Then I met some people and I went off to their place near Russell Square. It was a bottle party and we all got rather tight. I was there till about 3 o'clock, I should think," said Herbert. "Then I went home."
Bitterly nodded. "I suppose everybody at that party was fairly tight, Herbert?" he said. Herbert nodded.
"I'm afraid they were," he said with a grin. "Why?"
"Just this," said Bitterly. "I don't suppose there was anybody sufficiently sober at that party to know the exact time that you did leave, was there?"
Herbert agreed. "I should think not," he said.
"And what time did you get there, do you think?" asked Bitterly.
"I should think about one o'clock," said Herbert.
Bitterly nodded. "And you left about three?"
He leaned across the table.
"Look here, Herbert," he said. "I think this is the way it is going to be. You were at the Pear Tree Club till about ten past twelve, you met your friends at about twenty past twelve, you got to their place in Russell Square about a quarter to one, and you left there about half past one, arriving home at Derham Crescent at about three minutes to two. If you liked to hurry you could walk it in that half an hour."
"What's the idea?" asked Herbert.
"The police think that this man Lariat died between two and two-thirty," said Bitterly, "and I think it would be a very good idea if, instead of arriving home at 3.30, the time when you did arrive, you arrived home at 2 o'clock."
Herbert nodded. "I see," he said, "you want somebody to have been in the flat with Diane at the time when the accident took place."
He leaned across the table to Bitterly, his face tense. "Look here, Michael," he said. "You don't think that anybody is going to suggest that Diane had anything to do with this, do you?"
Bitterly grinned.
"I don't think anything," he said, "but I think it's going to be a very good idea for you to be in a position to say that you were in that flat at 2 o'clock. It's going to short-circuit my crime reporter, Bill Jacquot, from jumping to any premature conclusions, and it's not going to hurt anybody. The great thing is—I want you to be certain that there was nobody at that Russell Square party sufficiently sober to know the time when you did actually leave."
Herbert grinned. "Don't you worry about that," he said. "They were all cockeyed when I met 'em; and, as for knowing what time I left, they were in such a state that none of them would probably even remember that I'd ever been there."
"All right," said Bitterly. "Stick to that, and you needn't say anything to Diane about it. In any event, nobody is going to be making any inquiries round Derham Crescent until Monday afternoon at the earliest, and, if needs be, I can see you again before then. In the meantime don't say anything to Diane about it. There's no need to worry her."
They finished their coffee and walked back together. At Notting Hill Gate station they parted, Herbert going off to the flat, leaving Bitterly to walk slowly to his own rooms.
CHAPTER VIII Sunday, November 12, Morning, 10.30.
BITTERLY, seated on the top of the bus which was taking him towards Oxford Street, pondered on the interview which lay before him, the interview with Bardella. After leaving Herbert the night before he had wandered about, trying hard to find some point from which he might form a working basis of thought. Obviously, Herbert's story had completely altered the complexion of things; but, really, it only complicated things more. If anything it made matters rather worse for Diane.
Twenty minutes later he knocked at the door of Bardella's flat. She opened the door herself, receiving him with that vivacious and welcoming smile which she reserved for most members of the male sex.
"Fancy seeing you, Michael," she said. "You were the last person I expected. I thought you didn't like me."
