Complete works of peter.., p.458
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 458
I stared at Jaffray in surprise.
"Don't misunderstand me. Mr. Relph," he said. "We've got to get them or they'll get us. They'll stop at nothing. They don't know how much you know, but I've had to show my hand to-day."
"Then the newspaper report was right," I said.
"No, it wasn't," said Jaffray. "When I had that paragraph inserted in the papers I did it with the express purpose of misleading certain people. It was purely by accident that I stumbled on a theory which fits the jig-saw of Salvatori's half-told story and our other slender theories."
Jaffray smoked in silence for a moment, then he told me to sit down. I took the rickety chair he indicated, whilst he walked to the door and glanced round the shop. Then he returned and drew his chair nearer to mine.
"This is what we're up against, Mr. Relph," he said. "I know it sounds like a fairy story, and it's quite on the cards that I'm wrong on one or two points. The thing which put me on the right track was Salvatori's tale. You remember he said, that ten or twelve years ago he and Zweitt were employed by a firm called Moreatte in Milan. I got in touch immediately with the Italian police, who, by a coincidence, had quite a fund of information about this firm, which they cabled to me. Before I tell you about that, however, I must interrupt myself to tell you—"
Jaffray drew his chair nearer to mine. His voice had sunk almost to a whisper. The night was so quiet that the lashing of the rain outside sounded weirdly loud, and the wind moaned a dismal accompaniment.
"Outside the sacred city of Pekin," Jaffray went on, "there is a monastery. It is called the Monastery of Li Tsu Chen. Although the priests were reported to have large quantities of treasure stored in the monastery, they were an industrious crowd, and spent their days making weird liqueurs and sweetmeats which they sold. They were good business-men, and had agents in every country of the world who sold their products for them. This Moreatte and Co., of Milan, were apparently their chief distributors. They seem to have been a pretty shady crowd. There were two partners running the business, an Englishman and a German. Suddenly, just before the outbreak of war in 1914, the business was shut up, and the partners disappeared. Certain information came into the hands of the Italian C.I.D. They made inquiries, and then—" Jaffray suddenly stopped speaking. He motioned me to keep silent, and listened intently.
"Listen—the music!" he whispered.
Above the sounds of the rain and wind outside I could hear a peculiar noise—Chinese music. It seemed to come from somewhere near, but the door between the shop and Salvatori's room was open, and we could see that we were alone. I felt a chill creeping over me—the soft cadences of the music (it sounded as if a reed instrument was being played softly) held something ominous. I looked at Jaffray. His face was drawn. Very slowly his hand stole to his hip-pocket. Then, as slowly, he leaned over to me and placed his automatic pistol in my hand.
"It's outside," he whispered. "Creep to the door with me, then run at 'em. Don't be afraid to shoot!"
My fingers closed round the pistol butt. I felt more secure. Together we crept to the shop door, bending low to avoid being seen through the window.
Then Jaffray flung the door open and we rushed out into Angel Alley. It was pitch dark outside, but down on the right-hand side of the alley I could nave sworn I saw the figure of a man running silently towards Mole Street. I ran swiftly in this direction, but after a moment I stopped. I knew that there was little chance of finding my man in the labyrinth of narrow turnings. A police whistle sounded—then another. I put the pistol in my pocket and hurried back to Salvatori's shop. At the end of the alley I could see a police bull's eye flashing in the shop.
I pushed open the door and entered. A police constable was bending over Jaffray, who lay on the floor just in front of the counter. His face was distorted with pain, and his eyes were closed. He breathed heavily, and in a strange gulping way. There was a sound of running feet—and two constables and Stevens came in.
Stevens spoke to one of the uniformed men.
"Over to Berners Street, quick, Jim," he said. "Get Doctor Conway. I hope to God we're not too late!"
We bent over the prostrate figure. Very slowly Jaffray opened his eyes. His will was fighting with the strange thing which was throttling him. He turned his eyes slowly to me.
"Relph," he whispered hoarsely, while I bent my head to within an inch of his face. "Careful—secret road—don't touch—the sour milk!"
A hoarse rattle sounded in his throat, and his head fell forward. The constable bent over him, then rose to his feet and touched his helmet. Jaffray lay still upon the floor. I gazed at the body of the man who a few minutes before had been talking to me in the inner room. I felt the weight of the automatic pistol in my pocket. He had given it to me. If he had kept it—?
A lump rose in my throat. I knew I had lost a good friend.
CHAPTER VII
SEATED in my bedroom in Conway's flat I tried to review the whole business dispassionately. Sleep was out of the question. Jaffray's body lay in the surgery at the end of the corridor. I was possessed by a great loneliness. I had the horrible feeling that I was struggling in a net the meshes of which were drawing tighter and tighter about me. Jaffray's warning was imprinted on my brain—"We've got to get them or they'll get us!"
Unfortunately, the death of the Inspector had left us in a worse position than ever. Jevons, Jaffray's assistant, who was now handling the case, knew nothing except the few facts which I was able to give him, which, with the incomplete story of Salvatori, were little enough to work on. I had given Jevons a full and complete account of my last interview with Jaffray. He had listened carefully, and then scratched his bullet head in perplexity.
"It beats me," he said. "Unfortunately, Jaffray had said very little of real importance about the case to me. I think it must have been only this morning when he stumbled upon the right track. The extraordinary thing about the whole business is this 'sour milk.' What did Salvatori and Jaffray mean? In both cases these words were practically their last. What did Jaffray mean by 'the secret road'? Who was Moreatte, and what was the connection between the Chinaman and Zweitt? It seems to me," Jevons had said, in conclusion, "that I've got to start right at the beginning again, and not lose much time, either!"
NEXT morning I started to read the correspondence books which Brandon had pointed out to me on the shelf above Zweitt's desk. I thought that there was a remote possibility that I might find some clue. I was disappointed, however, for the books simply contained copy letters, such as are usually sent out to customers, and related to shipments, or purchases and sales, to, or from, different well-known firms. I had hoped that I might find some correspondence with a firm in Milan, where Salvatori had told me he and Zweitt were originally employed, but there was nothing of the sort.
Brandon arrived fairly early, and spent most of the morning in his office. Nothing had been said of Zweitt's prolonged absence, and, as there was no mention of Jaffray's murder in the papers. I had not mentioned it.
After Brandon returned from lunch he started clearing his office of the mass of litter and packing cases, which were strewn about the place. It seemed that the office cleaners were not allowed to clean his room, and he performed this task himself pretty thoroughly. I thought it rather strange that he did not ask my assistance, and I was sorry for this, as I had made up my mind to examine his room as soon as an opportunity presented itself. The conviction had been growing in my mind that Brandon knew very much more about the mysterious disappearance of Zweitt than he had said.
Why had Zweitt been so anxious to procure the job for me? Was it because his disappearance had been arranged beforehand, and he knew that someone would be required in the office?
I could not quite believe this theory when I remembered his strained expression, and the peculiar remark be had made on the day of his disappearance. He had seemed to be in fear of something. I wondered if Zweitt was dead—if be had fallen a victim to the same mysterious agency which had been responsible for the deaths of Salvatori and Jaffray. Why had he asked me if I would do him a good turn if the occasion arose when it should be necessary?
Brandon left the office early. I tried his door, but it was locked as usual. I made up my mind that if I could obtain his key by some means or other I would take an impression of it and get a duplicate made. Brandon had been even more taciturn than usual during the day. He seldom spoke, and when he did it was to give some direction as to work to be done. When he had gone about ten minutes I started to make a thorough examination of the outer office. I pulled out the desks, moved the furniture, and examined every nook and cranny in the place. I was just replacing Zweitt's desk, when a knock sounded on the office door. I walked over and opened it.
On the threshold stood a man wearing the leather apron of a carter. He handed me a paper, which, on examination, proved to be an invoice for several dozen bottles of liqueurs.
"Where am I to put the stuff, Guv'nor?" he asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "Unless you bring it in here. Where do you usually put it? Have you delivered here before?"
"Oh, yus," he said. "We deliver here every month. An' we usually puts the stuff down in the vault. There won't be much room left 'ere if we dumps it in this orfis," he continued, looking round.
"I suppose the vault door is locked?" I asked.
"I'll go down an' see. Sometimes it ain't. I'll leave the stuff 'ere for now."
He went outside, and reappeared in a moment with a large packing case, which he pulled and pushed into the office. Then he tramped off down the stairs.
I waited for five minutes, but the carter did not appear, so I went downstairs in search of him. There was no sign of any cart or truck outside the building, nor had the doorkeeper seen anything of such a vehicle. It struck me that it might be useful for me to have a look at the Brandon vault, and I quickly descended to the basement. The vault door was very securely fastened with an ordinary lock and an iron locking-bar and padlock. A sudden thought came to my mind. I remembered that Salvatori had said that Moreatte's offices consisted of a ground floor office and vault. Was it purely coincidence that the geography of Brandon's offices was practically the same? I returned to the upstairs office and, putting an my things, locked up, and with a final glance round set off for Oxford Street.
I had proceeded some way down Cannon Street, when an idea came to me and I quickly retraced my steps to Brennan's Buildings. I went up to the office, and taking the office paste-pot I made my way down to the basement.
I put a little of the paste at each end of the locking bar where it would remain unnoticed, and a tiny piece on the padlock arm. Then I scrutinised my work carefully. Any attempt to open the door of the vaults would result in the seals formed by the paste being broken. The conviction was growing stronger in my mind every moment that the key to the Zweitt-Salvatori mysteries lay in Brandon's offices, and I made up my mind to search the place thoroughly the following evening.
When I arrived at Conway's flat I told him of my decision.
"I think you're taking a bit of a chance, Relph, don't you?" he said. "Why not leave the matter to Jevons?"
I told him that Jevons had no possible excuse for searching the offices. At least I had an excuse for remaining late on the premises, but if Jevons' men did the job some explanation would have to be made to Brandon, and that was just the thing I did not want to happen. If I discovered anything there would be lots of time to tell Jevons about it afterwards.
"By the way," I asked, "did your further examination of Jaffray's body reveal anything?"
"Nothing beyond what I have already told you," he answered. "His body was taken away early this morning, and I received a message from the Home Office pathologist that the cause of the death was strangulation, but by what means the experts could not say. Poor old Jaffray, he was such an excellent fellow."
CHAPTER VIII
I LEFT Conway's flat early next morning, and arrived at Brennan's Buildings a good twenty minutes before Brandon's usual time of arrival. I examined the door of the vault and found the paste seals undisturbed. As I had thought, no attempt had been made on the previous night to gain admittance to the vault.
The day passed uneventfully. Brandon continued with the clearing up of his office and departed soon after five o'clock. Soon after Brandon had left the office door opened and Jevons walked in.
"Hello, Mr. Relph," he said., "Hard at work? I want you to spare a few minutes if you can to talk to me."
"Certainly, Inspector," I said. "What's the latest news?"
"Only another mysterious message," said Jevons. "I'm beginning to think that there are quite a lot of people interested in our business."
He passed to me an ordinary business envelope, with a typewritten address. "What do you think of that, Mr. Relph?" he asked. I examined the envelope. It was posted from West Kensington, and bore the date of the day before. The address, as I have said, was typewritten, and the envelope was addressed to Jevons at Scotland Yard. I opened the envelope and drew out a quarto sheet of typing paper on which these words were typed:
Dear Inspector Jevons,
Whilst having the greatest regard for your acumen, I think it extremely improbable that your search for Henri Zweitt will be successful. I think you will be much better advised to look for the Chinaman. Best wishes for your ultimate success.
Believe me.
Faithfully yours,
THE ONLOOKER.
I stared at the paper in amazement. Who was this new-comer to the mystery?
"It's pretty cool cheek, isn't it?" said Jevons.
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked.
"I'm going to do as he suggests," replied Jevons with a grin. "Mr. Relph, I think that note is sincere, and I'm going to act on it. It's quite on the cards that there is someone who knows more about this business than we do, and who is afraid to come out into the open with his information, and is therefore doing what he or she considers the next best thing. Of course, the whole thing may be a fake. Still, there's no harm in trying."
"I suppose it's not possible to find out who wrote this note," I asked.
"We might try," said Jevons, "but personally I think it would be a waste of time. We know that the letter was written on a Remington No. 10 machine, because of the distinctive type. The machine was a fairly old one, too. You will notice, if you look at the letter again, that the 'e' is very badly worn with constant use, and that half of the tails of the 'y's' are missing. Also the small 'c's are set in a peculiar angle. It would probably take ten years to round up that particular machine, and I don't think we've got the time," added Jevons facetiously.
We walked over to the typewriter which stood on the small table to the right of Zweitt's desk.
"This is a Remington No. 10," he said. "It's the typewriter which is used in most business houses, and there must be tens of thousands of them in existence."
He placed a piece of paper in the machine and commenced to type.
"It's fairly easy to tell the age of a typewriter by the condition of the type," continued Jevons. "This machine now—" he broke off suddenly.
"Good God, Mr. Relph! Come here? Look at this!"
I looked over his shoulder. Jevons had been tapping out a copy of the mysterious note, and the copy in the machine bore exactly the same characteristic faults in the type as the original. The letter to Jevons had been written on the Remington machine before us!
Jevons examined the copy again carefully.
"There's no possible mistake, Mr. Relph," he said. "That letter was written on this machine."
"Then it must have been written last night after I had gone," I said. "I was the last person on the premises—the doorkeeper waited to see me off. Some one came back here last night and typed that letter, and they were either concealed in the building or they were supplied with keys. Brandon's door was locked, and concealment in this office is impossible."
Jevons walked to the door and examined the Yale lock.
"This door has been opened, and with a 'spider,'" he said. "A 'spider,' Mr. Relph," he explained, "is an instrument used by crooks to open Yale locks. If you will examine this lock carefully you will see the faint scratches on the outside."
Jevons sat down in Zweitt's chair.
"Who could have written that letter?" he said.
It had occurred to me that the letter might have been written by Brandon, but Jevons' statement that the office door had been opened with a 'spider' dispelled this theory. Brandon could easily let himself into the building at any time he liked, and therefore it was unnecessary that he should force an entrance.
Jevons looked at the typewriter in perplexity.
"It seems to me," he said, "that we shall never get to the end of the business. No sooner do I make up my mind to work along one line than something turns up to upset my theories!"
He put on his hat and went off, looking thoroughly puzzled.
AFTER Jevons had gone I went upstairs and inspected the other offices in the building.
It was just after seven o'clock and the place was empty, the cleaners having finished their work. Then I went down to the front entrance. The doorkeeper was just putting on his hat and coat.
"I shall be staying late to-night, Stevens," I said. "I've got some work to finish. I suppose I shall be able to get out all right."
"Oh, yes, sir," he answered. "The door is a self-locking one. Just give it a good pull, and it will be all right."
I said "good-night" to him and went upstairs. In a few minutes I heard the door bang after him. I was alone in the building. I had brought a packet of sandwiches and a flask with me, and I made a meal where I sat.
It was midnight before I moved from the office, when I removed Jaffray's automatic pistol from my hip pocket and slipped it in my right-hand coat pocket. Then I took my electric torch and moved over to the door. Very carefully I turned the door-handle, and pulled back the latch regulator, and commenced to open the door, inch by inch.
