Complete works of peter.., p.461
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 461
I WAS out of breath when I arrived back at the office, having hurried back from the Crown. As I opened the door of the outer office the smell which both Brandon and myself had noticed earlier in the day struck me full in the face. My skin stiffened with fear. I remembered what that smell was! Behind the door of the outer office stood the packing case—the case of liqueurs which the carter had brought up two days ago, which fact I had forgotten to mention to Brandon. Wondering at my own calmness, I knocked at Brandon's door. He opened it and stood facing me, inquiry written on his face.
"Look here, Mr. Brandon," I said, "I forgot to tell you that this packing case was brought here two days ago...." Brandon smiled.
"Well, what of it, Mr. Relph," he said. "We often have packing cases delivered and—"
"I know," I interrupted "But don't you see that's where the smell is coming from. Don't you know what that smell is? I've smelt it in France, and so has every other infantry soldier. There's a dead man in that case!"
For a moment Brandon tottered, and I thought he was going to fall. Then, with an effort, he pulled himself together, and, going into his office, returned with a steel case-opener and a hammer. He handed me the hammer without a word, and together we moved the packing case from out behind the door. Neither of us spoke as we worked at the packing case. At last the fastenings were smashed or prised off.
As I wrenched the lid off an execrable stench filled the office. Brandon started back with an involuntary cry, for, grinning at us from the packing case in which his body had been doubled backwards, the head completely severed from the trunk, and tied in position with a piece of tape, was what remained of what had once been Henri Zweitt!
CHAPTER XIII
FOR a few moments I thought that Brandon was going to faint. He leaned up against the wall, staring at the thing inside the packing-case, the perspiration standing out in great beads on his forehead.
I left him staring, and went to the telephone, where, after the usual delay, I got Jevons at Scotland Yard and told him of the latest discovery. He said he would come down right away.
When I had left the instrument, I saw that Brandon had returned to his room. Through the open door I saw him sitting at his desk, his hands held to his head, staring straight in front of him.
I wasn't surprised that the sight had affected him. I closed the outer office door and bolted it, after which I went back and had another look at Zweitt. The body had been bent double, backwards. And it was pretty obvious to me that whoever had cut off Zweitt's head had been an expert at the job, for the neck had been cut through at one fell swoop, and the decapitated head held in position by a tape running over the top and tied under the shoulders. Strangely enough the expression on the dead man's face seemed fairly peaceable.
I couldn't make much of an inspection, as the body, in the position into which it had been forced, filled up the entire packing case, and the arms had been forced backwards in order to allow it to be properly "packed." I realised with a shudder that the murderers were a pretty cool lot, and anyone who could, so carefully, pack up a dead man and forward him carriage paid were a pretty bad crowd to be up against
My ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of Jevons and three other individuals. From the passage outside a camera was produced, mounted on its tripod, and brought into the office. Then the side of the packing case was carefully knocked away, and a flashlight photograph of the body taken. Then Jevons' three assistants departed, carrying the case and Zweitt's body with them.
Jevons walked over to the fireplace and knocked out his pipe.
"Well, Mr. Relph," he said, with a grin, "wonders will never cease. I can't say I'm exactly surprised, either!"
"Not surprised!" I exclaimed. "But why was Zweitt's body brought back here? Who was the man who brought it? Was he an accomplice, and what's the idea in sending it about London in a packing case?"
Jevons refilled his pipe. "Supposing you had a dead body about the place. What would you do?" he asked. "I expect they sent it back here because they wanted to get rid of it. And I'll guarantee it was brought here in good faith by the delivery people, and in all probability collected from some railway station. We'll soon find out all about that. That's easy," continued the inspector. "The thing I want to know is, how did this fellow meet his death. By the way, there'll be an inquest—more trouble for you, Mr. Relph," he went on, "but that need not worry you. I'll get an adjournment so that we can find out exactly what the doctors have to say about it."
"It's pretty obvious that Zweitt met his death by having his head cut off, Inspector," I said. "It doesn't take very much to see that."
Jevons grinned again. "Don't you believe it, Mr. Relph," he said. "People don't kill fellows by decapitation these days. It's too much trouble. I'll bet you anything you like that Zweitt's head was cut off after he had been murdered somehow. However, we shall soon know all about that, and, when we do, I'll satisfy your curiosity." He dropped his voice. "The next thing is the raid," he went on. "I'm going to raid this café of Hop Fi's—the place where our mysterious Chinaman hangs out. We shall leave the Yard at ten o'clock, and go by car to the district section house to pick up a couple of local officers who know the neighbourhood and Hop Fi's clients. I've got an idea that this Hop Fi, who owns this café, probably doesn't know much about all this business. Apparently he's got a pretty good name with the local police. So its quite on the cards that this Chinaman, who is known as Ling, is simply an ordinary customer at the café as far as old Hop Fi is concerned."
The Onlooker's instructions flashed through my mind.
"And supposing Stevens has got the wrong man—supposing that this Chink isn't the one who came to Poland Street, what then?" I asked.
Jevons looked surprised. "Well," he said dubiously. "Stevens may have made a bloomer, but I shall be surprised if he has. Anyway, you can settle that when you get a look at the Chink."
The inspector took a look through the door of Brandon's office.
"The old man looks a bit upset," he said. "I'm not surprised. Well, I'll get along. Come to the Yard and ask for me at nine o'clock to-night, and I'll let you know what the medicos have to say about Zweitt."
He adjusted his hat at its usual respectable angle, and, with his usual nod, walked off.
THE afternoon sped quickly by. Brandon stayed in his room until close upon four o'clock; then, when a cursory "good afternoon," and a few words to the effect that I might close the office at 5 o'clock, he departed. He appeared to have got over his shock, and to be entirely disinterested in what had happened to the packing case and its contents.
When he had gone I put my work on one side and amused myself by going through the events which had happened since I met Zweitt at the inn at Frimley, in the hope that something might occur to me that would be of use. The whole thing seemed so improbable when viewed from the prosaic point of view of the present century. I wondered, too, what the Onlooker would say when he heard of the latest development.
At five o'clock I was about to leave, when my eye was attracted by something white which lay up against the wall in the shadow. I picked it up. It was a small piece of white cardboard. I wondered where it had come from. Then an idea flashed through my mind—it had fallen out of the packing case in which Zweitt's body had been packed.
I took it under the light. It was a piece of cardboard about two inches square, and written on it in a neat and clerkly hand were these words:
So do they return who walk the Sacred Road with Treachery. Before them on their journey lies the setting sun. But on their return their half-brother Death walks behind them.
I stood staring at the card. Somehow, the idea persisted that, in my hand, written on the piece of cardboard, lay the key to the mystery of the murders. I put it in my pocket. Some intuition was already telling me that it was my business to show this piece of cardboard to the Onlooker before anyone else knew of it.
With a feeling of relief at leaving the office I banged the door behind me, and in a few minutes was striding down Cannon Street. I wondered how I was going to get in touch with the Onlooker. Then it occurred to me that he would surely communicate with me next day in order to hear what had happened at the raid at Hop Fi's. It also occurred to me that to try to find the Onlooker between 5.30 and nine o'clock, when I was due at Scotland Yard, would be rather like trying to find a needle in a haystack, so I dismissed the idea.
I was glad to discover on arrival at the flat that Conway had been called away to Torquay. I was glad because I was not in a mood to answer questions, and, incidentally, it was very difficult for me to do so, having regard to the fact that I was in possession of a great deal of information that was unknown to the police, and it had been necessary for me to lie carefully to Conway on such occasions as I had discussed things with him. I had got the idea into my head that there were to be some fairly startling developments in a little while, and not of the sort expected by Jevons.
Conway had left a cheery note telling me to use the flat as my own, and had also left the key of the book-cupboard telling me that there were some good "thrillers" there if I wanted to read them. This amused me, as I considered that I was getting thrills enough at the moment, and without the trouble of reading either!
CHAPTER XIV
I LAY down for a couple of hours, as I thought that there might be a late night in front of me, after which, feeling fit for anything, I made my way to Scotland Yard, and was shown straight up to Jevons's room, where I found the worthy inspector awaiting me, looking very pleased with himself.
"Well, Mr. Relph," said he. "I see that you are all ready for the fray, and it might Interest you to know that I wasn't very far wrong about our friend Zweitt, either. Zweitt died from strangulation," he continued. "He'd been dead for some days, and whoever took the trouble to cut off his head did it quite an appreciable time after he had been strangled—well over a day afterwards. The more I see of this job the more I'm convinced that it's a gang business."
"That's all very well, Inspector," I said. "But what was the idea in cutting off Zweitt's head afterwards?"
Jevons shrugged his shoulders. "I don't profess to be an expert in the psychology of murderers," he said. "These fellows do funny things when they get annoyed, and I don't see that the fact that someone has cut off Zweitt's head has got very much to do with what we're after. All I want is that Chinaman, and I've got an idea that I shall get him to-night."
He picked up his hat. "Come along, Mr. Relph." he continued. "The car's waiting outside. We'll get on with the business."
We descended the winding staircase and entered the big car which awaited us. Inside were three plain-clothes men, one of whom I recognised as Stevens, who favoured me with a grin. He was looking quite pleased with himself, and I smiled to myself when I thought of his amazement at my refusing to identify the mysterious Ling, should it be that worthy who had been followed to Limehouse.
The car moved off quickly. We travelled via the Embankment and Cannon Street, and were soon past Aldgate Pump and in the Mile End Road. Soon we were on the dark outskirts of Limehouse, and half an hour after we had left the Yard we pulled up outside a local police station. Here we were joined by two men of the E Division, one of whom took his seat beside our driver, and in a minute the car moved off again.
We turned in and out dark turnings for nearly a quarter of an hour, through little mean streets lit by occasional lamps which cast mysterious shadows over the dirty and poster-plastered walls of mean houses. Suddenly, outside a somewhat larger house, which appeared to have been turned into some sort of shop, the car stopped. The plain-clothes man beside the driver descended and knocked at the door. It was opened almost immediately, and we trooped in, Jevons and the local plain-clothes men leading.
Before us lay a dark passage lit by only a flickering gas-jet. At the end of the passage a chink of light could be seen between the heavy folds of a curtain which covered the door. We passed through these curtains, and found ourselves in a large room well lit by electric light. Tables, at which men and women were eating and drinking, were set at random all over the place. Most of the patrons of the place appeared to be Chinese, but here and there one saw a white man or woman. No one appeared to be particularly interested in us. I supposed that habitués of the place were used to sudden visitations from the police.
A tall Chinaman in a lounge suit appeared from a door on the opposite side of the room. He approached us smilingly, and after a few words with the local detective-sergeant approached Jevons.
"You wan' make search?" he said pleasantly. "By all means. You make search. You find nothing. You come with me, please."
"Just a minute," said Jevons. "Maybe you can save us and yourself quite a lot of trouble. I want a Chinaman who works or lives here. One who wears a pigtail and has a scar right across his face. I believe his name's Ling."
"Oh, yes," said the fellow, still smiling. "We got Chinaman call' Ling. He got scar. You wait.... I show you."
He trotted off and disappeared through the door. After a short interval he reappeared and beckoned us to follow him.
We passed through the door and along another passage, which was carpeted thickly. Our guide threw open a door at the far end, and we followed him into one of the most wonderful rooms I have ever seen in my life. It was a long, low-ceilinged room. The floor was covered with beautiful Oriental carpets, rugs, and skins. The furniture, examples of antique Chinese craft, would have filled the soul of a collector with delight. Round the walls hung, beautifully inlaid, burnished weapons. The lights, shaded with wonderful colour effects, enhanced the atmosphere of the room. In the middle of the room was a large divan, and seated, on this, was an extremely fat Chinaman. I think that he possessed the strongest personality I have ever encountered. He sat looking straight at me, smiling pleasantly, like his compatriot. He wore the pigtail, the slim black alpaca trousers of his race, and a wonderfully embroidered yellow jacket—the jacket of a mandarin.
Beside him, still wearing the suit of stained overalls, his greasy bowler hat on his head, stood Ling, the Chinaman who had brought the letter to Poland Street, the man who had disappeared so mysteriously that night in Brennan's Buildings. Stevens spoke:
"That's the man, Inspector," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Ling. "That's the fellow."
Jevons whispered a few words to his colleagues, and they disappeared, presumably to search the rest of the building. Then he advanced to the fat Chinaman on the settee.
"Mr. Hop Fi, I believe," said Jevons.
The Chinaman nodded—still smiling.
"Well, Mr. Hop Fi," continued Jevons, "I don't know whether you've heard of the Angel Alley murder, but I'm Inspector Jevons, from Headquarters, and I'm in charge of the case. We're looking for a Chinaman who was concerned in chloroforming a police officer, and who previously visited a house in Poland Street with a letter for a Mr. Zweitt. This is the fellow—this Ling!"
The fat Chinaman in the yellow jacket shook his head—still smiling. In some manner, although he was looking at Jevons, I felt his eyes upon me.
"Mr. Jevons, you make a mistake," he said, quietly. "Ling never do that. I tell you.... I, Hop Fi.... I say no."
Jevons turned to me.
"Mr. Relph," he said, "Is this the Chinaman you saw—the man who came to Poland Street with the letter for Zweitt?"
Almost before I realised it the words were out of my mouth. I could almost feel the Onlooker at my elbow, prompting me.
"No," I answered, "I've never seen that man before. That isn't the man!"
Jevons looked astounded. "But, Mr. Relph," he spluttered, "look at the scar—besides, Stevens—"
"That isn't the man, Inspector," I repeated.
Jevons' face dropped. I have never in all my life seen a man look so disappointed.
"Well, that's that," he said. "Sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Hop Fi.... Good-night."
He turned on his heel and I followed him from the room. Fifteen minutes later Jevons, having given instructions that Hop Fi's café was to be kept under observation, we were speeding back to Scotland Yard. Stevens had said not a word. Suddenly he turned to me.
"That was the man, Mr. Relph," he said. "Why, he was wearing the same clothes—the same dirty bowler hat and overalls."
"What's that?" said Jevons, pricking up his ears. "Wearing the same clothes, was he?" He whistled. "Well, then, you can bet your life, Stevens, it wasn't the man. Don't you see, man, that if it had been the fellow that attacked you they would have tried to make him look different. Don't you see that they've put this Chink in those clothes hoping that we would arrest him, whilst the real fellow makes a get-away, and this chap proves some alibi. Clever move, but, by Jove, we'll have him yet."
In the darkness of the car I smiled to myself once more. I was beginning to feel an unholy respect for Mr. Hop Fi, the fat mandarin. He had laid his plans and Jevons had fallen for them. There was no doubt that Ling was the man, and by the very simple process of keeping him in the same clothes the astute Chinaman had put the idea into Jevons' head that he was being bluffed. Very clever, I thought.
Outside the entrance to Scotland Yard Jevons shook hands. "Sorry to have taken you on a wild goose chase," he said. "Still, better luck next time. As for Stevens, he'll have to take more water with it in future. I'll probably get in touch with you to-morrow. Good-night!"
He disappeared into the Yard. I turned down Whitehall. A breeze had sprung up and I walked quickly. As I approached Charing Cross light footsteps overtook me, and a soft voice whispered my name. I turned quickly and stood amazed—it was the woman I had seen entering Salvatori's shop on the night of the murder. The woman in the velvet cloak!
