Delphi collected works o.., p.490
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 490
“If, on the other hand, Garrington were suspected of the murders, he would simply appear to be Ralston.
“You see how perfect the idea was. When I accused Ralston of the murder tonight, he simply took a weak solution of chloroform which made it appear he had committed suicide. He took a chance we would not immediately call a doctor, and, even if we had, he would have seized some opportunity afterwards of making his escape and immediately adopting the disguise of Garrington. He knew the police would then be looking for Ralston, and as Garrington he would be safe.
“Unfortunately, like most criminals, Ralston made one or two little mistakes which put me on the right track. He suggested to me Miss Durward had been out to see Garrington and told him Selks was probably going to talk, and that she had suggested the easiest way out was for Garrington to meet Selks at the appointment she’d made and kill him.
“Ralston did not know, however, that at the time when he suggested she was doing this she was sitting in my rooms with myself and my sister-in-law. As you will remember, Soames, this was the day during which Miss Durward gave your man the slip. As a matter of fact, she has been living down at my sister-in-law’s cottage.
“Ralston’s worst mistake was returning to this house tonight. What he should have done was to disguise himself immediately as Garrington and try to make a getaway. He would at least have stood a chance. But he thought that after he had confessed — as Ralston — to the Strex murder, and pretended to commit suicide, we would do nothing until the next day, when we would have discovered Ralston’s body had mysteriously disappeared, along with his wife!
“Another mistake he made was in thinking that Miss Durward would not show me the second anonymous letter she received — the one telling her to meet Selks. For he believed I’d accepted his theory that she was the murderess of Strex, and that I was not likely to believe anything she told me.
“In fact, I believed the second letter to be another attempt to hang something on her, and went myself to the appointment at Pinner. Unluckily I was too late. Ralston, hiding in a narrow passage between the houses on the other side of the road, shot Selks with a gun, knowing perfectly well that it would be some minutes before anyone could reach the spot. The houses — or most of them — at that end of Grange Road are to let, which is why he selected the spot.
“He probably had a car waiting somewhere at the end of the lane and drove back immediately to Palmerston Street where he had a duplicate invalid chair. It would take him only two minutes to shed his disguise in a dark street, get into the chair, and become Ralston, the crippled detective.”
Soames whistled.
“What a case, Mr Vaness!” he said. “Miss Durward is lucky you came in on it. The evidence against her was strong enough to hang anyone. Well, I must get off to the police station and charge this precious couple. Needless to say we shall want you for a witness.”
“I’ll be there when you want me, Soames,” said the journalist. “Ring me at my flat.”
He put another suggestion to the detective with a satisfied grin. “By the way, you might also ring Miss Durward — she’s at my flat — and apologise for the mistake you people have been making.”
“I’ll do that,” said Soames. “It’s the least we can do. Well, good-night, Mr Vaness, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, I expect.”
Vaness went off down the stairs. After a few words to Mrs Strevens, he walked round to where he had parked his car. Then he drove as rapidly as possible to Fleet Street.
He found Sparkes at his desk, and in a few words told him the gist of the story.
Sparkes — surprised at nothing — was jubilant.
“What a story!” he said. “You’ve done it this time, Vaness. This will be the biggest scoop we’ve had in the last five years!”
“Hold it until tomorrow, Sparkes,” said Vaness. “When I’ve got the OK from the Yard, we’ll print it before anyone else gets it. But good-night for now. There’s something more for me to do... See you.”
He paused at the door of the news editor’s office. “By the way, Sparkes, you might ring up my flat and tell Miss Durward that I’ll be along in half an hour.”
“With pleasure. But it won’t take you that long to drive from here to your place.”
“I know, but I’m going elsewhere first.”
TEN minutes later, after having knocked up a jeweller friend in the vicinity of Charing Cross, the journalist selected a charming engagement ring. Then he got back into his car and drove off towards Garron Mansions.
It was a fine cold night, and as the car sped up Regent Street, Vaness saw before him Alexia’s face, smiling and lovely. The memories of the last few unhappy days were removed from her eyes.
He trod on the accelerator.
THE END
The Deadly Fresco (1932)
CONTENTS
I. MADEMOISELLE DE GUERRAC
II. NIRAC
III. VOWLES TALKS
IV. SMUGGLER’S REST
V. THE BEGINNING OF THE TRUTH
VI. FIVE FRESCOES
VII. THE WRITING ON THE WALL
VIII. DE GUERRAC AGAIN
IX. HORTENSE
X. HOW DID THEY DIE?
XI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END
XII. DUPLESSIS PLAYS HIS HAND
XIII. HAPPY ENDING
I. MADEMOISELLE DE GUERRAC
DUPLESSIS SWITCHED OFF the light which stood immediately over his typewriter, leaving the room illuminated only by a shaded light in the corner. He walked to the window, and looked out on to Shoe Lane, deserted except for two or three newsprint vans on their way to Fleet Street Then, whistling to himself, he walked to the door, took his hat off a peg, put it on, opened the door, and stood still listening.
Somebody was coming up the stairs. The offices had been closed hours ago. There was no reason for anybody to call. Duplessis amused himself by wondering who this visitor, who chose midnight as a time for visiting the office, might be. The steps continued. They had reached the third floor landing. They paused.
Duplessis smiled to himself. ‘Not very young,’ he murmured. ‘Over thirty-five they always wait on the third floor for a moment’s rest — and it’s a woman. I wonder what she wants. It can’t be the cleaner; she’s gone hours ago.’
The steps continued. The visitor was negotiating the last flight of stairs, the flight that led into Duplessis’s outer office. He threw his hat back on to its peg, switched on all the lights, lit a cigarette, and waited. At the back of his head was an idea. The steps halted at the door of the outer office.
Duplessis got up, walked through his own office, crossed the outer office, and opened the door. A woman, much younger than he had thought — he judged her age to be about thirty — exquisitely dressed, stood on the threshold. She was tall, and had dark hair. The eye-veil which she wore half-concealed, and lent an air of mystery to, her face, but Duplessis could see the shadows beneath her eyes.
‘Are you Mr. Peter Duplessis?’ she said. She spoke English well, although her accent was obviously French.
‘I am,’ he said. ‘Won’t you come in?’
He led the way into the inner office, drew forward a comfortable chair, and sat down at his desk. He was not particularly surprised; firstly, because he had found life too adventurous ever to be surprised, and, secondly, because he had seen this woman the night before in the lounge at the Alcazar Hotel. She had been talking to Romanes, a Spaniard — an old acquaintance of Duplessis. More, they had obviously been talking about him. He was prepared to be interested.
She took off her gloves, and, with fingers which trembled, fumbled at the catch of her handbag. He noticed the value of the rings which she wore, and which glittered as her hands moved. Eventually she opened the bag, and took out a thick envelope which she laid on the corner of his desk. While she was doing this Duplessis, without appearing to be too interested, was watching her; looking at her face; trying to come to some conclusion; trying to label her as he did everyone he met.
Having put the envelope on the corner of his desk, she looked at him.
‘You will probably be surprised at the lateness of my visit, M’sieur,’ she said, ‘but the business which brings me here is urgent. Last night I spoke to my friend, Señor Romanes. I told him that I wanted certain things done. At this moment you came into the lounge at the Alcazar, where I am staying. He said that you were the man I wanted, so I have come. In that envelope are Bank of England notes to the value of £5,000. This is a first payment on account of expenses to which you may be put if you agree to do this business. I think you will agree. Señor Romanes said that you have the nature which is interested in odd things.’
Duplessis smiled. ‘I am very interested, Mademoiselle, already. I began to be interested when I heard you coming up the stairs. I am always interested when someone calls to see me at midnight. May I ask exactly what this business is?’
‘I will tell you,’ she said, ‘and I will be as brief as possible. It was arranged six months ago that I should marry a gentleman by the name of Etienne Sardonin. The name is French, but he is an Englishman. Have you heard the name?’
‘I have heard the name, but just how, and when, and where, I cannot, remember,’ said Duplessis. ‘I’ve got an idea I saw it in a newspaper.’
‘You did,’ she went on. ‘Etienne Sardonin was sentenced at your Old Bailey two weeks ago to two years’ imprisonment for forgery. It is with regard to this entirely false charge that I wish to see you. I know that he is innocent.’
Duplessis smiled once more, ‘Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘there was never yet a woman who was in love with a man who did not believe him innocent of any charge. Yet I should like to tell you before going any further that under our English system of justice it is very seldom that an innocent man is convicted.’
‘That may be true, M’sieur,’ she said, ‘but there may also be occasions on which a man, knowing himself to be innocent, may be placed in a position in which he cannot effectively defend himself.’
Duplessis took out his cigarette-case, offered it to her, and, after she had shaken her head, lit a cigarette for himself.
‘In other words, you suggest that Mr. Sardonin was — shall we say — framed.’
She nodded. ‘I believe that is correct,’ she said. ‘Let me tell you the circumstances. Six months ago M. Sardonin left Paris. He came to England. He had interests here. He has five houses, some large, some small. He wished to let or sell these houses. It was necessary that he should come to England to consult with his partner, a Mr. Vowles — John X. Vowles. The arrangement was that at the end of six months M. Sardonin considered that this business would be finished. I was to come to England to join him; we were to be married. Two months ago I was informed that he had been arrested. It was not possible for me to come to England immediately, but through friends I was able to find out the details of the case. The prosecution was started by a letter written by Mr. Vowles to Scotland Yard. The letter stated that six cheques, abstracted from his cheque book, had been forged for amounts up to £4,000. He suggested that the forger was M. Sardonin. My fiancé was arrested, the evidence produced against him was overwhelming, but, what was more interesting, was the fact that he scarcely attempted to defend himself.’
‘Perhaps he realised that it was hopeless,’ said Duplessis.
‘I’m afraid that that was not the reason, M’sieur,’ said the woman. ‘Consider the facts of the case. The forgery which this man Vowles alleged took place almost immediately after M. Sardonin’s arrival in England. This Vowles has told me himself that he discovered it three weeks after that. Why, then, did he not write his letter to the police immediately? Why did he wait for nearly four months before taking steps which brought about the prosecution of M. Sardonin? I asked him why. He said he ‘wished to give him a chance.’ A chance for what, M’sieur? That’s what I would like you to find out, because, does it not seem obvious to you that the reason that this man Vowles did not act earlier was because during those three months some situation occurred between himself and M. Sardonin which caused Vowles to write that letter to the police? Does it not seem to you that if M. Sardonin had agreed to do something which this man Vowles wanted, that letter would never have been written?’
Duplessis nodded. ‘That seems logical enough,’ he said. ‘What sort of a fellow is Vowles?’
‘He’s a terrible man,’ said the woman, ‘one has only to look at him to realise that he is dishonest, and that he would do anything.’
Duplessis considered. ‘Exactly what do you want me to do. Mademoiselle?’ he said. ‘There’s nothing that I can do that the police can’t do for you.’
She smiled. Duplessis noted the beauty of her mouth and teeth.
‘What will the police do for me. M’sieur?’ she said. ‘They would have put my fiancé in prison. This case is closed. M. Romanes told me that you were a man of intelligence, of courage, and that you liked the solution of difficult problems. Well, here is a difficult one. If, as I believe, M. Sardonin was tricked into appearing to be a forger it will be possible for you to find that out. You must find that out. It is necessary that he be released from prison within six months at the latest. I don’t mind what means you employ, and this money is to cover any expense you may be put to. If you succeed there will be a like sum on the day that M. Sardonin leaves prison.’
Duplessis blew a smoke-ring across the room. ‘Your offer is attractive, Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘With your permission I will consider it tonight, and telephone you tomorrow morning. In the meantime you had better put those banknotes back into your bag.’
She smiled. ‘No M’sieur,’ she said. ‘Put them in your drawer. If you decide tomorrow that this business doesn’t interest you bring them back to me when you come to tell me. I am Mademoiselle de Guerrac, and I am staying at the Alcazar Hotel.’
She got up. She looked terribly tired. Apparently the interview was at an end. Duplessis rose.
‘Can I get you a cab?’ he said. ‘Thank you; I have a car at the corner of Fleet Street,’ she replied. ‘Good night, M’sieur.’
She turned, and walked through the outer office, Duplessis standing at the door of the inner room, his eyes appreciating her graceful walk. Then, as she reached the open door of the outer office, he spoke.
‘Excuse me, Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘I would like to ask you a favour.’
She turned smilingly. ‘What is it, M’sieur?’
‘I wonder if you could give me a cigarette’ said Duplessis.
‘Of course,’ she said, and her fingers went to her handbag. Then her expression changed.
‘I am so sorry, M’sieur,’ she said, ‘I have just remembered that I have smoked my last one. My case is empty. Once more I am sorry. Good night, M’sieur.’
Duplessis walked back to his chair, and sat down. He took his cigarette case from his pocket, and lit another cigarette. Then he took off the telephone receiver, and called the number of ‘The Evening Leader.’ He was soon through.
‘Give me the Night Editor,’ he told the switchboard. ‘Hallo, is that you Le Clerq? How’s tricks? Listen! Could you send somebody down to the library, and give me the dope on the Sardonin case — five weeks old case of forgery — prosecution started by a letter written by a man named Vowles to Scotland Yard.’
He waited, blowing smoke rings. In three minutes’ time Le Clerq’s voice came over the ‘phone.
‘Hallo! Listen, P.D.; funny case, this. A forgery case. Sardonin put Vowles’ signature on six cheques; total value about four thousand, seven hundred. Vowles waited for three months, and then writes to Scotland Yard. Sardonin hadn’t got a leg to stand on — practically admitted that he had forged the cheques. Vowles’ reason for not bringing the charge earlier was that he wanted to give Sardonin a chance to repay the money. Sardonin got two years. Not a bad looking fellow. I was in the court myself; he didn’t look to me like a forger. Anything else?’
‘No thanks,’ said Duplessis. ‘Oh, listen! Something funny’s turned up tonight. I know you like a spot of mystery. I might ask you to give me a hand. I’ll ring you through sometime. So long.’
He replaced the receiver, got up, and stood, his hands in his pockets, in the middle of the room pondering. He found life amusing. He liked weird things happening at late hours of the night. Incidentally, Duplessis did not dislike Mademoiselle de Guerrac... a strange, exotic personality, he thought.
Once more he took his hat off the peg and opened the inner office door, and once more he stood listening. Somebody was coming up the stairs.
‘Funny,’ thought Duplessis. ‘How do they all get in? I forgot to ask her how she got through the door at the bottom. Fairly old, this one,’ he said to himself. ‘He’s stopping every seven stairs, but, by Jove! when he does start he moves quickly. Old man, I should say, and rather perturbed.’
The hurried steps ascended. Every six or seven stairs they stopped. But now Duplessis could almost hear the wheezy breathing of the man. As the steps neared the landing, Duplessis, his hat over one eye, his tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, walked across the outer office and opened the door. He looked down on the face of the short, stumpy, and greasy bowler-hatted man who stood on the landing, the man who was forced to look up at Duplessis’ six feet of height.
Duplessis grinned. For the face before him was a face seared with every conceivable vice. He remembered Mlle.’s expression... ‘an awful face, a terrible man.’
With some gusto Duplessis removed his black felt hat.
‘Mr. John X. Vowles, I believe,’ he said. ‘Come in, Mr. Vowles, we are open all night.’
VOWLES sat in the chair in which Mademoiselle de Guerrac had sat. He peered across the smoke-filled room at Duplessis, who, his hat over one eye, his horn-rims dangling in his fingers, puffed clouds of smoke out of a black pipe, and regarded the other with obvious dislike. Behind the thick lenses of his glasses Vowles’ eyes grinned viciously.
