Complete works of peter.., p.501
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 501
'Now, let's go back, and reiterate my interview of last week with Sardonin's lawyers. Sardonin, just before his committal to prison, hands a heavily-sealed packet to his lawyers, informing them that in the event of his conviction it is to be handed to Mr. Vowles. He also orders that Anne de Guerrac is to be written to, and informed that in the event of his conviction she is to come to England, and will be handed a packet by Mr. Vowles containing certain instructions, but she isn't told where this packet is coming from.
'Two days after my original interview with Vowles I saw Anne de Guerrac. I said nothing to her about the notes being counterfeit. Obviously, she doesn't know that they're counterfeit. I asked her where she got those notes. She told me from Vowles. She got them in the evening of the day on which she came to see me. I asked her if she knew where Vowles got them from. She said Yes, Vowles had got them from the man who had been found dead in the bungalow at Birchgate, that his name was Nirac, and that she knew he was coming to England to bring the money to Vowles. I asked her why she hadn't told me that she had got the money from Vowles, more especially as she had warned me against him. She replied, quite sincerely, I believe, that he brought it to her because he had been told by Sardonin's lawyers to do so, but that, in spite of that fact, she distrusts and loathes Vowles, and believes that he was Sardonin's evil influence, and that it's through Vowles that Sardonin's now in prison.
'Now, all this seems rather a mix-up; and I think the solution isn't going to be very difficult. The point is this. Does de Guerrac know where Vowles really got the notes, and is she trying to foist on his shoulders an accusation of being concerned in the death of Nirac, simply, because she dislikes him, and wishes to be revenged on him because she believes he caused Sardonin's downfall? Or, does she really and honestly believe that Nirac brought over those notes? On the other hand, why is it that Vowles prefers me to think that he met Nirac on that afternoon, and got the money from him rather than I should know that he actually did get it from Sardonin's lawyers?
'Now bear this in mind. Early in my talk with him this afternoon he told me that he had got the money from Sardonin's lawyers. Half-an-hour later he admits that he got it from Nirac. What had made him change his mind? That's what I want to know, and if I can find an answer to that question we shall have progressed.
'Now, the whole Joke is that Vowles doesn't know that I've seen Sardonin's lawyers; he doesn't know that I've confirmed his original story, namely, that they gave him the package, believing, themselves, that it contained important papers. For some reason best known to himself, he's prepared to let me believe that he got the notes from Nirac, and when I go back at nine o'clock tonight he's going to have some wonderful cock-and-bull story which will (a) explain why Nirac was to give him the notes; (b) explain why and how he knew Nirac was coming: (c) how he knew Nirac's name; and (d) a possible motive that Nirac would have for giving him counterfeit notes—because, whatever happens, Vowles must protect himself from the charge that he changed the notes.
'I don't see how we can go any further at the moment, J.L., and I think the best thing to do is to have some dinner.'
They went upstairs to the dining room, and ordered supper. In the middle of it Hastings arrived.
'Some fellow has gone into Vowles' office,' he said. 'He came wandering down the High Street about half an hour ago; he's a foreigner—a Frenchman, I should say. He can only speak a few words In English. He actually asked me where Vowles' office was, and I showed him. Miss Day had gone; she had left some twenty-five minutes, and Vowles opened the door himself. This French fellow went in, and stayed with Vowles for about five minutes—certainly not more than ten. Then he came out. He had an envelope in his hand, and I got the impression that Vowles had just given it to him. They nodded to each other, and this fellow walked rapidly off to the place where the motor bus stops—the one that goes to Frampton Gate. That's about eight miles from here on the coast. Then Vowles went back into the office.'
'That's interesting,' said Duplessis. 'I wonder who this fellow may be. Vowles seems to be having a lot of visitors lately—Nirac, a fortnight ago, who was a foreigner, and now this fellow. I wonder what his name is? What did he look like, Hastings?'
'Oh, I don't know,' said Hastings. 'He might have been anything. He was badly dressed, and had bowed shoulders—a thin, meagre, little man with heavily rimmed eyes. I noticed that his hands were trembling when he spoke to me. He might nave been a clerk—anything, but he certainly hadn't got enough money to buy himself a decent suit of clothes, and his shoes needed repairing.'
Duplessis looked at his watch. 'Well, he may, or may not, have anything to do with it,' he said, 'and I think it would be a good idea, Hastings, if you waited until that 'bus comes back, and had a few words with the driver. Find out just where this fellow was going to. He would have to ask the conductor to put him off at some place or other—he wouldn't know the country. Try and get a line on it. Find out where he is—where he's going—anything you can. Come back here at ten o'clock. I should think I'll be back by then from my interview with Vowles.'
'Right ho!' said Hastings, and went off.
Le Clerq passed the time as best he could reading old copies of Punch, and smoking innumerable cigarettes. He had become keenly interested in the mystery which was intriguing them all. Behind it he smelt a first-class newspaper story, and he was certain that, somehow or other, Duplessis would worry out the truth.
At five-to-ten Duplessis returned, his hat over one eye, and obviously pleased with life. He dropped into a chair opposite Le Clerq in the deserted dining-room, and took a cigarette from his friend's proffered case.
'I thought so,' he said. 'Our dear little Vowles has done to de Guerrac exactly what she tried to do to him. She tried to push the responsibility of the Nirac business on to Vowles, and he's returned the compliment. Here's his story.
'He says that he told me this afternoon that he got the money from Sardonin's lawyers because he wanted to keep free from any responsibility of having met Nirac on the afternoon that he died, and also because his original instructions were that he would get the package from Sardonin's lawyers. He says that a day or two after his committal somebody or other posted to him a letter written from Sardonin—a letter which Sardonin had written a week before. In this letter Sardonin said that he was sorry he caused such a lot of trouble, but, as he was paying for it with two years' imprisonment, he'd be awfully glad If Vowles would do him a favour—if he'd take a package which his lawyers had and would hand it to Mademoiselle de Guerrac when she came and asked for it. But, said he, a week after that be got another letter, which, unfortunately, he destroyed—a letter from this man named Nirac, who was then in France, pointing out that he had the package of which Mr. Vowles had been told; that he was coming to England just for the day, and that he would like to meet Mr. Vowles somewhere where be might privately hand him the package. Vowles says he wrote a reply, and said that a good place to be with him would be The Bungalow, at Birchgate, because Nirac could come straight to Dover, and from there to Birchgate, where it would be convenient for Vowles to meet him. Vowles says he went there in the early afternoon to The Bungalow, and waited for Nirac, who, presently, appeared. But imagine, Vowles' surprise when, five minutes later, Mademoiselle de Guerrac appears, she having also been informed by a letter from Nirac that he's coming to hand the package to Mr. Vowles. Vowles says that Nirac handed him the package, and that he obeyed Sardonin's request, and handed it to the woman. Nirac then said that he had private business to discuss with Mademoiselle de Guerrac and Vowles went and left them together in The Bungalow. He says that it seemed they weren't very well disposed to each other, and, knowing de Guerrac's uncontrollable temper he wouldn't be at all surprised if she hadn't created some circumstance which ended in Nirac's fit. Vowles said Nirac looked very ill.'
Duplessis blew a smoke-ring, and gazed at it as it sailed across the room. 'Observe the situation, J.L.,' he said 'How these two people love each other! De Guerrac tells me a story which makes it appear that Vowles met Nirac that afternoon, and was with him before, or when, he became ill. Vowles counters by telling another story—one which makes de Guerrac to be the responsible person.'
Le Clerq pondered. 'And which do you believe, P.D.?' he asked.
'I don't know,' said Duplessis. 'I feel this way. I distrust Vowles because he's trying to deceive me but I don't feel that the woman is trying to deceive me. I feel that up to a point she's honest and sincere, and that after that point she's doing things without my knowledge, but for the purpose of carrying out some plans of her own.'
'What do you intend to do?' asked Le Clerq. 'Have you got any line of action?'
'I have,' said Duplessis. 'When in doubt, don't! Don't you realise this Nirac came to this country for a reason? Obviously, according to their own statement—and there's some grain of truth under all these lies—both Vowles and Anne de Guerrac were interested in Nirac. Nirac is dead, but the situation remains the same. There's something afoot, and in a minute either Anne de Guerrac or Vowles will make another move. Obviously things can't be left as they are. Something's got to happen, it stands to reason that Sardonin requested his lawyers to hand that package to Vowles for some definite purpose. I believe that purpose was that the woman should have the money in order to attempt to prove his innocence. I'm not certain whether Vowles substituted counterfeit notes for the real ones or not. It's the sort of thing he might easily do. He might even feel justified in doing so, telling himself that he was taking back his own money—the money of which Sardonin had defrauded him. But I have no proof of that, and, for some unknown reason, which I can't fathom, I feel that Vowles may be telling the truth when he says that he didn't change that money. In other words, we've come to a full stop. We can go to the police and tell them what we know, in which case nothing will happen at all, because there's not one shred of definite evidence to connect either de Guerrac or Vowles with Nirac's death. Whereas, if we're patient, and watch closely, something may happen which will Rive us a fresh lead.'
'I think you're right, Duplessis,' said Le Clerq. 'Hallo, here's Hastings coming up the stairs. I'd know his step anywhere.'
The door opened, and Hastings came into the room. His face was as white as a sheet. Little beads of perspiration stood cut on his forehead. He was gasping for breath, and had obviously been running.
'Take a pew, Hastings,' said Duplessis, 'and have a whisky and soda. If you try and talk now we certainly shan't understand what you say. Take it quietly, m'lad.'
Hastings gulped down his drink, then he leaned forward, his hands clutching the arms of the chair.
'I went up to the bus stop,' he said, 'and waited for the Frampton Gate bus to come back. I know the conductor, and I asked him about this fellow—this funny little foreigner. He said that the man had got on the bus. and had asked to be dropped at Smugglers' Rest. Smugglers' Rest is a little house that stands at the top of the old Frampton Gate. It's called Smugglers' Rest because it used to be a hut where smugglers stored their goods pending collection. A couple of years ago the place was rebuilt, and turned into a little villa. It's owned by the Bealthorpe-Birchgate Estate Company.
'Now, Kennedy—that's the conductor—wondered what the devil the fellow would be doing going out to Smugglers' Rest. Nobody would ever take that place—it's too isolated. On a windy night it shakes. It's an awful jerry-built place—most of Vowles' places are. Now Kennedy was interested. He stopped the bus at the nearest point to the house and watched this man walk across the fields towards it. Kennedy kept the bus back for a minute or two. He waited until the man had nearly reached the house—until he saw him put his hand in his pocket, obviously to get out the key—then he came back. I got into the 'bus, and waited till it started off again. You see, it makes one more journey past Frampton Gate to Dellthorpe on the other side, and back again.
'I was as impatient as the deuce. Eventually, the 'bus started. I had got an idea,' said Hastings, 'an awful idea. I remembered the way that the sergeant and I had found Nirac in that other place, and wondered if we were going to find this fellow like that. I dismissed the idea as being absurd. Kennedy stopped the 'bus at Smugglers' Rest for me, and I walked across the field. I walked round to the front of the house, and tried to look through the windows, but the blinds were down. Then I went round to the back—the blinds were down there. Then it suddenly occurred to me that, had this fellow got a key, be might have opened the front door, and not locked it after him, He had got to come back, anyway. I ran back to the front of the house, and tried the door. It was open. I went in.'
Hastings gave a little shudder.
'I found him in the room on the right of the door, just inside the hall. He was all twisted up; his face looked as if it had been all screwed up with something. He'd obviously died in terrible pain—and he was dead right enough. I ran out of the house, ran back to the 'bus and told Kennedy what had happened, and we started to drive back to Bealthorpe. But, as luck would have It, on the way we met the Sergeant on the bicycle and we took him back with us. He's there now. I got back as quickly as I could, and came up here to tell you. I wanted you to know first.'
Duplessis lit a cigarette. 'I thought something would happen in a minute,' he said. 'This is where we get our fresh start. Had this fellow got anything on him, Hastings?'
'Nothing,' said Hastings, 'no passport, no railway ticket, nothing at all. He had a few pounds in English money.'
'It's a funny thing,' said Duplessis. 'a funny thing. It seems to me that people come over here for the express purpose of meeting Mr. Vowles. They meet Mr. Vowles, and then they die. I wonder what was in that envelope that you saw, Hastings? I wonder if it were the key of the Smugglers' Rest? I wonder if it were something else?'
V. — THE BEGINNING OF THE TRUTH
The Chronicle , Adelaide, 4 April 1935
IT was half-past one in the morning when Duplessis appeared in the billiard room at the King's Arms, and interrupted Le Clerq and Hastings in their fifth game.
'Look here, Hastings,' said Duplessis, 'you get off home, and go to bed. You've done a good day's work today, but there's even more important work to be done tomorrow. Somehow, I want you to find that sergeant of yours, and get out of him the police surgeon's report on this fellow who was found up at Smugglers' Rest. I want to know how he died.'
'That won't be difficult,' said Hastings. 'I know the police surgeon. I'll get that out of him all right.'
'Good,' said Duplessis. 'I shall be here in the morning, but I expect to be leaving in the afternoon, so let me know as much as you can before I go.'
Hastings nodded. 'I shan't be sorry to go to bed,' he said. 'We're not used to this excitement in Bealthorpe. Good-night.'
Le Clerq put his cue back in the rack.
'Well, P.D.,' he said, 'have you thought it out? What are you going to do about it?'
'It isn't so difficult as it seems,' said Duplessis. 'After all, there's nothing like the truth, and even if Vowles and Anne de Guerrac like to go on fabricating stories there's going to come a time when they've got to tell the truth just for their own sakes, and that time is coming very shortly, I believe.
'Take the situation with this man who's been found dead at Smugglers' Rest. It isn't too good for Vowles. Of course, Vowles may consider himself to be safe, because, after all, I don't think anybody could actually prove that he had anything to do with this second death, any more than they could prove that he had with the first. Yet, at the same time, it stands to reason that no man's nerves are going to stand continuous shocks. Get your hat, old bean. Let's go along and see Mr. Vowles. They tell me he lives in the street almost opposite. I think well try a little third degree.'
THEY soon found Vowles' house. It was a pretty, white-painted house with some tendrils of ivy overhanging an old-fashioned porch. The place looked attractive in the bright moonlight. Duplessis seized the knocker, and banged loudly on the door. There was no reply, and it was only after continuous bombardment with the knocker that a window was opened on the first floor and Vowles' head appeared.
'Good morning, Vowles,' called Duplessis. 'Come down and open the door, will you? We want to talk to you.'
'Well, I don't want to talk to you,' said Vowles. 'I've had enough of you. You mind your own business, and leave me to mind mine. Who the 'ell do you think you are, knocking people up at night!'
Duplessis lit a cigarette. 'Don't you like it?' he sneered. 'What are you going to do about it? Send for the police. That might be a good idea. They might be interested to know that that little French friend of yours, who called soon after I left this afternoon, has been found dead up at Smugglers' Rest. Don't you think that might interest them?'
Vowles' face was ghastly in the moonlight.
'That's a damn lie,' he said. 'It must be a lie. Look 'ere, what the devil—?'
'Cut the cackle, Vowles,' said Duplessis. 'Come down, and open the door. You're not in a position to argue, my friend.'
Three minutes later Duplessis, Le Clerq, and Vowles were seated in the pleasant sitting-room on the ground floor. Vowles, who had slipped on a check dressing-gown, was, obviously in a state of nerves. Duplessis threw a cigarette across the table to Vowles.
'Not feeling so good, are, you?' he said. 'And I don't wonder at it. You know, Vowles, you're a first-class mug. Take a tip from me, and give it up.'
A little of Vowles' old antagonism returned. 'I'm a first-class mug, am I?' he said. 'All right. Why?'
'Why?' sneered Duplessis. 'You poor fool. So I have to tell you why, do I? All right. Here goes. I'm going to tell you why, and the funny thing is that you've got to agree that I'm right. You see, Vowles, life is divided roughly into two parts—the part which is true, and the part which is lies. You've got to belong to one of those two parts.
