Delphi collected works o.., p.649
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 649
It is said that one day he actually endeavoured to sell sheets back to the proprietor of a small hotel from which he had stolen them some days before; that the deal was nearly completed, and the money on the table, when the hotel proprietor noticed, in the corner of one of the sheets, his own name and the name of the hotel. He promptly had a fit, during which Roland happily removed the money, and the sheets, and took his leave, leaving the unfortunate proprietor to have (one imagines) another fit on discovering the further insult which had been added to the original injury.
Eventually, as all good things do, the sheet-stealing business came to an end mainly, one imagines, because Roland and Maria had “worked” all the available hotels. So they looked about for a more progressive business. Unluckily for himself, at this time a Monsieur Moses Nahon, who was engaged in selling cigarettes on the black market at Saint-Ouen, came to the conclusion that he needed assistance. He sought counsel from a friend and was advised to get in touch with Roland Gosselin. He wrote the name “Gosselin” down on a piece of paper so that he should not forget it, and promptly dropped it in a corner of his apartment under some rubbish at No. 39 Boulevard Lannes. But he remembered to get into touch with Gosselin, and an appointment was made for the two to meet at Nahon’s apartment on the 31st December of last year.
Gosselin arrived, and the business talk began. Nahon, who was sixty-nine years of age, was not, one gathers, particularly taken with Gosselin, and he was still less taken when that worthy promptly demanded a sum of money in advance before he did any work at all. Nahon refused, and was a little rude to Gosselin, who then produced a long stiletto “because he was annoyed” and stabbed the unfortunate Nahon, not once but about twelve times, in the region of the heart. It seemed that Gosselin discovered that he liked stabbing people and found great difficulty in stopping the process once he had started.
It was quite unnecessary for Roland to have stabbed Nahon twelve times. I have seen the post mortem photographs of the unfortunate cigarette dealer and he was, as I have said, sixty-nine years of age and of poor physical type. A good open-handed smack on the jaw would have knocked him out, and he could not have gone to the police because the business which he was discussing with Gosselin was in itself illegal.
The police investigation into the murder of Nahon produced no results. There was no connecting link between the dead man and Gosselin, and there is little doubt that our friend Roland would be at large today were it not for the fact that he could not let well alone.
He and his girl friend had a further meeting and came to the conclusion that it was time that they really got going in a big way. This time, said Roland, burglary was the thing. They would rob a really well-appointed flat, and they would be tactful and discreet about it. They would find and break into a flat when the occupants were out.
And Roland’s enquiries told him that the apartment of a couple named Braun at No. 15 Boulevard Lannes — the same boulevard in which the unfortunate Nahon had lived — was the very thing. So, on 11th April of this year, knowing that the Brauns were going out that night, he telephoned to the apartment, spoke to the maid, said he was a delivery man from a shop in the neighbourhood, and asked if it would be convenient for him to make delivery of some goods ordered by the Brauns. He suggested that he arrived soon after nine o’clock.
The maid — Lucie Chauvet — a woman of fifty-eight years of age — said it would not be convenient as she would be out at that time, and Gosselin hung up.
All was well, he thought. There would be no one in the flat. This was going to be a really first-class burglary.
So Gosselin and Labat went round to No. 15 Boulevard Lannes. Gosselin rang the bell, expecting no reply. He had his skeleton keys in his hand, and was about to start work on the door, when it opened, and the maid, Chauvet, stood in the doorway. She had, it seemed (poor woman), decided that she would not go out after all, and she asked, somewhat tartly, what Gosselin wanted.
Gosselin put up some story and the maid took them into the kitchen. There Gosselin held her in conversation about something or other, whilst his girl friend wandered through the flat “valuing” the movable property and deciding what they should take away.
It is quite certain that the unfortunate Lucie Chauvet would have been unable to prevent them doing as they liked. Alternatively, Gosselin could have tied her up and gagged her. But no.... Suddenly he remembered his stiletto and the impulse was too strong. He produced it and stabbed the maid a dozen times in the region of the heart. This was extremely foolish of Roland. If he had been wise he would have stabbed her once only.
They took some fur coats and other effects and left the apartment. When the murder was discovered, the police took one look at the post mortem photographs, and realised that the person who had killed Lucie Chauvet was the person who had murdered Nahon.
I have seen the post mortem photographs of the bodies of Nahon and Chauvet. The stab wounds are in the same place, are of the same number and the same pattern. If Gosselin had wanted to advertise the fact that one person was responsible for the two murders he could not have selected a better method.
The police re-opened the Nahon case and fate decided to take a hand. A police inspector, going through the Nahon apartment, saw, kicked under a chest of drawers, a tiny ball of paper. He knelt down, picked it up, smoothed it out. There was one word on it — the word “Gosselin” that Nahon had written down and thrown away.
The police went after Roland and Maria. In an hotel in the Passage des Abbesses, where they had stayed, was found a crèpe-de-Chine handbag and a fountain-pen which were identified by Madame Braun as being part of the property stolen from her apartment.
Roland and Maria were arrested in a small hotel in the Rue Malakoff on the Chatillon road. They were registered under the name of Tollu, and were, one imagines, considering going back to the old sheet-stealing racket.
Gosselin has confessed. He is charged with fifteen thefts and two murders. He will have to be a very good “navigator” to sail past the guillotine, whose knife is heavier than his and which works once only.
5. THE PEUGEOT MURDERS
ON the 31st May of this year, Marcel Peugeot arrived at his home at No. 7 Rue de Bretagne at Maison-Alfort, and was informed by his mother and his brother Jules — who were naturally extremely perturbed — that his brother Roger had been taken away in a car, after a perfunctory interrogation by three men — one of whom was dressed in the uniform of a soldier — to some unknown destination.
Marcel was naturally rather worried about this. The identity of the three men was unknown to the Peugeot family, and according to Madame Peugeot they seemed to be officials of some sort. Marcel wondered what his brother had been up to.
However, his curiosity was not to remain unsatisfied for very long. At nine forty-five that evening a car drew up at the front door and the same three individuals emerged. They informed Madame Peugeot and Marcel that they were members of the Military Security Police Force and that they had reason to believe that the brothers Peugeot were carrying on a traffic in gold with the Germans.
They proceeded to search the house and eventually found a small rouleau of gold pieces in a bedside table in a bedroom on the first floor. Then they left, taking with them the third brother — Jules Peugeot— “for interrogation.”
As neither Roger nor Jules re-appeared, the police were informed. An inspector carried out a search at the Peugeot house and discovered very little, except a telephone number belonging to a young woman, one Jacqueline Beausergeant. Jacqueline, it appeared, was twenty-three years of age, and was a great friend of Marcel Peugeot, the remaining brother.
The police considered that there were certain indications in the method employed that reminded them of another recent case of unexplained “disappearance”. On the 18th May a banker, named Haim Cohen, of forty years of age, had been called for at his house. He had not reappeared, but the safe at his home had been opened and emptied.
So Jacqueline Beausergeant was interviewed. It transpired that, besides being a friend of Marcel, she was also a friend of Jules Peugeot. She informed the police that through another friend she had also made the acquaintance of one Paul Damiani who, since the Liberation, had been arrested and interned at Drancey. Jacqueline seemed to have a great many friends.
But if she thought that her statement that Paul Damiani had been safe in internment would prevent the police going after him, she was wrong. I think that she was, on this occasion, a little naive.
The police went to Drancey and talked to Paul Damiani. Paul was extremely indignant at being suspected of anything that was at all wrong. The police, however, took some photographs of Paul, and on these being shown to Madame Peugeot and Marcel, they promptly recognised him as being one of the men who had called for Roger and Jules.
Damiani had lived at No. 22 Rue Lalo, and the Inspector in charge of the case decided that it might be a good thing to visit these premises even if — as Paul had suggested — there was no one there. However, Paul was wrong, because on arrival at the house the Inspector found Joseph Damiani, the younger brother of Paul, in bed with a broken thigh. This injury, Joseph complained bitterly, was the result of being knocked down by an American car in the Bois de Boulogne. But the Americans had behaved fairly well about it. According to Joseph, they had put him into the car after the accident, taken him to a clinic at Neuilly where his injury had been attended to, and then brought him back to his home.
The Inspector was sympathetic. He said it was a great shame that Joseph should have been left in the house all by himself; that he must have medical attention, and that he, the Inspector, would send a couple of police doctors round to take a look at the invalid.
Joseph did not seem awfully keen on this idea. He liked it even less when the doctors, having examined Joseph, pointed out that the injury had not been caused by a car but by a bullet. Asked to explain about this, Joseph was extremely vague. The police began to take a vibrant curiosity in the friends and acquaintances of Paul and Joseph Damiani, the idea being to discover who had shot Joseph.
They ran across a third individual, a young gentleman of twenty-six years of age named George Accad, who lived at No. 179 Rue de la Pompe. George, on being questioned as to his means of living and background generally, displayed the same reticence, not to mention acidity, as the brothers Damiani.
At this time the police were presented with a “clue”. The clue consisted of two bodies discovered on the Nantes Road in Seine-et-Oise, near Chesnay. Photographs were produced by the local police and were identified as being those of the bodies of Roger and Jules Peugeot, both of whom had been shot.
In the meantime, a close watch was being kept on George Accad, and on his attempting to leave the district, he was arrested.
George now decided that the time had come when he should cease being tough. He thought that he might save his own skin. He confessed to having taken part in the kidnapping of Roger and Jules Peugeot. No identification had been possible in his case because, as he pointed out, he had not entered the Peugeot home but had remained in the car because of a scar on his face which, he considered, might be remembered by the Peugeot family.
And he was not at all nice about Jacqueline Beausergeant, who, it will be remembered, was the friend of Marcel and Jules. Jacqueline, said George, had started the whole business by informing the Damianis that the brothers Peugeot had some gold pieces in their possession. The business was then planned by the Damianis and George Accad, assisted by one Jacques Menassole.
In the meantime Paul had managed to disappear. But not for long. He was traced to an hotel in Strasbourg; was arrested by the Strasbourg judicial police. He was brought back to Paris and decided that the game was up. He made a complete confession. It is interesting to note that Paul was betrayed by George Accad who gave the information which led to his arrest.
George having started to “shop” his friends, now went ahead with the process with great gusto. He informed the police that he had made an appointment to meet Jacques Menassole — the fourth accomplice — at the metropolitan railway station at Montmartre. Two inspectors of police kept the appointment and Jacques turned up.
On being informed that the police would like to ask him some questions, Jacques became very angry. He drew a revolver and took several pot-shots at the inspectors. Jacques’ shooting, however, was not good; bullets flew all over the place but hit nobody. This infuriated the unfortunate Jacques, who had made up his mind to shoot someone; so as a final gesture of disgust he shot himself in the head — a process which satisfied everyone.
The motive behind the murders — for the unfortunate Haim Cohen had also been killed in the same way after being subjected to torture in order to divulge the combination of his safe — was theft. In the case of the Peugeot brothers some gold pieces. The woman Beausergeant, who started the whole thing off, received as the price of her collaboration a few of these pieces. This was Jacqueline, who was the “friend” of Jules and Marcel. If this was the way she treated her “friends”, I would like to know what she would do to someone she really disliked!
The Peugeot brothers had been murdered by the following method: The first victim, Roger Peugeot, had been taken to a shelter at Clamart. He was then “interrogated” (what an ominous business this interrogation must have been!), after which he was shut up in the basement. Joseph Damiani was left behind to guard him whilst the others went off to kidnap Jules Peugeot.
After a while, Roger, not liking the situation at all, banged on the basement door and asked Joseph for a drink of water. When Joseph opened the door, Roger attempted to escape. A bitter struggle then ensued, during which Joseph pulled out a revolver and in the course of the struggle shot himself, accidentally, in the right thigh. But the unfortunate Roger had no luck. Joseph’s shooting was better than Jacques Menassole’s, and lying on the ground, he fired several shots at Roger, who fell dead.
The second brother, Jules, was then brought to the shelter, “interrogated” as to any further gold at his home, and then shot in cold blood. The bodies were then taken by car to the Nantes road and thrown out in a lonely copse.
And all this trouble and organisation and killing and suicide was for a few gold pieces. The mind of the criminal is supposed to be a strange thing. In this case it seems merely stupid.
And behind it all is the figure of “the woman in the case.” Jacqueline — the lady who started the whole thing; whose pay-off was “a few gold pieces.” I wonder if she thinks it was worth while.
UNDERGROUND “BABIES”
From “The Monthly Review India”, by an Unknown Author
Mysterious queen,
enthroned serenely
in the underground,
your eyes shaded by weeping willow lashes,
your silken knee, your lips demure,
your crazy little hat,
command me to come on.
They advertise the promise
of diversion,
shared confidence,
and inspiration,
snatched from time’s swiftly flowing tide.
The failure to obey will mean
that Opportunity has flown
and you are lost in night.
My impulse quickens yet my feet,
shackled by chains of custom,
fast bound by Old School Ties,
(unlike G.I.’s)
remain immobilised.
My mental traffic lights
both red and green,
flash simultaneously,
and while I stand
thus paralysed,
you pass,
so you remain
an unsolved mystery
of tantalising possibility.
God damn Society and its rules,
The Decent Chap and Public Schools,
a system by whose iron dictate
chances fly by like streams in spate,
ne’er more to be recalled.
And yet perhaps on more consideration
the rules impose a salutary caution
for “Dames” mean trouble for enthusiastic males
See Peter Cheyney’s Lemmy Caution tales.
LEMMY CAUTION REPLIES:
Look, Muggsy...
Be your age; get wise.
Why not get cracking?
You got a yen for cheesecake An’ some blonde
Has knocked you for the loop,
So what!
Why don’t you take a chance
An’ do your stuff
Why don’t you button up your trap
Until
Some steamed-up baby takes a jump at you
An’ smacks your ears back.
You’re so goddam slow
You creak. Get hep. Remember what Confucius says
(An’ this boy knows his Spam)
“The guy who thinks is lost
An’ if he don’t — So what!
For what is writ is written,”
Says this Chink.
An’ if you play with Babies, Janes or Broads,
Frills, Femmes, soft Glamour-Cats and Honey-Belles,
Blondes, Mädchen, hot Señores
Sultry an’ supple Sugar-Cats,
Or other goils
Too sweet to rave about.
You gotta take a chance.
I’ll say you have!
An’ if you don’t what happens?
Well... just this
Eventually you get lined-up,
By some old chicken with a face of brass,
No future an’ no hope,
An’ what goes with it.
