An Apostle of Gloom (23 page)

He telephoned the
Cry
and the
Echo
from Morgan's office, speaking to both Wray and Tamperly. He gave each a
resumé
of the developments and promised them further revelations later in the day. Both men worked for evening as well as daily papers in the same combine, and he said to each: “If you can get a paragraph in, hinting that there will be startling developments in the next twenty-four hours, it would help, but don't say that I'm cleared.”

Each man agreed, in characteristic phraseology. Roger replaced the receiver and saw Maude looking up at him with her eyes narrowed.

“Have you got something, Handsome?” she demanded.

“Do you know,” said Roger, “I wouldn't be surprised!”

He reached the Green Cat, a small restaurant off Piccadilly, at half past two precisely; he had to wait for ten minutes before Mark and Tennant arrived by taxi. Mark showed signs of his all-night session more than Tennant, whose bright eyes suggested that he was not a stranger to such nights out. At a corner table, where they had coffee, Roger gave them an outline of the situation, naming Abbott and Tiny Martin. Neither of them seemed particularly shocked.

“I'm not surprised,” Mark said.

“Where do we come in, Roger?” asked Tennant, eagerly.

Roger said: “I'm going to telephone Oliphant and tell him that Mrs. Cartier wants to see him at her flat, and telephone Mrs. C. and tell her Oliphant is coming – we'll say at four o'clock. That will give us time to work.”

“Supposing they don't bite?” asked Mark.

“Then we'll have to try again.”

“Supposing they
do
bite?” demanded Tennant.

Roger smiled. “That's optimism! You'll be at hand – there's a flat next to the Cartiers' which we can use – the tenants will be out, but I've had their permission to use the flat. Its lounge window is next to the Cartiers', and outside Bonnock House there are little balconies – a man of your agility can climb from one to the other. I'll be in the Cartiers' lounge and you'll be on the balcony – I'll leave it to you when to come in. They'll probably try to be violent, but that won't worry you! Er – have you ever jumped through a pane of glass?”

Tennant beamed. “I've jumped through everything!” he declared extravagantly. “I'll do my piece, don't worry.”

“Good man! Well now – I'll have to be busy. As soon as the message is phoned to Mrs. Cartier I want her phone disconnected, and you've got to be installed next door—”

He continued, outlining his plans; and by half past three everything was settled. Then he telephoned the Yard, to learn that reports coming in from time to time showed no developments, except that Sloan had left a message to say that Abbott and Martin had left the Yard, and had gone to AZ Division – that part of the East End which included Rose Street and Leech's pub. Then, before he rang off, he was told that Oliphant had left his Chelsea house at three-fifteen.”

“Good!” said Roger, with some warmth.

He was at Piccadilly when he made the inquiries and he drove immediately to Bonnock House. Crossing the heath – the quickest route – he remembered Dixon's story of its loneliness. He saw the tree-clad patches, the scrub and bushes and realised how suited the heath was to hold-ups.

It was a relief to know that Malone could not interfere this time.

He reached the Cartiers' flat at four-fifteen.

The maid who had reminded him of Pickerell opened the door and told him, a shade too quickly, that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Cartier was at home.

“Then I'll wait,” Roger said.

“I don't think—” the maid began.

Someone in another room said: “No, I don't!”

Roger smiled. “Take my card in, there's a good girl, don't make it difficult for yourself or me.”

The maid looked reluctant, but she took the card, approached the door from which the voices were coming and tapped, gingerly.

Carrier's voice came promptly: “What is it?”

“Excuse me, sir, but—”

Roger, just behind her, put his hand to the door and opened it. He almost banged into Cartier, who was approaching. Behind Cartier was his wife, sitting on the settee where she had greeted Roger on that evening which now seemed an age ago. She looked startled; there was hardly any sign left of the rough treatment Malone had given her.

“What the devil—” Cartier began.

“I am a police officer,” Roger said, formally. “I would like you to answer a few questions, sir.”

“Why, West!” exclaimed Mortimer Oliphant, rising from an easy chair and smiling widely. “Well, well, how small a town London is!”

The solicitor's interruption seemed to startle Cartier, who closed the door, shutting the maid outside. Mrs. Cartier extended a hand which Roger carefully ignored; that made her frown. Oliphant, well-dressed, smiling, handsome in his dark fashion, spoke heartily.

“I'd no idea that you knew West, Mrs. Cartier.”

“Only in the way of business,” said Roger. He glanced at the set tea table, seeing that there was early lettuce, jam, what looked like real cream and cakes and pastries. Mrs. Cartier rang a handbell and the maid appeared.

“Bring another cup for the Inspector,” said Mrs. Cartier. “You will have some tea, won't you?”

“Thank you,” said Roger, formally.

“We were just discussing a remarkable thing,” said Oliphant, who seemed too anxious to talk. “I received a message asking me to visit Mrs. Cartier on Society business and she received one purporting to come from me – but neither of us sent such a message!”

Roger smiled. “No,” he said, “I sent them both.”

Cartier exclaimed: “Now look here, you may be a policeman, but I insist on—”

“Don't get cross, darling,” urged Mrs. Cartier.

Oliphant said: “That's a surprising admission, West.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Roger. “I knew that you and Mrs. Cartier did a great deal of business together and I wanted to have an opportunity of meeting you at the same time – I couldn't think of any other way of arranging it. Sit down, Mr. Cartier, won't you?” He smiled pleasantly. Oliphant was wary, Mrs. Cartier's smile as obscure, and Cartier appeared to be really bewildered.

Oliphant demanded: “Is this visit official, West?”

“Haven't I made that clear?” asked Roger, blandly.

“In that case—”

“But not necessarily aggressive!” Roger assured him. He settled back in his chair and waited for the maid to bring in another cup and saucer, knife and plate – as well as a small plate of bread and butter and some cake. When she had gone, he went on: “I think I ought to be frank with you, Mrs. Cartier. Your organisation has been used to hide the activities of a subversive organisation which—”

“But of course!” she said. “I told you it had!”

“I don't think you realise quite how widespread an organisation it was,” said Roger. “We have been able to find most of the active supporters and many of the people who helped in the work, which was no less than the hiding of jewels smuggled into the country from Germany and Italy – nest-eggs for repentant Nazis!” He laughed as if it really amused him. “Unfortunately, we haven't found who was really directing the organisation,” he said, “unless”—he had never sounded so bland—”it was someone in this room.”

“You have no right to make such slanderous suggestions!” snapped Cartier, but he turned on his wife. “From the very beginning I disliked the idea. If you had only had the sense not to interest yourself in such matters, this would never have happened!”

“Please, darling,” said Mrs. Cartier, “I don't think—”

“You're behaving very strangely, West, aren't you?” asked Oliphant.

“Oh, yes,” said Roger. “How much did you know about it yourself?”

“I?” For the first time the solicitor looked really discomposed. “Are you suggesting—”

“Hasn't your usual informant sent the warning?” asked Roger, gently. “Yes, Ohphant, you, personally. I have a warrant for your arrest. Also I have one for—”

“If you think my wife—” Cartier began, starting violently.

He knocked over his cup, which, fortunately, was empty. The spoon struck a salt cellar standing near the lettuce, and salt spilled over the table. “Damn!” ejaculated Cartier. He took a pinch of salt and threw it over his left shoulder, then went on: “If you have the impertinence to suggest that my wife was a party to this nefarious business, I shall insist—”

He went on and on, and Roger eyed him steadily.

In his mind's eye he saw Cartier about to follow his wife and stepping into the road to avoid walking under a ladder. He had another picture of Cartier uncrossing dessert knives in this very room. He saw the man throwing salt over his shoulder.

Cartier stopped and Oliphant began to speak.

“Look here, none of this is helping,” Roger said, smiling. “Mr. Cartier, are you very superstitious? Did my meeting with Oliphant on the 13th of December really upset you so much?”

Cartier stiffened, Oliphant uttered a sharp exclamation – and then the room was very quiet.

 

 

Oliphant broke the silence, making a good display of being annoyed and yet pretending not to show it in front of Roger.

“I'm afraid West is getting rather beyond himself,” he said; “if he has suddenly developed peculiar ideas about unlucky dates, we need hardly treat his visit seriously!”

Roger smiled. “Oh, but you should!”

“Infernal impertinence!” snapped Cartier, but his air of outraged innocence had quite gone and the wary gleam in his eyes matched Oliphant's. Mrs. Cartier sat back on the settee, her expression inscrutable. Glancing at her, Roger thought that no one would ever be able to do justice to her beauty. She was staring at her husband – and he wondered what was passing through her mind. “I demand a full explanation of this intrusion, Inspector, and an unqualified apology,” Cartier declared.

Roger shrugged. “You're trying hard, aren't you?” he said. “Oliphant, we knew last night that you were up to your neck in it, but we waited for you to make some move. You didn't make it, so I forced your hand. I expected you to hear from your informant at the Yard, but he's been very remiss, hasn't he?”

“Oh, don't be a fool!” snapped Oliphant.

“I'm not being,” Roger insisted. “I've told you that I have a warrant for your arrest – and Mrs. Cartier's. I can take Cartier away with me, too.” He laughed at them all, but the only one who seemed unaffected was the woman. “I thought this little talk would clear the air,” he added, cheerfully. “You see, before it's really finished, as far as we are concerned at the Yard, we want to find out who has been selling you information and who has been condoning your crimes. Who is it, Oliphant?”

“I have nothing to say, except that this is a grotesque distortion of your authority,” Oliphant snapped.

“Who is it, Cartier?” Roger asked the other man.

“You must be quite mad!” Cartier exclaimed.

“You wouldn't know, Mrs. Cartier, would you?” asked Roger.

When she made no answer he went on: “It isn't working out very well. Let me be quite frank. Everything pointed to Mrs. Cartier but I had grave doubts about her because she first gave me reason to suspect the Society. The superstitions played a part, and when I saw a manifestation of quite childish prejudices on your part, Cartier, I wondered whether your hostility towards the Society was really sincere. I thought if I could get you all here together, with the telephone wires disengaged – it's easy, for a policeman – and we had a heart-to-heart talk, I might be able to put everything in order. If Mrs. Cartier has been an innocent victim of the conspiracy, far be it from me to make trouble for her! Mrs. Cartier – you began to suspect what was wrong when you put in the dictaphone, didn't you? You hoped one day to find out whether your worst fears were realised. You knew Oliphant was in it, as well as Pickerell and Lois Randall, but you only suspected your husband's complicity.”

“I—” began Cartier.

“Be quiet!” snapped Roger, but he was surprised when the man subsided and sat staring at him. “Mrs. Cartier,” he went on, “you knew all that was being done, you knew that your husband – as well as yourself, of course – had friends all over the Continent. You probably started the Society to help those friends who escaped, as well as other unfortunates, but I don't think you had any desire to extend the scope of it. It was extended, however, and then you became afraid of it. You would not take any direct action until you were sure, but you wanted to be quite sure. You heard that I was being framed and so you came to see me, being very discreet and relying on my adding two and two together. Well, here's your answer. Your husband
was
in it.”

“There is not a scrap of truth in anything you say,” declared Oliphant.

Roger laughed. “Oh, come! I'm waiting here for the proof, you know. You've worked through one of the officials at Scotland Yard, that is definitely established. He will move, he's bound to, because he is afraid that when you are arrested you will betray him. He will come to warn Cartier to get away. He will be told that you, Oliphant, left Chelsea and came here and he'll be equally anxious to warn you. He'll know that in handling the matter I made a significant omission – I didn't have police protection at Bonnock House. He'll probably think that I can't handle it on my own.”

“Perhaps he does,” murmured Oliphani, but Roger ignored him.

“He'll be fairly confident because he has the authority to remove any police who might come to the flats,” Roger continued; “that is one of his advantages, isn't it?”

Oliphant said in a queer voice: “Is it, West?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And do you think you know this individual?” asked Oliphant.

“I do,” said Roger.

“Perhaps,” said Oliphant. “Perhaps you're right, West.” He looked at Cartier and said with a twisted smile: “You were certainly right, Syl, the 13th undid us.”

“Don't be—” began Cartier.

“There's no need to worry,” Oliphant said, slowly. “West came alone – he was so anxious to make sure that his colleague didn't get suspicious, and he has great ideas of bringing off a
coup
by himself. He's here alone. I think we can handle him well enough. If he has a warrant for me, it will be executed, either by him or someone else.” There was a curious smile on his face. “West is no fool, he knows that I have been a party to more than one murder – don't you, West? The police have a case for murder – against me – as an accessory. There's no hope for me, Syl.”

“I'm glad you realise it,” Roger said.

“But I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,” said Oliphant. He put his hand to his pocket and drew out an automatic, levelling it casually at Roger. “If I shoot him,” he said dispassionately, “that will put the finishing touches to the case, but you and Antoinette need not suffer. You can tell the whole story – how West thought you were in it, how he accused me, how I confessed to being the leader and how I shot myself after shooting him. It will be quite convincing, won't it?” He looked at Mrs. Cartier, and Roger, in spite of his own tension, saw with a burst of inspiration the reason for the man's attitude, one which had been premeditated for fear of such an emergency.

Oliphant was in love with the woman.

“Well, West, what do you think of your pretty scheme now?” Oliphant said.

Roger said slowly: “You told me that I wasn't sane.”

“Meaning that I'm not? Oh, I don't know,” said Oliphant. “It has lasted for a long time and I have been feeling the strain for several weeks. Nothing has worked out as I expected it, and this will probably be the most effective finish. Don't imagine that I am sacrificing myself for Cartier. I think it is the only way in which”—he drew a deep breath—
”everyone
can be happy.”

The woman was looking at him, and Cartier said: “You fool, don't make such damaging admissions!”

“But it can't do any harm,” said Oliphant; “only West is listening and he won't be able to talk – but his men will come before long.” He stood up and backed towards the window, smiling. “Don't try to stop me, Syl, it will only be a waste of time. Curious,” he added. “I wonder if it would have worked out differently but for your inhibitions? The unlucky 13th – it always frightened you, didn't it? And it seemed so easy to divert suspicion to West, and satisfy you as well as keep our Scotland Yard helper safe from suspicion. With West in jail, our real informant would have been quite safe, which was much more important than easing your mind about the 13th. But we don't need to tell West everything, he can fill in the details himself – in the next world!” Oliphant laughed, softly. “When our man comes from the Yard to warn us, he'll find West and me dead. You can tell him what has happened, and he will be able to wind up the case most satisfactorily. You'll point out, of course, that West came here alone
to try to extort more money.
You'll make it plain that he is the renegade after all, the dictaphone record was a trick. Then, later, you can probably start all over again.”

He smiled and levelled the gun.

Roger thought: ‘Hurry, Tennant, hurry!' He fancied that he had seen a shadow at the window, but was not sure. He wondered whether he had relied too much on ‘unarmed combat' and the remarkable agility of Bill Tennant. Then he saw the shape at the window – Tennant was standing on the ledge.

Cartier gasped: “Oliphant, look—”

Tennant made no bones about it, but launched himself against the window, breaking the glass with his elbows and knees, keeping his chin tucked well down; he wore a crash-helmet. The crash made Oliphant swing round, and Roger jumped to his feet and overturned the table.

At the same time there was a banging at the door, then footsteps in the hall. Tennant, with a scratch on his right cheek and another on his hand, fell upon Oliphant and the two of them hit the ground together.

The gun flew from Oliphant's hand; Cartier made a movement towards it, but his wife gripped his wrist.

“No,” she said in a tense voice. “No, not that!”

Her cheeks had no vestige of colour. Roger looked at her, seeing this tense drama of human emotions as if he were standing a long way off. It made no difference to the issue, all but one thing was over, now – yet there was a fascination in the relationship between the man and his wife.

Cartier said:
“You
started it, you shrew! If it hadn't been for you this would never have happened.”

The door opened and the maid, frightened and trembling, admitted Mark. Roger saw him but looked back quickly to Mrs. Cartier.

She said: “I couldn't let it go on, but – you'll be free one day.
Cheri,
don't do anything to let them hang you, you didn't know anything about the murders, they were not done by you: don't do anything to—”

Cartier struck her savagely across the face. She turned away and Roger put a hand on the man's shoulder. He had no pity for him and he hoped that nothing would save him from the gallows; he did not think it would be hard to prove his complicity in the actual murders, and that he had given the instructions for them.

Tennant was brushing himself down and Oliphant sat on the floor, looking up stupidly.

“Well, that didn't take long,” Tennant said, wistfully. “Anyone else coming, West?”

“Soon, I hope,” Roger said.

Neither Oliphant nor Cartier spoke again. Roger sent them, handcuffed to each other, into another room, with Mark and Tennant to watch them. He gave the maid careful instructions, then returned to the lounge. Mrs. Cartier was standing by the window, her face expressionless and her cheeks colourless. Roger looked out and saw one of Morgan's men at the street corner, just walking out of sight.

He wondered whether Abbott would come. He did not feel like talking, although he wished the woman would break the silence. Suddenly, she turned and took a cigarette from a box on the table. She looked at him levelly as he lit it for her.

“Thank you,” she said. “Mr. West—”

“Yes?” said Roger.

“How long have you known that—my husband—was—concerned with it?”

“Not very long,” Roger said.

“Did I so much as hint at it?” There was a fierce note in her voice.

“You did not,” Roger assured her; “you did all you could, Mrs. Cartier, to hide that. I wish—”

“Please!” she said, then went on slowly: “I have always been afraid of it, but what could I do, what
could
I do? He—
is
my husband.” She might have said ‘lover'. “I could not bring myself to believe it. Gradually, I learned what was happening, how they worked, what Pickerell did, what Lois Randall,
la pauvre!
was forced to do. Had it not been for the agonising fear that Sylvester was concerned, I would have told you before. When I learned about you—” she drew a deep breath. “You know what I did. I told him, also, to warn him. When he did not show any resentment I thought, I prayed, that I was wrong. But that record – the 13th – I knew how superstitious he was, how everything worried him – spilled salt, ladders – a hundred things.”

Roger said: “How much more do you know, Mrs. Cartier?”

“Not much more than you must know already,” she said. “Oliphant arranged most of it, I think. My—my husband knew the people whose goods were sent here. He was always friendly with those in authority in Germany and Italy, but so were many others. I knew a little of Malone. I learned much from cylinders which you have not heard: I hid them, but you will be able to use them now.” She went on tonelessly. “They built up everything, Inspector. There is one saying that the man Leech was to be killed, the ‘Chief had ordered it – always they talked of the ‘Chief', never did they give him a name. I tried to pretend that there was hope even if it were my husband. I should have known better. I knew that Malone and his men were employed sometimes, that there was a policeman who gave information away – he has done so for several years. When it appeared that such a man was suspected, it was decided to make out that you were the man. That satisfied—superstition as well. Malone introduced this policeman to Pickerell, I do not know who it is.”

“Do you know where Pickerell is hiding?” Roger asked.

“No,” said Mrs. Cartier.

“You're sure you've not heard the name of the policeman?”

“I have not,” said Mrs. Cartier. She drew a deep breath. “Do you think he will come?”

“I hope so,” Roger said.

There was so little more to learn, yet without the final revelation, success would be tarnished. Her statement: “. . . he has done so for years . . .” haunted him.

The woman fell silent. Roger stepped to the window and looked out – and, after a few minutes, saw a taxi draw up. Close behind it there came a private car. He saw Sam and another of Morgan's men approaching, closing in as he had instructed. His jaw stiffened when he saw Abbott climb out of the second car with Tiny Martin. He could not see who was in the taxi, it drew up too close to the building. Abbott and Martin disappeared from his sight, another car, doubtless with Sloan inside, came down the street.