The Case of Naomi Clynes (28 page)

“They will have moved the body down to the Judicial Medical School by this time,” said the doctor gloomily.

Carruthers directed the taxi-man to drive them to the police office of the ninth
arrondissement
. There they found a senior police officer and were ushered into his room. Carruthers made the necessary introductions. “This is Dr. Hoskyn,
monsieur le commissaire
, medical officer of the British Embassy, and I am the first secretary. We have called about that distressing case of M. Everett, a member of our staff.”

“Ah! You mean the case of the gentleman found dead in an
appartement
in the rue St. Georges this morning.” The officer touched a bell-push and a constable made his appearance. “Chairs for these gentlemen.”

Two chairs were brought in, dusted and placed at a corner of the table.

“May I inquire, monsieur, whether you have reached any conclusion?” asked Carruthers.

“Monsieur is, of course, aware that the body bore a deep wound in the throat. To judge from the state of the
appartement
it seemed clear that there had been a violent struggle. Furniture was over-turned; a table-lamp was broken and on the floor was lying this knife.” He flung open a drawer and took from it a heavy dagger in a sheath with blood-stain upon it; on the blade were engraved the words, “
Blut und Ehre!
”

“These daggers, we understand, are carried by young schoolboys in Germany when they march along the road on the German side of the frontier. You will notice the symbol in the coloured shield on the handle—the swastika in the middle. It is Hitler's device for fostering a warlike spirit among German schoolboys.”

Carruthers examined the weapon, which was about a foot long. The blade was stained with dried blood. He passed it to Dr. Hoskyn who said, “Does this mean that young Everett was murdered by a German?”

“We do not know, monsieur. When the
concierge
was interrogated she said that when dusting the
appartement
she had often noticed this dagger lying on the table in the sitting-room. It must have belonged to M. Everett himself.”

“I believe it did,” said Carruthers. “I remember hearing that Mr. Everett had displayed a dagger like this to his colleagues in the Embassy. He said that a journalistic colleague on the frontier had sent it to him to use as a paper-knife.”

“We should be grateful, monsieur, if that could be verified. It will help us in reconstructing the case. This much we know already from the
concierge
: Mr. Everett had arranged with her that she should prepare his
petit déjeuner
every morning and bring it up to the door of his
appartement
; then she would knock and set down the tray. Sometimes he opened the door and took it from her; more often it stayed for some minutes on the landing before he took it in. It was so this morning. She left the breakfast on the landing and went downstairs to her other duties. When she went up to do her dusting the breakfast was still lying untouched. She knocked repeatedly but could get no answer, and on opening the door was shocked to find that her tenant was lying fully dressed on the floor. She thought at first that he had had some kind of seizure and that in falling he had pulled the table over him; but on going to the body she saw blood on the floor, and she left the body as it was and ran down to telephone to us. As I told you the room was in the utmost disorder, and so much blood on the floor that they thought Mr. Everett must have bled to death. The
concierge
did not think that Mr. Everett brought anyone back with him last night and she heard no one go upstairs.”

“You have formed a theory, monsieur?”

The officer spread his forearms wide. “We have not yet had time to consider theories beyond this: at some time after the poor gentleman returned to his
appartement
he received a visitor—a person who must have known him well or he would have had to make inquiries of the
concierge
. For some reason yet to be ascertained there must have been a quarrel; one of them must have attacked the other and in the struggle that ensued the visitor must have snatched up this dagger and plunged it point first into his adversary's throat. Then he must have shut the door behind him as gently as possible and made off without awaking the
concierge
. At present officers are searching the
appartement
for finger-prints, but these seldom lead to identifications, unless they were made by some well-known criminal. I do not think that this crime was the work of any known criminal.”

“Where is the body now?”

“It has been taken to the Medico-legal School. If you desire to see it I will send one of my officers with you.”

“I should be very glad if you would. I was hoping that you would allow Dr. Hoskyn to join your medical officer in making the autopsy.”

The
commissaire
bowed politely. “That does not rest with me, monsieur, but with the authorities of the School; but I imagine that they would be very glad to avail themselves of Dr. Hoskyn's good offices. I will inquire.”

“I suppose that you have not yet had time to look through the papers found on Mr. Everett's body or in the
appartement
?”

“I have them all here, monsieur, including a number of notes and coins which no ordinary thief would have left behind him. I shall not fail to present a copy of my report to his Excellency the ambassador when it is complete. Now, if you are going to the School I think it might be wise for you to go there early. I will ring up our police surgeon and arrange to meet you there.”

The laboratory attached to the Medico-legal School is the most depressing spot in Paris. It seems always to be tenanted; the bodies of the unrecognized are laid on sloping slate slabs behind plate-glass windows. The public, who come to look for missing friends, pass in front of the windows, where they may find their nearest and dearest lying exposed to the general gaze like the wares in a fishmonger's shop.

A youngish man in a black wide-awake hat, who appeared to have been waiting in the doorway, came forward as the taxi pulled up. He swept off his imposing headgear, disclosing a domed head polished like a billiard ball, and introduced himself as Dr. Audusson, a professor of the School. Leading the way into the building, the police officer explained to him the object of the visit of the two Englishmen, and they were taken straight into the room fitted up for post-mortem examinations. There, covered by a sheet, lay the body of Carruthers' late colleague. The sheet was stripped off, disclosing the body dressed in its ordinary day clothes, which were stiffened and discoloured by extravasated blood. Dr. Audusson clicked his tongue and observed to his British colleague that the cause of death was not far to seek. He pointed to the deep incision in the throat. The two professional men consulted in an undertone, and then Dr. Hoskyn came over to Carruthers.

“I suppose that the ambassador wants a complete post-mortem. He wouldn't be satisfied by a report that that wound in itself would account for the death?”

Carruthers had his share of Scottish caution. “The question of drug-taking or poison might arise hereafter. I think that it would be wise to cover all points.”

“Very well; my French colleague is quite willing. and we shall have the help of the public laboratory for analysing the contents of the stomach.”

“Then you won't want me any more?”

“No. As soon as the examination is completed I will come on to the Embassy with my report.”

“You won't forget the possibility of suicide, doctor?”

“We will not.”

Carruthers had scarcely shut the door of his room when Maynard, the second secretary, entered with care graven on his features.

“I'm glad you're back,” he said; “I've had a perfectly awful time with the old man upstairs. He expects everything to be done at lightning speed—made me telegraph to Everett's next-of-kin to announce the death, and I suppose that now we shall have a tribe of them on our backs. Then the ambassador wanted me to account for every moment of Everett's time, and I had to tell him that I knew very little about the poor fellow, but that I would find out as much as was known about him.”

“You're lucky not to have the place beset by reporters.”

“Oh, we've had them by the dozen. I refused to see them. I told Gregory to shoo them out. He must have done the job effectively, for they've left us alone for nearly half an hour.”

“Gregory is the man who knew Everett best, isn't he?”

“Yes; he saw more of him than we did.”

“Let's have him in.”

Maynard left the room and returned with the third secretary.

“Sit down, Gregory, and tell us all you knew about poor Everett.”

Ned Gregory was a curly-headed youngster with red hair. He was trying to discipline his features to the expression which he imagined to be suitable for funerals, but it was an effort; the natural levity in his vivacious eyes was difficult to subdue.

“When did you last see him?” continued Carruthers.

“Yesterday morning. I used to see him practically every morning.”

“You knew him pretty well, I suppose?”

“Fairly well. I never went out with him, but he used to tell me a lot about his job.”

“Was he sometimes depressed?”

A cloud crossed Gregory's eyes for a moment.

“He used to confide in me a lot, but he seemed generally to be in good spirits.”

“Always?” Carruthers had not missed the momentary cloud.

“Always, except once. I don't like betraying the poor fellow's confidence.”

“I quite understand, but with this mystery about his death…”

“Well, he was very much in love with a French girl he had met somewhere or other. He told me that he intended to marry her. I tried to dissuade him, and then, much to my surprise, he came in yesterday morning and told me that it was all off—that he'd found out the girl was a married woman. He seemed to be very hard hit. He wanted my advice as to whether he ought to break with her entirely. I told him that if it was my case I should. He said that if he dropped her like a hot potato she would feel it acutely; she had told him that she hated her husband.”

The two secretaries exchanged glances, and Carruthers said, “Thank you, Gregory. If you remember anything else that would tend to clear up Everett's death, please come and see me.”

“There's one thing I should like to ask before I go. Does the French Penal Code prohibit the use of man-traps for journalists? You never saw such a crew as I've had here this afternoon—camera men as well as reporters. If I'm led away with gyves upon my wrists it will be because I've sent one or two of them to the place where they belong.”

“Maynard tells me that you've been very successful with them…”

Before Gregory had time to reply the messenger opened the door. “There's some more reporters asking for you, Mr. Gregory,” he said.

Ned Gregory threw up his hands and disappeared.

“What he's just told us, Maynard, cuts both ways. It might have been murder by an injured husband or it might equally have been a suicide.”