The Case of the Dead Diplomat (13 page)

“We must take our chance. After all, you followed them to the Café Veil last night, and from what I know of these rascals, they use the same place to meet in night after night until they get blown upon. London doesn't suit them as well as Paris in that respect, because they are aiming at higher game than the people who frequent a Lyons' tea-shop or the people who chose the saloon bars in public-houses.”

“And if I find them at the Café Veil?”

“Well, then, you have to take a table within view of them and play the part of a reckless young man who flings his money about. The rest will depend upon your skill as an actor.”

“But how is all this going to help us to find Everett's murderer?”

“I can't tell you that either. These fellows live by their wits; they've always some scheme on hand for raising the wind, and you have to find out what their present scheme is. If you win their confidence we may get to know why they visited Pinet at le Pecq.”

“Perhaps they wanted a newspaper man in their scheme.”

“And for that reason one of them may have called on Everett; that prize-fighter chap wouldn't stick at a little thing like murder.”

“Oh, I begin to see what you're driving at. You think that one or other of the gang will sidle up to me and strike up an acquaintance by asking for a light, and then that he'll find another foreigner at a loose end in Paris. Yes, I think I can play that part.”

“You may think my scheme sounds a bit fantastic, but I'm sure that our next job is to find out what made those three rascals call upon Pinet at le Pecq.”

They had reached their hotel. The little
chasseur
came forward. “A gentleman has been here twice asking for you, messieurs.”

“A French gentleman?”

The
chasseur
nodded. “He said he would call round again in a few minutes.”

“It must be M. Verneuil,” whispered Richardson. “We must stick close to the hotel now until he comes.”

They had not long to wait. The ex-petty officer threw his bulk against the revolving door and came forward to shake hands with them. “I thought that you had been run over by a taxi, and that the proper place to find you would be in the accident ward at one of the hospitals.”

Richardson explained that they had had to attend the funeral of Everett at Père la Chaise and had only just got away.

“I went round to that hotel off the rue de Rivoli; I have copies of the
fiche
of each of those men. Here they are.”

Richardson scanned them. “Ivan Novikoff; that might be Polowski's
alias
; he's a Russian now, not a Pole. Born in Riga in 1883; jeweller. ‘Septimus Zizon,' born in Roumania in 1890, jeweller. ‘Richard Small.' This fellow doesn't seem to have filled in his form.”

“No, monsieur. The manageress said that he had declined to do so. I told her that when the men came in she should say that in the course of his weekly visit round the hotels the police
commissaire
had noticed this and had told her to insist on the form being completed, and if he declined he would be called down to the police station to be interrogated. I could even have him called down now, but I desired to consult you gentlemen first.”

“You did well, monsieur; it may suit us better not to alarm the men by taking any police action against them at this stage.” Richardson went on to hint at the possibility that they might approach Cooper in a café and try to victimize him.

Verneuil treated this as an immense joke. “At what café do you propose to set this snare? I should like to be there to see it work.”

“At the Café Veil, not this evening, but tomorrow at the hour of the
apéritif
.”

“I shall be there, messieurs—not, of course, in the company of M. Cooper, but as a humble member of the audience at this comedy. But the attractive lady you mention—the lady who is to wink at M. Cooper? Who is she to be?”

“We were trusting to luck for the lady, monsieur; ladies of that kind are not hard to find at the hour of the
apéritif
.”

“No; there is a sufficiency, but she may prove to be an embarrassment in your comedy. Why should you not allow me to provide the lady—a member of our official staff, and quite attractive enough to prove the downfall of M. Cooper.”

In this manner everything was arranged. Cooper and the lady were to arrive at their posts at a quarter to seven on the following evening. There remained only the question of Cooper's make-up, and this was put off until the interview with Mr. Gregory on the following morning.

“How shall I know the lady?” asked Cooper.

“I shall bring her to the café myself at a quarter to seven, place her at a table not far from yours and leave her there, after pointing you out to her.”

T
HE TWO
English detectives sat up late discussing their plan.

“The first thing to do to-morrow morning, Cooper,” said Richardson, “is for you to change your hotel. I've asked on the quiet what kind of hotel a young spendthrift rip like you would choose for a hectic week in Paris, and I'm told that the Grand in the Avenue de l'Opéra is the very place. It won't take us long to pay your bill here, and for me to engage your room at the Grand Hotel as if you were a friend arriving from England. Then we'll go round to the Embassy and ask Mr. Gregory's advice about your make-up. He may even let you change either in the Embassy or at his private flat. We've got to make you look reckless.”

“But when I've struck up an acquaintance with Polowski, where am I to receive him when he calls?”

“In your private room at the Grand, of course. We'll have to run to a private sitting-room where you can stretch out at full length on a lounge with an empty champagne bottle beside you, looking as if you were just getting over a big debauch. Now you'd better get to bed and wake up fresh; you've got an exciting day before you.”

At ten o'clock next morning the two arrived at the Embassy and asked Chubb for Mr. Gregory.

“You've hit off the time exactly,” said that functionary; “he's just come in—a good fifteen minutes before his regular time. I'll take you right in; there'll be no one there except Mr. Dundas, and he'll take his telegrams into another room to decode. Lord bless you! He can't do a thing if people are talking.”

Ned Gregory rose in welcoming fashion, “I couldn't get to sleep last night, inspector, for wondering what this great plan of yours was.”

“No, sir? The plan is quite simple. In rough outline it is this: Sergeant Cooper is to take up his position in front of the Café Veil at the time of the
apéritif
, in the hope that the three rascals I told you about will be there. He is to make friends with them if he can and induce them to become confidential. We want to make him up in the character of a dissolute young Englishman who has come over to Paris to amuse himself regardless of expense. He is to be the son of a West-End jeweller who died some weeks ago, leaving everything to his widow with a reversion to his son. The widow dotes upon her only child. That would make him fair game for any swindle these rogues are plotting.”

“In your place I should shift the parents over to Canada and make them French Canadians in a big way of business.”

“How would he dress the part?”

“Oh, that's easy; we have dozens of them in here, or rather we used to before Canada went off gold—a big black slouched hat, such as some French artists affect, a blue tie fastened in a bow, and clothes of outlandish cut. Look here, why shouldn't you turn over his make-up to me? He can dress in my rooms, and I'll get together everything that's necessary. The clothes would be reach-me-downs; they need not be a perfect fit. What are your height and chest measurements, Mr. Cooper?” Cooper supplied them. “Good! Is it to be for this evening or to-morrow?”

“This evening, we thought,” said Richardson. “We've already taken Mr. Cooper's rooms at the Grand Hotel.”

“Couldn't be better. Here's the address of my flat. You'd better be round there not later than half-past four; that'll give you time to change and stick your luggage on a taxi and drive to the Grand Hotel. You hail from Quebec. Are you going to be at the Café Veil too, inspector?”

“No, sir. This is essentially a one-man job.”

“If you see me in the offing at the Café Veil this evening, it won't put you off your stroke?” asked Gregory with a grin. “To me it would be far more amusing than any play.”

“Not at all, sir; you might eventually come into the case as a witness for the prosecution by identifying the men.”

“I should plead diplomatic immunity. Well, then, that's settled. Are you going to take a holiday, inspector?”

“No, sir, I have a very dull job on hand. If Verneuil can arrange it, I'm going to take every scrap of paper that was found in Mr. Everett's flat and go through it again.” He turned to Cooper. “You remember that case of mine—the case of Naomi Clynes? Well, it was a sheet of paper that would have hanged John Maze if he hadn't taken cyanide to escape the hangman.”

“Don't forget, half-past four at my flat,” said Gregory as they rose to go.

“No, sir; I shall see that he's punctual. I should like very much, if I may, to come upstairs and see him in all his war-paint,” said Richardson.

“Why, of course! He has the address; all you have to do is to ring the bell.”

Richardson and Cooper's next visit was to M. Verneuil at the police station. He wilted a little at Richardson's request to be allowed to carry papers out of the office, but when it was explained to him that his British colleague was going to work at them until past midnight if necessary, and would undertake to return them intact, his objections were removed.

“All I ask, monsieur, is that you should not mention this to M. Bigot when you happen to see him. He's a little over prone to fault-finding, and if you don't mind, I must ask you to come here at four o'clock to receive them.”

Thus it was that by the time Richardson had returned to the hotel with the papers, Cooper had already left for Ned Gregory's flat, which had been turned into a green room for the occasion.

Having stowed the papers in his locked valise and locked the door of his cupboard, Richardson went down to the office to settle his colleague's bill.

“Your friend is returning to England, monsieur?” inquired the manageress, who in these straitened times looked upon the departure of a client as a nail in the coffin of her hostelry.

“He has to go on a journey,” replied Richardson evasively; “he may be back in a few days. Will you have his valise put on a taxi? I am going to see him off.”

The taxi was directed to drive with Cooper's luggage to Ned Gregory's flat. The
concierge
directed Richardson to the
appartement
on the left.

“He has a gentleman with him,” she said.

“Yes, and this is that gentleman's luggage. Please take care of it till he comes down.”

Arrived on the second floor, Richardson shut the gates and sent the lift down. He rang the bell; a
bonne
opened the door.

“Monsieur is engaged with a gentleman,” she said.

“Yes, but he is expecting me. Please take him this card.”

From an inner room a head was protruded with caution; it was a well-groomed red head. Reassured by a glance at his visitor, Gregory came forward with a welcoming enthusiasm. “You're just in time, inspector. I want to introduce you to my friend from Quebec, the son of a wealthy French Canadian.”

He threw open the door of the inner room like a showman, and Richardson started back with an involuntary exclamation. “Let me present to you M. Rivaux, inspector; I don't think you have ever met him before.”

The apparition who answered to the name of Rivaux was less remarkable in Paris than he would have been in London. He was wearing a soft black hat with a vast brim, which he swept off on the introduction, disclosing the luxuriant black hair of a wig that might well have been by Clarkson. His suit might equally well have been by anyone but a London tailor.

“I must get you photographed,” was Richardson's only comment, and then, feeling that commendation must not be withheld from the costumier, he turned to Ned Gregory and said that it was a marvellous transformation.

“What I was aiming at, you see,” said Gregory modestly, “was to produce something that would at once attract attention in a crowded café.”

“You have certainly succeeded, sir.”

“I've been impressing on Mr. Cooper that he must walk into the place as if it belonged to him, and order the waiters about with the air of a man who has money to burn.”

“You needn't be afraid, inspector,” said Cooper. “Thanks to Mr. Gregory, I think I know my part. He has even given me a hint of the proper accent, for it seems that French Canadians pronounce French as they did in the time of Louis the Fourteenth.”

“It's early yet,” said Gregory. “I'm going to order some tea, and while we're drinking it we'll continue the lesson in French as she is spoke in Quebec until it's time for you to start for the Café Veil.”

“And I'll go back to my hotel and tackle those papers. I can get them done this evening.”

“Shall I come and report to you at your hotel, inspector?” asked Cooper.

“No, that wouldn't do at all. They might be following you, and the manageress might penetrate your disguise. No, I'll come and see you at the Grand Hotel at ten o'clock.”

On Richardson's departure Ned Gregory turned schoolmaster again, and he found Cooper an apt pupil. As the hands of the clock approached half-past six he rose. “I think you had better be moving, Mr. Cooper. You haven't forgotten your Canadian name, I hope?”

“No, sir; I'm Jacques Rivaux, and my address is 16 rue Royale, Quebec. I came over in the steamer
Voyageur
. I'm disappointed in Paris; I've been to show after show and they're all alike—nothing but girls with flying legs. If you've seen one you've seen all. It's dull here, I think.”