The Case of the Dead Diplomat (25 page)

Gregory laughed. “Your colleague must be a loss to the British stage,” he said. “Did no one find him out?”

“No, sir; at the hotel everyone thinks that he is the genuine article, but his work is now done. The French police intend to detain those Polish rascals who pretend to be selling gold as soon as they have had their last interview with M. Rivaux, the Canadian, who will be called back to Canada by cable, and will quietly drop his disguise at your flat and reappear at my hotel as Sergeant Cooper. It would be a great service if you would send round to the Grand Hotel for his luggage and settle his bill (of course at my expense), at the same time telling them that he has been cabled for to Canada.”

“I shall do it myself, inspector, but it is fair to warn you that I shall expect your chiefs at the Yard to recommend me for the C.B.”

“You deserve far more than the C.B., sir, for what you've done for us,” said Richardson, who was not deceived by his serious tone, and was equally solemn in his reply.

“What time do you think that your Mr. Cooper—my M. Rivaux—will come round to my flat, deflated like a punctured tyre? Because I ought to be there.”

“I believe he was to see the men just after lunch-time, say at two o'clock.”

“And if he comes out alive he ought to be round at my flat by about three. You know, inspector, I'm running a most frightful risk. Suppose they follow him to my flat and he disappears; they may denounce me to the police, and the papers will come out with double headlines, ‘Murder of a Canadian Millionaire by a British Diplomat. Concealment of the Body.'”

Richardson's face betrayed quiet amusement. “I don't think they'll follow him, sir, because I have arranged with the police of the ninth
arrondissement
that they shall wait in the street outside and take Cooper's friends into custody.”

“On what charge?”

“On suspicion to start with, sir—suspicion of murder, if you like—and then, if that charge cannot be sustained, they will be quietly expelled from the country and the gate put up behind them. So you see they won't know anything about Cooper's subsequent movements.”

“You sleuths from the Yard are wonderful people. You seem to think of everything.”

“I wish we did, sir.”

“Luckily, inspector, this is Sunday. I can give up my game of golf and be at home all the afternoon. Where are you going now, if it's not an improper question?”

“Not at all, sir. I'm going to get some lunch.”

“‘
Les beaux esprits se rencontrent
,' as they say over here. I suppose that when you're hungry you walk into the first place that looks like a restaurant. Now to-day you have the chance of a lifetime. With me as your guide you shall taste real French cooking at its best. Come along, this is my show.”

Gregory maintained his reputation as an epicurean at that midday feast. It will not be fair to say here where he took his guest, but it was a little place where the owner was pleased to give friendly hints to his guests, and where the wife charged herself with the cooking.

The proprietor had been, so Gregory said,
maître d'hôtel
to Cardinal Rampolla. They lunched well. Gregory feasted also upon the stories of his guest, which he elicited with all the cunning accredited to diplomatists. His only complaint was that his guest was too abstemious in the matter of vintage.

They walked together to Gregory's flat and sat waiting for Cooper. At last the bell rang. Gregory ran to answer it. Richardson heard him say, “At last, M. Rivaux. You will find an old acquaintance of yours waiting for you.”

Cooper's make-up was beginning to show signs of wear in a strong light, but he was buoyed up by the thought that in a few minutes he was to be freed from his disguise for ever. It was a vain thought. The inexorable Richardson was lying in wait for him in the sitting-room and there was no escape.

“Now, Cooper, let me hear the worst. Did the men come?”

“Yes, they came all right.”

“Did they tell you why they went down to le Pecq to see that fellow Pinet?”

“Yes; they'd heard that he was a millionaire, and they hoped to stick him with their gold brick, but he wasn't having any. Of course, when they told the story to me the gold brick was genuine bullion.”

“A millionaire? Was he playing the same part as you?”

“No; according to them he had won five million francs in the French State lottery.”

“I was always under the impression,” interrupted Gregory, “that no one ever won a
sou
in the State lottery except the State.”

Richardson took no notice of this flippant interjection. “And Pinet wouldn't bite?”

“No; they showed him the gold brick and scraped off a little genuine gold dust for him to get tested by experts, but he wouldn't be drawn.”

“Ah!” said Richardson, “that explains that scarlet and beige car in which his woman drives about, but it doesn't make it clear why Pinet should be paying hush-money to that wretched woman who had eaten something that disagreed with her.”

“What woman?” asked Gregory eagerly. “You seem to have been keeping queer company, inspector.”

“Yes, sir, I have. I happened to be with a detective of the ninth
arrondissement
when he was called in by a
concierge
to question a woman who was believed to have been poisoned. It's a longish story, which I'll tell you another time. At this moment Sergeant Cooper is badly in need of a wash and brush-up. When he is re-converted into a Christian we'll get him to tell us exactly how his interview with the gold brick gentlemen went. By the way, Cooper, you may be relieved to know that those gentry were taken in by the French police as they were leaving the hotel this afternoon.”

“On what charge?” asked Cooper.

“I don't suppose that any charge has been formulated yet. The French police have wider powers than ours in London. If they don't like the look of you they take you in and make you give an account of yourself from the day when you were born, and while you're being put through it they go down and search your lodging.”

W
HILE
C
OOPER
was locked in the bathroom, Richardson related to his host how he had discovered the association of Thérèse Volny with Pinet's housekeeper, the woman with the beige and scarlet car.

“At this moment Thérèse ought to be at the police station, undergoing what corresponds to the ‘third degree' in America, and we have promised to go down this evening and hear the result.”

“Lord! To think that this kind of thing is going on under one's nose, while one is leading a sheltered life in the Chancery of the British Embassy. You have given me a new respect for Paris as the city of adventure. I'd always heard stories of what Scotland Yard can do when it wakes up and begins to take notice, and they are now confirmed in every particular.” Gregory cocked his ear. “I think I hear our late Canadian millionaire stirring. Be prepared for an agreeable shock. Here he comes.”

Certainly it was a shock. Richardson scrutinized his colleague with a critical eye and had to admit to himself that the disguise had been complete, for here was the detective sergeant that he knew, and M. Rivaux from the French colony in Quebec had been left lying on the floor of Mr. Gregory's bathroom. Gregory cleared a chair for him.

“You'd better give us an account of your interview with those two men in your own way,” said Richardson.

“There's not very much to tell. They came into my room looking pretty confident. They'd left their gold brick behind. I tackled them at once; said that it had come to my knowledge that they'd been dealing with another chap—a French journalist who lived at le Pecq. I took the high and mighty line. Who did they think they were dealing with when they came to me? I wasn't going to play second fiddle to any man. No, the deal was off. I told them that I had reason to believe that this was not the only journalist they had called upon. You see, inspector, I thought that I might jog them into coughing up an admission that they'd been to see Mr. Everett.”

“Yes, that wasn't a bad move. Did it work?”

“I saw a look of blank surprise in both their faces and I came to the conclusion that Pinet was the only journalist they had approached. Then I tried to corner them. I asked them who had told them that Pinet had won the lottery, saying that I didn't believe a word of it; they'd gone to Pinet for quite another reason.”

“I suppose they saw the names of the winners in some newspaper,” said Richardson.

“Oh, no, inspector,” observed Gregory. “They don't publish the names of the winners in this country—only the numbers of the winning tickets. Occasionally some weakling lets his friends know that he's won something and his name and address get into the papers. There was one poor devil—a miller he was—who had the whole pack at his heels trying to sell him things he didn't want. They actually made him buy a chateau that someone wanted to unload. But go on with your story, sergeant.”

“I tried my hardest to get them to say how they had heard that Pinet had the winning ticket, but they stuck out that they couldn't remember who told them, but that it was common knowledge all over Paris. But I held to it, telling them that they'd have no difficulty in finding a purchaser for their gold, but that they could rule me out; I wouldn't touch their gold even if they brought it to me on a tray. You see, I was trying to bluff them into telling me a lot more about Pinet, but there was nothing doing. I don't believe that they knew anything about him except that he'd won the lottery, so that in that respect my play-acting was a wash-out.”

“But surely they tried to soften you?”

“They did, and in the end I said that I would think it over between this afternoon and Monday, but they'll be in a place on Monday where they can't make calls on unsuspecting millionaires. By that time the police will have their gold brick to play with.”

“You did very well, Cooper.”

Cooper shook his head. “You might have said that, inspector, if I'd got out of them an admission that they'd called on Mr. Everett that night.”

“One thing at a time; we are getting on, I think. And now we ought to be getting down to the police station to hear what the woman Thérèse has had to say.” He rose from his chair to shake hands with Gregory. “I can't thank you enough, sir, for all you've done for us. I may have important news for you to-morrow morning—real ‘stop-press' news.”

Their arrival at the police station brought their first check. Verneuil, they were told, was out, but they could see M. Bigot if they wished. They did wish, and they found the man who was working his promotion enthroned on his office chair before an empty table.

“Ah, messieurs, I am very pleased to see you. You are no doubt anxious to hear what I have to report. My subordinate, Brigadier Verneuil, has been three times in search of the woman Thérèse, and has always been disappointed. The
concierge
was confident that she would be in this afternoon, and therefore I have sent him to the house a fourth time. If you will be patient he will soon be back, either with or without the woman. What have you been doing since I saw you last?”

“Sergeant Cooper has been interviewing those two men with the gold brick. You intended, I think, to detain them.”

“Ah, yes. We have them here. We always find it best to let them cool their heels and the inside of their stomachs before putting them through the hoop.”

“We will not detain you, monsieur,” said Richardson, turning a blind eye to the empty writing-table. “We will wait in the room you were good enough to assign to us until M. Verneuil returns.”

Bigot made no objection to the suggestion. He had found himself ill at ease in the presence of his English colleagues, whom he half suspected of guessing that he was using the case as a step to promotion while they were putting in solid work to solve it.

“As you will, messieurs. If the woman is found I will have her brought into your room for her examination; it is larger than this.”

The two British detectives did not have long to wait. They had left the door ajar; quick steps sounded on the paved floor of the entrance; a woman's voice was raised in protest. Cooper went on tiptoe to the door, and returned to his seat. “It's Verneuil with a woman,” he said.

Affairs do not run on oiled wheels in the Paris police stations. No one but the telephone operator in the head station of the ninth
arrondissement
seemed to have any fixed duties; they sat about awaiting orders. It was the telephone which kept them employed; when it reported a crime from some street in the
arrondissement
, a senior officer poked his head into the room where his subordinates were assembled and beckoned to the senior constable, who in turn selected a junior to accompany him. When they returned from their mission they spent time in writing out a voluminous report.

The woman who accompanied Verneuil was given a chair in the police waiting-room. She was quite at her ease; it was not the first time in her life that she had had to deal with policemen.

The first person to break in upon Richardson and Cooper was M. Bigot in person. “The woman is here, messieurs. I propose to examine her in this room, if you will kindly bring your chairs up to the head of the table. My place will be here.” (He indicated the head of the table.) “The woman will sit in that chair at the bottom. If at any time during my examination a question occurs to you, I will ask you to write it down and pass it to me.”

He stamped twice on the floor. Apparently it was a signal concerted with Verneuil, for a moment later that officer made his appearance, holding the woman Thérèse by the arm. Seeing that she had an audience she began to whimper.

“You are hurting my arm, monsieur. How can you treat a woman so? I shall have black bruises where your dirty fingers have pinched me.”