The Connicle Curse (27 page)

D
over was at least ten degrees colder than the city had been and there was a harsh wind blowing in off the Channel. The water was whitecapped and roiling and all I kept thinking was how grateful I was to not have to climb aboard a ship and venture out upon it.

“Just looking at it makes you green.” Colin chuckled beside me.

“You're not funny,” I grumbled back, even though I knew he was right. It wasn't just the swell and swoon of that great body of water that had my stomach unsettled, however; it was also our conversation on the train. Both what he had shared with Varcoe and what he had chosen not to share.

Before we'd been able to leave Scotland Yard for Charing Cross Railway Station with Varcoe and Sergeant Evans in tow, we'd been stalled for almost an hour while Colin gave just enough information to pique the inspector's interest. Even then Varcoe had insisted on sending out a handful of telegrams before finally conceding that it was time to head for the coast. That one of the telegrams was to Wynn Tessler's aide to confirm Mr. Tessler's travel arrangements to Zurich had been understandable. The remainder seemed like a waste of precious time, though I was glad to see Varcoe and Sergeant Evans head off for the telegraph office the moment we arrived. I wanted some time to sort things out with Colin.

“What's the name of the ferry he's booked on?” Colin idly asked as we gazed out upon the thronging docks where two ferries and a huge ship were moored.

“The
Prince Edward
. After our next monarch, I would presume.”

Colin gave me a small shrug. “Not at the rate his mother is going. He'll be lucky to serve a day.” He started for the nearest pier. “So let us find that vessel and locate Mr. Tessler. I should very much like to get to the heart of this case. Too many people have been killed and some of them clearly innocents.”

“Some of them?” I parroted as I hurried to keep up.

“Well, of course,” he tossed over his shoulder as he barreled toward the ferry at the farthest berth, where the name
Prince Edward
was emblazoned across its side in royal blue. “Little William Hutton; the Astons' dogs; Alexa's husband, Albert. I should think all of them have the angels on their side. The rest of them . . .” He let his voice trail off.

“You mean Edmond Connicle and Arthur Hutton then. You think their murders were respective of something they were doing?”

“Perhaps . . .” he muttered as he charged up the ferry's gangplank. “We should have our answer soon enough.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He paused as he stepped onto the deck. “It's what I do,” he answered brashly.

“Colin . . .”

“Because Wynn Tessler is about to be in for the most staggering surprise,” Colin said with sly enthusiasm. “He'll not take it well. Mark my words.” And with that he turned and headed off as though he knew right where he was going.

“What about Eckhard Heillert?” I persisted.

“Who?” he blurted as he charged up a metal stairway to the next level.

“The Prussian man shot and killed in that alley.”

Colin halted just before he reached the top of the stairs. “A convicted felon. Nothing more than a killer for hire. Now stop pestering. I've told you everything I'm certain of. The rest will have to unfold as it will. All I can do now is present what I'm convinced is true and hope Inspector Varcoe will be able to prove it once he arrives.”

“Doesn't it feel strange to be beholden to the Yard?”

“It doesn't sit right at all,” Colin mumbled as we started up the stairs again. “But this once, they could prove our salvation.”

We made a hard right at the top and headed straight for the bridge, the very idea of being rescued by Emmett Varcoe and his Yarders feeling as vexing as the Channel itself. “Please keep your eyes open for their return,” Colin spoke up as he shoved his way through the door and onto the bridge. “Gentlemen!” he called out brightly.

“You ain't allowed up here, sir.” A man in a scrubby pair of overalls stepped toward us. “It's off-limits to passengers.”

“Colin Pendragon,” he answered with a smile and his hand. “And this is Ethan Pruitt. Where might we find the captain?”

“Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . .” A gray-haired man came forward with a like-colored triangular beard and a white cap on his head. He had small gold epaulets of some design on the shoulders of his jacket that I couldn't make out. “Captain Trenton Dorchester at your service. It is a pleasure to have such distinguished guests on our crossing this afternoon.”

“I'm afraid we'll not be along for the journey”—Colin offered a quick nod—“and may in fact be responsible for delaying it some. We have an urgent matter to discuss with a man who
is
to be a passenger and would very much appreciate your summoning him here and allowing us a private quarter to attend to our business. I promise you we will not hold up your crossing any longer than will be absolutely necessary.”

The captain's brow sank minutely. “Perhaps you would prefer to remove him from the ship and interrogate him in the embarkation station?”

“Interrogate . . . ?” Colin gave a generous smile as he glanced at the other two officers on the bridge before looking back at Captain Dorchester. “I only mean to have a simple discussion with the man and would much prefer
not
to take him ashore. I trust you understand.” He flicked his gaze over to me and I nodded as though I had any real inkling as to what he was up to.

The captain pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a cursory glance before allowing a small sigh to escape. “You realize, Mr. Pendragon, that I am held to a strict schedule by our home office. Delays cost money that I am held accountable for.”

“Then we had best snap to it.” Colin clapped his hands and extended an eager grin. “I'll not be the cause of your incurring any sort of levy.”

I could see at once that it was not the answer Captain Dorchester had been hoping for. Nevertheless, after only the barest hesitation he spurred his men into action and within a handful of minutes we were ensconced in a small meeting room just off the rear of the bridge. It held one long, unusually tall table with clips scattered at its four edges and nary a chair to be seen. Cubbyholes ran along the far wall and each was stuffed with a rolled document. This, I realized, had to be the map room.

Our page blasted over the loudspeaker while we settled ourselves. Colin ordered me to plant myself by the porthole with a view down onto the dock. It was imperative, he repeated yet again, that I keep an eye out for Varcoe and Sergeant Evans.

We did not wait more than a minute before Wynn Tessler was shown in, and though I could tell he was trying to restrain it, I could see the shock behind his eyes. “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . . how unexpected,” he said quite smoothly, his voice tight and controlled as a gracious smile shifted his lips.

Colin stepped forward and shook his hand, bringing him farther into the small room with what I recognized as singular purpose. “You must forgive our rousting you just as you're about to leave on vacation—”

“Business,” he corrected at once. “I have business in Zurich.”

“Ah yes, so you said.” Colin tossed a perfunctory grin.

Mr. Tessler glanced at his pocket watch and frowned at Colin. “What is this about? The ferry is set to leave in a few minutes and I cannot afford to be delayed.”

“Of course,” Colin responded without conviction as he took up a position on the far side of the table, leaning against it rakishly. “Our visit is about several things, really. Some of which have very much to do with you. Things I suspect you will be most grateful to learn.”

“And what might those be?” he sallied back, his tone tinged with wariness.

“I'm afraid you will find the first of the news most distressing. Scotland Yard has found the remains of William Hutton.”

“Oh no . . .” Mr. Tessler's shoulders drooped with practiced care as he shook his head. “That poor boy. What a sorrowful end to a tragic life.”

“Tragic, was it?”

Mr. Tessler's brow quivered minutely as he looked back at Colin, a seed of something unsettled behind his eyes. “The boy was never right. You don't know how hard that was for the Huttons. The endless worry and concern . . .”

“There certainly was great cost attendant with the boy's care. The last time we spoke with Mrs. Hutton she mentioned her husband was trying to find a permanent place for the lad. Certainly a prohibitively expensive proposition.”

“Really, Mr. Pendragon.” Wynn Tessler scowled with distaste. “Your sentiment is crude. Were you a father you might understand that such concerns pale when talking about the care and well-being of your child.”

The whisper of a smile brushed across Colin's lips and I suspected Wynn Tessler was heading right where he intended him to. “I am certain you are right about that. But I have since come to realize that the Huttons had no such sums of money to afford that sort of care. In fact, I have learned they were on the verge of losing their home.”

“I should think I understand the nature of their finances a good deal better than you,” Mr. Tessler shot back. “Mrs. Hutton does not have the means they once did, but she is hardly destitute.”

“I should think not,” Colin agreed as he idly tugged at his chin. “And yet, do you know what I find most disconcerting? Scotland Yard has been unable to find Mrs. Hutton in the last fifteen hours to give her the tragic news about her son. They sent a telegram round to the address she left in Paris and it has been returned undeliverable. It seems there is no such address. They even dispatched a gendarme to knock on other doors in the neighborhood, but no one has seen a woman and daughter fitting the descriptions of Mrs. Hutton and Anna. Now what do you make of that?”

Had I not been watching Mr. Tessler I might have missed the slight bristling of his brow that vaulted so quickly across his face. He cleared his voice as a feigned expression of indifference settled over him. “I make very little of it, Mr. Pendragon, other than the fact that you and your Yard have made a blunder in capturing her whereabouts. You may get the correct address from my office. We most certainly have it.”

“And so we did.” Colin nodded. “But your office proved to have the same incorrect information.” He turned to me and I caught a spark of exhilaration coiled behind his gaze. “So Mr. Pruitt went down to the Foreign Services Ministry to check the passenger manifests of the ships that left our fair shores for Calais the day after Mrs. Hutton and Anna spent their night at Claridge's. And do you know what he found?” Colin's face was a veil of innocence. “Nothing.”

I took another quick look out the porthole for Inspector Varcoe or Sergeant Evans before I turned my attentions to Mr. Tessler. “Not only was there no Charlotte or Anna Hutton on
any
ship that left that day,” I said, “but as you might imagine, there were very few women traveling alone, and even fewer traveling with a young girl. Not one of them headed to France.”

For the first time a thin flush rose to Mr. Tessler's cheeks and his eyebrows knit perceptibly as he flicked his eyes between me and Colin. It was almost as if I could see Mr. Tessler's brain working: weighing, sifting, considering our words. Even so, I could discern little from his eyes in spite of the distrust that appeared to have settled there. “That isn't so,” he finally said, making it sound more like a challenge than a statement.

“In fact,” I added, still leaning against the porthole, my arms folded across my chest, “of the women traveling alone with a single girl, one was bound for Copenhagen, one for Leith, and one for Warnemünde.”

“You must think me a fool.” Mr. Tessler suddenly laughed. “Charging aboard this ship to tell me things I have no way of verifying. And what does any of it have to do with me?” A corner of his mouth drew up in an expression so cocksure I found myself doubting Colin's conjecture. But when I turned my eyes back to him I found that he'd stepped away from the table and was leaning against the wall with utter tranquility. If I was harboring doubts, he most assuredly was not.

“If I tell you I think you a fool,” Colin began languidly, “it will not be for the reason you suppose. For there is more, Mr. Tessler. I suspect it will not come as a surprise to you that sums of money have been funneling through your personal accounts to Banque de Candolle Mallet and Cie in Geneva over the past two weeks. Sums that are guaranteed by your Columbia Financial.”

“That's all perfectly legitimate. . . .” he started to protest as Colin held up a single hand.

“Yes. I suppose it is. But what if I told you that far greater sums were also being moved out of your personal accounts to Deutsche Bank? Sums backed not only by Columbia Financial, but also by the Connicle estate. An estate you now solely control, given Mr. Tolliver's terrible accident months ago.”

“What?!” And now there was no subterfuge to his reaction. No hooded façade meant to belie some hidden truth. “That's impossible.”

“Is it?” Colin remained just as he was, looking content and calm as though we were discussing banalities. “You gave her access to your accounts, didn't you? That was the plan. That she would use a bit of money to go first and set herself up, and you would join her a few days later. The two of you bilking both the Connicle fortune and Columbia Financial into an untraceable account in Geneva. And then what? You disappear together somewhere on the Continent? I dread to imagine what your plans were for Anna, given how mercilessly you dispatched the others who stood in your way.”