Mystery Mile (27 page)

‘Do you remember a man called Coulson?' Campion was speaking softly. ‘The only man to whom you ever half betrayed youself? My second name is Morgiana, Mr Ali Baba.'

No muscle of the Oriental's heavy face moved. ‘I do not understand you,' he said. ‘You are still making jokes.'

‘That's where you're wrong, my captive Helen.' Campion still spoke lightly, but every second now was tingling with suppressed excitement. At any moment the storm might break.

‘You admitted that you didn't know what sort of key the estimable Judge Lobbett had,' Campion continued. ‘I can clear things up for you a bit. His precious clue is perfectly
bona fide
. It's clear enough to anybody who knows you. In fact, your name is the hidden word in the acrostic. Now, I think, in view of everything, we're properly introduced. How now, brown cow?'

That the man was shaken there could be no doubt. After the first shock he pulled himself together with amazing control.

‘You are what they call over here “Too clever by half”, young man,' he said heavily. ‘It says in my dossier that it is one of your peculiarities that you never carry a gun. I think you are wise, with such a varied record as yours. It would be interesting to learn if it is true.'

‘Talking of confidences,' said Mr Campion airily, ‘since I see that one of us is going to cop in for it shortly, there are several things I'd like to know. For instance, I would like to know – as a last favour – how have you managed to keep so quiet about yourself all this time? Accounts of you go back, they say, for the past hundred years. You're pushing along, but you haven't come all that way, surely?'

Mr Barber seemed to become positively affable. Outside great drops of rain had begun to fall. The lightning was becoming more frequent.

‘I am in no hurry,' he said. ‘Perhaps I will tell you. I must remain here till after this storm, at any rate. But I am afraid I must withdraw my offer.'

‘Spoken, I take it, as a sort of funeral oration?' said Mr Campion. ‘Let's have something from the heart.'

Mr Barber sighed. ‘You are either a very brave man,' he said, ‘or you are even more foolish than you pretend to be.'

‘Pure courage,' said Mr Campion modestly. ‘I wasn't going to point it out, but since you brought it up –'

Mr Barber silenced him with a gesture.

‘I am glad that this opportunity has occurred,' he said slowly. ‘The desire to confide is very strong in a man of my temperament, Mr Campion. I have never before found myself in a situation in which it was safe for me to indulge this particular desire.'

Campion nodded gravely. The Oriental was fast becoming more and more expansive. He seemed to have grown into a larger, more sophisticated personality than ever before. Now at last it did not seem absurd to connect him with the mysterious figure whose name had been a byword in police circles for so many years.

‘I am the only man,' he said, looking at Campion, a slight hint of pride in his eyes, ‘who ever turned my particular business into something as pleasurable as any other more legitimate concern. That is to say,' he went on with surprising contentment, ‘I am as safe, as well respected, and as undisturbed as any other man of my wealth. I go where I like, live as I choose. I have a villa with a hanging garden on the Bosphorus,
the most delightful of Queen Anne houses in Chelsea. My apartment in New York is one of the loveliest in that most expensive of cities. I have a positive palace in California, and my château behind Juan-les-Pins is famous throughout France. I am an authority on pictures, and I have the finest collection of Reynoldses in the world. My amusements are many. I am a respected citizen in every district where I have a house. I have many friends. And yet' – he shrugged his shoulders – ‘there is no one in whom I dare confide absolutely. But that is my only disadvantage. For the rest, if I made my money out of oil, motor cars, what difference would it make?'

Campion appeared impressed. ‘Your business is done entirely through agents, I suppose?' he said. ‘I can understand carrying it on, but I don't see how you started it. You are the financier of the show? You buy the brains on one side and the executive power on the other?'

‘That is so.' Mr Barber nodded. ‘It is a great pity, my friend,' he remarked, ‘that I should have to kill you. I find you quite intelligent. The question you raise is a simple one. My father was the original Simister.'

Campion stared at him, and for a moment he seemed about to laugh.

‘Good Lord!' he said, ‘you inherited it?'

‘Why not?' The Oriental spread out his hands. ‘There seems to me to be nothing ridiculous in the idea that a man should leave his son a business of this kind any more than any other concern. I never take part in any of my – shall we say? – business transactions, save at the very beginning. My father preserved my anonymity most carefully. When he died I carried on. I do not think that anybody realized that a change had taken place. You see, the organization must necessarily be very scattered and secret. That is how I have preserved my identity.'

‘Wonderful!' said Campion, whose eyes were dancing. ‘Forgive me, Mr Barber, but have you any family?'

The old man hesitated. ‘No, there is no one to follow me.'

‘Hard lines,' said Campion sympathetically.

Mr Barber shrugged his shoulders. ‘I am very much of an
individualist, and' – he laughed confidently – ‘I shall live to be very old.'

Campion leaned across the table.

‘Forgive my asking,' he said. ‘But what's to prevent my killing you, as soon as we stop being matey? I mean, when you dot me one, why shouldn't I dot you one back? Suppose I risk being found with the body? I'm younger than you are, and probably more gifted at horseplay.'

‘I do not think you are so well armed.' There was something terrifying in the calm satisfaction of the tone in which the words were uttered. Mr Barber's large face was mild and affable.

‘Let me explain. In the first place, Mr Campion, I have heard that it was your custom to carry a child's water pistol manufactured to look like a genuine service revolver. I confess I was amused when I heard this. So amused that I also had my little joke. I too possess a water pistol, Mr Campion. It is at this moment trained directly upon your face. I would like to mention in passing that I am considered a remarkable shot. I did not wish to copy you exactly, however, and my pistol maintains a particularly corrosive fluid. It is not humanly possible to stand up against such a fire, and in your confusion an ordinary bullet will finish you easily.'

Campion had not stirred, but a muscle at the hinge of his jaw twitched violently.

‘I didn't realize that you'd planned this
conversazione
,' he said at last.

The man opposite him fancied that his tone had lost some of its buoyancy.

‘Nor had I,' he said easily. ‘I had hoped that it would not be necessary.'

Campion breathed more heavily.

It was not long after midnight, he guessed. Mystery Mile would not be stirring for another five hours at least. Giles, he felt sure, would obey instructions. The remote chance of anyone's noticing the lighted hut in the rainstorm was negligible. For once in Mr Campion's eventful life he was almost subdued.

‘Don't be afraid of boring me,' he said, with a vigorous
attempt at his old flippancy. ‘I love these peeps behind the scenes. Oh, by the way, there is no use wasting your time unduly in bothering the old gentleman, in whose employ I am. The clue he had to your identity was a copy of a child's book – absolutely harmless in itself – and unintelligible to anybody who didn't already suspect you. He thought there was a code message hidden in it, and still thinks so. The book is in my pocket now.'

The Oriental's eyes regarded him narrowly. ‘Do not have any illusions about my little toy, my friend,' he said. ‘Stand up. Put your hands above your head.'

Campion obeyed him. Mr Barber stood up also and from under the edge of the table, where his hand had levelled it, there appeared what was, in the circumstances, the most dangerous-looking weapon Campion had ever seen. It was a small glass syringe. Any doubts he might have had as to the truth of the other man's threat were instantly dispelled.

‘In your left pocket, I see.' The voice was smooth and almost caressing. With his left hand he removed the book deftly.

‘Sit down,' he went on. ‘Now that we understand one another perfectly our conversation will be so much more pleasant.'

‘What little gents we both are,' said Mr Campion. ‘Tell me, do you do all your murders like this?'

Mr Barber moved his left hand deprecatingly. ‘I work from my desk as a rule. I know everything: I am behind every
coup
of any consequence. It was only because Mr Lobbett very foolishly wrote for an art expert that, on receiving that information, I decided to take part personally. I am enjoying the experience immensely.'

Campion did not reply. Mr Barber continued.

‘I was also not very satisfied with my agent, Datchett. I have neglected that little branch of my organization. A man brilliant in his own line, but not a good servant. I ought to have known all about you long ago.'

The first hint of a smile appeared on Mr Campion's face. ‘Stupendous!' he murmured. ‘A sort of departmental store. “Don't Miss Our Bumper Blackmail Basement. Wholesale
Murder, First Floor. Kidnapping and Hosiery on Your left.”'

Mr Barber was not listening to him. His left hand still rested upon the little green-and-gold-bound children's book. He tapped it gently with a heavy forefinger.

‘It recalls an incident which I had forgotten – an accident of twenty years ago. Coulson was the only man with whom I ever had direct personal dealings. I was comparatively young, and this desire to confide was very strong in me. One day he asked me if I knew the identity of Simister himself – if I had ever seen him. Foolishly, I confessed that I had. Ever afterwards he bothered me for the truth. Frankly, I was amused by it, and one day I pointed to this book which lay upon the counter of a second-hand bookshop which was his headquarters. I fancy he thought I had brought the book with me. “There is your clue,” said I. I never saw him again. The incident had slipped my memory completely, which shows one, my friend Campion,' he added with sudden sententiousness, ‘that a foolish act is much more dangerous than an evil one.'

Campion nodded.

‘There's one more thing I'd like to know,' he said. ‘What had your friend Datchett got against old Swithin Cush?'

Mr Barber shrugged his shoulders.

‘How should I know?' he said. ‘A lot of Datchett's business shocked me. It was so small. That Kettle – he should never have been entrusted with anything. I was ashamed that he should be even remotely in my service.'

‘That's the spirit,' said Campion. ‘I was interested in Swithin Cush, it seemed to me impossible that such a man should have a secret.'

Mr Barber shook his head. ‘A secret is never impossible,' he observed. ‘Look at me, for instance.'

‘If it's not being nosey,' the young man remarked slowly, ‘I should be very interested to know how you intend to get away with your reputation all pure and virgie and our Albert's poor little mucked-up corp. lying about? I may be crude, but the question of the body has always worried me.'

‘That will not be difficult.' The Oriental spoke confidently. ‘After I had sent the telegram which I knew would bring you
here, my agents came down here, waited until the village had retired – and then set upon the servants and drugged them as you found them. They had orders to do that and then remove themselves. I arrived upon the scene immediately afterwards. To them, as to everyone else, I am Fergusson Barber, the art expert. I waited for you, as you found me. What more simple, then? I shall go back, change my boots, which will be necessary after this rain. I shall even drug myself.'

‘Don't forget the footmarks,' said Mr Campion. ‘They're very hot on them over here.'

Mr Barber nodded. ‘I had thought of that,' he agreed. ‘But you ought to know that to follow footmarks on a saltmarsh is an impossibility. My alibi will be perfect – especially since both Judge Lobbett and young Paget saw me at the same time you did.'

The Turk spoke quite seriously. ‘I shall have a beautiful Romney as a memento of my visit. It is quite genuine, by the way – one of the loveliest specimens I have ever seen. I shall have it put up for sale, discredited by good authorities – it may be necessary to substitute a copy for that – and sold quite cheaply to one of my agents.

‘But the time moves on, my friend. It sounds as if the storm were clearing. Such a delightful conversation – it is a pity that it should ever have to close.'

‘Something occurs to me,' said Campion, looking up. ‘I have just composed my epitaph, you might see if you could get it put over my grave. No vulgar antique lettering either; good Roman Caps. Now listen carefully, because I should hate you to get it wrong.'

He was speaking with intense seriousness, and the Turk was amused. His veering eyes watched the young man tolerantly, but always he held the deadly syringe ready for the first sign of violence.

‘No text,' said Campion. ‘Just this, neatly and sincerely inscribed:

Here lie I, poor Albert Campion,

don't forget to get the scansion right.'

He recited the rhyme earnestly, his long thin hand beating out the rhyme on the rough table:

‘Death was bad, but Life –
was champion
!'

On the last word his voice rose to a note of triumph, and with a gesture of amazing swiftness he swept the lamp from the table, dropping his head sharply as he did so.

Instantly something soft and horrible splattered over his shoulder, and the acid burning through his clothes ate deep into the flesh beneath, an almost paralyzing agony. The lantern crashed on the floor and, the draught catching it, went out, leaving the hut in complete darkness.