The Milliner's Hat Mystery (21 page)

“I can help you there, I think. The woman was recommended to Miss Hellier by a Mrs Pearson. I must add that the woman Dodds seemed able to obtain as much of the drug as she wanted.”

“Thanks to the information you have given me, I need not see Miss Hellier today. I hope that under your care she will continue to improve.”

“Thank you, and for my part I am grateful for the help and forbearance shown to us by the police.”

A
S SOON AS
they were in the car Walker spoke. “So Mrs Pearson was lying when she said that she had no knowledge of Alice Dodds.”

“She was, but the important feature is that she should think it worth while to lie over such a trivial matter; she must have had a strong reason: she may have been afraid that Dodds would give her away as a purveyor of drugs.”

“I should think that's a strong enough reason. You don't think that it had something to do with that ten pound note that Dodds changed at the bank?”

“I don't think that Mrs Pearson murdered and robbed Pitt if that's what you mean. Pitt withdrew that money from the bank on Friday and was murdered on the following day; he had time to dispose of some money in those twenty-four hours before his death. There's one fact that I don't want to lose sight of, and that is that the chauffeur Arthur Green and Alice Dodds were in Mrs Pearson's service at the same time.”

“Don't you think that the chauffeur might have some useful information he could give?”

“I do, but for the present he won't, and Alice Dodds can't tell what they know. Now, with these two men we are going to see at Newquay it may be different. Men of that type are very apt to squeal if they think they can save their own skin by giving their pals away. They've told us this incredible story about the bandit who murdered Pitt and they know it's up to them to help us to prove their story. If there was anyone who had the motive of revenge or robbery for killing Pitt, they must have some idea of his identity. I'm going to question them about Thelusson, although Mr Brooklyn scouted the idea of Thelusson being the murderer.”

“I suppose you've never formed a theory that it was Mr Brooklyn himself? When you get one of these cases mixed up with drugs and jealousies and losses at cards, nothing would surprise one.”

Vincent laughed. “I got beyond any theory of that kind by finding that Mr Brooklyn had a watertight alibi for that Saturday morning.”

As they were approaching Newquay Vincent remarked: “We cannot see any of the prisoners tonight; that must wait until tomorrow morning, but we can have a talk with the police inspector, who may have something useful to tell us.”

The car drew up at the police station. The station sergeant relieved them by saying that the inspector would be found upstairs; if they would take the trouble to go up to the first door on the left, he would announce their arrival on his house telephone.

There was an air of relief about the inspector when he shook hands with them. “I fear,” he said, “that you can't see any of the prisoners tonight; they will be brought in under escort tomorrow morning in ample time for their appearance in the Court, but it may interest you to know that the two women assert that they are not legally married to the men, and each woman is demanding to be represented by her Consul—in the one case the Austrian and in the other the Russian Consul. Whether these gentlemen will instruct solicitors to represent them at the hearing tomorrow I do not know.”

“How did they communicate with their Consuls?”

“The governor of the prison allowed them the use of his telephone for the purpose this afternoon. He rang me up to tell me.”

Vincent smiled. “I suppose they are counting upon being tried in this country. If they thought that their trial would take place in France they would begin running round in circles.”

“I understand that their defence will be that they knew nothing whatever about drugs being concealed in the hat trimmings; that they bought the hats in good faith from a milliner whose name they gave and they demand that she be sent for.”

“They are quite intelligent enough to know that it is very unlikely that this milliner would come and that we can't force her to come. What they don't seem to have realized is that with the aid of a Paris police official whom I know, they could be taken over to France to be tried there and I fancy that it would not be a pleasing prospect for them. The fact is that the French authorities are more in earnest about the drug traffic than we are in England. They have just run to ground a chemical factory where heroin was being made, and closed it. These women were concerned in distributing the poison; they will get no mercy from a French tribunal. Look here, Inspector, can your telephone officer get on to M. Goron” (he spelt the name) “at the Ministry of the Interior, Paris, tomorrow morning at nine? I'll be here to take the call.”

“Certainly, I'll warn him at once. The same man will be on duty at nine.”

“Good! Then I can get my telephoning over before the prisoners arrive here.”

There was nothing more to be done that night. Vincent and Walker went off to their hotel carrying their suitcases.

At nine the next morning Vincent found himself standing over the telephone operator who was ringing up Paris. There was the usual delay, but at last the answer came in the strangulated accent of a far-off French voice trying to pronounce English.

When Vincent was satisfied that he heard Goron at the other end of the wire, he explained briefly the kind of defence that the women were relying upon: “They are throwing the entire blame on to that milliner in the rue Duphot; of course they know that she will not come over to give evidence against them.”

“Have no fear, my friend. I want those two women here, and with your permission I will come over and fetch them. I have also other fish to fry—is that not what you say? M. Laurillard, the deputy of whom you know, is taking a holiday in England at the house of his daughter, we believe. You have her address. It is a holiday demanded by his state of health, since at this moment the air of France would not be conducive to the recovery of his peace of mind.”

Vincent laughed. “You have a very neat way of putting these things, my friend.”

“So you see, I have two missions to perform in England. First to question M. Laurillard, who has taken himself off to avoid me, secondly to bring back with me those two women. I shall bring with me a female officer of the Sûreté to escort them.”

“But will they go with you?” asked Vincent. “Drug trafficking is not an extraditable offence.”

“Quite true, but theft is. They stole bill-heads from Madame Germaine, who is prepared to swear if necessary that they have stolen hats from her also. Have no fear, if they will not come willingly, then I shall bring with me extradition warrants.”

“Well, you know your own business best. In this country I should not dare to go so far, but our courts never question an extradition warrant. When will you arrive in England?”

“This afternoon I shall leave by air.”

“Then I may be back in time to meet you at Croydon Aerodrome.”

The thought of meeting his old friend Goron was a great solace to Vincent, who had been inclined to gird at the legal circumlocution prevalent in his own country as compared with France, where the liberty of the subject was in many directions less consulted than in England. He told the inspector the result of his telephone conversation.

“In that case,” said the inspector, “if the women will not go voluntarily I will get the magistrates to back the extradition warrant and we shall be rid of these two creatures, which will be a great relief to everybody concerned. When do you count upon being able to hand me the warrants?”

“Early tomorrow morning, before the Court sits, I hope.”

“Very good, Mr Vincent; I'll get the magistrates to remand the women until tomorrow. Will you want to see them before they appear?”

“No, not the women; only the men. I suppose that they have not expressed a wish to make statements since I last saw them.”

“Nothing fresh, but both men wrote out statements in prison, which the governor has forwarded to me, containing the story they told you.”

“Well, I'd like to see Lewis first. Of the two I think that he is the more likely to squeal.”

Vincent had barely time to dictate to Walker notes of his telephone conversation, when the arrival of the prisoners was announced. Lewis was brought into the room by the station sergeant.

“Sit down,” said Vincent, who knew the value of having a man's eyes on the level with his own when questioning him. “You made a statement the other day to account for the murder of Mr Pitt. On the face of it your statement was difficult to believe and it is now up to you to modify it or strengthen it by giving additional particulars. Did you know Mr Pitt well?”

“I guess I knew him as well as the other people who played cards with him did.”

“When and how did you first meet him?”

“That's quite simple. My friend and I engaged rooms in lodgings in Bloomsbury and he had rooms in the same house. We used to pass each other on the stairs and pass the time of day as you say in this country.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Getting on for two years ago.”

“When did you first become mixed up with him in selling drugs?”

“I've told you before that I've never been mixed up in the drug traffic.”

Vincent held up his hand. “I'd better tell you at once, Mr Lewis, that the French police have just raided the factory in Belfort from which you obtained your stock in trade, so lying about it will not help you. We know more than you think. Let me remind you that in this country the punishment for murder is death, while the punishment for traffic in drugs may be as low as imprisonment for a month with deportation at the end of it. You can only help yourself out of a charge of murder by telling me the plain, unvarnished truth.”

“Well, I guess you have me cornered, so get on with your questions and I'll answer them.”

“I have already asked you how long ago it was that you got mixed up with Mr Pitt in selling drugs.”

“Well, I'll tell you, and you can believe me or not, as you like. We lodged in the same house and one night I and my friend needed a corkscrew. I set out to borrow one from Pitt. I tapped at his door and pushed it a little way open, and there he was sitting at his table with a heap of accounts before him and a camel's hair brush in his hand. There was a little cardboard box with two bottles in it. I knew the stuff. It takes out ink without leaving a trace. He turned green and swept a newspaper on to the table to hide everything and asked me what I wanted in no very polite manner. He said he hadn't got a corkscrew and got rid of me quick. I consulted my friend, who said that he'd been told that the man was cashier in a big bank, so we thought it our duty to tell him where he got off. It wasn't what you would call a pleasant interview with smiles and handshakes, because we put it to him straight that he was robbing his employers and altering the books to hide what he was doing. Of course, we took the high line with him—the Sunday-school line—and talked of acquainting his employers. That brought him down with a bump. So we struck a bargain. We told him that we had stuff to dispose of and if he found us customers for it, which was easy for a man in his position, we'd say nothing about what we'd seen, otherwise we'd feel it our duty to put his directors wise.”

“How did you think that a bank cashier could find customers for drugs?”

“We had a better plan than that when we found that the guy thought of nothing but making money. We got him to take that big house in Hampstead.”

“Did you pay the rent?” asked Vincent.

“No fear. The guy had made thousands already out of the bank and we persuaded him that he could make thousands more. When we got the house in Hampstead going we introduced one or two people to him and they introduced others, and what with his card parties and peddling the dope and his winnings out of suckers at the card tables, he was a warm man.”

“Why did he decide to run away?”

“He got the wind up, because the bank was getting nosey.”

“And so you offered to provide him with a passage to France in a motorboat.”

“Of course, we couldn't desert a pal when he was in trouble.”

“Well, that's clear as far as it goes, but you introduced a number of people to him and they introduced friends of their own. You knew them all and I put it to you that you would know if someone owed him a grudge, sufficiently strong to induce him to commit murder.”

“Well, I don't know that, and you may feel sure that if I did I'd have told you before to bear out our statement.”

“You guessed that he would be taking a big sum of money with him when he resolved to bolt.”

“Why, certainly.”

“Did anyone else know that he was leaving the country?”

He hesitated a moment. “Certainly there was one person, but it was a lady.”

“You mean Mrs Pearson,” said Vincent quietly.

“You guys from Scotland Yard seem to know everything. That lady was giving him letters of introduction to her friends in France.”

“You mean her father, M. Laurillard.”

“I do.”

“She used to receive the dope from her father in stout envelopes by registered post addressed c/o Mr Pitt.”

“She did. But that doesn't give her a motive for having Pitt done in. He was more use to her alive than dead.”

“Was she the only person besides yourselves who knew that he was leaving the country?”

“Well, he had one friend who might have known it.”

“You mean Thelusson?”

“Why should you think of him?”

“Pitt was paying large sums of money to him.”

“But they had no quarrel.”

“I suppose Thelusson is mixed up in this drug business.”