The Rodriguez Affair (1970) (3 page)

“Would he recognise them again?”

“He doesn’t think so. They had their coat collars turned up and hats pulled down low over their faces.”

“Did he see them go away?”

“He caught a glimpse of two men leaving the hotel about half an hour later. Just the back view as they went out of the door. He believes it was the same two men.”

“So they were the men who killed Harry Banner?”

“We don’t know that,” Alletson said.

“It seems pretty obvious.”

“In my business we try to avoid jumping to the obvious conclusion. It isn’t always the right one.”

“Didn’t anybody hear any noise coming from this room? A struggle or something of that kind.”

“Nothing unusual. Besides, killing a man with a knife can be quite a silent operation—when it is done by an expert. Whoever killed Mr. Banner was certainly an expert.”

“What makes you think that?”

“There was only one thrust. It was enough.”

“Have you found the knife?”

Alletson shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately, no.”

Cade looked again out of the window. The view had become no less depressing. The day seemed to be trying to make up its mind whether to be rainy or merely grey and cold. When he turned his gaze back to the room he saw that two ambulancemen had come in with a stretcher.

“All right,” Alletson said. “You can take him away now.”

They lifted Banner on to the stretcher and draped a blanket over him. They had a little difficulty in getting
their burden out of the room; the corridor was narrow and they had to tilt the stretcher. Cade felt an urge to shout at them, warning them to be careful because it was his friend Harry Banner that they were carrying, but he said nothing. They managed to get out of the room without mishap.

“Did Mr. Banner say anything about being followed from Venezuela?” Alletson asked.

Cade glanced at him in surprise. “Why should he have been followed?”

“I don’t know why. But it seems probable that he was.”

“I don’t see it.”

“He’d hardly been back in this country long enough to make enemies.”

“What makes you think he was killed by enemies? The motive could have been simple robbery.”

“His wallet was still in his pocket. There was money in it, does that look like a simple robbery to you?”

Cade was silent.

Alletson was regarding him keenly. “They could, of course, have been looking for something else, something more valuable perhaps. I suppose you couldn’t make any suggestion as to what that something else might have been?”

“No,” Cade said. “I couldn’t.”

“This going away that he proposed—you don’t think it was to avoid someone? You don’t think he might have been going into hiding for a time?”

“It’s a possibility,” Cade admitted. “But from what I remember of Harry in the old days, he was not the kind of man to be easily scared.”

“Nor a man to give away information under pressure?”

“It would be like opening a clam.”

Alletson drummed with his fingers on the window-sill. “I wonder whether they got what they came for?”

“That’s anybody’s guess,” Cade said.

Alletson nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I suppose it is.”

Cade made his own way back to the flat. Alletson had offered him transport but he had refused.

“I think I’ll take a walk. I could do with some fresh air to clear my head.”

“If you think of anything that might help while you’re walking, let me know.”

“Like what?”

“You tell me, Mr. Cade. Here’s the phone number.”

Cade’s flat was on the third floor of a red-brick building that had been erected in the 1930s. The lift was having one of its frequent spells out of order and he had to go up by the stairs. He let himself in with his key and closed the door behind him, and he knew at once that he had had visitors. The odour of cigar smoke told him so. He never smoked cigars.

They had made a thorough search, and if the parcel had been there they would undoubtedly have found it. Cade guessed that they had kept watch on the flat and had waited until he had left in the police car before breaking in. The lock on the door was the kind that could be forced with a strip of celluloid; it would not have bothered them much.

Cade was glad that he had had the foresight to take
the parcel with him. Prescott would not have protected it; Prescott was lying on the floor with a lot of other books. Cade did not think the visitors had been reading about the Conquest of Mexico.

He decided that the time had come to find out just what it was that Harry Banner had died for. He pulled the parcel out of his pocket, picked up a pair of scissors and cut the wrapping. Under the wrapping was a small wooden box that had once contained cigars. There were no cigars in it now; instead there was a small chamois leather bag fastened with a string. In the bag were a number of very fine diamonds.

C
ADE LOOKED
at the diamonds and wondered just how Banner had managed to get them into the country. It was a question that was never likely to be answered now and it was not really important anyway. The important fact was that he had done so. And much good it had done him.

But there were other questions that needed answers. How, for example, had Banner got possession of the diamonds in the first place, and had he had any right to them? And the men who had killed him—had they any right to them either? One thing was certain about those characters: they were prepared to go to a considerable amount of trouble to gain, or regain, possession of them. Which was not altogether surprising, for they were large stones, and there were, as he discovered when he counted them, no fewer than twenty. It was a nice round number, very, very nice indeed.

He picked up one of the diamonds and weighed it in his hand. He was not an expert on precious stones, but he knew enough to realise that this little lot was almost
certainly worth several thousands of pounds.

“Well, well, well,” he muttered, “Sentimental value, eh, Harry?” A lot of people could get sentimental about things of that description.

In fact, when he came to think about it, he was not altogether devoid of sentimentality himself.

He put the diamonds back in the chamois leather bag, tied the string and dropped the bag into his jacket pocket

After that he rang up the police and reported that his flat had been broken into.

Detective Superintendent Alletson himself came along.

“You took your time about letting us know,” he said. It sounded like an accusation.

“I didn’t come straight back,” Cade said.

Alletson grunted; he did not look particularly pleased with life. He might have looked less pleased if he had known that Cade was withholding information.

“Anything missing?”

“As far as I can tell, nothing at all.”

“You wouldn’t have any idea about what the intruders were looking for, I suppose?”

“It’s anybody’s guess.”

“I’m asking you to guess,” Alletson said.

“I haven’t a clue.”

Alletson winced. “I never did care for that expression. Do you think this business could have had any connection with that visit Mr. Banner paid you yesterday evening?”

“I don’t see how it could.”

“Well, put it this way. Suppose those two men who
went to the hotel with Banner last night couldn’t find what they were looking for in his room, and suppose they found your address in his notebook and decided maybe he’d left what they wanted in your keeping. Then suppose they waited until you were out of the way and then gave this place a going-over. How does that sound to you?”

“It’s an interesting theory,” Cade said. Alletson was certainly no fool. Which was not really surprising, since he would hardly have reached his present rank in the C.I.D. if he had been.

“But you still can’t suggest what the object of the search was?”

“No,” Cade said.

Alletson grunted again; the grunt managed to convey a certain amount of disbelief. He looked at the bookcase. The three volumes of Prescott were still lying on the floor where the intruders had thrown them.

“It must have been something that could have been hidden in a bookcase; otherwise they would not have pulled out the books.”

“Plenty of things could be hidden in a bookcase.”

Alletson regarded him with a certain amount of disapproval. “You’re not being very helpful, are you?”

“I’m doing my best,” Cade said.

“God keep me from your worst.”

“Have you found those two men?”

“This is London. It’s a big city.”

“I suppose you’ve checked with the airlines, that sort of thing? People coming in from Venezuela.”

Alletson gave him a sour look. “Are you trying to teach me my business, Mr. Cade?”

Cade gathered that Alletson had checked. He also gathered that if Alletson had picked up any information he was not going to hand it round to all and sundry.

“By the way,” Cade said, “I’m thinking of taking a trip down to Venezuela myself.”

Alletson’s chin jerked up. “For what purpose?”

“I’m a journalist. I might pick up a story.”

“You wouldn’t be thinking of carrying out some kind of private investigation, would you?”

“What makes you think I should wish to do that?”

“Some people always think they can do better than the police. Fancy themselves a lot of little Sherlock Holmses.”

“I don’t even fancy myself a little Sexton Blake.”

“Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t go just yet,” Alletson said. “I may need you here.”

“Are you telling me I’m not to leave the country?”

“I’m not in a position to stop you if you really insist on going.” Alletson seemed to be breathing a trifle hard. “I’m just saying I’d rather you postponed your trip for a while, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry,” Cade said. “I’ll be back in time for the trial. You haven’t caught your men yet.”

“I am perfectly aware of that,” Alletson said. And he looked rather savage about it.

When Alletson and his assistant had departed Cade put on his coat and left the flat A man was standing in the entrance to the building; he was wearing a black raincoat and a felt hat; he was thick-set and slightly less than average height and he had a dark, pock-marked face and high cheekbones.

Cade could not help noticing him because he was so obviously trying to give the impression that he was completely uninterested in Cade. As Cade went past he pulled a small cigar from his pocket and lit it with a match.

Cade had walked about thirty paces down the street when he glanced back and saw the man with the cigar also leave the building. He hesitated a moment at the pavement as though undecided about which direction to take and glanced up at the sky. Cade turned his head to the front and walked on for another dozen paces, then glanced back again. As he had expected, the man with the cigar was following.

Cade passed two side-turnings, then crossed the street and continued on the other side. A little later the man with the cigar crossed also. It was so obvious that Cade could have laughed. Either the man was a very inexperienced tail or he took Cade for a fool.

They came to a park enclosed by iron railings. At the far end of the park was the entrance to an Underground station. Cade walked down the steps and came to the small booking-hall. He bought a ticket to Holborn and crossed to the lift which was waiting. Just as the gates closed he saw the man with the cigar hurrying down the steps into the booking-hall.

The lift stopped, the gates clashed open and Cade made his way to the platform serving the southbound trains. Only about half a dozen people were on the platform. Cade walked to the far end, then turned and waited for the man with the cigar to appear. A few seconds later he did so. He too walked towards the end of the platform, but stopped before reaching Cade. They
stood about ten yards apart and waited for the train to come in, ignoring each other.

The train came out of the tunnel like a maggot pushing its way out of an apple. It stopped with a hiss of brakes and the doors opened. Cade got in first; the man with the cigar followed him in. There were very few people in the carriage and Cade sat down on the seat nearest the doors. The man with the cigar sat down on the opposite side. He had smoked the cigar half-way down and seemed to be enjoying it He was not wearing gloves and when he lifted his hand to take the cigar out of his mouth Cade saw that he had stubby fingers and was wearing a gold signet ring. His teeth were discoloured and uneven. He was not by any reckoning a handsome man.

The train stopped at a number of stations and the seats began to fill. Cade did not move. The man with the cigar seemed to be studying the advertisements with great attention. They came to Warren Street, Goodge Street, Tottenham Court Road. Cade waited until the doors were starting to close, then jumped up from his seat and made a dive for them. He just managed to squeeze through as they slid together. The man with the cigar was a moment too late; glancing back Cade caught a glimpse of his face on the other side of the doors before the train gathered speed and carried him away.

Cade changed to the Central Line and a few minutes later was getting out at Holborn.

Holden Bales had a small workshop up two flights of carpetless stairs in an ancient building not far from Hatton Garden. The smallness and apparent dinginess
of the establishment were misleading: Holden Bales employed only four people but he had a very thriving business. From this and other such unlikely-seeming places came those magnificent rings and bracelets and necklaces that might eventually adorn the rich and the famous, royalty, film stars, singers, ballerinas, duchesses and countesses, ambassadors’ wives and the wives of Greek shipowners; at these cramped benches splendid jewels were fixed in equally splendid settings of gold or platinum by men in grubby overalls who had perfected their skills by years of apprenticeship and practice.

Holden Bales himself would never have impressed anyone who did not know him as a person of substance. He was a thin, round-shouldered man of about forty-five with a large bald head fringed at the back and sides with the unkempt remnants of sandy hair, and his nose looked as though it had keen kept so much to the grindstone that it had been ground to the sharpest point imaginable in such an organ. He always bought cheap ready-made suits and wore them until they almost dropped off him, and quite frequently he forgot to shave for two or three days on end. Added to this, he was known and respected by everyone of any importance in the London jewellery trade and he also happened to be Robert Cade’s cousin.

Cade mounted the two flights of stairs, pushed open a door that seemed to be hiding away in a dark corner, and found himself in the hot, close workshop with its characteristic and undefinable odour and its suggestion of a medieval alchemist’s laboratory. Bales was standing by one of the benches apparently conferring with a grey-haired man on the subject of some design for a tiara,
but when Cade entered he left the bench and came to greet him.

“Bob, my boy! This is an unexpected pleasure. Haven’t seen you for months. What have you been doing with yourself? Keeping your nose clean, I hope.”

“You bet I have,” Cade said.

“Good, good. Ethel will be glad to hear that. She worries about you, Bob, she really does.”

He seemed genuinely pleased to see his cousin, and Cade felt a little guilty because he had a standing invitation to go down to Holden’s place in Surrey and very seldom did so. Ethel, Holden’s wife, was the fly in the ointment; she was a large, domineering woman who always lectured him on his moral duty as a writer or some such nonsense. Moreover, she was about the worst cook he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. One day poor old Holden would drop dead from heartburn and that would be just one more life sacrificed on the altar of the domestic dining-table.

“Tell her not to worry,” Cade said. And then: “I want your help, Holden.”

Bales’s face took on an expression of deep concern. “So you are in trouble. Well, if it’s financial you know you can count on me. But don’t mention it to Ethel.”

“Thanks, Holden; I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need money. It’s something rather different Look, can we talk in private?”

“Come into my office.”

The office was a room not much bigger than a fairsized cupboard with grimy windows which seemed more intent on keeping light out than on letting it in. There were a couple of hard chairs and a table, a steel filing
cabinet, a safe, and a clutter of ledgers and loose papers.

Bales closed the door and said: “Well, what is it then?”

“This,” Cade said. He pulled the chamois leather bag from his pocket and tipped the contents out on to the table.

Holden Bales made a faint hissing noise through pursed lips. “You have been busy. Where, in heaven’s name, did you collect those?”

“Shall we skip that question for the moment?” Cade suggested. “What I really want you to do is give me some idea of what those stones are worth.”

Bales said nothing. He took a magnifying glass from his pocket and screwed it into his eye. With the aid of this he examined each stone in turn. Then he took them to a balance and weighed them. He made some calculations with the help of a pencil and a sheet of paper, hummed a snatch of
La
donna
e
mobile
and finally treated Cade to a long hard stare.

“Well?” Cade said. “How much?”

“In round figures—one hundred and forty thousand pounds.”

Cade whistled. “As much as that?”

“Certainly not less.”

“That’s a lot of little potatoes.”

“It’s a lot of money too,” Bales said.

Cade looked at the diamonds and then at Bales. “Now, Holden, I’m going to ask you to do something else for me.”

“Is it within the law?”

“Oh, I should think so.”

“You don’t sound very certain,”

“I’m not a lawyer.”

“Well, fire away,” Bales said. “Let me hear the worst.”

“I want you to keep these stones for me for a while.”

Bales frowned slightly. He did not look at all happy. “Before I agree to that I think you ought to tell me something about them. How they came into your possession, where they came from, that sort of thing.”

“They were left with me by a friend,” Cade said.

“And the friend?”

“He died.”

“Unfortunate,” Bales said. “Did the stones legally belong to him?”

“I’ve no reason to believe they didn’t.”

“Did he tell you they did?”

“He didn’t tell me anything about them.”

Bales still looked worried. “It all sounds highly irregular. Why do you want me to keep them?”

“I’m leaving shortly for Venezuela.”

“For how long?”

“A few weeks maybe. I’m not sure. Depends on events.”

“Has your journey anything to do with these?”

“Could have—in a way.”

Bales hesitated.

“You don’t need to worry,” Cade said. “You won’t be involved in any funny business. All you have to do is hang on to the diamonds until I come back. Then I’ll take them off your hands.”