A Hundred Thousand Dragons (24 page)

Rackham turned to the two policemen. ‘Go and see if you can find them. What are they wearing, Stanton?'

‘The man's got a dark overcoat and soft hat and has a very full beard. The woman's fair-haired and wearing a blue cloche hat and blue coat.'

Jack nursed his head once more as the policemen set off. ‘Just because she ran off with him doesn't mean she's heart and soul on his side, you know. I'd just frightened her silly by talking about being an accessory to murder. It must have scared her witless, seeing Arthur and Belle bear down on her.'

‘If you say so,' said Rackham dryly.

‘Incidentally, Bill, you guessed right. She's Miss Kirsch and the woman in the Hammer Valley.'

‘So I gather,' said Rackham. ‘My landlady sent your message round. I set off right away and was hunting round the Tottenham Court Road end of Melbourne Street, when I saw there was a flap on and was told a man had been assaulted in an alley off Oxford Street. I thought you were probably at the bottom of it. Honestly, Jack, you might have known you were walking into trouble.'

‘Go easy,' pleaded Jack. ‘I've got a dickens of a headache. And really, Bill, what else could I do? I couldn't let her simply walk away, could I? If she really is staying at the Stirling, that's one more lead than we had before.'

‘I suppose so,' said Rackham. ‘I'd better get on to that right away.' He looked at Jack critically. ‘You don't look up to much. How are you getting home tonight?'

‘I'm driving,' said Stanton. ‘I parked my car in Jack's garage.'

‘Well, if you'll take my advice, you'll go back to Hesperus.'

Jack started to protest but Rackham waved him quiet. ‘I'm not lumbering myself with a bloke who's just been coshed.' He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. ‘Off you go, Jack. You look all in. And don't worry. I'll ring you tomorrow.'

TWELVE

B
ill Rackham was as good as his word. The following afternoon he telephoned, but the news was, predictably, negative. ‘The Stirling Hotel deny all knowledge of either a Miss Kirsch or Mrs Von Erlangen,' he said.

‘I'm not surprised. When I asked her which hotel she was staying at, she had to think. She obviously knew the Stirling though, and was close enough to be on the steps of the place when I went to meet her. What about the other hotels on Melbourne Street? My guess is she's staying at one of those.'

‘Well, I checked those, of course, and drew a blank as far as any real information goes. However, I had my suspicious of the owner of the Balmoral, which is next door. He's a foreigner of some sort, a big greasy beggar who I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw an elephant, the type who'd say black's white for a couple of quid. There's no trace of Craig, of course, not that I expected to find any.'

‘He seems to have disappeared like an eel into mud,' agreed Jack. ‘It's surprising he's still around. I thought he'd be on his way East by now.'

‘It might have taken him some time to arrange his exit.'

‘True. And he could have hung about for a bit trying to get the watercolours. I don't know if Freya was working under her own steam when she tried to get the watercolours back or if she was prompted by Craig.' His voice sounded doubtful.

‘What is it?' asked Rackham.

‘Well, I would have said that Craig wasn't a thief. Actually, that could be it, couldn't it? If he finds the gold and comes clean, that'd clear his name of any lingering suspicions he was party to its disappearance.'

‘That's going to do him a fat lot of good if we nail him for murder.'

‘Yes, but we haven't made a fuss about it being murder, have we? As far as the newspapers are concerned it's a tragic accident.'

‘I'm trying to get a toehold on this bloke's character,' complained Rackham. ‘You seem to be saying he wouldn't run off with the gold . . .'

‘I wouldn't have thought so, but I may be wrong.'

‘And yet, at the same time, he wouldn't blink at murder? To say nothing of pulling a knife on you?

‘I was in the way. As for killing Von Erlangen, he'd probably see that as a justified execution. I didn't say he was a nice bloke, Bill, just not a thief. Look, to go back to your search for Freya's hotel. Freya said that she and Von Erlangen hired a car to go down to Vaughan's. If you can find the garage they hired it from, it might give you a line on the hotel.'

There was an exasperated noise followed by a pained silence from the other end of the telephone. ‘Have you the faintest idea of how many garages there are in London?' Rackham demanded.

‘Heaps, I would have said,' replied Jack cheerfully. ‘You could ask the Savoy which garage or garages they usually recommend to guests, and if that draws a blank, you can try the garages round Melbourne Street.'

‘The same Melbourne Street which is between the Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street? Why don't you ask me to do something simple, like find a needle in a haystack?'

‘Because if you do find the garage,' continued Jack, cutting through Rackham's protests, ‘you might find a witness to what actually happened in the Hammer Valley. If Von Erlangen drove the car himself, we're no further forward, but if he hired a driver then you need to speak to the bloke.'

Once more there was silence while this sunk in. ‘Blimey, Jack, you're right,' said Rackham enthusiastically. ‘OK, I'll do it. It'll take time, but it'll be worth it. What are your plans for the next few days? I want to keep you posted.'

‘Thanks, Bill, I'd appreciate it. I'll be back in London on Sunday night for a few days. I've got a stint at the magazine, then I'm coming back for Isabelle's wedding.'

‘Right you are,' said Rackham. ‘I hope we can dig up something before the wedding, at any rate. Incidentally, I spoke to Ashley this morning.'

Jack felt his stomach knot. ‘Did you tell him?'

‘Yes, of course I did. He'd guessed something was the matter, you know. You are an idiot, Jack. How did you expect him to react?' Jack didn't answer. ‘Don't worry.'

‘Thanks, Bill,' said Jack quietly. ‘Thanks.'

He put the phone down, but before he left the hall it rang again. It was Ashley.

‘Haldean? Is that you?' Ashley sounded ill at ease. ‘Look, before I say anything else, Inspector Rackham told me what happened with you and this Von Erlangen character. He said you weren't sure how I'd react.'

‘No,' said Jack evenly. ‘I'm not proud of it, Ashley.'

Ashley snorted dismissively. ‘You young fool. Give me some credit. I knew something was wrong. My word, when we do finally get our hands on Craig, I'm going to shake him by the hand. I've never heard anything like it in my life. I know there were some pretty beastly stories going the rounds in the war, but I thought most of them were propaganda. It took my breath away when Inspector Rackham told me what you'd been through. By jingo, I feel Craig deserves a medal.'

‘Thanks, Ashley,' said Jack. He was more moved than he could say and hoped his voice wouldn't betray him.

‘If Craig hadn't seen him off, I'd be tempted to do the job myself. Anyway, that's that.'

And knowing Ashley, that was that. Jack felt such a surge of gratitude to the older man, he was glad that Ashley couldn't see his face. ‘All I can say is thanks, Ashley.' He paused. ‘Is that why you rang?'

‘Partly. I wanted to tell you I've just telephoned Vaughan's house to arrange another interview.' Ashley paused.

‘And?' prompted Jack.

‘And I spoke to Oxley, Vaughan's butler. Vaughan's left the country.'

‘He's done what?'

‘He's gone. He left yesterday morning. He told Oxley he expected to be away for some time, and although he didn't say exactly where he was going, he's headed East. I suppose he's going to look for this lost city.'

Jack clicked his tongue. ‘I suppose he is.' He paused for a moment. ‘Look, Ashley, we are right, aren't we? I mean Vaughan can't be up to anything dodgy, can he? I don't like him chasing off like this.'

‘Well, I'm not crazy about it, but I think we've proved as much as it can be proved that Vaughan is in the clear.'

‘That's true enough,' said Jack doubtfully. ‘Well, good luck to him. I don't know as I'd care to wander about the Hejaz on the off-chance.'

‘I was wondering if he was in any danger. I heard what happened to you last night and if Craig turns up, he might not be too happy to see Vaughan.'

‘No, he wouldn't. Still, unless Vaughan knows a lot more than he told us, I imagine his chances of finding the city are nil.'

‘If he kept information to himself, he's only got himself to blame. Incidentally, would Miss Rivers and Captain Stanton think it a liberty if I sent them a wedding present?'

‘I think they'd be very touched. Oddly enough, they're off East as well. They're going to Egypt for their honeymoon. Uncle Phil and Aunt Alice were stationed out there, years ago, and Isabelle's always wanted to see the place.'

‘Well, if they run into Vaughan, tell him to send us a postcard.'

A few days later, Sergeant Munson turned into Taylor Street, an obscure cul-de-sac off the Tottenham Court Road. Taylor Street contained a newsagents, a pie-and-mash shop, a cheap drapers, a Unitarian chapel and, at the end of the road, a commercial garage. According to the brightly coloured metal sign it belonged to The Klassy Kab Motor Hire and Conveyance Company (Prop: J.K. Bellweather). This must be, thought Sergeant Munson, about the fifty-first garage he'd been to.

Sergeant Munson called to the boy washing down an Alvis in the yard, and repeated a version of what he had said so many times that week. ‘Hello, son. Is the boss about?'

‘Mr Bellweather, sir?' asked the youth, putting the cloth in the bucket and wiping his hands on his overalls. ‘Did you want to hire a car?'

‘No,' said Sergeant Munson, producing his warrant card. ‘I'm just making a few enquires. Nothing to get alarmed about.' Or excited by, either, he thought, following the youth into the garage. It was Thursday afternoon and Sergeant Munson was bored to tears. Inspector Rackham himself had checked the garages the Savoy had recommended, and when that proved fruitless, had handed the job to him. However, if Inspector Rackham wanted him to check garages, he'd check garages until he was told to stop, however pointless it was.

‘What did you say the gentleman's name was?' asked Mr Bellweather, picking up the ledger, once Sergeant Munson had explained his business. ‘Madison?'

‘We're not sure what name he used. It might not even be a man.'

Mr Bellweather frowned, running his finger down the page. ‘There's no one called Madison, but we did have a booking on the 27th which might be the one you're looking for.' Munson felt a jolt of excitement. ‘Look, here we are,' said Mr Bellweather, pointing out the entry. ‘It was a Mr Smith, staying at the Balmoral Hotel on Melbourne Street. He hired our Crossley 25-30 h.p. all-weather five-seater for the day at a cost of six pounds, four and sixpence. He took it down to . . . Sussex. That's right. I see the driver's made a note that he arrived back just after ten o'clock. Who was it? Oh yes. Bert – that's Gilbert – Faraday.'

‘He was the driver?' asked Sergeant Munson quickly. This is what Inspector Rackham wanted. ‘Would it be possible to speak to Mr Faraday?'

‘'Fraid not. He's left. He went home that evening and sent a message round the next day to say that he'd found a better job.' Mr Bellweather pursed his lips. ‘These youngsters have no staying power. Someone offers them three pounds a week and they're off. Now, we pay our drivers two pounds five bob, but the money's safe. These big money places are here today, gone tomorrow.'

‘Was Faraday friendly with any of the men here?'

Mr Bellweather thought for a moment. ‘Crutchley's your best bet. I think he's in the garage now if you want a word with him.'

Paul Crutchley put down the contact breaker he was cleaning and gave Sergeant Munson a worried smile. ‘I'm glad someone's taking an interest in poor old Bert at last. I can't make it out. I haven't seen hair nor hide of him since last week. No one has.' He shrugged. ‘It's probably something and nothing, but I'd like to know who the geezer was that turned up for Bert's wages.'

‘His wages?' asked Sergeant Munson.

‘Yes. The day after he took the Crossley out, a bearded bloke came in and said that Bert had found a better place and could he have his wages? He'd asked this bloke, the one who turned up, to get them for him. You remember that, don't you, boss?' asked Crutchley, turning to Mr Bellweather.

‘I do indeed. I sent him away with a flea in his ear. If Faraday wants his money, he can come and get it himself.'

‘What did this bearded man look like?' asked Munson, concealing his excitement.

Mr Bellweather frowned. ‘I'm not much of a hand at descriptions. I didn't really pay much attention to him because I was annoyed at having been let down.'

‘Yes, I can see that, sir,' said Munson. ‘This Crossley which Mr Smith hired. Is it in the garage by any chance?'

‘It is, as a matter of fact,' said Mr Bellweather. ‘Do you want to see it?'

‘If you don't mind, sir.'

Mr Bellweather led the way out on to the forecourt to where a large, dark blue Crossley was standing. ‘This is it, officer.' He looked on with interest as Sergeant Munson, taking a piece of paper and a block of graphite from his case, knelt down and took an impression of the tyres. ‘Is there something special about the tyres? They're just ordinary Michelins as far as I know.'