The Dark Palace--Murder and mystery in London, 1914 (37 page)

‘So that's his plan!' cried Inchball. ‘How very Bismarckian!'

But Quinn was not convinced. ‘How do these attacks further that objective? Would it not be simpler just to kill Dunwich and Lennox?'

‘We do not know what other pressure he might be bringing to bear on them.
You see what I have done to the woman you loved … You see what I can do to your business interests … Now, give me what I want.
'

‘But why send them the strange packages? A billiard ball and a playing card?'

Macadam thought for a moment about that. ‘The billiard ball painted like an eye seems to convey the message that the recipient is being watched.
I have my eye on you … you cannot escape
.'

‘But in the playing card, the eye was poked out – does that not convey the opposite message?'

‘I confess, sir, I do not have every detail worked out.' Macadam bowed his head, crestfallen.

‘But it is indubitably a connection, Macadam. And precisely the kind of connection we were looking for. Please be so good as to bring the Ford round to the front of the building. I will meet you there. The time has come for another talk with Herr Hartmann, I feel.' He felt Macadam's eyes on him, suddenly expectant. ‘And arm yourself. If what you say about Hartmann is true, he may prove to be a very dangerous individual.'

A
circle of darkness fell from Hartmann's eye. It shattered into pieces on his desk.

‘You appear to have broken your monocle,' Quinn observed as he stepped into the German's office.

Hartmann gave a shrug. ‘It is no matter.' The German eyed him warily. No doubt it did not escape his notice that Quinn and Macadam held their hands in such a way to suggest they were preparing themselves to draw guns. Hartmann remained calm, nonetheless. If he was surprised by the abrupt entrance of two policemen, he gave little indication. ‘How may I help you, gentlemen?'

‘We wish to talk to you about the London Nitrate Company.'

‘I see.'

‘You are the chairman of that company, are you not?'

‘Is that a crime?'

‘Not in itself. Lord Dunwich and Harry Lennox also have an interest in that company, do they not?'

‘Yes, of course. This is publicly available information. No doubt you discovered it by looking in the Stock Exchange Yearbook, though why you would wish to do so, I cannot imagine.'

‘Last night there was a bomb outrage at the offices of the
Daily Clarion
. That may be construed as an attack on something very dear to Harry Lennox. The murder of Dolores Novak could be interpreted in a similar way. Lord Dunwich was in love with her.'

‘Are you sure? I cannot help thinking that is a rather polite interpretation of the facts, Inspector. You saw them at the party. His feelings for her were purely carnal, I think.'

‘At any rate, she was a woman in whom Lord Dunwich took an amorous interest.'

‘You will have to ask his lordship about that.'

‘But you see the connection?'

‘I am afraid I struggle to.'

‘Both men were on the board of the London Nitrate Company. Both men received strange anonymous packages addressed in green ink – such as you use here at Visionary Productions. Both men are connected to acts of violence. Acts that may be designed to cow them into submission in a ruthless battle for control of the company.'

‘I am afraid I really don't understand what you are hinting at.'

‘Nitrate. It is used in the manufacture of guncotton, is it not? Incidentally, it is highly likely that that was the explosive used in the attack on the
Daily Clarion
. But more to the point, control of the world's nitrate resources could play a pivotal role in any future war between our nations.'

‘You are talking about celluloid nitrate. It is used to make many products. You could say, it is a very useful material. My own interest in it stems from the production of kinematographic film stock. Were it my ambition to control the world's stock of sodium nitrate – which it is not, I hasten to add – my sole motivation would be to place myself at an advantage over my competitors in the motion picture production industry. But I was interested in what you said about the packages Lennox and Lord Dunwich received. How did you describe them? Strange and anonymous? I myself received a strange and anonymous package, also addressed in green ink, this very morning.' Hartmann held out an envelope.

‘It is the same hand,' observed Quinn. ‘What was it that you were sent?'

‘Why, this monocle that I broke as you came in. There was already a crack in the lens, so it was useless anyhow. I cannot conceive of a reason why anyone should send it to me. What were the objects sent to the others, may I ask?'

‘A billiard ball painted to look like an eye. And a playing card. The Jack of Hearts. Curiously the eye had been poked through.'

‘Curious indeed, Inspector.'

‘Sir, may I have a word with you?'

Quinn noticed the brimming, barely contained excitement in Macadam's voice, the telltale tension in his face. He recognized the signs. Macadam was on to something. Evidently not wanting to divulge whatever it was in front of Hartmann, he beckoned Quinn over to one side and whispered his discovery urgently into his ear.

Quinn nodded and turned back to Hartmann. ‘My sergeant tells me that both billiard balls and playing cards involve nitrate in their manufacture. Is this so?'

‘Celluloid nitrate, yes. Though due to the explosive qualities of the material, its use in billiard ball manufacture is limited these days. There were one or two cases of billiard balls exploding against one another when struck particularly forcibly, I believe. Interestingly, celluloid nitrate may also have been used to create the layer of tint that has been put on the glass of this monocle lens.'

Quinn exchanged glances with Macadam. ‘You received this today?'

‘Yes.'

‘How do we know you didn't send it to yourself?'

‘Why would I do that?'

‘Sir, there is a chance …'

‘Yes, I know, Macadam. If someone wanted to hurt you, Mr Hartmann, to damage or destroy the one thing or person that is dearest to you, what would they attack?'

‘What an extraordinary question! If this is some kind of joke, Inspector …'

‘I am perfectly serious.'

‘I … well, I have no family here in England. I live mainly for my work. For the films, you understand. My colleagues are my family. The cast and crew that I work with. I suppose someone might attack Visionary Productions, or perhaps …'

‘What is it, Mr Hartmann.'

‘Eloise. Eloise Dumont – she is my star. Without her, I would not be able to go on.'

‘Where is she now?'

‘She is safe. She is still at the Savoy, as far as I know. She is being looked after by two of our people.'

‘We could telephone the Savoy from here, sir,' suggested Macadam. ‘To reassure ourselves. Then perhaps we could arrange for a police guard.'

Hartmann found the number for the Savoy and made the call. The German clamped the ear piece tightly in his right hand and held it to his ear, as if he was jealous of the crackle that emanated from it.

Quinn thought back to what Eloise had said to him last night:
You never have anything nice to say to me.
So she had remembered their conversation at the party. Of course. How could she forget the boorish policeman who insulted her art, her profession.

Quinn could not escape the feeling that this was all in some way happening in order to teach him a lesson. This was the way it had been going all along. From the very outset, from the arrival of the invitation to the premiere, everything had been designed to leave him with a very bad feeling about himself. To reveal him to himself in his true, despicable colours. He had not even meant the mean-spirited things he had said to her. What he had wanted to say was how powerful her presence on the screen was, how magical a transformation her image had wrought on his soul. And what was it he had said? He closed his eyes at the memory of his shame and embarrassment.

I've seen some horrible things, it's true. But the most horrible thing I've ever seen was that film I was forced to sit through tonight.

At last the news was imparted that Mademoiselle Dumont was not in her room.

As soon as Hartmann replaced the earpiece, the telephone rang again, its brittle chime like a tray of cutlery being dropped repeatedly in the next room.

‘Hello? … One moment …' Hartmann held the earpiece out to Quinn. ‘It is for you, Inspector. Someone by the name of Sergeant Inchball.'

Inchball's voice sounded like the buzzing of a wasp dancing on a snare drum. ‘We've had the pathologist's report in on Dolores Novak, guv.'

‘Go on.'

‘Something very rum about that wound on her throat. The blade went in at a point an inch or so to the right of the jugular. Then curved round sharply to sever the carotid artery from behind. The angle of the wound is extremely acute, is what the medical examiner says.'

‘Does he offer an explanation?'

‘Some kind of curved blade, a hook, or one of them foreign knives. Looks like it's a foreigner what done it, guv, as we always suspected.'

‘But an Englishman may purchase a weapon of foreign manufacture, Inchball.'

‘There's something wrong with the line, guv. It sounded almost like you said an Englishman would use a foreign knife.'

‘Thank you, Inchball.' Quinn returned the earpiece to Hartmann. He conveyed the burden of Inchball's message to Macadam.

‘It's very true what you said, sir. A pal of mine has a collection of knives from all over the world. And some very interesting specimens there are in it too. I believe there are a number with curved blades.'

‘Are you suggesting we arrest your pal?'

‘No, sir. Just that an Englishman may indeed own a weapon of foreign manufacture. As you said, sir.'

Quinn turned to Hartmann. ‘Who are the people to whom you have entrusted Eloise?'

‘Diaz, our cameraman. And a young compatriot of his, who I believe is his nephew. Inti, the young man is called. Diaz has raised him as his own son.' Hartmann's face was suddenly drained of colour.

‘What is the matter, sir?'

‘Diaz and Inti are Chileans.'

‘What of it?'

‘Most of the world's nitrate is mined in an area of northern Chile called Tarapacá. That is where we … where the London Nitrate Company sources its nitrate.'

‘Where will we find them? Are they staying in the Savoy?'

‘No, we only put the stars and the director up at the Savoy. We found a place for Diaz and his nephew in Islington. We have it on a short let for them.'

‘Do you have the address?'

‘I can certainly find it for you.'

Hartmann looked through a box of index cards. Quinn felt that his fate depended on what card was pulled out.

He hoped to God that his burgeoning fears were misplaced. And that the theory that had given rise to them was mistaken. In short, that Eloise was still alive, and he still had the chance to tell her how sorry he was for what he had said.

‘A
re you all right?' Eloise asked in English. She sensed the boy's unease. It was cold in the darkened auditorium of the Islington Porrick's Palace, and Inti seemed to be shivering. She thought she could hear his teeth chattering. ‘Do you want me to get your uncle?'

He shook his head energetically. An emphatic no.

They had climbed in through a broken window at the back. Diaz had even brought a towel to lay over the window frame so that Eloise would not cut herself on any fragments of glass. ‘Is okay,' Diaz had reassured her. ‘Mister Porrick no mind. Max say Mister Porrick no mind.'

‘Who is Max?'

‘He work for Mister Porrick. Mister Porrick no mind.'

‘But what are we doing here, Diaz? I don't understand.'

‘I show you my film. You said you wanted to see my film.'

‘But there is no electricity here. You cannot show it.'

‘I do not need electricity. There is limelight. And I can turn the projector by hand.'

And so Diaz had slipped away, leaving Inti to lead her into the auditorium.

A musty, abandoned smell surrounded them. Tinged with faintly uric wafts.

In the darkness, she sensed the boy's eyes on her, all the time. She had seen the suffering in his eyes, and could not get it out of her mind. Depths of unimagined suffering. At first she thought it was sorrow for Paul Berenger. But now she knew that it went deeper than that.

‘Where is Diaz?'

It was better when Diaz was there. In Diaz's eyes there was sorrow, but something else too. A kindliness. A gentleness. The glimmer of human sympathy.

Last night they had come to her rescue, Diaz and Inti, a pair of diminutive guardian angels.

‘Don't worry. We will look after you,' Diaz had said, his small, stubby hand clasping her forearm. His eyes poured out their understanding. They were eyes that had seen terrible things, tragedy and horror, but which had grown more human and compassionate as a result.

At the same time she had felt his nephew's eyes on her, watchful, cold, damaged. She could not bear to think what those eyes, so young and yet so empty, had seen.

‘Why does your nephew live with you?' she had asked Diaz. ‘What happened to his family?'

‘You do not want to know. Not tonight. There has been too much sadness tonight.'

But as soon as he said that, she knew that she would have no peace until he told her. She would take that pain on too. She had not been able to help Paul. But perhaps there was something she could do for Diaz and his nephew.

And so Diaz had told her Inti's story, and now she understood the terrible emptiness in the boy's eyes.

‘I am sorry,' said Diaz, looking solicitously into her face. ‘I should not have told you.'