The Allingham Casebook Read online

  He lifted the flap and the police moved forward in a body. Chippy turned to me.

  “Poor little blob,” he said. “He’s quite happy now, you see, till next new moon.”

  “When you will be otherwise engaged, I seem to remember,” I said acidly.

  He glanced at me with a sudden smile and adjusted his camera.

  “That’s right,” he said. “There’s sympathy in this business, but no sentiment. Wait just a minute while I get the arrest.”

  Joke Over

  “It began with an ordinary ‘missing person’ notification,” Superintendent Luke was saying as he opened an imaginary ledger of enormous size and felt for the pencil which was not behind his ear. “The woman came sweeping in and I took no sort of shine to her. She was smart enough to look at, but you felt her skin was stretched over solid brass and that she’d get her own way if it was over your dead body. When I heard it was her boss and not a relative who had vanished into the blue I began to understand her interest for the first time. However, she told her story very clearly. She was crackingly efficient.”

  Almost absently he was building up one of his visual character impersonations as he talked, tightening his jacket skirts over his hips and thrusting his chin forward with an air which was both provocative and forceful. “The missing man was, she said, a Mr John Joseph Miller, owner and director of a small firm called Quips Ltd. She gave a very fair portrait parlé of him; he was five foot ten, walked with a slight limp for which he wore a special boot, had protruding teeth, grey eyes, gold spectacles and usually wore brown clothes. She herself was the only other member of the concern and her name was Hilda Quidlip. They had an office off Custard Lane and they dealt in novelties for the catering trade – funny noses, bangers, streamers, paper hats and lion powder – that sort of thing.”

  “Lion powder?” Mr Campion, his friend and companion for the evening, conveyed that he hated to interrupt but would care to know.

  “Powder to keep away lions.” Luke took the query in his stride. “Makes you sneeze so much it puts the brutes off. Well, they sold these things and did very well out of them, and Miss Quidlip did all the work. She was empowered to sign cheques and make wholesale purchases so there hadn’t been too much for Miller to do. He came in when he thought he would, as far as I could hear. Then one week he didn’t appear at all and so she carried on, and the same thing happened the next week and the next. And then she realised he hadn’t drawn any cash for some time and after a bit she got the wind-up. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with the business. I touched on that at once, naturally, but no, they were doing fine. Money was rolling in: Miss Quidlip was the business, she pointed out, so she knew. I betted she did.” He broke off to reach for his glass and stood sipping it, his eyes bright above its clouded rim. “She told me she’d been to the flat where he lived alone – he was a bachelor – and could neither get in nor hear any news of him. She’d telephoned the hospitals and inquired at the morgue, and finally she’d gone back to the flat which was on the top of one of those old houses behind Bedford Square and had climbed up the fire escape and got in. What she found there had startled her out of her wits and I must say the way she told it she shook me. I got an order and went round with her.” He hesitated, searching for words to convey the bewilderment of that moment.

  “He wasn’t there,” he announced at last. “Yet most of him was, if you see what I mean.”

  “Imperfectly,” said Mr Campion.

  “Well, his teeth were there, for one thing.” Luke made himself a set of ferociously protruding tusks with his free hand. “And his clothes and his watch and his pocket book and his ring and his boots – one of them surgical in appearance – and his keys and his morning paper, dated the last day he went to the office, and his spectacles. They were all there together in and around the big chair on the hearth and they were very strangely arranged.” He illustrated his point with astonishing vividness, drawing himself into his clothes and sagging back on his heels. “It was the queerest thing I ever saw. The underclothes were inside the suit, the shirt and collar still buttoned, the tie in the collar: the socks were in the boots which were laced. The ring was on the arm of the chair where the hand would have rested and the wristwatch, buckled, was beside it.”

  “Dear me,” said Mr Campion blinking. “And the teeth?”

  “They were on top of the back of the chair with the spectacles around them and they were both covered with a hat.” Luke laughed abruptly. “My report read like a bit of space fiction,” he continued. “Or it would have done if I hadn’t been darn careful that it didn’t. There was no getting away from it. ‘Gone to lunch in the fourth dimension.’ I shouldn’t have been surprised to have found it pinned up on the door.”

  “Delightful.” Mr Campion sounded appreciative. “Did the lady get the inference?”

  Luke grinned. “It seeped through,” he conceded. “At any rate, she kept prodding me with long red fingernails and saying, ‘He’s gone! Look! He isn’t there!’ until I took us both in hand. ‘Routine,’ I told her, just as the lecturer had told me. ‘That’s what’ll give us the answer – if there is one.’ And I got down to it.” He reseated himself before the fire. “There was quite a bit of work,” he said reminiscently. “The more I found out about the chap the less I seemed to know. He didn’t seem to have been in the habit of eating out anywhere locally. He hadn’t done any cooking at his flat, there was no food or crockery of any description in the place. He’d rented the place just about the same time that he’d started Quips Ltd. which was two years before and the rent was paid quarterly in advance from the office. No one knew of anyone going in to clean for him, no one in the building seemed to know anything about him, and even the people below couldn’t remember when they had last seen him on the stairs. They also said they never heard him at night, and in the daytime they weren’t there themselves. He had very little furniture, few clothes and the only personal items seemed to be a few books of a semi-scientific nature and thousands of comic papers.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Kid’s stuff. Nothing sensational, just funny ha-ha. All very well read. There was nothing much in his wallet by the way, except cash, stamps and one or two business letters.” Luke leant back in his chair, his dark face alive with remembered interest. “So, it was just solid homework,” he went on. “I always feel I owe that case something. It taught me the meaning of the verb ‘to plod’. I was nine or ten months on it altogether, the work done mostly in between regular jobs. I had no luck. We couldn’t find any firm of dental mechanics which would own to the teeth and, as I told you, it was the same with the boot. Meanwhile, the woman nagged us. The business was booming, and she had to tell somebody.” He pushed a long hand through his hair until it stood upright. “It was a worrying time,” he said. “Old Georgie Bull was the CID Sergeant at that time of day and he didn’t make things any smoother. He was the most miserable old cuss who ever breathed. What with one thing and another I was almost off my feed at the end of the time. And then one day I was sitting in my corner of the CID room in the old St Mary’s Street Station with the blessed boot on the floor in front of me and I suddenly got the urge to try it on. It fitted like a glove and I walked round the room in it. Caudblimeah! I felt like Cinderella!”

  He looked slyly at Campion. “It wasn’t surgical. It was a stage prop. After that, it was easy. I went round to Paynes, the theatrical people, who were the only firm who could have supplied it and got an address out of them. Twenty minutes later I was in a posh dentist’s waiting-room among the reading matter with my parcel, and after a bit I was shown into the chamber of horrors. The dentist was standing with his back to me, washing his hands as they always are, the blighters, and when he turned round I took him by surprise. I just unwrapped my exhibit and we both stood looking at it.

  “There are only two kinds of men who become dentists,” he continued. “The ones who love it and ones who get miserable. Think round and you’ll see I’m right. This chap
I’m talking about was one of the second kind. He had no limp and his teeth turned in, not out, and he didn’t wear spectacles.

  “No one who knew him as Mr Miller would have recognised him. He had been in successful practice for years and, quite obviously, he was miserable as sin. I understood as soon as I saw him. He’d been making himself a jolly-joke world to hide in sometimes when things got too gloomy altogether. He let me do all the talking but there was nothing much I could say, of course. There was no charge involved.

  “Finally, I just put it to him. I said, ‘Is this your property, sir?’ He said, ‘Yes. Take it away, there’s a good fellow. I – I’ve done with it – rather. Will that be all right?’ I said it was nothing to do with us and it wasn’t. He saw me to the door. Just as I went out he paused and looked at me like a wistful kid. ‘Don’t let her find me,’ he said softly. ‘She spoilt everything. At first it was such a wonderful escape, but I saw it leading irrevocably to a stronger prison than ever. I had to get away from her and I went so utterly. I thought I’d made that so clear.’”

  Mr Campion got up.

  “What a sad story,” he said.

  “Not really.” Luke was grinning. “When I got back to the station I went up to old George, who was sitting looking out of the window scowling like a wet weekend, and I edged up to him very close.

  “‘Sarge,’ I said softly. ‘You’ve always said you wanted to retire. Would you be interested in a nice flourishing foolproof little business with someone really efficient to run it? It would cheer you up you know; no end.’”

  The Lying-In-State

  How the body of the young Emir of Eulistahn came to lie in state in the vaults of the Norfolk Street Safe Deposit is one of London’s secrets. The city takes its overseas visitors far more seriously than most of them suspect. Under a blank exterior there lurks an almost fanatical determination to oblige the poor lunatics however absurd their requirements. All it insists upon is the exercise of a modicum of common sense.

  On this occasion it was the famous, if slightly ramshackle, Alderton’s Hotel which did the insisting. The Emir’s entourage was composed of his black-bearded uncle, his doctor, two private secretaries and the best part of half a dozen valets and cooks.

  His death occurred very suddenly, less than two hours after his arrival in Britain to attend a Royal wedding, and the first reaction of his staff was to insist that he must lie in state for two days in the centre of his private drawing room overlooking the park.

  Even this could have been arranged had it not been for the value of the state jewellery with which protocol demanded the corpse should be arrayed.

  Actually, Mr Sydney Robbins who was the manager of Alderton’s had won a minor tussle about this very jewellery before the party arrived in London at all.

  He was one of those placid businessmen who appear to have been knitted rather loosely out of woolly good nature until something arises to threaten their interests, when they become opaque-eyed and quite incredibly obstinate. Therefore, when the Emir’s Second Secretary, who was young, slim and olive-skinned, had first arrived earlier in the month to make the original booking and had mentioned, in an impeccable Oxford accent, the question of adequate protection for the Diamond Shawl, the Pigeon’s Egg Rings, the Five Emerald Stars and the Black Pearl, Mr Robbins put his foot down at once.

  He pointed out that the Emir would be only one of five foreign Royalties honouring the hotel and whereas the security arrangements were adequate for most eventualities this occasion was a little out of the ordinary. He then recommended the Norfolk Street Safe Deposit, as he always did in similar circumstances.

  The Second Secretary protested that His Highness was bringing the jewels to wear, first at the Reception and Ball and, next day, at the Abbey, and he mentioned several illustrious sponsors. But he was no match for Mr Robbins when it came to discreet name dropping and, in the end, he listened meekly to the merits of the Safe Deposit.

  Everything Mr Robbins said about the place was quite true. It was a British Institution, it was used by the highest in the land, all personnel were appointed on a basis of heredity, and safety and discretion were indeed guaranteed. In the midst of a covetous world it lay inviolate a nest of five steel chambers deep in the yellow London clay.

  A great deal of legend surrounded its contents. At least two South American dictators were said to prefer it to Switzerland for the safe keeping of certain negotiable items; the secret recipes of two sauces and one world-famous liqueur were certainly there, for their advertisers said so, and connoisseurs were always criticising the Stanoway family for hiding the rarest of all art treasures in its darkness; three little studies for the ‘Mona Lisa’, only a few inches square, made in sanguine, and said to be as fresh and lovely as the day Leonardo drew them. Yet the Stanoways were poor, one would have thought. The first Countess had laid waste most of the family fortune before her lord divorced her in one of the bitterest suits on record, and the second poor lady, her son who was the heir, and his young sister were kept busy exhibiting the mansion at five shillings a time. But the Leonardos remained out of sight, to add to the covetous dreams of wealthy collectors.

  After listening for half an hour, the Emir’s Second Secretary gave way gracefully and negotiations were hurried through. At Norfolk Street the Second Secretary hired a small casket in his own name in Vault Four where the smaller containers were kept, and as decreed, received its key with the number of the box engraved upon it. He then walked back and forth three times before a panel of scrutineers and had it explained to him that the mere physical possession of the key meant nothing. The depositor must always come himself whenever the box was opened. The jewels were solemnly handed over and the Chief Custodian assured him that at any time of the day or night one of the keepers of Vault Four, who now knew him by sight, would be waiting for him. These were the unvarying rules of the establishment.

  The Second Secretary left, but a few weeks later all his happy arrangements were violently upset.

  The blow fell on the eve of the wedding, for the sickly young Emir arrived at the hotel in a state of collapse and died almost at once. He had, it seemed, defied his doctors’ advice and a bad air trip had proved fatal.

  It was a great shock, said the black-bearded uncle, but no doubt the will of Heaven. As for earth, and Eulistahn in particular, custom decreed that the body must lie in state “for a setting and rising of the sun” with all the jewels and regalia. A strong police guard, say twenty chosen men, must be arranged at once.

  Mr Robbins was appalled. It was against his whole philosophy to disoblige distinguished guests but at such a moment it was impossible.

  It was the Second Secretary who came to his rescue, and his words burst on the distracted manager with the blessing of water in a desert.

  Instead of taking the jewels to the Emir, why not take the Emir to the jewels? Have the lying-in-state in the vaults? Mr Robbins trembled with relief. It was unconventional but reasonable. Ludicrous even but practical.

  “Could it be arranged?” murmured the Second Secretary.

  “Leave it to me,” said Mr Robbins briefly.

  Within an hour the Emir’s frail body was taken to the Safe Deposit and carried into Vault Four by his own people. They laid it reverently upon a table moved down from the Chief Custodian’s room and the Second Secretary, accompanied by the keeper on duty unlocked the steel box and took out the leather jewel cases. Then, as the official withdrew discreetly to the doorway, the uncle assisted by a doctor and a valet arrayed the body in its traditional glory. From his position the Safe Deposit man saw the gleam of stones. When the ritual was complete everybody retired to the ante-room and the keeper locked the door of the vault. For the rest of the night the four privileged members of the Emir’s household took turns, two at a time, to keep watch from the keeper’s bench while the official himself retired to the far end of the apartment where he could see but not overhear.

  The Safe Deposit made only one stipulation in the whole busines
s. No publicity. Since the same request was echoed by the Emir’s suite and had also been made by Mr Robbins on behalf of the hotel, there was no difficulty about it.

  In the dawn next day, when Norfolk Street was empty, a motor hearse drew up outside the Safe Deposit, a coffin was carried in and presently brought out again. The Emir’s uncle shook hands with the Chief Custodian and the Second Secretary paid the dues. Mr Robbins too was formally thanked and presented with a signed portrait of the late Emir.

  The rest of the day was devoted to the wedding and no one in London was permitted to think of anything else. Mr Robbins forgot about the Emir and indeed, in the flurry of three hundred departures, he had little time to recall him during the following week, but some ten days later, when the hotel was its dull discreet self again, his eyes rested on the portrait of the young Emir and he wondered who his successor might be.

  For all up-to-date information he had long ceased to rely upon the printed word. He had a very good friend on the central switchboard of the British News Service and on impulse he dialled her number. As usual, she had the answer at her fingertips. Cool and efficient her lovely voice came back to him with authority.

  “Eulistahn? It hasn’t existed for some time. Don’t you remember Ernst Bey took over all that corner last year. Emir? Oh, no. That title has been extinct for a generation. Can I help you?”

  Mr Robbins hung up very slowly and sat still. From a spot just above the nape of his neck a sliver of ice ran smoothly down his spine. He put out his hand to telephone the Safe Deposit but withdrew it cautiously, and from that moment his life became a nightmare of apprehension. Yet gradually the days passed, and no whisper reached him and after a while he gave up waking in the night and sweating, although the question remained in his mind. Seven months crept by and still there was no inquiry, no scandal. The Emir and his retinue could have been as insubstantial and meaningless as a dream.