Chapter XXVII

IN WHICH A DEVOUT COMMUNIST RECEIVES AN INTOLERABLE INSULT, BUT
TRUTH IS FOUND IN THE MOUTHS OF BABES

Mr. Alfred Culpepper has become a very much greater man since we last met him. Then he was somewhat careless of his appearance. His clothes fitted none too well, and he wore them negligently. He looked like what he was, a business man in a small way, with no pretensions to be more than a respectable member of the middle class.

Now all that is changed. Mr. Culpepper arrays his small person in a faultlessly cut morning coat. His top hat is always fresh and glossy; his gloves always look new. For is he not a director of the great syndicate which is to make the fortunes of so many British investors? Is he not the colleague and personal representative of John Pasquett, the millionaire _entrepreneur_, now absent in Asiatic Russia? And does it not behove such a man to dress the part, and to be prepared to stand comparisons even with the great Lord Ealing--the best dressed man in the whole _Directory of Directors_, to say nothing of _Who's Who?_

Lord Ealing, to be sure, finds Culpepper's airs and graces more than a little ridiculous. He says that Culpepper looks like the last word in shopwalkers. But he is careful not to say it in the little man's hearing. He is always charming when they meet. And Culpepper is never weary of speaking about his friend and colleague, the Earl of Ealing--a business man and one of Nature's gentlemen, as well as Debrett's.

Yet we may surmise that little Mr. Culpepper is not unaware that Lord Ealing is laughing at him, or that some people find his lapse into dandyism ridiculous. Perhaps he even wishes to be thought a little foolish--a valuable reputation in the City for a man who is, in fact, peculiarly wide awake.

Superintendent Wilson had only seen Mr. Culpepper once or twice since the Radlett affair dropped out of sight. But he had seen enough of him to form the opinion that the little man had brains. As their last meeting had been before Mr. Culpepper blossomed out as a swell, he was more than a little surprised at the glossy appearance of Pasquett's partner when, in the manner to be related, Culpepper walked into General Bunker's office at Scotland Yard. "Why," he asked himself at once, "is the fellow giving himself airs and playing the dandy? Not, I'm sure, because his head is turned or for the fun of the thing. No, he must have something up his sleeve." Wilson had no time, however, to analyse his sensations. There were other matters to occupy him--matters which brooked no delay.

For, on his arrival at Scotland Yard, direct from his adventures at Poole, Wilson had met with a surprise. He had been greeted with amazement by Inspector Blaikie on entering the office. "Why, I have just wired off a despatch to you in France," Blaikie had said. "Bunker's scored over us all. He's got Rosenbaum."

"Another of them? Good Lord," said Wilson, thinking of the indignant Ivor Rose whom Bunker had mistaken for a Bolshevik. "What the devil do you mean?"

"It's the right man this time," said Blaikie. "At least, I think so."

"Heaven help us. Has Bunker done something sensible at last?" said Wilson. "How did he get him?"

"He'll never forgive me if I don't let him tell you himself," said Blaikie. "Will you come along to his room?"

Wilson asked no further questions, but followed down the maze of corridors to Bunker's office.

"Come in," said a loud, cheery voice, and they entered the General's presence.

"Hallo, Wilson, that you? Thought you were abroad. Have you heard the news?"

"Blaikie has just told me that you have arrested Rosenbaum."

"Nabbed him, begad. Smart work, what?"

"How did it happen?"

"Well, the fellow had the audacity to come back to this country."

"How did you get on his track?"

"Um--we didn't exactly get on his track. You see, things were getting a bit dull, and I thought we'd brush 'em up a bit. Must keep people thinkin' about the Red Peril, don't you know. So I just raided all the Bolshie holes in London to see what I should find. Landed a big fish, too, 'pon my word."

Wilson was a little relieved to find that only accident had delivered Rosenbaum into General Bunker's hands. Fortunate accidents would happen, even in the worst-regulated departments.

"I see. Sheer luck," he said unkindly.

Bunker was too elated to be angry. "No such thing, my boy," he answered. "Sheer inspiration, I call it. What was it made me raid that place just then, if it wasn't inspiration?"

"What place? Where did you get him?"

"At the Nineteen Seventeen Club, my boy," said Bunker, triumphantly. "Always told you that place was a hotbed of Bolsheviks. They'd positively made the fellow a member."

"Was he calling himself Rosenbaum?"

"Of course he wasn't. But I saw through him. He called himself Ivan Slinski."

"How do you know he is Rosenbaum?"

"He says so himself. I made him confess it. Of course, when we arrested him I hadn't the ghost of an idea who he was. But, as he was a Russian, I knew he must be one of those scoundrels. So I had him in here and talked to him like a father, all about murder and his vile principles, and the gallows, and what'd be good for his soul. When I'd got fairly out of him about his being one of a murder gang, suddenly he says, 'In the name of God, I didn't do it. I am innocent. I swear I was never within a mile of Sugden's Hotel that night.'

"You could have knocked me down with a feather when he said that. Of course, I didn't know him from Adam till he owned up. But I twigged in an instant who he must be when he started talking like that ("I leant over and told him," whispered Blaikie to his chief; "I was there.") So I said to him, 'Ivan Rosenbaum, all is discovered. You had better confess everything.' Some stroke that, what." The General looked triumphantly at his hearers.

Wilson turned to Blaikie. "You were there, were you?" he said.

"Absolutely caught the fellow out," Bunker went on. "He admitted then he was Rosenbaum, but he persisted in saying he was innocent. Talked some rot about murder being against his principles as a Communist. When every one knows all Communists are murderers."

"I must see Rosenbaum," said Wilson.

"You shall, Wilson, you shall. He's almost due here now. I've sent for that fellow Culpepper to identify him. I understand he saw him at the hotel."

"He said he did," said Wilson. "Well, we shall see."

Inspector Blaikie struck in. "I arranged for the porter from Sugden's Hotel to come here in half an hour's time, and Mr. Culpepper a quarter of an hour later. I didn't tell them what for."

"Oh, you arranged it, did you?" said Wilson.

"Under my direction," said Bunker. "He's my prisoner."

"We won't quarrel over him," said Wilson. There was a knock at the door. "Is that he?"

Bunker shouted, "Come in," and the prisoner entered between two wardens. He was a tall, bushy-haired man, whose description tallied with that given of Rosenbaum by Mr. Culpepper and the servants at Sugden's Hotel.

"Would you like to question him?" asked Bunker of Wilson.

"If I may," said Wilson. "I understand your name is Ivan Rosenbaum?"

The prisoner replied sulkily, "Yes."

"You are an agent of Moscow?"

The prisoner refused to answer.

"On November 17th last you arrived at Sugden's Hotel in company with Mr. Hugh Radlett?"

The prisoner suddenly became voluble. "It is a lie, an infamous lie. I have never been to Sugden's Hotel in my life. I have met Mr. Radlett, indeed, but it was on the ship. We have travelled together to England, from Ostend, it is true. But the rest is lies, lies, all lies. Ah, it is infamous."

"Not so fast, Mr. Rosenbaum. You admit that you accompanied Mr. Radlett to England?"

"To England, yes. I have travelled with him at his invitation. But at Dover, gentlemen, we part. I see him no more. I hear of him no more till I read in your newspapers that he had been, how do you say, assassinated."

"Yes, by Jove, and it was you who killed him," Bunker broke in.

Rosenbaum smiled a rather pitying smile at Bunker, and turned to Wilson. "But, monsieur," he said, "I cannot make this gentleman understand. It is absurd. I am a Communist--what you call a Bolshevik. I avow it; I am proud of it. But do you not know that assassination is against the principles of my party? Mass action, yes: assassination, no--a thousand times no. Do you mistake me for a petit bourgeois conspirator? I am a Communist, gentlemen." He struck an attitude of proud defiance.

"What's the fellow talking about?" said Bunker. "Every one knows all Communists are murderers, if not worse. Come, my man, you'd better confess. You'll get justice here."

"I despise your justice. You insult my party--you insult our Revolution. I will rise against you, yes. I will kill you in the war you wage against our Soviet. But I will not murder you. Murder--assassination--it is folly."

"Pardon, Mr. Rosenbaum," said Wilson. "I am loath to interrupt your interesting lecture, but we have business to do. You came to England with Mr. Radlett, you say, and you then stayed with him at Sugden's Hotel. Is that so?"

"It is false. Am I not telling you? I travelled with Mr. Radlett on the boat. I had met him at Moscow. He agreed to pass my luggage through with his. We had agreed to travel together. But I left him at Dover. I saw him no more. I never went to Sugden's Hotel. I can prove it. It is an infamous fabrication of the bourgeoisie."

"You say you agreed to travel with Mr. Radlett. Where did you meet him?"

"I joined him at Ostend. I wanted to get into England, and he agreed to help me by passing me through as his secretary. I had met him before at Moscow and at Paris, where I had been living, and he had agreed to do this. I was to wait for him at Ostend."

"So you travelled with him on the boat. When did you leave him?"

"As soon as my baggages were through the customs. I caught a train to Croydon, where I was to stay with a friend. Mr. Radlett travelled straight to London. I saw him no more."

"You say you can prove this. How?"

"By my friends, with whom I stayed the night in Croydon."

Bunker broke in, "What's the use of talkin' to the fellow, Wilson? He'll laugh the other side of his face when the other chaps identify him."

Then came a knock at the door before Wilson could answer, and Mr. Sacheverell, the porter at Sugden's Hotel, was ushered into the room. He had brought with him the boy in buttons who had been present at the discovery of the crime. Thomas, laid up with influenza, had been unable to come.

"Please sit down, Mr. Sacheverell," said Blaikie, placing a chair for the porter. The boy stood beside him.

"Now, Mr. Sacheverell, and you, boy," said the General, "take a good look at the prisoner."

The instruction was quite unnecessary. Both the porter and the boy were staring at Rosenbaum as if they had seen a ghost.

"Tell me," said the General majestically to the porter, "have you ever seen this man before?"

"Yessir," said the porter. "It's the foreign--gentleman what killed the millionaire."

"Can you swear this is the man who stayed at Sugden's Hotel with Mr. Radlett?"

"That's him, sir. I'd know him anywhere."

"Thank you," said the General. "And you, boy, do you confirm this--ahem!--identification?"

The boy was still looking open-mouthed at the prisoner. "I dunno, sir," he said at last. "Leastways, it looks like 'im, but it ain't."

"Do you dare to tell me this is not the man?" roared the General.

"No, sir," said the boy. "'Cause t'other gent 'ad a crumpled ear, and this gent ain't."

"What's that?" said Wilson, sitting suddenly upright. "You say the other man had a crumpled ear. Do you mean Rosenbaum?"

"Yessir. I noticed it particular. This gent's got up all like 'im, 'xcept that, sir."

"You note that, Blaikie," said Wilson. He was plainly excited. The Inspector looked at him with an expression of surprise. But Wilson said no more.

"Boy," said General Bunker in a voice of thunder, "your evidence is worthless."

"Please, sir, I'm sorry," said the boy. "I didn't mean no 'arm, sir."

"Mr.--er--Sacheverell's evidence is quite enough," said the General. "At any rate," he added as there was another knock at the door, "we shall soon have ample confirmation."

"Mr. Culpepper, sir," said an attendant, ushering that resplendent little gentleman into the room.

Culpepper, as he entered, could not see the prisoner. But, as he caught sight of the porter and the boy and the group of officials beyond them, he gave a start. Smiling, however, he advanced into the room. Then it was he saw the prisoner, standing between the two warders, and looking curiously at him. "My God," he said, and sat down in the nearest chair.

"Mr. Culpepper," said the General, "do you recognise this scoundrel?"

Culpepper looked round with a bewildered air, and fixed at length a frightened glance on the prisoner. "What does it all mean?" he said helplessly.

"It means this," said Bunker, "that at last we have brought Mr. Radlett's murderer to book. Again I ask you, is this the man you saw with Radlett's murdered body in Sugden's Hotel?"

Culpepper cast another frightened look at Rosenbaum. "Yes," he whispered.

"Is this the man who compelled you to pack the body in a trunk, after threatening you with a revolver?"

"Yes," said Mr. Culpepper, still faintly.

"Did this man subsequently drug you, and conceal you in a cupboard?"

"Yes," said Mr. Culpepper, with more confidence.

"Lies, lies, all lies," shouted the prisoner, excitedly. "It is all a plot."

Bunker roared him into silence.

"Are you prepared to swear to these facts in a court of law?" asked Wilson.

"Y--yes, I suppose so," said Mr. Culpepper, with a return of panic.

"It's all right now, Mr. Culpepper," said the General condescendingly, with contemptuous tolerance of the little man's terror. "He can't hurt you, now. He is safe in my hands."

This speech ought presumably to have cheered Culpepper up, but it did not seem to have that effect. He looked as miserable as ever, and started violently again when Wilson suddenly put him a question.

"Has your daughter been to see you lately in England?"

Mr. Culpepper stared at the Superintendent in surprise. Bunker and the Inspector did the same.

"Why--whatever has that got to do with it?" said the little man at last.

"Never you mind. Answer my question."

"N--no. Not for some time, that is."

"Was your daughter in England at the time of Mr. Radlett's murder?"

This time Culpepper looked really alarmed. "N--no. Certainly not," he said. "She was in France, with my wife--and Mr. Pasquett."

"Why, Wilson, what on earth----" began the General.

"One moment, General," said the Superintendent. Then he turned again to Culpepper.

"Have you been to Poole lately?" he asked.

"I d--don't know what you're talking about," wailed Mr. Culpepper. "I--I've never been there in my life."

"Would it surprise you to learn that your daughter was in Poole three days ago?"

"I--it would surprise me very much. She is in France with her mother. I don't know what you mean."

"Would it surprise you to learn that your daughter was in Poole on the night of the murder, and motored up to London early on the morning of the discovery?"

"It's not true," Culpepper shouted, "she was in France with Mr. Pasquett."

"Don't get excited, Mr. Culpepper. You maintain, then, that you had no knowledge of your daughter's movements."

"I certainly have no knowledge of these absurd stories you are making up."

"We shall see about that. Now, do you adhere to the story you told when the crime was discovered, or do you wish to make any modification of it? I warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you."

"I protest, General Bunker. What am I charged with? Is there any charge against me?"

"Really, Wilson," said the General, "I don't know where we are. Will you kindly explain what all this has to do with identifying this fellow?" He pointed to Rosenbaum, who, still standing between his two warders, had been anxiously following the colloquy.

"All in good time, General," said Wilson. "You ask, quite fairly, what you are charged with. I will tell you the exact position. There is no charge against you at present, but, unless you are frank with us, you will be charged with being an accessory to the murder."

"I, an accessory. Good God, what do you mean?"

"I mean," said Wilson, "that the whole story you told about the murder was a tissue of lies from beginning to end. I mean that this man Rosenbaum, whom you have pretended to identify, is not the man who committed the murder, and that you knowingly made a wrong identification. And, Mr. Culpepper, I know all about the uses you and your daughter make of a certain villa at Paramé, and of a very handy motor-boat you keep there. Is my meaning clear?"

Culpepper held his head down while Wilson was speaking, and avoided the eyes of the men before him. He was evidently thinking hard.

"I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about," he said at last. "The story I told after your Inspector found me at the hotel was absolutely true. That man Rosenbaum"--he pointed at the prisoner--"I positively identify as the man who committed the murder. And as for your accusations against my daughter, I throw them back in your teeth." The little man drew himself up proudly, and looked, not Wilson, but General Bunker, full in the face. "Do I understand, General," he went on, "that I am under arrest, or am I free to go?"

"'Pon my word, I don't know where we are," said the General. "You say this man is Rosenbaum, and he says so himself. Isn't that plain enough?" The question was addressed to Wilson, who replied, "Yes, that's clear. Only, though this man is Rosenbaum, he is not the man who committed the murder."

"Then, in heaven's name, who did commit the murder?"

"Not so fast, General. That's a long story. But I think Mr. Culpepper could tell us if he chose."

"I tell you that man committed it," said Culpepper, nodding vigorously towards Rosenbaum. "I ask you again. Am I free to go?"

"For the moment, yes, Mr. Culpepper," said Wilson. "But I must ask you to hold yourself at the disposal of the police. I shall have more to say to you. Meanwhile, I warn you to keep me informed of your movements."

"I shall do nothing of the sort. There is no charge against me, I believe."

"Oh, if you prefer it, and will wait until I complete a few formalities, I shall be quite willing to arrest you. Would you like me to do that?"

"This, sir, is an outrage. I shall go at once to my lawyers, and place the matter in their hands." And Mr. Culpepper, as no one replied to this challenge, beat a hasty retreat from the room. As the door closed on him, Wilson seized the house 'phone, and gave swift orders that two men were to follow him, and he must not be lost sight of for an instant.

"Now, Wilson, will you please explain?" said Bunker when Wilson laid down the receiver.

"Hadn't we better dispose of Mr. Rosenbaum first? I don't think we need him for my explanation."

Bunker turned to the warders. "Remove your prisoner to the cells," he said. "Left turn. Quick march."

"I shall want to see Mr. Rosenbaum later," said Wilson, before the little procession had left the room.

"I hope you will. You seem to be the only one who has any sense," said Rosenbaum.

"Silence," roared the General. "Silence," repeated the warders, as they passed through the doorway.

Bunker turned to the Superintendent. "And now, sir, what is this cock-and-bull story of yours? I arrest a murderer for you, when your incompetent department has failed to catch him, and all the thanks I get is that you trump up some infernal story about his not being the murderer, but another person of the same name and appearance. Culpepper identifies him; you accuse him of lying. But that fellow, what's his name--Sacheverell, identifies him, too. Was he lying? What do you say to that, hey?" Bunker positively bristled at the Superintendent.

"Of course I'm sorry, Bunker, if this disappoints you. But, remember, the boy didn't identify him."

"The boy. Pooh! Who cares for the boy?"

"The boy had noticed that the murderer had a crumpled ear. This man had not. Did that strike you?"

"The boy was romancing, of course."

"Did it occur to you to ask yourself whether any one else connected with this case had a crumpled ear?"

"My God?" said Inspector Blaikie, suddenly. "My God, do you mean that?"

"Well, Blaikie, who else has a crumpled ear?"

"John Pasquett," said Blaikie, very low. "Do you mean he did it?"

"I can prove that Pasquett was not in Paramé on the night of the murder--in fact, that his _alibi_ was a fake. I can prove that he left Poole in a motor-boat with Norah Culpepper on the day of the discovery, and that he arrived at Paramé in the boat during the ensuing night."

"And I thought you'd given up the case," said Blaikie.

"So I had, Inspector. I only kept it in the back of my mind. And, as I happened to be taking my summer holiday quite near Paramé----"

"Happened!" said Blaikie. "And I never guessed why you went there."

"I just thought I'd have another look round," said Wilson.

"Look here, Wilson," said the General, "it's easy enough for you to say you can prove all these things, but I've got my man, and you haven't. It's your man who's away in Russia now, ha ha. That's one up against you."

"It is," said Wilson. "I quite admit it. All this ought to have been found out at first. Blaikie and I are to blame that it wasn't found out. But that's no reason for hanging the wrong man."

"I've still only your word for it that he is the wrong man."

"Let me tell you exactly what I have found out." Then Wilson gave Blaikie and the General a concise account of his adventures and discoveries, both at Paramé and at Poole. Blaikie listened open-mouthed to the recital. He thought bitterly of the castles in Spain he had once built on his own prowess in handling the case.

"But," said Bunker, when Wilson had done, "all this is no proof that Pasquett committed the murder. Pasquett may have been in England; but Rosenbaum was the murderer, even if Pasquett was concerned. You can't get away from Sacheverell's identification, even if you doubt Culpepper's."

"The Rosenbaum at the hotel," said Wilson, "had a crumpled ear."

"You mean he was really Pasquett," said Blaikie. "But somehow I can't believe Pasquett is a murderer. He didn't seem like a murderer."

"How can he be a murderer?" said Bunker. "I met him at dinner at Lord Ealing's--a very nice fellow. No, it was that Bolshie did it."

"Do you know," said Wilson, "that I, too, find it very hard to believe that John Pasquett is a murderer. But I can't get away from that crumpled ear. I'm very much afraid he is, though it upsets my judgment of human nature."

"He had the motive," said Blaikie, reflectively. "He and no one else."

"Yes," said Wilson gravely.

"But you've proved nothing, really," said the General.

Wilson turned to him a little contemptuously. "Why do you suppose I let Culpepper go?" he said. "If I had absolute proofs, shouldn't I have arrested him at once? No, I let him go because I want more proofs, and I rely on him to do something incriminating."

Blaikie nodded. "I thought that was it," he said.

"He'll certainly warn his daughter," said Wilson, "and we can fix to have any letters or telegrams opened at Paramé and read before they reach her. And, if I'm right, he'll probably try to warn Pasquett. And he may run away himself."

As we shall see, Wilson was right in some of his guesses at what Culpepper would do, and wrong in others. He was not yet master of the little man's mind.

"Now, Blaikie," Wilson continued, "you must take this business of watching Culpepper in hand. See about getting letters opened, and all that, both at Paramé and here. And if he makes for France, you must go after him, and arrest him if necessary. But try not to arrest him, as long as he doesn't get clear away, until you can take him so as to make it plain he's trying to escape. Otherwise, he'll only plead a business journey. If he stays in England, and tries to brazen it out, I'll deal with him myself. But you're in charge of watching him."

"And what the devil am I to do with Rosenbaum while you're at your little games?" asked Bunker.

"Oh, hold him for the present. If we don't want him for the case, you can always deport him as an undesirable alien. That's one advantage with these Russians. There's no one to look after their interests. No fuss about _habeas corpus_, eh, General?"

"It would be a jolly good thing for the country if _habeas corpus_ was repealed altogether," said the General savagely.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Wilson. "It would come very expensive if we let you imprison everybody. And what would you do for warders?"

"Don't play the fool," said Bunker. "You have no more public spirit than--than the Prime Minister."

"Sorry," said Wilson. "It is a shame I spoilt your perfectly good murderer. Come along, Blaikie."

Wilson and the Inspector left the General's room before, in his fury, he could think of an appropriate reply.