Chapter XXXIII

IN WHICH SUPERINTENDENT WILSON GIVES SOME INFORMATION, AND ASKS FOR
SOME MORE

Wilson saw Arthur and stopped the car. "Well, Mr. Wharton," he said, "I understand the birds have flown."

"Have they escaped?" asked Arthur eagerly.

"The police boats have put back to St. Malo, if that's what you mean, and they haven't caught them. Of course, there are bigger boats on the job now. But that's after the fair. Upon my word, I never saw an affair so bungled. Very nicely managed, on your side, Mr. Wharton. I suppose I may call it your side."

"If you like," said Arthur. "Then they have got clean away?"

"So far, so far. But, unless they have a ship waiting to pick them up, they're bound to be caught soon." Wilson looked keenly at Arthur as he said this. He wanted to find out. Apparently he drew his conclusions. "Ah, I see there is a ship," he went on. "Then they have a chance. Upon my word, Mr. Pasquett would have made a fine detective. A pity, Mr. Wharton. A pity. He should have kept straight."

"Look here, Superintendent," said Arthur, "I want you to know the truth about Jack Pasquett. He told me all about it yesterday--I mean what happened at Sugden's Hotel. It can't hurt him for you to know. You think horrible things about him, and they aren't true."

"But suppose I know already, Mr. Wharton?"

"But you can't know. You practically told me you could prove Jack Pasquett was the man who killed Radlett at Sugden's Hotel."

"True. But I have learnt a number of things since then, and put two and two together. I should have seen the truth long ago."

"Then you do know now----"

"I know," said Wilson slowly, "that John Pasquett no more killed Hugh Radlett at Sugden's Hotel than you or I did."

"And you know----"

"I know that Culpepper told us a pack of lies. Didn't you, Culpepper?" Wilson went on, as that worthy, having hovered in the background for a few minutes, approached.

Culpepper gave a wan smile. "I was thinking of going into the house to look for my poor wife," he said, "but the policeman won't let me go in."

Wilson shouted a few words in French to the French officer, and Culpepper trotted off and disappeared into the house. As he did so, another motor-car drove up, and Blaikie descended from it. He came up to Wilson sheepishly. "No word of them yet, sir," he said. "I'm very much afraid they've got away."

"You've sent out the wireless messages?" asked Wilson.

"Yes, sir."

"And communicated with the Admiral at Portsmouth?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, I think, that's all we can do at present. Upon my word, Blaikie, you have made a mess of it."

"I'm sorry, sir. I was----"

"Never mind, Blaikie. Can't be helped. Suppose we all go into the house. I want to have a little consultation. By the way, where's Lord Ealing? Our party is hardly complete without him, even if we overlook the absence of the principal actors."

"We've found him, sir. He drove into the town this morning, looking for a Mr. Ruston, who was mixed up in this affair last night. I told him to come along here to see you."

"Let us go in, then," said Wilson, leading the way into the dining-room whither Blaikie, Arthur Wharton, the boy, and the French detective followed. Wilson went across to the drawing-room and summoned Mr. and Mrs. Culpepper to come. The whole party gathered round the table expectantly. Wilson took a seat at the head of the table. "We will give Lord Ealing five minutes," he said, taking out his watch. They waited in silence.

Before the five minutes were up, a car was heard in the distance, and Lord Ealing stepped out of it, and came into the room. He looked weary after his night's adventures, and a little ill at ease. But the haunting fear of yesterday had been put away. "You sent for me," he said to the Superintendent.

Wilson pointed to a vacant chair. "I wanted you, my lord, to make our little party complete, apart from the unfortunate absence of Mr. Pasquett and Miss Culpepper." He smiled a satirical smile at Blaikie as he spoke. "Now we can get to business. Have you seen Mr. Ruston, my lord?"

"Eh, what's that?" said Lord Ealing. "Yes, I have just left Mr. Ruston, since you wish to know. Though I fail to see what concern it is of yours."

"We shall see, my lord," said Wilson. "Will you sit down?"

"I am going to tell you all," said Wilson, "as nearly as I know it, what really happened at Sugden's Hotel on a certain night which was the starting-point of this case. Mr. Culpepper, I believe, knows the truth, and so does Mr. Wharton. If I am wrong at any point, they can correct me. But before I come to the details, I will make my attitude on one point plain, in the hope that it may induce you all to be frank with me. John Pasquett committed no murder at Sugden's Hotel." Wilson looked round the table to measure the effect of his words.

Blaikie gave a sigh of relief. "Then I haven't let the murderer escape," he said. "But who did kill him, if Pasquett didn't? Surely not Rosenbaum, after all?"

"All in good time," said Wilson. "Let us take it that Pasquett did not. Will that help you to tell me the truth? Eh, Mr. Culpepper?"

"I didn't speak," said the little man. "I'm listening."

"Very well, then. Now, before I begin about what happened at Sugden's Hotel, I want to ask you all a question. You, Lord Ealing, gave me to understand yesterday, through a misunderstanding, that the man who calls himself John Pasquett is not really John Pasquett at all. Why did you think that?"

Lord Ealing said nothing for a moment. Then he answered, "You'd better ask my nephew."

"Are you more willing than you were yesterday to explain, Mr. Wharton?" asked Wilson.

"The whole thing," said Arthur, "was an absurd misunderstanding. Pasquett proved to me yesterday that he is John Pasquett--proved it absolutely."

"But what made you think that he was not?"

"I found in Siberia what seemed to be proofs of his death some years ago. But it was not Pasquett who died then."

"Who was it, Mr. Wharton?"

"It was Hugh Radlett."

"What's that you say?" asked Lord Ealing.

"What the devil do you mean?" asked Blaikie.

Wilson smiled a slow smile of intense satisfaction. "Hugh Radlett," he repeated. "That makes it all clear."

"But," said Lord Ealing, "that can't be. I met Radlett in London the day before the crime. He was alive enough then."

"How did you know it was Radlett, my lord?"

"Good God! Do you mean that Radlett was an impostor?"

"That is precisely what I mean. Hugh Radlett, as you have just heard, was dead long before. What made you think it was Pasquett who died, Mr. Wharton?"

"He was buried under Pasquett's name."

"Why? How did that happen?"

It was Arthur's turn to smile. "You get on with your story, Superintendent," he said, "and, in due course, I'll come to mine. You may assume that John Pasquett is John Pasquett, and no one else, and that, whatever happened at Sugden's Hotel, it was not Hugh Radlett who was murdered there."

"Then who was it?" asked Lord Ealing.

"No one at all," said Wilson. "There was no one murdered at Sugden's Hotel."

"No one," said Lord Ealing, incredulously. "What on earth do you mean?"

"But the body?" said Blaikie.

"Will you produce the body, Inspector?" asked Wilson.

"Rosenbaum took it away in the trunk."

"There never was a body in the trunk."

"But--Culpepper here saw it. He put it in himself," said Lord Ealing.

"Did you, Mr. Culpepper?" asked Wilson. "Did you put a body in the trunk?"

"I--I--I--I couldn't help it," said the little man.

Lord Ealing turned fiercely on Culpepper. "Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that you never put any body in that trunk at all? Is this a practical joke, Wilson?"

"You see, Lord Ealing," said Wilson gaily, "Mr. Culpepper was in the plot."

"In the plot? What plot?"

"The little plot for the success of which it was essential that Radlett should do two things."

"What things?"

"First, come to life, and then, die."

"Come to life? What for?" asked Blaikie.

"To make his will, Inspector."

"And die?" asked Arthur, entering into the spirit of the colloquy.

"To make room for his heir under the will, Mr. Wharton. Am I right?"

"You seem to know it all, Superintendent," said Arthur.

"And his heir----" Lord Ealing began.

"Was John Pasquett," said Wilson.

"But," said Lord Ealing, "if it wasn't Radlett I saw in London, when we fixed up all about the concession, who the devil was it?"

"I can't tell you for certain, Lord Ealing, but I think I know the answer. I'll hazard a guess. Mr. Culpepper perhaps will tell me if I am wrong. It was--John Pasquett."

"Pasquett? Impossible! It was a quite different man."

"Externally, no doubt. You expected a different man, and you thought it was a different man. But was it only one very good actor playing two parts? Eh, Mr. Culpepper?"

"Nonsense," said Mr. Culpepper.

"That is my conclusion," said Wilson, "and I think Mr. Culpepper will soon realise he had better tell us the truth."

"I have told you the truth," said Culpepper. "It was that villain Rosenbaum did it."

"But if Pasquett was Radlett, how did he get away from the hotel without being seen?" It was Blaikie this time who asked this question.

"He went away quite openly; only on this occasion it was as Rosenbaum that he went."

"Do you mean to tell me Pasquett was Rosenbaum, too?" asked Lord Ealing, incredulously. "This is really too much."

"Nevertheless," said Wilson, "I do tell you that Pasquett and Rosenbaum were the same person, just as Pasquett and Radlett were one and the same."

"But, sir, there were two men at the hotel--Radlett and Rosenbaum. Who was the other man?" asked Blaikie.

"There was no other man," said Wilson.

"But they were both seen."

"My dear Blaikie, there is the vital point you and I both missed. Two apparently different men were seen, but they were never seen together. I have been carefully over the notes of the case. Radlett and Rosenbaum were never seen together."

"Yes, sir, they were. On the boat," said Blaikie. "Coming over from Ostend."

"True, O Inspector," said Wilson. "But need I remind you that it was the real Rosenbaum who was on the boat coming over? The real Rosenbaum never came to Sugden's Hotel. The two men were never seen together at the hotel."

"You're right, sir," said Blaikie. "But who'd 'a' thought it?"

"You and I ought to have thought it, but we didn't. I didn't, till it came to me when I read over the notes--after I had made up my mind the supposed murder was a deliberate plant and no murder at all."

"How did you find that out?" asked Arthur.

"It came to me in a flash," said Wilson. "It suddenly occurred to me that the whole evidence for the murder came from a tainted source. I mean you, Mr. Culpepper."

Culpepper bit his lip, but he made no reply.

"I still don't see how you could prove anything," said Arthur.

"If Culpepper was lying," said Wilson, "there remained not a shred of evidence that there had ever been a body."

"But the trunk?"

"Oh, yes. There was the trunk, of course, and it was heavy enough to contain a body. But did it? And, if not, what did it contain?"

Mr. Culpepper spoke at last. "Well, what did it?" he asked.

"You say you packed it," said Wilson. "You ought to know. When I found it, it contained nothing--or next to nothing. You remember the puzzle was how 'Rosenbaum,' having taken it to that house in Grosvenor Place with a body in it, had managed to leave it behind empty, and got away unobserved with the contents."

"How did he?"

"He didn't. I found the contents last night--at Grosvenor Place."

"But surely," said Lord Ealing, "your men made a thorough search long ago."

"They did," said Wilson, "but they were looking for the wrong thing. I was looking for the right thing last night. And I found it."

"What was it?" asked Arthur.

"What was the heaviest thing we found in Radlett's luggage?" said Wilson.

"I follow you," said Lord Ealing. "Lumps of rock."

"Quite so. Lumps of rock. I found them at Grosvenor Place. The so-called Rosenbaum had found an excellent place of concealment for them."

"Where?"

"Why, on the rockery in the garden. What better place could there be? There they were when I went to look. All the police had stared at them, and no one had ever noticed them."

"Upon my word," said Lord Ealing, "that was clever. The man who could think of that had his head screwed on the right way."

"Or very cleverly screwed on the wrong way, my lord. Well, that was how I found out what was in the trunk. At least I noticed, when I examined the trunk again yesterday, that there was rock grit at the bottom. That put me on the track."

"Smart work," said the boy in buttons, speaking for the first time.

"I appreciate the compliment," said Wilson, laughing. "That boy also came in very handy, by the way."

"What is he doing here?" asked Lord Ealing, looking at him superciliously.

"You remind me of my failure," said Wilson. "I brought him here to identify Pasquett. You see, he noticed things. He saw that the man who called himself Rosenbaum had a crumpled ear."

"A crumpled ear?"

"Yes, and Pasquett had a crumpled ear, too. I knew already that Pasquett had been in London on the night of the crime, and that he had escaped from England in a hurry on the following day. With the aid of your fair daughter, Mr. Culpepper."

"That's nothing to do with me," growled Culpepper. "I know nothing about it."

"That is as may be. At any rate, you had another part to play. Well, as soon as I knew that the Rosenbaum of the hotel had a crumpled ear, whereas the real Rosenbaum has not, I knew that Rosenbaum was Pasquett. But the boy has helped me more than that. He put into my head the idea that Pasquett was Radlett as well. He only told me this morning on the way over. He didn't realise it was important. But he noticed that Radlett and Rosenbaum were both left-handed. Now, Pasquett is left-handed. If it weren't for this boy noticing things, where should we all have been?"

"Teacher used to say I noticed things," said the boy, proudly.

"Go on noticing, my lad," said Wilson, "and you'll be a great man yet. If other people had noticed those ears, we might have hung John Pasquett long ago. ("For a crime he didn't commit," interjected Arthur.) At all events, Mr. Wharton, we should have had him safe under lock and key, instead of----"

"What, I wonder?" said Arthur.

"Safe on the high seas, probably," said Wilson. "But that's not part of my story. When I had found those bits of rock, I went straight back to Scotland Yard, and read right through all the papers bearing on the case. Among others, Radlett's story of his life. You remember it?"

"A very moving document," said Lord Ealing. "I remember it well."

"A most curious document," said Wilson. "You remember there was a complete typewritten copy, and a manuscript copy in Radlett's writing, from which several sheets were missing. I found that the manuscript stopped short.... Where do you think it stopped, Mr. Wharton?"

"I don't know. Certainly it couldn't go beyond the time of Radlett's escape from prison."

"It didn't. It stopped after Pasquett's, but before Radlett's escape from prison. But the typewritten copy went on. It brought in all the stuff about Radlett's escape and his later negotiations with the Soviet Government, and so on. In short, the manuscript was genuine, but the typescript was a forgery."

"You guessed that?" said Arthur.

"I guessed it was a forgery. I did not, I confess, find the explanation. I don't altogether know it now. But I guessed that Pasquett's impersonation of Radlett must date some time back beyond the business at Sugden's. Am I right there?"

Arthur nodded.

"That's good," said Wilson. "I was right again. Perhaps Mr. Wharton, or Mr. Culpepper, can tell us more. But there's one thing I confess I don't understand. I am going to ask Lord Ealing a question. Why, my lord, were you so anxious that we should not find Rosenbaum?"

"I ... anxious, Wilson? Not in the least. What _do_ you mean?"

"And why did you send Mr. Wharton to Warsaw in search of Pasquett?"

Lord Ealing visibly hesitated, and looked at Arthur, as if he suspected him of giving the secret away. "I naturally wanted to get into touch with him," he said at last.

"But why did you deny knowing where Pasquett was?"

"I did not know. I only ... thought he might be at Warsaw."

"What made you think that?"

"Really, Wilson, what is the point of the catechism? If I thought he was at Warsaw, I clearly didn't know he was in London. I don't see what my private affairs have to do with the case."

"Perhaps nothing, my lord. That is just what I was trying to make sure of."

"I hope you will take my assurance that they have nothing to do with it."

"One more question, Lord Ealing. Why did you, behind Inspector Blaikie's back, rifle Radlett's papers at the hotel? I may as well tell you that you left your finger marks all over them."

Lord Ealing, manifestly discomfited by this home thrust, was about to speak, when Culpepper suddenly laughed--a low, sniggering laugh. Wilson and Lord Ealing both turned towards him. Lord Ealing had gone red, as if the laugh frightened him.

"Have you any information bearing on this point, Mr. Culpepper?" asked Wilson.

"Before I open my lips," said Culpepper, "I want to know where I stand. Am I charged, am I to be charged with anything?" Culpepper looked keenly at Wilson as he spoke. "You see," he added, "I don't quite see what you can charge me with."

"You are a partner in this murder--I mean, this--fraud," said Blaikie. "You have given false evidence."

"Pardon, Inspector. I have given no evidence at all. I have told you a little story of what happened at Sugden's Hotel, and to that story I adhere. Apparently, you disbelieve me, and Superintendent Wilson has invented some extraordinary tale about there being no body in the trunk. That story is not true. It may be quite true that it was Pasquett who committed the murder, though, if that is so, I was as much deceived by him as every one else. It may not have been Hugh Radlett who was murdered. But I tell you positively, and I will tell you under oath, if I am brought to trial, that there was a murder, and there was a body in the trunk, whatever else there may have been as well. Gentlemen, I saw the murderer with his victim in his arms." Culpepper looked round the table, meeting in turn the eyes of every man present. "And, as for Lord Ealing, I have something to say. Mr. Radlett showed me, on the night before his murder, a most interesting letter from Lord Ealing, of which I am fortunate enough to possess a copy. If I am brought to trial, I shall have that letter read in court."

"It's an infamous lie," said Lord Ealing. "You have not got the letter--there is no letter for you to have."

"Which do you mean, Lord Ealing? Is there a letter, which Mr. Culpepper has not got? Or is there no letter?"

"I tell you there is no letter," said Lord Ealing. "It's all a plot. I have been tricked."

"If there is no letter," said Wilson, "why get excited about something that does not exist? And who, pray, has tricked you?"

"I beg your pardon, Wilson. I was angry. It seemed that an infamous charge was being made against me. If there is no charge----"

"An infamous charge, Lord Ealing? I have heard no charge. I did not hear Mr. Culpepper even hint at what was in the letter."

"If there is no charge," Lord Ealing continued, "why, let us say no more about it."

Arthur meanwhile had been trying to signal privately to Culpepper, who knew nothing of the bargain between Pasquett and Lord Ealing, to shut up. He felt that Lord Ealing was indeed being unfairly used.

"And why, Mr. Wharton, are you so anxious that Mr. Culpepper should hold his tongue?" said Wilson, who had noticed Arthur's gesture. Arthur's jaw dropped, but he had nothing to say.

"Now, Mr. Culpepper," Wilson continued, "will you please tell us all about this letter of Lord Ealing's?"

Culpepper was obviously perplexed. He could not make out why Arthur wanted him to be quiet. "No," he said, "I prefer to say nothing at present. Of course, if a charge is made against me, I may have to--is there a charge against me?"

"On that point, I can give you no answer, at present. It all depends. I should advise you, in your own interest, to be perfectly frank with me." Culpepper shook his head, and Wilson turned again to Lord Ealing. "Now, my lord, have you any further statement to make?"

"Only that if any further lying accusations are made against me, I shall know how to proceed."

"You seem to know all about this, Mr. Wharton. Have you anything to say about this letter?" asked Wilson.

"No," said Arthur shortly.

"I confess," said Wilson, "that I am disappointed. I had hoped that, when I told you all the true circumstances of the crime, you would be frank with me, and between us we should clear up the little elements of mystery that remain. I have been open with you, but you have not been frank--not one of you. I shall have to report fully on the case to the Home Secretary, and ask for his instructions. Meanwhile, gentlemen, permit me in a few words to sum up the case as I see it. It is clear, I believe, despite what Mr. Culpepper is pleased to say, that there was no murder at Sugden's Hotel. That affair was a case, directly, not of murder, but of fraud and forgery with a view to the acquisition of Hugh Radlett's wealth. Mr. Culpepper was a party to the crime, and you, my lord, while you were not a party to it, and were as much in the dark as to its main features as I was, yet had some connection with these events which has not yet been made clear. The supposed murder, then, was a 'plant' intended to deceive the police. Radlett was brought to life in order that he might make his will and appear to die. But, gentlemen, Radlett did actually die, at some previous time, and, in some way or other, the circumstances of his death so closely involved John Pasquett that he was apparently buried under Pasquett's name. The details of these circumstances, I need hardly tell you, will have to be most carefully investigated; for they give rise to a natural suspicion that Pasquett, though he did not murder Radlett at Sugden's Hotel, may have murdered him in Siberia. If that is so--and, mind you, I am not saying that it is or that it is not--those of you who were accomplices in the fraud may--I say, may--have been also accomplices in the murder, if murder was done at an earlier date. I want you, Culpepper, especially to realise the gravity of the suspicion under which you lie. I shall now give any person here present an opportunity of making any further statement he may wish to make. If none of you has anything to say, I shall bring this conference to an end." Wilson paused for a moment only, and then rose from his chair at the head of the table.

The little group round the table rose, too, and stared blankly at one another. Then Arthur Wharton found his tongue. "I can't," he said, "possibly leave it like that. You're totally wrong, Superintendent. I have a statement to make. I claim the right to speak.

"I told you before you began, that I was willing to tell you all about it. It is monstrous, when you have just proved that John Pasquett did not commit the murder at the hotel, to charge him, without a shadow of evidence, of having committed it somewhere else. I protest. Do you wish to know the truth, or do you not?"

"All the truth, Mr. Wharton?" asked Wilson.

"Yes, all the truth."

"Including that little bit about Lord Ealing's letter?"

"That has nothing to do with it," said Arthur.

"I protest," said Lord Ealing, "at your dragging my private affairs into this case."

"Perhaps Mr. Wharton will kindly proceed," said Wilson, with a twinkle in his eye. "Go ahead, Mr. Wharton. And suppose we all sit down again."