Chapter XXXIV

IN WHICH THE MISSING LINKS ARE SUPPLIED, AND ARTHUR WHARTON
RECEIVES A HINT

"As you know," said Arthur, addressing himself to Wilson, "I had the whole story direct from Jack Pasquett last night. Most of it you have found out for yourself. Though how you did it, I don't profess to know. Anyhow, as you know half the story, it is best you should know the whole thing. I should have told you in any case. I want to put out of your mind at once that horrible idea that Jack Pasquett ever killed Radlett, at Sugden's Hotel or anywhere else.

"Let me explain to you how that absurd muddle, in which my uncle and I were both mixed up, about John Pasquett's identity arose. Yes, it was an absurd muddle, uncle; John Pasquett is John Pasquett, and no one else.

"It happened like this. He and I went together to Siberia, as you know. Out there--never mind the details now--I stumbled on what seemed to be absolute proof that Pasquett had died down in Turkestan a couple of years ago. I met the actual man who had signed the death certificate. Then I got him and Pasquett together, though Jack did not want to meet him, and he at once addressed Pasquett as 'Mr. Radlett.' I was very much worried, but I hadn't an idea of the real truth. Then, purely by chance, Pasquett encountered an old acquaintance of his while he was with me, and the fellow addressed him, not as Pasquett, but as 'Jack Pearson.' I tried to get Jack to give me a coherent explanation of what it all meant, but naturally he wouldn't tell me the truth then, and his explanations only made matters worse. I told him frankly--we were very close friends, you know--that I didn't know who he was, or whether he was really entitled to Radlett's property, and that I should have to go back to England and lay all the facts before Lord Ealing. Jack finally said he would come back with me, as he could easily prove, once he got back to Europe, that he was John Pasquett, and that my suspicions were all nonsense. That was how we came to return together unexpectedly to Europe."

"I see. Go on, Mr. Wharton."

"We came to Paris first, because Jack wanted to find some friends and some old papers and photographs which would establish his identity. We went to the Culpeppers' flat, but they were away at Paramé, and Jack's friends--Mr. and Mrs. Ruston--were also absent from Paris, and we couldn't find out where they were. Jack said he would go to Paramé and find the Culpeppers, who would know where the Rustons were; as it turned out, of course, they were actually here. I said I would go straight to London, and see Lord Ealing, and Jack could follow with the proofs." Arthur paused and then continued in a lower voice.

"I want to be quite frank with you, Superintendent. The reason why I left Jack and went on to London was to give him a chance of getting away safely, in case he really wasn't--who he said he was."

"I understand," said Wilson.

"I came on to London, and saw my uncle."

"I don't quite know, Mr. Wharton, why you saw him, and gave him to understand that Mr. Pasquett was--not Mr. Pasquett, if you still weren't sure yourself. Why didn't you wait till Pasquett's identity was either proved, or disproved, by his running away?"

"I never did tell my uncle that Jack was not Pasquett. I only said I very much feared he was not. And, you see, I had written him an account of my doubts from Siberia, when the thing first happened."

"I see. So Lord Ealing knew, as much as you knew, some time before your arrival. You kept your knowledge to yourself, my lord?"

"It would have been unjust to Mr. Pasquett," said Lord Ealing, "to act on a mere suspicion. I told no one."

"You seemed to think it more than a suspicion when I met you yesterday."

"My dear Wilson, it was a complete misunderstanding. I thought you had come to tell me that Pasquett was proved an impostor."

"I see," said Wilson dryly. "Now, Mr. Wharton, you came back and you saw Lord Ealing. What occurred between you?"

"Only say what is relevant to the case, Arthur," said Lord Ealing.

"My uncle," said Arthur, "jumped to the conclusion that Pasquett was an impostor, and made me believe it too."

"Then why, Mr. Wharton, did you refuse to tell me this yesterday? And why did Lord Ealing refuse?"

"We agreed to hush it up," said Arthur.

"Superintendent, let me make this clear," said Lord Ealing. "We only agreed to say nothing until the truth was definitely established. Of course, once I was sure, I should, as a man of honour, have taken action at once."

"That is not true," said Arthur. "Lord Ealing persuaded me, through my friendship with Jack, to hush the whole thing up, even if it was true. That was why I wouldn't tell you, but that reason no longer----"

"The fellow is lying," said Lord Ealing, hotly. "This is all part of a plot against me."

"Let Mr. Wharton finish what he has to say," said Wilson.

"I protest," said Lord Ealing.

"After seeing you yesterday," Arthur continued, "I came straight on here, and found Jack Pasquett. I had wired to him to await my arrival. In five minutes he convinced me of his identity. He showed me photographs of himself, from a child--old papers. And both Mr. and Mrs. Ruston, who were here then, had known him from a boy up. He removed all doubts from my mind. The photographs are in the house now, and the Rustons will at any time swear to his identity. Mr. Ruston is a Canadian merchant, in Paris."

"I think," said Wilson, "we may take Pasquett's identity as provisionally established, subject to confirmation. How, then, did the mistake arise?"

"I was coming to that," said Arthur. "You remember Pasquett and Radlett were in prison together, in Turkestan. Then Jack escaped, while Radlett was recaptured in helping him to get away. Jack wouldn't leave his friend behind. He came back, and finally helped him to escape as well. They got away into the mountains, hoping to make their way into India. It was intensely cold, Jack says, and Radlett had some disease on him. He became too ill and weak to go on. They had to halt and make a camp. Jack nursed him as best he could, but up there in the Pamir hills Hugh Radlett died. Jack told me exactly how it happened. He was sitting with Radlett's head on his knees. Radlett was almost past speech. Suddenly he roused himself and said, 'I'm going, Jack. Give me something to write with. I must make my will. Then I'll die in peace.' Jack says he tried to soothe him, but Radlett said, 'I want you to have my money, Jack. Give me a pencil and a scrap of paper,' and he began to write. But he never finished. Look here. Here's what he wrote. Jack gave it me yesterday to show you."

Arthur took a scrap of paper from his pocket-book, and passed it to Wilson, who read it to himself, and then repeated it aloud.

"To my friend and partner, John Pasquett, I leave al----"

"It stops there," said Wilson.

"When he had written that much," said Arthur, "the pencil dropped from his hand, and he gave a sigh, and died.

"Jack Pasquett gave me that paper yesterday. He said it excused what he had done. Let me try to tell you what he felt. 'I have done Hugh Radlett no wrong,' he said. 'Hugh meant and wanted me to have his money. He had often told me so. And I wanted the money, too, half for its sake, half for his.' Jack said he wasn't fond of money--it always flowed through his fingers. But he wanted Radlett's money, because he wanted to carry on the plans they had made together. Oh, I know he broke the law, and I know he was wrong. He has got a twisted way of looking at these things. I suppose he ought just to have accepted his bad luck, and let the money go. But he's not built that way, and he made me see he had a case--a strong case it sounded, as he told me. I'm not quite justifying him; but I can see his point of view. Can't you?"

"Tell us positively what he did," said Wilson.

"He started at once, beside his friend's body, planning how to get the money. And, up there in the hills, he made his first plan. Why shouldn't he bury his dead friend as John Pasquett, and live himself for the rest of his life as Hugh Radlett, the millionaire? They were of a size, they were like each other, and Jack says he was a good amateur actor in his day. He felt he could play the part. What is more, he could write so like Radlett that only an expert could tell the difference. He had often written letters for Radlett while they were together.

"That was Jack's plan, and he began working it at once. He sent, in Hugh Radlett's name, a letter to the prison authorities, saying that he, John Pasquett, had died up in the mountains, and telling them where to find the body. They found it, and buried it in his name. Then he set to work to get hold of Radlett's papers, which had been left behind in their escape. He wrote in Radlett's name, offering money for them, and got no answer. Then luck favoured him. He met the commissar fellow who had been at the prison. He met him down in India, where he was--incog., of course--doing some secret propaganda work. He promised, if he would get him his papers--he pretended to be Radlett, of course--not to give him away to the Indian authorities. He got the papers and started for Europe as Hugh Radlett, American citizen. He had written before that to Radlett's lawyers in New York, and got letters and remittances from them which showed that they had no suspicion anything was wrong. Then he went to Moscow as Radlett, and started his negotiations with the Russian Government. That was when he got the concession. He travelled over a good part of Europe as Hugh Radlett. Everything seemed to be going right. And then--he met Culpepper." Arthur turned towards the little man as he spoke.

"I had nothing to do with this imposture," said Culpepper.

"We shall see," said Wilson. "Go on, Mr. Wharton."

"Culpepper had known both Radlett and Pasquett in Siberia. Jack was staying in a hotel in Paris, as Hugh Radlett, of course. He was in the lobby, when Culpepper came in. He saw Culpepper staring at him. Then he says Culpepper went up to the office and asked the girl there a question. After that, he came straight across the room to Jack. 'How do you do, Jack Pasquett?' he said. 'I see Radlett is here with you. I heard you were dead.'

"Bit by bit, he says, Culpepper got the whole story out of him. He had to tell him in order to shut his mouth. Culpepper at once began to blackmail him, and made his life hell."

"I deny this altogether. It is a monstrous invention," said Culpepper.

"I am saying what Pasquett told me," Arthur continued. "He says Culpepper persuaded him that he was playing far too dangerous a game. He was bound to be recognised by others, and his imposture found out. But Culpepper was not a man to let the chance of fortune go. He thought out the scheme which Jack and he put into execution at Sugden's Hotel. Of course, Culpepper was to have a big slice of Radlett's money in return for his help."

"I suppose," said Culpepper, "I must hear this nonsense out, but please take note that I deny every word of it."

"Quite," said Wilson.

"Culpepper's idea was," said Arthur, "that, as Radlett had never finished his will in Pasquett's favour and there was no chance of establishing it legally, the false Radlett must stay alive long enough to get the concession duly signed, and to make a new will in Pasquett's favour. At first, he wanted the will to be in his favour as well as Jack's, but Jack made him see that it would spoil the value of his evidence, which was essential to their plan. Radlett was to make a new will, and then conveniently die, leaving his money to Jack. But it would be necessary to produce proof of the death, and to get the will properly signed by independent witnesses.

"First of all, Jack went again to Moscow, as Hugh Radlett, and got the concession through in the joint names of Radlett and himself. Then, still as Radlett, he opened up negotiations with my uncle and the Anglo-Asiatic, living at Reval while he was doing this, and taking care to produce the illusion that both Radlett and he had been there. He resumed his own name and identity, only posing occasionally as Radlett in order to keep up the illusion.

"Then came the last act of the play. Pasquett travelled to London as Hugh Radlett, Culpepper coming over separately on another boat. In Moscow, Pasquett had met Rosenbaum; he was an agitator for the Third International, and Jack promised to smuggle him into England as his secretary. Rosenbaum, of course, thought he was Radlett, and knew nothing of the plot. Jack and Rosenbaum travelled to England together, and parted as soon as they had safely passed the customs authorities. Then Jack went on to Sugden's Hotel, where, as you guessed, he played the double part of Radlett and Rosenbaum, and staged the scene for the supposed murder. In the course of the day, Jack saw Lord Ealing and Mr. Franklin and signed afresh, in the presence of witnesses, the faked will which he and Culpepper had prepared. In the evening Culpepper called at the hotel to see Radlett, by arrangement, of course. He took part in fixing up the rooms so as to produce the illusion of a fatal struggle. They supplied the blood, by the way, by making their noses bleed over the sheets and on the floor. Then Culpepper was left behind as a witness, to prove there had been a body, while Jack went off with the trunk, disguised as Rosenbaum. He played various tricks to throw the police off the scent, escaped out of England into France----"

"How?" asked Wilson.

"I think you know that already," said Arthur. "Miss Culpepper was waiting for him. She met him at Sloane Square, and motored him down from London to Poole, where the boat was waiting to take him across. Jack came here, and the next morning went off by aeroplane to Warsaw, meaning every one to believe he had been there at the time of the murder, and only to fall back on his _alibi_ at Paramé if the Warsaw _alibi_ fell through. The whole thing went off according to plan, and Jack said he thought the police had given it up as a bad job. Otherwise, of course, he would not have come back to Europe."

"The best laid schemes, Mr. Wharton. Truth will out, even in despite of bungling policemen like Blaikie and me."

"But you found it out," said Arthur.

"Too late, Mr. Wharton, too late. The birds are flown. At least, they have left only you and Mr. Culpepper in the nest. You realise, I suppose, that you have been compounding a felony by helping Pasquett to escape."

"Yes," said Arthur. "I know. I am here if you want me."

"Perhaps, before we come to anything so unpleasant, you will help to clear up one little perplexity that remains in my mind. You did not tell me about Lord Ealing's letter."

"Once more, I protest," said Lord Ealing. "That is quite another matter."

"On that point," said Arthur, "I have nothing to say."

Wilson turned to Culpepper. "You have heard Mr. Wharton's story," he said, "and I think it bears the obvious stamp of truth. What have you to say about it?"

"Nothing," said Culpepper.

"_Le roi s'avisera_," said Arthur, smiling.

"Nothing?" said Wilson. "Not even about Lord Ealing's letter?"

"Very well," said Culpepper. "If you want to know, you shall know. I won't stop," he added, as Arthur tried to check him. "John Pasquett had in his possession a letter from Lord Ealing in which he promised to use his influence with the Foreign Secretary, in return for a consideration, to secure Government support for the Anglo-Asiatic's dealings with the Soviet Government. He asked for a large block of unpaid shares in the concession in return for this service. He said he had fixed it up with Sir Lewis Llewellyn."

"He had fixed it up with Llewellyn?" asked Wilson, half incredulously.

"With the Foreign Secretary. This letter was addressed to Mr. Radlett at Sugden's Hotel. It will make something of a sensation if it comes out. Eh, my lord?" Culpepper smiled sardonically at Lord Ealing. "And there was more in it than that."

"There is no such letter," said his lordship. "The man is a liar. Will you take the word of a low criminal against mine? You had better be careful, Wilson."

"Where is this letter?" asked Wilson.

"Pasquett had it," said Culpepper, "but I have a copy. If I am put on trial, I shall read it in court."

"Superintendent Wilson," said Lord Ealing, "this is a monstrous lie. No such letter ever existed, of course. This fellow admits he has only a copy--an obvious forgery."

"What do you say, Mr. Wharton?" asked Wilson.

"I have nothing to say," said Arthur.

"Perhaps," said Culpepper, "Pasquett has left the original behind here. Do you know, my dear?" For the first time, he addressed his wife.

Mrs. Culpepper seemed to wake up suddenly out of a dream. "Oh, no," she said. "Jack gave it to Mr. Ruston yesterday, didn't he, Mr. Wharton? Mr. Ruston was to hand it to Lord Ealing if----" She stopped. A scared expression came to her face. "Oh, dear, whatever have I said?" she added.

"If what?" said Wilson.

"Oh, Alfred, had I better tell?" sobbed Mrs. Culpepper.

"Out with it, woman," said her husband.

"Don't tell, Mrs. Culpepper," said Arthur.

"If--L--Lord Ealing g--got the m--message safely through," Mrs. Culpepper wailed.

"What message?" said Wilson.

"The m--m--message to the ship."

"What ship? Where?"

"Shut up, Maria. You've said enough," said Culpepper. "Now do you believe there was a letter?"

"It's a lie--a plot," said Lord Ealing. "There never was a letter."

"Where did you go, my lord, in your car last night when my men lost sight of you?"

"That's my affair," said Lord Ealing. "And permit me to tell you that, if this monstrous story, with its vile insinuations against Sir Lewis Llewellyn and myself, ever sees the light, it will----" A knock at the door caused him to leave his sentence unfinished.

"Mr. Ruston, sir, is in the hall. Do you wish to see him?" said a detective, who had entered as Lord Ealing was speaking.

"Most opportune," said Wilson. "Show him in."

"Ah, Mr. Ruston. Pleased to see you. We were just talking about that letter of Lord Ealing's Pasquett gave you yesterday."

Ruston started back, astonished. "By the way, where is it now?" Wilson went on.

"Lord Ealing burnt it, as soon as I gave it him," said Ruston, too much surprised to say anything but tell the truth.

"I feared so," said Wilson. "And in return for what service, Mr. Ruston, did you give Lord Ealing back his letter?"

Arthur had by this time signalled to Ruston across the room, and Ruston took his cue. "It was his," he said. "I don't understand what you mean about a service. I just gave it him."

"What was in it?"

"I don't know. I never read it."

"My dear fellow," said Lord Ealing. "These absurd policemen pretend to believe it had something to do with the crime."

"No connection at all," said Ruston. "A mere matter of business."

Lord Ealing rose from his seat. "Superintendent Wilson," he said majestically, "I have sat here and heard myself insulted and vilified. I have done this, because my one desire was to help the ends of justice. But I warn you. You may go too far. I shall now leave you, and return to England, with only a hint to you to let my affairs alone. Your suspicions are too absurd to be taken seriously. You believe the evidence of this pack of scoundrels and conspirators, and you doubt my word. I will overlook it, Wilson, but I warn you not to meddle with my affairs. And I warn you all. Good-morning, gentlemen."

"Good-morning, my Lord," said Wilson. "I shall know where to find you if I want you."

Lord Ealing swept from the room. Wilson rose again from his seat. "Our conversation is over," he said. "A word with you, Mr. Wharton."

Leaving the others behind, Arthur followed the Superintendent into the garden. "I wanted to give you a word of advice, Mr. Wharton. You have compounded a felony. If I were you, I should not be in a hurry to return to England for a while, until things have--well--settled down. Why not go back to Siberia at once?"

"You mean I'm free to go," said Arthur.

"If I were you," said Wilson, "and, of course, this is strictly between ourselves, I should go without asking any questions. And I should take Culpepper with you."

"Do you mean----" Arthur began.

"You take my advice without asking what I mean. Good-bye, Mr. Wharton. Go and talk to Culpepper at once. I see Inspector Blaikie coming to find me." Wilson put out his hand, and shook Arthur's. "In my private capacity," he said, "I'm not sorry your friends escaped. Good-bye." Arthur went back into the house.

Blaikie came up. "You gave me no instructions, sir. Whom am I to arrest? Lord Ealing? Culpepper? Arthur Wharton? There will be all sorts of formalities about getting warrants. We don't want them to get away."

"Don't we, Blaikie?" asked Wilson, smiling. "I have just told Wharton that the best thing he and Culpepper can do is to get off to Siberia at once."

Blaikie gasped. "You're letting them go, sir?"

"Certainly."

"And Lord Ealing?"

"Most certainly of all. Pretty fools we should look, if we charged Lord Ealing with malpractices on the strength of Culpepper's tainted evidence, based on a letter we couldn't produce. Besides, I see you've not heard the news."

"The news?"

"The Government fell unexpectedly last night. Lord Ealing will be in the new Cabinet. It would not surprise me if he returned to the Home Office. It would be a new thing for Scotland Yard to accuse the Home Secretary of corrupt practices and abetting the escape of a felon. Wouldn't it?"

"Oh, Lord, sir," said Blaikie. "Whatever shall we do?"

"Drop the whole case, Blaikie, like a hot brick. If I had any really good evidence against Lord Ealing, I would go through with it, no matter what it led to. But I haven't. All these folks will lie. Ealing helped Pasquett to escape, and they will all stand by him--even Culpepper, when they have explained the situation to him. No, Blaikie, we've got to take jolly good care _not_ to catch Pasquett now. Call off the pursuit. Say we have certain evidence they are drowned. They mustn't be caught. I'm glad I've solved this case, but it must go no further."

"And what about you, sir?"

"If Lord Ealing becomes Home Secretary, Blaikie, I shall retire from the Yard. I've often considered it."

"Retire, sir?" said Blaikie, aghast.

"Private work is much more exciting, Blaikie, and one gets a much freer hand. I'm sick of the routine."

"But what a loss, sir. What will the Yard do without you?"

"If Ealing is at the Home Office, I shall be cleared out soon enough. I prefer to leave of my own accord."

Blaikie sighed. "And this is what comes of finding out too much," he said.

"Or of finding it out too late, Blaikie. It's my fault. I blame myself."

"I should never have found it out at all," said the Inspector, humbled.

"No, Blaikie, I don't think you would," said Wilson. He walked towards his car, cheerfully whistling a tune. Blaikie followed sorrowfully after his chief.