Chapter VII

IN WHICH SUPERINTENDENT WILSON MAKES AN ALARMING SUGGESTION, AND A
TAXI-MAN GIVES HIS VIEWS ON PROGRESS

Wilson and Blaikie lunched together, and compared notes. Blaikie told his chief what he had found out at the hotel, and his chief told him about Mr. Franklin's visit, not mentioning, however, his suspicion that the lawyer had kept something back. "Well, where do we stand now?" Wilson asked.

"The puzzle in this case, sir, is not finding out who the criminal is, but catching him."

"So you're sure Rosenbaum did it?"

"Why, sir, isn't it obvious?"

"I suppose it is. If so, well and good. He ought to be easy enough to catch. But there's many a slip."

What the Superintendent said was true enough. There ought not to be much difficulty in catching Rosenbaum. He had only a few hours' start: he had gone off in a taxi, the driver of which could probably be found with a little trouble. He was an alien, of noticeable appearance, and with a strong foreign accent--an easy man to look out for, one almost certain to be stopped at any port if he attempted to leave the country, one who would find it hard to lie hid for long if he stayed in England.

Of course, Rosenbaum might not be his real name, and, even if it was, he would certainly have discarded it after the crime. He would also very likely try to disguise himself. But his real appearance was known; for he could hardly have been wearing a disguise while he was in Radlett's company.

It seemed safe enough to look for a man of Rosenbaum's known appearance, as described by the servants at the hotel, subject, of course, to such disguise as he might have been able to assume since the murder. If he had really driven to Victoria Station, so peculiar a traveller would certainly have been noticed there, at seven o'clock in the morning, when the station was fairly empty. Even if he had changed his destination, they would find out from the driver where he had gone, and the tracing of a foreigner with so heavy a trunk ought to be practicable enough, whatever shifts he might try. Embarrassed by his heavy burden, Rosenbaum could hardly escape the scrutiny of railway porters, or of any one to whom he applied for help. And he certainly could not carry the trunk about himself. No, even if the process took time, it ought to be possible to track him down in the end.

His past movements, too, could be followed up, as far as it seemed necessary, in conjunction with Hugh Radlett's. They had arrived the day before, presumably by boat from the Continent. They could probably be traced, if it was worth while; but since they had arrived, it did not seem to matter much how or whence they had come. Then, inquiries could be pushed at Reval, through the Esthonian police, and this might bring to light further particulars about Rosenbaum, and shed light on the conspiracy of which Radlett was the victim.

The origin of the murder, both the police officers agreed, was probably to be sought in Russia. This presented a difficulty. As the Soviet Government was not recognised, there were no relations between the British and the Russian police, and no help was to be expected from the latter. Some information might perhaps be got through the British Trade Commissioner at Moscow--but probably not much. Still, this scarcely seemed to matter; for, however Radlett's affairs in Russia might be mixed up with the case, the murder could be proved apart from them, and, even if Rosenbaum tried to make tracks for Russia, he would have great difficulty in getting there. If he were caught in England, his Russian record would scarcely be needed to convince a British jury of his guilt. The evidence against him seemed strong already: it would be beyond the reach of doubt if he could be caught with the body still in his possession.

But what did he want with the body? Why on earth had he taken it away? This was the point that kept worrying both the detectives as they sat discussing the case. Even if Rosenbaum had originally meant to go off with the body as part of a plan for removing all traces of the crime, would he not have left it behind when he found that this plan was not feasible? True, he had told the men to call for his luggage. But he could easily have explained that he had decided to leave it behind, after all. Or he could have packed a trunk full of clothes. No suspicion could possibly have been aroused by doing so. And his chances of getting away safely would have been vastly increased. Surely he could not want Radlett's dead body for some sinister purpose. Of what conceivable use would it be to him? It would be only a colossal embarrassment.

Wilson said little while Blaikie put these difficulties to him. Then he asked a question. "You're sure, are you, that Radlett's dead body _was_ in the trunk?"

"Why, sir, how else could it have been got out of the hotel?"

"As for that, Inspector, I'm asking you. Could any one have entered or left the hotel during the night without being seen?"

"Quite impossible, I think. There are only two entrances. The back way was locked, bolted, and barred, and the key safe in the manager's room. And there was a watchman who would certainly have noticed. And the locks had not been tampered with. Of that I'm sure. The night porter was on duty at the front door all night. He says no one, except residents in the hotel, came in, and no one at all went out till he went off duty at seven o'clock. He seems a thoroughly reliable man."

"I see. Residents above suspicion?"

"Quite, I think." Blaikie handed over the list compiled by the hotel manager.

"Hm. Sugden's does attract the right people," said Wilson. "Nothing doing there, Inspector. That means it was a one-man job, on the inside at any rate."

"And it means the body was removed in the trunk."

"One moment, Inspector. It means that Radlett, since he has vanished and did not go out any other way, was removed in the trunk."

"Yes, sir. That's what I said."

"No, Blaikie. You said 'the body.' Are you sure Radlett was dead when he was removed?"

Blaikie gave a gasp of astonishment. "Why, sir, all that blood----And Culpepper seemed quite certain."

"A man can bleed a lot without being dead, Inspector. That Culpepper thought he was dead proves nothing. An unconscious man looks very like a dead one. And there may be uses for a live body where there would be none for a corpse."

"You mean, sir," said Blaikie excitedly, "this fellow Rosenbaum carried off Radlett alive, and is holding him to ransom, or something of the sort."

"No, Blaikie, I don't mean anything so dogmatic. I only say that, if Radlett was carried off in that trunk, there's not much more reason for supposing he was carried off dead than alive. Of course, if he was alive he was certainly wounded--and very likely drugged into the bargain. Rosenbaum had drugs with him. He drugged Culpepper. He may have drugged Radlett, too."

The Inspector caught enthusiastically at the idea. "Yes, I see. Rosenbaum, you mean, searched everywhere for the papers he wanted. He didn't find them, because they were safe at Mr. Franklin's office. So he attacked Radlett and wounded him in the struggle, his object being to frighten him into surrendering the papers. Failing in this, he drugged him and carried him off, meaning to threaten him at leisure into giving them up, and perhaps paying a big sum as ransom. Yes, sir, that must be right. It's the only possible explanation of Rosenbaum's carrying off the body."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Blaikie. It's one explanation, but it isn't the only one. He may simply have meant to cover up the traces, and been taken by surprise by the men who came in to fetch the trunk sooner than he expected."

"I don't think so, sir. I'm sure that other idea of yours is right. Radlett's being alive would make sense of the whole thing."

"I think, Blaikie, you underestimate the difficulty of keeping a living man prisoner here in London."

"Of course, sir, he had accomplices. One of these Bolshevik dens--the enemy in our midst, sir. We must call in the Special Branch."

"My dear Blaikie, don't talk like an article in the _Daily Express_. I'm not much of a believer in Bolshevik dens. Most of these fellows are a harmless lot of fanatics."

"But Sir Basil always used to say----"

"Oh, yes, I know all about that." Wilson's little differences with Sir Basil had been notorious, and the quoting of Sir Basil as an authority caused him to react at once. "No, Inspector. Most likely Radlett was dead, and Rosenbaum's plan was to remove all traces of the crime. Then he just hadn't time to do it."

"Surely he would have allowed time."

"It's not easy to plan out a murder as accurately as that. There was the struggle, you remember. Probably he counted on killing or silencing Radlett right off."

"But, if he hadn't time, he would have left the trunk behind."

"Unless he got flurried, or feared that a change of plan might arouse suspicion. Or unless he did want the dead body for some reason we have yet to discover."

"Still, sir, may I follow up that idea of yours? I mean about Radlett being alive."

"Certainly, Blaikie. We can't afford to miss any chances. And it all comes back to tracing Mr. Rosenbaum and his precious trunk. Do exactly what you think best--even to calling in the Special Branch, if you think that will help."

"Well, sir, it might help. They are supposed to know all the Bolshevik haunts in London."

"Yes," said Wilson dryly. "I remember they used to discover at least a couple of great revolutionary plots a week, before Sir Basil went."

"These Bolsheviks are dangerous fellows, sir."

"My dear Blaikie, if you had seen as much of the Special Branch as I have, you'd be more sceptical about Bolshevik plots."

Wilson and Blaikie returned to the Yard together, and found that, in their absence, the taxi-driver who had driven Rosenbaum to Victoria Station had arrived, and was now in waiting. "Send him up," said Wilson, and a few minutes later the two officers met him in the Superintendent's room. The driver was a small, wizened old man, looking somehow ridiculously out of place in his taxi-driver's uniform. You realised why, when you heard him speak. Then you knew that he was an old horse-cab driver, driven to a change of occupation by the changing times, but permanently resentful that the times should change. He glanced, with small, suspicious eyes, at the two police officers, obviously ill at ease.

"Well," he said, "I'm here. Boss said I was to come round at once, and here I am. What yer want? Eh?"

"Sit down, will you, Mr.----"

"Brown, sir--John Brown. That's me," said the driver defiantly.

"Sit down, Mr. Brown. All we want is a little information about a man you picked up at Sugden's Hotel in St. James's Square this morning."

"Oh, 'im. Foreign bloke. 'Bout seven. Victoria Station, Brighton line. 'Eavy trunk. What's 'e done?"

"You drove him to Victoria, Brighton line, you say. What happened there?"

"'E gets down, and yowls out for a porter to kem and take 'is trunk. So a porter comes, and I says to 'im, 'You mind out, matey. This 'ere trunk ain't no air-balloon,' I says. 'She'd sink the _Lusitania_,' I sez. 'And she'll sink you, if yer tries to get 'er off of 'ere all on yer lonesome.' But the porter, 'e 'ad no sense. 'E pulls at 'er, and 'e pulls, and the gent by-and-by comes and 'elps 'im, and they gets 'er on a truck and off they goes. So I 'ollers after 'im, ''I, mister, what about poor little me?' and 'e comes back and pays me 'andsome like, and off 'e goes after 'is blasted trunk. I 'eard 'im tell the chap to take 'er to the cloak-room--luggage office, 'e called it."

"And that was the last you saw of him?"

"No, mister, as it 'appens it weren't the last I saw of 'im. I pulls off into the rank jest outside the South Eastern, 'angin' on for another fare. And a few minutes later I sees that identical trunk bein' brought outer the station by another porter. The porter 'e 'ailed a taxi in front of me, and 'e and the driver packed the trunk on. Then up comes that furrin' gent and in 'e 'ops, and away they goes. So I sez to meself, 'what's 'e want drivin' off like that?' I sez. But anyways that's 'ow it 'appened."

"Do you know the number of the second cab, or who drove it?"

"No, mister, I don't, 'cep' that it was one of these new-fangled chaps what was born and bred, so to speak, on these blinkin' buses. Mechanic, 'e'd call 'isself, and think 'isself blasted smart. Not one of the old 'orse brigade, same as me. See?"

"You didn't notice the number or know the man?"

"Ain't I sayin' I didn't? 'E weren't my sort. But I notice the furrin' gent, same as you would, 'cause of 'is 'air and 'is fool fussin' round."

"Fussing? How?"

"'E kept telling them porters to be careful. Said 'is trunk was chock full of valuable objects, as might break, and danced round 'em like mad while they was a-liftin' of it for fear it'd come open. Say, mister, what was it? Stolen jools, eh?"

"To the best of our belief, Mr. Brown, it was a body."

"'Oly Moses. Who'd a thought it of 'im? 'E looked a 'armless gent--an' 'e paid all right. 'Taint murder, is it, mister?"

"It may be murder, Mr. Brown. We may need you again. Your address--your home address. Thank you. And now we'll have a look at your taxi. Nothing left in it, I suppose, after our gentleman got in or later in the day?"

"Not so much as 'd buy an honest man 'arf a pint, mister. Some folks 'as all the luck, and they ain't yours truly, 'swelp me Gawd," said the driver, his suspicions revived by this question.

"All right, Mr. Brown. We'll have a look all the same." And they went down together to the waiting taxi, and thoroughly examined it, with no result. Still, at least they had picked up Mr. Rosenbaum's trail. He had driven to Victoria, ostensibly to catch a train. Yet within a few minutes he had mounted his trunk on another taxi, and driven off somewhere else. Obviously fishy proceedings. The next step was to find taxi number two.