IN WHICH SUPERINTENDENT WILSON HEARS THE STORY OF A GREAT CONCESSION
Superintendent Wilson received Lord Ealing and Inspector Blaikie in his
room. Two hours had passed since he had received, over the telephone,
Blaikie's first intimation of the nature of the affair, and of the
identity of the victim. At once he had set his men to work. Every
routine precaution that could be taken in order to prevent Rosenbaum's
escape had been taken without the loss of a moment. It would be
ill-luck indeed if the fellow contrived to slip through the network of
the police system which the Superintendent so efficiently controlled.
The taxi-driver who had taken up Rosenbaum at the hotel was even now
being searched for; several suspicious characters had already been
detained at the docks. But for any measures going beyond routine,
the Superintendent had perforce to await the result of Blaikie's
investigations on the spot. When the Inspector 'phoned a second time
to say that Lord Ealing himself wished to come round to the Yard and
make a statement, Wilson at once decided to receive his distinguished
visitor in person, and to give his own best attention to the case. In
the meantime, he put it out of his mind. "I shall only get a wrong
idea," he said to himself, "if I start theorising without some further
data."
Superintendent Wilson was at this time easily the most celebrated
detective in England--official or unofficial. In one case after another
he had proved his capacity, both as an investigator and as a leader
of men. He was an excellent investigator himself, but he was best of
all at guiding the work of his subordinates. His was the co-ordinating
brain that had raised Scotland Yard to a standard of efficiency
hitherto unknown in its long career. When foolish persons asked him for
the secret of his success, he made invariably the same reply. "I never
get flurried," he would say; "I just think." To his friends he would
add that all his best work was due to his wife. He would tell her all
about his most difficult cases, and she would never fail, he said, to
give him just the hint he needed in order to arrive at the truth. And,
if you questioned Mrs. Wilson, she would laugh and say, "I'm sure, my
dear, I don't do anything. But Henry likes telling me. I let him talk,
and he says it helps him." Then she would resume talking about the
children--her one unfailing topic of conversation.
Wilson received Lord Ealing deferentially, and yet with familiarity.
Lord Ealing had been Home Secretary in the last Government but three,
and Inspector Wilson, as he then was, had done good service, and been
complimented on his skill in solving the Sussex Street case, which
had promised to lead to certain awkward political complications. Lord
Ealing knew that the Superintendent had brains, and Wilson did not
under-rate Lord Ealing's abilities. He also knew a thing or two about
that nobleman which Lord Ealing fondly believed to be quite unsuspected
in official quarters. The Superintendent had few illusions left. He
approached the case with an open mind, well assured that Lord Ealing
would tell just as much, or just as little, as it suited him to tell.
Of course, it might suit him to tell everything. If so, well and good.
On the other hand, it might not: in that case, Wilson was ready to use
his wits for reading between the lines.
He rose as the two men entered, and motioned Lord Ealing to a chair
opposite his own. Blaikie took a seat beside his chief.
"If your lordship is willing," said Wilson, "I should like the
Inspector to hear what you have to say. He has the case in hand. Thank
you, my lord. Blaikie, you have your notes?"
"How I came to be mixed up in this affair----" began Lord Ealing.
"One moment, my lord. I do not yet know how the case stands. I think
it will be best if the Inspector begins by giving me a full account of
what he had found out so far, and then you can tell us what you know."
"My time is valuable," said Lord Ealing.
"I am sorry; but I think you will realise that my way is best, my lord."
Wilson's manner was still deferential, but his words were peremptory.
They said to Lord Ealing plainly that he was Home Secretary no longer,
and that the representative of Scotland Yard would stand no nonsense
even from the richest man in England.
Lord Ealing drew himself up resentfully. Then he laughed. "Oh, have it
your own way, Wilson," he said, "only hurry up."
"Thank you, my lord. Now, Inspector."
Slowly and methodically, Inspector Blaikie related exactly what he
had found at the hotel, and what inferences he had made. His chief
listened, with eyes closed, as his way was, legs thrust out in
front of him and the tips of his fingers pressed tightly together.
Occasionally he asked a question, in order to clear up a point of fact;
occasionally, too, he made a note on the memorandum block before him.
But he offered no comment. Even when Blaikie related the discovery of
Mr. Culpepper in the cupboard, he only said, "Hm." And when Inspector
Blaikie had done all he said was, "Thank you, Inspector. Now, my lord,
it is your turn." And again he closed his eyes and composed himself
to listen. Lord Ealing said afterwards that it was like talking to a
dictaphone--a machine that recorded everything and gave nothing back.
"I had better begin at the beginning," said Lord Ealing. "You probably
know that I am Chairman of the Anglo-Asiatic Commercial Corporation.
About six months ago I received a letter, addressed to me personally,
from Mr. Hugh Radlett, the American millionaire." Wilson nodded. "I
was naturally very much surprised, for I remembered the excitement
caused by his disappearance from America eight years ago--the result
of some family trouble, I believe. Nothing, so far as I knew, had been
heard of him since. In his letter, Mr. Radlett stated that he had spent
these eight years in Asiatic Russia--a good part of them in prison.
He had passed safely, though not with comfort, through the successive
revolutions and counter-revolutions which had swept over Siberia, and
he had just come from Moscow, where he had been arranging for a great
commercial venture. He----"
"Did you notice the post-mark of his letter?"
"Yes, it was posted at Reval. Mr. Radlett began by reminding me of
certain past business dealings between him and the Anglo-Asiatic, and
said that, though he had not met me personally, he hoped these would
serve as an introduction."
"Then you did not know Mr. Radlett?"
"No. I met him for the first time yesterday. He had spent these years,
as I say, in Russia, apparently with no very definite object in view.
There he had met a man named John Pasquett, a French-Canadian by
origin, whom he had previously known slightly in America. They had
become friends, and Pasquett had told him a tale, which at first he had
not believed, of a fabulously rich deposit of gold he had discovered
when prospecting on the Yenisei River. Pasquett was a gold-mining
expert. Radlett had at length been induced to accompany him on a visit
to the place where the gold was, and, by thorough tests, he had proved
beyond all possible doubt that what Pasquett said was true. He had then
agreed, in the autumn of 1916, to go into the thing with Pasquett.
They drew up a deed of partnership, under which Radlett was to supply
the capital and they were to share equally in the proceeds, Pasquett's
discovery of the gold ranking as his contribution.
"The two men then started out for Petrograd, with the object of
negotiating with the Czar's Government for a concession of the whole
gold-bearing area. Of course, Radlett was immensely wealthy, and could
readily have financed even so big a thing. But they never reached
their destination. While they were on their way, the first Revolution
broke out--early in 1917--and they were both arrested under suspicion
of being Czarist agents, and thrown into prison somewhere in Siberia.
The next four years they seem to have spent mostly in prison, but at
last they escaped, or were released--I am not quite sure which--and
succeeded in getting to Moscow. At least, Radlett did. Pasquett
apparently had escaped, too, but I am not sure whether he went to
Moscow with Radlett.
"At Moscow, Radlett at length succeeded in opening up negotiations
with the Bolshevik Government. The Soviets, he said, seemed firmly
established, and he did not see why he should not get the concession
out of them, where he had meant to get it from the Czarist Government.
He found they were anxious to attract foreign capitalists, especially
Americans. As you know, they badly wanted recognition from the United
States.
"At length he was successful. He obtained, from Lenin himself, a signed
and sealed concession of the whole area he had surveyed with Pasquett,
for a period of thirty years, and subject to a number of conditions.
"All this time he was still working in close association with Pasquett,
and the concession was made out in their joint names, with power to
add other partners, subject to the Government's consent. The question
was how to proceed. Radlett's difficulty was that, as the United
States had refused to recognise the Soviet Government, he could expect
no protection from the American authorities. Pasquett, however, was
a British subject, and he felt the concession would be a great deal
more secure if they could get the protection of the British Government
behind it. There was a trade agreement in force between Great Britain
and Russia, and they resolved to enlist British help. Radlett said he
naturally thought at once of the Anglo-Asiatic as the biggest British
concern interested in Siberian development. He therefore wrote to me,
asking whether my board would be likely to consider a definite offer
to come in with them. If so, either he or Pasquett would come over to
London in order to discuss matters fully, and to place in our hands
full proofs of the soundness of the enterprise. If I thought well of
the scheme, he asked me to reply at once to 'Robertson, Poste Restante,
Reval,' cabling simply the one word, 'Come.'
"I talked matters over informally with my Board, and they thought the
scheme worth considering. I therefore cabled. Several more letters
passed between us. In his final letter, Radlett gave some further
details about the terms of the concession, and said he would come to
London at once with mineral specimens and all the necessary documents.
He mentioned an approximate date for his arrival, and asked me to book
a suite for him at the best quiet hotel I knew. His secretary, he said,
would accompany him, and Pasquett would follow a little later. He also
asked me to recommend him to a thoroughly reliable solicitor, and I
advised him to go to Mr. Franklin, to whom the letter found in his
rooms was addressed."
At this point the Superintendent asked Lord Ealing to pause for a
moment, while he sent a message. Over the internal telephone he then
told a police officer to go at once to Mr. Franklin's office, and bring
him to Scotland Yard as soon as he could be found. This done, he asked
Lord Ealing to go on with his story.
"I then engaged rooms for Radlett at Sugden's Hotel. Four days ago
I received a wire from Paris saying that he would arrive on the
seventeenth; that is, yesterday. During the afternoon of yesterday
he called at my office, and found me just leaving for an important
meeting. We did no more than exchange a few words, and arrange to
breakfast together at his hotel this morning. You know the rest. I
think that is all I can tell you."
"At what time did you arrange to breakfast with Mr. Radlett?"
"Nine o'clock. I wrote it down."
"That's curious," the Inspector broke in. "He ordered breakfast for
9.30, and said he was not to be called until ten past nine."
"I suppose he made a mistake about the time. I am quite certain he said
nine o'clock."
"Do you know at all," asked the Superintendent, "what else Mr. Radlett
did in London yesterday?"
"He told me he had lunched at the hotel, and that he had a lot to do;
but I did not inquire further."
"Did he say anything of importance while he was with you?"
"We were hardly together ten minutes. As far as I remember, he said it
was a great pleasure to be back in civilised surroundings again, and
thanked me for fixing him up so comfortably. About the business matter,
he only said he was sure it was a thoroughly sound thing."
"I suppose his secretary--this man Rosenbaum--was not with him. Did he
mention him at all?"
"No. He was alone. He had spoken of his secretary in one of his
letters, but he did not mention him yesterday."
"In the letter, did he tell you anything about him?"
"No. He did not even mention his name."
"About this concession. I understand it was a big thing."
"Distinctly. If it came off, both he and my Board were to find a
million pounds apiece. More might have been needed later to develop it
fully."
"Who could have had an interest in stopping the whole affair?"
"So far as I am aware, no one in this country had heard of it, except
myself and my Board. Though, of course, there had been rumours. Of
course, I cannot answer for Russia."
"You mean that it looks as if the source of this murder were in
Russia. That, of course, would make it difficult to trace. We have no
connection now with the Russian police."
"Mr. Pasquett, when he comes, may be able to throw some light on it."
"Yes, I suppose you have not heard from him."
"No. We have never been in direct touch with Mr. Pasquett. He is
expected here in a week or so, I believe."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"I have not the least idea. 'Robertson & Co., Post Restante, Reval,' is
the only address I have ever had for either of them."
"We will, of course, make inquiries at Reval. And, if you hear, you
will please let us know at once. I shall be glad if you will lend
me those letters and cables you have had from Mr. Radlett. They may
possibly tell us something further. I know your time is precious, Lord
Ealing, I won't keep you any longer."
Superintendent Wilson had risen from his seat, and was holding out his
hand. Lord Ealing took it. "You understand," he said, "that my Board
will be most anxious to have this matter cleared up--and to get in
touch with Mr. Pasquett as soon as possible."
"Certainly, my lord. You may rely on us to do our best."
Lord Ealing then went away, leaving the two police officers alone.
Wilson turned at once to Blaikie. "You get straight back to the hotel,"
he said, "and find out what more you can. Somebody must have heard
something. Then 'phone me up, and we'll have a late lunch together, and
discuss the whole case."
"What do you make of it, sir?"
"Oh, it looks simple enough. Murder--by this Russian fellow, Rosenbaum.
But there are some queer features about it. I don't know yet. I want to
think."
When Blaikie had gone, Wilson plunged his hands deep into his pockets,
put his feet on the desk, closed his eyes, and settled down to think
things over. Why on earth had the murderer gone off with the body?