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.