IN WHICH LORD EALING SUCCEEDS IN A DESIGN CONCEIVED FOR REASONS
BEST KNOWN TO HIMSELF
Lord Ealing was a frequent caller at Scotland Yard during these
troublous days. His anxiety to find Pasquett grew hourly; for, despite
all possible precautions, the shares of the Anglo-Asiatic were dropping
and dropping, and, until Pasquett turned up and agreed to carry on
with the concession, there was no prospect of recovery. Even Mr.
Benjamin's ingenuity had hardly been able to check the flying rumour
that Radlett's death had shattered the Anglo-Asiatic's hopes, that
the projected concession was off, and that, to put it plainly, the
Corporation had moved from Kingsway to Queer Street.
Lord Ealing kept a brave face before the world, and made a speech full
of optimism at a big city dinner, taking good care to refer to the vast
openings for British capital and enterprise in the undeveloped quarters
of the globe, particularly in Asia. He had no patience, he said, with
those who maintained that Great Britain had passed her zenith, or that
the vast forces still latent in the modern business system would not
be developed to the full by British brains, with the savings of the
thrifty British citizen behind them. Even now, vast vistas were opening
out: the most glorious achievements of British ingenuity and resource
were still in the future. He could tell them.... But the City was not
reassured by Lord Ealing's eloquence: Anglo-Asiatics dropped three
points on the following day.
Nor did Lord Ealing, when he was by himself, appear to be reassured.
Then, he looked gloomy and worried. When he was with Vanzetti and
Benjamin, he was cheerful enough, telling them he had no doubt
of Pasquett's coming in, or of the concession being carried to a
triumphant issue. But it was hard work, keeping up the air of serenity,
and Lord Ealing had other things to worry him besides the drop in the
Anglo-Asiatic's shares. He kept sending Arthur Wharton messages bidding
him spare no trouble in his search for Pasquett, and he constantly
either rang up Superintendent Wilson at Scotland Yard, or called there
himself in hope of news. He also used every means in his power of
ensuring that Pasquett, wherever he was, should hear of his partner's
death. He had a good hold on the foreign news agencies, and he saw
to it that a full account of the crime was sent out by them to the
Continental papers, and regularly followed up. Surely, if Pasquett
heard of the crime, he would get into communication at once and come to
London with all possible speed. For Pasquett, too, one would suppose,
had an interest in putting the concession through. He might communicate
either with the Anglo-Asiatic or with the police, but he would hardly
lose any time before getting into touch with the one or the other. When
the days passed, and no news came, Lord Ealing began to fear that some
evil had befallen Pasquett as well as his partner. Could he have been
murdered too?
On one of his calls at Scotland Yard, Lord Ealing found Superintendent
Wilson out, and was shown into Blaikie's office. This was on the day
after the Inspector's visit to Mr. Culpepper at Enfield, and Blaikie
told Lord Ealing what had passed between them. When he mentioned
Culpepper's remark that Pasquett had been reluctant to go in with the
Anglo-Asiatic, and had been in favour of co-operating with a French
syndicate, Lord Ealing's gloom visibly deepened. It was more than ever
urgent to find Pasquett at once, if there was a prospect that he might
open up negotiations with some rival financial group.
When Blaikie told him of his ill success in tracking Rosenbaum, this,
so far from adding to Lord Ealing's gloom, seemed even to cheer him up
a little. "I'd take my oath," said Blaikie to Wilson afterwards, "he
positively doesn't want Rosenbaum to be caught." Wilson said that Lord
Ealing had given him the same impression. "But why," asked Blaikie,
"why should he want the murderer to get away? I'm damned if I can
understand it."
"Unless we're hopelessly on the wrong track, and Rosenbaum isn't the
murderer, after all," said Wilson, "and Lord Ealing knows who is, and
doesn't want it to come out."
"There's another curious thing," said Blaikie. "I mentioned to him that
we had reason to believe that Pasquett was somewhere in Poland, and,
from the way he took it, I'd have sworn he knew that already, and was
very much annoyed at our knowing it. But that simply doesn't fit in
with his anxiety we should find Pasquett. And I don't see how he could
know where Pasquett is, or was."
"He has not seen Culpepper, I suppose."
"No, I'm sure he has not. Have you any news from Warsaw?"
"Nothing yet. I wired to the Warsaw police as soon as you told me what
Culpepper said. But they've not answered yet."
"I dare say Pasquett is not there, after all."
"Very likely not. He may be in Russia for all we know."
"Have you done anything further about Lord Ealing?"
"My dear Inspector, what can I do? I've made every possible inquiry.
What is quite plain is that Lord Ealing was not at Sugden's Hotel when
the murder was committed. If you have let the idea of his guilt ever
cross your mind----"
"His guilt, sir? What do you mean? Rosenbaum's the murderer surely?"
"Perhaps, Blaikie. But Lord Ealing has behaved so suspiciously that
I thought it my duty to make sure. And I think it is quite clear
that Lord Ealing was at home in bed when it happened, and that by no
possible means could he have made his way into Sugden's Hotel without
being seen."
"That's so, sir. Nobody could. I'm ready to take my oath on that."
"Very well. That rules out Lord Ealing as a principal--it would be
almost too astounding a suspicion in any case--but it does not tell us
whether he is an ... accomplice."
"You mean he may have very good reasons for not wishing Rosenbaum to be
caught?"
"Quite so. Rosenbaum might give him away ... whatever it is he's
been up to, and doesn't want us to know. You agree he's been up to
something, Blaikie?"
"I hardly know what to say, sir. The late Home Secretary ought to
be----"
"Like Cæsar's wife? Quite. But is he? In the light of those finger
prints, can we say that he is above suspicion?"
"No, if you put it that way, I suppose we can't."
"Well, then, Blaikie, the fact that Lord Ealing doesn't want us to
catch Rosenbaum is a reason the more why we want to catch him quick.
Rosenbaum's the man to clear up this Lord Ealing business."
"But, sir, it's incredible. Lord Ealing mixed up with a notorious
Bolshevik agitator?"
"I don't pretend to understand it, Blaikie, but there it is. Lord
Ealing knows something about this murder, and he's afraid of Rosenbaum.
We can't get anything out of Lord Ealing direct, so we must catch
Rosenbaum, and get whatever it is out of him."
But catching Rosenbaum was easier said than done. The days passed, and
Blaikie pursued his inquiries in vain.
So matters dragged on until a week had passed since the affair at
Sugden's Hotel. Nothing more was discovered: the police began to fear
that Rosenbaum had got safely out of the country, and to be sure that
Radlett, even in the unlikely event of his having been removed from the
hotel alive, was by now quite certainly dead. The case seemed to have
come to an unsatisfactory and inconclusive termination.
A little more information did, indeed, come to hand. The Polish police
reported that Pasquett had actually been in Warsaw, but had left on the
very day when they had received the message from Scotland Yard, and, of
course, before they had a chance of getting into touch with him. They
had been unable to trace his subsequent movements, except that he had
gone to Posen and thence into Germany. There he could only be traced
by taking matters up with the German police.
But the Polish authorities further reported that some one had been
energetically searching for Pasquett in Warsaw--an Englishman named
Arthur Wharton. As they had not known who he was, they had been polite,
but had given him no help in his search. They reported these facts in
case they might be of interest to the English police.
"Who's Arthur Wharton, Blaikie?" said Wilson. "And what is he doing in
search of Pasquett?"
Blaikie picked up a London telephone directory. It contained three
Arthur Whartons--a fishmonger in Haverstick Hill, a court dressmaker in
Little Tipton Street, and an undescribed Arthur Wharton in Bloomsbury.
"If it's any of them, the last's the most likely. You may as well find
out who he is."
In due course, Blaikie found out. Arthur Wharton was an employee of the
Anglo-Asiatic Corporation, at present away from England.
"So Lord Ealing did know, and he was after Pasquett on his own," said
Wilson when the Inspector told him of this.
"You see what that means, Blaikie? Lord Ealing got some information
about Pasquett, and, instead of passing it on to us, tried to get in
touch with him without letting us know. That means he wanted to see
Pasquett before the police saw him. Now why? Why should he? I'd give
something to know what my Lord Ealing has up his sleeve."
Try as he might, Wilson could not guess Lord Ealing's secret. Nor could
he see what course next to pursue. Then, as he sat brooding in his
office, came the voice of Lord Ealing on the telephone, very smooth and
unexcited. "Is that you, Wilson? May I bring Mr. Pasquett round to see
you? Yes, he's here, at my office. At once? Yes, he will come round
immediately."
"So he did get at Pasquett first, after all," said Wilson to himself.
"Damn," he added softly.