The Case of the Dead Diplomat (16 page)

“Well, young women play an important part in Paris. I believe you were here yesterday with a very attractive-looking lady. Don't tell me that she was your cousin or your niece.”

Cooper laughed bitterly. “Not at all. I'd never seen her before, but you know what it is. The only thing these Paris girls want is to have money spent on them. She was an expensive handful, I can tell you. Her particular weakness was jewellery.”

“Well, one need not indulge their weaknesses.”

“Ah, then it's clear that you've never met that particular dame. You wouldn't escape so easily from her clutches.”

“You'll forgive me for saying so, but I can't understand spending good money on these women, when, invested in a proper way, it may bring you in a fortune, and give you an interest in life into the bargain.”

“But I don't care about making fortunes. I have all the money I want.”

“No one has all the money he wants. The more he has the more he wants. Look at the power money gives a man, especially in this country.”

Cooper laughed harshly. “It's a funny time to be talking about making money in France when everyone's going bankrupt.”

“Ah! But the money I'm talking about isn't made here. It comes from Russia.”

“Bolshevist money, do you mean?”

Polowski laughed softly. “No; if the Bolsheviki knew what was going on under their noses, some of us would, as they say in England, ‘get it in the neck.' But that's half the attraction in the business. You are not a Frenchman, either?”

“Ah! You have not noticed my accent. By descent I am French all right. I'm a French Canadian.”

“Oh! That explains it. When I first noticed you I said to my friends, ‘Look round this café. Can you point out any intelligent-looking man except one?' And they replied, ‘Yes, that man in the big hat. He's got brains.' They were indicating you, monsieur. I don't care to trust secrets to any but men with brains.”

Polowski signalled to a waiter who was passing. “Will you join me in a drink, monsieur? What shall it be?”

“You are very kind. I will take a
byrrh-cassis
.”

The drinks were ordered. Polowski pulled his chair a few inches nearer to his new acquaintance and became confidential. “My friends and I have been handling a very remunerative business. You have heard of the gold-mines in the Urals? Well, a Russian friend of ours was approached by the superintendent of the mines, who found it quite easy to transfer parcels of gold to my friend to be sold abroad. You know how the price of bar gold has been soaring up?”

Cooper yawned as though he were not interested.

Polowski continued, “The man we used to deal with in Paris has died at a most inconvenient moment, in fact, just when we have a consignment to dispose of cheap. Somehow, we must effect a sale, and we do not know who to employ.”

“Why not take it to a bank and sell it openly?”

“Ah! You do not know the risk we should be running. They'd question us for hours about where the stuff came from. They have ways of knowing gold from the Urals from other gold. It would cost our Russian friend his life. But I can see that you are a man who can be trusted with a secret. You must know numbers of substantial people in Canada who would be glad to purchase the stuff for fifty per cent, of its value. If you consented to come in with us, I can guarantee that in a very few months you would realize a fortune. You see, we have to get back to Poland to meet our friend on the frontier, and we want a man we can trust to dispose of the metal we brought over with us.”

“That's all very well, but suppose I do find a purchaser, how am I going to get the gold over to Canada?”

“That's part of the fun—a spice of adventure—and you with your intelligence and your Canadian connections could do it, while we can't.”

“I would have to know a lot more about the business before I came in.”

“Of course you would. Only a fool would come into a business like this before he's tested it with his own eyes and knew the people he was dealing with. I'll tell you what I could do. You appoint a time and place, and I'll bring a sample of the goods together with the means for testing it. You can make the test yourself.”

“Yes, but remember that I've got to run a risk. If they found the gold on me at the Canadian Customs, they'd give me a hell of a time for not declaring it.”

“That, as I said before, is your affair. Only one thing I must insist upon—that if you are stopped and questioned you'll refuse to say anything about the mines in the Urals: that would mean consigning two or three people to death by torture.”

Cooper seemed to weigh the pros and cons. “If I were to come into the business it would be for the adventure, not for the profits one would make. It would amuse me to do a bit of smuggling.”

Polowski sank his voice. “We'll start in quite a small way. I suppose you could lay your hands on £5,000 easily enough, just as a trial trip which will bring you in £10,000. Then, if you're successful, we could double the amount of the next consignment.”

“Am I the only man in France who knows about this business? Should I be your only agent?”

“Yes, but I ought to tell you that we have approached one man, a Frenchman, before I met you, only we haven't told him where the stuff comes from. You know what these Frenchmen are—a great deal of talk and very little do when it comes to the point. Now it's different dealing with a man like you.”

“I don't altogether like playing second fiddle to a French guy.”

“Oh, but we turned him down at once. You needn't consider him in any way at all. Now, to show you the confidence I have in you I'll give you this.” He pulled out of his vest pocket a tiny object wrapped in tissue-paper, and opened it out, disclosing a little nugget of water-worn gold. “You can take this round to any jeweller you like to choose and get him to test it. You needn't even bother to return it to me if you'd like to keep it. When would it suit you to let me come round to your hotel with a bigger sample? To-morrow morning?”

“No, not in the morning. Why not the afternoon at half-past two?”

“That's all right for me, but who shall I ask for? We've been talking intimately, but I do not know your name and you don't know mine.” He pulled a card from his pocket on which was inscribed “Ivan Novikoff.”

Cooper felt a glow of gratitude to his inspector for his foresight in providing him with a visiting-card, “Jacques Rivaux, Quebec.” They exchanged cards.

Polowski stopped the waiter and paid his bill. Jumping to his feet he swept off his hat and took a ceremonious farewell. “At half-past two tomorrow.
Au revoir
, monsieur.”

When he had departed in the direction of the Madeleine, Cooper looked round. The chairs lately occupied by his friends were empty. He walked down the Boulevard in the opposite direction and made straight for the Grand Hotel. He called for his key at the desk, and was crossing the hall towards the lift when he caught sight of a red head. Its owner was seated beside Richardson. They made no sign of recognition; they left him to ascend in the lift, and a moment later the telephone bell in Number 33 began to tinkle.

“Two gentlemen to see you, monsieur. Shall I show them up?”

“Yes, please.”

Richardson and Ned Gregory were shown in. Gregory surveyed his handiwork and turned to Richardson.

“Look at him, inspector. Isn't he the rich young Canadian blackguard to the life?”

“Yes, sir; your make-up was splendid, and when I saw our friend here exchanging visiting-cards with Polowski, I felt sure that our little plan had been successful. Now, Cooper, tell us how you got on.”

“Well, here's the first earnest of our deal.” He pulled from his pocket the little gold nugget. “He gave me this as a sample of what he's going to bring me at half-past two to-morrow afternoon. He told me that I could take it round to any jeweller to be tested.”

Ned Gregory weighed it in his hand and passed it to Richardson. “It looks and feels genuine enough, but where did he say it came from?”

“From a gold-mine in the Ural Mountains.”

“This never came out of a mine; it's not reef gold at all; it's water-worn, so that's lie number one,” said Richardson.

“He wants me to buy £5,000 worth as a start.” Cooper related the conversation he had had with Polowski in detail.

“It's a variation from the story he used to tell in London, but practically it comes to the same thing,” said Richardson. “You got nothing out of him about his object in visiting Pinet?”

“No, I didn't like to press him too far. He said that he had approached a Frenchman to become his agent before he came to me, and I suppose that he was referring to Pinet. Are you going to the French police about the gang?”

“I don't want to butt in, inspector,” said Gregory, “you know your own affairs best, but I do hope that you'll see the business through.”

“Oh, I'm not going to hurry things. Of course, the gold will prove to be false, but the French police wouldn't take any action beyond perhaps interrogating the men and telling them to clear out of the country.”

“You're right about that,” said Gregory. “This is the land of asylum and liberty. With them it would be a case of
caveat emptor
—which is Latin for ‘fools must look after themselves' and not come crying to the police every time they're robbed.”

“I did think of getting our friend Verneuil to call upon Pinet and shake the truth out of him about the object of Polowski's visit,” said Richardson. “It would be a useful check upon any story that they may tell to Cooper.”

“What puzzles me,” said Gregory, “is why they should go to a starveling journalist hoping to get £5,000 out of him. Our rich young friend here is quite another proposition.”

“I think, sir, that we'll find they went to him
because
he is a journalist and might be able to put them on to a likely buyer by a paragraph in his paper.”

“I see you coming,” said Gregory. “If they wanted to get in with the French Press they might well have approached poor Everett, feeling sure that he would know the steps to take.”

“Yes, sir, and in that case Mr. Everett might have thrown them out or have threatened to expose them by a hint to the French police.”

“Before half-past two to-morrow I must have instructions how far I am to carry the deal,” said Cooper.

“That's quite simple; you must play for time. They won't expect you to have £5,000 about you. You'll say that you have to get it over from Canada by cable through your bank, and that as soon as you have the money you'll let them know, and they will deliver the goods to you here. If we can establish the fact that they knew Everett, we could then get the French police to hold them on the swindling charge, while we work up the evidence against them for the murder.”

“Well,” said Gregory, “I have to thank you gentlemen for a most interesting afternoon—it's been better than any play—but I must confess frankly that I've a sinking feeling here”—he touched a spot a little below his heart—” and there's only one remedy for it—dinner. So I'll wish you good evening, and trust to you not keeping me in suspense too long to-morrow. Good night.”

Left to themselves, the two detectives began to discuss their case.

“Did you find that Mr. Everett had a writing-table of his own at the Embassy?” inquired Cooper.

“Yes, a table with a locked drawer in it. Mr. Gregory rang up a locksmith and got it opened in my presence. It was packed full of papers—news-cuttings, manuscripts, carbon copies, and odds and ends.”

“Nothing interesting?”

“Well, yes; there was a little engagement-book. I have it here.” It was a leather-bound small book in diary form. “There are gaps in it, as you see; these journalists are always unmethodical. But there are notes of luncheons and dinners and appointments. I've been through the names, but none of them have turned up in the case. Then there are a few little personal notes scribbled at the bottom of the pages, such as the address of his bootmaker, and after the middle of July the book does not seem to have been used. There is only one entry after that. Here it is, September 9th. It's a row of figures, 070564/I8.”

“Well, that's funny! Could it be the number of a cheque?”

“It might be, but why should it be entered when the book had been discontinued two months before?”

“Can you follow it up?”

“Yes. To-morrow I shall go round to Mr. Everett's bank and find out whether he drew or paid in a cheque which bore this number. As soon as I have done that I shall go round to the police station, dig out Verneuil, and get him to go down to le Pecq and tackle Pinet about the real reason why these rascals called on him two days ago.”

“Well, then, we've both got our work cut out for us. After I've got rid of my visitors to-morrow afternoon I shall wait in for you.”

It being a wise precaution not to be seen together in any public place such as a restaurant, the two dined separately that evening.

A
T HALF-PAST
two on the following afternoon Cooper received two visitors—Polowski and his Roumanian accomplice. Cooper scanned this gentleman with interest, for he had never had speech with him. He was a rather portly little man of Hebraic features.

“This is my friend, M. Zizon,” explained Polowski. “He is one of the best-known jewellers in Bucharest; you can have the fullest confidence in him.”

True to the character of Rivaux the spendthrift Canadian, Cooper had been stretched in a lounge chair with an empty champagne bottle and a glass within reach of his hand. He appeared to be only half awake. When he offered to ring for refreshments the offer was waved aside. “Thank you, no, monsieur. We have come on strict business; we must keep our brains clear.”