Chapter Sixteen

Back Again To Danny Bond

In front of Rollison, in his room, were two daggers which reflected the subdued light. Leaning back in an easy chair was Superintendent Grice. Rollison sat with his elbows on the desk and studied the detective. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and he had left Babette at Cannon Row two hours before.

“It suddenly occurred to me,” said Rollison, “that the gruff manner of Mr. Bryan, and his attitude towards his daughter, might be assumed—to make the Surbiton house the last place where we would look for her; and it was so. It was just a chance thought and I acted on it, otherwise Babette would be with Arnott instead of at a police-station, and we wouldn’t know half as much as we do. Have you been to Arnott’s house?”

“Yes. There was nothing at Winchester, except indications that he and several other men had been there lately. In London we found two ounces of barbiturate and a packet of white arsenic. Useful evidence.”

“Most useful. Babette was with Arnott when he put the stuff into Whittering’s glass, at the Kim-Kam. It wasn’t put in his whisky at the flat, the wiping of fingerprints there was just to hoodwink us. It succeeded. I wish she hadn’t been there. Don’t forget I made her come to you and give herself up.”

Grice said nothing.

“The poisoning was done after she had talked to Whittering and he had told her that he was through with the racket,” Rollison went on. “Whittering was getting nervous. He had talked too freely about Danny Bond, but that wasn’t the main motive for his murder; it was because he was losing his grip. She told Arnott so, and Arnott was with her at the Kim-Kam, in a private room. One of the waiters was in Arnott’s pay and substituted whisky with the powder in for another glass. The waiter didn’t know what was in it.”

“As you say, Babette did,” Grice reminded him.

“Yes.” Rollison toyed with the knives. “Poor Babette! She found out a year ago that her father was in grave trouble, and that only she could help him. Lancelot Stewart agreed to help because he loved her desperately. It’s hard on a young woman when she discovers that her father is a criminal, and she learned just that. Julian Edward Bryan, receiver of stolen goods for more years than either you or I can remember. He wasn’t even suspected, was he?”

“No,” admitted Grice. “Even when his name cropped up in this business, we could find nothing against him. He was believed to be a retired city merchant of good character, independent means, and a troublesome daughter. Instead, he’s dealt in stolen goods for forty years!”

“And has kept the records under the innocent guise of personal accounts,” said Rollison. “I’m glad we found them, because it puts his guilt beyond all doubt. He was being blackmailed by Arnott, as we now know. His daughter and Lancelot Stewart chose to try to help him, only to find themselves faced with Arnott. Arnott needed more help, and chose to use them. If Babette had refused, the truth about her father would have come out. Not nice. That was why she tried to stop her Lancelot from talking, and to get away from me. I wish you had heard Babette tell the story, Bill. She had to help her father; had to. All this began nearly twelve months ago. Into the picture came Danny Bond, introduced by Lancelot Stewart. Danny was running short of money, and Arnott wanted more go-betweens to keep up his flow of gullible and easy-to-fleece Nato officers and wealthy foreigners.”

“How was the fleecing done?”

“Gaming, mostly, with stacked cards. A seductive girl, too much liquor, and the victim was helplessly compromised. There’s nothing new in that. The West End remains the best hunting-ground for you, Bill.”

Grice nodded.

Rollison smiled, faintly.

“Danny Bond came in and took his cut, then rebelled when he realised what a beastly business it was. He couldn’t get right out of it. So, Babette believes, they had to silence him. I imagine that when they decided to do that, there was the first thought of murder, and then the attack on Mrs. Fotheringay, from which it was thought she would die, was considered a better method. The obstinate woman didn’t die, so there were no gallows for Danny. However, he saw his danger and chose to fly, taking with him one small package. Bill, Bill, Bill! To think I had that in my hands!”

“Go on,” said Grice.

“The loss of the package caused great alarm, and with it Babette hoped to turn the tables and force Arnott to silence. Presumably it can give the whole show away. Earlier thoughts of murder developed into deeds. At all costs, they had to have that package. Thanks to Danny, who had seen Babette before he left for Winchester, Babette knew its value. She and Lancelot Stewart went after it. Twelve months of associating with the Arnott gang had given her a hard twist, hence her poise and her blasé manner. The quest for the package gave us all plenty of trouble. Arnott saw his danger, and obviously kept in close touch through his Winchester people. Lancelot Stewart was poisoned. Arsenic—a different poison, that was very cunning—was put in the salt pourer at the bungalow, and faked evidence was available that Lancelot Stewart had put it there on his recent visit. When I mentioned arsenic poor Babette folded up. His knife, taken from his room, was also used to try to implicate him. The rest of the story you know. In come Alec Stewart and Sheila O’Rourke. Sheila through her Danny, Alec through Sheila; he didn’t know his father was implicated, and there’s no reason why he should have done.”

Grice looked non-committal.

“I know you have a pet theory about Alec,” said Rollison, “but that doesn’t matter at the moment. Sheila went off in her tempestuous way to show the police what fools they were for suspecting innocent Danny, and she came across something which really frightened her. To wit, Lancelot Stewart and the fact that Danny had taken a package of importance to the bungalow. For now we know,” went on Rollison, “that Danny told Sheila that she must help Alec, that there was great danger for Alec. The emotional side of the tangles apart, that caused complications. Sheila isn’t capable of straightforward thinking. She dramatises herself and the situations. I think that her underlying emotion was love for Alec Stewart, which came flooding out. It does, you know. Well, we know how they all reacted, how they tried to side-track me, how Lancelot Stewart tried to get me to start work on Bryan, and was prepared in fact to try anything if I would only pay no attention to his son.”

Grice interrupted: “Why did Lancelot Stewart talk about danger to his son?”

“Possession of that package was dangerous, there’s no mistake about that.” He rubbed his swollen eye gingerly. “Lancelot rightly told Sheila that if Danny Bond were free the danger to Alec would be less, and he went out of his way to try to make her prevent me from going to the bungalow. Well, now,” went on Rollison, more briskly, “we know that great efforts were made to get Danny Bond out of London, using Alec Stewart after their quarrel, and we know that the need grew so urgent that they were prepared to frame Danny for a crime which he didn’t commit. We also know that Danny got hold of that package in self-defence. We’ve got to find out what is in it. The rest is settled, except for incidentals, and I don’t think we shall have any difficulty with them. The man whom I held at the Surbiton house confirmed most of Babette’s story. He’ll crack completely when you question him. We’re back to Danny Bond, the package, and the reason why Arnott was so desperately anxious to get Danny out of London.”

“Alec Stewart and Sheila O’Rourke might still be involved,” said Grice quietly. “I still find it hard to believe that he knew nothing of the package in that grandfather clock.”

“If he’d known where it was, and what it might mean, he would not have left it in the clock on the day the clock might have been taken away,” said Rollison.

“Unless it was a particularly deep way of showing his complete ignorance.”

Rollison laughed. “You’re nothing if not persistent! Worry the bone, old chap; you might get a little marrow out of it. My crying need is to find out what is in that packet, and why they were so anxious to get rid of Danny Bond.”

“Probably because, like Whittering, he grew difficult. You’ve said yourself that he rebelled and that was the reason.”

“Wrong! I said that it appeared that way to Babette. I didn’t commit myself, because I don’t think that was the only reason. I think Danny knew about that package, and that nothing else was really important, and I also think,” went on Rollison, “that when Danny is released—and you’ll have to release him on the new evidence—he’ll be in acute danger. I think he knows who was, and is, behind Arnott. There’s your chance, Bill, because it might prove to be young Alec Stewart, and it may be someone of whom we haven’t yet heard. You will release Danny, won’t you?”

Grice said: “We’ll have to, when the formalities are over. Babette knows that he wasn’t at the Chelsea house on the night of the first crime, and Arnott’s companion at Surbiton says the same. We could refuse to accept the evidence, but I don’t think we would be justified.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Rollison. “Bill, play ball with me, will you?”

“Now what’s in your mind?”

“Let me have Danny.”

Grice frowned. “I don’t see what I can do about that.”

“You can have him followed by your men in the hope that he’ll lead you to important places and to the package, or else that he will be attacked. Don’t shadow him. Let me handle him.”

“That won’t lessen the risk of an attack on him.”

“It won’t be intended to lessen it. I’ve stuck my head out so often that I don’t mind playing Aunt Sally again. Bill, there is much that is stinking bad about this business, and we haven’t come to the end yet. The lives of three people might yet be ruined—Danny’s, Sheila’s, and Alec Stewart’s. Not to mention Babette Smith.” He added abruptly: “What did you think of her?”

“I felt extremely sorry for her,” said Grice.

“That’s just it. And Lancelot Stewart in his odd way did his best to do the right thing. He didn’t enjoy his last few days on earth. There is more than the danger to those now involved or likely to be affected,” he went on, soberly. “We think that with the arrest of Arnott we’ve got to the bottom of this victimising of visiting officers—and of our own, for that matter. I’m afraid we haven’t. I think Arnott ran only one branch, and there are others. I think the malignant thing will continue to grow unless we make a proper end to it. I think we can reach that end through Danny Bond, but now that so much has gone wrong I don’t think they will make any immediate attack on him if your men are obviously keeping him under close watch. So, leave it to Uncle Rolly!” He laughed. “That keeps cropping up, too.”

“I don’t know that I like the idea,” said Grice.

“You’ve done as much before.”

Grice glanced at his watch, as a clock began to strike, but he did not comment on the time.

“Rolly, have you still got something up your sleeve? It isn’t much use reminding you that you should not have withheld the story of Sheila O’Rourke’s visit—”

“Which we now know for certain had nothing to do with Whittering’s murder.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” said Grice. “We only know that she didn’t actually administer the poison. We don’t yet know the real reason for her visit, and she has proved herself a good liar in this business already.”

“A good liar,” mused Rollison. “I wonder. I told her that she was a very poor one, but it’s just possible that she is a lot better than she appeared to be on that celebrated occasion.”

“You haven’t yet answered my question.”

Rollison laughed. “I have nothing up my sleeve! I don’t see why you should worry to ask, as you won’t believe me unless I say ‘yes’. As a matter of fact, Bill, two things keep occurring to me. In the first place, the centre of gravity appears to be Winchester. There is a very curious fact which we haven’t commented on yet—that Arnott had two houses in the Winchester district from which he was able to work. Then there comes along the coincidence, of the scene shifting to another Winchester house—the bungalow.”

Grice said: “Is there any evidence that it shifted? You’ve stood out against suspicions of Alec Stewart, but his bungalow may be the main basis for operations.”

“If you can believe that Alec Stewart has been a party to these frauds, and is the kind of young man to associate with the Arnott-Kim-Kam variety of nasty night-life, you will believe anything. However, Winchester remains a place of interest. As for the rest, I haven’t got over the fact that Arnott came and gave himself up!”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“It’s very nearly true. Never was an arrest of a really bad man made so easily. However, the crux of this business isn’t Arnott—or have I said that before?”

“You’ve said something very much like it.”

“Then I must be tired,” said Rollison. “Do you mind if I sling you out now? What about a drink before you go?”

“No, thanks,” said Grice, who was an abstemious man.

“Don’t forget my humble plea for Danny Bond,” said Rollison.

He was by no means certain that Grice would be able to help him with Bond, even if he were so minded. The Assistant Commissioner and the Commander C.I.D. were both able men, but newlyappointed, and it was not strange that they viewed the activities of Rollison with some disfavour; they were impressed by stories of the Toff, but also impressed by their own importance and by the significance of rules and regulations. Grice rarely spoke of them, but it was obvious from a dozen little signs that he found their activities a hindrance; Grice was the least orthodox of policemen.

When the Yard man had gone, Rollison sat back in an easy chair and contemplated the top hat which showed three bullet holes. If he persisted in his efforts he expected to find that there would be others quite prepared to shoot him. So far they had behaved with some circumspection as far as he and the police were concerned, and had concentrated only on dealing with those people who might have betrayed them. There was no reasonable doubt that Arnott would have murdered Babette, for the same reason as he had killed Whittering and Lancelot Stewart.

Was that the same reason as for the attempt to get Danny Bond hanged?

“Yes,” mused Rollison, lighting a final cigarette, “I certainly wish Jolly were here!”

Just after ten o’clock next morning Grice came through on the telephone. Rollison’s face was much nearer its normal size, and he was delighted that he felt no real ill effects from his various exertions.

Grice said: “Rolly, Danny Bond is being released at noon. No one else here seems to think it’s worth having him followed, all the attention is centred on Arnott. Some pleasant things have been said about a man named Rollison! If you want to see Bond before he leaves Cannon Row, I should come over at once.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” said Rollison. “Bill, I am getting increasingly fond of you.”

“I wish I could say the same of you,” said Grice, and rang off.

When Rollison reached the police-station next to Scotland Yard, Grice was not there. Inspector Leslie took him to the room where Bond was waiting. There was little but formality to do, he said, before Bond was released. The man did not seem particularly elated, nor did he seem frightened. He gave the impression that he knew that his release was only a matter of time.

“Can I see him alone?” asked Rollison.

“Yes, that’s all right.”

Bond, dressed in creased grey flannels with baggy trousers and a white tennis shirt with tie loosely knotted, and in need of a haircut, looked up at Rollison without enthusiasm. He was taller than Alec Stewart, and undoubtedly a good-looking young man, although his eyes were clouded, and his manner was nervous. Rollison wondered why Leslie had not thought that he seemed frightened.

Bond was sitting on a bench, his legs thrust before him, hands in his pockets, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Hallo, what do you want?” he demanded ungraciously.

“Where are you going to sleep tonight?” asked Rollison.

“There are hotels.”

“Do you want to stay at a hotel?” demanded Rollison, and in Bond’s dark eyes he saw a hint of the fear which was never far away from him.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he muttered.

“I know that Arnott has been arrested,” said Rollison, “but the package hasn’t been found.”

“I don’t know what’s in it.”

“No one seems to know what’s in it,” said Rollison sceptically. “You took it from Arnott and went to enormous trouble to hide it, and yet—”

“All I know is that Arnott was frightened out of his life at the thought of losing that package,” said Danny Bond. “I wanted anything which would frighten him.”

“And who else wanted it?” asked Rollison.

“I don’t know.” Bond tossed his cigarette into the empty fireplace. “What are you getting at, anyhow?”

“My flat is in a nice, central position,” said Rollison. “My man has been hurt, and can’t occupy his room. It’s better than a hotel, both more comfortable and several degrees safer.”

Bond looked at him steadily.

“You seem to think I’m in danger.”

“Aren’t you?”

Bond stood up and took his hands from his pockets. He spoke with some frankness and there was something very boyish about him.

“I wish to God I knew! I’m as nervous as a cat on hot bricks! I almost wish they weren’t going to release me yet, although—all right,” he added, abruptly, “I’ll come.”

As they went in a taxi to Gresham Terrace, just after mid-day, Rollison glanced at his companion’s glum countenance and wondered when Bond would inquire where Sheila was; when he knew that she was with Alec Stewart he might become extremely restive. Even when everything else was finished, there would still be the Sheila-Alec-Danny problem to be solved.

He paid off the taxi and Bond stood waiting for him by the entrance to the house. Danny was looking up and down, as if he half-expected to see some familiar and unwanted figure in Gresham Terrace; of his nervousness there was no reasonable doubt.

They walked upstairs side-by-side, and as they went, Rollison thought that he heard footsteps in the hall above him. He was frowning when he reached the landing, and his frown grew deeper when, to his astonishment, he saw that the front door of his flat was open.

“Stay here,” he said to Bond, and he felt the man’s muscles grow tense as he gripped his forearm. Then he went slowly forward, with his right hand in his pocket. The sounds of movement were more audible; whoever was there was making no attempt to hide his presence. Suddenly, there came a flurry of footsteps, a bright red head, and Sheila came out of his study, followed by Gerry Wilmot. She started, drew back, then recognised Rollison.

“Rolly!” she cried. “I wondered what had happened to you!”

Then she stopped, and her smile vanished, for she saw Danny Bond.