Chief Inspector Joseph French had had a busy winter.
In the autumn he had been engaged on the case of the good ship Hellénique, when he had succeeded in bringing to an end the unseemly activities of the great liner. This affair had proved the prelude to that of the murder of John Stott near Portrush in Northern Ireland, in which, in collaboration with District Inspector Nugent of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, he had achieved the arrest of the murderer. But once this was effected, as it was in the middle of October, French found that his connection with the affair was practically over. Usually the investigation of a case, even when brought to the stage of making an arrest, is only part of the work to be done. Not infrequently it is a small part. When the suspect has been ‘brought in’, there begins the marshalling of the evidence against him. This preparation for court is quite as important as the pre-arrest inquiry. In all serious cases it is undertaken in collaboration with the Public Prosecutor’s department and it always is a big job, involving a lot of work.
But the Stott murder having taken place in Northern Ireland, the trial was also there and all this preparation was therefore undertaken by the local authorities. French had little to do with it beyond handing over his notes to District Inspector Nugent and later going over to give evidence at the trial.
On returning to London he had had a period of routine work at the Yard, after which he was put in charge of a case of immense national importance, though few of the public even knew that it had taken place. This was the Martini case, an affair which caused the heads of the Air Force to sleep uneasily for several weeks. In it the discovery of a code letter, obtained by the searching of suspected premises, enabled French to capture the agent of a foreign government as he was leaving the country with the plans of a new and extremely hush-hush anti-aircraft gun in the lining of his suitcase.
After that a paternal department thought that a fortnight’s holiday was due to the saviour of his country. It was just after his arrival home from a trip to Portugal that he was given the case of the disappearance of Charles Barke.
It began with a telephone call as he was finishing lunch on the first Sunday after his return. A message had come in from the Sûreté and the Assistant Commissioner, Sir Mortimer Ellison, who happened to have looked in on other business, would be glad to see French about it.
‘Back as soon as I can, Em,’ he said to his wife as he hurried off.
‘Well, French,’ Sir Mortimer greeted him twenty minutes later. ‘Settled down to work yet after your globe-trotting? Or is that an untactful question?’
French knew his superior officer. ‘Fortunately highly tactful, sir,’ he declared unctuously.
‘Found the place had gone to the dogs since you left, I suppose? I think you said you came back overland, through Paris?’
‘Yes, sir. My wife was with me and we rather got it in the Bay going out and didn’t want to have the dose repeated.’
‘Quite right, put it on the wife! I do myself. Now about Paris. As it happens, it’s rather a pity you didn’t stay there.’
French’s eye twinkled.
‘I didn’t come back to work solely from a sense of pleasure, sir.’
‘No? You surprise me. Well, you might have been useful in Paris all the same. However, you needn’t go back. Read that,’ he tossed over the memorandum of a telephone conversation, ‘and do what you can about it—in London. You’ve not taken over any other case, I think?’
‘No, sir. I’ve just been squaring up some routine stuff that had got behind.’
‘Place gone to the dogs: what did I say? Very well, read that message, and if there’s anything you want to talk about, come in again.’
French, accepting the hint, tactfully withdrew to his own room. There he examined the memorandum, which read:
Telephone message received at 12.19 on Sunday, 17 March, from the Chief Officer, the Sûreté, Paris, to the Commissioner of Police, New Scotland Yard, London.
At 9.40 this morning the manager of the Hôtel Vichy, situated in the rue des Alpes, close to the Place de Lafayette, reported that an English man named Charles Barke, of London, had arrived there a few minutes before 16.00 on the previous Friday afternoon, saying that he had just come from London. He booked a room and registered, asking that his luggage be sent up. He noted the number of the room and said that he wished to pay a call before going up himself, and that he would be back presently. He went out, though no one saw in which direction he turned. Since then nothing has been heard of him.
At first the hotel management supposed he had been incidentally delayed, but when this morning came and they were still without news, they reported to the police. An officer was sent to the Vichy who found the missing man’s passport, which had been issued in London, and which gave the full name, Charles Gresham Barke.’
All due measures for tracing the missing man have been put in force in Paris, so far without success, and it is thought that the explanation of the affair may lie in London. Hence passing on of information to Scotland Yard.
In addition to what is already being done, any specific inquiry suggested by London will be made.
Replied: that Yard would look into the affair and report back to Paris.
Not a particularly interesting problem, French thought, as he read the message for the second time. Probably the explanation was simple. This man, whoever he was, had met with an accident or lost his memory or stayed overnight with friends. Or perhaps he had wanted to give his wife the go-by and start another establishment. At all events there was no reason to suppose he had met with foul play. Probably a waste of time bothering about it.
However, that was the A.C.’s pigeon and the A.C. must be humoured. French picked up his telephone directory and looked up Barke. There were two Charles Barkes, one living at the Green House, Wilton Road, Chelsea, the other in Great James Street, W.C.1, though whether either was the man who had registered at the Vichy there was no means of knowing.
The name Barke seemed vaguely familiar to French though he could not remember in what connection. He put down the directory and opened a Who’s Who. There it was, of course! The man he had heard of was an artist, and this might well be he. Carefully he read the paragraph:
‘BARKE, Charles Gresham, M.A. OXON, A.R.A. 1932 R.D.I. A.R.B.S. 1934: Artist and Director of Crewe Gallery since 1935. b. London 1884, s. of late Wilfred Barke, London. m. Agatha Joyce Willcox, 2nd d … H’m. H’m. Educ. H’m Asst. Director. H’m. Drawings and paintings in public galleries. Publications: The Flemish School; The Restoration of Oil Paintings; Rubens; H’m. Recreations: golf, travelling. Address: The Green House, Wilton Road, Chelsea. Clubs: Arts, Travellers.’
The other Charles Barke not being mentioned in Who’s Who, French decided to take this one first, and having instructed Sergeant Carter to accompany him, he set out for Chelsea.
A very few minutes in the pleasant sitting-room of the Green House, while he questioned Mrs Stanton—Mrs Barke being too ill to see him—convinced him that this Mr Barke was the man he sought. He felt also that the Barkes must be ‘nice people’. The house was comfortable, restful and homelike, and though, of course, without meeting the occupiers he couldn’t be sure, this fact as well as Mrs Stanton’s personality in a way guaranteed them. French greatly admired what he saw of Mrs Stanton. She was, he thought, a lady of the best type, good looking, straight, and decent, and by no means a fool, and clearly much attached to her host and hostess. Affection from such a character precluded anything very far wrong with the recipients.
From Mrs Stanton and the maid French learnt the following facts:
That the Charles Barke of the Vichy Hotel was the Barke of the Green House and the Crewe Gallery.
That he had left home to catch the 9 a.m. from Victoria on the previous Friday, which was the service by which he had reached Paris.
That he was methodical and thoughtful of others and that it would have been foreign to his character not to have informed his hotel management of any change of plans.
That he carried his name and address on objects in at least two separate pockets.
That he had not mentioned the purpose of his visit to Paris. He seldom did explain the precise object of his journeys, and on this occasion there was an additional reason why he should not have done so, in that Mrs Barke was too ill to discuss it.
That his business was usually in connection with pictures: the sale of his own or purchases for the Gallery, or pronouncements as to authenticity.
That he had no secretary at home, but had a staff at the Gallery, some of whom would probably know his Parisian business.
That he did not make a practice of staying at any one hotel in Paris, though he seemed to go more frequently to the Ambassadors than elsewhere.
That he had seen the pictures at Forde Manor on the day before the fire, but not officially or by request of their owner.
That Mrs Stanton was the Mrs Stanton who had been in charge at Forde Manor and distinguished herself during the fire.
With permission French then examined the missing man’s papers, from which he found one or two other items of interest:
11. On his desk engagement pad he had noted ‘Woking 1.30 p.m.’ and ‘Forde Manor about 3.00’ for that Monday, 11 March, and ‘Victoria, 9.00 a.m.’ for Friday 15th.
12. There was no hint of what the Paris business might be anywhere among the papers.
13. There were only a few unpaid bills and these for comparatively small amounts.
14. Barke’s income tax returns for previous years showed that he was in receipt of some £3,000 a year, approximately made up as follows: Crewe directorship £1,050, sales of his own pictures £1,000; professional fees £500; investments £500; while Mrs Barke appeared to have about £500 a year in her own right.
15. Barke’s bank book showed a comfortable current balance of £640.
16. His current cheque book was missing.
17. The blocks of his earlier cheque books showed no large recurring payments to self or other individual.
18. There was no reason to suppose he had taken a large sum of money or other valuables to Paris.
French was looking grave as he returned to the Yard. The case now seemed more serious than he had at first supposed. Sunday afternoon as it was, he went to his room and sat down to think the thing out and decide on his next steps.
In such an affair voluntary disappearance, accident, illness, loss of memory, kidnapping and murder must all be considered. Were there any indications as to which of these was the most likely?
First as to voluntary disappearance. The general atmosphere of the home and the personality at least of its visitor and maid, as well as their evident feeling for Barke, made domestic unhappiness unlikely as a motive for voluntary disappearance. Further, the absence of large financial payments to ‘self’ or other persons was a strong indication that the man was not maintaining a second establishment. His finances moreover were on an exceedingly sound basis so that there could be no urge to escape from monetary embarrassments. On the whole French felt that he might provisionally eliminate voluntary disappearance.
Accident or loss of memory seemed quite as unlikely. Barke had carried his name and address both in an engagement book and on the visiting cards in his wallet. Had an accident taken place, the fact would therefore almost certainly have become known.
But with voluntary disappearance, accident, and illness eliminated, only crime remained: kidnapping or murder. Of these, the first, to say the least of it, was uncommon; therefore the broad probabilities pointed to murder.
If so, the affair was urgent. But the solution surely lay in Paris, and his first duty must therefore be to telephone a précis of his discoveries to the Sûreté. He drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write.
By the time his message was drafted it was getting on to seven o’clock, and feeling that he had done enough for a Sunday afternoon, he went home.
Nine-thirty on Monday morning, the hour of opening, saw him passing through the ornate portal—no one could have called it a door—of the Crewe Gallery. He asked for Barke’s chief assistant and was shown to the office of a Mr Oliphant. Oliphant proved a stout consequential little man with a Shakespeare beard and thick rimless glasses.
‘Good morning, sir,’ French began, handing over his official card. ‘It’s really Mr Barke that I want to see. Can you tell me anything as to his whereabouts?’
‘We’re expecting him in any time now,’ Oliphant answered, glancing at a clock on the mantelpiece. ‘He generally comes about a quarter to ten.’
‘He’s at home then, is he?’ went on French.
‘He was to be here this morning. He went to Paris on Friday but he expected to return on Sunday.’
‘I see, Mr Oliphant, that you haven’t heard the news. Mr Barke has disappeared,’ and French went on to summarize what had occurred.
Oliphant was obviously astonished, though no great signs of sorrow were in evidence. Indeed, a rather eager excitement presently showed in his manner. French rather unkindly wondered if he was already considering his chief’s possible successor.
‘It is of importance, therefore,’ French went on, ‘that the police should know the business that took him to Paris, so that inquiries may be made in the right quarters. And that’s the reason for my call. I hope you can help me, Mr Oliphant.’
The little man sat back in his chair. ‘I’m afraid that’s just what I can’t do, Mr French. Mr Barke didn’t say what he was going over for.’
This was a blow to French. ‘I take it he has a private secretary?’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps she would know.’
‘We can soon find out.’ Oliphant spoke into a desk telephone and in a moment a tall, good looking young woman entered the room and stood looking questioningly at its occupants.
‘Is this a secret, Mr French?’ Oliphant asked. ‘I think we should tell Miss Redpath. She’s as much in Mr Barke’s confidence as anyone. This is Mr French from Scotland Yard, Miss Redpath.’
French bowed slightly. ‘It is a secret, Miss Redpath,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll tell you in strict confidence.’
She took the news very differently to Oliphant. ‘Oh,’ she cried in evident horror, ‘you don’t mean that anything’s wrong; that anything has happened to him? He’s not dead?’
‘We’ve no reason to suppose so,’ French assured her. ‘Something of course has happened and we’re trying to find out what it is. And that’s where we want your help.’
‘Oh,’ she cried again, ‘I do hope he’s all right. He’s so kind. We’d never get anyone like him again.’
French fancied that a momentary flash of resentment showed in Oliphant’s eyes at this speech, but it disappeared so quickly that he could not be sure.
‘Don’t imagine things,’ French said encouragingly, though he felt the words should be addressed to himself. ‘What we want you to tell us, if you can, is what business took Mr Barke to Paris on Friday last.’
‘But I don’t know,’ returned Miss Redpath with a little gesture of helplessness. ‘He didn’t tell me.’
‘Oh?’ said French. ‘Do you mean that he gave you no hint of any kind?’
‘Absolutely none at all.’
‘No letters? No papers that might throw light on it?’
‘None.’
‘What did he say about it?’
‘Just that he was running over to Paris on Friday and hoped to be back on Sunday and that he’d be in on Monday morning as usual.’
‘Was that usual?’
‘To run over to Paris?’
‘No, to do so without mentioning the reason.’
Miss Redpath looked at Oliphant. ‘Very unusual, I should say. Would you agree with that, Mr Oliphant?’
‘I should,’ the assistant answered decidedly, evidently pleased to be once more taking the floor. ‘Almost invariably he discussed his business with me before starting. This time was quite an exception. He gave me no hint at all.’
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Miss Redpath added. ‘Besides, there were usually letters to be written making appointments and so on.’
‘Very well,’ said French, seeing it was hopeless. ‘If he didn’t say, he didn’t and we can’t do anything about it. But there might be a letter in his desk for all that, or a note in his engagement book. What about having a look?’
‘We can look,’ agreed Miss Redpath, after an interrogatory glance at Oliphant, ‘but I’m positive we’ll get nothing. He doesn’t lock his desk and I know everything that’s in it.’
French saw that the search was thorough, but in spite of it, nothing helpful was found.
‘Can you tell me the hotel he usually stayed at?’ he went on.
‘When people were meeting him he usually went to the Ambassadors. When he was alone, so to speak, he had no fixed rule. He went to different places.’
‘Ever know him to stop at the Vichy?’
‘The Vichy?’ She pondered. ‘I don’t remember that name, but of course he might have done it for all that.’
An attempt to trace the calls Barke had paid, and the callers and messages he had received during the previous week leading to nothing, French turned to a further point.
‘I want you, please, to prepare a list of Mr Barke’s Paris acquaintances, both individuals and firms, as far as you can make it up.’
‘I can get that from the letter book, though I don’t suppose it’ll cover everyone he knew.’ She paused, looking rather hesitatingly at Oliphant. ‘I suppose I should put in Mr Lorrimer’s name? He was in Paris, wasn’t he?’
The suggestion seemed to embarrass Oliphant. He glanced at the girl sharply. French could have sworn there was some understanding between the two which he did not share. However Oliphant’s pause was only momentary.
‘I really don’t know,’ he said vaguely. ‘I heard he went to Paris when he left here, but I don’t know if it’s true.’
‘Who was Mr Lorrimer, sir?’ French asked.
‘My predecessor. He resigned some eight months ago.’
‘Would you kindly tell me the circumstances?’
Again there was that sharp exchange of glances and again a certain hesitation in Oliphant’s reply. ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ he replied. ‘He just resigned. He didn’t tell me his reasons.’
‘Nor me,’ added Miss Redpath, French thought with relief.
He wondered if there was something here that both wished to keep to themselves, and his questions grew more searching. He did not learn a great deal from them, but the little they did reveal was suggestive. Lorrimer had been chief assistant for five years, and was a young man—thirty-three, the office record showed—for such a position. He was good at his job and pleasant-mannered and easy to get on with. That referred to his hearing in the office. Of his private life neither knew anything, as he was of a secretive temperament. He seemed to like the work, and Oliphant thought he had done it quite well. He had taken charge while Mr Barke was in America, and then, just after Mr Barke got back, he had resigned. He had not worked out a notice, but had gone at once. Oliphant didn’t know his reasons, as he had said, but he presumed he had wanted to go earlier, but thought he ought to hold on till the chief’s return. Oliphant believed Barke had been sorry to lose him. He had told them one morning that Lorrimer had left and was not returning, but had vouchsafed no explanation and had not further referred to the subject except when arranging his, Oliphant’s promotion. It was Lorrimer himself who had told them he was going to Paris. That was on his last evening when he was saying goodbye. Miss Redpath had asked for his address and he had given Hôtel Sand, rue Rollin, near the Pantheon, but there had been no letters to forward there, nor had Lorrimer written since he left.
It was lunchtime when French left the building, having first obtained from Miss Redpath the list of Parisians with whom Barke had had recent dealings. This business of Lorrimer had aroused his interest and he felt that it might be a productive line of inquiry. He rang up the Sûreté and repeated the list, asking that special attention should be given to the movements of Lorrimer on the afternoon of Barke’s arrival.
The next item on his programme was a call at Barke’s bank. As he asked no questions, the manager was friendly and agreed to advise the Yard if any of the missing man’s cheques should be presented.
From the bank French went on to Barke’s solicitors, Messrs Quilter, Hepworth & Quilter, of Lincoln’s Inn. There he saw a Mr Rathbone, one of the principals.
‘I’m afraid Mr Barke’s business was handled by our senior partner, Mr Wellesley,’ Rathbone explained when French had stated his business, ‘and he’s in hospital—just met with an accident. However, I know something of Mr Barke’s affairs. What exactly did you want to know?’
‘Anything that might throw light on his disappearance or help me to trace him,’ French answered, going on to ask all the questions which seemed relevant.
Rathbone was clearly anxious to assist, but he had little to tell which interested French. He knew of nothing which might make Barke wish to disappear, nor of anyone who might wish him harm. On the contrary, all his information tended to show that Barke was happily situated and generally liked.’
What, French wondered, should be his next step? He wondered indeed if there was anything more that he could do. Did not the whole solution lie in Paris, and must not the investigation be carried on there? The information he had already obtained should enable the French police to get on the trail. And he had not been long getting it. Indeed, he didn’t think he had done badly in the time.
There was just one matter upon which he had not checked up: Barke’s visit to Forde Manor. Apparently it could not have affected the disappearance, as Mrs Stanton had said it was a purely private call. Barke had had a look at the Manor pictures certainly, but this was a perfectly natural act. It was his business to know where good pictures were to be found, in case they should come on the market.
But though French reasoned in this way, he could not get the visit out of his head. It was the one suggested line of inquiry which he had not followed up, and though he did not believe anything would come of it, he felt he would be to blame if he did not put the matter beyond doubt. To ease his conscience, therefore, he decided to run down to Ockham next morning and have a chat with the caretaker, Relf.