On reaching town that afternoon French set to work on a number of small inquiries designed to test the strength of the case he was trying to build up against Sir Geoffrey Buller.
His first call was on Oliphant at the Crewe Gallery. From him he learnt of Charles Barke’s interest in the question of cleaning and restoring pictures, of his paper on the subject before the Royal Academy, and of his objection to such work unless absolutely necessary. If Charles had heard, Oliphant was positive, that old masters at Forde Manor had been cleaned, he would have certainly taken the first opportunity of seeing them, if only to satisfy himself that the disastrous results he foresaw in such cases had been duly achieved.
From the Gallery French rang up Betty to ask when she could see him, with the result that an hour later he was shown into the Green House sitting-room.
‘I had two reasons for calling,’ he explained after inquiring for Agatha. ‘First as the bearer of negative news: I regret to say that so far we have heard nothing of Mr Barke.’
‘I’m dreadfully sorry. Mrs Barke will be terribly upset, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m sorry, too. But Mrs Barke needn’t be upset because of this report. Things are no worse than they were.’
Betty smiled wanly. ‘It was kind of you to come round at all events.’
‘I’m afraid that was only one of the things I wanted. My second object was to ask you a few more questions. Again I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll answer them as well as I can.’
‘I want a sort of background for my report. I want, for instance, to know how often and under what circumstances Mr Barke had previously visited Forde Manor, how you yourself came to go there, and so on. I admit that the exact connection of our questions with our cases is not always obvious, but you’d be surprised how often some vital clue is obtained by asking for apparently irrelevant details.’
Betty smiled again, less wanly. ‘It’s all right,’ she protested. ‘I’m not critical.’
‘Then let’s begin with Mr Barke’s previous visits to Forde.’
She told him about this, and he then turned to her own first meeting with Sir Geoffrey. During the discussion he found it easy to slip in questions about the man himself. Thus he learnt about Buller’s upbringing and American job and that he had come to Forde Manor with large social ambitions, which he had completely failed to realize. In fact, Betty thought that this disappointment was the reason for his giving up the place.
‘What about his financial position?’ French asked. ‘Death duties often leave an awkward problem for an heir.’
Here Betty couldn’t help him. All she knew was that Sir Geoffrey was invariably liberal towards herself. French passed from the point, believing he could get his information from the man’s solicitors.
‘What about the cleaning of those pictures?’ he went on. ‘That, I take it, was done to increase their value?’
Betty admitted that this no doubt was the idea.
‘But you don’t think it succeeded?’
Betty didn’t see why he should say that. She was no authority, and though she herself liked the pictures better before they had been done than after, that was merely her personal opinion.
‘Mr Barke had seen these restorations. What did he think?’ went on French.
‘That’s what I don’t know,’ she replied with more interest. ‘I don’t think anyone does. I didn’t see him since the visit and he didn’t speak of it to Mrs Barke. He wouldn’t have liked them though; he was always against it.’
This, with the name of Sir Geoffrey’s London hotel and the fact that she had no idea where Sir Geoffrey was on the Friday of Barke’s disappearance, completed Betty’s statement.
‘Thank you, Mrs Stanton. That’s all I want to ask you, but I should like to see Mrs Barke for a moment. Perhaps you would ask her to come down?’
French was impressed by Agatha’s personality. Her manner was pleasant and her conversation interesting and she was, he was certain, genuinely good and kind. Obviously she was fond of her husband, and he became more than ever convinced as to the improbability of Barke’s having disappeared voluntarily to start another establishment.
French discussed the affair with her in a sympathetic manner, though he learnt little that was new. Then without a change of manner he suddenly changed the subject. ‘Now,’ he asked, ‘will you please tell all you can about the circumstances under which Mr Lorrimer left the Crewe Memorial?’
That Agatha was taken aback was obvious. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘do you think my husband met Mr Lorrimer in Paris?’ Again she paused and her face grew anxious. ‘Why do you ask that, Inspector?’
French’s manner was reassuring to the verge of fatherliness. ‘Just, madam, that we’re trying to check up everyone Mr Barke knew in Paris. Mr Lorrimer is believed to be in Paris. I naturally want to know what you can tell me about him. You knew him personally, I suppose?’
‘Oh, yes, he’s often been to the house.’
Against French’s interrogation Agatha had no chance. She did not herself care very much for Lorrimer, who, she thought, was too reserved to invite friendship. But her husband had liked him and they had got on well together. And then with evident regret she revealed the whole story of the man’s error and dismissal. ‘Then,’ asked French, ‘Mr Lorrimer was under the impression that if he didn’t pay up before the next audit, he would be prosecuted?’
‘Yes, my husband thought it would be more of a lesson to him if he didn’t know he was safe.’
‘Quite.’ A few more questions and French politely took his leave.
As he walked to the District Station he wondered if he had solved his problem. Was it conceivable that a man like Lorrimer would have murdered his old chief for a sum of £250? Yet not for £250 only. Prison was at stake, and prison to a man in Lorrimer’s position would have meant ruin. If Barke’s continued existence meant Lorrimer’s ruin, there was certainly a motive for murder.
French tried to picture what might have happened. Barke goes to Paris on some business of which Lorrimer, as his former chief assistant, knows the details. He therefore asks Lorrimer to meet him. Or Lorrimer himself invents the business. At all events the two men meet. Is it possible that at this interview Lorrimer kills the man in whose hands lies his fate?
It might, French thought, depend on the circumstances of the meeting. If Lorrimer saw a way of doing the deed safely, the sudden temptation might have proved too strong for him. Or he might have killed Barke unintentionally. They might have met with the most pacific intention and a quarrel might have broken out, and in the heat of passion Lorrimer might have struck, unwisely but too well.
Lorrimer was a second string to his bow at all events, French thought, or was he the first? Either he or Sir Geoffrey might be guilty, and the cases against both would have to be tested till certainty was reached.
A little later there was a reply from the Sûreté. All the persons mentioned in French’s communication had been interviewed: without result. All of them except Lorrimer were persons of position and reputation and on a priori grounds it was unlikely that any of them should be guilty. In the case of Lorrimer a preliminary investigation had been made—admittedly not exhaustive and he appeared to be innocent. He had an alibi for the critical period which had received a certain amount of corroboration.
French heaved a sigh. That was the exasperating kind of answer he might have foreseen. Probabilities! Why couldn’t he for once in a way get something conclusive? He would have to get in touch with the Sûreté again.
It was late for speaking to Paris, but on chance he put through his call and by good luck found someone who knew the details of the case. To this man he repeated his belief that Lorrimer had a motive for murdering Barke, and asked if the alibi could be rechecked from this viewpoint. Then his thoughts returning to Sir Geoffrey, he wired for all available information about him to the Chief of Police at Chicago.
Next morning saw French at Somerset House, where, having tendered his shilling, he inspected the last will and testament of the late Sir Howard Buller. He did not learn as much from it as he had hoped, the figures being extraordinarily complicated, but he did get the impression that the deceased’s heir would be left very short of cash to keep up Forde Manor.
He returned to the Yard to attend to some routine details before going on to Messrs Tuffnel, Jinks & Tuffnel, of Arundel Street, Strand, the agents whose name appeared on the ‘To be sold’ boards at Forde. There he was rung up by Shaw to ask if he had any news.
French in his reply mentioned his next port of call.
‘You needn’t go to Tuffnel’s,’ Shaw assured him. ‘I’ve got all they have to tell. I’ll come round and give you the dope.’
Half an hour later the man was installed in French’s only armchair.
‘Well,’ he queried, ‘so you’ve got a second line shaping? Tell me more about it.’
For a time they discussed Lorrimer, and then French switched the conversation to Sir Geoffrey. ‘You saw those Tuffnel & Jinks birds? What had they to say?’
‘Nothing,’ Shaw returned, ‘except that there was little chance of a sale. During the three months the place was advertised, they hadn’t a single offer.’
‘That might be useful enough,’ French answered ruminatively, ‘if Buller was hard up.’
‘He was hard up all right,’ Shaw asserted. ‘It seems Sir Howard could only just make ends meet. If so, the death duties would leave Sir Geoffrey practically down and out.’
‘That’s important,’ French declared. ‘Can you prove it?’
Shaw shrugged. ‘Not exactly, though we might work it out from the probate figures. But I think it’s right enough. It was generally accepted in the locality. It’s wonderful how these things get out.’
‘Not always correctly.’
‘They’re not usually far wrong. Do you know if Buller brought any money in with him?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. I’ll know for certain when I get a reply from Chicago. It ought to be here any time.’
‘It’s making quite a case,’ Shaw considered.
‘Yes, let’s sum it up. Here’s this man Buller, apparently having come from small beginnings, and he’s left this large house and place. He comes over full of eagerness and pleasure and counts on doing the country squire and cutting a dash and entertaining the neighbourhood.’
‘And all he gets is disappointment,’ interjected Shaw.
‘All he gets is disappointment,’ French repeated. ‘First he finds he’s short of cash to run the place, so there’s worry to start with. Then he doesn’t get on with the local people, he’s not received by them, and his dreams of doing the country squire and filling the manor with guests go phut.’
‘A harder hit than the money.’
‘Yes, it touches his pride. Well, he decides on two things; one, to clear out, the other, to overhaul the insurance to cover the whole value of the property.’
Shaw made a gesture of dissent, but French did not stop. ‘I know what you’re going to say. We don’t know which of these conclusions he reached first. That it?’
‘That’s it,’ Shaw agreed. ‘It makes quite a difference. If he fixed up the insurance before he decided to leave, it has no particular significance; if after, it suggests arson.’
‘Very well, let’s give Buller the benefit of the doubt,’ French continued. ‘Assume he has the valuation made in good faith before he realizes he can’t carry on. He does at last realize he can’t carry on, so he decides to sell.’
‘Then he’s disappointed again.’
French nodded. ‘Exactly. He finds he can’t sell. No one has the cash to run a place of that size. Now what’s his position? Forde has turned from an asset into a liability. Even when the house is empty there are heavy expenses running on. There’s depreciation. There are repairs. The garden must be kept up or a sale will become less likely still. It takes money and he can’t find it. Now it’s just here that his temptation arises. As you said, if he can’t get money through a sale he can get it through a fire.’
‘It’s certainly plausible.’
‘More than plausible, I think. However, arson’s your chicken, not mine. But is there a reasonable suspicion of murder? That’s not so clear.’
‘It involves assuming he’s been monkeying with the pictures,’ Shaw pointed out. ‘You have to assume that those fifteen weren’t cleaned but were copied, and that he’s sold the originals and is claiming the original price from us.’
‘Of course, and also that Barke, during his unexpected visit, tumbled to the trick and so had to be silenced.’
Shaw nodded. ‘A good summary,’ he approved, ‘and it just means further inquiry.’
‘My conclusion also,’ French agreed. ‘Then I’ll begin by finding out where Buller was on the Friday of Barke’s disappearance.’
‘How will you do it?’
‘Ask him. How else?’
‘I shouldn’t give away that I was interested.’
‘What’s your method?’
‘I’d make up my nephew as a plain clothes man—he’s big enough and awkward enough for the job,’ Shaw’s eyes twinkled, ‘and send him to Buller to say that there was an accident on Friday afternoon at such a place, and that his car, which didn’t stop, was believed to have caused it. When he gets indignant and says he was nowhere near the place, my nephew would say: “That’s all right, sir, but as a matter of pure form, where were you on Friday afternoon?”’
French laughed. ‘I’m afraid you’ve become a moral wreck since you left the force,’ he declared. ‘You know jolly well I couldn’t do that.’
‘Perhaps not, but it would be the best way.’
French thought so too as half an hour later he sent up his card to Buller in the Brooklyn Hotel. A moment later he and Sergeant Carter were shown into the man’s private sitting-room.
‘Good morning, sir. Sorry for this intrusion,’ began French, handing over his official card, and explaining that he was inquiring into Barke’s disappearance. Sir Geoffrey was polite, but wary and non-committal.
‘I’d be grateful,’ French went on, ‘if you could give me any help. You met Mr Barke once at Forde Manor?’
‘Yes,’ Sir Geoffrey admitted, ‘but I don’t see exactly how that’s going to help you.’
‘May I ask if that was the last time you saw him?’
‘Yes, the first and last and only time.’
The interrogation went on through its time-honoured stages: French’s innocent questions; Sir Geoffrey’s demand to know what he was getting at and ascertain that he was not bound to answer; French’s agreement and suggestion that such a course would raise undesirable suspicions; Sir Geoffrey’s bluster and final capitulation. ‘What,’ he growled at last, ‘do you want to know?’
‘Simply, sir, where you were on the afternoon of Friday the fifteenth instant.’
Sir Geoffrey who had been growing more and more upset, looked relieved. He considered for some moments then answered. ‘If that’s all, and if telling you will save me further annoyance, I’ll tell you. But I protest formally against the whole thing.’
‘That’s all right, sir,’ French replied cheerfully. ‘I’m sorry for annoying you and I note your protest.’
Sir Geoffrey nodded and took an engagement book from his pocket. ‘I may have spoken too quickly,’ he said in a pleasanter voice. ‘I’ll tell you if I can. That was the day I saw my dentist. You want the afternoon?’
‘If you please, sir?’
‘Well, I don’t know that I’ll be able to remember everything, but let’s see. I lunched here—I suppose that’ll be early enough to begin?’
‘That’ll do nicely.’ French felt a shiver of disappointment pass over him. If this were true, he was on the wrong track. However, he might as well hear all the man had to say and make assurance doubly sure.
‘After lunch,’ Sir Geoffrey went on, ‘I read in the lounge and then went out, I should think somewhere about three.’
‘Good enough.’
‘I did a bit of shopping: two or three things I wanted; shoes and a waterproof and so on, and then as I had a bit too much time on my hands, I walked to the dentist’s. My appointment was for four o’clock and I suppose I was there fifteen minutes altogether. Then let’s see, what did I do? I had tea and walked back to the hotel. No, I didn’t, not directly. I called for a moment with my solicitors to know if they could yet tell me when I could go back to Capri, a question that I had asked them some days previously. Then I sat in the hotel talking to some Americans till dinner. I dined in the hotel. That enough?’
‘Ample, sir. Thank you very much. Now just a name or two and I’ve done. Who was your dentist?’
Sir Geoffrey frowned. ‘Oh, you don’t believe me, don’t you?’
‘I do believe you,’ French said with truth, if with regret, ‘but you must be aware that we are bound to check every statement we get.’
With a bad grace Sir Geoffrey gave the information. Then French set to work on the corroboration.
First he saw the dentist, Mr Cleveland. Sir Geoffrey had rung him up that morning, asking for an appointment in the afternoon, as he was having pain in a tooth which Cleveland had stopped some months earlier. Cleveland had at considerable inconvenience arranged for four o’clock on the same day. Sir Geoffrey had kept his appointment. The stopping had appeared good, and Cleveland had diagnosed a touch of cold affecting the nerve. The sitting had lasted for about a quarter of an hour.
From the dentist French went to Messrs Quilter, Hepworth & Quilter and there interviewed Mr Rathbone, the partner who had seen Bailer. Once again the alibi was confirmed. Beyond any possible shadow of doubt Sir Geoffrey was in his solicitors’ offices between five and five-thirty on the fateful Friday.
Did this entirely eliminate Sir Geoffrey? French thought it did, provided the Barke details as he understood them were correct. Could Barke, for instance, have secretly come back to London? The more he thought over it, the more attractive grew the idea of running over to Paris and getting the local details clear beyond any possibility of doubt. Also he wanted to know more about Lorrimer. He therefore saw Sir Mortimer Ellison, obtained his approval, and after wiring the Sûreté, took the night service via Southampton.
Paris was looking very attractive in the bright spring sunshine when about ten o’clock French drove out of the Gare St Lazare. At the Sûreté he was greeted with immense courtesy by the Deputy Chief—the Chief being laid up—and introduced to a M. Dieulot, the inspector who had charge of the case. Dieulot, it appeared, had had several years’ service at Cannes before being transferred to Paris, and he had learnt English. He was now one of the men to whom were given cases which might have English repercussions.
‘He have vanished, thees Meestair Barke, into the thin air, as you say in England,’ he explained, evidently proud of the cliché. ‘He go out of the Hotel and—’ His raised hands and shoulders eloquently covered the remainder of the story.
‘And what’s your view, M. Dieulot? Do you think it was voluntary or was he murdered?’
Again the shrug, in itself a complete answer.
‘We rather incline to the murder view,’ French went on, briefly summarizing the reasons. ‘But one of our two suspects was in England that afternoon. The other is Lorrimer. We’ll come to him in a moment. But first I wanted to be quite sure that Barke really stayed in Paris; I mean, that he wasn’t inveigled back to England by some trick.’
As a matter of fact this was not what French wanted. He really wished to know the whole circumstances at first hand and to check what the French police had done, though he didn’t care to put this into words. Dieulot, however, volunteered the information, as French had hoped he would.
‘As to a return to England,’ he answered, ‘there ees the passport. But it would be best that you see all.’ He opened a cupboard and took out certain articles. ‘Behold the passport, the suitcase, the clothes. You see them, then we go to the Vichy. You spik to the manager.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ French assured him. ‘That will cover at once all the questions I wanted to ask you.’
Barke’s possessions, which he had left at the hotel, had been brought to the Sûreté and French was presently examining them. The passport was undoubtedly Barke’s, not only from the details of address and so on, but because the photograph showed the same man as did one which French had already obtained from the Green House. It bore entrance and exit stamps to many countries, and among them was the large purple ring containing the words ‘Commissariat Special Débarquement’, with ‘Boulogne-s/Mer’ inside, and below in its rectangular frame across the centre, the date ‘15 Mars 1939’.
Here was the final proof, had any been needed, that Barke had crossed over on the day in question and by the 9.00 a.m. service from Victoria. The other early services were via Calais. Moreover he had not returned. Without that passport he could neither have left France nor re-entered England.
French passed on to an examination of the suitcase. About this there was nothing of special interest, except the fact that there was nothing of special interest. French had confidently expected some paper or article which would give a hint of the man’s business in France, but none was forthcoming. This was more than disappointing. Either Barke had brought nothing of the kind over with him, or he had taken it with him to that urgent appointment to which he had hurried.
In the suitcase was Barke’s current chequebook, which French had noted as missing from the Green House. But this threw no light on the affair, as no suggestive cheques had been drawn.
As a routine check French took three or four articles which were stamped with the owner’s personality—a dressing-gown, bedroom slippers, a razor case—to make sure they had really been taken from the Green House. In a case where trickery was to be expected, every check, no matter how apparently superfluous, was valuable.’
A visit to the hotel proved equally disappointing. Barke had arrived by taxi just at the time people travelling by that particular cross-channel service do arrive. He had booked his room and signed the register. Then he said, ‘I have an engagement just now, so I won’t go up to my room till later. Will you please have my luggage sent up.’ He had then walked out of the hotel, no one noticing which direction he had taken. The luggage had been duly sent upstairs. That was on the Friday afternoon, and it wasn’t till the Sunday that the manager grew sufficiently disturbed about his absence to inform the police. Barke was not known to the clerk, and there was no record of his having stayed at the hotel on previous occasions.
Dieulot then explained what further steps his department had taken. They had quickly traced the taxi which had set Barke down at the hotel, and found that it had picked up the fare at the Gaze du Nord, one in the crowd obviously pouring out from the English boat train. Barke had been carrying his suitcase: it was not large. Dieulot had been unable to trace him further in the station.
The inquiries usually made in the case of missing persons were then put in hand. Reports of accidents and bodies found were gone into, the hospitals were visited, the men on point duty near the hotel were interrogated, attempts were made to find a taxi which had taken up a likely fare in the neighbourhood, but all without success. Charles Barke had indeed vanished without trace.
‘You made a fine job of all that,’ French complimented when Dieulot had finished. ‘As far as Barke is concerned everything seems clear. Now what about Lorrimer?’
Lorrimer, it seemed, had been easily traced. He had stayed at the hotel he had named to Miss Redpath for a few nights only, and had then moved to a studio in the rue des Couronnes, in the south-east corner of Paris near the Porte d’Ivry. He was engaged on alternate mornings in giving lessons in two ateliers, and in the afternoons he copied pictures at the Louvre and other places. He had been given a good character wherever Dieulot had inquired. Apparently he was working hard and skilfully, was spending little, and must be accumulating money.
On the day in question, he had accounted fully for his time. From 8.30 till noon he had taught in the Atelier Bobillot, he had then lunched and gone out to the Church of St Paul in the rue Blomet, on the west side of the Seine, in the direction of Courbevoie. He had been commissioned by a firm in the rue St Honoré to copy a picture there, and he had already spent a number of afternoons at the work. On this occasion he started about 1.30. The copy was almost done, and he finished it just before half past three. He found the sacristan, tipped him, and told him he would not be leaving his canvas on that occasion as the picture was done, but that he would be back later to do a second. He left the church about 3.30, walked to the Metro station Pont de Levallois-Bécon, carrying his canvas, and went through to the Porte d’Ivry, changing at the Opera. From the Porte d’Ivry it was about five minutes’ walk to his studio. He left the picture there, had a wash and a change, then thinking he had done enough for the day, he took the Metro back to Pont Marie, which was the nearest station to a friend’s rooms in the rue de Bagnolet on the north side of the river opposite the rue St Louis. This was a writer named Pierre Charcot, and he reached his rooms about 5.00. He found Charcot with two friends and they all settled down to talk. Later they went to a restaurant for dinner, after which Lorrimer had gone on with some other men to the rooms of one of them. About midnight he had returned to his studio accompanied by a man named Dupuis. Dupuis went in with him for a final drink and saw the picture there.
‘That’s very interesting,’ French commented. ‘Do you believe it all?’
Dieulot once again shrugged. ‘We have made inquiries, but not complete,’ he answered and went on to describe what had been done. He had himself interviewed the sacristan, who fully confirmed Lorrimer’s statement. He was sure of the hour of 3.30 at which the painter had left the church. It was a dark building and work could no longer be carried on.
‘That suspicious, do you think?’ asked French.
Dieulot thought it was natural enough and French agreed with him. Dieulot continued that he had not himself seen Pierre Charcot, but he had sent a man to interview him, and here again there had been every reasonable corroboration. He was sure of the time Lorrimer had arrived, as Lorrimer had himself asked, had Charcot finished his day’s work.
‘Once again, was that suspicious?’ French repeated.
Once again Dieulot didn’t think so. It would be a natural question for Lorrimer to ask. Charcot also confirmed that Lorrimer had been in his presence till he left for his studio shortly before midnight, and that Dupuis had gone with him. Dupuis had also been interviewed, and had fully confirmed the statement. Finally Dieulot said that while Lorrimer’s actual journeys had not been made, he estimated that they would take just the time stated.
French thought over this. ‘Lorrimer left the church about three-thirty and reached Charcot’s about five—so much appears to be established,’ he said slowly. ‘If he went to his studio during that period he could not have murdered Barke, as the journey would have filled the time. Now suppose he didn’t go to his studio. Suppose he got out, say, at the Opera—how long could he have spent there and still reach Charcot’s at five?’
‘Speaking vaguely, about three-quarters of an hour.’
‘In three-quarters of an hour he could easily have murdered Barke, provided he could have found somewhere to do it and to hide the body. Question is, could he have found such a place?’
Dieulot made a gesture of negation. ‘A place to commit the murder? Yes, if he could persuade M. Barke to accompany him. A place to hide the body? No! It is this hiding the body, my friend, that is difficult.’
‘What about the river?’
‘The Seine? But yes, the Seine would hide the body. But this Lorrimer, how does he put the body in? It is still the day, at half past four, is it not?’
‘Suppose,’ said French, sitting forward and putting his head confidentially on one side, ‘they meet near the Opera, and drive to the river—say the Place de la Concorde. They dismount and walk to the bridge. They get down on the quay alongside the water and move beneath the arch. They are pretty well out of sight there. Could Lorrimer not sandbag Barke and slip his body into the water without being seen?’
Dieulot thought it unlikely; while there were few people on the quays, these were not absolutely deserted. The river traffic had also to be considered. Besides the ground under the arches was visible from the roadway on the opposite bank. It would be strange if such a murder were not seen by someone. It would also be strange if a body thrown in at such a place were not found in the river. ‘Besides, how does Lorrimer persuade his victim, this Charles Barke, to descend to the quay and promenade beneath the bridge?’
‘I don’t know,’ French admitted. ‘He might have made up some story. Oh, I don’t know, it doesn’t sound very likely.’
‘It is not likely, no. And yet it is not impossible. Something of the kind must be kept in view.’
Once again French lapsed into thought. ‘Could Lorrimer have taken Barke home with him?’ he went on presently. ‘Suppose Barke met him at the Opera and they went on together by Metro. He could easily have murdered him in his studio.’
‘But not so easily disposed of the body.’
‘He wouldn’t have disposed of it.’ French grew slightly more eager. ‘Suppose he hid it and left it there? Then he could have reached Charcot’s on time.’
‘It is just. But the body, it would remain in the studio.’
‘Of course, but in the darkness of the night …?’
Again Dieulot made his gesture of negation. ‘In the streets of Paris the nights they are not dark,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Besides where could he have taken the body? To the river it is too far. And you cannot hide a body where other persons are—it betrays itself. It is not possible, my friend. No, no; he could find no hiding place.’
‘Then your definite opinion is that Lorrimer is innocent?’
‘Of murdering Barke in his studio, yes. He could not have done it. Of murdering him near the Opera between four and five—’ He shrugged. ‘It is possible. But there is something else.’
‘Something else?’
‘Yes—the picture. The picture was at this Lorrimer’s studio at midnight. The sacristan saw it at half past three in the church and Dupuis saw it at midnight. How was it taken from one place to the other?’
‘By Lorrimer as he says?’
Dieulot threw up his hands. ‘In the end! He was not then murdering Barke! Is it not?’
French was reluctant to accept this view, as Lorrimer was his sole remaining suspect, but the more he thought over the situation the more convinced he grew that Dieulot must be right. If the facts were as stated, Lorrimer could only be guilty if he had not gone home between 3.30 p.m. and 5.00. But the presence of the picture in the studio proved that he had gone home. It seemed conclusive.
‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘that I agree with you. At the same time I think I ought to see Lorrimer. You know what one’s superiors are?’
Dieulot made another eloquent gesture. ‘But of course!’ he cried warmly. ‘Lorrimer and the sacristan and Charcot and Dupuis: all of them! Well do I understand your desire. See, I send a man with you. François, a good man. A thousand regrets that I cannot go myself as I should like.’
French was delighted. He had wished for this, but hadn’t expected to find Dieulot so compliant.
But the interviews, when they took place, threw no further light on their affair, and French had to admit that Dieulot’s investigation had been quite first class. Only in seeing Lorrimer for himself and judging his character from his appearance did he gain fresh information, and that was not helpful to the case he was trying to build up.
When he and François presented themselves at the young man’s studio, they found him painting. He was tall and thin and rather stooped and his manner was polite but very reserved. He obviously at once saw what was in French’s mind and resented it, but was willing to tell him anything he could. He began by denying that he knew anything about the affair in question. He had been very sorry to hear of the disappearance of Barke, whom he had greatly respected. He was surprised to find that French knew the reason for his leaving the Crewe Gallery, and after showing some further resentment he said he had collected over £100 of the £250 he owed, and only for this unfortunate development, he would before then have forwarded the money to Barke as an instalment. French thought him sullen, but he had to admit to himself that he bore no signs of guilt.
Reluctantly French found himself forced to the conclusion that he might strike Lorrimer off his list of suspects. There was nothing—and never had been anything—against the young man except the possibility of motive, that he might have wished to murder Barke to preserve his secret. Now French saw that this wasn’t so convincing as he had supposed. Firstly, Lorrimer could not be sure that Barke had neither mentioned nor made a note of the matter, and if he had, to murder him would be madness. Secondly, if Lorrimer had really collected £100, it was clear that he intended to accept Barke’s offer to let the affair drop on the money being repaid. The a priori bias against Lorrimer was therefore slight, while of actual evidence there was none. On the other hand several strong reasons suggested his innocence.
French sighed as he settled himself in the train to return to London. So far he had found only two suspects: Sir Geoffrey and Lorrimer, and now both of them must be considered innocent. That unhappily left him where he had started. But he remained convinced that the murder—if murder it was—was a purely Parisian affair. Someone living in Paris had brought Barke over and had tricked him into his power and killed him.
If so, it looked as if the affair was one for the polite Inspector Dieulot and that he, French, might wash his hands of it.
One thing alone was certain: he must either start fresh on some new scent, or he must report a joint failure with the Sûreté. Thoroughly disgruntled, he reached Victoria and went home.