At nine o’clock next morning French rang up the number he had noted on the Nelson Street boardinghouse telephone, and asked for Miss Molly Moran.
‘It’s in connection with our previous conversation, Miss Moran,’ he explained. ‘There is a fresh development which I want to discuss with you. Will you meet me in half an hour at the same place as before?’
Though she agreed, French could sense the unwillingness in her tones. ‘Very good of you,’ he declared. ‘I’ll not keep you long.’
He greeted her pleasantly when she appeared, led the way to a deserted seat in the Charing Cross Gardens, supplied her with a cigarette, and for a few moments chatted of everyday matters. Then when she seemed more at her ease he turned to business.
‘What I want to see you about is this, Miss Moran,’ he said more gravely. ‘Since our last interview I have learnt that this matter of Mr Welland is even more serious than I thought. I want to tell you what I know and to ask your further help. And first, are you quite satisfied that I really am from Scotland Yard? Would you like to go with me to the Yard where I am known?’
‘Oh, no, Mr French,’ she answered hastily, ‘that’s not necessary at all. I am perfectly satisfied.’
‘Very good. Now I told you before that I believed you were in personal danger from your association with this man. I want to tell you why I think so.’
She did not reply, but sat with a bored expression, evidently trying to conceal her interest.
‘Nearly three months ago,’ went on French, ‘a young lady named Thurza Darke was sent to the Yard by a solicitor. This man had found out that she had got into the clutches of a gang of crooks, and he sent her to us for protection. Now, Miss Moran, this young lady was employed in the box office of the Milan Cinema in Oxford Street. That is the first point.
‘She said that on her way to business she had met a young lady in the train, a Miss Gwen Lestrange. She was a wealthy young lady, or seemed to be, and they got talking about her money. As Miss Lestrange said she was only a barmaid in a theatre, Miss Darke asked where it came from. With some appearance of hesitation she was told it was from gambling at second hand on the Monte Carlo tables. After further conversation Miss Lestrange suggested that Miss Darke should have a fling in the same way, and agreed to introduce her to the man with whom she herself dealt. He was then called Westinghouse. They met here in this garden, and Westinghouse arranged the gambling.’
There was no question now of Miss Moran’s attention. She was watching French with tense interest, in fact with an expression almost of horror.
He glanced at her with satisfaction.
‘Is there any need for me to go on, Miss Moran?’ he said gently. ‘Can you not imagine the rest? How Miss Darke won fair sums at first and thought she was going to make her fortune. Then how she began to lose; how at last she got into debt to Westinghouse; how he became threatening and swore he would report her to the cinema authorities; how he threatened prosecution, imprisonment, until the poor girl was almost beside herself with terror. You can picture it, can you not, Miss Moran?’
That she could picture it in vivid detail was evident. Her eyes were dilating and her face had paled.
‘The remainder you can imagine also,’ went on French. ‘How at this crisis Miss Lestrange turned up unexpectedly; how she was sympathetically concerned about Miss Darke’s woebegone appearance, and how she recommended recourse to her cousin, who, she said, had helped her out of a similar difficulty. Then how this man played on Miss Darke’s fears in order to entrap her in his evil schemes. Ah, I see I needn’t go into it further. You evidently know as much as I do about it.’
In truth the girl’s appearance left no doubt on the point. French, pausing for a moment, continued:
‘Now I must tell you something that had happened earlier. A very great friend of Miss Darke’s, a young lady also employed in the box office of a cinema, had recently died. She was a jolly, gay young thing, but for several weeks she had appeared to be in trouble. Then one day she disappeared, and later her body was found in a pool in a quarry. There was a verdict of suicide, but Miss Darke never believed she had committed suicide. She said she was not that kind of girl, and she was convinced that she had been murdered.
‘Now Miss Darke had tried to get out of her friend the cause of her trouble, but beyond the fact that it was due to some man who had got her into his power, the girl would not say. But she had described the man, and what had terrified Miss Darke was that the man to whom Miss Lestrange had sent her exactly answered the description.
‘This was his description: middling tall, thinnish, fair-haired, rather terrifying eyes, and’—French paused for a moment, then added—‘a purple scar shaped like a sickle on the inside of his left wrist.’
Miss Moran gave a little gasping cry. She had gone dead white and swayed as if faint.
‘Steady on, Miss Moran,’ French said sharply, but in low tones. ‘You don’t want to attract attention. You’re all right and perfectly safe. Pull yourself together.’
With an evident effort the girl did so. She did not belie the evidence of her firm little chin. Again French told himself she was a young woman of character.
‘You mustn’t be alarmed,’ he went on. ‘I’m here to help you out of your difficulties. We’ll discuss that in a moment. Meanwhile I must finish my story.
‘As I say, Miss Darke recognised the man, and very wisely she temporised. If he would give her a couple of days to think it over she would come to a decision. He agreed. By friends about whom I needn’t explain, she was persuaded to report the circumstances at the Yard. Miss Moran,’ French’s voice became very grave, ‘she was evidently watched. That night she disappeared, and two days later her body was found in the sea near Portsmouth. In this case there was no question of suicide. The poor girl had been murdered before being thrown into the sea.’
Once again his listener’s pallor grew deathlike, and once again with an evident effort she pulled herself together.
‘I have one other thing to tell you. Inquiries revealed the fact that some five months before Miss Darke’s friend’s murder, another young lady was found drowned under suspicious circumstances. She also was in the box office of a cinema. Absolute proof was not obtainable, but there is no reasonable doubt that she also was murdered by the same gang.’
French paused, carefully lit a cigarette, glanced keenly around and resumed.
‘From all this, Miss Moran, you will see that when I said I thought you might be in personal danger, I was basing my opinion on something very real. I do not wish to frighten you unduly, but you must see that unless some steps are taken it may be your turn next. Now the question is: Are you going to be wise and confide in me?’
She did not answer and French also smoked in silence to let the question sink into her mind. Presently he went on: ‘There is also another side of the affair which you must not overlook and about which it is only fair that I should warn you. We now know so much about what is going on that it is only a question of time before we learn it all. If you are then found to be doing something illegal you will undoubtedly be charged with conspiracy in the crime. If on the other hand, you do all you can to help the authorities, I will do all I can to help you. Even if the matter should be too serious for me to keep you out of court, your having turned King’s evidence would get you off.’
It was evident that this view had not occurred to the young lady. She looked even more frightened and unhappy, though still she did not speak.
French grew impatient.
‘Very well,’ he said in sharper tones, ‘I warn you again that your own safety requires that you should tell what you know, but if you won’t take my warning I can’t help it. I am of opinion that here and now you are carrying with you the object or objects which you will shortly place in the secret panel of Mr Welland’s car. I shall have to take you into custody on a charge of conspiracy and have you searched so as to find out what that article is.’
His conscience pricked him slightly as he spoke. Was this strictly in accordance with the rules for the interrogation of a possible witness? Then he thought he was justified. This girl would not incriminate herself. He could swear she was innocent. And anything was good enough for the murderers of Thurza Darke.
The girl gave a little cry.
‘Take me into custody!’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Surely you wouldn’t do a thing like that?’
‘I certainly would. I am going to find out about this business at whatever cost. Come now,’ he went on more coaxingly, ‘be wise and come in on the side that must win. As you are, you are running a terrible risk.’
Though he spoke gravely, with secret delight he noticed signs of breaking down. Miss Moran shivered and slow, long sobs shook her frame. He remained silent and then at last he heard what he had been hoping for.
‘Oh,’ she cried piteously, ‘but this is terrible altogether! I never thought anything like this would happen to me. I didn’t mean any harm and now look at the trouble I’m in. You’ll make it as easy as you can for me if I tell you?’
‘I have already promised, Miss Moran. Not only that, but you’ll feel a weight off your mind. You can’t have been happy with this going on.’
‘Happy! I’ve been miserable. God only knows how miserable I’ve been. And if I have been making money, sure I’ve paid for it by the terror I’ve been in. I’ll tell you everything.’
She was sobbing freely and French once more urged her to control herself lest attention should be drawn to her. Presently in rather tremulous tones she began.
‘The whole thing happened just as you say, Mr French. Every day I go to business by the tube and it was there I met the girl you spoke of. We got to be the best of friends, but all the time I was wondering where she got her money. One day I asked her, and she told me about the betting at Monte Carlo. She said if I would like a go at it she would arrange it for me, all just as you said. She said the bookmaker would meet us here. He did and he was the very man you described. Och, but he was a terrible man, Mr French! There was something about his eyes that would give you the cold shivers. He was the man you mentioned anyway, for I saw the scar on his wrist.’
‘Ah,’ said French with satisfaction. ‘Did he tell you his name?’
‘He did. It was Style.’
‘Good! That’s the man. And did you stake?’
‘I did, and I won first and then I lost. At that time Gwen Lestrange had got a job out of London and had gone away, but I met her by chance and she asked me how I was getting on. When I told her she said she thought her cousin could help me and she introduced me to him. That was Mr Welland.’
French was highly pleased. At last he was making progress. Welland and Style had been concerned in the death of Thurza Darke, and already he had Welland under observation. A little more of that observation would undoubtedly lead him to Style.
He wondered why the two scoundrels had changed their respective roles. In Thurza Darke’s case, Welland (or Westinghouse) had been the bookmaker and Style the cousin. In Molly Moran’s, Style was the bookmaker and Welland the cousin. Probably, thought French, to divide equally both the risks and the responsibilities. With some surprise he also noted that while Welland had taken the precaution to change his name, Style had not troubled to do so. No doubt for this also there was a reason.
‘Well, and what did Mr Welland say to you?’
The girl was evidently trying hard for self-control. She succeeded in choking down her sobs, but her voice was still tremulous as she went on.
‘He was as pleasant and friendly as you’d wish. He said he was sorry about my difficulties and that he could offer me a job which would not only get me out of them, but would pay me well besides. And it wouldn’t interfere with my work at the cinema, for all he wanted could be done between times when I wasn’t selling tickets. He said it was the fine easy job, but it had one thing about it that I mightn’t like, and then he looked at me and asked me was I very straightlaced in my ideas.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, Mr French, I’m not straightlaced at all. So I said not, and he said that was fortunate, as it was the only drawback the job had. There were some straightlaced people who might object to it, but not ordinary men and women of the world. Anyway it was safe enough and absolutely moral and no one would ever know anything about it. Besides, I needn’t go on with it unless I wanted to.
‘I asked him what the job was and he said that was going too fast, he would have to have my word first to carry it out for at least a week. After that I could go on or not, as I liked. He said that if I promised, he would begin by giving me enough to square Mr Style. Then he said that maybe I would like a day or two to think it over and that I could come back and see him again.’
‘A plausible ruffian,’ French commented, now speaking in his pleasantest tones. ‘I’m sure that’s just what he said to your predecessors. And what did you answer?’
The girl hung her head.
‘Well, Mr French, I’m not pretending I didn’t do wrong, but just think of my position. I had only my job to live by and I was going to lose it in a way that would have prevented me getting another. Then there was this job offered me, maybe not just all right, but safe anyway. It was a choice of two evils; of possible ruin if I accepted or of certain ruin if I didn’t. I took the chance.’
‘Of course you did. I can see the fix you were in and I’m not blaming you.’
‘Well, to make a long story short, I told Mr Welland I would take his job. He smiled and shook hands and congratulated me. He said I’d never be sorry for what I was doing and then he handed me ten pounds, saying that here was part of the money I owed Mr Style and that if I paid this much, Mr Style would certainly give me time to meet the rest. He made me sign an I.O.U. for it, and he said I had better go and pay Mr Style at once.
‘Next time Mr Style came to the Gardens I was waiting for him. He was very threatening at first, but when I showed him the ten pounds it changed his manner. He said he was glad I wasn’t going to make trouble and that he would take that on account and give me three more weeks to find the other fifteen. He was so pleasant that in spite of the job I felt easier in my mind than I had for many a day.’
‘I don’t wonder,’ French commented. ‘I think you did what any other girl would have done in your position, though I suppose I should not say so.’
‘Mr Welland had given me an appointment for two hours later and I met him in Hyde Park. He told me that one of his friends was in the Mint and had unexpectedly found a crate full of old half-crowns in a disused cellar. He supposed they had been called in for renewal and been forgotten. The friend did not see why they should lie there, and he began taking some home every evening. But he was afraid to get rid of them, for some of them bore the Mint rejection mark. He had consulted Mr Welland as to how this might be done, and that was where I came in. My job would be to pass out the half-crowns to the public. Every morning Mr Welland would give me so many and I was to pay them out in change at the paybox. For every half-crown I paid out I was to put another aside from the till for Mr Welland, and when I met him next day I was to hand these over to him, less a percentage.’
‘And did you believe his story?’
The girl hung her head.
‘No,’ she admitted in a low voice, ‘but as he put it, it didn’t seem so bad. He said the whole business, so far as I was concerned, was perfectly honest. The half-crowns were good and worth their full value. My cash at the cinema could be examined at any moment and would be found O.K. The only thing the most straitlaced could object to was his friend’s taking these old coins from the Mint in the first instance. But I had nothing to do with that.’
‘And once again, did you believe that?’
‘No,’ and the girl’s voice was very mournful, ‘and I said I didn’t to Mr Welland. But it was no good. He said that if I felt the slightest qualms about the matter, not to go on with it on any account at all. He would be the last person to press me to do what I thought wrong. I had only to hand him back his ten pounds and I would be clear of it.’
‘He had you there.’
‘He had me so that I couldn’t wriggle. I begged him to let me go, but he said ten pounds were ten pounds, and that he couldn’t afford to lose all that money and get nothing against it. Then I said I would tell the police the whole thing. That annoyed him. He advised me just to try it. He asked me did I imagine my story would be believed? There was I without a scrap of proof, but he had my I.O.U. He said if I went to the police it would be me that would go to prison for perjury and defamation of character.’
‘So you agreed to pass the money?’
‘What else could I do, Mr French? I owed fifteen pounds to one of these men and ten to the other, and both said they would get me the sack if I didn’t pay. And I hadn’t any money and they wouldn’t give me time.’
Here, thought French in high delight, was something tangible at last! A gleam of light was beginning to illumine these mysterious happenings. With keener interest he went on.
‘You said less a percentage?’
‘Yes, ten per cent. One half-crown in every ten they let me keep.’
‘And how many do you change per day?’
‘Well, of course it varies, but it would be a bad day that I wouldn’t change a hundred. The most I ever did was a hundred and forty-five.’
‘Bless my soul, you’ve not been doing so badly! What have you been making? Eight or ten pounds a week?’
‘About that. As I say, it varies, but I generally get at least eight.’
French was astonished. No wonder this gang secured loyal helpers! With her ordinary wages this girl must be in receipt of something not far short of six hundred a year. He had certainly frightened her to some purpose if she was willing to risk the loss of such an income.
‘H’m,’ he said with grim pleasantry. ‘It really looks like a case of your money or your life. But I don’t want to keep you here too long. From what you tell me it would be better that we shouldn’t be seen together. Just explain how you carry the half-crowns to and from the cinema.’
‘In my vanity bag.’ She was about to open it, but French checked her.
‘Don’t show me,’ he said. ‘Explain.’
‘There are three compartments in this bag. The centre one is like an ordinary bag, and I keep my own things in it, handkerchief and so on. The two side ones shut with a spring, and unless you examined the bag very carefully, you wouldn’t know they were there. One of these spring compartments is coloured red inside and the other green. In the red one are the half-crowns from Mr Welland. As I take them out I put other half-crowns from the till into the green one. Sometimes I don’t get all Mr Welland’s changed, and the colours keep them separate.’
‘Why do you only put in half-crowns? Wouldn’t two shillings and a sixpence from the till do as well?’
‘I don’t know. Mr Welland told me to put in half-crowns only.’
Evidently to keep the percentage of coins of various values normal in the till, French imagined. If so, it showed an attention to detail which deserved success. He thought rapidly whether he had got all the information he could expect from this particular source, and decided that he had.
‘Now, Miss Moran,’ he said earnestly, ‘you must be careful of yourself for a few days. Go straight home after your show and keep to populous streets. Even in the daytime avoid lonely places. Don’t accept a message from anyone you don’t know. Most important of all, don’t get into any kind of a private car or taxi. This is not to frighten you, but to keep you safe. A few days and we’ll have the gang and then you will be all right. One thing: if you notice anything in the least degree suspicious, ring me up—Victoria 7000. You will find plenty of help if you’re in trouble. You understand all that?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr French. And I can’t say how glad I am to have told you. I was making money all right, but no money would be worth the terror I’ve endured. Mr Welland was always telling me that if the thing leaked out I was done for. It would be the sack for certain and maybe prison as well. I’ve been perfectly wretched and the relief is just beyond words.’
French nodded gravely as the girl finished speaking. Another explanation of the affair had just flashed into his mind, an explanation so obvious that he could not understand why he had not instantly thought of it. These coins had never seen the Mint! They were forgeries. He would have staked long odds that he was on to a gang of (counterfeit) coiners.
If so, he must get hold of some samples without delay.
‘What have you got in your bag now?’ he asked. ‘Coins from Mr Welland or from the till?’
‘From the till. These are the coins I changed yesterday. I’ll find Mr Welland’s parcel in the car in an hour’s time.’
‘Of course. I should have known that. Now, I’ll see you again at the Panopticon. You’ll be sent for by the manager. Take your bag with you. Do you see?’
‘Very good, Mr French. I’ll remember all you have told me.’
‘Well, my last word to you is three don’ts: don’t be frightened, don’t let Mr Welland suspect our meeting, and don’t do anything rash,’ and wishing her a pleasant good afternoon, he strolled out of the Gardens.