Yes, Charlotte thought bitterly, it is a terrible dilemma. She thought of Christine, and full awareness of the danger pierced through her for the first time; the true horror of it. That it should have taken such a situation to melt the ice which had for so long kept them apart was anguish in itself. But she must not show her feelings too much; if she gave way to them, she might undo what good had already come out of the situation. She had to fight for him, and for themselves, and for Christine.
“How did you leave the situation with this man?” she asked.
“He’s to be in touch with me tomorrow”
“Are you sure Christine is safe until then?”
“He’ll know that if she isn’t kept unharmed, there can be no business between us.”
“So that’s her insurance.”
“It’s the only insurance we can have,” Falconer told her. “I am quite sure that she is in no danger tonight. If I could rest for a few hours, I might see more clearly in the morning. Even if I rest only for an hour or two.”
While he lay sleeping, Charlotte’s mind was in a turmoil; one moment she was sure that they must tell the police at once, the next equally sure that at all costs they must protect Christine. After a while, she could not lie there any longer, and she eased herself away from Richard and then out of bed.
He did not stir.
She went into her dressing room and made some tea and drank it while fighting the battle out with herself. For the first time since they had married, she was in a position to influence him on what course to take. Yet she had never wanted so much to leave the decision to him.
Gideon was still at his desk at half past twelve that Sunday night, and still undecided, but he was veering more and more toward postponing any decision until the morning. There was no certainty that Christine Falconer was in danger, and with the house and the shop closely watched, nothing could be brought away. A raid to search Falconer House now would be difficult to stage, difficult perhaps to justify. Yet if he asked Falconer to let the police search, then obviously the man would have a chance to hide anything he had illegally. Gideon did not want and did not mean to be swayed by Falconer’s wealth and position, but if Thwaites was wrong and the search was abortive, the newspapers would make a tremendous fuss and the prestige of the Yard would be severely damaged. If ever there was a time to be sure before acting, this was it.
He drummed on his desk, going over every aspect of the case, measuring Thwaites’s suspicions against the probabilities and tonight’s evidence. He yawned suddenly. Probably the best thing would be to sleep on it. He could put his head down on a bed in one of the first aid cubicles, used for such a purpose. He had telephoned Kate when he arrived and told her he would probably not be home. She had been yawny and tired and very happy.
“Such a lovely evening, George.”
And here he was, yawning and postponing a decision.
On that instant, he closed his mouth like a trap, pulled a telephone forward, and put in a call to Hampstead, the KL Division Headquarters.
“Any developments at Judd’s shop?” he demanded.
“No, sir. I had a report in only three or four minutes ago. Everything’s in darkness there.”
“Thanks,” grunted Gideon, and put down the receiver only to lift it again and call the AB Division Headquarters, about Falconer House.
“No excitement,” answered the Superintendent in charge. “I went out there myself and came back only twenty minutes ago. Everything’s quiet. The last person seen to go in was Oliphant, Falconer’s personal assistant, and he carried nothing in the way of a case or a parcel.”
“The house is closely watched?”
“Tight as a drum, sir. Like Judd’s shop.”
“Good. I’m going over to Falconer’s place myself, to talk to him,” Gideon told him, hardly aware that he had come to such a positive decision. “I’ll have a couple of men with me, but I want your chaps alerted.”
“They will be! Like me along with you, sir?”
“Do you want to come?”
“Not particularly,” answered the Superintendent. “There’s been a bank robbery in Park Lane, and I ought to go there.”
“Then do that,” said Gideon. He put down the receiver and almost immediately picked it up again, dialled a third time, and said: “I want a car, driver, and one other man waiting for me in five minutes. Not a minute more. Do you know if Mr. Thwaites is still in the building?”
“He’s having a kip - sleeping upstairs, sir.”
Gideon grunted and rang off, took an old raincoat off a peg, and slipped it on as he went upstairs to the first aid room. Two men as well as Thwaites were there, heavily asleep, one of them snoring loudly. Thwaites himself looked very tired and old; he was sleeping in an undershirt, and one big, rather flabby arm was over a blanket. It seemed a pity to wake him, but if this was the kill, Thwaites had to be in on it. Gideon shook him slightly by the shoulder, and Thwaites was alert instantly, his eyes flickering.
“Be downstairs in five minutes,” Gideon said. “We’re going to Falconer House.”
Before Gideon was out of the room, Thwaites was pushing the blanket back. Gideon went down to Information, told the night superintendent what he was going to do, and added: “If there’s any word at all from West End or Hampstead, make certain I know at once.”
“Be sure we will, sir.”
Gideon went down the steep steps toward the courtyard, where his car was already waiting, the driver and another man standing by it. One opened the back door and Gideon got in, grunting with the effort. He was getting too big around the middle for bending double. He heard someone hurrying down the steps and guessed it was Thwaites.
“Mr. Thwaites will join me,” he said. “Let him in at the other door.”
Soon, Thwaites was crammed against him, breathing rather hard, looking very pale.
“Driver, I’m going to Falconer House, near Park Lane,” Gideon said. “You two are to wait by the side of the car. The house is already being watched. Don’t take any part in anything unless you get instructions from Mr. Thwaites or me. Understood?”
“All clear, sir.”
Gideon turned to Thwaites, and went on speaking as if there had been no change of audience: “Nothing new has turned up but I’m not happy at waiting until the morning, and I know you’re not. We’ll go in together, but I’ll see Falconer on my own. You join us only if I call you.”
“I understand,” Thwaites said, and then he added after a long pause: “I’m very glad you’re having a go, sir.”
“I hope we stay glad,” Gideon said, and sat back as they drove through the still steadily falling rain. It was past two o’clock when the car pulled up outside Sir Richard Falconer’s house, where a single light shone in the porch but none at any of the windows.
Falconer was aware of deep sleep, heavy sleep to which he was not accustomed, and then of his wife’s voice and the pressure of her hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to a dim, not dazzling light, but even that was too bright for him. He saw his wife through his lashes, and remembered what had happened and where he was. Then, seeing the anxiety on her face, he suddenly thought: Christine! and struggled to a sitting position.
“What is it? What—”
“It’s all right; it’s not about Christine,” Charlotte said. “There are two policemen downstairs, one of them is Commander Gideon. He insists on seeing you, Richard. I couldn’t put him off until the morning.”
Falconer hitched himself further back in the bed.
“What time is it?”
“Just after two.”
“It could be news of Christine,” he said tautly. “Gideon is the man whom Scott-Marie would assign to the inquiry.” He pushed the bedclothes back, and she helped him into his dressing gown. “Who let them in?”
“Oily did.”
“So he’s back?”
“He hadn’t gone to sleep, so he told Davies not to get out of bed,” Charlotte said.
“Have him make some coffee, will you? Strong, with plenty of sugar.”
“I’ll see to it,” she promised. “He’s waiting outside.”
Falconer tied the dressing-gown cord tightly about his waist as he went out of the room. Oliphant, a smoking jacket over pyjamas trousers, moved toward him from the head of the stairs.
“Richard, there is something I must tell you,” he said.
“Not now, Oily, later—”
“Now. As the police are here, it is vital.”
Falconer stood very still and made the other come toward him. Oliphant was obviously agitated, for once not knowing what to say. Downstairs in the hall, Gideon and Thwaites could just be seen, too far away to overhear, not too far to know that something was being said.
“What difference do the police make?” Falconer demanded impatiently.
“Richard, I—I should have told you long ago, but I—I didn’t know it might matter. Two of the Monets and one of the Cellini caskets in the long gallery were” - Oliphant caught his breath - “they were stolen.”
“Stolen?” Falconer echoed unbelievingly. “And you knew it?”
“Yes. I—I was offered them at very good prices, and—well, I fell for the temptation of making a profit.” Oliphant sounded terribly distressed.
“And you not only bought them on my behalf knowing them to be stolen, but made a fat killing,” Falconer said.
“I—I could explain it if—You see, I had personal problems, and the dealers—”
“We can go into this later,” Falconer said, in a forbidding voice. “Now you fear that the police may have come here for these stolen pieces?”
“They—they have a search warrant,” Oliphant muttered.
“I see. If they identify these works, I shall disclaim all knowledge of their being stolen. And in my case I shall require a full history of each purchase, the dealer involved, the money paid, and the commission you received.” Falconer nodded dismissal.
He went downstairs, and as he did so the two men in the hallway turned: Gideon, massive and aggressive in the slightest movement, a man for whom Falconer had an instant respect, and Thwaites, for whom he felt nothing at all. He greeted them with a word and a gesture and led Gideon into the room where he had seen Robin Kell. If he felt any surprise that the other man did not follow them, he showed none. Brandy, glasses, and decanters were on a small table.
“Will you—” he began.
“No thank you, sir,” said Gideon. “I am Commander Gideon of the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police and I would like some information from you, please.”
“Have you traced my daughter?” demanded Falconer sharply.
“We think we know where she is, sir. We have no reason to believe that she went there against her will or is missing in the official sense of the word.” Before Falconer could interrupt, before it was possible to judge the extent of his relief, Gideon went on in a flat, formal voice, “We have reason to believe that you have in your possession a painting, known as ‘The Prince,’ painted by the Spanish artist Velazquez, knowing it to be stolen. Is that true, sir?”
There was a long pause, during which Gideon sensed the truth yet realized there was something here which he did not understand. Then the silence was broken by the clink of cups and the rattle of spoons on a silver tray. Lady Falconer, not Oliphant, brought in coffee, and hesitated in the doorway. Falconer seemed oblivious, but Gideon was quick to notice the woman and said: “Your husband may prefer to be alone, ma’am.”
“No,” said Falconer quietly. “No. My wife knows about the situation. I told her earlier tonight, Commander. You are quite right. I have the painting. It was offered to me for a hundred thousand pounds. I was told that if I did not buy it, my daughter would be. killed. Did you give me to understand that you know where my daughter is?”
Charlotte moved to a small table, and very carefully placed the coffee tray in position. She turned to Gideon, her eyes pleading.
Very heavily but without any inflection in his voice, Gideon asked: “Was that before or after you telephoned Sir Reginald Scott-Marie, sir?”
“After,” answered Falconer. “Some time afterward. I don’t think I would have had the courage to talk to him had I know the danger that my daughter was in. He—”
“Who do you mean by ‘he’?” interrupted Gideon.
“The man who offered me the painting, a young man named Robin Kell, or who called himself Robin Kell,” answered Falconer. “He warned me that if I consulted you, not only would he murder my daughter but he would destroy many Old Masters, paintings which he has stolen over a period of several years. And for what it is worth, I believe him capable of committing both crimes, Commander.”
There was a long, tense silence before Thwaites said from the hall: “My God! That would be awful!”