Chapter 16 Irene Resolves To Try
"YOU MEAN," MR. THURLOW asked, that I am not free to leave?"
M. Samuel was ceremoniously polite. "But not at all! It is not required. It will be a favour to us. It is so I ask, and that you will take it no other way."
"I take it," the ambassador replied, "in the only way that I can. And I will tell you this. It is a request which I would refuse, if I were of a disposition to go. I would challenge you to prevent me, if your Government were of no better discretion than that. I can tell you that I have discussed the matter with Mr. Rolls" (Rolls was the U.S.A. Ambassador accredited to the French Republic), "and he is of the same mind. It is not suspicion, it is apology which is due to me. It was an intrusion upon the amenities of my visit here, such as the English police would not allow to occur - let alone providing an exhibit from their own ranks, such as you were regrettably unable to prevent. . . . But I will tell you this. I intend that this affair shall be cleared up, and I will put the best detectives from my own country upon it, at whatever cost to myself, if that is more than you are able to do. For the present, I shall remain here, unless my official duties shall require my return, in which event I shall go at once, relying upon the passport I hold, and with no reference to you."
M. Samuel rose stiffly. "If you are staying, it is all that I have asked. . . . And you may have opportunity to see that our police are no less efficient than those of your own land."
Mr. Thurlow said no more. He was an angry man. He had read what the continental edition of the New York Herald had to say on the event, and he did not like it, for, though it might have been worse, there had been an absence of the reticence which the French police had required of their own Press; and he had already had some cabled summaries of what was being published in his own country, which he liked less. He did not forget that the party to whom he owed his appointment was no longer in the ascendency either in Congress or at the White House. Was his career to be wrecked by this incident, for which he had no responsibility at all and which it would have been impossible to foresee? It was a maddening possibility. And that young fool on the floor below - if he could be induced to speak!
"Irene," he exclaimed abruptly, "can't you make him see sense?"
Irene understood readily, and her hesitation did not arise from any lack of appreciation of her father's position. She said, "You think it's that serious? . . . I don't mind trying."
"I wish you would. . . . If he'll only be frank with us, you can tell him it shan't go further without his consent."
"Well, I'll try."
"And I'll have a cable put through to Washington. I'd like to give Hammond a tip how to deal with this."
The announcement of this decision gave Irene an increased realization of the gravity with which her father regarded the incident, and increased her determination to persuade her cousin to a franker attitude.
But her efforts to find him were not immediately successful. He was not in his room, and when he was located it was in the dining-room, where she was indisposed to intrude upon him.
Before she could telephone him in the privacy of his own room, her father had been on the Washington line, and though it was a conversation she did not hear, she could judge something of with whom, and what its purport had been, when he said to her:
"We're going back to London at once - by the night boat. I don't know what I'm suffering from, unless its senile decay, but I ought to have said that at once, when M. Samuel had the damned insolence to hint that I'd better stay."
"Then I'd better begin packing now. Shall we go by air?"
"No But we'll take the next boat, and I'll let Samuel know what I intend. That'll give him a few hours to think things over before he decides whether to do anything that'll put him in the ranks of the unemployed - and perhaps me as well, which would matter more."
"Yes, I see." So, being an intelligent girl, she more or less did. Washington did not wish to have an ambassador to England who was detained by the French police; or, at least, it wished to know with certainty whether that was the position with which it would have to deal. Her father had been told to call for the cards to be turned up, so that they would know where they were.
Well, there might be all the more reason for plain talking to William now!
So she went to the 'phone again, and heard Kindell say, but with a reserve in his voice which, faint though it was, she did not fail to detect and resent:
"Yes, of course. Glad to. Shall I come up now?"
"No. I'll come down to you."
There was a moment's pause before he answered, "Very well, if you'd rather," the hesitation being more evident than before. It gave Irene a momentary fear that he had considered that there was some breach of propriety in her proposal to visit him in his own room. Could there be? Between cousins? In the afternoon? By English standards, if not by hers? She put the foolish idea aside. Let him think what he would - he would quickly learn that there was no levity in her mind.
But when she reached his room she could not tell herself that there was any lack of cordiality in his reception, and if it failed something in the spontaneity of his usual manner - well, perhaps it was natural! Particularly if he had guessed the purpose for which she came.
"Anything fresh?" he asked, as he drew forward his most comfortable chair.
"Yes, I should say there is! That beast Samuel has had what Father calls the damned insolence to hint that we'd better stay where we are, and Washington's told us to start back to London at once, and see whether they've got the nerve to stop us."
"I don't think they'll do that."
"I wish for Father's sake that I were equally sure. I don't mean that I'm afraid of any serious trouble for him over the murder. That's ridiculous. But it's the fact of one in his official position getting mixed up in such an affair."
"I don't see that. If he had no part in it - about which I'm as sure as you - it would be absurd to blame him for something he couldn't reasonably have been expected to foresee or prevent."
"Of course it would. But politics aren't reasonable. And it's different with us from what it is in England. Our diplomatic appointments are matters of party politics, and are liable to be attacked in ways that you wouldn't know. If a Republican gets mixed up in an unpleasant affair, the Democrats think it's only playing the game to make it look as bad as they can. And if they can make it ugly enough for the Republican bosses to think that they'd get on better without the man the talk's about, it doesn't matter who he is, or whether he's right or wrong. They'll throw him overboard.
"In your country, I've heard that a scandal's sometimes hushed up by the Press, to save a good man from getting sacked. But that wouldn't be possible in America. If we go wrong, it's the opposite way. . . . And that," she concluded, with an earnest pleading in her voice which was not pleasant for Kindell to hear, "is why we feel we're in rather a jam, and why I'm going to ask you to be franker with us than you've been yet."
"You think I know something about it I haven't said?"
"I'm sure you do."
"And you think it would help your father if I said it?"
"Yes. It's common sense. Anything that gets nearer what did happen must be helpful to him."
Kindell rose, and paced the room restlessly. He had found himself incapable of the ready unconvincing lie which M. Samuel might have said that the position clearly required, and he saw that his delay in replying was an admission of knowing more than he was willing to say.
"You know, Irene," he began at length, "I don't want to keep anything back from you - - "
"Then we both feel the same. I'll promise we won't let it go further without your consent."
It appeared certain to Kindell that the French police would not venture - probably would not even wish - to detain the ambassador, when they knew that he intended to defy their request for him to remain in Paris. Is it wrong to make a conditional promise which you would not keep, if you are certain that the condition will not arise? It is a point of casuistry to which he had no time to give the full consideration which its subtlety surely requires. He scrambled on to the precarious raft it offered, when he said: "I can't say more than this. If your father should be detained by the police here - I don't think he will be - I'll tell you everything that I know or guess about the whole affair."
"I don't think I'm going to say thank you for that. It would be offering help when it would be too late to be any good."
"I suppose you see that I'm under suspicion as well as Mr. Thurlow? And most people would say that I'm in more danger. The police here haven't any reason to be afraid of arresting me."
"That's just an extra reason why you shouldn't keep anything back from us. We're not keeping anything from you. Can't you treat us as friends? Or are the Blinkwells the only people you feel able to trust?"
Irene had a moment of immediate regret at this last question which was impulsively put. But next minute she was less sure that she had been wrong, as he replied, "I never said that I trusted them," and she had a sound instinct that the suggestion had caused embarrassment rather than indignation or surprise.
"No," she said, rising in a resentment which she felt to be the last card that she had to play, "you know best about that. But it's evident that you don't trust us. I'd always hoped that when I came to Europe I should meet relatives it would be a pleasure to know. But we all make mistakes sometimes."
She had certainly made him look unhappy now. But his only reply was: "I'm very sorry you feel like that. . . . How do you propose to get back to England?"
"We're going on the night boat. Almost at once."
"I think I'll do the same, or at least try to. I shall have to let Samuel know. He won't arrest both of us, and, if he doesn't let us both go, he's more likely to choose me. When we meet in London, I may be able to say more than I can now."
If he had thought that this suggestion of drawing the lightning to his own head would placate her, he quickly learnt his mistake as she answered: "If we happen to meet, of course I'll listen to anything that you have to say. But Father might think that he'd rather not have any more murders you can't explain."
It was again more than she had meant to say, and was unlike herself in the mixture of exaggeration and injustice which it contained, but she was wounded by his lack of confidence in herself, troubled by her father's position, and humiliated by the necessity of going back to tell him that she had so completely failed.
She left abruptly without either a formal leave-taking such as acquaintance requires, or an affectionate one such as friendship prefers, and where she told her father the substance of what had passed, he said easily: "Well, honey, I reckon it's best that way. I figure he's in it up to the neck, and we might have only dirtied our hands trying to pull him out of the mud. He's a young fool, all the same. And if he's chumming up to that half-bred Jewess, I'd say he's just running after one of his own kind."
Meanwhile, Kindell was on the telephone with the Bureau de S?ret?, the defiant tone of his conversation being intended rather for the ears of the operator at the hotel switchboard (whom he rightly supposed to be an interested auditor) than for those of the intelligent policeman to whom he spoke.
Ten minutes later there were few of the hotel staff who did not know (under pledge of secrecy from one whisperer to another) that Mr. Kindell, already vaguely understood to be involved in the mystery of the Reynard murder, had been told that he could not leave Paris, and had expressed his determination to do so, even after he had been warned that such an attempt must lead to his immediate detention.
There was consequently little surprise when two detectives arrived, and, after a short interview in the room of the suspect, led him downstairs, in evident arrest, and with an aspect of dejection such as the event would be likely to cause, to be removed in a waiting car.
His short interval of freedom had been mainly spent in Professor's Blinkwell room, whose sympathy had been readily given, and who had advised him, with as much emphasis as his habitual suavity of manner allowed, to remain obstinately silent under whatever pressure from the police. "I should assert and insist upon the principles of our traditional English justice," he had said, "against whatever pressure you may encounter. You will find it your best protection against the methods they will employ, being both as innocent and as ignorant, as you say, and as I do not hesitate to believe. And this attitude will be likely to avail you as it would not one of their own countrymen. . . . I would myself come to court to give you any support that would be in my power, but I am unfortunately obliged to return to England by the night boat, there being a board meeting in London I must not fail to attend."
After Kindell left him, he continued to sit in motionless thought, as he faced one of the most perilous hours that his life of successful criminality had so far known.
Only once before had he become so closely involved in the drug-smuggling activities which he largely controlled; never had he faced crisis with such a feeling of being bankrupt of expedient or resource. Since his last conversation with Kindell, he was increasingly disposed to think that he had been misinformed concerning his connection with the police. If that were so, it reduced, to some extent, the presence of surrounding danger. But what a fool it made of himself! How abortively the precious hours had been lost! How silly that business of Myra and the smuggled parcel had been. . . . He picked up the service telephone, and said that he would have some refreshment served at once in his own room. Yes, at once. He was leaving by the boat-train. . . . Gustav knew what he liked. Perhaps he could bring it up?
It was within ten minutes that his favourite waiter appeared, with a meal which might be all he desired, but to which he gave no immediate attention; and the conversation which followed was not such as is usual between waiter and guest.
"They've just arrested Monsieur Kindell," the man said, as he closed the door, after wheeling the dumb-waiter into the room. "But," the Professor asked, "did it look like the real thing?"
"He looked sick enough. But I wouldn't say that I'm sure yet."
"Well, we've got to make up our minds. It seems most probable that Prestwick gave us a bad tip."
"He's never done that before."
"But he seems to have done it now. . . . Anyhow, Kindell's out of the way, and that's given us a chance that we mustn't miss."
For whatever degree of error the Professor might blame himself in the events of the last week, he was instant now to perceive the possibility which was opened by Kindell's arrest, and, as he spoke, he had abandoned the hazardous plan which he had been driven to entertain, and had substituted another, not only such as would give a greater probability of success, but which shifted the penalties of failure from his own shoulders, as he had always previously contrived.
"What," he asked, "has been done with Kindell's luggage?"
"It was sealed by the police. The room also is locked and sealed."
"But Kindell, fearing arrest, as the Thurlows will know he did, might have placed a valise in your hands?"
"Yes," Gustav agreed. "So he might." But his tone was reluctant, and he looked at Professor Blinkwell with apprehension, for he was as cautious by temperament as the Professor himself, which may be the explanation of why he was, perhaps, the only active member of the whole drug-trafficking gang of whom the police had no suspicion at all.
"So," Professor Blinkwell went on smoothly. "we will suppose that he did. What would be his natural course? He would entrust it to you to hand to Miss Thurlow or to her father, to take charge of it for him, which they would scarcely refuse.
Gustav looked doubtful now, as well as unwilling. "Do you think not?"
"Yes. He is their cousin. . . . But if I should be wrong you will be better off than you are now."
"That is hard to see."
"It is plain enough. You will have an explanation of how it comes to be in your hands, which, unless you have asked the Thurlows to take it, you could not use. It would be calling yourself a thief to say that he had put it in your charge for such a purpose, and you had not taken it to them."
"But it is not in my hands. It is where, if it should be found, I it could not be connected with me."
"Perhaps not. But would you not become suspect to the police, together with all who are employed here? They would search the records of all. They would watch you by night and day. Would you like that?
"But if you place it in Thurlow's hands you are clear at once. He may pass it to England without suspicion being aroused, and we shall have foiled the police again, as we have done so often before. . . . Or, if it be disclosed, you have a complete reply. You had it from Kindell, and were an innocent messenger, as any other of the staff here might have been."
"The police would not look at it in that way. Even if they should think I had known nothing of its contents, I should be held to have conspired to conceal the property of a criminal under arrest."
The Professor showed some irritation at this point, as he was practised to do at the right time.
"Gustav," he said, "I have known you for ten years, and it is the first time that I have been tempted to call you a fool. Would Kindell have been arrested when he gave the valise to you? Were his effects sealed by the police then?
"I am not showing you a way in, but a way out. Do you suppose that I place no value upon you as one whom the police do not suspect?
"But I will go further. If the Thurlows refuse the case (which I do not expect), you can ask their advice, and if they say take it to the police, as they would then be most likely to do, you shall do that.
"That will be a loss of ?6000, which I shall not like; but it will convince the police that you are an innocent man, and that it is Kindell who smuggles drugs."
"That is, if he is not their agent?"
"Even then they may be unsure. Have you heard our proverb of those who run with both hare and hounds? It would explain to them why they have been baffled so long. And it would not be the S?ret? here, but Scotland Yard which would have been so befooled. They would be no less disposed to believe it for that. . . . But you lose time, and you may be too late for the best chance we shall have."Gustav went at that, half-convinced, and wholly subdued by the stronger will, and Professor Blinkwell finished his meal with a more peaceful mind than he had had for the last week. Danger had been nearer to him than he would usually allow it to come, but now he saw it moving farther away.
He regained the cool self-confidence also, on which he had learnt to rely, but which had been shaken by the doubt of whether he had acted foolishly in regard to the way in which Myra had been employed. But if he had been misled by a subordinate's error, he had not failed to take swift advantage of the opportunity offered by Kindell's arrest, which many might have failed to see.
His only doubt was whether he might not have done better still to instruct Gustav to take the valise straight to the police, with the tale that Kindell had instructed him to give it to Thurlow but that he had feared lest he should be doing something of which the law might not approve. It would certainly cause confusion in the counsels of those who were so uncomfortably close upon him, being of the subtlety with which he had outwitted them often before, but still it would be a loss of ?6000 - of drugs for which British addicts were hungry now. He might do much better than that.
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