The Box Office Murders · Chapter 12 (1/2)

XII

The Car’s Freight

At nine o’clock next morning French rang up the number he had noted on the Nelson Street boarding house 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 I’m sure 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 before. 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 recognized the man, and very wisely she temporized. 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 now 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 then she told me about the gambling 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 the 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 also he 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 had 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 straitlaced in my ideas.

“Well, as a matter of fact, Mr. French, I’m not straitlaced at all. So I did not, and he said that that was fortunate, as it was the only drawback the job had. There were some straitlaced 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 pay-box. 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.