Dorothy Fielding - Chief Inspector Pointer's Cases - 12 Golden Age Murder Mysteries

Mr. Beale looked at him a moment in silence.

"Not one cent more will I pay. You don't know whom you're talking to. I'm not a man to browbeat. Our terms were generous and you accepted them. I don't say that we won't add an extra something if the papers are what we think, but that will be after they are in our hands, not before. And now, no nonsense, my man; I'm armed."

"Here are the papers, then," the clerk said sulkily. Mr. Beale snatched them from him, then he spun around on his heel.

"Who signed—what—" his eyes had fallen on the signature of the second witness, "Alfred Pointer, Chief Inspector, New Scotland Yard, London."

"Evening, Mr. Beale." The signatory in person stepped into the room, bowed civilly, and passed on through the other door. "Come this way, Daru. M. Meunier wishes to talk with the gentleman."

Christine made a motion to follow, but the Frenchman stopped her.

"By no means, mademoiselle. You represent the interests of your friend. Pray be seated here. Now, monsieur, let us have an understanding. These papers belong to me. Thank you"—as he took them over—"They are worth much to you?"

"It's a trap." Mr. Beale looked dangerous. "I see! It's a damned trap."

"But exactly! And behold you in it! In the very middle of it; and the trap, my friend, is a good one, very strong. Now, to begin again—on the one hand there is the 'phone there by mademoiselle, and the Prefecture, and a French prison—"

"I guess not! I'm an American, an editor of—"

The Frenchman shrugged amused shoulders.

"You may be an American, Monsieur, but I am a Frenchman, and this is France. I can assure you that we are no respector of persons here. You have broken French laws, and in a French prison you will assuredly stay for an unpleasantly long term unless you are shrewd enough to accept my terms."

"Well?" jerked out Mr. Beale.

"Mademoiselle, do you understand the position?"

"Not in the least."

"This man is a director in a very large silk spinning and weaving concern in America. Your fiancé has made a marvelous discovery—an invention, epoch making, of an electric shuttle and a circular loom which permits of silk being turned out at about one-tenth of its present cost. When the first step of the idea came to him, he offered his patent to the Amalgamated Society. They did not understand its importance then, neither did he. They what you call 'turned it down.' He went on from that first step to other steps, and offered the patent to us. We could not believe it possible at first, but accepted it provisionally, provided it worked out as claimed. Meanwhile the Amalgamated had learnt something of the new discovery. Some tracing of a part must have fallen into their hands. They decided to kill it, for it is a revolution, this idea of Mr. Carter's. Mr. Carter met me secretly in Brussels and worked at a loom I built to his instructions. At first there were hitches, now here, now there, but at last has come absolute success. That was when Mr. Beale stepped in, and had him arrested for robbery. Diamond rings—pendants—bah! A huge fortune was already all but assured Mr. Carter. My firm could not finally sign, however, until a full trial at our own works had gone off successfully, and until we had had time to dispose of our existing stocks of silk. All this needed absolute secrecy. Mr. Beale, being in silk, knew this too. Part of the plans he may have, but the vital parts he could not be in possession of: Carter always kept those himself. Hence this night's planned robbery. He has had me watched, he has bribed my own secretary—so I have learnt from that clever police officer of yours, and now he thought the prize would be his; but, thanks again to Inspector Pointer, it is not so, but quite different. Now, Mr. Beale, here is my offer:—To forget this night's scene in return for a signed confession, given of your own free will, of course, that the jewels were being taken care of by Mr. Carter at your own request, which you had forgotten. That"—M. Meunier referred to his notebook—"M. Heilbronner withdraws his accusations and"—again he searched his notes—"and his warrant. That you both acknowledge that you have nothing against Mr. Carter in any way. Refuse this offer, and mademoiselle will ring up the Prefecture de Police."

Mr. Beale glared at his finger tips as though he would have liked to bite them.

"We have witnesses of the best," purred M. Meunier.

"I'll write it." Mr. Beale sat down at the desk, and rapidly filled a sheet of blue and white crossed paper which M. Meunier handed him. It was a clever piece of writing. Facts had just come to light, so wrote Mr. Beale, which entirely altered the case against Mr. Carter as far as the accusations of theft or embezzlement were concerned. The jewelery found in his trunk had been handed to him for disposal by a member of his (Beale's) family, unbeknown to that gentleman, and a careful examination of the books of the Toronto Mills showed that, though there had been errors in the bookkeeping, there was none whatever in the percentages paid to the Amalgamated, which therefore gladly withdrew all claims against the managers, Robert Erskine, deceased, and John Carter, and were canceling the warrants taken out mistakenly against them.

"Heilbronner'll sign it, of course, if I tell him to," Mr. Beale observed laconically. "One copy goes to our New York police, and one to Scotland Yard. Is that what you want?" Mr. Beale was certainly a good loser.

" Parfaitment." The Frenchman opened the door and called in the Chief Inspector, who witnessed the American's signature, together with Daru.

Mr. Beale rose. "There, I'm through. I guess I'll go to my hotel."

"To mine, Monsieur, to mine, until Mr. Heilbronner signs these—you can post these to him tonight with a letter explaining your plight. Till then you stay with me, and M. the Chief Inspector he stays, too, hein?"

"I'm on my holiday," assented Pointer equably, "and Lille is quite an interesting town. Go on ahead, Monsieur: Watts is below; he'll get a taxi for mademoiselle."

"Why didn't you stay and hear what M. Meunier had to tell about Jack, and the Amalgamated, and his wonderful discovery. To think he thought that he was no good at engineering!" Christine had asked Pointer to breakfast with her. She looked the ghost of herself after the excitements of the past night, but her eyes were alight.

"I didn't dare to go to sleep for fear it should be a dream."

"My dear Miss West, I haven't the faintest idea of what M. Meunier talked to you and Mr. Beale about," the Chief Inspector said very seriously. "Mr. Beale's written retraction was given quite freely, an all-important point which we, none of us, must forget."

Christine digested this in silence.

"But how did you come to be there—how did you know about it all?"

"Routine," Pointer explained blandly; "routine took me to Geneva, where lived the avocat to whom Mr. Beale had once telegraphed, and where I found Mr. Heilbronner. From information which came to hand"—a vision of himself piecing together minute scraps from a dustbin made Pointer speak with unction—"which came to hand, I found that Mr. Beale and he were extremely interested in a M. Meunier. I followed up this and that clue, and found that M. Meunier was M. Charles Bonnot of Lyons. More information coming to hand led to the belief that Mr. Beale, and incidentally Mr. Heilbronner, meditated getting hold of some important papers from M. Bonnot and yourself in Lille last night. M. Beauregard—one of M. Bonnot's men of business—took me on two days ago as an extra clerk for some special late work. Being an Alsatian explained my French, and no one suspected me."

"But—how did you know that I should be there?"

"I couldn't think of any better or firmer friend of Mr. Carter's." The Chief Inspector gave a little laugh, and Christine laughed too, and plied him with questions.