like this sudden summons from Conradda. We don’t know for certain that she ever went to America and we
Laura, who had often had a boat out on Poole harbour, knew the neighbourhood well and was not mistaken in her idea that the house at which Conradda was staying would be in the oldest part of the town and near the quay. It was in a narrow street behind the Customs House and could have done with a coat of paint. All the same, the steps had been cleaned and the brass knocker in the shape of the Three Wise Monkeys had been lovingly polished until it glittered in the sunshine.
The door was opened by a woman wearing a black shawl over a blue overall. She did not ask their names, but invited the visitors in to a linoleum-covered hall which contained a coat-and-umbrella stand and a grandfather clock, and said,
‘I’ll just pop up and see whether she’s awake.’ Before she could mount the narrow staircase, however, a voice from the top of it called out:
‘Come right up, Dame Beatrice. I saw your car pull in to the kerb.’
‘It’s a bed-sitter,’ said the woman, ‘so I don’t know about the gentleman without he’s a relation, because likely she’ll be in bed.’
‘Of course he’ll come up with us,’ said Laura curtly. Conradda was not in bed. The bed, in fact, was a studio couch and had been converted to its daytime use as a settee. Conradda looked pale and puffy. There was little doubt that she had been ill. She seemed delighted to see Dame Beatrice, who reminded her that she had met Laura at the Stone House when she had been under treatment there. Then she introduced the private detective, not as such, but simply as Richard Ross.
‘Well, ladies,’ said Ross, having decided that the apartment contained no nefarious characters, ‘perhaps I could have a smoke out on the landing.’
‘Oh, please, yes. Take a chair with you and here is an ashtray,’ said Conradda, eagerly embracing this suggestion.
‘And please stay close outside the door,’ muttered Laura in the detective’s ear, as she ushered out him and his chair. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Dame Beatrice said:
‘We take Ross everywhere since an attempt was made upon my life a few days ago.’
‘An attempt on your life? Oh, but no!’ cried Conradda, horrified.
‘No doubt about it at all,’ said Laura, ‘so we take what precautions we can. After all, three men have been stabbed to death and somebody seemed quite determined to lay out Dame B.’
‘
‘Yes. The man we knew as Vittorio was the third,’ explained Dame Beatrice. ‘It happened in Scotland in a tiny place just outside Fort William. But we mustn’t tire you with too much talking. Tell us why you sent for me.’
‘Ah, yes, you will be wondering about that. But first – this man Vittorio. Is it known who killed him?’
‘There are two known suspects; the driver Knight tells a strange story about having been assaulted and kidnapped, and then there is a man called Carstairs who has a bungalow very close to the hotel where Knight claims that he was surprised and captured, and it was in this bungalow that Vittorio was stabbed to death.’
‘You think this Knight and this Carstairs are the same person?’
‘It would be such a help, I feel, if they were, but we have seen Knight and from the descriptions we have received of Carstairs from independent and presumably unbiased witnesses it does not seem as though Carstairs and Knight can possibly be the same man.’
‘I see. It is a gang and, of course, they are smugglers. They smuggle stolen antiques from here to Ireland and from Ireland to America.’
‘So we have thought. What do you know about it?’
‘Now that Vittorio is dead, perhaps what I have to tell you is not so important as I thought. Does anyone know you have come here to visit me?’
‘Only the man outside the door.’
‘You see, I do not like all these killings.’
‘Does anybody? Please go on.’
‘This begins with what I told you before. You remember I go to Vittorio’s lodging and see this stuff that I am sure is stolen?’
‘Yes, I remember it clearly.’
‘Well, a month or more goes by and I conduct my business as usual and think no more of what I have seen and then one day this Honfleur, with whom we have dined, comes into my shop very much upset and asks can he speak to me privately on a matter of great importance. Well, of course, I know of the connection between him and Vittorio, how Vittorio finds him good pieces at a nice price and I think I see how the land lies. Honfleur, I think to myself, is stuck with some stolen pieces which Vittorio obtains for him and now he finds out they are stolen and wants to know what to do. He has paid good money for them, so naturally he does not want to give them up, and yet he knows that, if the police trace them to his house, not only will they be confiscated but he may find himself in big trouble as well for harbouring stolen property.’
‘It was a very intelligent guess on your part,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Not so intelligent, no, because it is much worse than I think. It is not advice this Honfleur wants, but for me to hide his stolen goods while he thinks what to do.’
‘Of course you refused.’
‘At first, yes, but there is more. He tells me that Vittorio blackmails him. He says that Vittorio wishes him to buy the things I describe to you – all that beautiful stuff of Chinese art, best periods – and tells him that if he do not, Vittorio will rat on him to the police that he has other stolen property in his possession.’
