Inspector Frost in the CIty

Chapter 1

As I entered the Bank Street Police Station in the City, Station Sergeant Boston looked up and said:

“Hullo! Frost! So here you are at last!”

“Tt is not twenty-five minutes since your message came through to the Yard. How fast do you think a taxi travels? You can now fire away and tell me all about it.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we had in Constable Johnson who discovered the body. It will save time.”

Constable Johnson was young, he looked intelligent, and was perhaps just a little over-anxious to impress me favourably.

At five minutes past six that morning he had turned up Bolter’s Court and discovered a body lying face downwards with a knife sticking in the back. Bending over him was a young man.

“How was the body lying?”

“With its feet towards the entry of the street.”

“What sort of knife?”

“An old-fashioned knife, sir, with an elaborate handle.”

10 INSPECTOR OEPROSTAING THE CIE

“Thank you. What did the young man say?”

“He said, scornful like: ‘So this is the best policed city in the world, is it? This guy won't boost you much, when he turns up unexpectedly in heaven.’”

“An American! What did you say?”

“T told him that he would have to come with me to the Station. Then he said, ‘Heavens, man, you don’t think I did it?’”’

“T said: ‘Anything that you say may be used in evidence against you.” He said: ‘I’m an American citizen ’—and he put his hand in his pocket.

“T said: ‘But this ain’t Chicago, so you'll have to come along with me.’ By this time two constables had answered my whistle, and one of them came here for the ambulance.”

“You made sure he was dead?”

“Dead and cold—I was in the War, sir. I know when a man is dead.

“Well, sir, when we lifted the man on to the ambulance a big wallet fell from his pocket. The American was on to it like a knife, but I snatched it. Some visiting cards fell out and the American got one of them. He said ‘Gee-Whiz’ three times over.

He didn’t say another word until we reached the Station.”

“Now,” said I, “‘it is for the sergeant to take up the story.”

“Would you like to see the body?”

INSPECTOR FROST IN THE CITY it

“No! the dead can wait. It’s the living we are after. I want to know about this American. What’s he like?”

“He’s a youngish man. I should say thirty-five— about that, anyway. He was beautifully dressed— and I didn’t notice a trace of an American accent.” Here the Station Sergeant looked at Constable Johnson sharply.

“Quite right, sir. I noticed he talked differently in here. But if you remember, sir, he called you captain. He might have been an English gentleman, if ‘s

“Tf what?”

“Tf all his things hadn’t been quite new. From his hat to his boots he looked as if he had just come from a shop.”

“Rather a flash man?”

“No, sir. I know how a real swell dresses. He might have been dressed for Goodwood—only. Well, I could not help noticing—everything about him was new.”

“And what did you infer from that?”

P. C. Johnson hesitated. Then he said: “Nothing sir. It ain’t for me to dothat. I’m telling you what I saw.”

“Quite right, Johnson—Now, you Sergeant tell me what this young fashion plate said.”

“He gave his name as Edward van Storck. He said that this was his first visit to London, that as he could not see the City in daytime, he had got up early in the morning to have a look round when all was quiet. He had looked down Bolter’s Court and discovered the body a minute before the constable turned up. He had no card about him, but he gave his address at the Ritz, and pulled a key with a label out of his pocket and said: ‘Room 54’.

“He said he was well known at the Embassy. I asked him if he could identify the body. He said: ‘No, but everyone knows who Mckinley M. Macmillan was.’ That was the name on the card. I said: ‘I didn’t. He said the Embassy people would give all information. It was what they were there for. It was not any concern of his, and he did not want to be mixed up in the matter. I told him he would have to give evidence at the inquest. He said it would be a damned nuisance, and that the officer—that’s Johnson—had seen all he had. He wanted to go—‘ wanted his breakfast’ was what he said—and so he had a taxi—the number was 1507. He told the man to drive him to the Ritz.”

“That’s that! Well, if that is all you know about the American, let us now get on to the murdered man,”

Sergeant Boston took me to the mortuary, and showed me the corpse. It was that of a fair-haired man in the thirties. Even in death his face was unpleasant, and the Police Surgeon was of opinion that he had strained a splendid constitution by living too fast. He had been clothed in cheap but new clothes bought from a well-known firm in the

Tottenham Court Road, and his underclothing had no marks upon it. He had in his pockets a wallet which contained the visiting cards of Mckinley M. Macmillan, Knickerbocker Club, a receipted bill from a Paris hotel, and a letter written in script beginning “Darling Mac” and ending “‘ Your loving Lizzie.”

He had also on him a cheap watch, a cheap automatic pistol, and one shilling and five coppers. Finally, and most important, was a small brown paper parcel which contained {500 in Bank of England notes.

HAVING viewed the body and other exhibits, I jumped into a taxi and went straight to the American Embassy, and was soon face to face with a young secretary, who was not in the least diplomatic, and was only in process of learning how to manage a monocle.

“Tt is my duty to inform you that a murder has been committed. A man, presumed to be an American citizen, was found stabbed in the back just inside Bolter’s Court this morning shortly after six. Scotland Yard wants to discover the man’s antecedents, and would be obliged if someone from the Embassy could identify the corpse.”

““What’s his name?”

“His visiting cards bear the name of Mckinley M. Macmillan, of the Knickerbocker Club, New York, and ie

““What—the Triple Mac! Dead! Good Heavens! You are sure he is dead?”

“The man we picked up is certainly dead.”

“Mac dead! Heavens! Is it in the papers?”

“It will be in all the mid-day editions.”

“Of course! Just excuse me a minute. I—I must acquaint His Excellency.”

With that the young man rushed from the room, and in his haste did not quite close the door, to which I naturally approached. I soon heard an excited voice over the telephone in an adjoining room: “Sefton Hall speaking. Sell World’s Amalgams, all I hold—Yes—at once—Why? Sorry I can’t tell you.” He was soon on to another number: “Sefton Hall speaking. Sell World’s Amalgams—yYes! Do it and don’t be a damned fool—I know.” Another number : “Sefton Hall speaking. Sell World’s Amalgams. You silly girl! Get up at once and call up your broker. It must be done before 10 o'clock. No, sorry, I can’t lunch with you. You will know all about it by lunch time.”

When Mr. Sefton Hall re-entered the room he still looked excited, and he found me sitting on the same chair, twirling my hat.

“His Excellency,’’ said the young liar, ‘“‘is shocked to hear of Mr. Macmillan’s death. Mr. Macmillan, sir, was a great American citizen.”

“Then perhaps someone from the Embassy will come and identify the body. You knew him?”

“No! I didn’t. I don’t know anyone who did know Macmillan except Tony Stanford, and he is in New York.”

“You can at least tell me about him.”

“Of course! His father was of the Middle West. He made money, lots of it, and did not give any away. He only had one boy, and he put him into an office in Chicago when he was fourteen. When

16 INSPECTOR FROST IN- THE €ity sixteen the boy was a Drummer on the road. When twenty-two, old man Macmillan died, and Mckinley M. inherited some ten million dollars. That’s the yarn, everybody knows.”

“A fortunate young man.”

“TI suppose so, but nobody knows except Tony Stanford. Tony was of my semester at Harvard, and was going to be our great noise in classics. Heaven knows how he picked up Macmillan. Anyhow the Triple Mac took him into partnership and installed him in New York. Everyone knows Tony, but nobody gets much out of him.”

“But what of Mr. Macmillan?”

“Oh that’s what’s odd. The Triple Mac—everyone calls him that—lived on in some God forsaken town in the Middle West. It was the business that moved, and moved round the world. Mac did not go on adding one to one like his Pa. He went straight into big business, and nobody knows how many millions he commands. His interests everywhere are colossal.”

‘““A great many people must know him.”

“T doubt it. Reporters don’t cut much ice when they try to get Mac. I suppose he attends his Boards from time to time, but Tony does the show business, and Tony doesn’t tell! Not much!”

“You can at least tell me Mr. Macmillan’s interests.”

“T suppose even you have heard of the World’s Amalgamated Steel Trust. Well that’s Macmillan.

Did you hear of that Revolution in the State of Bastoria? Well—that was Mac again. Some Dago General became President, and Mac lapped up all the oil. Who financed that Chinese General some two years ago and upset your apple cart in the Far East? Well, they do say that was Mac. You can’t prove it, but there is little doubt about his profits. Bless you! Nobody knows where Mac will break out next. He is always upsetting some established market or making more millions where nobody thought a red cent was to be found. He can’t be much over thirty and he has the big wigs beat to a frazzle.”’

“Do you really suppose that the man in cheap ready-made clothes who has been murdered can really be this daring financier?”

“Tt doesn’t sound likely, but then Mac is a bit unexpected. Your story isn’t likely anyhow. A man in a store-made suit doesn’t often walk about with all those dollars on him, and a murderer who sticks a man with a big wad of bills in his pockets doesn’t generally leave them there.”

“That’s true! You have, then, no suggestion to offer about the dead man, but can you tell me anything of the young American who first found him, Mr. Edward van Storck?”

“What, Teddy van Storck! Rather! Why everyone knows him. Teddy’s international! MHe’s as well known in Paris and London as in New York and Newport.”

B

18 INSPECTOR? FROST INSITE Crn

‘Well, a gentleman giving that name was on the spot when the constable came upon the body. He referred us to the Embassy for information about himself.”

“TI didn’t know he was over here. Where is he? at the Ritz? That’s his usual place.”

“That is the address he gave. Can you tell me anything about him?”

“Teddy is just it. He knows everybody. He has been everywhere. He sets the fashion wherever he goes. He’s a real bright American, and Society just hums when he turns up. Even Cowes sat up and took notice when he arrived in his steam yacht.”

“He had, I presume, no connexion with Mr. Macmillan,”

“Not likely! I can’t imagine Teddy, with the Devil’s own impudence, adding Mckinley M. Macmillan to his collection of curios.”

“He has, then, unlikely friends.”

““He makes a side line in eccentricities. He is rich enough to afford a luxury of that sort, but I think he prefers Grand Duchesses.”’

It was nine o’clock when I returned from the Embassy to the Yard and had an interview with the Chief. First of all we drafted an account to be delivered to the Press, containing all that we knew except the letter beginning “Darling Mac.” Next we sent a man to Paris by the Io o’clock train with the receipt to see if the hotel could furnish any particulars,

Then a man was despatched to trace the Bank of England notes, and lastly, I persuaded the Chief to send my godson, Detective Smith, to the City to keep his eyes on Bolter’s Court.

Having settled these preliminaries, I went to the Ritz Hotel and asked for Mr. van Storck.

“Mr. van Storck is not here,” said the concierge.

_ “Room 54,” I suggested.

The Manager, who was passing, stopped. He knew me of old, and hated to see me in the hotel, for, as he said, I always meant trouble.

“No, Mr. van Storck is not here. Room 54 indeed! Mr. van Storck always has the same suite. We might almost say that it was reserved for him. He was here for some weeks last season. The ball he gave was somewhat of a sensation. It had fewer people and cost more money than any entertainment I canremember. The mob are not invited, and the gate crasher has a poor chance when Mr. van Storck gives a party.”

“Do you know if he is in England?”

“No! They may know at the office if he is expected.”

They didn’t, but a page boy who had been listening after the manner of his kind, here volunteered the intelligence that a gentleman had arrived before 8 o’clock in a taxi and asked for Mr. van Storck.

“Did he go back in the taxi?”

‘No! He asked me the way to the Restaurant.”’

“Yes, I know. Then he went out into Piccadilly. Would you know him again?”

“Pithinksso.*

“What was he like?”

“He was a gentleman, anyone could see that.”

“You mean he gave you half a crown.”

The boy blushed, and I continued: ‘Do you know Mr. van Storck?”

“No, sir, I haven’t been here long. But he couldn’t have been Mr. van Storck, for he asked for him. Then he laughed and said: ‘Poor old Teddy!’”

“Well,” said I, turning to the manager, “I am afraid you will have to answer a good many inquiries for Mr. van Storck before the day is over. Good-bye.”

As I was going out I saw Mr. Sefton Hall coming in. He did not see me, but marched straight to the office and I heard him say: ‘Mr. van Storck?”

CHAPTER IV

I WENT out of the Ritz very annoyed with Station Sergeant Boston. Why hadn’t he kept the American until he was identified by the Embassy. He seemed right in supposing that the American could not have done the deed, but men who give a false name and address are likely to be suspected.

It was probable that he had only done so to avoid the inquest and being mixed up with a horrible crime, but the Police Force don’t like to be outwitted, and I did not mean that he should succeed. I therefore turned into the Green Park and took a seat for consideration.

The man was evidently an American and he was very well turned out. He gave Johnson the idea of having everything new. Now there are many good tailors in London, in and outside Savile Row, but there are only one or two firms that are known to rich Americans. I rose from the seat, and walked to Mr. Lake’s, showed my card and asked to see him,

Mr. Lake has beautiful manners—an ingratiating deference without a trace of servility. He never disagrees with anyone, and only hints at sartorial improvements. Most men, who can afford to do so, leave themselves entirely in his hands, and he fashions them according to his sovereign pleasure. He does not make my clothes—that goes without saying—but I had known him some time, ever since a bogus Polish Count, who went everywhere for one season, contrived to exploit the more fashionable shops of Mayfair, and disappeared with a complete kit for big game shooting in Central Africa. It was a sad morning when Duchesses awoke to the fact that they did not really know who he was, when the secretary of the Turf Club sought for the gentleman who had introduced him as an honorary member, when jewellers asked tailors how it was they had allowed him so much credit. Then everybody blamed Lord Hayman, who had met the charming fellow at the Jockey Club in Paris, although it turned out that he was not a member; and, lastly, everyone blamed the police because we could not trace him. Perhaps the big game ate him in Central Africa.

“Well, Mr. Lake, I have come to consult you about what I fear is a case of impersonation.”

“What? Another Polish Count?”

“Not that I know of. Do you know a Mr. van Storck? ”

“Certainly! Mr. van Storck is, if I may say so, one of my most valued clients.”

“He is not, so far as you are aware, in England.”

“Not yet. The Spring has only just begun. Mr. van Storck may be expected shortly. You cee

Inspector, that in this wicked world and in our climate, a man is bound to wear clothes, and they can’t make them anywhere but in London. Mr. van Storck is not likely to order clothes without a personal consultation with us. He will come all right in the next week or so, even if he returns home by the next boat. You, however, can’t want Mr. van Storck.”

“T want a well-dressed American who gave Mr. van Storck’s name at a police station this morning, and who cannot be traced.”

“Mr. van Storck,” said Mr. Lake, “can always be traced in the fashionable intelligence.”

“Tsee! Now I should like to know if you have had recently a new American customer? ”

“Yes! Mr. Bolton. He came to us about ten days ago.”

“He gave you a large order?”

“A considerable order,’ said Mr. Lake. ‘‘He is staying at Claridge’s, I] think. Wait a moment.”

Mr. Lake went out and returned in a couple of minutes. ‘Yes, Claridge’s, Room 54.”

“Thank you. How was he dressed when you took him in hand?”

“Not so badly for a man who had bought his clothes in Paris.”

“Was he introduced to you?”

“No! but we made discreet inquiries of the Paris firm. The answers were entirely satisfactory.”

“Has he paid you?”

“Yes, by cheque on a Paris Bank—I forget which. I remember the fact because he called our attention to a small discrepancy in our account owing to our ignorance of the recent fluctuations in the rate of exchange. It was only a matter of shillings.”

“Evidently a good man of business.”’

“Yes! he took all the discount for cash to which he was entitled. Some Americans are so strange.”

“Does Mr. van Storck also pay cash?”

“No! but he pays, and asks for no discount.” Mr. Lake paused, and then added with a burst of enthusiasm: ‘But we should supply Mr. van Storck whether he paid or not. You will understand that—dressed by us—he is a splendid advertisement,”

I pip not go at once to Claridge’s, but took a taxi into the City to pick up Sergeant Boston, as I wanted to identify the man. It was close on two o’clock when we arrived at the hotel and asked for Mr. Bolton.

We were at once told that Mr. Bolton had left the hotel at half-past nine, stating that he might be away for at least a week. He had retained his rooms, for which he had paid in advance, and left his valet behind him, Would we like to see the valet?

We said we should, and were, in consequence, shown up into Mr. Bolton’s suite. A minute afterwards the door opened, and who should come in but my old friend, Mr. Brown. Four years before I had been instrumental in sending Mr. Brown to Dartmoor.

“How do you do, Brown, or ought I to call you by another name?”

“My name is still Brown, sir.”

“How long have you been out of Dartmoor?”

“Six months, sir; and I am trying to earn an honest living.”

“Glad to hear it! And how did you obtain your present position?”

“T answered an advertisement. I was quite honest, sir, with Mr. Bolton. I told him how I had been led into temptation by betting, and how I had sold that little cream jug of Sir Walter Gerrans.”

“And what did Mr. Bolton say?”

“He said he did not want to be my Father Confessor. He wanted a valet who knew his job; and if I stole from him he’d murder me. Mr. Bolton isa pleasant spoken gentleman,”

“T am longing to make his acquaintance. Do you know where he is?”

“No, sir. He went away this morning, and told me to remain here until I heard from him or until he returned.”

“Can you tell me what he did before he went away?”

“Well, sir, I don’t know if I ought in my position.”

‘“‘As you like—I don’t know, however, if I ought not to say something about you downstairs.”

‘“‘O, sir, please don’t do that. I am trying to lead an honest life.”

“Well, then, tell me about Mr. Bolton’s movements,”

“When I went to call him this morning I found he was already up and had gone out. I don’t know where he went or anything about it. He came in

28 INSPECTOR“ FROST: INSTHESCELY.

about half-past eight and had his breakfast. While he was having breakfast he asked for a Bradshaw and cable forms. He took so long over that cable, looking again and again into a little book, that his breakfast must have got quite cold.”

“Then he sent you out to the Post Office?”

“No, he didn’t, sir. When he had the cable apparently to his mind, he tore up the half dozen forms he had spoiled and burnt them. He put the last one into his pocket. No doubt, he meant to send it himself. Then he went and changed his clothes and packed the old suit case he had when he arrived here.’

“He packed it—not you?”

“Yes, sir! These American gentlemen don’t seem to know what a man is for. Anyhow he packed it himself and sent me for a taxi. He said ‘Victoria’ when he got into the cab.”

“Mr. Bolton, I think, had a lot of new clothes recently from Lake’s. What did he do with the old ones?”

“He gave them to me,”

“You sold them? ”

“Yes! The prices were bad. They said they were Frenchified.”

“IT see, that’s all I want to know at present. Mind you keep straight. That’s all.”

When we returned to the taxi, Sergeant Boston asked me: ‘“‘Why didn’t you make him get back some of the clothes, that we might find out who made ’em and for whom?”

“Because Lake knows the firm already. Besides, you ought not to tempt a man to betray his master— at least not more than is necessary.”

BEING a persistent person, I went back to the American Embassy and asked for Mr. Sefton Hall.

“Hullo! Inspector,’ said that young man as he entered the room, “I think you’ve been had.”

“Indeed,” said I.

“Teddy van Storck isn’t at the Ritz. Somebody has been pulling your leg.”

“T had discovered that before I saw you coming into the hotel. We both went to find him there, and we were both deceived. I didn’t know his habits. You did.”

“Well, all the information I can give you is from an American paper. A few weeks back he was at Palm Beach, Florida.”

“Do you know a Mr. R. H. Bolton?”

“Bolton! Bolton! Yes, I do. There was a man of that name at Deauville last fall. Teddy van Storck introduced him to me.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not much, but he was a friend of Teddy’s, so he is sure to be all right.”

“T have reason to believe that he was the man who used Mr. van Storck’s name at the Police Station this morning.”

“The devil he did! That was pretty good cheek! Did you find him at the Ritz?”

“No! he has rooms at Claridge’s.”’

“You've tracked him down?”

“No! he left the hotel at 9.30 for Victoria.”

“And is now nearing Paris. I wish I were with him.”

“What you suggest is possible. Meantime, Scotland Yard wants to know more about him.”

“He is a nice, pleasant chap. Everyone liked him at Deauville—and as a poker player he would be hard to beat.”

“You don’t know where he came from, or his connexions?”

“No! I am not a policeman, and I was not on duty. You can’t catechise an hotel acquaintance.”

“Will the Embassy keep us informed?”

“Certainly! And, I say! Are you quite sure you have the corpse of Mckinley M. Macmillan?”

“No! Far from it. Scotland Yard has published such facts as it knows. It can’t do more.”

“Tf you look at the tape you will see that prices are falling like billy-o on the Exchange. To-morrow we shall read of blue ruin on Wall Street ; and you will be responsible if in the end the Triple Mac turns out to be alive.”

32 INSPECTOR. FROST INGLHE <Ciry

“Excuse me, sir,’”’ I replied with dignity, ‘‘Scotland Yard can only publish such facts as it knows. It is no fault of theirs if there is no one at the American Embassy who can identify one of its most prominent citizens, or give any trustworthy evidence concerning him.”

WHEN I returned to the Yard and made my report the Chief was quite nasty. “ You have been wasting your time running up a side track. It’s quite obvious that the young man didn’t wish to be mixed up in the case, and so gave the name of a friend in New York and then returned to Paris. When he is wanted he won’t be difficult to find—that is—if he is worth finding, which I doubt.”

“Well, I’m not satisfied. This Bolton is no college boy over here on his first trip and wanting to see everything in his guide book. What was he really doing in the City at 6a.m.? That’s what I want to know, and I suggest that we wire to the Streté for more information.”

“All right! As you like, but I hope that to-morrow you will turn your attention to this stiletto, or dagger, or whatever it is. I’ve seen it. It’s curious.”

“Yes! It might have come from a Museum, and therefore we can’t argue from it any particular kind of dago.”

“The letter found on the man strikes me as even more interesting.”

“Tt had no date or address, and was written on cheap paper. We shan’t get on to Lizzie until we know more of the man’s recent environment. He will probably be identified to-morrow by some hotel concierge, or more probably by some lodging-house keeper.”’

“Then there is the scene of the murder.”

“Detective Smith is there under my instructions, and will report to me this evening.”

“Tam not sure that you do not put too much faith in that young man. He thinks too well of himself. I shouldn’t be surprised if he had expected being made a sergeant when Robinson was promoted.”

“Well, sir, he deserved it, and I hope you won’t overlook him if he makes good in this case.”

“IT make no promises. What are you up to next?”

“Tt is five o’clock, and I am going home to tea. There is nothing more to be done to-day, except to talk the matter over with Detective Smith.’

“Do you think he will be helpful?”

“T find it clears my mind to discuss a problem with one who is not my superior.”

“Inspector, you are incorrigible.”

“Well, well, you understand, sir. If anything requiring emergency action is discovered I can be rung up at Lavender Gardens, Brixton.”

CHAPTER VIII

BILLY SMITH came to supper, but during that meal no word was said about the murder. My wife, who is a lady and on the parish council of her Church, pretends to ignore my detestable occupation. To our neighbours, I am, like them—vaguely—something in the City. They do not connect me with the famous Inspector they read about in the Daily Intelligence. You see we are the Austin-Frosts in Brixton. I am plain Frost in the Yard.

After supper we listened on the wireless to the news, and learnt that a depression was extending from Iceland. Then Billy and my youngest daughter tried a duet. Afterwards we had our family game at bridge, and at 10.15, to the minute, the ladies said good-night—my wife adjuring me not to be late, and to put up the chain after Billy had gone.

“Now, Billy,’’ I said, ‘to our muttons. Listen attentively, and I will tell you how I spent my day. The Chief says I have been wasting my time.”

“He would, sir, that’s what he’s there for. You'll say, I’ve wasted my time presently. Aren’t you an inspector and I a humble detective. That’s what you are there for. But before we begin may I have a drink?”

“Beware of alcoholism, Billy. There is no knowing but this old country, with a Flapper vote, mayn’t go dry.”

“Then every Speak-easy will be a gold mine to us.”

“Billy, I’m ashamed of you.”

But Billy was not ashamed of filling his glass and squirting some of the soda water on to the table. We mopped it up with our handkerchiefs, and hoped that my wife would not notice it in the morning—a forlorn hope, I knew by experience. Then I started, Billy smoked, smiled and said nothing. When I had finished, I filled my glass and remarked: ‘Now, Billy, it is your turn. How have you wasted your time?”