‘Not in itself. Lord Dunwich and Harry Lennox also have an interest in that company, do they not?’
‘Yes, of course. This is publicly available information. No doubt you discovered it by looking in the Stock Exchange Yearbook, though why you would wish to do so, I cannot imagine.’
‘Last night there was a bomb outrage at the offices of the Daily Clarion. That may be construed as an attack on something very dear to Harry Lennox. The murder of Dolores Novak could be interpreted in a similar way. Lord Dunwich was in love with her.’
‘Are you sure? I cannot help thinking that is a rather polite interpretation of the facts, Inspector. You saw them at the party. His feelings for her were purely carnal, I think.’
‘At any rate, she was a woman in whom Lord Dunwich took an amorous interest.’
‘You will have to ask his lordship about that.’
‘But you see the connection?’
‘I am afraid I struggle to.’
‘Both men were on the board of the London Nitrate Company. Both men received strange anonymous packages addressed in green ink – such as you use here at Visionary Productions. Both men are connected to acts of violence. Acts that may be designed to cow them into submission in a ruthless battle for control of the company.’
‘I am afraid I really don’t understand what you are hinting at.’
‘Nitrate. It is used in the manufacture of guncotton, is it not? Incidentally, it is highly likely that that was the explosive used in the attack on the Daily Clarion. But more to the point, control of the world’s nitrate resources could play a pivotal role in any future war between our nations.’
‘You are talking about celluloid nitrate. It is used to make many products. You could say, it is a very useful material. My own interest in it stems from the production of kinematographic film stock. Were it my ambition to control the world’s stock of sodium nitrate – which it is not, I hasten to add – my sole motivation would be to place myself at an advantage over my competitors in the motion picture production industry. But I was interested in what you said about the packages Lennox and Lord Dunwich received. How did you describe them? Strange and anonymous? I myself received a strange and anonymous package, also addressed in green ink, this very morning.’ Hartmann held out an envelope.
‘It is the same hand,’ observed Quinn. ‘What was it that you were sent?’
‘Why, this monocle that I broke as you came in. There was already a crack in the lens, so it was useless anyhow. I cannot conceive of a reason why anyone should send it to me. What were the objects sent to the others, may I ask?’
‘A billiard ball painted to look like an eye. And a playing card. The Jack of Hearts. Curiously the eye had been poked through.’
‘Curious indeed, Inspector.’
‘Sir, may I have a word with you?’
Quinn noticed the brimming, barely contained excitement in Macadam’s voice, the telltale tension in his face. He recognized the signs. Macadam was on to something. Evidently not wanting to divulge whatever it was in front of Hartmann, he beckoned Quinn over to one side and whispered his discovery urgently into his ear.
Quinn nodded and turned back to Hartmann. ‘My sergeant tells me that both billiard balls and playing cards involve nitrate in their manufacture. Is this so?’
‘Celluloid nitrate, yes. Though due to the explosive qualities of the material, its use in billiard ball manufacture is limited these days. There were one or two cases of billiard balls exploding against one another when struck particularly forcibly, I believe. Interestingly, celluloid nitrate may also have been used to create the layer of tint that has been put on the glass of this monocle lens.’
Quinn exchanged glances with Macadam. ‘You received this today?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do we know you didn’t send it to yourself?’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Sir, there is a chance …’
‘Yes, I know, Macadam. If someone wanted to hurt you, Mr Hartmann, to damage or destroy the one thing or person that is dearest to you, what would they attack?’
‘What an extraordinary question! If this is some kind of joke, Inspector …’
‘I am perfectly serious.’
‘I … well, I have no family here in England. I live mainly for my work. For the films, you understand. My colleagues are my family. The cast and crew that I work with. I suppose someone might attack Visionary Productions, or perhaps …’
‘What is it, Mr Hartmann.’
‘Eloise. Eloise Dumont – she is my star. Without her, I would not be able to go on.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She is safe. She is still at the Savoy, as far as I know. She is being looked after by two of our people.’
‘We could telephone the Savoy from here, sir,’ suggested Macadam. ‘To reassure ourselves. Then perhaps we could arrange for a police guard.’
Hartmann found the number for the Savoy and made the call. The German clamped the ear piece tightly in his right hand and held it to his ear, as if he was jealous of the crackle that emanated from it.
Quinn thought back to what Eloise had said to him last night: You never have anything nice to say to me. So she had remembered their conversation at the party. Of course. How could she forget the boorish policeman who insulted her art, her profession.
Quinn could not escape the feeling that this was all in some way happening in order to teach him a lesson. This was the way it had been going all along. From the very outset, from the arrival of the invitation to the premiere, everything had been designed to leave him with a very bad feeling about himself. To reveal him to himself in his true, despicable colours. He had not even meant the mean-spirited things he had said to her. What he had wanted to say was how powerful her presence on the screen was, how magical a transformation her image had wrought on his soul. And what was it he had said? He closed his eyes at the memory of his shame and embarrassment.
I’ve seen some horrible things, it’s true. But the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen was that film I was forced to sit through tonight.
At last the news was imparted that Mademoiselle Dumont was not in her room.
As soon as Hartmann replaced the earpiece, the telephone rang again, its brittle chime like a tray of cutlery being dropped repeatedly in the next room.
‘Hello? … One moment …’ Hartmann held the earpiece out to Quinn. ‘It is for you, Inspector. Someone by the name of Sergeant Inchball.’
Inchball’s voice sounded like the buzzing of a wasp dancing on a snare drum. ‘We’ve had the pathologist’s report in on Dolores Novak, guv.’
‘Go on.’
‘Something very rum about that wound on her throat. The blade went in at a point an inch or so to the right of the jugular. Then curved round sharply to sever the carotid artery from behind. The angle of the wound is extremely acute, is what the medical examiner says.’
‘Does he offer an explanation?’
‘Some kind of curved blade, a hook, or one of them foreign knives. Looks like it’s a foreigner what done it, guv, as we always suspected.’
‘But an Englishman may purchase a weapon of foreign manufacture, Inchball.’
‘There’s something wrong with the line, guv. It sounded almost like you said an Englishman would use a foreign knife.’
‘Thank you, Inchball.’ Quinn returned the earpiece to Hartmann. He conveyed the burden of Inchball’s message to Macadam.
‘It’s very true what you said, sir. A pal of mine has a collection of knives from all over the world. And some very interesting specimens there are in it too. I believe there are a number with curved blades.’
‘Are you suggesting we arrest your pal?’
‘No, sir. Just that an Englishman may indeed own a weapon of foreign manufacture. As you said, sir.’
Quinn turned to Hartmann. ‘Who are the people to whom you have entrusted Eloise?’