‘I’m sorry there’s a little delay on the line,’ announced his secretary from the doorway. ‘It’s a call from Holmdean.’
The ensuing telephone conversation was actually in progress before Alan realized the significance of the name he had just heard. Holmdean! Then he remembered. Somebody had said that Leopold King and Sir Richard Templeton were the closest of friends. Was it Templeton himself on the line? But from Leopold King’s monosyllabic replies it was impossible to gather even the subject of their talk.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the manager, turning again to Alan. ‘I think you asked me a question?’
‘I was suggesting that I stay on in my room until to-morrow,’ returned Alan. ‘There’s no objection to that?’
Leopold King pursed his lips.
‘No; I think perhaps that can be arranged, Mr. Gilmour. May I say again how much I regret the misunderstanding? I’m sure you must appreciate the difficulties of our position. When we have definitely promised accommodation to others our hands are tied. You’ll reconsider my suggestion about your bill, won’t you? With your permission, I’ll give instructions that the cost of your room for last week is deducted from it.’
Adamant in his refusal of this, Alan left the manager and strolled upstairs to his own room. He was more convinced than ever that there was something obscure about the way in which his stay at the Marquise Hotel was being terminated. As for the telephone call from Holmdean, Alan recalled the heated interview he had had with Sir Richard Templeton on the previous Tuesday night. In objecting to his association with Elizabeth Marlowe, Templeton had been careful to pick his words, and had not actually accused him of being a busybody, a spy; but now, recalling the incident, he concluded that some suspicion of this kind must have been in the barrister’s mind.
With a thoughtful frown on his face, Alan lit a cigarette and flicked the match through the partly open bedroom window.
He was having coffee after lunch when, through the glass partition, he saw Leopold King hurry across the entrance hall and go out through the front door. He could not fail to note traces of agitation on the manager’s face. If he had known King’s destination he might have guessed at the reason.
It was Leopold King’s invariable practice to keep his appointments punctually to the minute; and half-past two was striking on Big Ben round the corner when he was shown into Inspector Tripp’s room at Scotland Yard.
‘It’s good of you to come Mr. King,’ said the detective. ‘I think I explained why it would be better for me not to be seen at the Marquise Hotel just at present?’
‘Yes, I quite understand.’ Leopold King carefully put down his hat and gloves on a side-table and seated himself.
‘Since the robbery at Sir Richard Templeton’s suite last Monday night,’ continued Tripp, ‘I’ve been careful to keep away from the hotel. However, you’ve been good enough to let me install a couple of my men, and for this help I’m grateful.’
‘Are you any nearer to finding the thief?’ inquired King.
Tripp was noncommittal. ‘We’re making progress,’ he said.
‘But you don’t anticipate a repetition of the affair?’
‘In point of fact I do,’ replied Tripp. ‘That’s why I’ve been so anxious to have this talk with you.’
Leopold King hitched up his trousers at the knee. ‘I’m sorry to hear this, Inspector. With two of your men there, I should have thought that it was practically impossible. It will be bad for my hotel,’ he added.
‘Precisely,’ nodded Tripp. ‘That’s the reason why we should work together. I’m going to take you into my confidence, Mr. King. I haven’t done so before—at least, not fully—because the need for it has not arisen until now. Do you remember the Lord John robbery at Ferrars & d’Arblay the Cranbrooke Street jewellers?’
Leopold King nodded. ‘He got away with a valuable necklace, didn’t he? Let me see—it was the night of the dreadful fog, I think?’
‘Quite correct. He got away in the fog—but we traced him to the Marquise Hotel, Mr. King.’
Leopold King’s dark eyebrows went up. ‘Lord John—at the “Marquise”?’
‘Unless I’m very far wrong, the Marquise Hotel has been his head-quarters for the last ten days. How long he may have been living under your roof before that I wouldn’t care to decide. You’ve doubtless read in the newspapers about his genius for disguise? Possibly he has been coming and going from the hotel under different names; possibly he’s living in one of your suites as a permanent resident. Again, on that point, I wouldn’t care to decide—at present.’
Leopold King was frowning at his carefully manicured finger-nails. ‘Can’t anything be done about this, Inspector? If it becomes known, it will be very damaging to the “Marquise”. Wealthy visitors will go elsewhere. You know my clientèle?’
‘Precisely,’ said Tripp. ‘Your clientèle is the type that must hold a considerable fascination for Lord John. A successful raid at the “Marquise” would be well worth his while—even more so than the Holmdean affair last Friday night. Now, I think you can help me in this. If you can pass word round that your visitors must not leave valuables in their bedrooms——’
‘That is a standing instruction,’ demurred the other. ‘Do you think the point should be stressed?’
‘I was going to add,’ went on Tripp, ‘that it would be better still if you quietly warn your visitors to keep their valuables in the bank or a safe deposit instead of the hotel.’
Leopold King shrugged his shoulders. ‘Surely there’s the hotel strong-room!’
Tripp smiled. ‘I doubt if even that could be called secure—against a man like Lord John. Where is your strong-room situated?’
‘The door opens into my private office,’ Leopold King replied. ‘To reach it you must pass through my room. I planned this myself with the architect who designed the hotel.’
With the point of a pencil Inspector Tripp was making patterns on the blotting-pad in front of him. ‘Yes,’ he said at length. ‘Nevertheless, Mr. King, I suggest that you warn your guests to be careful.’
Leopold King did not reply immediately, and when he spoke there was a trace of antagonism in his voice.
‘I’m afraid what you ask is impossible, Inspector. It would simply create panic.’
‘I was afraid you would say that,’ murmured Tripp, looking up. ‘But let me put it this way to you. Which would do your hotel the most harm—a quiet warning given by you personally to those visitors who might be worth Lord John’s attention, or a successful raid on the “Marquise”?’
‘If you are referring to my strong-room,’ said King confidently, ‘I deny the possibility of a raid. Lord John might as well devote his attention to breaking into the vaults of the Bank of England. It’s absolutely burglar-proof. No, Inspector; I’m afraid we’ll have to let the matter stand. If I tell guests that their valuables are not safe in the hotel strong-room, it’s bound to create nervousness—as I’ve said, it might possibly drive some of them away to other hotels.’ He paused. ‘For example, the Rajah of Nalbari has just reserved rooms at the “Marquise”—he arrives to-morrow from the South of France. No doubt he will bring valuables—these Eastern princes are rather lavish in this way. Dare I tell him that they’re in danger of theft from my strong-room? He would probably take up his quarters elsewhere! You must see my position, Inspector?’
‘Then,’ said Tripp quickly, ‘you don’t object to my sending along a few of my men to keep watch?’
‘That might be arranged,’ conceded Leopold King, ‘provided word doesn’t get around that there are police about the place. I must avoid creating any apprehension among my guests—that is imperative.’