“The police?”
“Oh! I quite agree. I don’t like the police. They pay very badly and ask a hell of a lot of questions. But it might be useful, for once, to get on the right side of them.”
“That’s all punk,” said Milligan. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. I didn’t kill the fellow. I didn’t want him killed.”
“Prove that,” said the other, coolly.
He watched Milligan’s impassive face, and Milligan watched his.
“Give it up,” suggested Bredon, after a few minutes of this mutual scrutiny. “I can play poker just as well as you. But this time I fancy I hold a straight flush.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know what you think Dean was in a position to find out.”
“I can tell you that. He was trying to find out-”
“Had found out.”
“How do you know?”
“If you want instruction in detective methods, you must pay extra. I say he had found out.”
“Well, then, he had found out who was running the show from Pym’s end.”
“The dope-show?”
“Yes. And he may have found out, too, the way it’s worked.”
“Is worked?”
“Yes.”
“It’s still being worked the same way, then?”
“So far as I know.”
“So far as you know? You don’t seem to know much.”
“Well, how much do you know about the way your own gang run the show?”
“Nothing whatever. Instructions are issued-”
“By the way, how did you get into it?”
“Sorry. Can’t tell you that. Not even if you pay extra.”
“How do I know I can trust you, then?”
Bredon laughed.
“Perhaps you’d like me to supply you,” he said. “If you’re not satisfied with your distribution, you can inscribe yourself upon the roll of my customers. Deliveries Sunday and Thursday. Meanwhile-and as a sample-you may be interested in the collar of my cloak. It is handsome, is it not? A rich velvet. A little ostentatious, perhaps you think-a little over-much buckram? Possibly you are right. But very well made. The opening is almost invisible. We delicately insert the forefinger and thumb, pull the tab gently, and produce this dainty bag of oiled silk-fine as an onion-skin, but remarkably tough. Within it, you will discover sufficient inspiration for quite a number of enthusiasts. A magician’s cloak. Such stuff as dreams are made on.”
Milligan examined the contents of the little bag in silence. They were, in fact, a portion of the famous packet obtained by Mr. Hector Puncheon at the White Swan.
“AH right, so far. Where do you get it from?”
“I got it in Covent Garden.”
“Not at Pym’s?”
“No.”
Milligan looked disappointed.
“What day did you get it?”
“Friday morning. Like yourself, I get it on a Friday.”
“Look here,” said Milligan, “you and I have got to be together on this. Dian, my child, run away and play. I’m going to talk business with your friend.”
“That’s a nice way to treat me in my own house,” grumbled Miss de Momerie, but, seeing that Milligan meant what he said, she gathered up herself and her wraps and retreated into the bedroom. Milligan leaned forwards over the table.
“I’m going to tell you what I know,” he said. “If you double-cross me, it’s at your own risk. I don’t want any funny business with that damned cousin of yours.”
Mr. Bredon expressed his opinion of Lord Peter Wimsey in a few well-chosen words.
“All right,” said Milligan. “You have been warned. Now, see here. If we can find out who works this thing and how it’s worked, we can get in at the top. It pays fairly well as it is, in one way, but it’s a devil of a risk and a lot of trouble, and it’s expensive. Look at that place I have to keep up. It’s the man in the centre of the ring that makes the big profits. I know, and you know, what we pay for the stuff, and then there’s the bore of handing it out to all these fools and collecting the cash. Now, here’s what I know. The whole stunt is worked from that advertising place of yours-Pym’s. I found that out from a man who’s dead now. I won’t tell you how I fell in with him-it’s a long story. But I’ll tell you what he told me. I was dining with him one night at the Carlton, and he was a bit lit-up. A chap came in with a party, and this man said to me: ‘Know who that is?’-’Not from Adam,’ I said. He said: ‘Well, it’s old Pym, the publicity agent.’ And then he laughed and said: ‘If he only knew what his precious agency was doing, he’d have a fit.’ ‘How’s that?’ I said. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘didn’t you know? All this dope-traffic is worked from there.’ Naturally, I started to ask him how he knew and all about it, but he suddenly got an attack of caution and started to be mysterious, and I couldn’t get another word out of him.”
“I know that brand of drunkenness,” said Bredon. “Do you think he really knew what he was talking about?”
“Yes, I think so. I saw him again next day, but he was sober then, and got the shock of his life when I told him what he’d said. But he admitted it was true, and implored me to keep quiet about it. That was all I could get out of him, and the same evening he was run over by a lorry.”
“Was he? How remarkably well-timed.”
“I thought so myself,” said Milligan. “It made me rather nervous.”
“But how does Victor Dean come into it?”
“There,” admitted Milligan, “I dropped a bad brick. Dian brought him along one evening-”
“Just a minute. When did this conversation with your indiscreet friend take place?”
“Nearly a year ago. Naturally, I’d been trying to follow the matter up, and when Dian introduced Dean and said he worked at Pym’s, I thought he must be the man. Apparently he wasn’t. But I’m afraid he got an idea about the thing from me. After a bit, I found out he was trying to horn in on my show, and I told Dian to shut down on him.”
“In fact,” said Mr. Bredon, “you tried to pump him, just as you are trying to pump me, and you found out that he was pumping you instead.”
“Something like that,” confessed Milligan.
“And shortly after that he fell down a staircase.”
“Yes; but I didn’t push him down it. You needn’t think that. I didn’t want him snuffed out. I only wanted him kept out of the way. Dian’s too much of a chatterer, especially when she’s gamed up. The trouble is, you’re never safe with these people. You’d think common sense would tell them to keep quiet in their own interests, but they’ve got no more sense than a cagcful of monkeys.”
“Well,” said Bredon, “if we fill them up with stuff that notoriously saps their self-control, I suppose we can’t grumble at the consequences.”
“I suppose not, but it’s a damned nuisance sometimes. They’re as cunning as weasels in one way, and sheer idiots in another. Spiteful, too.”
“Yes. Dean never became an addict, did he?”
“No, if he had, we’d have had more control over him; but unfortunately, his head was screwed on the right way. All the same, he knew pretty well that he’d have been well paid for any information.”
“Very likely. The trouble is that he was taking money from the other side as well-at least, I think he was.”
“Don’t you try that game,” said Milligan.
“I’ve no wish to fall down staircases. What you want, I take it, is the way the trick’s worked and the name of the man who works it. I dare say I can find that out for you. How about terms?”
“My idea is, that we use the information to get into the inside ring ourselves, and each strike our own bargain.”
“Just so. Alternatively, I suppose, we put the screw on the gentleman at Pym’s, when we’ve got him, and divide the spoil. In which case, as I’m doing most of the work and taking the biggest risk, I suggest I take 75 per cent.”