Chapter 6
A Fencing Match
When the merchant banker had settled himself on a chair with his back to the window, Bertie asked him if he had known the deceased before they met at the house party.
Levy-Strauss hesitated as if about to deny it, but then recalled his remarks to Ginger and admitted that he had known of the dead man.
"You implied just now that Cliffe was involved in shady dealings," mentioned Ginger. "Would you care to elaborate?"
The financier regarded him with deep-set eyes that were so dark as to be almost black. Instead of replying, he brought out a cigar case, selected one of its contents and began the elaborate ritual of preparation. Ginger fidgeted while Levy-Strauss removed and pierced the end of the Corona before striking a match and applying it to the cigar. When it was emitting a cloud of aromatic blue smoke that made Ginger back away stifling a cough, the man finally spoke.
"Yes, I had come across Alfred Cliffe in the course of several financial deals in which I was involved," admitted Levy-Strauss. "At first I thought he was a bona fide business man. It was only later I realised that his company was less than sound and some of his methods were, to say the least, questionable. When I found that out, of course, I had no more to do with him. We withdrew our financial backing. We could not associate ourselves with anything unethical."
"How did he react to that?" enquired Bertie, screwing his monocle back into his eye to quiz Levy-Strauss more closely.
"He tried to implicate me in a dubious transaction with a South American company who were suspected of dealing in drugs." Joseph Levy-Strauss spread his hands expressively, causing the fragrant cigar smoke to waft Ginger's way. "I informed the authorities, but nothing could be proved either way. Mud sticks," he added rather bitterly. "I was somewhat dismayed to find Cliffe among the house guests," he admitted, looking at Bertie keenly, before continuing, "frankly, Lord Lissie, I am not at all surprised that he was killed. I should imagine it could well be revenge by one of his South American 'business associates'. He was not an honourable man. I believe the Medallin are very unforgiving."
"I say! Are you suggesting it was a contract killing?" asked Bertie, raising his eyebrows.
Levy-Strauss shrugged. "It is not beyond the bounds of possibility," he averred, rising and tapping the ash from his cigar into the fireplace.
Ginger shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "That would mean someone in the household had South American connections," he mused.
Levy-Strauss turned to look at him and smiled. For a second Ginger thought he looked sly and wolfish. "I am sure you know that Lady Maria's mother was Colombian," he stated. "She was a coffee plantation heiress."
Ginger sighed inwardly. They had only interrogated two suspects, he thought, and already they had three possibilities. Who knew what other links might turn up as they investigated? He thought longingly of calling Biggles and asking for his help, but regretfully rejected the idea. He knew that his boss was in America attending a conference on aviation crime hosted by an American colleague and while Biggles himself might relish the thought of leaving it all to come home for some active duty, Ginger knew that the Air Commodore would not be pleased.
Bertie caught Ginger's eye and frowned sympathetically as if he could read the young man's thoughts.
Ginger thought back to the conversation in the corridor heading for the morning room. "Earlier you said you were sure Cliffe had committed suicide," he remarked. "Now you are trying to tell us he was assassinated. Which theory are we expected to swallow?" he demanded sarcastically.
The financier tapped his cigar again as if to remove more ash, but made no comment other than an expressive shrug of the shoulders.
Bertie turned back to Levy-Strauss and regarded him quizzically. "Forgive me for putting this so bluntly," he remarked deprecatingly, "but where were you when the blighter was shot?"
Levy-Strauss looked at him broodingly. For a moment Bertie thought he was not going to answer, but then, unexpectedly, the financier laughed; a deep, booming laugh that shook his whole body. "Come, come, Lord Lissie!" he chided. "What do you think I will say? That I was in his room murdering him? Or that I was keeping watch while someone else did?" He looked at Bertie keenly. "Since you were asking my wife if she had been near Cliffe's room, I presume that is where he was killed." When Bertie nodded, Levy-Strauss came back and sat down on his seat, hitching his trousers up before he did so and then smoothing the material over his knees with a peculiarly fussy gesture. "Firstly you must tell me exactly when he was killed, and how. If I am to help you, I must be in possession of all the facts."
'And have an excuse for knowing details the murderer would know,' thought Ginger. He began to have some appreciation of the financier's astuteness. "We don't know a lot," Ginger compromised. "The police doctor hasn't told us the time of death yet, but we are investigating the period immediately before everyone came down to dinner." He was watching Levy-Strauss carefully and thought he detected a slight relaxation at his announcement.
"I came downstairs with my wife, but she had forgotten her evening bag and decided to go back for it," said the financier smoothly. "She is very forgetful," he added, smiling indulgently. "She has been running back and to all day."
Still puzzled by Naomi Levy-Strauss' reluctance to say which staircase she had used, Ginger put the question to her husband. The result surprised him.
"Pah! What does it matter?" spat Levy-Strauss angrily. "One staircase is much like another!" As if he realised from Bertie and Ginger's startled glances that his unguarded vehemence had been excessive, he shrugged eloquently. "I don't know," he confessed. "Naomi turned back and I went on into the drawing room. I didn't see which staircase she took. It is a mere detail and not worthy of notice," he concluded smoothly.
As if to divert attention away from his strange reaction, Levy-Strauss continued, "we didn't meet anyone on the way down and I didn't see anyone in the corridor. When I got to the drawing room all the guests were there except you and my wife."
Ginger thought that often the truth was found in the details and decided that he absolutely must find out which staircase had been used. It annoyed him that such a trivial matter should be so elusive. Could it really be of importance? he mused. Or was he wasting his time over trivialities?
"Thank you, Mr Levy-Strauss," said Bertie dismissively. "I'm sure Constable Pearson will want to ask you some questions, too."
The financier smiled at the thought and again Ginger was reminded of a predator. He was sure that the local constable would be no match for the sharp wits of the businessman. Levy-Strauss stood up and made for the door. As he reached it, he turned and asked ironically, "aren't you supposed to tell me I mustn't leave the premises?"
"I rather thought you knew that already," returned Bertie softly. "There is no point in stating the obvious, is there, old chap? Besides, the more you say the more you might let slip, as I'm sure you're aware."
Levy-Strauss half chuckled. "There is more to you than meets the eye, Lord Lissie," he commented approvingly. "I have enjoyed our little chat."
With that he went out and closed the door behind him.
"He's a cool customer," remarked Ginger when the financier had left. "He played his cards pretty close to his chest."
"Hmm," mused Bertie. "He twitched a bit when you asked him which staircase his wife used, though. I wonder why. She was the same. It's dashed odd."
"It's so odd I've got to find out," averred Ginger. "I can't make up my mind if it's a red herring or a vital clue and I shan't rest until I've got to the bottom of it."
"He's right that it's trivial," commented Bertie, absent-mindedly polishing his eyeglass to aid his thought processes, "but that being so, why make such a song and dance about it?"
"I'm going to go up and down all the staircases and see if I can eliminate this from the investigation," declared Ginger. "It's driving me crazy!" With that, he got up and headed for the door.
"Mind you don't end up like the Flying Dutchman, old boy!" was Bertie's parting shot. "Doomed to wander the corridors for all eternity!"
"If I don't turn up for breakfast," said Ginger grimly, as he passed through the door, "you'd better come looking for me!"
