copper's cruise 22

 

Chapter 22 Import Duties

 

“I will be distancing myself from you for the journey and when we first disembark,” said Alexander. “But Mégret has called ahead to ensure that there is police back-up for catching whoever was supposed to receive the opium. I have my own theories, but we shall see. I will be wearing a false moustache, as Paul Martin wore one; otherwise, I will have to rely on them not knowing the courier. And I suspect they do not know the courier, or he would not carry a means of identification, which I believe the guide book he had to be. I am hoping to get a lead on the ones above those meeting me, so no arrests unless I signal.”

“I do wish you’d let me do it, sir,” said Campbell.

“You aren’t a copper and don’t have powers of arrest,” said Alexander. “Keep a close eye on me, and don’t let them bundle me into a car or anything like that.”

“Nossir,” said Campbell, stoically, who would let himself be run down to stop anyone kidnapping his master.

 

They boarded the plane, and it was easy enough to keep at a distance, with the line of single seats down the side of the aircraft, and an aisle between them.

“Ah, yes, the seats where one chooses the airline for modernistic and uncomfortable seats, or classic and uncomfortable seats,” said Ida, to Dorothy, who was waiting, with her mother, for the same plane.

“I am not looking forward to it,” said Dorothy. “I feel as if I have been kicked all over.”

“I think that’s a part of getting well,” said Ida. “But you can reflect that doubtless the rest of us will feel the same by the time we land.”

Dorothy managed a half laugh.

“I suppose so,” she said.

The journey from Paris to Croydon was not long, fortunately. Alex had his guide book tucked into his breast pocket on his overcoat, sadly a much-needed garment in the chilly climes of northern Europe. He heard Ida murmur to Dorothy, ‘I can hardly believe that a few days ago I might have wanted to take off every piece of clothing to try to cool down.’

Dorothy laughed a little.

“I don’t suppose your policeman would mind.”

“Probably not, so long as it wasn’t somewhere he had to arrest me for it,” said Ida. “But we are supposed to be behaving until we get married when I’ve done my degree.”

“Strong willed,” sighed Dorothy.

“You have the strength to do what you have to do, as well,” Ida insisted.

“I expect mummy will put me in a sanatorium so I have no choice,” sighed Dorothy.

“You’d do it better if you can make it on your own,” said Ida. “You will feel tempted to rebel if you are under a tough regimen in a sanatorium. And you should argue that.”

“I will, but she may not listen,” sighed Dorothy.

“Well, if she doesn’t, you are coming off it for you, not for her, so think of that when you want to rebel,” said Ida.

“I’ll try,” said Dorothy.

Alexander sighed. He hoped that the girl’s mother would not take the supposedly easy option of a sanatorium.

 

Then they were descending, and going through the heavy clouds to touch down on the runway at Croydon. Alexander waited until they were down, and collected his hand luggage, holding his guide book with his suitcase as if he had been flicking through it on board and made his way off the tarmac and into the airport building, flashing his passport, murmuring ‘nothing to declare.’ He was moving out front when he felt the gun in his ribs, and became aware there was a heavy on each side of him.

“Where is it?” asked the gun artist.

“Not here, obviously,” said Alexander, testily. “I was bloody lucky to get out, it’s been shut down so this is likely to be the last consignment.”

“That won’t please the boss,” said the gunman.

“Hardly my fault,” said Alexander. “Some nosy flatfoot stuck his big nose in while he was on holiday, and he called in the Quai d’Orsay. They rounded up everyone.”

“How did you get out?”

“Put it in condoms and swallowed them,” said Alexander. “I had a few nervous hours, I can tell you till I got the whole lot back. Not fun. I deserve a bonus for quick thinking and personal discomfort.”

“That’ll be up to the boss,” said the speaking part. “Where’s the stuff?”

“In the post,” said Alexander. “I mailed it to myself.”

“Why didn’t you mail it to the boss?”

“Oh, really, because he’d thank me if a parcel came in the post for him and he got nabbed because he’s being watched,” said Alexander.  “Besides, he might just forget to pay me if he had the stuff.  Tell Mr. Shearer I’ll be happy to meet him any time he wants to hand it over, and he’d better have a bonus for all my trouble. And I want a public place for a meet so he can’t have you lads gun me down and take it.”

“Where should he contact you?”

“Scotland Bloody Yard,” said Alexander, sarcastically. “I wasn’t born yesterday; tell him to put an ad in the ‘Times’ in the Lonely Hearts, for Swallow.”

“Right,” said the speaking part.

The gun withdrew and Alexander was alone.

He took the third taxi on the rank into the centre of Croydon, to the bus depot. He went to the lavatory, and shut himself in a stall, to see if he was followed in. The doors were wooden and full length, and he unlocked the door and stood behind it as he heard footsteps. The door was pushed slightly, and he heard the other stall opened too.

“He’s given us the slip,” grumbled the former speaking part of the duo who had accosted him.

“We’ll go watch the buses; he must be on one of them,” said the other. He had a rather high speaking voice, which was not intimidating. That explained why his partner did the talking.

Alexander slid out of the toilets and back out front. Here he took a taxi back to the airport, where the rest of his party were waiting.

“Having fun?” asked Ida.

“Yes, actually,” said Alexander. “I’ve got the chance at the collar of a lifetime.”

“Not Shearer?” asked Campbell.

“The very same,” said Alexander. “Let’s see Alma home on the way into Essex.”

 

oOoOo

 

“You’re looking very chipper, considering how busy I hear you’ve been,” said Superintendent Barrett, when Alexander turned up in the office next day.

“I’ve got a line on Harry Shearer,” said Alexander. “Sheer luck. Well, you know I played decoy for a dead man?”

“That sounds like a bad detective novel title,” said Barrett. ‘Decoy for a Dead Man,’ starring Rudolf Valentino as the suave detective, and Constance Talmadge as the femme fatale.”

“I’d go to see it to laugh at all they got wrong,” said Alexander. “A couple of heavies tried to hassle me, and I told them I’d had the stuff mailed to myself. I told them that Shearer owed me a bonus for personal risk and great ingenuity – the dead guy having died of opium when one of the condoms full that he swallowed decided to fail.  They didn’t blink when I mentioned Shearer by name, and I’m waiting for an ad in the personal columns of the ‘Times.’

“It’ll be hard to make it stick,” said Barrett. “Besides, Shearer knows you.”

“So long as it’s poky enough, I can pass as Paul Martin for long enough,” said Alexander. “I need to get him to agree that it’s opium he’s buying, and in quantity for dealing.”

“We’ll have to see if we can get a way to overhear the deal when you find out where it’s going down,” said Barrett.

 

oOoOo

 

 

The ad was in the times.

“One Swallow does not make a summer; all are going to the dogs. Enlightenment found at the White City[1], I am the way Rev. 1:4, Tim. 7:30” services Fridays

“The devil quoting scripture for his own purposes,” said Alexander, happily. He took the paper into Barrett’s office.

“Now you decipher all that claptrap for me which sounds like some religious nut job,” said Barrett.

“It’s quite clever, I thought, to make it look like a religious nut job,” said Alexander, mildly. “How is Alma? Has she recovered from the exigencies of the rather busy holiday yet?”

Barrett laughed.

“Alma is better than she has been for years. She rather enjoyed watching you at work, and the warmth has set her up wonderfully, thank you.”

“I’m glad of that.  I suspect she and Penelope Beauchamp will be keeping in touch too.”

“Well, I imagine Mrs. Beauchamp will be glad of a friend, there’s bad news waiting for her when she gets home, as she forgot to leave forwarding details,” said Barrett.

“Oh?” asked Alexander, mildly.

“Her husband had a heart attack and died, not long after she left.  Apparently she left a letter telling him she was leaving him for good, as she blamed him for their middle son’s suicide, and the butler thinks that this was what caused the heart attack. It was sudden and quick. He had got dressed after she left, and as the letter was on the nightstand, presumably found it there, when he was ready to go downstairs, and then had a heart attack on reading it.”

“Any autopsy?” asked Alexander.

“No, there was no suggestion of any reason for one, I only noted it as a family which had been of interest.”

“Good, best not to have more fuss made about it,” said Alexander, who decided not to speculate whether Penelope had managed to introduce an air embolism by syringe to her husband before she left, giving herself a near perfect alibi.

After all this time, it was unlikely that a small pin-prick would be found, anyway, even if it was in anyone’s interest to prosecute.

And he was an unpleasant man capable of having a heart attack in anger over being left. Alexander preferred to think that to be the case.

“As to the message, it is to ‘Swallow,’ which was the pseudonym I suggested, and I know illegal dog racing goes on at the old White City stadium,” he said. “‘Going to the dogs’ rather seems to confirm that. I am guessing that ‘I am the way Rev. 1:4’ is ‘Revolving Gate 14,’ nothing to do with the Book of Revelations; and we dial ‘T-I-M’ for the time, so as well as standing for the book ‘Timothy’ which should be specified as one or two Timothy, we have the time, 7:30.  And that’s pm, not am, obviously. He had to put ‘Friday’ in clear for services. The underworld has long used cyphers, codes, and rebuses.”

“Well, I trust you to work it out,” said Barrett. “Backup?”

“Yes, and if you can get a tout to carry a phonograph in exchange for being let off some small charge, we can get it on wax cylinder,” said Alexander. “I’m going to have to have some contraband opium oil to hand over.”

“Fine, we can arrange that,” said Barrett.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander went to some pains to dress as a Frenchman abroad; Harry Shearer would be alive to the differences in dress, and would note that first. The moustache in place, a nondescript wig, lightly waved with a Marcel wave, not the unruly curls of his own locks if permitted to grow, and a shade or two darker than his own brown locks, All in all he achieved the look an Englishman would consider ‘not quite the thing.’ He balked at the concept of the German blown glass lenses on his eyes to change the colour, and would rely on the dark and doubtless smoky atmosphere to hide the bright blue of his eyes.

He carried his guide to the pyramids, and a small box, tied with string.

The box contained a bottle with pure opium oil in it.

His destination was not far from the stadium of Queen’s Park Rangers at Loftus Road, where they had settled in the last year of the war, after having had twenty venues previously. Now, they were in the League, in the Third Division, South. Alexander enjoyed a match from time to time, and had followed QPR since having been to see a match of theirs as a small boy at Kensal Rise Athletic Ground, even though it seemed unlikely that they would ever rise in the league. Alexander was not such a devotee that he turned up every week of the season, regardless of the weather, but he attended the occasional match, and followed their fortunes.

 

There was a seediness about the old stadium, and people drifted into it with an air of furtiveness. It wasn’t illegal, per se, except on a Sunday, but nor was it legal, which is to say, it was organised by criminal gangs but hung in a legal limbo of unsanctioned yet not forbidden.

The stadium smelled. It stank of cigarette smoke of various kinds, pipe tobacco, cheap perfume and hair oil, stale beer, vomit, urine, sweat, and dogs.  It was a smell Alexander associated with criminal endeavour; whatever lengths criminals went to in order to make money, hiring cleaners was not one of them. Doubtless the lavatories provided were long since blocked, and the floors awash, even if most of the punters did not prefer to go where they had a good place to watch rather than miss any of the action. Alexander knew fine well that the habits of some of the clientele even in legal places of enjoyment left much to be desired, but legal places of enjoyment threw people out if caught, and hired people to clean up. He had only ever once sat down at an underground film theatre showing dirty movies. He had had to throw those trousers out. It had been an object lesson.

 

Alexander found gate 14 and exchanged a glance with a tout.

“Eh bien, I know nothing of racing dogs,” he said.

“You’ll enjoy yourself, squire,” said the tout. “’Ere, ʼow abaht a flutter on Copper, ʼere?”

“What’s the odds?” asked Alexander.

“Free ter one,” said the tout, and showed him the gramophone recorder in his stand.

“Fine, I’ll have a fiver on ‘Copper,’” said Alexander. “That’s better odds than usual.”

“Speak fer yerself,” said the tout.

Alexander laughed, and cast furtive eyes about for other bobbies, and for his quarry.

Several somewhat uncomfortable-looking men in unaccustomed flat hats stood about with newspapers and betting slips in hands.

And then Harry Shearer came in, suit a little too loud, patent leather shoes below spats, just a little too shiny. Alexander sidled over after the manner of an Arab street vendor. Paul Martin had been half Algerian, and it would have rubbed off.

“Patrone,” said Alexander. “Did they tell you how I saved your shipment?”

“Yes, and there are fifty notes in this envelope for my appreciation,” said Shearer. “You have it?”

“Twelve ounces of purest opium oil, less a bit of wastage from pouring back and forth,” said Alexander. “Some of it clung to the condoms.”

“Understood. And it is the purest?”

“Yes, effendi, the purest,” said Alexander. “Four degrees from dealer’s cut, eight from street cut.”

“And you swallowed it all in condoms?”

“They have new, fine, latex ones from America,” said Alexander.

“That could have been nasty if one had a hole in it,” said Shearer, with a coarse laugh. “A bit more of a sudden surprise than for a wench whose lover’s French letter had a hole in it, and a lot quicker, but more certainly deadly.”

“A calculated risk,” said Alexander.

“And this, you say, is the last opium?”

“Yes, effendi, the French police have shut down the supply, and the middle men, even those police who were on the payroll to look the other way.”

“And you got away?”

“Nobody looked inside me when they searched so they had to let me go.”

“It’s ingenious.  Go back and source a supply and send carriers, but have them put condoms double thick to carry it,” said Shearer. “I don’t want to risk losing consignments, nor having the police put wise to the method.’

“Yes, effendi,” said Alexander.

He caught the eye of one of the policemen, who produced a police whistle and blew it.

A pile of uniformed men burst in.

Shearer and his men gave up without a fight and were hustled out. Alexander retrieved the phonograph recorder.

“He won’t know a thing about your part in it,” he told the tout.

“Well sod off, I’m about to be busy… oh, and take your winnings,” he thrust four fivers at Alexander.

“Dine out on me,” said Alexander. “But don’t tell the story until Shearer’s away for a good long time.”

“I ain’t bleedin’ stupid,” said the tout.

 

Alexander was his normal spruce self when he got back to Scotland Yard, having stopped to change in his mews flat. He had played the phonograph while he did so, and was satisfied that the quality was good enough for court. Shearer had mentioned ‘opium’ as well as having agreed to take delivery of it.

It should be tied up right and tight.

 

“Having arrested Shearer with cause, we were able to raid his club,” said Barrett, happily. “It’s ongoing, but I had a call from Morrell. He has a lot of contraband we are interested in, and it should put him away for a long time.”

“Good; give Morrell the credit for the pinch. I’ll be anonymous in this; you have the recording.”

“Are you sure?”

“Morrell is a good cop. I don’t like him, but he’s hardworking and thorough, and has a touch of the nose when it counts.”

“Very well.”

 

oOoOo

 

Harry Shearer was swearing revenge, fairly futilely, as he was sentenced to life hard labour for various infractions on drug dealing, involuntary detention, slavery, and blackmail.

“And that,” said Alexander to Morrell, “Is a greater pick-me-up than a cruise.”

Morrell sniffed.

“Some cruise,” he said. “I heard you broke his dealership.”

“No, no, not me,” said Alexander. “I passed on a few things to the proper authorities, is all. I was on holiday; none of my business.”

“You don’t fool me,” said Morrell. “I was wrong about you; can we start over?”

“Hello, my name is Alexander,” said Alexander. “Friends call me Alex, and my mother still calls me ‘Bunny’ when she forgets. I used to woffle my nose when I was a baby.”

“Good to meet you, Alex; my name’s Jeffrey. I’ve never been called Jeff. I follow Queen’s Park Rangers.”

“You, too?  Tell you what, Jeff, let’s go take in a game one Saturday, and go and eat fish and chips out of the newspaper afterwards.”

“It’s a date,” said Jeff Morrell. “I promise never to call you ‘Bunny.’”

“If you do, I’ll never buy you a pint when we’re working together.”

 

---

[1] White City Greyhound track was established in 1926 at the old Olympic site, which fell into disuse by 1922, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was used illegally.

copper's cruise 21

 

 

Chapter 21 Internal Affairs

 

There were half a dozen other people flying to Marseilles with Alexander and his party, including Capitaine Maigret and his helpful constable, Lucas. They would go by airship, which was a more reliable way of crossing the Mediterranean than an aeroplane. And, reflected Alexander, considerably more comfortable.

“See that fellow there?” grunted Maigret, enjoying a pipe before they must embark. “That’s Paul Martin. I was convinced he was a part of the drugs ring, but when we searched him last night we found not a vestige of opium. He claimed he had come to taste the delights of exotic women, and he certainly had laid on a heap of the new American latex condoms to avoid disease.”

“He does not look well,” said Alexander. Martin was scratching himself, and looked as if he was about to faint.

“It must be a bout of malaria,” said another passenger, who overheard Alexander’s comment. “I will give him some quinine; I have some with me, I am a doctor.” He went over to speak to Martin, who snapped at him, but who then took a couple of tablets and drank them with some bottled water.

“And quinine can’t do any harm, anyway,” said Alexander.

The doctor was travelling with an assistant or servant, who went to sit in the steerage compartment with Lucas, Campbell, and Gladys, and the servants accompanying the grande dame and her listless but vapidly pretty daughter. The two young men who seemed to be travelling together without servants were enough to fill the ten seats of the first class compartment. One of them outflanked the grande dame as his companion jostled her, and managed to get himself into a seat beside the younger of the women, where there was a padded corner seat able to house several seated people. The grande dame huffed, and settled herself in a chair across a table from her daughter, perforce opposite Martin. Alexander was happy to shepherd his party further aft, nearer the curtain that divided off the servants and the tiny galley. The doctor had aided Martin to climb the mooring mast in order to embark.

“I confess, I am glad to be sitting down,” said Alexander. “My strength was sufficient to get here, but I’m glad it wasn’t any further.”

“Me, I am relieved that we shall have a warm cabin in this gondola, not the freezing cold of an aeroplane,” said Maigret. “We have cabins into which to withdraw, and I will be sharing a cabin with you, and your ladies in another. It will be a full day round to reach Marseilles, not as fast perhaps as an aeroplane, but infinitely more comfortable.”

“Indeed!” agreed Alexander. “You will not be able to smoke, though, for fear of the hydrogen.”

“No, but I will ‘dry smoke’ as you do on Basil Henderson’s pipe in his memory.”

“Now, fancy you remembering that,” said Alexander.

“I never forget anything about anyone I have met,” said Maigret. “Have you ever been by airship?”

“No, never, and it seems very comfortable; pleasant seats with little tables, and a good view out of the windows of the gondola,” said Alexander.  “I think Ida will be taking some aerial shots of the city with her camera as we depart.”

“This airship at least flies directly and will not be stopping off in Italy on the way, as some do,” said Maigret. “Italy should be in sight below us after the evening meal, and then, we wake up as it docks in Marseilles. Modern transport is marvellous, though I prefer the train where possible. It is often faster than an aeroplane, also.”

“I suspect that will change, with competition,” said Alexander. “Well, I have rested my legs, and have no desire to remain in a public area now, from the cessation of the banging, our luggage has been brought aboard, so I will go and sit quietly in our cabin.”

“They are like sleeper compartments in trains,” said Maigret. “One drops down an upper bunk for overnight; I will sleep above so you do not have to.”

“Good of you,” said Alexander. 

The cabins were very like train compartments which converted to be sleepers, and he wondered if the idea had been copied. It seemed sensible to use an idea which worked. Ida and Alma were next to them on one side; Campbell and Lucas on the other, which as Campbell was fluent enough in French was at least no hardship for Lucas. Gladys would be sharing with a maid travelling with the dowager and her daughter.  The other two maids were together. The doctor, it seemed, was happy to share with his man, the two young men had a compartment, and Martin was on his own.

Everyone dispersed by the time Egypt had become a smear on the skyline, except Martin, who seemed happy in a corner chair, sprawling over it as if he meant to sleep there.

 

 

Lunch time came, and Martin was still sprawled in his seat. The doctor bustled over to him.

“Leave me alone!” the voice was slurred, but positive. The doctor shrugged.

“He is not a well man,” he told the steward.

“He has been vomiting, sir,” said the steward. “I provided him with a bucket; he would not order a meal, and he will not let me put him to bed. I do not know quite what to do.”

“At least put up some kind of screen and open the window near him so the rest of us are not disturbed by the sight and smell of him,” said the dowager, sharply.

“Should we care for him?” asked Alexander.

“He is not my prisoner, and wants nothing to do with me,” said Maigret. “For once, it is not my affair. To have malaria and air sickness together is miserable, but I can tolerate his misery; he is one who, if he is not involved in one kind of criminality, is involved in another.”

A screen was rigged up by the crew, and Paul Martin left to his misery. One of the crew unlaced his shoes to put his feet up, providing him with a pillow, and a blanket. The gentle hum of the engines was enough to drown out some, at least, of the noises of his gastric misery.

“I still think he pulled a fast one on me,” grumbled Maigret. “We are short some of the opium, and I cannot otherwise account for it.”

“Never mind; just enjoy the trip,” said Alexander. “You dealt with most of it.”

 

One of the young men, since his friend was fixing his attentions with Mademoiselle Leda Lamarche, as the girl’s name turned out to be, turned his attentions to Ida.

“And is this your first time in an airship?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Ida. “You have put your hand on my arm. It will move, or my hatpin will draw blood.”

“What, surely you are not that unfriend…OW!”

“The lady said, get your hand off her,” said Alexander, as Ida stabbed the offending member.

“Nobody asked you,” said the young man, rudely.

“Alex, if he touches me again, please throw him overboard,” said Ida.

“Of course, my dear,” said Alexander, who had no intention of doing so, but knew when to sound dangerous.

 

Martin had not moved when dinner was served, but he seemed to have stopped vomiting and drifted into a fitful sleep.  He remained there as the passengers withdrew to their cabins for the night.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander was wakened by a knocking on his cabin door.

“M. le detective! M. le detective!” said a voice.

“Entrez,” said Alexander, as Maigret grunted the same thing. They sat, fuddled with sleep in their pyjamas as the night steward came in, wringing his hands.

“Which one is M. le detective?” he asked.

“Both of us,” said Maigret. “What is it?”

“M. Martin! He… he had a seizure… and he is dead!” said the man.

“Dead! Are you sure?” asked Alexander.

“I was in the war, I know dead,” said the steward.

“Yes, of course,” said Alexander. “My apologies.”

“He has voided himself, and the ladies…”

“We’ll help you get him to his cabin and you can clean up as best you may,” said Maigret. “I will take the responsibility for moving him.”

“Shall I rouse the doctor?” asked the steward.

“All he had came from the doctor,” said Maigret. “I am wondering if he was to be silenced.”

“Once he is in his cabin, we will make a brief examination, and we will eat breakfast early with the crew, and search the doctor’s cabin, and others, whilst the other passengers are at breakfast,” suggested Alexander.

“Yes, I concur,” said Maigret.

 

They helped take the body through to his cabin.

“I smell opium on him,” said Alexander. “It’s a distinctive smell though the overwhelming stench is of how he soiled himself. His neck is not broken, which I did wonder, whether any had silenced him whilst he was unwell. I think we should get Campbell and Lucas up to join us for early breakfast, and lend their aid searching cabins. I cannot see any of the servants being involved unless the dowager is a part of it.”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Maigret. “The captain must keep all in the dining room.”

 

oOoOo

 

Lucas and Campbell seemed to get on well together, and ate an early breakfast with the stoic manner of men used to take what meals they might when they might, in silence as Maigret explained.

“So, whose cabins shall we be searching?” asked Lucas.

“All, bar Madame Alma and Mademoiselle Ida,” said Maigret. “Just to be certain. If he has been killed to stop him talking, or for disposing of the drugs, there may be some sign. Or maybe he passed them off to someone which is why I could not find anything.”

“Or maybe he has come up with some new and ingenious hiding place,” said Alexander. “Which seems unlikely, as you are very thorough, but we have to consider it.”

“Yes, any man can make a mistake,” said Maigret.

They returned to their cabins to await the departure of the other passengers, and Alexander caught Ida to explain.

“That’s why it whiffs rather,” said Ida. “I did wonder.”

“I opened the window in his cabin, but it is… pungent,” said Alexander.

 

oOoOo

 

An hour later, and the searchers knew that the dowager’s daughter took cocaine, the two young men smoked reefers, and the doctor had a pharmacopeia sufficient to murder an elephant, but all in legal drugs and of the kind any doctor might have.

“His own cabin is left to be searched and we will see if you did overlook anything,” said Alexander. “He must be very cunning.”

“I even looked in the lavatory tank,” said Maigret. “I could swear I caught a whiff of attar of roses in there, but nothing. There was broken glass a servant was sweeping up, and if it was the bottles containing opium disguised as perfume bottles, the damned servant was too efficient and got away before I could stop him. I checked every bottle the fellow had with him and sniffed his cologne, his aftershave, everything, but no opium.”

They opened the door of the dead man’s cabin, and Alexander took an involuntary step back.

“Maigret, we’ve already moved him, and broken protocol, and the stink is pervasive. So long as we preserve the clothing, perhaps the airline will let us have a slops bucket, we could strip and wash him – this is a health hazard. As we descend towards Marseilles, the flies will come thick and fast.”

“I will go ask for a slop bucket,” said Maigret.

 

Armed with a hotel-sized enamel slop bucket, the two began to strip Martin.

It was slow work, avoiding becoming contaminated by vomit or faeces, but they folded each piece of clothing meticulously to put in the bucket.

“Maigret, stop!” Alexander called. “What is that in his underwear?”

“A turd, most likely,” said Maigret. “No, parbleu! You are right, it is some foreign object.”

Alexander grimaced, and retrieved the object, taking it to the passenger toilet to wash off. He returned, somewhat cleansed, and took it back to Maigret.

“Now we know what he did with the latex condoms,” he said. “He put the oil of opium in them, tied them up like balloons, and swallowed them. This one has passed through, but I suspect one burst inside him. What we thought was malaria was opium poisoning. And he was not murdered, but essentially killed himself.”

“Death by misadventure,” said Maigret. “But as he is dead, alas, we cannot know to whom he was to deliver this haul.”

“Perhaps the answer will be in what tickets he has booked,” said Alexander.

“Yes; if he has no more, we might look for those who seek him in Marseilles,” said Maigret. “I am learning a lot from you.”

“I am not always conventional,” said Alex.  “I work a lot on the way men think, rather than strictly by the book. I am a bad example to you.”

“But no! this way seems reasonable,” said Maigret.

The tickets were interesting.

“You will have to wire to your superiors,” said Alexander. “If I am to complete this case where I have jurisdiction, at Croydon, then any ceremony must be very fast, and at the Gare du Nord.”

“I will tell them,” said Maigret. “How can they but admire such dedication!”

“And let the locals take care of his body and removing any other containers,” said Alexander.

 

Maigret went to make calls from the captain’s cabin, and Alexander locked up, and went to join Alma and Ida. On a moment’s impulse, he picked up a bright guide to the monuments near Cairo which was folded in Martin’s overcoat pocket, and slipped it into his own cabin on the way to the dining room. Martin was not the sort to keep guides to antiquities.

The dowager stared at him through her lourgnettes whilst her daughter fidgeted with a napkin, her leg jigging under the table. The old woman ignored her daughter and sneered at Alexander.

“So, have they let you out? I suppose it is a lack of evidence. I knew you were a criminal type when I first saw you.”

Alexander stared for a moment, and then threw back his head and laughed and laughed.

Maigret came out of the forward compartments, and stared.

“But what is the joke?” he asked.

Ida was giggling too much, and Alma managed to get her whoops under control.

“Madam there,” she indicated “Thinks she knew he was a criminal when she first saw him.”

“Ah, Madame, you will all dine out on this one day,” said Maigret. “Madame la baronne does not recognise the famous English aristocrat detective, perhaps?” he said to the dowager.

She flinched back as if slapped.

“My apologies,” she said, icily to Alexander.

“Oh, my thanks for a good laugh on a day with very little that is funny about it,” said Alexander. “We weren’t looking for your daugher’s… self-medication… but you should, perhaps be careful if you are going on to Croydon. The customs officials will not be so understanding.”

“Dorothy! Did you bring that filth with you?” snapped the woman, in English.

“Everyone does it, mater,” said the girl, trying to sound bored, but actually sounding petulant.

“Perhaps, mademoiselle, you would like to view the body of M. Paul Martin, who died because everyone does it,” said Alexander. “He died in agony, voiding himself, unromantic, ugly, and with his face twisted into a rictus of eternal agony because the overdose wracked him with terrible spasms, and his heart burst open in his death-throes. It’s a mug’s game, miss, in the more common vernacular.”

The vapid flapper looked shocked and scared.

“Throw it all away, mummy,” she said. “I don’t think I can. I… I want it now.”

“Ah, but you have the strength to get over it,” said Alexander.

“I was tricked into addiction,” said Ida. “It is so hard at social gatherings to refuse, is it not? But I took up painting to cope with it. And I am free.”

“I c-c-can do it,” said Dorothy.

“I’ll help you get started on the way home,” said Ida. “And your Mama will get you a nurse to be with you, one who will play chess or card games, or something else to keep your hands and your thoughts occupied.”

 

The airship had come in over the city, and was attached to the tower.  A number of gendarmes were waiting, but permitted the passengers to disembark first. Maigret stopped to talk to them.

Ida was helping Dorothy down the tower; having not been permitted back to the cabin to take a dose after breakfast, her withdrawal was evident.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked one of the gendarmes.

“She is overcome with sensibility having seen the nasty little man’s body,” said Ida, smoothly. “It has made her quite nauseous, and I assure you, when you go up to remove it, the stench will make you nauseous too, so do not put on a superior smile. When you fight not to vomit, I will be far away on the train, and I will spare a thought for you and your misery, and how the Calvados you drank last night sits like the bottom of a parrot cage, and your head pounds with crapulous misery because you chased it down with a rum toddy.”

The man stared at her in horror that she could recognise the signs of his queasiness.

 

The old baroness did not linger, and when they embarked on the train, she engaged a whole carriage for herself, her daughter, and Alexander’s party so that Ida could help.  It was a miserable journey for Dorothy, but by the time they reached Paris, she was through the worst.

“It’ll be a few more weeks,” said Ida. “Get through it a day at a time. Remember that every day is a victory, and that by summer, you will be able to wear lovely sleeveless frocks, because the tracks will be starting to fade. And you will have more energy to play tennis, and dance, and flirt. And if that unsuitable young man who tried to monopolise you was procuring it for you, he is not a friend.”

“Just a passing ship in the night; I did not know him,” said Dorothy.

They parted company, and Maigret hustled Alexander into an office where the impromptu ceremony to award him with a medal went without a hitch; and Alexander endured being kissed on each cheek.

Then, official cars took them to Le Bourget to embark upon the aircraft for Croydon