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Chapter 18
Snatching the brown leather bag from James Carter, Rene de Pont pushed him out of the way and headed for the door. He opened it to see Huntly-Smythe leading the charge closely followed by others who, he guessed, were plain clothes policemen.
De Pont slammed the door and dashed over to the bookcase. As he tilted a couple of tomes forward the book case divided to reveal a dusty, dimly lit staircase which he mounted at speed, closely followed by Emile and the screaming Harriet Wells.
Huntly-Smythe burst through the office door with Inspector Cosgrove hot on his heels. James Carter pointed to the exposed hidden staircase. “Inspector, they went up there.”
“Right! You!” Cosgrove barked at Huntly-Smythe. “Where do they lead to?”
Huntly-Smythe hesitated for a moment. “We're on the top floor, so it can only lead to the roof.”
Cosgrove turned to his men who had now joined him. “Right lads, follow me!”
The winter sun had long set, the only light now coming from the full moon. In blind panic, De Pont ran across the roof and peered over the edge, hoping the workmen engaged in building maintenance had left their cradle there overnight. No such luck. He was trapped, his only hope of escape compromised.
Seconds later, Cosgrove and his men were on the scene.
Slowly, Cosgrove walked towards the now cornered De Pont, Emile and the squirming Harriet. “Come on now, it’s all over, let the lady go.” Cosgrove ordered.
“One step closer Inspector and I will slit her throat,” Emile threatened.
Watching from the side-lines, Huntly-Smythe, James and Agatha, held their breath as Cosgrove stopped in his tracks, gesturing to his men to do the same.
De Pont's mind was in overdrive, he had the diary and a hostage, so the cards were now stacked in his favour. “Ah, James... how is your sister-in-law bearing up under the pressure?" He mocked.
With clenched fists, James Carter was just about to launch himself at de Pont, when Agatha grabbed his arm.
“Phoebe was such great company at the Richardson’s drink party. Very easy to talk too, very open about her husband’s work in Egypt. I tried to make Thomas Carter an offer he couldn’t refuse, but he wouldn’t sell me his diary. It’s hard to corrupt a man when money is not his god!”
“So, you had him killed!” shouted Agatha.
De Pont laughed, “A little too premature, as it happened, I should have waited until I had the diary. Quick thinking of Thomas to post it to his brother.”
“How did you get the scorpion to sting Thomas on the hand?” asked Agatha.
“You are a remarkable woman Edith Cavandish, very observant!”
“Christie, Agatha Christie!”
“Very well, Agatha Christie. At the last meeting in my office I had Emile drug Thomas. Then when he was unconscious, I gave one of my lethal children a special treat... a very clean, murder weapon too sophisticated for the police to detect.”
“And you used one of your own unrecorded sarcophaguses to cover up the body. But I still don't understand why turn out all his pockets?"
Emile laughed,"Never know what valuables he may have been carrying!"
Then, de Pont peered into the moon-lit night. “Is that you Huntly-Smythe?”
“I knew you were trading on the black market, but couldn’t prove it until Agatha Christie came posing as Edith Cavandish. When I couldn’t find the sarcophagus in the journal, I then started to make connections. You signed for a casket last month whose excavation had not been logged in either Cairo or the British Consulate.
Once I solved that mystery, I started to dig deeper. Further investigation revealed that it was you who bribed the Fleet Street journalists to keep the story of the Fifth Beetle out of the papers
“So, haven't we all been busy sticking our noses into other people's business.” De Pont remarked, before glancing across at the adjacent clock tower, as it chimed nine. Time was getting late.
“Well gentleman, I’d like to spend the whole night talking but we must be going.”
De Pont and Emile started to move away from the edge of the roof. As Emile relaxed his hold around Harriet’s throat, she seized the opportunity to escape, running the, sharp heel of her shoe down Emile's shin, before stamping hard on his foot.
“Whore!” He yelled.
With him hopping on one foot, Harriet elbowed her kidnapper in the chest. Emile went down gasping. Now released from his grip, Harriet ran towards James.
On seeing his man was down, de Pont reached inside his coat pocket. James pushed Harriet to one side as he caught a sight of gun metal. Before de Pont had time to shoot, James drew his old army service revolver, aimed it at de Pont and pulled the trigger.
The left side of de Pont’s head exploded into a cloud of red mist. The momentum of the shot pushed him closer to the edge. Seeing de Pont stumbling, Emile scrambled to his feet and tried to reach out for the leather bag. However, he didn’t see the loose roof tile and tripped. Emile Martinus lost his balance and grabbing hold of his dying employer tumbled over the edge. Both of them smashing onto the pavement below.
© Alice White
De Pont slammed the door and dashed over to the bookcase. As he tilted a couple of tomes forward the book case divided to reveal a dusty, dimly lit staircase which he mounted at speed, closely followed by Emile and the screaming Harriet Wells.
Huntly-Smythe burst through the office door with Inspector Cosgrove hot on his heels. James Carter pointed to the exposed hidden staircase. “Inspector, they went up there.”
“Right! You!” Cosgrove barked at Huntly-Smythe. “Where do they lead to?”
Huntly-Smythe hesitated for a moment. “We're on the top floor, so it can only lead to the roof.”
Cosgrove turned to his men who had now joined him. “Right lads, follow me!”
The winter sun had long set, the only light now coming from the full moon. In blind panic, De Pont ran across the roof and peered over the edge, hoping the workmen engaged in building maintenance had left their cradle there overnight. No such luck. He was trapped, his only hope of escape compromised.
Seconds later, Cosgrove and his men were on the scene.
Slowly, Cosgrove walked towards the now cornered De Pont, Emile and the squirming Harriet. “Come on now, it’s all over, let the lady go.” Cosgrove ordered.
“One step closer Inspector and I will slit her throat,” Emile threatened.
Watching from the side-lines, Huntly-Smythe, James and Agatha, held their breath as Cosgrove stopped in his tracks, gesturing to his men to do the same.
De Pont's mind was in overdrive, he had the diary and a hostage, so the cards were now stacked in his favour. “Ah, James... how is your sister-in-law bearing up under the pressure?" He mocked.
With clenched fists, James Carter was just about to launch himself at de Pont, when Agatha grabbed his arm.
“Phoebe was such great company at the Richardson’s drink party. Very easy to talk too, very open about her husband’s work in Egypt. I tried to make Thomas Carter an offer he couldn’t refuse, but he wouldn’t sell me his diary. It’s hard to corrupt a man when money is not his god!”
“So, you had him killed!” shouted Agatha.
De Pont laughed, “A little too premature, as it happened, I should have waited until I had the diary. Quick thinking of Thomas to post it to his brother.”
“How did you get the scorpion to sting Thomas on the hand?” asked Agatha.
“You are a remarkable woman Edith Cavandish, very observant!”
“Christie, Agatha Christie!”
“Very well, Agatha Christie. At the last meeting in my office I had Emile drug Thomas. Then when he was unconscious, I gave one of my lethal children a special treat... a very clean, murder weapon too sophisticated for the police to detect.”
“And you used one of your own unrecorded sarcophaguses to cover up the body. But I still don't understand why turn out all his pockets?"
Emile laughed,"Never know what valuables he may have been carrying!"
Then, de Pont peered into the moon-lit night. “Is that you Huntly-Smythe?”
“I knew you were trading on the black market, but couldn’t prove it until Agatha Christie came posing as Edith Cavandish. When I couldn’t find the sarcophagus in the journal, I then started to make connections. You signed for a casket last month whose excavation had not been logged in either Cairo or the British Consulate.
Once I solved that mystery, I started to dig deeper. Further investigation revealed that it was you who bribed the Fleet Street journalists to keep the story of the Fifth Beetle out of the papers
“So, haven't we all been busy sticking our noses into other people's business.” De Pont remarked, before glancing across at the adjacent clock tower, as it chimed nine. Time was getting late.
“Well gentleman, I’d like to spend the whole night talking but we must be going.”
De Pont and Emile started to move away from the edge of the roof. As Emile relaxed his hold around Harriet’s throat, she seized the opportunity to escape, running the, sharp heel of her shoe down Emile's shin, before stamping hard on his foot.
“Whore!” He yelled.
With him hopping on one foot, Harriet elbowed her kidnapper in the chest. Emile went down gasping. Now released from his grip, Harriet ran towards James.
On seeing his man was down, de Pont reached inside his coat pocket. James pushed Harriet to one side as he caught a sight of gun metal. Before de Pont had time to shoot, James drew his old army service revolver, aimed it at de Pont and pulled the trigger.
The left side of de Pont’s head exploded into a cloud of red mist. The momentum of the shot pushed him closer to the edge. Seeing de Pont stumbling, Emile scrambled to his feet and tried to reach out for the leather bag. However, he didn’t see the loose roof tile and tripped. Emile Martinus lost his balance and grabbing hold of his dying employer tumbled over the edge. Both of them smashing onto the pavement below.
© Alice White
