“Don’t hesitate,” said Corndell.
Chapter Thirty-one
The atmosphere at the theatre was still grave when Paul Price met them at the stage door. “Do you have any idea when I can reopen?” he asked, testily.
“Shouldn’t be too long, Mr Price,” replied Gardener. “We do have a few more people to interview.”
Price’s expression showed his irritation. “So, you’re not here to tell me it’s business as usual?”
“No, we’re here to see Mr Fettle.”
“You do realise how much this is costing me, don’t you?”
“Not as much as Leonard White,” replied Garde
ner.
“Have you made any headway catching the lunatic responsible?”
“It is a murder investigation.” Gardener turned to glance down the street. “And I would rather not discuss it on the doorstep, if you don’t mind.”
Paul Price stepped to one side, allowing them down the stairs to where Fettle kept himself hidden. “Two policemen to see you, Fettle. Though I can’t think why.”
“I asked ’em,” replied Fettle, once again invisible to the naked eye. When it became obvious that no one was going to speak until Price left, he grunted and did so, adding that he could be found in his office if needed.
“He’s like a bear with a sore head. You’ve really upset him,” said Fettle, when he finally appeared.
“He’s the least of our worries,” replied Reilly.
“You’ve not found him yet, then? Anyway, best come in and have a pot of tea.”
“Tea is the last thing we need, Mr Fettle,” replied Gardener.
“I’m sure it is, but it’ll do for starters.” Fettle drew them in and poured the tea from a recently boiled kettle. He then threw a book on the table, opened to a page which contained the photograph of a man Gardener had asked him about on a previous visit.
“Inspector Burke of Scotland Yard,” Fettle proudly announced. “You asked me if I knew him last time you were here.”
When Gardener realised he had been holding his breath, he still didn’t speak, but turned to the front cover of the book. It was an old issue of Film Review. “Where did you get this?”
“I’ve had ’em years. Been in that cupboard yonder.” Fettle pointed, but neither man bothered to see where.
“So, which film does the photograph come from?” asked Gardener.
“London After Midnight,” replied Fettle.
“And what do you know about the film other than Inspector Burke?”
Fettle sat down and sipped his tea. “It’s a bit of a classic, maybe the most famous of all the lost films.”
Gardener suddenly thought back to what Corndell had told him about collecting lost films, wondering if he had it. More to the point, what hadn’t Corndell told them? Had it been a cryptic clue, like those found with the bodies? He realised he was ahead of himself. Perhaps a lack of evidence on the case had forced him into thinking irrationally. “Go on.”
“It’s commonly known as the Holy Grail of archivists and film collectors throughout the world.” Fettle picked up a scrap of paper. “The last known record of the film existing was in the 1950s. According to what I’ve found out, an MGM vault inventory from 1955 shows the print being stored in Vault 7. In the 1960s there was a fire in Vault 7, destroying the last surviving print.”
Reilly whistled through his teeth.
“What makes it so rare and collectible?” asked Gardener, intrigued.
“Quite a lot of things, I should imagine. It was at the top of MGM’s hit parade for 1927-28.”