Lady Sybil Crotin was not a popular woman. She was conscious that she had married beneath her--more conscious lately that there had been no necessity to make the marriage, and she had grown a little soured. She could never mix with the homely wives of local millionaires; she professed a horror of the vulgarities with which she was surrounded, hated and loathed her lord and master's flamboyant home, which she described as something between a feudal castle and a picture-palace; and openly despised her husband's friends and their feminine relatives.
She made a point of spending at least six months of the year away from Yorkshire, and came back with protest at her lot written visibly upon her face.
A thin, angular woman, with pale green eyes and straight, tight lips, she had never been beautiful, but five or six years in an uncongenial environment had hardened and wasted her. That her husband adored her and never spoke of her save in a tone of awe was common property and a favourite subject for local humour. That she regarded him with contempt and irritation was as well known.
In view of Lady Sybil Crotin's unpopularity, it was perhaps a great mistake that she should make herself responsible for the raising of funds for the local women's hospital. But she was under the impression that there was a magic in her name and station which would overcome what she described as shyness, but which was in point of fact the frank dislike of her neighbours. A subscription list that she had opened had a weak and unpromising appearance. She had with the greatest difficulty secured help for the bazaar, and knew, even though it had been opened by a duchess, that it was a failure, even from the very first day.
Had she herself made a generous contribution to the bazaar fund, there might have been a hope; but she was mean, and the big, bleak hall she had chosen as the venue because of its cheapness was unsuitable for the entertainment she sponsored.
On the afternoon of the second day, Lady Sybil was pulling on her gloves, eyeing her husband with an unfriendly gaze as he sat at lunch.
It was no more than I expected, she said bitterly. "I was a fool ever to start the thing--this is the last time I ever attempt to help local charities."
Mr. Crotin rubbed his bald head in perplexity.
They'll come, he said hopefully, referring to the patrons whose absence was the cause of Lady Sybil's annoyance. "They'll come when they hear what a fine show it is. And if they don't, Syb, I'll come along and spend a couple of hundred pounds myself."
You'll do no such thing, she snapped; "and please get out of that ridiculous habit of reducing my name to one syllable. If the people of the town can't help to support their own hospital, then they don't deserve to have one, and I'm certainly not going to allow you to waste our money on that sort of nonsense."
Have your own way, love, said Mr. Crotin meekly.
Besides, she said, "it would be all over the town that it was your money which was coming in, and these horrid people would be laughing at me."
She finished buttoning her gloves and was looking at him curiously.
What is the matter with you, John? she asked suddenly, and he almost jumped.
With me, love? he said with a brave attempt at a smile. "Why, there's nothing the matter with me. What should there be?"
You've been very strange lately, she said, "ever since you came back from London."
I think I ate something that disagreed with my digestion, he said uneasily. "I didn't know that I'd been different."
Are things well at your--factory? she asked.
At mills? Oh, aye, they're all right, he said. "I wish everything was as right as them."
As they, she corrected.
As they, said the humble Mr. Crotin.
There's something wrong, she said, and shook her head, and Mr. Crotin found himself going white. "I'll have a talk with you when I've got this wretched bazaar business out of my head," she added, and with a little nod she left him.
He walked to the window of the long dining-hall and watched her car disappearing down the drive, and then with a sigh went back to his _entremets_.
When Colonel Dan Boundary surmised that this unfortunate victim of his blackmail would be worried, he was not far from the mark. Crotin had spent many sleepless nights since he came back from London, nights full of terror, that left him a wreck to meet the fears of the days which followed. He lived all the time in the shadow of vengeful justice and exaggerated his danger to an incredible degree; perhaps it was in anticipating what his wife would say that he experienced the most poignant misery.
He had taken to secret drinking too; little nips at odd intervals, both in his room and in his private office. Life had lost its savour, and now a new agony was added to the knowledge that his wife had detected the change. He went to his office and spent a gloomy afternoon wandering about the mills, and came back an hour before his usual time. He had not the heart to make a call at the bazaar, and speculated unhappily upon the proceeds of the afternoon session.
It was therefore with something like pleasure that he heard his wife on the telephone speaking more cheerfully than he had heard her for months.
Is that you, John? she was almost civil. "I'm bringing somebody home to dinner. Will you tell Phillips?"
That's right, love, said Mr. Crotin eagerly.
He would be glad to see some new face, and that it was a new face he could guess by the interest in Lady Sybil's tone.
It is a Mr. de Silva. Have you ever met him?
No, love, I've not. Is he a foreigner?
He's a Portuguese gentleman, said his wife's voice; "and he has been most helpful and most generous."
Bring him along, said Crotin heartily. "I'll be glad to meet him. How has the sale been, love?"
Very good indeed, she replied; "splendid, in fact--thanks to Mr. de Silva."
John Crotin was dressing when his wife returned, and it was not until half an hour later that he met Pinto Silva for the first time. Pinto was a man who dressed well and looked well. John Crotin thought he was the most impressive personality he had met, when he stalked into the drawing-room and took the proffered hand of the mill-owner.
This is Mr. de Silva, said his wife, who had been waiting for her guest. "As I told you, John, Mr. de Silva has been awfully kind. I don't know what you're going to do with all those perfectly useless things you've bought," she added to the polished Portuguese, and Pinto shrugged.
Give them away, he said; "there must, for example, be a lot of poor women in the country who would be glad of the linen I have bought."
At this point dinner was announced and he took Lady Sybil in. The meal was approaching its end when she revived the question of the disposal of his purchases.
Are you greatly interested in charities, Mr. de Silva?
Pinto inclined his head.
Both here and in Portugal I take a very deep interest in the welfare of the poor, he said solemnly.
That's fine, said Mr. Crotin, nodding approvingly. "I know what these poor people have to suffer. I've been amongst them----"
His wife silenced him with a look.
It frequently happens that cases are brought to my notice, Pinto went on, "and I have one or two cases of women in my mind where these purchases of mine would be most welcome. For example," he said, "I heard the other day, quite by accident, of a poor woman in Wales whose husband deserted her."
Mr. Crotin had his fork half-way to his mouth, but put it down again.
I don't know much about the case personally, said Pinto carelessly, "but the circumstances were brought to my notice by a friend. I think these people suffer more than we imagine; and I'll let you into a secret, Lady Sybil," he said, speaking impressively. He did not look at Crotin, but went on: "A few of my friends are thinking of buying a mill."
A woollen mill? she said, raising her eyebrows.
A woollen mill! he repeated.
But why? she asked.
We wish to make garments and blankets for the benefit of the poor. We feel that, if we could run this sort of thing on a co-operative basis, we could manufacture the stuff cheaply, always providing, of course, that we could purchase a mill at a reasonable figure.
For the first time he looked at Crotin, and the man's face was ghastly white.
What a queer idea! said Lady Sybil. "A good mill will cost you a lot of money."
We don't think so, said Pinto. "In fact, we expect to purchase a very excellent mill at a reasonable sum. That was my object in coming to Yorkshire, I may tell you, and it was only by accident that I saw the advertisement of your bazaar and called in."
A fortunate accident for me, said Lady Sybil.
Crotin's eyes were on his plate, and he did not raise them.
I think it is a great mistake to be too generous with the poor, said Lady Sybil, shaking her head. "These women are very seldom grateful."
I realise that, said Pinto gravely. "But I am not seeking their gratitude. We find that many of these women are in terrible circumstances owing to no fault of their own. For example, this woman in Wales, whose husband is supposed to have deserted her--now, there is a bad case."
Lady Sybil was interested.
We found on investigation, said Pinto, speaking slowly and impressively, "that the man who deserted her has since married and occupies a very important position in a town in the north of England."
Mr. Crotin dropped his knife with a crash and with a mumbled apology picked it up.
But how terrible! said Lady Sybil. "What a shocking thing! The man should be exposed. He is not fit to associate with human beings. Can't you do something to punish him?"
That could be done, said Silva, "it could be done, but it would bring a great deal of unhappiness to his present wife, who is ignorant of her husband's treachery."
Better she should know now than later, said the militant Lady Sybil. "I think you do very wrong to keep it from her."
Mr. Crotin rose unsteadily and his wife looked at him with suspicion.
Aren't you feeling well, John? she asked with asperity.
It was not the first time she had seen her husband's hand shaking and had diagnosed the cause more justly than she was doing at present, for John Crotin had scarcely taken a drink that evening.
I'm going into the library, if you'll excuse me, love, he said. "Maybe, Mr.--Mr. de Silva will join me. I'd--I'd like to talk over the question of that mill with him."
Pinto nodded.
Then run along now, said Lady Sybil, "and when you've finished talking, come back to me, Mr. de Silva. I want to know something about your charitable organisations in Portugal."
Pinto followed the other at a distance, saw him enter a big room and switch on the lights and followed, closing the door behind him.
Mr. Crotin's library was the most comfortable room in the house. It was lighted by French windows which opened on to a small terrace. Long red velvet curtains were drawn, and a little fire crackled on the hearth.
When the door closed Crotin turned upon his guest.
Now, damn you, he said harshly, "what's thy proposition? Make it a reasonable sum and I'll pay thee."
In the train which had carried Pinto Silva to Huddersfield were one or two remarkable passengers, and it was not a coincidence that they did not meet. In a third-class carriage at the far end of the train was a soldier who carried a kit-bag and who whiled away the journey by reading a seemingly endless collection of magazines.
He got out at Huddersfield too, and Pinto might and probably did see him as he passed through the barrier. The soldier left his kit-bag at the cloak-room and eventually became one of the two dozen people who patronised Lady Sybil's bazaar on that afternoon. He passed Pinto twice, and once made a small purchase at the same stall where the Portuguese was buying lavishly. If Pinto saw him, then he did not remember the fact. One soldier looks very much like another, anyway.
Lady Sybil had reason to notice the representative of His Majesty's forces, and herself informed him severely that smoking was not allowed, and the man had put his cigarette under his heel with an apology and had walked out of the building. When Lady Sybil and her guest had entered her car and were driven away to Mill Hall, the soldier had been loitering near the entrance, and a few minutes later he was following the party in a taxi-cab which had been waiting at his order for the past two hours.
The taxi did not turn in at the stone-pillared gates of the Hall, but continued some distance beyond, when the soldier alighted and, turning back, walked boldly through the main entrance and passed up the drive. It was dusk by now, and nobody challenged him.
He made a reconnaissance of the house and found the dining-room without any difficulty. The blinds were up and the servants were setting the table. Then he passed round to the wing of the building and discovered the library. He actually went into that room, because it was one of Lady Sybil's standing orders that the library should be "aired" and that the scent of Mr. Crotin's atrocious tobacco should be cleared.
He sniffed the stale fragrance and was satisfied that this was a room which was lived in.
If there was any real, confidential talk between the two men, it would be here, he thought, and looked round for a likely place of concealment. The room was innocent of cupboards. Only a big settee drawn diagonally across a corner of the room promised cover, and that looked too dangerous. If anybody sat there and by chance dropped something--a pipe or an ash-tray----
He walked back to the terrace to take his bearings in case he had to make a rapid exit. He looked round and then dropped suddenly to the cover of the balustrade, for he had seen a dark figure moving across the lawn, and it was coming straight for the terrace. He slipped back into the room and as he did so he heard a step in the passage without. He stepped lightly over to the settee and crouched down.
It was evidently a servant, for he heard the French windows closed and the clang of the shutters. They were evidently very ordinary folding-shutters, fastened with an old-fashioned steel bar--he made a mental note of this. Then he heard the swish of the curtain-rings upon the brass pole as the curtains were drawn. A dim light was switched on, somebody poked the fire, and then the light was put out and the door closed softly.
The intruder did some rapid thinking. He crossed to the nearest of the windows, noiselessly opened the shutters and pushed them back to the position in which they stood when not in use. Then he unlatched the window and left it, hoping that it would not blow open and betray him. This done, he again pulled the heavy curtains across and returned to his place of concealment. That was to be the way out for him if the necessity for a rapid retreat should arise.
There was no sound save the ticking of the clock and the noise of falling cinders for ten minutes, and then he heard something which brought him to the alert, all his senses awakened and concentrated. It was the sound of a light and stealthy footstep on the terrace outside. He wondered whether it was a servant and whether he would see that one of the windows was unshuttered. He had half a mind to investigate, when there came another sound--a lumbering foot in the passage. Suddenly the door was opened, the lights were flashed on, and the man behind the settee hugged the floor and held his breath.
* * * * *
How much do I want?
Pinto laughed and lit a cigarette.
My dear Mr. Crotin, I really don't know what you mean.
Let's have no more foolery, said the Yorkshireman roughly. "I know that you've come up from Colonel Boundary and I know what you've come for. You want to buy my mill, eh? Well, I'll make it worth your while not to buy my mill. You can take the money instead."
I really am honest when I tell you that I don't understand what you are talking about. I have certainly come up to buy a mill--that is true. It is also true that I want to buy your mill.
And what might you be thinking of paying for it? asked Crotin between his teeth.
Twenty thousand pounds, said Pinto nonchalantly.
Twenty thousand, eh? It was thirty thousand the last time. You'll want me to give it to you soon. Nay, nay, my friend, I'll pay, but not in mills.
Think of the poor, murmured Pinto.
I'm thinking of them, said the other. "I'm thinking of the poor woman in Wales, too, and the poor woman in there." He jerked his head. Then, in a calmer tone: "I guessed at dinner where you came from. Colonel Boundary sent you."
Pinto shrugged.
Let us mention no names, he said politely. "And who is Colonel Boundary, anyway?"
Crotin was at his desk now. He had taken out his cheque-book and slapped it down upon the writing-pad.
You've got me proper, he said, and his voice quavered. "I'll make an offer to you. I'll give you fifty thousand pounds if you write an agreement that you will not molest or bother me again."
There was a silence, and the soldier crouched behind the settee, listening intently. He heard Pinto laugh softly as one who is greatly amused.
That, my good friend, said Pinto, "would be blackmail. You don't imagine that I would be guilty of such an iniquity? I know nothing about your past; I merely suggest that you should sell me one of your mills at a reasonable price."
Twenty thousand pounds is reasonable for you, I suppose, said Crotin sarcastically.
It is a lot of money, replied Pinto.
The Yorkshireman pulled open the drawer of his desk and slammed in the cheque-book, closing it with a bang.
Well, I'll give you nothing, he said, "neither mill nor money. You can clear out of here."
He crossed the room to the telephone.
What are you going to do? asked Pinto, secretly alarmed.
I'm going to send for the police, said the other grimly. "I'm going to give myself up and I'm going to pinch thee too!"
If Crotin had turned the handle of the old-fashioned telephone, if he had continued in his resolution, if he had shown no sign of doubt, a different story might have been told. But with his hand raised, he hesitated, and Pinto clinched his argument.
Why have all that trouble? he said. "Your liberty and reputation are much more to you than a mill. You're a rich man. Your wife is wealthy in her own right. You have enough to live on for the rest of your life. Why make trouble?"
The little man dropped his head with a groan and walked wearily back to the desk.
Suppose I sell this? he said in a low voice. "How do I know you won't come again----"
When a gentleman gives his word of honour, began Pinto with dignity, but was interrupted by a shrill laugh that made his blood run cold.
He swung round with an oath. Framed in an opening of the curtains which covered one of the windows was the Figure!
The black silk gown, the white masked face, the soft felt hat pulled down over the eyes--his teeth chattered at the sight of it, and he fell back against the wall.
Who wouldn't trust Pinto? squeaked the voice. "Who wouldn't take Pinto's word of honour? Jack o' Judgment wouldn't, poor old Jack o' Judgment!"
Jack o' Judgment! The soldier behind the settee heard the words and gasped. Without any thought of consequence he raised his head and looked. The Jack o' Judgment was standing where he expected him to be. He had come through the window which the soldier had left unbarred. This time he carried no weapon in his hand, and Pinto was quick to see the possibilities. The electric switch was within reach, and his hand shot out. There was a click and the room went dark.
But the figure of Jack o' Judgment was silhouetted against the night, and Pinto whipped out the long knife which never left him and sent it hurtling at his enemy. He saw the figure duck, heard the crash of broken glass, and then Jack o' Judgment vanished. In a rage which was three parts terror, he sprang through the open French windows on to the terrace in time to see a dark figure drop over the balustrade and fly across the park.
Pinto leapt the parapet and was following swiftly in its wake. He guessed rather than knew that for once Jack o' Judgment had come unarmed, and a wild exultation filled him at the thought that it was left to him to unveil the mystery which was weighing even upon the iron nerve of the colonel.
The figure gained the shrubbery, and the pursuer heard the rustle of leaves as it plunged into the depths. In a second he was blundering after. He lost sight of his quarry and stopped to listen. There was no sound.
Hiding, grunted Pinto. And then aloud: "Come out of it. I see you and I'll shoot you like a dog if you don't come to me!"
There was no reply. He dashed in the direction he thought Jack o' Judgment must have taken and again missed. With a curse he turned off in another direction and then suddenly glimpsed a shape before him and leapt at it. He was flung back with little or no effort, and stood bewildered, for the coat his hand had touched was rough and he had felt metal buttons.
A soldier! he gasped. "Who are you?"
Steady, said the other; "don't get rattled, Pinto."
Who are you? asked Pinto again.
My name is Stafford King, said the soldier, "and I think I shall want you."
Pinto half turned to go, but was gripped.
You can go back to Huddersfield and pack your boxes, said Stafford King. "You won't leave the town except by my permission."
What do you mean? demanded Pinto, breathing heavily.
I mean, said Stafford King, "that the unfortunate man you tried to blackmail must prosecute whatever be the consequence to himself. Now, Pinto, you've a grand chance of turning King's evidence."
Pinto made no reply. He was collecting his thoughts. Then, after a while, he said:
I'll talk about that later, King. I'm staying at the Huddersfield Arms. I'll meet you there in an hour.
Stafford King did not move until the sound of Pinto's footsteps had died away. Then he began a systematic search, for he too was anxious to end the mystery of Jack o' Judgment. He had followed Pinto when he dashed from the room and had heard the Portuguese calling upon Jack o' Judgment to surrender. That mysterious individual, who was obviously lying low, could not be very far away.
He was in a shrubbery which proved later to be a clump of rhododendrons, in the centre of which was a summer-house. To the heart of this shrubbery led three paths, one of which Stafford discovered quite close at hand. The sound of gravel under his feet gave him an idea, and he began walking backward till he came to the shadow of a tree, and then, simulating the sound of retreating footsteps, he waited.
After a while he heard a rustle, but did not move.
Somebody was coming cautiously through the bushes, and that somebody appeared as a shadowy, indistinct figure, not twenty yards away. Only the keenest eyesight could have detected it, and still Stafford waited. Presently he heard the soft crunch of gravel under its feet, and at that moment leapt towards it. The figure stood as though paralysed for a second, and then, turning quickly, fled back to the heart of the bushes. Before it had gone a dozen paces Stafford had reached it, and his arm was about its neck.
My friend, he breathed, "I don't know what I'm to do with you now I've got you, but I certainly am going to register your face for future reference."
No, no, said a muffled voice from behind the mask. "No, no, don't; I beg of you!"
But the mask was plucked away, and, fumbling in his pocket, Stafford produced his electric lamp and flashed it on the face of his prisoner. Then, with a cry of amazement, he stepped back--for he had looked upon the face of Maisie White!
For a moment there was silence, neither speaking. Then Stafford found his voice.
Maisie! he said in bewilderment, "Maisie! You--Jack o' Judgment?"
She did not answer.
Phew! whistled Stafford.
Then sitting on a trunk, he laughed.
It is Maisie, of all people in the world. And I suspected it, too!
The girl had covered her face with her hands and was crying softly, and he moved towards her and put his arm about her shoulder.
Darling, it is nothing very terrible. Please don't go on like that.
Oh, you don't understand, you don't understand! she wailed. "I wanted to catch Silva. I guessed that he was coming north on one of his blackmailing trips, and I followed him."
Did you come up by the same train?
He felt her nod.
So did I, said Stafford with a little grin.
I followed him to the bazaar, she said, "and then I watched him from a little eating-house on the opposite side of the road. Do you know, I wondered whether you were here too, and I looked everywhere for you, but apparently there was nobody in sight when Pinto came out with Lady Sybil, only a soldier."
I was that soldier, said Stafford.
I discovered where Mr. Crotin lived and came up later, she went on. "Of course, I had no very clear idea of what I was going to do, and it was only by the greatest luck that I found the window of the library open. It was the only window that was open," she said with a little laugh.
It wasn't so much your luck as my forethought, smiled Stafford.
Now I want to tell you about Jack o' Judgment, she began, but he stopped her.
Let that explanation wait, he said; "the point is, that with your evidence and mine we have Pinto by the throat--what was that?"
There was the sound of a shot.
Probably a poacher, said Stafford after a moment. "I can't imagine Pinto using a gun. Besides, I don't think he carries one. What did he throw at you?"
A knife, she said, and he felt her shiver; "it just missed me. But tell me, how have we got Pinto?"
They had left the shrubbery and were walking towards the house. She stopped a little while to take off her long black cloak, and he saw that she was wearing a short-skirted dress beneath.
We must compel Crotin to prosecute, said Stafford. "With our evidence nothing can save Pinto, and probably he will drag in the colonel, too. Even your evidence isn't necessary," he said after a moment's thought, "and if it's possible I will keep you out of it."
A woman's scream interrupted him.
There's trouble there, he said, and raced for the house. Somebody was standing on the terrace as he approached, and hailed him excitedly.
Is that you, Terence?
It was a servant's voice.
No, replied Stafford, "I am a police officer."
Thank God! said the man on the terrace. "Will you come up, sir? I thought it was the gamekeeper I was speaking to."
What is the matter? asked Stafford as he vaulted over the parapet.
Mr. Crotin has shot himself, sir, said the butler in quavering tones.
* * * * *
Twelve hours later Stafford King reported to his chief, giving the details of the overnight tragedy.
Poor fellow! said Sir Stanley. "I was afraid of it ending that way."
Did you know he was being blackmailed? asked Stafford.
Sir Stanley nodded.
We had a report, which apparently emanated from Jack o' Judgment, who of late has started sending his communications to me direct, said Sir Stanley. "You can, of course, do nothing with Pinto. Your evidence isn't sufficient. What a pity you hadn't a second witness." He thought for a moment. "Even then it wouldn't have been sufficient unless we had Crotin to support you."
Stafford cleared his throat.
I have a second witness, sir, he said.
The devil you have! Sir Stanley raised his eyebrows. "Who was your second witness?"
Jack o' Judgment, said Stafford, and Sir Stanley jumped to his feet.
Jack o' Judgment! he repeated. "What do you mean?"
Jack o' Judgment was there, said Stafford, and told the story of the remarkable appearance of that mysterious figure.
He told everything, reserving the identification of Jack till the last.
And then you flashed the lamp on his face, said Sir Stanley. "Well, who was it?"
Maisie White, said Stafford.
Good Lord!
Sir Stanley walked to the window and stood looking out, his hands thrust into his pockets. Presently he turned.
There's a bigger mystery here than I suspected, he said. "Have you asked Miss White for an explanation?"
Stafford shook his head.
I thought it best to report the matter to you, sir, before I asked her to----
To incriminate herself, eh? Well, perhaps you did wisely, perhaps you did not. I should imagine that her explanation is a very simple one.
What do you mean, sir?
I mean, said Sir Stanley, "that unless Jack o' Judgment has the gift of appearing in two places at once, she is not Jack."
But I don't understand, sir?
I mean, said Sir Stanley, "that Jack o' Judgment was in the colonel's room last night, was in fact sitting by the colonel's bedside when that gentleman awoke, and according to the statement which Colonel Boundary has made to me about two hours ago in this room, warned him of his approaching end."
It was Stafford's turn to be astonished.
Are you sure, sir? he asked incredulously.
Absolutely! said Sir Stanley. "You don't imagine that the colonel would invent that sort of thing. For some reason or other, possibly to keep close to the trouble that's coming, the colonel insists upon bringing all his little chit-chat to me. He asked for an interview about ten o'clock this morning and reported to me that he had had this visitation. Moreover, the experience has had the effect of upsetting the colonel, and for the first time he seems to be thoroughly rattled. Where is Miss White?"
She's here, sir.
Here, eh? said the commissioner. "So much the better. Can you bring her in?"
A few minutes later the girl sat facing the First Commissioner.
Now, Miss White, we're going to ask you for a few facts about your masquerade, said Sir Stanley kindly. "I understand that you appeared wearing the costume, and giving a fairly good imitation of the voice of Jack o' Judgment. Now, I'm telling you before we go any further that I do not believe for one moment that you are Jack o' Judgment. Am I right?"
She nodded.
Perfectly true, Sir Stanley, she said. "I don't know why I did such a mad thing, except that I knew Pinto was scared of him. I got the cloak from my dress-basket and made the mask myself. You see, I didn't know whether I might want it, but I thought that in a tight pinch, if I wished to terrify this man, that was the role to assume."
Sir Stanley nodded.
And the voice, of course, was easy.
But how could you imitate the voice if you have never seen Jack o' Judgment?
I saw him once. She shivered a little. "You seem to forget, Sir Stanley, that he rescued me from that dreadful house."
Of course, said Sir Stanley, "and you imitated him, did you?" He turned to his subordinate. "I'm accepting Miss White's explanation, Stafford, and I advise you to do the same. She went up to watch Silva, as I understand, and took the costume with her as a sort of protection. Well, Miss White, are you satisfied with your detective work?"
She smiled ruefully.
I'm afraid I'm a failure as a detective, she said.
I'm afraid you are, laughed Sir Stanley, as he rose and offered his hand. "There is only one real detective in the world--and that is Jack o' Judgment!"
If Pinto Silva had a hobby, it was the Orpheum Theatre. The Orpheum had been in low water and had come into the market at a moment when theatrical managers and proprietors were singularly unenterprising and money was short. Pinto had bought the property for a song, and had converted his purchase into a moderate success. The theatre served a double purpose; it provided Pinto with a hobby, and offered an excuse for his wealth. Since it was a one-man show, and he produced no balance-sheet, his contemporaries could only make a guess as to the amount of money he made. If the truth be told, it was not very large, but small as it was, its dividends more or less justified his own leisure.
There had been one or two scandals about the Orpheum which had reached the public Press--scandals of a not particularly edifying character. But Pinto had managed to escape public opprobrium.
The Orpheum, at any rate, helped to baffle the police, who saw Silva living at the rate of twenty thousand a year, and were unable to trace the source of his income. That he had estates in Portugal was known; but they had been acquired, apparently, on the profits of the music-hall. He was not a speculator, though he was a shareholder in a number of companies which were controlled by the colonel; and he was certainly not a gambler, in the generally accepted sense of the term.
Whilst he was suspected of being intimately connected with several shady transactions, he could boast truly that there was not a scrap of evidence to associate him with any breach of the law. He was less inclined to boast that evening, when he turned into the stage-box at the Orpheum, and pulling his chair into the shadow of the draperies, sat back and considered his position. He had returned from Yorkshire in a panic, and had met the fury of the colonel's reproaches. It was the worst quarter of an hour that Pinto had ever spent with his superior, and the memory made him shiver.
The stage-box at the Orpheum was never sold to any member of the public. It was Pinto's private possession, his sitting-room and his office. He sat watching with gloomy interest the progress of the little revue which was a feature of the Orpheum programme, and his mind was occupied by a very pressing problem. He was shaken, too, by the interview he had had with the Huddersfield police.
He had had to fake a story to explain why he left the library, and why, in his absence, Mr. Crotin had committed suicide. Fortunately, he had returned to the house by the front hall and was in the hall inventing a story of burglars to the agitated Lady Sybil when they heard the shot which ended the wretched life of the bigamist. That had saved him from being suspected of actual complicity in the crime. Suppose they had--he sweated at the thought.
There was a knock on the door of the box, and an attendant put in his head.
There's a gentleman to see you, sir, he said; "he says he has an appointment."
What is his name?
Mr. Cartwright.
Pinto nodded.
Show him in, please, he said, and dismissed all unpleasant thoughts.
The new-comer proved to be a dapper little man, with a weather-beaten face. He was in evening dress, and spoke like a gentleman.
I had your letter, Mr. Silva, he said. "You received my telephone message?"
Yes, said Silva. "I wanted to see you particularly. You understand that what I say is wholly confidential."
That I understand, said the man called Cartwright.
He took Pinto's proferred cigarette and lit it.
I have been reading about you in the papers, said Pinto. "You're the man who did the non-stop flight for the Western Aeroplane Company?"
That's right, smiled Cartwright. "I have done many long nights. I suppose you are referring to my San Sebastian trip?"
Pinto nodded.
Now I want to ask you a few questions, and if they seem to be prying or personal, you must believe that I have no other wish than to secure information which is vital to myself. What position do you occupy with the Western Company?
Cartwright shrugged his shoulders.
I am a pilot, he said. "If you mean, am I a director of the firm or am I interested in the company financially, I regret that I must answer No. I wish I were," he added, "but I am merely an employee."
Pinto nodded.
That is what I wanted to know, he said. "Now, here is another question. What does a first-class aeroplane cost?"
It depends, said the other. "A long distance machine, such as I have been flying, would cost anything up to five thousand pounds."
Could you buy one? Are they on the market? asked Pinto quickly.
I could buy a dozen to-morrow, said the other promptly. "The R.A.F. have been selling off their machines, and I know just where I could get one of the best in Britain."
Pinto was looking at the stage, biting his lips thoughtfully.
I'll tell you what I want, he said. "I am not very keenly interested in aviation, but it may be necessary that I should return to Portugal in a great hurry. It is no news to you that we Portuguese are generally in the throes of some revolution or other."
So I understand, said Cartwright, with a twinkle in his eye.
In those circumstances, Pinto went on, "it may be necessary for me to leave this country without going through the formality of securing a passport. I want a machine which will carry me from London to, say, Cintra, without a stop, and I want a pilot who can take me across the sea by the direct route."
Across the Bay of Biscay? asked the aviator in surprise, and Pinto nodded.
I should not want to touch any other country en route, for reasons which, I tell you frankly, are political.
Cartwright thought a moment.
Yes, I think I can get you the machine, and I'm certain I can find you the pilot, he said.
To put it bluntly, said Pinto, "would you take on an engagement for twelve months, secure the machine, house it and have it ready for me? I will pay you liberally." He mentioned a sum which satisfied the airman. "It must not be known that the machine is mine. You must buy it and keep it in your own name."
There's no difficulty about that, said Cartwright. "Am I to understand that I must go ahead with the purchase of the aeroplane?"
You can start right away, said Pinto. "The sooner you have the machine ready for a flight the better. I am here almost every night, and I will give orders to the collectors on the barrier that you are to come to me just whenever you want. If you will meet me here to-morrow morning, say at eleven o'clock, I can give you cash for the purchase of the machine, and I shall be happy to pay you half a year's salary in advance."
It will take some time to clear my old job, said Cartwright thoughtfully, "but I think I can do it for you. At any rate, I can get time off to buy the machine. You say that you do not want anybody to know that it is yours?"
Pinto nodded.
Well, that's easy, said the other. "I've been thinking about buying a machine of my own for some time and have made inquiries in several quarters."
He rose to leave and shook hands.
Remember, said Pinto as a final warning, "not a word about this to any human soul."
You can trust me, said the man.
Pinto watched the rest of the play with a lighter heart. After all, there could be nothing very much to fear. What had thrown him off his balance for the moment was the presence of Stafford King in Yorkshire, and when that detective chief did not make his appearance at the police inquiry nor had sought him in his hotel, it looked as though the colonel's words were true, and that Scotland Yard were after Boundary himself and none other.
He sat the performance through and then went to his club--an institution off Pall Mall which had been quite satisfied to accept Pinto to membership without making any too close inquiries as to his antecedents.
He spent some time before the tape machine, watching the news tick forth, then strolled into the smoking-room and read the evening papers for the second time. Only one item of news really interested him--it had interested the colonel too. The diamondsmiths' premises in Regent Street had been burgled the night before and the contents of the safe cleared. The colonel had arrested his flow of vituperation, to speculate as to the "artist" who had carried out this neat job.
Pinto read for a little, then threw the paper down. He wondered what made him so restive and why he was so anxious to find something to occupy his attention, and then he realised with a start that he did not want to go back to face Colonel Boundary. It was the first time he had ever experienced this sensation, and he did not like it. He had held his place in the gang by the assurance, which was also an assumption, that he was at least the colonel's equal. This irritated him. He put on his overcoat and turned into the street. It was a chilly night and a thin drizzle of rain was falling. He pulled up his coat-collar and looked about for a taxi-cab. Neither outside the club nor in Pall Mall was one visible.
He started to walk home, but still felt that disinclination to face the colonel. Then a thought struck him; he would go and see Phillopolis, the little Greek.
Phillopolis patronised a night-club in Soho, where he was usually to be found between midnight and two in the morning. Having an objective, Pinto felt in a happier frame of mine and walked briskly the intervening distance. He found his man sitting at a little marble-topped table by himself, contemplating a half-bottle of sweet champagne and a half-filled glass. He was evidently deep in thought, and started violently when Pinto addressed him.
Sit down, he said with evident relief. "I thought it was----"
Who did you think it was? You thought it was the police, I suppose? said Pinto with heavy jocularity, and to his amazement he saw the little man wince.
What has happened to Colonel Boundary? asked the Greek irritably. "There used to be a time when anybody he spoke for was safe. I'm getting out of this country and I'm getting out quick," he added.
Why? asked Pinto, who was vitally interested.
The Greek threw out his hands with a little grimace.
Nerves, he said. "I haven't got over that affair with the White girl."
Pooh! said the other. "If the police were moving in that matter, they'd have moved long ago. You are worrying yourself unnecessarily, Phillopolis."
Pinto's words slipped glibly from his tongue, but Phillopolis was unimpressed.
I know when I've had enough, he said. "I've got my passport and I'm clearing out at the end of this week."
Does the colonel know this?
The Greek raised his shoulders indifferently.
I don't know whether he does or whether he doesn't, he said. "Anyway, Boundary and I are only remotely connected in business, and my movements are no affair of his."
He looked curiously at the other.
I wonder that a man like you, who is in the heart of things, stays on when the net is drawing round the old man.
Loyalty is a vice with me, said Pinto virtuously. "Besides, there's no reason to bolt--as yet."
I'm going whilst I'm safe, said Phillopolis, sipping his champagne. "At present the police have nothing against me and I'm going to take good care they have nothing. That's where I've the advantage of people like you."
Pinto smiled.
They've nothing on me, he said easily. "I have an absolutely clean record."
It disturbed him, however, to discover that even so minor a member of the gang as Phillopolis was preparing to desert what he evidently regarded as a sinking ship. More than this, it confirmed him in the wisdom of his own precautions, and he was rather glad that he had taken it into his head to visit Phillopolis on that night.
When do you leave? he asked.
The day after to-morrow, said Phillopolis. "I think I'll go down into Italy for a year. I've made enough money now to live without worrying about work, and I mean to enjoy myself."
Pinto looked at the man with interest. Here, at any rate, was one without a conscience. The knowledge that he had accumulated his fortune through the miseries of innocent girls shipped to foreign dance halls did not weigh greatly upon his mind.
Lucky you! said Pinto, as they walked out of the club together. "Where do you live, by the way?"
In Somers Street, Soho. It is just round the corner, said Phillopolis. "Will you walk there with me?"
Pinto hesitated.
Yes, I will, he said.
He wanted to see the sort of establishment which Phillopolis maintained. They chatted together till they came to the street, and then Phillopolis stopped.
Do you mind if I go ahead? he said. "I have a--friend there who might be worried by your coming."
Pinto smiled to himself.
Certainly, he said. "I'll wait on the opposite side of the road until you are ready."
The man lived above a big furniture shop, and admission was gained by a side door. Pinto watched him pass through the portals and heard the door close. He was a long time gone, and evidently his "friend" was unprepared to receive visitors at that hour, or else Phillopolis himself had some reason for postponing the invitation.
The reason for the delay was explained in a sensational manner. Suddenly the door opened and a man came out. He was followed by two others and between them was Phillopolis, and the street-lamp shone upon the steel handcuffs on his wrists. Pinto drew back into a doorway and watched. Phillopolis was talking--it would perhaps be more accurate to say that he was raving at the top of his voice, cursing and sobbing in a frenzy.
You planted them--it is a plant! he yelled. "You devils!"
Are you coming quietly? said a voice. "Or are you going to make trouble? Take him, Dempsey!"
Phillopolis seemed to have forgotten Pinto's presence, for he went out of the street without once calling upon him to testify to his character and innocence. Pinto waited till he was gone, and then strolled across the road to the detective who stood before the door lighting his pipe.
Good evening, he said, "has there been some trouble?"
The officer looked at him suspiciously. But Pinto was in evening dress and talked like a gentleman, and the policeman thawed.
Nothing very serious, sir, he said, "except for the man. He's a fence."
A what? said Pinto with well-feigned innocence.
A receiver of stolen property. We found his lodgings full of stuff.
Good Heavens! gasped Pinto.
Yes, sir, said the man, delighted that he had created a sensation. "I never saw so much valuable property in one room in my life. There was a big burglary in Regent Street last night. A jeweller's shop was cleared out of about twenty thousand pounds' worth of necklaces, and we found every bit of it here to-night. We've always suspected this man," he went on confidentially. "Nobody knew how he got his living, but from information we received to-day we were able to catch him red-handed."
Thank you, said Pinto faintly, and walked slowly home, for now he no longer feared to meet the colonel. He had something to tell him, something that would inspire even Boundary with apprehension.
As Silva anticipated, the colonel was up and waiting for him. He was playing Patience on his desk and looked up with a scowl as the Portuguese entered.
So you've been skulking, have you, Pinto? he began, but the other interrupted him.
You can keep all that talk for another time, he said. "They've taken Phillopolis!"
The colonel swept his cards aside with a quick, nervous gesture.
Taken Phillopolis? he repeated slowly. "On what charge?"
For being the receiver of stolen property, said the other. "They found the proceeds of the Regent Street burglary in his apartments."
The colonel opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, and there was silence for two or three minutes.
I see. They have planted the stuff on him, have they?
What do you mean? asked Pinto.
You don't suppose that Phillopolis is a fence, do you? said the colonel scornfully. "Why, it is a business that a man must spend the whole of his life at before he can be successful. No, Phillopolis knows no more about that burglary or the jewels than you or I. The stuff has been planted in his rooms."
But the police don't do that sort of thing.
Who said the police did it? snarled the colonel. "Of course they didn't. They haven't the sense. That's Mr. Jack o' Judgment once more, and this time, Pinto, he's real dangerous."
Jack o' Judgment! gasped Pinto. "But would he commit a burglary?"
The colonel laughed scornfully.
Would he commit murder? Would he hang Raoul? Would he shoot you? Don't ask such damn-fool questions, Silva! Of course it was Jack o' Judgment. I tell you, the night you were in Yorkshire making a mess of that Crotin business, Jack o' Judgment came here, to this very room, and told me that he would ruin us one by one, and that he would leave me to the last. He mentioned us all--you, Crewe, Selby----
He stopped suddenly and scratched his chin.
But not Lollie Marsh, he said. "That's queer, he never mentioned Lollie Marsh!"
He was deep in thought for a few moments, then he went on:
So he's worked off Phillopolis, has he? Well, Phillopolis has got to take his medicine. I can do nothing for him.
But surely he can prove---- began Pinto.
What can he prove? asked the other. "Can he prove how he earns his money? He's been taken with the goods; he hasn't that chance," he snapped his fingers. "I'll make a prophecy," he said: "Phillopolis will get five years' penal servitude, and nothing in the world can save him from that."
An innocent man! said Pinto in amazement. "Impossible!"
But is he innocent? asked the colonel sourly. "That's the point you've got to keep in your mind. He may be innocent of one kind of crookedness, and be so mixed up in another that he cannot prove he is innocent of either. That's where they've got this fellow. He dare not appeal to the people who know him best, because they'd give him away. He can't tell the police who are his agents in Greece or Armenia, or they'll find out just the kind of agency he was running."
He squatted back in his chair, pulling at his long moustache.
Phillopolis, Crewe, Pinto, Selby, and then me, said he, speaking to himself, "and he never mentioned Lollie Marsh. And Lollie has been the decoy duck that has been in every hunt we've had. This wants looking into, Pinto."
As he finished speaking there was a little buzz from the corner of the room and Pinto looked up startled. The colonel looked up too and a slow smile dawned on his face.
A visitor, he said softly. "Not our old friend Jack o' Judgment, surely!"
What is it? asked Pinto.
A little alarm I've had fixed under one of the treads of the stairs, said the other. "I don't like to be taken unawares."
Perhaps it is Crewe, suggested the other.
Crewe's gone home an hour ago, said the colonel. "No, this is a genuine visitor."
They waited for some time and then there was a knock at the outer door.
Open it, Pinto, and as the other did not instantly move, "open it, damn you! What are you afraid of?"
I'm not afraid of anything, growled the Portuguese and flung out of the room.
Yet he hesitated again before he turned the handle of the outer door. He flung it open and stepped back. He would have gone farther, but the wall was at his back and he could only stand with open mouth staring at the visitor. It was Maisie White.
She returned his gaze steadily.
I want to see Colonel Boundary, she said.
Certainly, certainly, said Pinto huskily.
He shut the door and ushered her into the colonel's presence. Boundary's eyes narrowed as he saw the girl. He suspected a trap and looked past her as though expecting to see an escort behind her.
This is an unexpected honour, Miss White, he said suavely, and he looked meaningly at the clock on the mantelpiece. "We do not usually receive visitors so late, and especially charming lady visitors."
She was carrying a thick package, and this she laid on the table.
I'm sorry it is so late, she said calmly, "but I have been all the evening checking my father's accounts. This is yours."
She handed the package to the colonel.
That parcel contains banknotes to the value of twenty-seven thousand three hundred pounds, said the girl quietly; "it represents what remains of the money which my father drew from your gang."
Tainted money, eh? said the colonel humorously. "I think you're very foolish, Miss White. Your father earned this money by legitimate business enterprises."
I know all about them, she said. "I won't ask you to count the notes, because it is only a question of getting the money off my own conscience, and the amount really doesn't matter."
So you came here alone to make this act of reparation? sneered the colonel.
I came here to make this act of reparation, she replied steadily.
Not alone, eh? Surrounded entirely by police. Mr. Stafford King in the offing, waiting outside in a taxi, or probably waiting on the mat, said the colonel in the same tone. "Well, well, you're quite safe with us, Miss White."
He took up the package and tore off the wrapping, revealing two wads of banknotes, and ran his finger along the edges.
And how are you going to live? he asked.
By working, said the girl; "that's a strange way of earning a living, don't you think, colonel?"
You'll never work harder than I have worked, said Colonel Dan Boundary good-humouredly. And, looking down at the money: "So that's Solly White's share, is it? And I suppose it doesn't include the house he bought, or the car?"
I've sold everything, said the girl quietly; "every piece of property he owned has been realised, and that is the proceeds."
With a little nod she was withdrawing, but Pinto barred her way.
One moment, Miss White, he said, and there was a dangerous glint in his eye, "if you choose to come here alone in the middle of the night----"
The colonel stepped between them, and he swept the Portuguese backwards. Without a word he opened the door.
Good night, Miss White, he said. "My kind regards to Mr. Stafford King, who I suppose is somewhere on the premises, and to all the bright lads of the Criminal Intelligence Department who are at this moment watching the house."
She smiled, but did not take his proffered hand.
Good-bye, she said.
The colonel accompanied her to the outer door and switched on all the stair lights, as he could from the master-switch near the entrance to his flat, and waited until the echo of her footsteps had passed away before he came back to the man.
You're a clever fellow, you are, Pinto, he said quietly; "you have one of the brightest minds in the gang."
If she comes here alone---- began Pinto.
Alone! snarled the colonel. "I hinted a dozen times, if I hinted once, that she'd come with a young army of police. The first shout she made would have been the signal for your arrest and mine. Haven't you had your lesson to-night? How long do you think it would take Stafford King to trump up a charge against you and put you where the dogs wouldn't bite, eh?"
He walked to the window and watched the girl. There was a taxi-cab waiting at the entrance, and as he had suspected, a man was standing by the door and followed the girl into the cab before it drove away.
She timed her visit. I suppose she gave herself five minutes. If she'd been here any longer, they would have been up for her, make no mistake about that, Pinto.
The colonel drew down the blinds with a crash and began pacing the room. He stopped at the farther end and looked at the wall.
Do you know, I've often wondered why Jack o' Judgment damaged that wall? he said. "He's got me guessing, and I've been guessing ever since."
You thought it was a freak? said Pinto, glad to keep his master off the subject of his Huddersfield blunder.
The colonel shook his head.
I shouldn't think it was that, he said. "It was not like Jack o' Judgment to do freakish things. He has an object in everything he does."
Perhaps it was to get you out of the room for the morning and make a search for your papers, suggested Pinto.
Again the colonel shook his head.
He knows me better than that. He knew very well that I would shift every document from the room and that there was nothing for his bloodhounds to discover. He thought a moment, pulling at his long, yellow moustache. "Maybe," he said to himself, "maybe----"
Maybe what? asked Pinto.
The workmen may have been up to some kind of dodge. They might have been policemen for all I know. He shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway, that's long ago, and if he'd made a discovery, why, I think we should have heard about it. Now, Pinto,"--his tone changed--"I'm not going to talk to you about Crotin. You've made a proper mess of it, and I ought never to have sent you. We have two matters to settle. Crewe wants to get out, and I think you're getting ready to bolt."
Me? said Pinto with virtuous indignation. "Do you imagine I should leave you, colonel, if you were in for a bad time?"
Do I imagine it? The colonel laughed. "Don't be a fool. Sit down. When did you see Lollie Marsh last?"
Pinto considered.
I haven't seen her for weeks.
Neither have I, said the colonel. "Of course she has an excuse for staying away. She never comes unless she's sent for. If we've got a mug we want to lead down the easy path, why, there's nobody in London who can do it like Lollie. And I understand you had some disagreement with the young lady over Maisie White?"
She interfered---- began Pinto.
And probably saved your life, remarked the colonel meaningly. "No, you have no kick against Lollie for that."
He pulled open the drawer of his desk, took out a card and wrote rapidly.
I'll put Snakit on her trail, he said.
Snakit! said the other contemptuously.
He's all right for this kind of work, said the colonel, alluding to the little detective whom he had bought over from Maisie White's service. "Snakit can trail her. He does nothing for his keep, and Lollie doesn't know him, does she?"
I don't think so, said Pinto absently. "If you believe that Lollie is double-crossing you, why don't you----"
I'll write to you when I want any suggestions as to how to run my business, said the colonel unpleasantly. "Where does Lollie live?"
Tavistock Avenue, said Pinto. "I wish you'd be a little more decent to me, colonel. I'm trying to play the game by you."
And you'll soon get tired of trying, said the colonel. "Don't worry, Pinto. I know just how much I can depend upon you and just what your loyalty is worth. You'll sell me at the first opportunity, and you'll be dead about the same day. I only hope for your sake that the opportunity never arises. That's that," he said, as he finished the card and put it on one side. "Now what is the next thing?" He looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. "Crewe," he said, "Crewe is getting out of hand too. I put him on a job to trace 'Snow' Gregory's past. I haven't seen or heard of him for two days, either."
Somebody laughed. It was a queer, little far-away laugh, but Pinto recognised it and his hair almost stood on end. He looked across at the colonel with ashen face, and then swung round apprehensively toward the door.
Did you hear that? he whispered.
I heard it--thank the lord! said the colonel, and fetched a long sigh.
Pinto gazed at him in amazement.
Why, he said in a low voice, "that was Jack o' Judgment!"
I know, said the colonel nodding; "but I still thank the lord!"
He got up slowly and walked round the room, opened the door that led to his bedroom, and put on the light. The room was empty, and the only cupboard which might have concealed an intruder was wide open. He came back, walked into the entrance hall, and opened the door softly. The landing was empty too. He returned after fastening the door and slipping the bolts--bolts which he had had fixed during the previous week.
You wonder why I held a thanksgiving service? said the colonel slowly. "Well, I've heard that laugh before, and I thought my brain was going--that's all. I'd rather it were Jack o' Judgment in the flesh than Jack o' Judgment wandering loose around my hut."
You heard it before? said Pinto. "Here?"
Here in this room, said the colonel. "I thought I was going daft. You're the first person who has heard it besides myself." He looked at Pinto. "A hell of a prospect, isn't it?" he said gloomily. "Let's talk about the weather!"
There was no hope for Phillopolis from the first. The case against him was so clear and so damning that the magistrate, before whom the preliminary inquiry was heard, had no hesitation in committing him to take his trial at the Old Bailey on a charge of receiving, and that at the first hearing. Every article which had been stolen from the diamondsmiths' company had been recovered in his flat. The police experts gave evidence to the effect that he had been a suspected man for years, that his method of earning a living had on several occasions been the subject of police inquiry. He was known to be, so the evidence ran, the associate of criminal characters, and on two occasions his flat had been privately raided.
The woman who passed as his wife had nothing good to say of him. It was not she who had admitted the police. Indeed, they found her in an upper room, locked in. Phillopolis was something of a tyrant, and on the day of his arrest he had had a quarrel with the woman, who had threatened to expose him to the police for some breach of the law. He had beaten her and locked her into an upper bedroom, and this act of tyranny had proved his downfall, if it were true, as he swore so vehemently that the articles which were found in his room had been planted there.
The colonel was not present, nor were any other members of the gang, save little Selby, who had been summoned to the colonel's presence and had arrived in the early morning.
He hasn't a ghost of a chance, reported Selby, who had a lifelong acquaintance with criminals of the meaner sort, and had spent no small amount of his time in police courts, securing evidence as to the virtue of his proteges. "If he doesn't get ten years I'm a Dutchman."
What does Phillopolis say?
He swears that the goods were not in his flat when he went out that night, he said, "but if they were planted, the work was done thoroughly. The detectives found jewel cases under cushions, hidden in cupboards, on the tops of shelves, and one of the best bits of swag--a wonderful diamond necklace--was discovered in his boot, at the bottom of his trunk."
The conversation took place in the Green Park, which was a favourite haunt of the colonel's. He loved to sit on a chair by the side of the lake, watching the children sailing their boats and the ducks mothering their broods. He was silent. His eyes were bent upon the efforts of a small boy to bring a little waterlogged boat to a level keel and apparently he had no other interest.
Have a cigar, Selby, he said at last. "What is the news in your part of the world?"
Selby was carefully biting off the end of his gift.
Nothing much, he said. "We got some letters the other day from Mrs. Crombie-Brail. Her son has got into trouble at the Cape. Lew Litchfield got them. He was doing a job in Manchester."
Lew Litchfield was a bright young burglar of whom the colonel had heard, and he knew the kind of "job" on which Lew was engaged.
You bought 'em? he asked.
I gave a tenner for them, said Selby. "I don't think they're much use."
The colonel shook his head.
That's not the kind of letter that brings in money, he said. "You can't bleed a mother because her son got into trouble--at least, not for more than a hundred."
Letters have been scarce lately, said his agent disconsolately; "I think people have either given up keeping or writing them."
Maybe, said the colonel. "Anyway, I didn't bring you down to talk about letters. I've work for you."
Selby looked uneasy, and that in itself was a discouraging sign. Usually the little crook from the north hailed a job of any kind with enthusiasm.
It was an unmistakable proof to the colonel that he was losing grip, that the magic of his name and all that it implied in the way of protection from punishment, was less than it had been.
You don't seem very pleased, he said.
Selby forced a smile.
Well, colonel, he said, "I've a feeling they're after us, and I don't want to take any risks."
You'll take this one, said the colonel. "There's somebody to be put away."
The man licked his lips.
Well, I'm not in it, he said. "I had enough with that Hanson business."
By 'put away' I don't mean murdered or ill-treated in any sense, said the colonel, "and besides, it is one of our own people."
But even this assurance did not satisfy the man.
I don't like it, he said; "they tell me that this Jack o' Judgment----"
Just forget Jack o' Judgment for a minute and think of yourself, snapped the colonel. "You've made your pile, and you find England's getting a bit too hot for you, don't you?"
I do indeed, said the man fervently. "You know, colonel, I was thinking that a trip to America wouldn't be a bad idea."
There are plenty of places to go to without going to America, said the colonel. "I tell you that I mean Lollie no harm."
Lollie? Selby was surprised, and showed it. "She hasn't----"
I don't know what she's done yet, but I think it is time she went away, said the colonel, "and so far as I can judge, it is time you went too, Selby. I don't know whether Lollie is betraying us, and maybe I'm doing her an injustice," he went on, "but if I put up to her a suggestion that she should leave the country, maybe she'd probably turn me down. You know how suspicious these women are. The only idea I can think of is to scare her and make her bolt quick and sudden, and I want you to provide the means."
Selby was waiting.
I bought a motor-boat, one of those swift motor-boats that the Government used during the war. I have it ready at Twickenham, and you can get all your goods on board and go to----
Where?
Anywhere you like, said the colonel, "Holland, Denmark--one place is as good as another, and it'll be a good sea-going boat. You see, my idea is this. If I think Lollie is negotiating to put us away, I can give her a fright which will make her jump at the means of getting out of England by the quickest and shortest route. You can go with her and keep her under your eye until the trouble blows over."
He saw a look in the man's face and correctly interpreted it.
I'm not worried about _you_ double-crossing me, he said, "even if you are abroad. I've enough evidence against you to bring you back under an extradition warrant." He laughed as Selby's face fell. "You see Selby, there's nothing in it that you can take exception to. I don't even know that Lollie will refuse to go in the ordinary way, but I must make preparations."
It is a reasonable suggestion, said Selby, after considering the matter for a few minutes. "I'll do it, colonel."
You'd better bring a couple of men to London who can handle Lollie if she gives any trouble--no, no, said the colonel, raising his hand in dignified protest, "there's going to be nothing rough. How can there be? You'll be in charge of it all, and it is up to you as to how Lollie is treated."
It did not occur to Selby until an hour later to ask the colonel how he knew that his hobby was motor-boating, but by that time the colonel had gone.
It was true, as Boundary said, that the gang was scared--and badly scared. It was equally true that they needed only one jar before it became a case of every man for himself. Already even the minor members were making their preparations to break away. The red light was burning clear before all eyes. But none knew how readily the colonel had recognised the signs, and how, in spite of his apparent philosophy and his contempt of danger, he, more than any of the others, was preparing for the inevitable crash.
Jack o' Judgment, he told himself, was playing his game better than he could play it himself. The arrest of Phillopolis had removed one of the men who might have been an inconvenient witness against him. White was gone, Raoul was gone. He had planned the disappearance of Selby, a most dangerous man, and Lollie Marsh, an even more dangerous woman and there remained only Pinto and Crewe.
When he had taken leave of his agent, the colonel walked to Westminster and boarded a car which carried him along the Embankment to Blackfriars. He might have been followed, and probably was, but this possibility did not worry him. He walked across Ludgate Circus, up St. Bride Street to Hatton Garden, and turned into the office of Myglebergs'. Mr. Mygleberg, a very suave and polite gentleman, received him and ushered him into a private room. This shrewd Dutchman had no illusions as to the colonel's probity, but he had no doubt either that the big man could pay handsomely for everything he bought.
I'm glad you've come, colonel, he said; "I have been expecting you for a couple of days. We have just had a wonderful parcel of stones from Amsterdam, and I think some of them would suit you."
He disappeared and came back with a tray covered with the most beautiful diamonds that had ever left the cutter's hands. The colonel went over them slowly, examining them and putting a selected number aside.
I'll take those, he said, and Mr. Mygleberg laughed.
They're the best, he chuckled. "Trust you to know a good thing when you see it, colonel!"
What have I to pay for these?
Mygleberg made a rapid calculation and put the figures before Colonel Boundary.
It is a big price, said the colonel, "but I don't think you have overcharged. Besides, I could always sell them again for that much."
Mr. Mygleberg nodded.
I think you are wise to put your money into stones, colonel, he said; "they always go up and never go down in value. You can lose other things. They're easy and they're always convertible. I always tell my partner that if I ever become a millionaire I shall invest every penny in stones."
The colonel paid for the gems from a thick wad of notes he took from his hip-pocket. They were, in point of fact, the identical notes which Maisie White had handed to him the night previous. He waited whilst the jewels were made up into a little oblong package, heavily sealed and inscribed with the colonel's name and address, and then, shaking hands with Mygleberg and fixing a further appointment, he came out into Hatton Garden, whistling a little song and apparently the picture of contentment.
He was getting ready for flight too. This, the first of many packages which he intended depositing in the private safe of his bank, would go with the ever-increasing pile of American gold bonds of high denomination which filled that steel repository. For months the colonel had been converting his property into paper dollars. They were more easily negotiated and less traceable than English banknotes, and they were more get-at-able. A big balance in the books of the bank might be creditable and, given time, convertible into cash. Then nobody knew but himself the amount standing to his credit. He was not at the mercy of prying bank clerks or a manager who might be got at by the police. At a minute's notice, and without anybody being the wiser, he could demand the contents of his safe and walk from the bank premises without a soul being aware that he was carrying the bulk of his fortune away.
He took a cab and drove now to the bank premises. Ferguson, the manager, received him.
Good morning, colonel, he said. "I was just writing you a note. You know your account is getting very low."
Is that so? said the colonel in surprise.
I thought you wouldn't realise the fact, said Ferguson, "but you've been drawing very heavily of late."
I'll put it right, said the colonel. "It is not overdrawn?" he asked jocularly, and Ferguson smiled.
You've eighty thousand pounds in Account B, he said. "I suppose you don't want to touch that?"
Account B was the euphonious name for the fund which was the common property of all the leaders of the Boundary Gang.
Unless you're anxious that I should get penal servitude for fraudulently converting the company's funds? said the colonel in the same strain. "No, I'll fix my account some time to-day. In the meantime"--he produced a package from his hip-pocket--"I want this to go into my safe."
Certainly, said Ferguson, and struck a bell. A clerk answered the call. "Take Colonel Boundary to the vaults. He wants to deposit something in his safe," he said, "or would you like me to do it, colonel?"
I'll do it myself, said the colonel.
He followed the clerk down the spiral staircase to the well-lit vault, and with the key which the man handed him opened Safe No. 20. It was divided into two compartments, that on the left consisting of a deep drawer, which he pulled out. It was half filled with American paper currency, as he knew--currency neatly parcelled and carefully packed by his own hands.
I often wonder, Colonel Boundary, said the interested clerk, "why you don't use the bank safe. When a customer has his own, you know, we are not responsible for any of his losses."
I know that, said the colonel genially. "Still one must take a risk."
He placed the package on the top of the money, pushed back the drawer, locked the safe and handed the key to the young man.
I think the bank takes enough risks without asking them to accept any more, he said, "and besides, I like to take a little risk myself sometimes."
So I've heard, said the clerk innocently, and the colonel shot a questioning look at the young man.
He left the bank with the sense of having done his duty by himself. He had not planned the route by which he was leaving the country, or the hour. Much was to happen before he shook the dust of England from his feet, and as he had arranged matters he would have plenty of time to think things over before he made his departure.
A great deal happened in the next few days to make him believe that the necessity for getting away was not very urgent. He met Stafford King in the Park one morning, and Stafford had been unusually communicative and friendly. Then the whispering voices in the flat had temporarily ceased, and Jack o' Judgment had given him no sign of his existence. It was five days after he had made his deposit in the bank that the first shock came to him. He found Snakit waiting on returning from a matinee, and the little detective was so important and mysterious that the colonel knew something had been discovered.
Well, he asked, closing the door, "what have you found?"
She is in communication with the police, said Snakit, "that's what I've found."
Lollie?
Miss Marsh is the lady. In communication with the police, said the other impressively.
Now just tell me what you mean, said the colonel. "Do you mean she's on speaking terms with the policeman on point duty at Piccadilly Circus?"
I mean, sir, said Snakit with dignity, "that she's in the habit of meeting Mr. Stafford King, who is a well-known man at Scotland Yard----"
He's well-known here too, interrupted the colonel. "Where does she meet him?"
In all sorts of queer places--that's the suspicious part of it, said Snakit, who had joyously entered into the work which had been given to him, without realising its unlawful character.
He had accepted without question the colonel's story that he was the victim of police persecution, and as this was the first news of any importance he had been able to bring to his employer, he was naturally inclined to make the most of it.
He has met her twice at eleven o clock at night, at the bottom of St. James's Street, and walked up with her, very deeply engaged in conversation, said Snakit, consulting his note-book. "He met her once at the foot of the steps leading down from Waterloo Place, and they were together for an hour. This morning," he went on, speaking slowly, and evidently this was his tit-bit, "this morning Mr. Stafford King went to the Cunard office in Cockspur Street and booked cabin seventeen on the shelter deck of the _Lapland_ for New York."
In what name?
In the name of Miss Isabel Trenton.
The colonel nodded. It was a name that Lollie had used before, and the story rang true.
When does the _Lapland_ sail? he asked, and again the detective consulted his book.
Next Saturday, he said, "from Liverpool."
Very good, said the colonel; "thank you, Snakit, you've done very well. See if you can pick them up to-night, or, stay----" He thought a moment. "No, don't shadow her to-night. I'll have a talk with her."
The news disturbed him. Lollie was getting ready to bolt--that was unimportant. But she was bolting with the assistance of the police, who had booked her passage. That meant that they had got as much out of her as she had to tell, and were clearing her out of the country before the blow fell. That was not only important, but it was grave. Either the police were going to strike at once or----
An idea struck him, and he telephoned through to Pinto. Another got him into touch with Crewe, and these three were in consultation when Selby came that afternoon.
He arrived at an unpropitious moment, for the colonel was in a cold fury, and the object of his wrath was Crewe, who sat with folded arms and tense face, looking down at the table.
That gentleman business is played out, Crewe, stormed the colonel, "and I'm just about tired of hearing what you won't do and what you will do! If Lollie's put us away, she has got to go through it."
What use will it be, supposing she has? said the other doggedly. "I don't for a moment believe she has done anything of the sort. But suppose she has given you away, what are you going to do? Add to the indictment? She's sick of the game and wants to get away somewhere where she can live a decent life."
Oh, you've been discussing it with her, have you? said the colonel with dangerous calm. "And maybe you also are sick of the game and want to get away and live a decent life? I remember hearing you say something of that sort a few weeks ago."
We're all sick of it, said Crewe. "Look at Pinto. Do you think he's keen?"
Pinto started.
Why do you bring me into it? he complained. "I'm standing by the colonel to the last. And I agree with him that we ought to know what Lollie told the police."
She's told them nothing, said Crewe. "She isn't that kind of girl. Besides, what does she know?"
She knows a lot, said the colonel. "I'll put a supposition to you. Suppose she's Jack o' Judgment?"
Crewe looked at him in astonishment.
That's an absurd suggestion, he said. "How could she be?"
I'll tell you how she could be, said the colonel; "she has never been with us when Jack made his appearance--you'll grant that?"
Crewe thought for a moment.
There you're wrong, he said; "she was with us the night Jack first came."
The colonel was taken aback. A theory which he had formed was destroyed by that recollection.
So she was. That's right, she was there! I remember he insulted her. But I'm certain she's seen him since; I am certain she's been working hand-in-glove with him since. Who was the Jack who went to Yorkshire?
It was Crewe's turn to be nonplussed.
Jack o' Judgment must be working with a pal, the colonel went on triumphantly, "and I suggest that that pal is Lollie Marsh."
That's a lie!
The colonel looked up quickly.
Who said that? he demanded harshly.
Crewe shook his head.
It was not me, he said.
Was it you, Selby?
Me? said the astonished Selby. "No, I thought it was you who said it. It came from your end of the table, colonel."
The colonel got up.
There's something wrong here, he said.
I've got it! It was Pinto who spoke. "Did you notice anything peculiar about the voice, colonel?" he asked eagerly. "I did, the first time I heard it, and I've been wondering how I'd heard it before, and just now it has struck me. It was a gramophone voice!"
A gramophone voice?
It sounded like a voice on a speaking machine.
The colonel nodded slowly.
Now you come to mention it, I think you're right, he said; "it sounded familiar to me. Of course, it was a gramophone voice."
They made a careful search of the apartment, taking down every book from the big shelf in one of the alcoves, and turning the leaves to discover the hidden machine. With this idea to guide them the search was more complete than it had been before. Every drawer in the desk was taken out, every scrap of furniture was minutely examined, even the massive legs of the colonel's writing table were tapped.
Crewe took no part in the search, but watched it with a slight smile of amusement, and the colonel turning, detected this.
What the devil are you grinning about? he said. "Why aren't you helping, Crewe? You've got an interest in this business."
Not such an interest that I'm going to fool around looking for a gramophone voice that goes off at appropriate intervals, said Crewe. "Doesn't it strike you that it would have to be a pretty smart gramophone to chip in at the right moment?"
The colonel pondered this a minute and then went back to his place at the table, mopping his forehead.
Pinto's right, he said; "the fellow has smuggled some fool machine into the flat, and we shall discover it sooner or later. I don't know how he controls it, or who controls it"--he looked suspiciously at Crewe--"or who controls it," he repeated.
You said that before, said Crewe coolly.
The colonel had something on his lips to say, but swallowed it.
We'll meet here to-night at eleven. I told Lollie to come. Now, Crewe, he said in a more gentle tone, "you're in this up to the neck, and you've got to go through with it. After all, your life and liberty are at stake as much as ours. If Lollie's played us false, we've got to be----"
Lollie has not played you false, colonel, said Crewe. His face was very pale, the colonel noticed. "I like that girl, and----"
So that's it, said the colonel, "a little love romance introduced into our sordid commercial lives! Maybe you know what she's been talking to Stafford King about?"
Crewe did not immediately reply.
Do you? asked the colonel.
I know she has been trying to get out of the country, to break with the gang, but that she has given you or any of us away is a lie. Lollie's had a rotten life, and she's just sick of it, that's all. Do you blame her?
There's no question of blaming her or praising her, said the colonel patiently; "the question is whether we condemn her or whether she still has our confidence, and that we shall know to-night. You will be present, Crewe."
I shall be present, you may be sure, said Crewe, and there was a look on his face which Pinto, for one, did not like.
It seemed to "Swell" Crewe that the scene was curiously reminiscent of a trial in which he had once participated. The colonel, at the end of the long table, sat aloof and apparently noncommittal, a veritable judge and a merciless judge at that. Pinto sat at his right, Selby on his left, and Crewe himself sat half-way between the girl at the farther end of the table and Pinto.
Lollie Marsh had no doubt as to why she had been summoned. Her pretty face was drawn, the hands which were clasped on the table before her were restless, but what Crewe noticed more particularly was a certain untidiness both in her costume and in her usually well-coiffured hair. As though wearying of the part she had been playing, she was already discarding her makeup.
I hate to bring you here, Lollie, and ask you these questions, the colonel was saying, "but we are all in some danger and we want to know just where we stand with you."
She made no reply.
The charge against you is that you've been in communication with the police. Is that true?
If you mean that I've been in communication with Mr. Stafford King, that's true, she said. "You told me to get into touch with him. Haven't I been for weeks----"
That's a pretty good excuse, interrupted the colonel, "but it won't work, Lollie. You don't touch with a man like Stafford King and meet him secretly in St. James's Street. And you don't touch by seeing him for half an hour at a time, and I haven't heard of you ever getting off with a fellow to the extent of his paying for your passage to America."
She started.
You know the way it is done. You did it before, Lollie, the colonel went on. "Now, you've got to be a good girl and tell us how far you've gone."
She hesitated.
I'll tell you the truth, she said. "I'm sick of this life, colonel. I want to go straight. I want to get away out of it all and--and--he's going to help me."
A social reformer, eh? said the colonel. "I didn't know the police went in for that sort of stunt. And when did he take this sudden liking for you, Lollie?"
It wasn't a sudden liking at all, she said, "but I think it was because--well, because I stopped Pinto in the nursing home--and Miss White told him--I think that's all."
The colonel looked down on his pad.
There's something in that, he said. "It sounds feasible. Didn't he question you?" he said, raising his eyes.
About you? she said.
About us, corrected the colonel.
He asked me nothing about you, nothing about your habits or your methods or about any of our funny business. I'll swear it, she said.
You're not going to believe that, are you, colonel? demanded Pinto. "You can see that she is lying and that she's double-crossing you?"
She's neither lying nor double-crossing us. It was Crewe who spoke. "I don't know what you think about it, colonel, but I am convinced that Lollie is speaking the truth."
You! Pinto laughed loudly. "I think you're in a state of mind when you'd believe anything Lollie said. And anyway you're probably in with her."
You're a liar, said Crewe, so quietly that none suspected the surprising thing that would follow, for of a sudden his fist shot out and caught Pinto under the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The colonel was instantly on his feet, his hand outspread.
That's enough, Crewe, he said harshly. "I'll have none of that!"
Pinto picked himself up, his face livid.
You'll pay for that, he said breathlessly, but "Swell" Crewe had walked to the girl and had laid his hand on her shoulder.
Lollie, he said, "I'm believing you and I think the colonel is, too. If you're going out of the country, why I'll say good luck to you. You've made a very wise decision and one which we shall all make--some of us perhaps too late."
Wait a moment, said the colonel. He exchanged a glance with Selby and the man slipped quietly from the room. "Before we do any of that fare-thee-well stuff, I've got a few words to say to you, Lollie. I'm with Crewe. I think it is time you went out of the country, but you're going out my way."
What do you mean? she asked.
Her hand clutched "Swell" Crewe's sleeve.
You're going out my way, said the colonel, "and I swear no harm will come to you. You're leaving to-night."
But how? she asked, affrighted.
Selby will tell you. You'll meet him downstairs. Now be a sensible girl and do as I tell you. Selby will go with you and see you safe. We made all preparations for your departure to-night.
What's this, colonel? asked Crewe.
You're out of it, said the colonel savagely. "I'm running this show myself. If you want to join Lollie later, why you can. For the present, she's going just where I want her to go and in the way I have planned."
He held out his hand to the girl and she took it.
Good-bye and good luck, Lollie! he said.
But can't I go back to my rooms? she asked.
He shook his head.
Do as I tell you, he said shortly.
She stood at the door and for a moment her eyes met Crewe's and he moved toward her.
Wait.
The colonel gripped his arm.
Good-bye, Lollie, and the door shut on the girl.
Let me go, said Crewe between his teeth. "If she trusts you, I don't. This is some trick of that dirty half-breed!"
With a snarl of rage Pinto whipped his ever-ready knife from his hip pocket and flung it. It was the colonel who drew Crewe aside, or that moment was his last. The knife whizzed past and was buried almost to the hilt in the wall. The colonel broke the tense silence which followed.
Pinto, he said in his silkiest voice, "if you ever want to know what it feels like to be a dead man, just repeat that performance, will you?" Then his rage burst forth. "By God! I'll shoot either of you if you play the fool in front of me again. You dirty little pickpockets that I've taken from the gutter! You miserable little sneak-thieves!"
He let loose a flood of abuse that made even Crewe wince.
Now sit down, both of you, he finished up, out of breath.
He went to the window and looked out. The car which he had hired for the occasion was still standing at the door and he distinguished Selby talking to the chauffeur.
Listen you, he said, "and especially you, Crewe. You're too trusting with these females. Maybe Lollie's speaking the truth, but it is just as likely she's lying. I'm not going to take your corroboration, you know, Crewe," he said. "We've got to depend on her word. There's nobody else can speak for her, is there?"
Before Crewe could speak the colonel was answered:
_Jack o' Judgment! Poor old Jack o' Judgment! He'll speak for Lollie!_
The colonel looked up with a curse. There was nobody in the room, but the voice had been louder than ever he had heard it before. It seemed as though it emanated from a disembodied spirit that was floating through the air. There was a knock at the outer door.