Daredevil
"It's all Uncle Joe's fault," she explained. "I'd been to dinner
with him, and--you've had some experience of him--you know what a
bloodthirsty little man he is, and this Triangle business is meat and
strong drink to him. He was lecturing me about it for hours after I
ought to have gone home, and he kept dragging Raegenssen into the
discussion and then forgetting what he was going to say about him.
Then he told me Raegenssen lived near by, and promptly added that
women shouldn't get mixed up with crime. So, of course, I had to
butt in. Did you kill Snooper?"
She asked the question so dispassionately that Storm laughed.
"No," he said mildly. "Not to-night. It wasn't--er--expedient. One
of these days I shall probably have to, but that'll keep. How much
did you see?"
"You saw me."
"And," said Storm in pained accents, "you saw the police charging up
the garden, and you didn't rally round to assist the getaway? Susan,
you're going off!"
She smiled, and laid a cool hand on his.
"Old chap," she said, "that would have been unpardonable. You knew
what you were doing, and you don't need lessons in looking after
yourself. If I'd thought you wanted help, I'd have come----"
"Like old times," said Storm, and raised her hand to his lips.
He felt curiously exhilarated that night. It may have been due to
the fresh food for thought which he had gathered from his adventurous
and wholly illegal visit, or to the sudden bracing rush of swift
action he had enjoyed to the full after overmuch peace and quiet.
Or, on the other hand, it may have been due to the presence of the
girl at his side.... Storm felt happily incompetent to judge. He
knew, at least, that the old, gay recklessness had returned to him in
all its reawakened daredevilry. The cool night air was grateful on
his face: he drew deep breaths of it contentedly, and it went to his
head like wine. He moved his arms ecstatically, for the pure
sensuous joy of feeling the rippling suppleness of them. He laughed
softly, irresponsible and proud, throwing back his head--a splendid
animal glorying in its magnificent manhood.
"Oh, Susan, this is the life!" he said. "No dull safety for me! I
only hope it doesn't end too soon."
"You get all the fun," she complained. "All I can do is to mooch
around waiting to be shot up, and fill in the intervals lunching with
Uncle Joe."
"Damn Uncle Joe!" exploded Storm, but this time without jealousy.
"I'm sick of hearing about Uncle Joe! Forget him, kid, and listen to
me. Susan, when this jaunt's over, and the Alpha Triangle's done the
six-foot drop, you're coming away with me--I don't care where, so
long as it's some place where you can still go gunning for people who
annoy you. London's all right when there's a Triangle livening
things up, but one day the Triangle'll toe the T in a whitewashed
shed, and I hate stagnation! We'll start a young war somewhere, if
you like. Any old thing suits me, so long as it's disreputable and
dangerous.... Is that a bet?"
"I don't know," she said demurely. "You're so very
unconventional...." And thereafter he only had one hand for the
steering-wheel.
Storm breakfasted next morning with his usual litter of newspapers
scattered on the floor all around him, but he was chiefly amused by
the alarm of the _Daily Record_. To his mind, the crime reports in
which the _Record_ specialised were far more interesting than
fiction, for that paper had a reputation for chewing more meat from
tropical bones than any of its contemporaries.
WHERE ARE THE POLICE?
LONDON AT MERCY OF GANG OF MURDERERS.
GOVERNMENT MUST NOT SURRENDER.
FURTHER OUTRAGES ANTICIPATED.
LATEST NEWS OF GIGANTIC CONSPIRACY.
--and a lot more. The police, one gathered, were either incapable or
afraid; the Government were meditating incontinent surrender; England
was to be plunged into anarchy; neither life nor property would be
safe.... Only the policy of the _Daily Record_ was stemming the tide
of disaster.
"These people aren't helpful," murmured Storm. "Stampeding sheep!
Bring me some more toast."
"Yessir," said Cork.
Cork, Storm's valet, was a man with aggrieved eyebrows and a
disapproving mouth. He had the expression of one who has looked on
the wine when it was sour, and who has never quite succeeded in
getting rid of the taste. But, at least, he went about his work with
the efficiency of a superman whose head would be bloody but unbowed
despite plague, pestilence, famine, riot, civil commotion, the fall
of the Conservative Party, the dissolution of the British Empire, Act
of God, or the agitation of the _Daily Record_.
"There is a man downstairs who wishes to speak to you, sir," he said,
returning with reinforcements of coffee.
Sorrow was in every line of his pessimistic face, and he laid a faint
emphasis on the word "man." Storm had never quite induced his
servant to accept Inspector Teal as a human being.
"What's the matter with him, Cork?" asked Storm. "Leper?"
"I'm afraid not, sir," replied Cork gloomily. "It's the policeman
who calls sometimes."
"Show him up," said Storm and returned to his newspapers.
Mr. Teal glutinated through the door.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morn'n," said Storm without looking up. "Sit down, Teal. English
or Colonial breakfast?"
Inspector Teal frowned suspiciously.
"What's a Colonial breakfast?" he inquired.
"Oh, a horse's neck, a mutton chop, and a small dog."
"What's the small dog for?" queried Mr. Teal innocently. "And why a
horse's neck?"
"The dog eats the mutton chop, and a horse's neck's a brandy and
ginger ale----"
"Coffee--thank you, sir," said the shocked Mr. Teal. "Fat men didn't
ought----"
Over a steaming cup he surveyed the cheery, comfortable room. There
were well-filled bookcases, a grand piano, and an open secretaire
strewn with scraps of paper and writing materials. On the walls were
fencing foils, boxing gloves, an oar, and over the mantelpiece hung a
couple of sporting rifles.
"Nice little place you've got here," he remarked. "I've always liked
it."
"Not so bad! Listen, Teal. The papers say, _the police are believed
to have a clue_. Why don't we contradict such wicked slanders?"
"It's better than Finchley," pursued Mr. Teal without emotion.
"And this: _A sensational arrest is expected at every moment_.
Je-rusalem. My dear soul, how can even a great man like yourself
make a sensational arrest at every moment? There aren't enough
sensational people in London to maintain the supply. Besides,
blokes'd start getting peeved."
"Raegenssen was peeved," said Mr. Teal sleepily.
Storm slewed his chair round so that he faced the detective, and
searched for a cigarette. His gun-metal grey eyes were alight with
mischief.
"Teal!" he protested. "Why must you be inconsequent?"
"Why must you burgle Raegenssen?" asked Mr. Teal.
That quick, flickering smile played about Storm's lips.
"How do you know?" he asked calmly.
"Your tire tracks were all over that bit of building ground. And I
called at your garage on my way here and found dry mud caked all over
your wheels. You don't collect that sort of mud in the streets."
Mr. Teal blinked twice and yawned. He became almost awake, "Mr.
Arden, why can't you and me work together?"
"That accusative makes me go all goosey!" complained Storm.
"You and I," Mr. Teal corrected himself. "Why not? We'd get on much
better."
Storm exhaled a thin feather of smoke from the corner of his mouth.
"You might," he said. "But then, you're only a detective."
Inspector Teal accepted the proffered cigar. His mouth widened half
an inch momentarily.
"I shouldn't compromise you," he pleaded.
Storm walked over to the window.
"How did you come to visit Raegenssen at all?" he asked.
"I was called early this morning," said Teal. "I haven't been to bed
yet. So I heard all about the masked man and the fancy shooting, and
then I remembered you'd promised to commit a few felonies. Besides,
you can recognise a Hirondel's tracks--they've got a very wide
wheel-base, and you can only fit Veloris tires."
"Bit off your beat, wasn't it?"
"No." The detective rummaged in his pocket and produced something
that was familiar to Storm without a closer inspection. "Anything to
do with Triangles is on my beat."
Storm took the trinket and stared at it. Then he paced quickly up
and down the room, his eyes half-closed and his cigarette tightened
up in his lips. He raised his shoulders and shoved his hands deep
into his pockets, and then he stopped in his stride abruptly and
turned.
"Did you get that from Raegenssen?"
Teal nodded.
"The burglar came back, and the second time he left that. He and
Raegenssen had a fight, but the Swede stopped one in the tummy."
"Do you think I'm the Triangle?" asked Storm directly.
Inspector Teal jerked the ash from his cigar.
"No, I don't. But you know too much about it, and I wish you'd come
across. There's an inquiry about that Moraine's stunt scheduled for
this afternoon, and the Commissioner 'll be curious."
"I want the whole yarn," Storm said after a short pause. "As heard
from Raegenssen."
"I can do better," said Teal. "A reporter who lives out that way was
there even before I was. It was just ten when I came along
Piccadilly, so I brought you in the midday edition of the _Evening
Record_."
Storm took the sheet and grinned.
"You're an old cynic, Teal!" he reproved.
He lounged over to the table and rested on the edge of it while he
read with interest the brief account of the happenings in North
London of the small hours of that morning.
"An air of mystery surrounds the two attempts to burgle the house of
Mr. Oscar Raegenssen, the well-known Swedish merchant, which took
place last night.
"How does a house take place, Teal?
"Mr. Raegenssen had been to a theatre, and had thence proceeded to a
night club--
"How shocking," murmured Storm.
"--from which he returned to his house in Marchmont Avenue at about 1
a.m. He went upstairs immediately and was undressing when he heard a
suspicious sound in his study. A moment later a shot rang out.
Stopping only to pull on a dressing-gown, Mr. Raegenssen hastened
downstairs and found the window wide open and his safe broken open.
Finding that the telephone wires had been cut, Mr. Raegenssen
returned to his bedroom in order to don some clothes before summoning
the police."
"Decency before duty," Storm drawled.
"Two constables who had heard the shot, however, had already arrived,
and had entered the building by way of the window which the burglar
had left open in his flight. Mr. Raegenssen, meanwhile, had heard a
noise in the room adjoining his bedroom which led him to suspect that
the burglar was perhaps still in the house. This, indeed, proved to
be the case, and the two officers, assisted by Mr. Raegenssen,
attempted to apprehend the man. The burglar, however, who was masked
and evidently a dangerous character, drew a pistol and fired several
times at his would-be captors without hitting them, after which he
made a desperate and successful bid for safety.
"About two and a half hours later, when Mr. Raegenssen who had been
too disturbed by the thrilling incident to return immediately to his
bed, was working in his library, he heard a suspicious sound in his
study and attempted to investigate it. He was promptly attacked with
great ferocity by the desperado, who again contrived to make his
escape, but who this time left behind him a silver triangle of a type
which is by now familiar to readers of the _Evening Record_. During
the time it took Mr. Raegenssen to recover sufficiently to rise, the
library was in its turn the subject of the burglar's attentions.