Daredevil
ain't Masculine's, yer know. No conjuratin' in this gallery."
"Shut up, Nosey," said Teal rudely. "You can leg it now--we shan't
want you any more. Oh, leave that key behind you. I want to shut
this thing up again when I've finished."
When the "exterp" had taken his departure Teal sat back on the desk
and stared at the open safe. Empty, vacuously empty, it stared back
at him--one of the most annoying voids he had ever seen. The rows of
steel shelves were bare. The only souvenir that Prester John had
left behind him was the cardboard replica of the Triangle badge which
Teal had managed to conceal from the roving eye of the ex-yegg.
Teal went back to the outer office and interrupted Mattock from the
work of balancing a bulky ledger.
"When were you last here?" demanded the detective.
"Yesterday," said Mattock, without looking up.
"Did you go into that inner office?"
"Yes."
"What time was this?"
"About eleven-thirty."
"P.m.?" asked Teal sleepily.
Mattock raised his eyes with a tired expression.
"Oh, are you still here?" he sighed.
"Pip emma?" repeated Teal.
Mattock closed the ledger and pushed back his chair. His face was a
picture of long-suffering tolerance.
"Is this a new kind of round game?" he inquired politely. "Because,
if so, can't you get a detective or some other imbecile to play with
you?"
"No--you'll do. Is Prester John a friend of yours?"
"I seem to have read about him. Did he write a book or something?"
Teal played his penultimate card.
He leaned over the desk and addressed Mattock in a confidential
undertone.
"Listen here," he said. "Joan's in the Triangle--you know that,
don't you? And you're fond of a Joan. So am I. A nice kid. It's
only circumstances make a crook of her. I'd hate to see her follow
the rest of the Triangle into stir, and she will, in time, if one of
you hasn't a pull somewhere. You're independent now, but I guess
there's a day coming when you'll be glad of a friend or two on the
Embankment.".
Mattock studied his finger-nails.
"When we sink as low as that," he said carefully, "I'll let you know."
Inspector Teal straightened himself and shrugged. He walked over to
the door of the inner office and called one of his men, and together
they returned to the clerk.
"Arrest that man," said Teal, and Mattock rose to his feet with a
charming smile.
"The charge?" he asked pleasantly.
"Burglary and assault at the house of Oscar Raegenssen on the
fourteenth instant. Accessory before and after the fact in the
burglary committed in this office last night. Suspected of
concealing knowledge of the whereabouts of Oscar Raegenssen, who is
wanted on a warrant issued last night. I warn you that anything you
say may be taken down and used as evidence against you."
Mattock bowed.
"Thanks for being so lucid. But you've got the last part of it
wrong, you know. The correct formula is, _used as evidence at your
trial_."
"As evidence at your trial," Teal corrected himself testily. "Take
him away."
"One moment." Mattock stopped him. "The third charge falls to the
ground, naturally. You've only asked me about Raegenssen's past
movements--not about his present whereabouts."
"That'll keep," said Teal viciously. "Try it on the jury."
He was feeling rather fed up with Mattock's imperturbable assurance.
They took Mattock to Headquarters, and the formal charge was made.
The same mocking tolerance permeated the man's demeanour when the
usual questions were asked.
"Name?"
"James Norman Mattock."
"Age?"
"Fifty-seven years, eight months, one week, four days"--he looked at
his watch--"eleven hours and about forty minutes."
"Address?"
"I decline to answer that question."
His tone encouraged no insistence on the inquiry, and they let it go
at that.
They were taking him to his cell when he called Inspector Teal.
"I suppose I'll have to stop behind bars for a bit to satisfy your
vanity," he said, "but I don't want it to be too long. So you might
get hold of Captain Arden when you have the chance, and ask him if
he'll see me."
"I'll find out how his temper is this morning," Teal promised him,
and Mattock passed on with a courteous word of thanks.
In Storm's room, however, the detective found something else to
occupy his mind, and it temporarily eclipsed his concern as to the
fate of James Norman Mattock.
"I've got hold of a copy of the deed of sale of that sawmill," Kit
said. "It's signed by Raegenssen, more or less, but there's
something wrong with the signature--it doesn't agree with the writing
on the papers they brought in from his office. Men with two
handwritings make me take notice!"
Teal looked at the parchment, and particularly at the date.
"Two months ago. That's about when the reformation set in," he
observed.
In the City and Continental office, Joe Blaythwayt was inclined to be
taciturn about his client's business until the importance of his
coöperation was pointed out to him, and duly signed authorisation
produced.
"No, that's not his ordinary signature," he said as soon as he saw
the conveyance. "I'll get you some genuine specimens."
He returned almost immediately with a bundle of cancelled cheques,
and these Storm compared with the signature of the deed. The two
were totally dissimilar. Whereas the writing on the parchment was
small and neat, all the cheques were signed in a thick, sprawling
hand.
The latest cheque attracted his attention for another reason.
"That's a lot of money to draw in cash," he remarked. "How did he
take it?"
"Fivers. It wasn't the first time--I think you'll find two others
made out for large sums, though that one is easy the largest he's
ever put through."
Teal nodded.
"One way he is Triangular, the other way he isn't," he said
peevishly. "That man's the two horns of a fat dilemma, all right.
That sawmill wasn't really his, then!"
Storm rang up the other party to the sale, and found him after some
trouble--the managing director of a firm of paper manufacturers with
an office close by. Having found that the man was disengaged, Teal
and he went round and interviewed him.
The result was not satisfactory.
"I remember the transaction distinctly; I should have remembered it,
anyway, even if it hadn't been so recent, because of the way payment
was made."
"How?" asked Teal perfunctorily, for the trial did not seem to him to
be leading anywhere.
"In notes of four different countries," was the reply. "All
denominations, big and small. United States dollars, the new
Reichmarks, Spanish pesetas, and Italian lire. I didn't want to take
them because of the Exchange risk--something considerable in a sum as
long as this one--but he promptly added a five per cent. allowance to
cover that."
"That must have cost him something."
The director nodded.
"Next, I was afraid of forgeries, but there again he met me. He went
round with me to the bank and was present while the notes were
examined and passed."
Teal, interested, suspended chewing for a moment while he put a
question.
"Hard to describe," said the director. "Nothing noticeable about
him, except his height. Past middle age, I should say. Grey hair,
eyes light blue, lined face, walked like a much younger man. Very
well built, small iron-grey moustache----"
"Beard?"
"No."
"Any kind of accent?"
"None at all. He spoke English perfectly. I'd take my oath he was
an Englishman."
"Raegenssen himself without face fungus!" exclaimed Teal. "I always
thought that accent of his was a fake--it sounded too much like the
cheap revue idea of a Dutchman. It was Raegenssen."
"Or Mattock cleverly padded," added the sceptical Kit. "If you were
going to do a deal in my name wouldn't you try to make up to look
like me in a general description?"
The mention of Mattock recalled to Teal his prisoner's request, and
he would have mentioned it as they returned to the Yard, but Storm
was already off on another tack.
"You remember Miss Hawthorne told me over the phone she'd recognised
someone in that getaway? Well, she won't pass the glad news on
unless I promise she's to have a part in the play. Rat all women!"
"Arrest her as an accessory," suggested Teal sardonically.
"I'd be happier if she was inside! _Kill H_.... Teal, if you go
down and break the neck of that constable who fell over himself last
night I'll guarantee to rescue you from the gallows! He's put
everything back by weeks. By the way, did that ad. go in the _Era_?"
"To-morrow," said Teal. "I put it over on Birdie all right. Mattock
said I was a great actor," he added reminiscently, and recollected
his promise.
Teal waited in the charge room while Storm paid a visit to the
clerk's cell, and picked up a newspaper to while away the time.
In those days the Press was so full of the Triangle that most other
information was crowded away into obscure paragraphs in small type
which few people ever read. Teal, having a single-track mind, rarely
had time to assimilate any news which did not bear directly on the
case in hand, and politics concerned him not at all.
But he already knew the Triangle news by heart, and the second
manifesto was by then as familiar to him as his own face.
Consequently, he broke his usual habits and cast an eye over the
other happenings of the world. And one section fairly leapt to his
eye.
DEATH OF A GREAT SCIENTIST
DEPORTED AUSTRIAN CHEMIST COMMITS SUICIDE
UNCOMPLETED WORK
(_Daily Mercury Special Correspondent_)
VIENNA, Tuesday, June 3rd.
A drama of real life is locked up in the news of the death of the
Austrian scientist, Carl Schewesen, who was deported from England
some years ago. Schewesen's clothes were found on the banks of the
Danube, together with a note explaining that he was taking what
seemed to him to be the only way out of a hopeless existence.
Schewesen was known to have been making researches into the
possibility of stabilising Nitrogen Trichloride (NCl3), the most
powerful explosive known to science, but, as far as contemporary
methods of preparation have progressed, entirely without practical
use, since even particles of dust settling upon it from the
atmosphere are sufficient to detonate it. Schewesen had announced a
few days before his death that his experiments promised an
epoch-making success. He has left no notes behind, however, and it
is to be feared that his knowledge has died with him.
Teal read the paragraph a second time, for this premature obituary
notice did not appeal to his sense of humour. He was quite certain
that Carl Schewesen was alive and in London, and, Storm returning
with Mattock at that moment, he pointed to the column and vented his
surmise.
Storm read it through, and looked grave.
"NCl3," he murmured. "That sounds like more fun!"
"Is it very powerful?" asked Teal, and Storm smiled.
"If a small saltspoonful went off between us now, they'd be able to
bury us in matchboxes!" he said.
It was then that Teal noticed the presence of Mattock, and turned to
scowl at the man. Mattock had been looking over the detective's
shoulder unobserved, and his smile showed that he had heard the
conversation.
"I know all about Carl," Mattock said. "But the problem ought to
amuse the flatties for some time. Flatties, I think, was the term
Nosey used?"
Teal was struck by the change in the man's manner since he had met
him in Walton Street Police Station. Then, Mattock had had the
truculence which comes of an inferiority complex; but that had now
dispersed as though it had never existed. In spite of the shabbiness
of his clothes and the ugly lines which prison had cut in his face,
he bore himself with a calm confidence that annoyed Teal. It annoyed