Daredevil
"Joan, I'm a rotten old buffer for you to fall in love with," he
muttered. "But I'll try to wash that away. We'll go on a proper
honeymoon--anywhere you like--out of here--give up this flat----"
"No--no!" She broke away from him almost savagely. "You've got to
listen. The busies've been here to-night. Arden and Teal. They
searched the place--look!"
He pulled her roughly back into his arms.
"What does that matter?" he demanded. "What does anything else in
life matter besides this?"
"Nothing.... But you must look, Jimmy."
She forced him to turn so that he faced the damaged bookcase. He
stared at it dumbly, and she felt him go stiff, but he shook his head.
"Have you broken it or something?"
She pulled open the hidden door, showing him the headphones and
transmitter.
"This is your bookcase--you had it sent in, though I've never seen
you go to it. It was always locked. Arden showed me--that's a
cut-in on the telephone in the next room, and Arden said the Triangle
gave orders to his men _from here_. There was a letter for you from
the Apex. Arden showed that to me too. You left it behind. Jimmy,
I know what your business was in Devonshire! What's the use of
keeping up the pretence?" She looked straight at him. "_What time
did your train get in?_"
He said nothing, and there was a long silence. His face was working
strangely. She saw the old devil rousing again in his staring eyes,
and ran to him in a panic.
"They may be back any time--maybe they were watching and saw you come
in! I've got two bags packed. I had them ready waiting for you.
We've got passports--we've got to get away! Jimmy----"
_Zzzzzzing!... Zzzzzzing!..._
The strident voice of the hall bell cut short the incoherent stammer
of words that tumbled from her lips, and for a space of time it
seemed as if her heart stopped beating. And when it moved again, it
pounded like a two-stroke piston. The busies had seen Mattock come
in.... They were going to arrest him.... His face went white; yet
still he stood motionless as a statue, gazing at the bookcase with
unseeing eyes.
_Zzzzzzing!... Zzzzzzing-zing!..._
"They're here! Jimmy--what's wrong with you? Why don't you do
something?" She glanced frantically about her. His immobility was
maddening. His brain seemed to have gone dead. "The other
room--they mightn't look there----"
_Zzzzzzing!... Zzzzzzing-zing!..._
It was the flimsiest of flimsy hopes; but if she could stall them off
for a couple of minutes he might have time to break away before the
cordon closed. She must centre all their attention on the one door
while he got through the other.
The bag she had packed for him stood in one corner. She thrust it
into his hand, and his fingers closed on the grip mechanically. The
partition door was still ajar, but she had almost to barge him
through the gap. He was gone at last, and with a gasp of relief she
closed and wedged the door and hastily tidied her hair. Then she
went unsteadily down the hall.
"I'm sure I Beg Your Pardon," said Joe Blaythwayt politely.
So great was the shock that for a moment she just gaped blankly at
him, while he came inside and wiped his shoes fastidiously on the mat.
"A most irregular hour for calling, madam," he remarked. "I trust
you will Forgive the Intrusion, and--er--Feel No Alarm on account of
my Presence. I am a Widower, and therefore not Impressionable. The
Urgency of my Business is my excuse."
When Joe was excited the intangible Capital Letters which decorated
his pompous speech multiplied exceedingly. He was clearly excited at
that moment. A light which in anybody else would have been called
martial shone in his eyes and his grasp on his umbrella was fidgety.
Recovering slightly she closed the door behind him and led him into
the sitting-room. There had been nobody else to be seen in the
corridor.
"Now what d'you want?" she asked sharply.
"I want to see Jimmy," he replied, so bluntly that she was taken
aback.
"Jimmy's in Devonshire--you know that," she said.
His cherubic blue eyes wandered round the room, and came to rest at
last on a felt hat which lay on the floor by the chesterfield.
Before she could stop him he had picked it up and seen the name
written in the lining.
"This wasn't here when I was!" he squeaked excitedly. "Jimmy's been
here since we left! Where is he?"
"I brought that in to clean a stain off it," she told him calmly.
"Jimmy won't be back till to-morrow. If you want to see him so badly
try again to-morrow evening."
He wiggled a fat forefinger all but in her face, literally dancing in
his agitation.
"Woman, Do Not Lie To Me!" His flustered effervescence resulted in
speech that fairly bristled with capitals. "I Want The Truth. Jimmy
Has Been Here. Jimmy Is Here! Where's he hiding? Where's he gone?
What've you done with him? Answer Me!"
Question overflowed question in one delirious cataract but Joan had
recovered her composure to some extent by this time.
"What's your game?" she demanded hotly. "Coming into my flat at this
hour of the night and making a scene! Get out, Blaythwayt. Who
d'you think you are? Who are you? Some fly cop--one of these clever
busies out of a serial?"
"No, madam--my Warrant!"
With an air of a conjuror he produced from his waistcoat pocket a
glittering silver and enamel badge, and she recoiled in horrified
amazement from the sign of the Triangle.
It is doubtful if he observed her perturbation at all. At all events
he ignored it. His blue eyes swept the room again, peering at every
nook as though he expected to find Mattock concealed behind a
flower-pot or cached behind a picture. He saw the closed partition
door, and let out an electrifying squawk of eagerness. She saw the
inspiration dawn in his brain, and made an instinctive movement to
block the way--a rash step which she instantly regretted.
"Stand Aside, Madam," he commanded tremblingly; and, when she did not
budge, he pulled her rudely away and kicked open the door.
She tried to hold him back, impelled by she knew not what fear, but
he flung her off like a child. He dashed into the other room and she
followed him to find him blinking open-mouthed at emptiness.
Mattock's bag stood on the table but Mattock himself was gone and the
door leading into the passage stood wide.
For some seconds they were both petrified. And then Joe Blaythwayt
gave vent to one strangled yelp of apprehension and rushed across the
room, and she heard him go blinding down the corridor towards the
stairs.
CHAPTER XXV
MAHOMET AND THE MOUNTAIN
Susan had thought she would never have been able to sleep that night,
but she managed it somehow. She had waited for an hour and a half
after Morini had dashed out of the cellars, and, when he failed to
return, she lay down on the mattresses and pulled a blanket over her.
For a long time her thoughts gave her no rest. They milled and
clamoured tumultuously through her head, whirling her through mazes
of doubt and perplexity and conjuring up hideous visions to line the
route. And then, in some miraculous fashion that nevertheless seemed
eminently natural, the hullabaloo merged into a dull monotonous
humming blackness, and with a detached, infinitely distant interest
she observed herself sinking into great dark depths of fathomless
quiet....
She awoke with a start, roused by the sound of someone unbarring the
door, and looked at her watch. To her surprise she found that it was
nearly nine o'clock.
The man who entered was not Mecklen, but Morini. She was glad of
that, illogically, for, although the gentle Gat was probably as
sinister a scoundrel as Lew, he was far less obtrusively so. Mecklen
had never been a gentleman, and was therefore inclined to be somewhat
vulgar in his villainy; Morini might be more dangerous, but he was
less repulsive, and she felt more in the mood for tackling a Morini
than a Mecklen.
As it happened, however, there was nothing menacing about the
educated Gat that morning. He was carrying a tray which had been
decorated with a clean white cloth and which was laden with much more
attractive fare than Mecklen had brought her the previous night. The
coffee-pot was silver, and the jug of steaming milk was spotless;
there were two slices of toast in a rack, and eggs and bacon reposed
on a plate that was neither chipped nor cracked; he had added an
immaculate cup to replace the battered enamel mug which Mecklen had
given her, and had even remembered to include a napkin.
He gave her a polite "Good morning," and smiled as he noted her
puzzlement at the stainless furniture of his burden.
"These things belong to the Chief," he explained. "He isn't home for
breakfast, so you're in luck."
He leaned against the door and watched her eat. She was able to
muster a respectable appetite, and was especially grateful for the
refreshing heat of the coffee, for the cellars were none too warm.
The only other discomfort she had felt was a certain stiffness from
her cramped bedding, but a little free movement would soon remedy
that.
She became aware that Morini was looking at her curiously, although
he never descended to the Mecklenian coarseness of a stare, and when
she had finished she sat back and returned his gaze inquiringly. For
answer, he smiled again and extended a gold cigarette case.
"Thank you." She helped herself, and accepted the proffered match.
"The last gasper before execution, Morini?"
"It is rather like it," he admitted coolly, and glanced round the
tiny room. "Condemned cell and all--except that real condemned cells
are cleaner. I wonder if you will die to-day?"
He posed the contingency with a speculative air that was terrifyingly
humorous.
"Last night you were cursing Mecklen for not killing me," she
remarked. "Why haven't you rectified the omission?"
He twisted his mouth.
"You'd better see the Chief first, now you're here. He's due to
arrive at any minute."
He was preoccupied, as though some big problem filled his mind, and
she saw that it was useless to attempt to discover what plans had
been made for her disposal.
He picked up the tray and left her. A strange unreality had overcast
everything with a haze which prevented her from working things out
collectedly. This dispassionate discussion of murder jarred against
all canons of actuality. Even in a court of law there was some
emotion about a death sentence--one couldn't, somehow, flurry up any
panic about a threat delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone....
Morini was back in a quarter of an hour, and his face was woodenly
expressionless.
"The Chief's arrived," he said. "He wants to see you. Come along,
please."
As in a dream she followed him. He took her through the hall, and
she saw little mounds of dry earth untidily swept up into the
corners. Halfway down he opened a door, and she had a glimpse of
luxurious velvet hangings which had something familiar about them:
royal purple with golden arabesques. Suddenly she realised where it
was she had first seen those exotic decorations--the sawmill at
Billingsgate! So, somehow, the conceit of the madman had made him
take the enormous risk of stealing his gorgeous trappings away from a
place over which the police still kept watch. He had carted away the
earth that had filled the house in Buckingham Gate, packing it in
crates and removing it in lorries at dead of night, to be dumped in
the deserted quarries around Purley, simply to gratify the vanity of
his megalomaniac mind. The method of his accomplishing the feat, of
course, she could not know, but the completed fact gave her yet
another queer sidelight on his weird mentality.
Morini slipped into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and she