Room 13
I’ve reason to believe that your copper is the man I want. Now
couldn’t we exchange confidences?” he asked.
“Yes, we might squeak together, and it would sound like one of those
syncopated orchestras. But we won’t. Honestly, Craig, I can’t tell you
about the Big Printer. Reeder ought to know all about him!”
“Reeder!” said the other scornfully. “An amateur! All this fal-de-lal
about secret service men gets my goat! If they’d left the matter to
the police, we’d have had the Big Printer--ever seen him, Johnny?”
“No,” said Johnny untruthfully.
“Reeder, eh?” said the thoughtful detective. “They used to have an
office man named Golden once, an old fellow that thought he could
catch slushers by sitting in an office and thinking hard. Reeder isn’t
much better by all accounts. I saw him once, a soft fellow on the edge
of senile decay!”
Craig sighed deeply, looked up and down the happy board with a bleak
and grudging glance, and then:
“Just for a little heart-to-heart talk, I know where you could get an
easy ‘monkey,’[*_£500_] Johnny,” he said softly.
Johnny did not smile.
“It would have to be a monkey on a stick, Craig----”
“We’re both men of the world,” interrupted the detective imploringly.
“Yes,” said Johnny Gray, “but not the same world, Craig.”
One last despairing effort the detective made, though he knew that, in
angling for a squeak, he might as well have tried Peter himself.
“The Bank of England will pay a thousand pounds for the information I
want.”
“And who can afford it better?” said Johnny heartily. “Now, shut up,
Craig; somebody’s going to make a speech.”
It was a mild and beatific oration delivered by the officiating
clergyman. When it came to its machine-made peroration Craig, who was
intensely interested in the sonorous platitudes, looked round and saw
that his companion had gone from his side--later he saw him leaning
over Peter’s chair, and Peter was nodding vigorously. Then Johnny
passed through the door.
Somebody else was watching him. The bridegroom, twiddling the stem of
his wineglass between his fingers, saw him go, and was more than
ordinarily interested. He was sufficiently curious, at any rate, to
catch the eye of the pretty maid and look significantly at the door.
At that signal Lila followed Johnny Gray. He was not in the hall, and
she went out into the road, but here saw no sign of the man she
sought. There was, however, somebody else, and she obeyed his call to
her.
“Tell Jeff I want him before he starts on that honeymoon of his,”
snarled Emanuel Legge, glaring at her through the glasses. “He’s been
talking to that girl--I saw her face. What did he say?”
“How do I know?” she snapped back. “You and your Jeff! I wish to the
Lord I’d never come into this job. What’s the graft, anyway? That
flash crook knows all about it, Legge.”
“Who--Johnny Gray? Is he here? He did come, then?”
She nodded.
“What do you mean--‘he knows’?”
“He knows Jeff--recognised him first pop,” said the girl inelegantly,
and Emanuel Legge whistled.
“Have you told Jeff that he has been recognised?”
The harsh features of Emanuel Legge were drawn and tense.
“What is the use of asking me? I haven’t had a word with him. He’s so
taken up with this girl----”
“Forget it,” said Legge with a gesture. “Tell me what this Johnny Gray
says.”
“I’ll tell you one thing that amused me,” said the girl grimly. “He
said he’d throttle me if I squeaked! And he’s got a fascinating pair
of hands. I shouldn’t like to play rough with that fellow--there’s no
use in tut-tutting me, Emanuel. I’ve told you all he said. He knows
Jeff; he must have seen him before he went ‘over the Alps.’”
The old man was thinking, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed.
“It’s pretty bad if he guesses, because he’s sweet on the girl, and
there’s going to be trouble. Get Jeff out quick!”
“If you stay here, Peter will see you,” she warned him. “Go down the
lane and turn into the private path. I’ll send Jeff to you in the
lower garden.”
Nodding, he hurried away. It took her some time to find an
opportunity, but presently she signalled the man with her eyes, and he
followed her to the lawn.
“The old man’s waiting down in the lower garden,” she said in a low
voice. “Hurry.”
“What is wrong?” he asked quickly, sensing trouble.
“He’ll tell you.”
With a glance round Jeff hurried on to the terrace just as his father
reached the rendezvous.
“Jeff, Gray knows.”
The man drew a quick breath.
“Me?” he said incredulously. “He didn’t so much as bat a lid when I
met him.”
Emanuel nodded.
“That fellow’s hell cool--the most dangerous crook in the world. I was
in the Awful Place with him, and I know his reputation. There’s
nothing he’s afraid of. If he tells Peter… shoot first! Peter won’t be
carrying a gun, but he’s sure to have one within travelling
distance--and Peter is a quick mover. I’ll cover you; I’ve got two
boys handy that ‘mind’ me, and Johnny… well, he’ll get what’s coming.”
“What am I to do?”
Jeff Legge was biting his nails thoughtfully.
“Get the girl away--you’re due to leave by car, ain’t you? Get her to
the Charlton Hotel. You’re supposed to stay there a week--make it a
day. Clear to Switzerland to-morrow and stop her writing. I’ll fix
Peter. He’ll pay.”
“For what?”
“To get his girl back; forty thousand--maybe more.”
Jeff Legge whistled.
“I didn’t see that side of the graft before. It’s a new variety of
‘black.’”
“It’s what I choose to call it!” hissed his father. “You’re in
fifty-fifty. You can have the lot so far as I care. _You make that
girl eat dirt_, d’ye hear? Put her right down to earth, Jeff.… Peter
will pay.”
“I promised Lila…” began the other, hesitant.
“Promise your Aunt Rebecca Jane!” Emanuel almost screamed. “Lila! That
trash, and you the big man, too--what are ye running? A girls’ refuge
society? Get!”
“What about Gray?”
“I’ll fix Gray!”
CHAPTER VII
The old man made his way back to the road and passed quickly along
until he came to the main highway. Two men were seated in the shade of
a bush, eating bread and cheese. They came quickly enough when he
whistled them, tall, broad-shouldered men whose heavy jowls had not
felt a lather-brush for days.
“Either of you boys know Johnny Gray?” he asked.
“I was on the ‘moor’ with him,” said one gruffly, “if he’s the fellow
that went down for ‘ringing in’ horses?”
Emanuel nodded.
“He’s in the house, and it’s likely he’ll walk to the station, and
likely enough take the short cut across the fields. That’ll be easy
for you. He’s got to be coshed--you understand? Get him good, even if
you have to do it in the open. If there’s anybody with him, get him in
London. But get him.”
Emanuel came back to his observation post as the first of the cars
went into the drive. Jeff was moving quickly--and there was need.
Presently the car came out. Emanuel caught a glimpse of Jeff and the
frightened face of the girl, and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of
satisfaction. Peter was standing in the middle of the road, watching
the car. If he knew! The smile vanished from the old man’s face. Peter
did not know; he had not been told. Why? Johnny would not let her go,
knowing. Perhaps Lila was lying. You can never trust women of that
kind; they love sensation. Johnny… dangerous. The two words left one
impression. And there was Johnny, standing, one hand in pocket, the
other waving at the car as it came into brief view on the Shoreham
road, as unconcerned as though he were the least interested.
A second car went in and came out. Some guests were leaving. Now, if
Johnny had sense, he would be driven to London with a party. But
Johnny hadn’t sense. He was just a poor sucker, like all cheap crooks
are. He came out alone, crossed the road and went down the narrow
passage that led to the field path.
Emanuel looked backward. His bulldogs had seen and were moving
parallel to the unconscious Gray.
From the road two paths led to the field, forming a Y where they met.
Johnny had passed the fork when he heard the footsteps behind him.
Glancing back, he saw a familiar face and did some shrewd guessing. He
could run and easily outdistance these clumsy men. He preferred to
face them, and turned, holding his malacca cane in both hands.
“’Lo, Gray,” said the bigger of the men. “Where’n thunder are you
going in such a hurry? I want to talk with you, you dirty squeaker!
You’re the fellow that told the deputy I was getting tobacco in
through a screw!”
It was a crude invention, but good enough to justify the rough house
that was booked to follow. They carried sticks in their hands, pliable
canes, shotted at the end.
The blow missed Johnny as he stepped back, and then something long and
bright glittered in the afternoon sun. The scabbard of the sword cane
he held defensively before him, the sword, thin and deadly, was
pointed to the nearer of his enemies. They stopped, Saxon-like,
appalled by the sight of steel.
“Bad boy!” said Johnny reproachfully.
The razor-pointed rapier flickered from face to face, and the men
stumbled back, getting into one another’s way. One of the men felt
something wet on his cheek, and put up his hand. When it came down it
was wet and red.
“Beast, you have my brand!” said Johnny with deadly pleasantry. “Come
when I call you.”
He clicked the sword back in its wooden sheath and strode away. His
indifference, his immense superiority, was almost as tremendously
impressive as his cold toleration.
“He’s ice, that fellow,” said the man with the cut cheek. A sob of
rage softened the rasp of his voice. “By… I’ll kill him for that!”
But he made no attempt to follow, and his companion was glad.
John Gray increased his pace, and after a while emerged into the
outskirts of the town. Here he found a Ford cab and reached the
station in time to see the train pull out. He had made a mistake; the
time-table had been changed that day, but in half an hour there was a
fast train from Brighton that stopped only at Horsham.
He crossed the station yard to an hotel and was in the telephone booth
for a quarter of an hour before he emerged, his collar limp,
perspiration streaming down his face.
There was no sign of a familiar face when he came back to the
platform. He expected to see Emanuel eventually, and here he was not
disappointed, for Emanuel arrived a few minutes before the Brighton
train came in.
Officially, it was their first meeting since they had been members of
the same farm gang at Dartmoor, and Legge’s expression of surprise was
therefore appropriate.
“Why, if it isn’t Gray! Well, fancy meeting you, old man! Well, this
is a surprise! When did you come out?”
“Cease your friendly badinage,” said Johnny shortly. “If we can get an
empty compartment, I’ve got a few words to say to you, Emanuel.”
“Been down to the wedding?” asked the old man slyly. “Nice girl, eh?
Done well for herself? They tell me he’s a Canadian millionaire. Ain’t
that Peter’s luck! That fellow would fall off rock and drop in
feathers, he’s that lucky.”
Johnny made no answer. When the train stopped and he found himself
opposite a first-class carriage, he opened the door and Emanuel hopped
in.
“If you’re short of money----” began Legge.
“I’m not,” said the other curtly. “I’m short of nothing except bad
company. Now listen, Emanuel”--the train was puffing slowly from the
station when he spoke again--“I’m going to give you a chance.”
The wide-eyed astonishment of Emanuel Legge was very convincing, but
Johnny was not open to conviction at the moment.
“I don’t get you, Johnny,” he said. “What’s all this talk about giving
me a chance? Have you been drinking?”
Johnny had seated himself opposite the man, and now he leant forward
and placed his hand upon the other’s knee.