To Ben’s relief, and also amazement, he found that his pistol was now pointing towards Nadine again. He did not remember returning it to this position…
‘Listen, Mr Flitt,’ came the Indian’s quiet voice. It would have sounded pleasanter if the ‘Mr’ had been omitted. The ‘Mr’ sounded contemptuous and ironical—but then, a fellow like Mahdi would surely feel contempt for a fellow like Flitt? ‘You are, like everybody else in this house, a fool, but you have performed one service which has been fruitlessly attempted by all the other fools. You have caught the biggest fool of all.’
Ben’s brain began to spin again. He felt his identity slipping from him. He couldn’t be quite sure whether he was in the cellar or outside it. Meanwhile, the voice of Mahdi went on:
‘Yes, the man locked in there is the most perfect fool I have ever met. He has no brains. He has no strength. He has no motive. Yet—like your fool at Poker—he has beaten us at every turn, and might have continued to beat us had he still been at large. Yes, I admit that, Nadine. It is no disgrace. A drunken fellow across a track may derail the millionaire express. A fragment of grit may upset a solar system. Without any qualification—without any purpose’—he paused for a moment, in subconscious response to a quickly suppressed question in Nadine’s eyes—‘this fellow has hung on like a barnacle! He has even killed a man, Nadine. Killed a man with four times his strength—who was sent to kill him.’
Nadine stood very still. Ben lowered his eyes. He couldn’t keep up with this.
‘Without a purpose,’ repeated the Indian, suddenly musing. ‘Without a purpose? The instinct of self-preservation is strong, and that, of course, is a purpose of sorts. But self-preservation alone, should have dismissed him the first time I saw him…Yes—I wonder!’
His eyes searched Nadine’s ruthlessly. Without removing them, he now addressed Ben again. He had an uncanny trick of pitching his voice in any direction he desired.
‘This lady, Mr Flitt, has not been without a purpose. She, too, has menaced us. But before I have done with her I shall find out what her purpose is. Yes, Mr Flitt, I shall make that my special object. And, since the cellar now has a new occupant, I shall take her to another prison, where the voice of one who controls us all, Mr Flitt, will question her in his own particular fashion.’
‘One who controls you all?’ asked Nadine quietly. ‘Who is that?’
‘You will learn. You shall be dealt with by no less, Nadine! I hope you will see it as an honour when I convey you from here into his presence.’
‘You’re going to take me to him, then?’
‘I have said so.’
‘When?’
‘There will be no delay. Be sure, the meeting is mutually required. Meanwhile, Mr Flitt, you will continue to carry out instructions here, to ensure that another required meeting will also take place—’
‘What other meeting?’ demanded Nadine.
‘Why should I tell you?’ smiled Mahdi.
‘Well, I don’t want to be told,’ retorted Nadine. ‘It is a proof, after all, that you still fear me, Mahdi.’
The smile on Mahdi’s face remained.
‘A simple trick to draw, the information,’ he said. ‘But the child shall be satisfied. For perhaps she must be convinced that she is no longer to be feared? Only as a loved one could she bite. Oh, yes, Nadine, I too have been a fool. But the truly wise admit their folly—and rend the causes of it…What is the matter, Mr Flitt? Do not alter the position of your revolver. Pray keep her covered!…’
‘And is all this chatter of yours another simple trick,’ asked Nadine, a touch of deliberate scorn in her voice, ‘to divert us from the information you were going to give me?’
‘No. You shall have the information. It will not help you. A long box will leave this house tonight. The long box will be conveyed to the place where, also, I am going to convey you, Nadine, and the long box will contain the person with whom this further meeting is desired. You may yourself meet this person,’ he added reflectively. ‘You may be able to help in the explaining of him—should he unwisely refuse to do the explaining himself?’ He paused. ‘And now, I think, it is time for us to go. Unless, perhaps, you want any more information?’
‘You might tell me one more thing,’ said Nadine, ‘if you’re in the mood.’
‘Ask quickly!’
‘What is going to happen to—the biggest fool of all?’
She glanced towards the cellar. She was asking the question for Ben’s guidance, and he hung on to the answer.
‘The biggest fool of all,’ repeated Mahdi, softly. ‘So—you think of him? Well, Nadine, so do I. Believe me, he shall not be forgotten. When the biggest fool and I next meet, he will learn the price of folly!’
He held up his hand for silence. The hall above had become alive with faint sounds. Footsteps crossing the floor—low, uneasy voices—the front door closing…
‘And there go two more fools,’ murmured Mahdi grimly.
‘Yes and what will their folly cost?’ inquired Nadine, with contempt.
‘Shall we say, fifteen thousand pounds—to start with?’ replied Mahdi. ‘You see how little I fear her, Mr Flitt. I tell, her everything! Now, come!’
He seized her wrist with sudden ferocity, but his eyes still smiled. The movement, coupled with its cynical denial of significance, chilled Ben. Beneath his smooth, exterior, the man was a savage, a bursting volcano! And a single bullet could extinguish him!
Again, Ben’s fingers itched almost uncontrollably. Why did he hesitate? Why?
And then, in a sudden illuminating flash, he knew. The girl was willing the reason into him. If Mahdi were dead, how would she learn the whereabouts of the one who controlled them all?
CHAPTER XXXII
THE CONVERSATION IN THE HALL
SO Ben did not shoot Mahdi. Instead, he stood silent and inactive while Mahdi produced a long gleaming knife and invited Nadine to ascend the stairs ahead of him. He watched Nadine obey. He watched Mahdi slip behind her as she did so, the point of his long knife within an inch of her back. He watched till they reached the bend and vanished round it, and he was alone again.
Then revulsion set in. Revulsion and panic. No longer assisted by the steadying influence of Nadine, he visualised her walking to her death, and he lost his head. For some reason, she wanted to meet ‘the one who controlled them all.’ But why should she be allowed to endanger herself further? With a gulp Ben rushed to the stairs and began clambering up. But just before the bend he stopped short. Mr Clitheroe’s voice arrested him.
‘Hallo—what’s all this?’ barked the old man’s voice.
The Indian’s responded unemotionally: ‘I am taking away one of our prisoners.’
‘Where to?’
‘That does not concern you.’
‘By God, haven’t you ever heard of the word co-operation?’
‘I prefer the word obedience. What of our other prisoner? You have him safe?’
‘Of course!’ snapped Clitheroe. ‘You’ll die worrying!’
‘Where is he?’
‘Suppose I answered that it didn’t concern you?’
‘I would repeat the question.’
‘Before this girl?’
There was a short silence before Mahdi’s voice sounded again. It was as cold as steel. It held Ben rigid on the stairs.
‘The girl is finished. She goes with me. Now answer!’
‘Well, well, have it your own way!’ muttered Clitheroe. ‘The other prisoner is safely tucked away into his little box. The little box is in the back room on the second floor. The door of the back room on the second floor is locked. And the key is on the outside. Does that satisfy you?’
‘And the others?’
‘The others? Still before the girl?’
‘Have I not told you she is finished? My questions supply the proof of it. And must I ask each question twice, Mr Clitheroe?’
‘I am glad I at least have the power to annoy you, Mr Mahdi! That is something!
Maybe one of these days I shall annoy you even more. Meanwhile, you wish to know of the others. I will tell you. The two golden geese have just left. They have been efficiently frightened. The male goose will return this evening with the golden egg. And this evening, also, the little box, with its occupant, will be called for by the van which is to deliver it to—I suppose I am not even to be told that?’
‘If I told you that, I would be telling you where I am taking my present prisoner—’
‘Then they are to meet, these two?’
‘An illuminating deduction, Mr Clitheroe!’
‘But then I am illuminating, Mr Mahdi, and only you fail to perceive my light. Well, well, the meeting should be interesting, but if I am not to be present I must content myself by imagining it. And perhaps, after all, that is best. If you are going to be unkind to the young lady whose back you are pricking with your knife—’
‘And whose heart you are covering, Mr Clitheroe, with, your revolver?’
‘Precisely! For a young lady whom we neither of us fear any longer we are taking unusual precautions, eh?’ The old man’s voice rose sarcastically as he made his point. ‘As I said, Mr Mahdi, if you are going to be unkind to her and to our other prisoner, I am perfectly content to remain in ignorance of the fact. At the same time, if an incompetent individual like myself may offer advice, I advise you to be careful. The young lady, I can vouch from my own little encounter with her, is intelligent, and although she is saying nothing at this moment I imagine she is thinking a great deal. The gentleman in the box upstairs, also, is no fool, and may prove this to you when he comes round…but I see you are not interested in my little caution?’
‘Have you anything more to tell me?’
‘Oh, yes. I will be quite complete. Jessica, my alleged daughter, has asked to be released from any further part in our little business. I have refused to grant the release, and have told her she must remain in the house until the little business is over. She will obey me—’
‘As you obey me.’
‘And as you obey one greater than either of us, eh? I think only two more remain to speak of. Our little flea, Flitt, has been keeping guard on the cellar, and I assume he is still below. And Wharton—well, I don’t know where Wharton is, because I haven’t seen him yet since he returned from No. 29, though I did hear him ring while I was upstairs, and wondered why the devil he didn’t use his key.’
‘Wharton did not ring, Mr Clitheroe,’ answered Mahdi. ‘The man who rang was the man Wharton had been sent to kill.’
‘What?’ cried Clitheroe.
‘The man who, in fact, killed Wharton.’
‘Killed Wharton!’
‘I have said so. Are you still satisfied, Mr Clitheroe, with the efficiency of yourself and your staff? And of your qualifications to give advice?’
Mr Clitheroe had no reply. Mahdi continued, in a toneless drone:
‘When I crossed the road to find out why Wharton did not return, I found that he was incapable of returning. He was lying dead! And since it would not have helped us had he been found lying dead by anyone else I conveyed him to the cupboard under the stairs and started him on his journey to the canal. The wisdom of this was very soon proved. While I was in the cupboard, three people arrived, and it was only by closing the cupboard door that I escaped detection. Two of the people went upstairs. A policeman and our tramp. Meanwhile, I slipped out quickly, giving a shock, I fear, to the third person, who was drunk and who had stayed behind on the bottom step. He ran the moment he saw me, and I chased him to make sure that he would keep running. Then the policeman joined, in the chase, and I was free to return and deal with the tramp.’
‘You mean—the fellow had got in?’ gasped Mr Clitheroe.
‘I have already told you that,’ responded Mahdi. ‘How he got in I do not know, and it no longer matters. Flitt has atoned for whatever error he made, and he had control of the situation when I arrived. You see,’ added the Indian sardonically, ‘when credit is due, I award it.’
‘Yes, yes—we all know how lavish you are with your praise,’ muttered Mr Clitheroe, fighting back. ‘So Flitt beat the tramp, eh? Well, that certainly earns him promotion—’
And then Nadine made her one and only remark during the conversation.
‘Will, he be promoted from the cellar to the second floor?’ she asked.
Her voice was scornful and significant. Those who were with her heard the scorn, while the man who was below heard the significance. And heard, also, the sudden pounding of his heart. The second floor! The next job! That was what she was telling him! The second floor, where lay the long, wooden box…
‘Yes but where is the tramp?’cried Mr Clitheroe, all at once.
‘The tramp is in the cellar, bound and gagged,’ answered Mahdi’s voice. ‘The key of the cellar is in my pocket. Do not worry about him. When I return I shall deal with the tramp. But now, it is time to go.’
The voices ceased. The sounds of movement drifted away towards the front door. Nadine, her obedience enforced by knife and bullet, was being conveyed out of the house. Within, a bewildered sailor remained to carry on her work.
What work? The sailor did not know. But he knew that he had been asked to attend to the trouble on the second floor—that the request had been wrapped up in the girl’s one observation just before the conversation in the hall had concluded. He knew that she had divined his ears would be listening. And he knew, that his main object was less to solve the mystery of this forbidding house and deal out justice to its occupants, than to obey without question the will that sang with such strange music in his heart.
So, once again, he sat upon his impulse to rush into the hall and use his weapon. Instead, he crept up. Noiselessly, till his straining eyes beheld the backs of those who had just ceased talking there…
Three backs. At the open front door. The furthest two were Nadine’s and Mahdi’s.
Mahdi had hold of Nadine’s arm, and no passer-by would have guessed that the grip, friendly enough in appearance, bore any threat. A threat, for instance, of swift injection. Behind them stood Mr Clitheroe watching their departure. He stepped out on to the porch, and then stood still again. Now was Ben’s chance!
For although Ben might fool Mahdi in the darkness of the basement, he knew very well that he would have no chance of fooling Mr Clitheroe. Mr Clitheroe would interview him in a stronger light. He would force him to use his voice. Moreover, Ben divined that whereas Ted Flitt was a familiar figure to Mr Clitheroe, he may have been merely a passing one to Mahdi. Yes, clearly an encounter with Mr Clitheroe was to be avoided!
Wherefore Ben slithered with all the silence he could command round the top of the stairs, his eyes fastened meanwhile on the back of the old man who was standing a few inches beyond the doorway. Suddenly the old man raised his head. Ben found himself behind a coat suspended from a hat rack. He did not remember getting there. He just found himself there. In sudden emergency Ben did not wait to think. He thought afterwards, and subsequent thought frequently failed to enlighten him.
He stayed behind the coat for nineteen years. Then he peeped round a sleeve. The old man was still standing in the doorway. He was still looking out into the street. There was no sign of any other back. Ben waited nineteen more years, then slithered away from the coat and dived silently towards the stairs.
If the staircase had been an ascending escalator, he could not have been up the first flight more quickly. He had an amazingly effective method of putting his head down and pushing with his legs. But the second flight was not so favourable to the process. As his head was still down, for he did not even come up to breathe, he failed to notice a soft wall until his head was boring into it. A soft wall that yielded a little at first, and then became rigid and indignant.
Ben raised his head to look at the wall. It was a woman’s skirt. He raised his head higher. The woman who was wearing the skirt, in her turn, looked at the missile. It was the woman who had once offered Ben a cigarette which he had un
wisely smoked.
Ben did not know from her expression whether she recognised him or not. All he could read in it, during his brief and hurried scrutiny, was the emotion of a woman who has been barged into. And, being filled with equal emotion, he did not stay to see any transition. Praying for vocal ability, as Samson prayed for strength; he twisted his throat into Flitt-like channels and gurgled:
‘Sorry, miss!’
Then, he curved round the soft wall, lowered his head again, and completed his journey to the second floor.
Arrived there, he stopped. The stoppage was imposed upon him. A wooden door cannot be barged into as carelessly as a woman’s skirt. Moreover, this wooden door was locked. But the key was on the outside, so the solution was at hand.
He caught hold of the key. Before turning it, he listened. Was the woman coming up after him? He heard nothing. He turned the key, opened the door, and dived into the room.
And, as he closed the door, he heard the key being turned again behind him.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE LONG WOODEN BOX
BEN had been in some unenviable positions during the past twenty-four hours. He had been bullied. He had been shot at. He had been drugged. He had been abducted. He had been murderously attacked. He had been dropped down a hole in a cupboard. He had given himself up for murder. But numbness had not come to him. He could still feel the fingers of horror when they pressed him in any new part. And they pressed him in a new part now as he heard himself being locked in a dim back room with a long wooden box for company.
His first impulse was to fly to the window. He did not act upon the impulse for the reason that his legs refused to take him there. Instead, they gave way suddenly, and he sat down upon the box. Then movement returned, and he sprang half across the room.
The box was covered by a black cloth. A deliberate attempt, apparently, to introduce a funereal atmosphere. But at one end, where the cloth had been displaced by Ben’s bound, white wood peeped out, and the funereal atmosphere was a trifle less apparent. ‘Go on—you ain’t reely a corfin!’ thought Ben. The thought brought little consolation.
The House Opposite Page 22