“Revenge.”
She met his gaze.
“Sit down, Ray.”
“Not for a minute,” he answered.
She spoke scornfully:
“Do you think I’m afraid to die?”
“Who’s talking about dying?” he mumbled.
“Then take your hand out of your pocket.”
“Not till I get ready to.”
She bent her head and began to embroider again.
“What’s that?” she murmured.
“What’s what?”
“Will you please open the hall door,” she said, “and see if anyone is outside?”
“Open it yourself,” he breathed.
She started to put down her sewing.
“No, you don’t!” he cried. “You are clever—by heaven, you are. Let him stay in the hall. You sha’n’t budge, nor I.”
She looked up at him frankly.
“Ray,” she said, “do be reasonable with me. You know well enough that you were guilty, and that it was my job to get the evidence and convict you. What, in heaven’s name, could I have done? What would you have done in my place?”
“You made love to me,” he said.
“Are you a man, Ray?” she asked quickly. “To say a woman made love to you!”
“Women like you and Flo do, Ki.”
“Yes, to womanish men.”
“Womanish!”
“Yes. I think you are womanish,” she answered quietly. “Now, like a woman, you come crying around here, and want revenge because I made love to you.”
He began to pace up and down nervously, pausing now and then to look at her.
“But you did ruin me!” he cried. “And in cold blood.”
“Not so very cold.”
He stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you, Ray.”
He obeyed her, and sat again in the chair near her.
“Ray,” she said softly, “when I went after you seven years ago, my husband had deserted me three years before, at the time my boy died. I was lonesome as a bell-buoy at sea. I was frozen in on myself. But I feel that way now,” she murmured, “and that’s why it never matters to me whether I die or not. Perhaps you think it easy for a woman to be a detective, and live in the under-world without being part of it, and not be respectable enough to have friends of the real sort. That was the way I felt when I found you. Then you loved me; and it seemed to me as if I had found something.”
Color mounted to his cheeks.
“You did care for me, Ki?” he whispered.
“I did, Ray.”
He leaned toward her.
“Ki, you honestly cared? Loved?”
“If you call it love,” she said weakly.
“But you cared?”
She smiled, her eyes wistful with tears.
“I’m an old fool,” she muttered, wiping her eyes with the doily. “You see, when a woman’s my age, and nothing to love, she just naturally fastens on every ownerless dog and becomes its mother. And when I found you up there, young and handsome, and blowing your life to bits—well——”
“Well, what?” he asked softly.
“I felt like a mother to you.”
He sat up.
“Like a mother! But I loved you, because you were a woman, not a mother to me!”
“Not so fast!” she said. “Remember the day we sat out watching the Falls, up there on the rocks, alone with sky and water?”
“What day?”
“The day you told me everything.”
He shivered.
“Well, what of it?”
“Remember what you said to me?”
“What did I say to you?”
“You said I reminded you of your mother, the only woman you had ever really loved——”
He stared at her.
“I said that?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t mean I wanted you to be a mother to me. I loved you.”
“What could come of it?” she pleaded. “Ray, I’m more than twelve years older than you.”
“What’s twelve years?”
She smiled.
“You’re the same as ever.”
He shuddered.
“The same! Yes, with seven years of hell branded on me.”
A vein on his forehead stood out; a dangerous light returned to his eyes.
“You’re playing with me again,” he muttered. “But I won’t take any more of it! I bet you’d make love to me now to get the best of me.”
“You think that, Ray?”
“You did it once; you would do it again.”
“Ah, no,” she sighed. “You see, I didn’t play at it then. I did care.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m too old; I’m past all that.”
“You’re not. Your eyes are as bright as ever.”
“My husband may still be living.”
“What do I care?”
“Can’t we be friends, Ray? Really, now, I’ve often thought of you these past years, and wished it might have been different. Come, let’s make the best of it. Perhaps I can put you on your feet again.”
“How?” he sneered.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve learned a lot in jail.”
“A lot!” he said bitterly. “A lot about crime and vice.”
“Just what I meant. You see, I might get you in on the police department—secret service work. I think you could do it.”
“With my record!”
“It was a youthful error. They know that.”
“I paid pretty heavily for my youthful error!”
“Come,” she said, “make the best of it. You look tired out, Ray—pale and worn. And all this strain. And this silly revenge business. Come, let me get you some supper, and we’ll celebrate your new life. A new start, tonight!”
He sat musing, and sighed. Then he rose wearily and began to pace around. Suddenly he looked at her suspiciously, and came toward her, leaning against the table. He spoke hoarsely, shaking with a new gust of emotion.
“Ki, what in the name of twenty hells are you trying to do?”
She looked at him.
“What are you trying to do?”
“By God, I’m a fool with women. I was fooled twice, and I’ve paid for it with seven years of being shut in; seven years of being dead; seven years of scheming how I could get revenge on you. You said you cared for me. You cared for me so much that you sent me to prison!”
He leaned nearer; his voice rose.
“Now I’ve reached the end. I swore, Ki, I would kill you, and I will!”
“I had to send you to prison,” she murmured.
“Had to!”
“For your own sake.”
“How?”
“To save you from your own folly—yes, and from Flo.”
“Yes,” he snapped; “from Flo!”
“Now, see here, Ray,” she said sharply. “What would have become of you if you had gone on running wild? You, with your crazy nature! And women could twist you around their little fingers! Why, you would have destroyed yourself in dissipation. Isn’t that so?”
“Maybe,” he growled.
“Think,” she said, “of taking thirty thousand dollars for a woman; and then the reckless speed with which you spent it! Perhaps you forget what you said when I turned you over to the police.”
“What did I say?”
She smiled.
“You said, ‘Thank God, it’s over.’ ”
There was a pause. He sat down again.
“Ah, now, Ray,” she said, “come! I did struggle with myself over you. I did care for you. But, if you had been my own son
, it might have seemed best for you to pay up—to be shut away until you grew to know better. Why not make the best of it?”
“But you making love to me—” he began again.
“And you loving Flo.”
“I never did.”
“Not love? What, then? She was like a madness in your blood, even when you were with me. I think you still love her.”
He breathed hard, looking down on the floor.
“She was a—a snake!”
“But beautiful.”
“Not so beautiful. But that long, twisting neck of hers—and those green eyes—and her laughing at me, and never letting me alone——”
“Never letting you alone?”
“Yes; never taking no for answer, but coming around, dogging me about, making scenes, quarreling, tempting—and then whispering, ‘I am nice, Ray, don’t you think so?’ ‘You do care for me, after all, don’t you?’ And her damned innocence——”
“That fooled you, like the rest!” said Mrs. Polly, smiling.
“How did I know? She going around talking like a saint, and then making love like a hurricane—struggling, fighting— It was like hugging a volcano.”
“Often think of her?”
He looked away.
“I hate to think of her.”
“You love to think of her. You love that madness in your blood, don’t you? You love to feel wild.”
“She destroyed me. I was a decent fellow until Flo came.”
“Yes; she went around the world, breaking men. A curious business. But she’s changed, Ray.”
He looked up, interested.
“How, changed?”
“Well, your going to prison for her. It made a different woman of her. It subdued her, scared her. I think she loved you, Ray.”
He stared at her.
“Did she?” he asked, like a wistful child.
She smiled.
“I think she really did. So if she comes tonight, while you are here——”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be too hard on her. Perhaps you two——”
“We two?”
“Think of it! She’s still beautiful. And she and I have been very good friends.”
He breathed hard, looking away. Then he turned toward her.
“I’ve been a fool, Ki,” he said.
“Yes,” she laughed frankly; “you have, Ray.”
“You’re really my friend,” he said.
“And no silly love business?”
“No. I guess it’s Flo.”
“Good.” She arose. “Now, Ray, I’ll get supper. But first——”
“First, what?”
“An evidence of good faith. Give me the gun.”
He looked at her quickly, and met her clear, honest eyes. He smiled, put his hand in his pocket, and lifted out the loaded revolver. She took it carefully, and gazed at it.
“So you would have killed me, boy. Well, well!”
She sighed and looked down at him; her lips quivered.
“Listen,” she said. “I am going to see how wise you are. You see, I didn’t telephone to Flo; just held the ’phone to my lips.”
His jaw fell; he stared.
“Why?” he asked.
“Ray,” she said solemnly, “Flo is dead.”
He trembled all over, and sank back.
“Dead?”
She stepped away from him carefully.
“Yes. Consumption—three years ago.”
He leaped to his feet like a maniac.
“Damn you!” he shouted. “You’ve betrayed me again!”
He started for her, and she raised the revolver.
“Get back,” she said quietly.
He paused.
“Ray,” she said, “neither did I call up Headquarters. I could have; but you see I wanted to give you a chance to make good. It was all planted.”
He stared and stared at her.
“Shall I get supper?” asked Mrs. Polly.
“Oh, Ki!” he broke down.
She gave him one motherly kiss then, and went in to find the coffee pot.
THE PULP ERA
DETECTIVES: DAPHNE WRAYNE AND THE ADJUSTERS
THE WIZARD’S SAFE
Valentine
IN A TYPE OF STORY that is no longer written but that still retains its charm, even in the modern era, a lovely young woman is the brains of an outfit, sometimes a criminal one and sometimes one that battles crime, composed of men who adore her and will quickly make themselves available to do her bidding. Edgar Wallace’s Four Square Jane had her group of thieves; L. T. Meade’s Madame Koluchy, her gang of killers; David Durham’s Fidelity Dove, whose angelic look “made slaves of many men” and belied her thieving ways; and Archibald Thomas Pechey (1876–1961), under the pseudonym Valentine, had Daphne Wrayne who, with the Four Adjusters, righted wrongs that the criminal justice system was unable to.
The early short stories and first book about the group of amateur crime fighters, beginning with The Adjusters (1930), was published under the Valentine nom de plume (a name inspired by his mother’s maiden name of Valentin) but was continued for forty-five additional novels and short stories using the pseudonym Mark Cross, the first of which was The Shadow of the Four (1934).
Books and stories frequently begin with Daphne calling a meeting of her associates, explaining a situation for them, and requesting their help in “adjusting” a miscarriage of justice—a request never denied. The various skills of the members assure a satisfying outcome. The members of the group are Sir Hugh Williamson, a noted African explorer; James Treviller, a handsome young nobleman; Martin Everest, a lawyer; and Alan Sylvester, an actor. They secretly operate outside the law, and the police are suspicious of them. Although they can’t positively identify them as the goodhearted vigilantes that they are, the police are confident that Daphne is the head of some sort of helpful organization and turn a blind eye to its activities.
“The Wizard’s Safe” was originally published in the June 16, 1928, issue of Detective Fiction Weekly.
The Wizard’s Safe
VALENTINE
THE DUCHESS OF ARLINGTON, stout, comfortable, complacent-looking, sank down with a sigh into the easy chair and smiled affectionately at Daphne Wrayne. All the same she was distinctly puzzled, for it was the first time she had entered that luxurious room.
Daphne herself she had known from babyhood and when she had launched out into that extraordinary enterprise known as the Adjusters she, the duchess, was one of the first to cross-question her upon it. Not that she had learned any more from the girl than the public knew.
The Adjusters had suddenly sprung into being one day in lavishly furnished offices in Conduit Street. Their object, they said, was to handle and solve the cases with which the police were unable to cope—and they charge no fees whatsoever!
But that was a year ago, and today the duchess knew as she gazed at pretty, beautifully dressed Daphne Wrayne smiling at her from her big carved oak chair, that this girl represented the Adjusters as far as the public knew.
She admitted to four mysterious colleagues, but no one had ever seen them. According to her, no one was ever going to see them! But the duchess knew, because the press constantly told her so, that the public, rich and poor alike, brought all sorts of cases to Daphne—and Daphne solved them!
At the moment she was almost the most talked-of young woman in the whole of London, credited with the most amazing powers. Though she herself invariably denied them.
“So this is where you do all your Sherlock Holmes stuff, is it?” said the duchess, gazing round the room. “What an amazin’ young woman you are, my dear.”
THE BIGGEST BRAINS
“Everybody’s talkin’ about you—crazy to know who’s with you in this show of yours.
What on earth you do it for I don’t know. The modern young women simply get me beat.”
Daphne Wrayne laughed softly.
“Well, it’s huge fun.”
“Tell that to any one who’ll swallow it!” retorted the other with a little sniff. “I haven’t known you from babyhood for nothing. You never studied law for those years just for fun—don’t tell me!
“Though why on earth you charge no fees in this place, defeats me. D’you know that you’ve made such a name for yourselves that you could charge some of your clients what you like?”
“I believe we could,” calmly, “but as we run the risk almost every week of our lives of being caught, tried and sent to prison—”
“You sit there and tell me that?” amazed.
“I do, and mean it. Oh, mind you, duchess, there’d be no stigma attaching to any one of us. I’m not even sure that any jury would convict us even if we were caught. At the same time we’ve got to work with absolutely clean hands and the moment the public knows we’re making money out of this show our hands cease to be absolutely clean. And that’s why we never charge any fees.
“Everybody suspected us at first—they were bound to. Philanthropy’s rare these days. But gradually they’ve learned they can trust us. We’ve solved cases that have baffled the police, and—which is far more important—there’s no publicity.”
“But how on earth do you do it?”
The girl smiled.
“It’s not amazingly difficult, duchess, come to think of it. A capital of a quarter of a million—that’s our first asset. Four of the biggest brains in England—that’s the second. And those four going everywhere and mixing with everybody and no one with even the vaguest notion of who they are.”
“You mean to say I know them?” incredulously.
“Most assuredly,” smiling, “though you haven’t even an idea that they’re my colleagues. And until we trip up, you and the public never will.”
EASY ENOUGH
The duchess drew a deep breath.
“It’s beyond words!” she said.
“Well, then,” went on the girl, “the police are working all the time under a handicap and we’re not. If the police, say, have reason to suspect a man of holding stolen property they daren’t enter his house and search it unless they’re practically sure. If they make a mistake there’s big trouble following.
The Big Book of Female Detectives Page 30