by Molly Thynne
“I know what’s in your mind,” said Gilroy—“the open door.”
Fenn nodded.
“He sticks to it that he shut the front door of Sir Adam’s flat when he went out. Five minutes later Stephens, according to his own account, finds it open and, what is still more significant, declares that the person he heard enter the flat acted as though he expected to find it open. All this may be sheer romancing on Stephens’ part, but one can’t overlook the fact that, whereas he has nothing to gain by lying, Johnson may have excellent reasons for not speaking the truth. Now that he has given himself away over the ring, we may get the whole story from Johnson. We haven’t got it yet.”
“He certainly hasn’t the makings of a criminal, poor chap,” said Gilroy thoughtfully. “He might kill in a moment of blind panic, though.”
“He didn’t. Assuming that he killed and robbed his master before leaving the flat, it’s inconceivable that his accomplices should have stayed on, talking loudly, for a good half-hour after his departure. And if they weren’t his accomplices and did not reach the flat till after he had gone, how did they get in? We are assuming, remember, that Sir Adam was already dead by then.”
“They got in through the door Johnson had left open, presumably,” said Gilroy. “In fact, we’ve got Stephens’ word for it that that’s just what they, or he, did do.”
“If you’re going to ask me to believe that Johnson, having killed his master, deliberately left the flat door open so that any one might walk in and stumble on the evidence of his crime, I flatly refuse to do anything of the sort. No, there’s no reason that I can see to doubt that one of the voices both Webb and Stephens heard was that of Sir Adam. Even you cannot say for certain that the person you heard speaking was not your grandfather,” he concluded, turning to Jill.
“I’ve no reason to think it wasn’t,” she admitted.
“What made me doubtful was that I had never known him in such a cheerful mood. The people I heard were talking and laughing. Pretty loudly, too!”
“Which shows how apt one is to jump to conclusions,” pointed out Fenn. “You took it for granted that it was not Sir Adam because he was in a laughing mood. Webb, on the contrary, decided definitely that the voice was that of Sir Adam because he sounded angry. I, personally, am of the opinion, in spite of certain things that have come to my knowledge lately, that it was Sir Adam you both heard, and that Johnson was not in the flat at the time he was killed. But it doesn’t follow that Johnson is not in the hands of some one a good deal cleverer than himself. Johnson hasn’t got the nerve or the brain to carry through a thing of this sort, but he’s the kind of chicken-hearted fool that makes the best tool.”
“Do you want me to prosecute?” asked Jill.
“I don’t,” said Fenn bluntly. “At least not at this stage of the game. He can’t slip through our fingers now, and I’ve an idea that the more rope we allow him the better. Johnson under lock and key for petty larceny, with a whacking good alibi for the time of the murder, is no good to me; but free, goodness knows where he may lead us.”
“I’ll leave you to do as you think best,” said Jill.
“So far as the ring is concerned, I shouldn’t prosecute if the circumstances were normal. I should be quite content to let it drop, provided he returns it and anything else he may have taken. After all, we don’t even know for certain whether he did take the money.”
“We know he’s dishonest, whichever way you look at it; whether the notes he gave Ling were part of his wages—in which case he’s managed to get them paid twice over—or they weren’t, but were stolen by him after Sir Adam’s death. He’s for it, either way. But it isn’t Johnson I want, but the man behind him, if there is one. And, frankly, I’m not even sure that there is. But if we keep him on a string we’re likely to stumble on something.”
“When you’ve finished your business with Johnson, why not stay on over to-night and go back with us in the morning?” suggested Gilroy. “The chap I’m staying with would put you up, and both Miss Braid and myself have got to be back at work on Friday morning.”
Fenn shook his head.
“I must get back to-night, I’m afraid,” he said, rising reluctantly to his feet. “It’s a dog’s life, a policeman’s. And now to put the fear of God into Master Johnson!”
The door of the cheap lodging-house which Johnson had chosen for his honeymoon was opened by a slatternly girl with a cold in her head, and a permanent grudge against anybody misguided enough to ring the front-door bell.
“I dunno if ’e’s in. I’m sure,” she said, in answer to Fenn’s inquiry. “But I can see, if yer like to wait.”
But Fenn did not wait. Instead, he followed her as she flapped wearily up the narrow staircase, and was close behind her when she stopped outside a door on the third floor.
“’Ere! what yer doin’?” she snapped, realizing his presence for the first time. “Why didn’t yer stay downstairs like I told yer?”
“I’m here to ask questions, not to answer them,” said Fenn, and there was something in his voice that brought a quick gleam of suspicion into her sharp eyes. “You knock at that door, and if Mr. Johnson’s in he’ll see me.”
“You ain’t the police, are yer?” she queried, under her breath.
For answer Fenn stepped past her and knocked at the door.
At the sound of a man’s voice from within he placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the stairs.
“You trot along and finish your washing-up,” he said. “I’ll let myself out.”
He waited till she was safely round the corner of the staircase, then he opened the door and went in.
He found himself in a small, none too clean bedroom. Johnson was lying on the bed in his shirtsleeves reading, and a woman, presumably his wife, was sitting by the empty grate darning a stocking.
“What the hell—” began Johnson, and then thought better of it. “Come in, Mr. Fenn,” he finished weakly, as he swung his feet to the floor.
Fenn shut the door and stood leaning against it, his hands in his pockets.
“I want a few straight words with you, Johnson,” he said grimly.
The man’s face turned from white to a dirty grey.
“You’d better clear out, Ruby,” he muttered, with a jerk of his head in the woman’s direction.
“Mrs. Johnson can stay where she is,” snapped Fenn. “She’s in this too.”
The woman, who had been staring at him in amazement, sprang to her feet, her cheeks crimson.
“I ain’t done nothing!” she exclaimed shrilly. “And I’d like to know by what right—”
“That’ll do,” cut in Fenn, and with a sidelong glance at her husband she relapsed into silence.
“Before we go any further,” he went on, “I’ll have that ring you were wearing this afternoon.”
She slipped her left hand out of the stocking she had been darning, and he saw that it was ringless.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sullenly.
Johnson crossed the room and picked up his coat.
“That’s right, Mr. Fenn,” he said earnestly, as he inserted his arm in the sleeve. “We don’t know nothing about no ring.”
In a couple of strides Fenn was across the room and, before the man realized his object, had the coat in his hands.
“Here, you’ve got no right to do that!” squealed Johnson, making a futile snatch at him.
“If you’d rather it was done at the station, say so,” was Fenn’s answer, as he went deftly through the pockets. “But I warn you, you won’t get so good a chance to explain matters there.”
He had extracted a fat pocket-book from the breast pocket of the coat and was running through its contents. In a small compartment intended for stamps he found the ring. Holding it and a wad of Treasury notes in his hand, he threw the coat and pocket-book on the bed and turned to Johnson.
“Now, what about it?” he said.
“That ring’s mine!” she exclaimed. “It was given to me—”
“Hold your tongue, will you!” snapped Johnson furiously. “And leave this to me.”
“If Mrs. Johnson’s got anything to say, I’m ready to hear it,” said Fenn, his eyes on the woman’s face.
But it was too late. Something in her husband’s voice had warned her. She relapsed sullenly into her chair and picked up her darning.
“If I don’t know nothing, I can’t say nothing, can I?” she muttered.
Fenn examined the ring. It was identical with the one he had seen Jill wearing.
He turned to Johnson.
“I’m going to give you a bit of advice,” he said sharply. “Whether you choose to act on it or not is your own affair. You can either talk now and explain how you came to be in possession of Sir Adam Braid’s ring, or you can wait till I’ve charged you. But I tell you frankly that it depends on what you say to me whether Miss Braid decides to prosecute or not. She’s willing to make allowances for you, which is more than they’ll do in the charge-room. Which is it going to be?”
Johnson hesitated, then, catching his wife’s eye, drew himself up with a gesture of bravado that was not very convincing.
“If you charge me with theft I can’t help but go with you,” he said. “But you’ve got to prove it, and you won’t get a word out of me till I’ve seen a lawyer.”
“That’s right, Ned,” exclaimed his wife triumphantly. “Don’t let him put it over on you.”
Fenn shrugged his shoulders.
“Have it your own way, then,” he said quietly. “What Miss Braid may do is her own affair. But if I charge you, it won’t be with theft.”
The man’s jaw dropped.
“What do you mean?” he exclaimed.
“What I say. The man who fixed the safety-catch of the lock of Sir Adam Braid’s front door so that the door would not shut on the night of November the sixth was an accessory to the murder.” Johnson’s face betrayed him.
“I wasn’t anywhere near the flat when Sir Adam was killed,” he stammered.
“I’m not saying you were; I’m only pointing out to you that things don’t look any too good for you as it is, and that the franker you are, the better it will be for you in the long run. I’ll go further, just to prove that I’m playing fair with you. I’m pretty well satisfied that that door was left open by you, and though I can’t prove it, I’ve got evidence enough against you to make it worth my while to take a chance and pull you in. Now, if you’ve got anything to say for yourself, let’s have it.”
Johnson put his hand up to hide his twitching lips.
“That door was shut and locked when I left the flat,” he said stubbornly.
“I’ve only got your word for that. How do I know that this little lot isn’t your share of the swag?”
He thrust out the hand containing the ring and the notes.
What little nerve Johnson had left deserted him completely.
“I’ll tell you everything, Mr. Fenn,” he gasped. “I took the ring. I saw it lying on the table in the bedroom when I went the round of the flat after Sir Adam’s death. I never meant to; but I owed money and they were pressing me, and I thought I could sell it. And then Miss Braid asked me if it was gone, and I didn’t dare mention it when I gave you the list of the things that were missing. That’s how it was. I didn’t take nothing else, I’ll swear, except a couple of notes that were in the drawer in the study.”
Fenn unfolded the notes he had taken from Johnson’s pocket-book and glanced through them. Not one of them bore the numbers he was looking for. So far it would seem that the man’s statement was correct. But Fenn had not forgotten the missing hat-box, and was not blind to the possibility that there had been more money in the flat than the eighty pounds Sir Adam had brought from the bank on October the thirtieth. He did not by any means feel convinced that Johnson had come by the money honestly.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
“They’re mine, sir,” answered the man eagerly. “I sold out a bit of War Loan to pay up some money I owed, and this was what was over. It was some I’d saved, but I was hoping I shouldn’t have to touch it.”
Fenn balanced the notes thoughtfully in his hand.
“I’d be more inclined to take your word for that,” he said, “if I knew what Ike Sanders was doing in this house on Monday evening.”
Johnson flinched perceptibly. His hunted eyes roamed helplessly round the room as he tried to frame an answer to Fenn’s question. At the sound of his wife’s voice he started convulsively.
“Ike came to see me, if you must know,” she said, looking up from her darning. “I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he came to see how I was getting on. There’s no harm in that, I suppose?”
“None, if what you say is true. I’ve sent word for him to call at the Yard to-morrow morning, and I shall know better when I’ve heard what he’s got to say,” answered Fenn, with what was, for him, lamentable lack of discretion.
He handed the notes back to Johnson.
“I’ll take your word for it that you came by these honestly,” he said. “But I warn you, Johnson, that you’d better deal straight with me from now on. It rests with Miss Braid whether I charge you with the theft or not. If she doesn’t prosecute, you’ll have better luck than you deserve. Those notes you say you took from Sir Adam’s drawer, what did you do with them?”
Johnson hesitated, then—
“I used them to make up the money I owed,” he said sullenly.
“To whom?”
“A man called Ling.”
“And you took nothing but those two notes and the ring?”
“Not a thing. I swear it.”
“Do you know anything about a hat-box that’s missing from Sir Adam’s flat?”
The question was so sudden that it seemed as though the man were bound to betray himself. But he met Fenn’s eyes with no sign of embarrassment.
“I don’t know nothing about a hat-box. If it’s the one that used to be on the wardrobe in the bedroom, it’s a month or more since that disappeared. What Sir Adam did with it, I couldn’t say.”
Seeing that there was no more to be got out of him, Fenn went on his way. But he was far from satisfied. Johnson had been altogether too glib with his explanations, and it struck Fenn that he was fortunate in having married a woman a good deal more astute than himself.
He might have been inclined to alter his opinion if he could have heard her ultimatum to her husband, delivered immediately after his departure.
She had risen from her seat and moved to the window, where she stood watching till Fenn had turned the corner. Then she swung round on her husband.
“I spoke up for you this time, Ned,” she said. “And I’d like to know where you’d have been without me. But I’m not going into this blindfold, and so I tell you. What call had you to say as you’d taken that there ring off the old gentleman? I thought there was something queer when you made such a fuss about me wearing it, and if you’d told me what was in your mind then, instead of behaving like a dirty bully, I’d likely have listened to you.”
Her husband shifted his feet uneasily. He was no match for her, and he knew it.
“The less you know about this business, the better for both of us,” he muttered. “You can take that from me, my girl.”
She approached him until her face was close to his, and when she spoke it was in a low voice, full of meaning.
“You know where I found that ring,” she said. “And you’re going to tell me why you took on yourself to lie about it. For lying you were, and unless that split’s a bigger fool than he looks, he knows it. I’m waiting, Ned,”
For a moment it seemed as if he were about to give in; then, in a frenzy of helpless rage, he turned on her.
“Mind your own damned business!” he shouted, and, with the short-lived violence of a weak man who knows that he is cornered, pus
hed her roughly on one side and left the room, banging the door behind him.
Mrs. Johnson went back to her seat by the grate and picked up her work.
“And you’ll come back blind to the world, my lad,” she said. “And then we’ll see what you’ve got to say for yourself.”
CHAPTER XIV
At the corner of Vinor Street stands a small druggist’s. A well-polished shop window makes an admirable mirror, and the elderly, rather shabby-looking individual who was standing apparently absorbed in the contemplation of a stock of patent medicines did not turn his head at the sight of Fenn, neither did he miss the almost imperceptible signal that the detective made as he passed behind him.
Once round the corner of the street Fenn paused. A second later he was joined by the man whose attentions to Jill Braid’s movements had roused Gilroy’s ire only a few days before.
“You’ll find yourself back in London this time to-morrow, Garrison,” said Fenn, “unless I’m mistaken. If the woman makes a move of any kind, let her go. I don’t think she’ll lead us anywhere. But if Johnson telephones or sends a wire, report at once. You’re sure it was Johnson Ike Sanders was after?”
Garrison nodded.
“Dead sure. That’s why I reported at once. They showed themselves together at the window. And if you’ve been putting the wind up Johnson, sir,” added the detective, who had stationed himself at an angle from which he could keep an eye on the door of the house Fenn had just left, “I can tell you what his first move will be.”
In answer to his superior’s questioning glance he lifted his elbow significantly.
“So that’s what’s the matter, is it?” murmured Fenn.
“Been at it ever since I’ve been on the job,” answered the man. Then, with a gesture of warning, “He’s coming now, and I’m willing to bet I know where he’s going.”
They strolled up the street and took refuge in a shop doorway, from which they could see Johnson hurry round the corner and across the road. Without a glance in their direction he dived through the swing doors of a public-house.
“He’s safe for the next half-hour, sir,” said Garrison. “And when he does come out, he’ll be past knowing whether he’s being trailed or not. His head’s as weak as his nerves, from the look of it.”