‘You can’t tell me how he did it?’
‘No, sir. Some simple trick of course, but I had no chance to find it out. I might perhaps suggest that he had two similar flasks, one innocent and the other drugged, and that he changed them by sleight of hand while attracting your attention elsewhere.’
Cheyne shook his head. He had thought of this explanation before, but it was not satisfactory. He had been watching the man and he was satisfied he had not played any such trick. Besides, this would not explain why no trace of a drug was found in the food. Speedwell, however, could make no further suggestion.
Cheyne put away his note-book.
‘There’s another thing I should like to know,’ he said, ‘and that is how you have learned all this. I suppose you won’t tell me?’
Speedwell smiled as he shook his head.
‘Some day, sir, when the case is over. You see, if I were to show you my channels of information you would naturally use them yourself, and then where should I come in? A man in my job soon learns where to pick up a bit of knowledge. It’s partly practice and partly knowing the ropes.’
‘And there’s another thing I wish,’ Cheyne went on as if he had not heard the other, ‘and that is that you had gone a bit further in your researches and learned what that paper was and what game that gang is up to.’
The detective’s manner became more eager.
‘That’s what I was coming to myself, Mr Cheyne. If you want that information I can get it for you. But it may cost you a bit of money. It would depend on the time I should have to spend on it and the risks I should have to run. If you would like me to take it on for you I could do so. But of course it’s a matter for yourself altogether.’
Cheyne reflected. This Speedwell had certainly done an amazing amount of work already on the case, and his success so far showed that he was a shrewd and capable man. To engage him to complete the work would probably be the quickest way of bringing the matter to a head, and the easiest, so far as he himself was concerned. But then he would lose all the excitement and the fun. He had pitted his wits against these men, and to hand the affair over to Speedwell would be to confess himself beaten. Moreover, he should have to admit his failure to Miss Merrill and to forego any more alarums and excursions in her company. No, he would keep the thing in his own hands for the present at all events.
He therefore said that he was obliged for the other’s offer, which later on he might be glad to accept, but that for the moment he would not make any further move.
‘Right, sir. Whatever you say,’ Speedwell agreed amicably. ‘I might add what indeed you’ll be able to guess for yourself from what I’ve told you, that this crowd is a pretty shrewd crowd, and they’ll not, so to speak, be beating the air in this job of yours. They’re going for something, and you may take it from me that something will be worth their going for. At least, if not, I’ll eat my hat.’
‘I quite agree with you,’ Cheyne returned, fumbling in his pocket. ‘It now remains for me to write my cheque and then we shall be square.’
Cheyne counted the hours until four o’clock, and as soon as he dared he set off for No. 17 Horne Terrace. Indeed, he timed his visit so well that as he reached the top of the tenth flight of steps, the door of room No. 12 opened and the model emerged. She held the door open for him, and ten minutes later he was seated in the big arm-chair drinking the usual cup of fragrant China tea.
Miss Merrill listened with close attention to his story, but she was not so enthusiastic at his success as he could have wished. She made no comment until he had finished and then her remark was, if anything, disparaging.
‘I don’t quite like it, you know,’ she said slowly. ‘From your description of him it certainly looks as if that detective was playing a game of his own. It doesn’t sound straight. Do you think you can trust him?’
‘Not as far as I can see him, but how can I help myself? I expect the addresses he gave are all correct, but I’m not at all satisfied that he won’t go straight to the gang and tell them he has found me and get their money for that.’
‘And you think you wouldn’t be wiser to back out yourself and instruct him to carry on for you?’
Cheyne sat up and took his pipe out of his mouth.
‘I’m damned if I will,’ he declared hotly. ‘It might be a lot wiser and all that, but I’m just not going to.’
‘You’re quite sure? I couldn’t persuade you?’ she went on demurely, without looking at him.
‘I can’t imagine you trying, Miss Merrill. But in any case I’m going on.’
‘Good!’ she cried, and her eyes lit up as she smiled at him. ‘You’re quite mad, but I sometimes like mad people. Then if, in spite of all I can say, you’re going on, what about a visit to Wembley tonight?’
‘The very ticket!’ Cheyne was swept by a wave of delight and enthusiasm. ‘It is jolly of you to suggest it. And you will come out to dinner and I may pay my bet?’
‘As it’s a bet—all right. But you must go away now. I have some things to attend to. I’ll meet you when and where you say.’
‘What about the Trocadero at seven? A leisurely dinner and then we for Wembley?’
‘Right-o,’ she laughed and vanished into the other room, while Cheyne, full of an eager excitement, went off to telephone orders to the restaurant as to the reservation of places.
10
The New Firm Gets Busy
Cheyne and Joan Merrill took a Wembley Park train from Baker Street shortly before nine that evening, and a few minutes later alighted at the station whose name was afterwards to become a household word throughout the length and breadth of the British Empire. But at that time the Exhibition was not yet thought of, and the ground which was later to hum with scores of thousands of visitors from all parts of the world was now a dark and deserted plain.
When the young people left the station and began to look round them, they found that they had reached the actual fringe of the metropolis. Towards London were the last outlying rows of detached and semi-detached houses of the standard suburban type. In the opposite direction, towards Harrow, was the darkness of open country. Judging by the number of lights that were visible, this country was extraordinarily sparsely inhabited.
Guarded inquiries from the railway officials had evoked the information that Dalton Road lay some ten minutes’ walk from the station in a north-easterly direction, and thither the two set off. They passed along with circumspection, keeping as far as possible from the street lamps and with their coat collars turned up and the brims of their hats pulled down over their eyes. But the place was deserted. During the whole of their walk they met only one person—a man going evidently to the station, and he strode past with barely a glance.
Dalton Road proved, save for its street lamps and footpath, to be little more than a lane. It led somewhat windingly in an easterly direction off the main road. The country at this point was more thickly populated and there was quite a number of houses in view. All were built in the style of forty years ago, and were nearly all detached, standing in small grounds or lots. Here and there were fine old trees which looked as if they must have been in existence long before the houses, and most of the lots were well supplied with shrubs and with high and thick partition hedges.
Nearly all the gates bore names, and as the two young people walked along, they had no difficulty in identifying Earlswood. There was a lamp at the other side of the road which enabled them to read the white letters on their green ground. Without pausing they glanced around, noting what they could of their surroundings.
A narrow lane running north and south intersected Dalton Road at this point, and in each of the four angles were houses. That in the south-west corner was undergoing extension, the side next the lane showing scaffolding and-built half brick walls. The two adjoining corners were occupied by houses which presented no interesting features, and in the fourth corner, diagonally opposite that of the building operations, stood Earlswood. All four houses were surrounded by unu
sually large lots containing plenty of trees. Earlswood was particularly secluded, the hall door being almost hidden from both road and lane by hedges and shrubs.
‘Lucky it’s got all those trees about it,’ Cheyne whispered as they passed on down Dalton Road. ‘If we have to burgle it we can do it without being overlooked by the neighbours.’
They continued on their way until they found that Dalton Road debouched on a wide thoroughfare which inquiries showed was Watling Street, the main road between London and St Albans. Then retracing their steps to Earlswood, they followed the cross lane, first south, which brought them back to Wembley, and north, which after about a mile brought them out on the Harrow Road. Having thus learned the lie of the land so as to know where to head in case a sudden flight became necessary, they returned once more to Earlswood to attempt a closer examination of the house.
They had noticed when passing along the cross-lane beside the house to which the extension was being made that a gap had been broken in the hedge for the purpose of getting in the building materials. This was closed only by a wooden slat. With one consent they made for the gap, slipped through, and crouching in the shadow of the shrubs within, set themselves to watch Earlswood.
No light showed in any of the front windows, and as soon as Miss Merrill was seated on a bundle of brushwood sheltered from the light but rather chilly wind, Cheyne crept out to reconnoitre more closely. Making sure that no one was approaching, he slipped through the hedge, and then crossing both road and lane diagonally, passed down the lane at the side of Earlswood.
There was no gap in the Earlswood hedge, but just as in the case of that other similarly situated house which he had investigated, a narrow lane ran along at the bottom of the tiny garden behind. Cheyne turned into this and stood looking at the back of the house. The whole proceeding seemed familiar, a repetition of his actions on the night he traced the gang to Hopefield Avenue.
But the back of this house was in darkness, and pushing open a gate, he passed from the lane to the garden and silently approached the building. A path led straight from gate to door, a side door evidently, as the walled-in yard was on his left hand. Another path to the right led round the house to the hall door in the front.
Cheyne walked slowly round, examining doors and windows. All of these were fastened and he did not see how without breaking the glass he could force an entrance. But he found a window at the back, the sash of which was loose and easy fitting, and decided that in case of need he would operate on this.
Having learnt everything he could, he retraced his steps to his companion and they held a whispered consultation. Cheyne was for taking the opportunity of the house being empty to make an attempt then and there to get in. But Miss Merrill would not hear of it. Such a venture, she said, would require very careful thought as well as apparatus which they had not got. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘you’ve done enough for one night. Remember you’re not completely well yet.’
‘Oh, blow my health; I’m perfectly all right,’ he whispered back, but he had to admit her other arguments were sound, and the two, cautiously emerging from their hiding-place, walked back to Wembley and took the next train to town.
She was silent during the journey, but as they reached Baker Street she turned to him and said: ‘Look here, I believe I’ve got an idea. Bring a long-burning electric torch with you tomorrow afternoon and whatever tools you want to open the window, and perhaps we’ll try our luck.’ She would not explain her plan nor would she allow him to accompany her to the studio, so with rather a bad grace he said good-night and returned to his hotel.
The next day he spent in making an assortment of purchases. These were in all a powerful electric torch, guaranteed to burn brightly for a couple of hours, a short, slightly bent lever of steel with a chisel point at one end, a cap, a pair of thin gloves, a glazier’s diamond, some twenty feet of thin rope and a five-inch piece of bright steel tubing with a tiny handle at one side. These, when four o’clock came, he took with him to Horne Terrace and spread in triumph on Miss Merrill’s table.
‘Good gracious!’ cried the young lady as she stared wonderingly at the collection. ‘Whatever are these? Another expedition to Mount Everest?’
‘Torch: takes the places of the old dark lantern,’ Cheyne answered proudly, pointing to the article in question. ‘Jemmy for persuading intractable doors, boxes and drawers; cap that will not drop or blow off; gloves to keep one’s fingerprints off the furniture; diamond for making holes in panes of glass; penknife for shooting back snibs of windows; rope for escaping from upstairs windows, and this’—he picked up the bit of tube and levelled it at her—‘what price this for bluffing out of a tight place? If the light’s not too good it’s a pretty fair imitation. Also’—he pointed to his feet—‘rubber soled shoes for silence.’
She gave a delightful little ripple of laughter, then became serious.
‘Have you no anklets?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Don’t say you have forgotten your anklets!’
‘Anklets?’ he repeated. ‘What d’you mean? I don’t follow.’
‘To guard against the bites of sharks, of course,’ she declared. ‘Don’t you remember the White Knight had them for his horse?’
Cheyne was so serious and eager that he felt somewhat dashed, but he joined in the laugh, and when they had had tea they settled down to talk over their arrangements. Then it seemed that she really had a plan, and when Cheyne heard it he became immediately enthusiastic. Like all good plans it was simple, and soon they had the details cut and dry.
‘Let’s try it tonight,’ Cheyne cried in excitement.
‘Yes, I think we should. If these people have some scheme on hand every day’s delay is in their favour and against you.’
‘Against us, Joan, not against me,’ he cried, then realising what he had said, he looked at her anxiously. ‘I may call you Joan, mayn’t I,’ he pleaded. ‘You see, we’re partners now.’
She didn’t mind, it appeared, what he called her. Any old name would do. And she didn’t mind calling him Maxwell either. She hadn’t noticed that Maxwell was so frightfully long and clumsy, but she supposed Max was shorter. So that was that. They returned to the Plan. Though they continued discussing it for nearly an hour neither was able to improve on it, except that they decided that the first thing to be done if they got hold of the tracing was to copy their adversaries and photograph it.
‘Drat this daylight saving,’ Cheyne grumbled. ‘if it wasn’t for that we could start a whole hour earlier. As it is there is no use going out there before nine.’ He paused and then went on: ‘Queer thing that these two houses should be so much alike—this Earlswood and the one in Hopefield Avenue. Both at cross roads, both with lanes behind them, and both surrounded by gardens and hedges and shrubs.’
‘Very queer,’ Joan admitted, ‘especially as there probably aren’t more than a hundred thousand houses of that type in London. But it’s all to the good. You’ll feel at home when you get in.’
They sparred pleasantly for some time, then after a leisurely dinner they tubed to Baker Street and took the train to Wembley Park. It was darker than on the previous evening, for the sky was thickly overcast. There had been some rain during the day, but this had now ceased, though the wind had turned east and it had become cold and raw.
Turning into Dalton Road, they reached the cross-lane at Earlswood, passed through the gap in the hedge and took up their old position among the shrubs. They had seen no one and they believed they were unobserved. From where they crouched they could see that Earlswood was again in darkness, and presently Cheyne slipped away to explore.
He was soon back again with the welcome news that the rear of the house was also unlighted and that the Plan might be put into operation forthwith. In spite of Joan’s ridicule he had insisted on bringing his complete outfit, and he now stood up and patted himself over to make sure that everything was in place. The cap, the gloves and the shoes he was wearing, the rope was coiled round his waist beneath his coat,
and the other articles were stowed in his various pockets. He turned and signified that he was ready.
Joan opened the proceedings by passing out through the gap in the hedge, walking openly across to the Earlswood hall door, and ringing. This was to make sure that the house really was untenanted. If anyone came she would simply ask if Mrs Bryce-Harris was at home and then apologise for having mistaken the address.
But no one answered and the demonstration of this was Cheyne’s cue. When he had waited for five minutes after Joan’s departure and no sound came from across the road, he in his turn slipped out through the gap in the hedge, and after a glance round, crossed Dalton Road, and passing down by the side of Earlswood, turned into the lane at the back. On this occasion he could dimly see the gate into the garden, which was painted white, and he passed through, leaving it open behind him, and reached the house.
The point upon which Joan’s plan hinged was that, owing to the shrubs in front of the building, it was possible to remain concealed in the shadows beside the porch, invisible from the road. She proposed, therefore, to stay at the door while Cheyne was carrying on operations within, and to ring if anyone approached the house, adding a double knock if there was urgent danger. She would hold the newcomer with inquiries as to the whereabouts of the mythical Mrs Bryce-Harris, thus ensuring time for her companion to beat a retreat. She herself also would have time in which to vanish before her victims realised what had happened.
Feeling, therefore, that he would have a margin in which to withdraw if flight became necessary, Cheyne set to work to force an entrance. He rapidly examined the doors and windows, but all were fastened as before. Choosing the window with the loose sash upon which he had already decided, he took his knife and tried to open the catch. The two sashes were ‘rabbitted’ where they met, but he was able to push the blade up right through the overhanging wood of the upper sash and lever the catch round until it snapped clear. Then withdrawing the knife, he raised the bottom sash. A moment later he was standing on the scullery floor.
Inspector French and the Cheyne Mystery Page 12