by Sapper
After a while he made a sort of mental table of points for and against.
For.
Number One. Teddie’s remark to the landlord concerning a walking tour was so obviously a lie that it was clear he had been doing something which he did not wish to talk about.
Number Two. If there was any meaning at all in his postcard, and it was highly improbable he would send a card without any reason, that something had to do with the gang of forgers.
Number Three. If he had discovered them was it likely that a gang of such a formidable nature would allow the life of a stray journalist to stand in its way? They would undoubtedly murder him, and dispose of the body in such a way as to make it appear an accident.
Against.
Jimmy scratched his head: he could think of no point against, which could be summarised as tersely as his three points for. In fact the only other alternative to his theory was that Teddie had thought at one time that he had stumbled on traces of the gang, vide the fact of his postcard and his absence from the hotel on two nights. Then he had decided not to go on with it, had genuinely decided to try his hand at fishing, and had, as the verdict said, been accidentally drowned.
Jimmy finished his beer in a gulp, and stood up abruptly. The frown on his face had gone: his mind was made up. Because he knew the great fallacy that underlay his alternative theory. Teddie was not the type of man to decide not to go on with a thing. Once he had his jaws into a job nothing could shake him off: it had been a characteristic of his ever since he was a boy. Therefore Teddie was still on it when he was posing as a fisherman. So that even if the verdict was right, and he had been drowned, the accident had not occurred because of his devotion to fishing, but because he was following up some trail. And once that was settled, the next step was obvious. Mr Purley would receive a second order for a fishing outfit complete: Jimmy Sefton was going to take over from his pal. And the first thing to do was to get on the ’phone to his editor, because he had intended returning to London that night. He knew there would be no difficulty, especially if he gave a hint over the wire that he was on a scoop. So he went into the hotel to find the instrument. It was situated, as is so frequently the case in small hotels, in the office, which rendered any private conversation impossible. However he knew the editor sufficiently well to realise that the merest veiled hint would be all that was required. He put through the number and sat down to wait in the hall. Opposite him were a man and woman drinking a cocktail, and he glanced at them idly. They were both well dressed, and the woman, who was little more than a girl, was extremely pretty. And Jimmy, who was no more and no less susceptible than the average young man of his age, found his glance ceasing to be idle as far as she was concerned. Once she looked up and caught his eye, and it seemed to him there was just that perceptible addition of time before she looked away, that would constitute grounds for hope. Then the telephone bell rang, and he took the call.
“Daily Leader?” he said. “Put me through to the Editor. Sefton speaking.”
With his elbow on the table, and the receiver in his hand, he was staring out of the window. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. The lower part of the window was shut, and served sufficiently well as a mirror for him to see that the man had risen abruptly, and was now standing close to the door of the office, studying the announcement of a local cattle show. There was, he reflected, nothing inherently suspicious in such an action, but he was in the mood when the most commonplace thing took on a certain significance. Was it interest in the cattle show, or the mention of the Daily Leader, that had inspired the sudden movement? Then he heard the Editor’s voice at the other end of the wire.
“Hullo! Is that Mr Jameson? Look here, sir: it is urgent that I should stop at Drayminster for two or three days. Things to arrange about poor old Morgan. Yes; urgent. I can’t be more explicit: this machine is specially placed for the maximum of publicity. Right – thank – you, sir.”
He put back the receiver, and for a moment or two he stood there motionless. The man had returned to his seat as abruptly as he had left it. And his return had coincided with the end of the call. Once again it was not impossible that that had been the exact time necessary to allow him to study the details of the show. Not impossible: but… And Jimmy was thinking of all that lay behind that ‘but’ as he turned to the girl in the office and made inquiries about a room. There proved to be no difficulty, and having fixed the details, he returned to his seat. He, too, would have a cocktail, and during its consumption he would continue the good work of finding out if his grounds for hope were justified. Also he might find out other things.
After a moment or two, the man rose and, picking up his hat, left the hotel.
“I’ll be back in about twenty minutes,” he said, as he stepped into the road.
“Don’t hurry,” answered the girl. “I shan’t be dull.”
She picked up a copy of The Tatler, and Jimmy lit a cigarette and waited. Had he made a complete boss shot, or had he, by a most astounding bit of luck, stumbled on a clue? In either case, he reflected, he was perfectly safe in carrying out his plan. Further he would soon know. If his suspicions were correct, within the next twenty minutes the girl would start a conversation with him. As he read it, that was the reason of the man’s departure. And he wondered by which of the time-honoured methods she would dispense with the formality of an introduction.
She was displaying a considerable amount of extremely attractive leg – a spectacle to which he took no exception. And it was with almost a start that he averted his eyes from it to realise that the method to be used was the well-known old favourite of no matches.
“Allow me,” he murmured, as she looked round despairingly.
“Thank you so much,” she said with a charming smile. “I ought to have a box chained to me; I lose them so invariably.”
They fell into a light conversation, and he studied her covertly. From a closer range he saw that she was older than he had at first thought, saw, too, with the discerning eye of a man who in, the course of his trade has rubbed shoulders with all the types that go to make up a world, that indefinable something in her face that no art can conceal. It lies principally in the eyes and in the mouth, and it spells danger. This girl was as hard as nails. But no trace of his thoughts showed in his face: no one could act the part of a guileless youth better than he, as many people he had interviewed had discovered in the past.
The man he gathered was her Uncle Arthur and she was motoring with him on a tour. Jimmy, whose face had brightened at the first piece of news, became perceptibly depressed at the second.
“I’d hoped you were staying here,” he said gloomily.
“Are you stopping in the hotel?” she asked.
“For a few days,” he answered. “A great pal of mine has just been drowned here, poor old chap.”
“How dreadful,” she said sympathetically. “I heard something about it this afternoon.”
“The inquest was this morning,” he went on. “Verdict of accidentally drowned. But I wonder.”
For the fraction of a second the mask slipped. Had he not been looking for it he would have missed it, so instantaneously was it replaced. But in that moment of time he saw what confirmed his suspicions – he saw fear.
“How do you mean, you wonder?” she asked, and her voice was quite normal. “Is there any doubt about it?”
“Not in the Coroner’s mind,” he answered mysteriously. “But there is in mine. I believe,” he lowered his voice, and glanced round the hall, “I believe he was murdered.”
“Good Heavens!” she cried. “But who by? You sound so deliciously mysterious.”
“I am going to let you into a great secret,” he said. “And I am the only person in the world who knows it. Promise you won’t say anything to a soul.”
“Fingers crossed,” she answered.
Jimmy leaned even closer to her.
“I believe,” he said, “that Teddie Morgan was murdered by a gang of forgers whose headquarters are near h
ere. I believe that somehow or other he did what the police so far have been unable to do – he located this gang. He wrote me a letter, in which he hinted at it, and from one or two things I’ve heard since I’ve been here I’m sure he was on their track. Now I’m a journalist,” he went on with engaging candour, “and it will be a tremendous scoop for me if I can nab them.”
“But how will you set about it?” she asked. “Because if what you suspect is true they might kill you.”
Jimmy looked at her knowingly.
“I’m going to become a fisherman also,” he said. “That’s where the clue lies – near the river. Only I shall be more careful than he was. And when I’ve found these people I shall give the information to the police. But it will be a Daily Leader sensation, and I shall have the writing up of it.”
“How splendid!” she cried. “Here is my uncle returning, but I’m thrilled to death. I shall simply be dying to know how you get on. When I get back to Town I must ring you up at your office, and you must come and tell me all about it.”
“I’d love to,” said Jimmy fervently. “But you must promise you won’t say a word to a soul.”
“It’s our secret,” she whispered softly. “I do hope you succeed.”
She rose, and giving him a delicious little smile, joined her uncle in the car. One little wave of the hand, eagerly returned by Jimmy, and then they disappeared down the road.
“Do you know who those people were who have just left?” he asked the girl in the office.
“Never seen either of them before,” she told him, and Jimmy returned to his chair. Three points in all, he reflected, to go on. The sudden movement of the man, the reflecting expression on the woman’s face, and lastly the fact that people who tour in motor cars generally carry luggage. On the one that had just driven off there had been none. In fact, he felt convinced that the arrow he had drawn at a venture had hit the mark. Those two people had something to do with it; he knew it. But, as Spencer had said, between knowing and proving there was a great gulf fixed.
He had acted deliberately in talking as he had. No harm was done if she was innocent: if on the contrary he was right, the next move would have to come from their side. Obviously they could not leave matters as they were. Though he had impressed on the girl that he wanted the whole thing kept a secret, he felt that in their position they could not bank on his doing so. They would feel that at any moment he might tell the police. And so it seemed to him that there were only two alternatives open to them. The first was to pack up and go: the second was to deal with him as they had dealt with Teddie Morgan. And of the two the second seemed the more probable.
For another ten minutes or so he sat on thinking: then a grin slowly appeared on his face. For a very amazing plan had suddenly dawned on Jimmy Sefton’s brain – a plan which seemed to him quite unique in its simplicity. He looked at it this way and that, and in it he could see no flaw. A little acting: a little luck, and then, as he had quite truthfully said to the woman, the scoop of the year. And possibly some damned swine swinging for Teddie. Humming gently to himself he rose and left the hotel bound for Mr Purley’s shop. What the tune was is immaterial, but the words he had put to it had a certain significance.
“‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly!”
The invitation of the spider came earlier than he had expected, to be exact, at ten o’clock the following morning. The previous night he had been acutely aware of two men who had sat drinking in the bar until the hotel shut, and who had seemed to betray a more than passing interest in his movements. So much more than passing, in fact, that Jimmy Sefton had done a thing which he could never remember having done before: he had slept with his window bolted and his door locked. But nothing had happened, and, as he came down the stairs encased in his newly acquired fishing outfit, it came as almost a relief to realise that the game was starting in earnest. For the girl herself was sitting in the hall.
“Hullo!” he cried joyfully. “This is an unexpected bit of luck.”
“I oughtn’t to be here,” she confessed. “But Uncle Arthur found a wire waiting for him at Worthing, and had to go up to London. And I had nothing to do. Please let me come with you. As I told you I’m just thrilled to death.”
She clasped her hands together, and looked at him appealingly.
“I promise not to get in the way, and I’d just adore to see what you are going to do.”
“I don’t know myself,” he admitted. “You see, I haven’t a notion where the gang is.”
“Look here,” she said after thinking deeply for a moment, “I’ve got an idea. You know where your poor friend’s body was found, don’t you?”
“I do,” said Jimmy.
“Well, if you are right, and he was murdered, the brutes probably threw him into the water above that spot, and the river carried him down.”
“By Jove! that’s quick,” said Jimmy admiringly.
“So let us get into my car and go by road to where he was found, and then explore the river upstream from there.”
“You’re a marvel,” cried Jimmy, giving her a soulful glance. “An absolute fizzer. Let’s start.”
He deposited his creel and rod in the back of the car, and climbed in beside her. Up to date he reflected the fly was playing its part very creditably; moreover that intelligent little insect was becoming increasingly anxious to see the parlour the owner of which chattered unceasingly as they drove along.
“There’s the spot,” said Jimmy suddenly, and she gave a little shudder.
“Poor fellow,” she whispered. “However, what do we do now?”
But it seemed that the fly’s brain was unequal to the task of deciding, and after a while the spider had another idea.
“About a mile further on,” she said, “is one of Lord Cragmouth’s places – Denton Hall. He is away, but I know him – and I know his butler. What about going there and asking the man whether he knows of any strangers who have arrived in these parts lately?”
For a moment Jimmy’s brain spun round. What a headquarters – Denton Hall: one of the historic places of England. That it was the parlour at last he had no doubt, but for a second or two he was lost in admiration at the calm audacity of renting such a place for such a purpose.
“A marvellous idea,” he said humbly. “What I should have done without you…”
His hand went to his forehead suddenly.
“Good God!” he muttered. “I’m going to faint. Could you – a little water – from the river…”
She sprang out solicitously and hurried down to the stream. But when she came back he had so far recovered as to be standing by the back of the car.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m better now. Damned silly of me.”
“Are you sure?” she cried. “Why not rest a little? Or if we go on to Denton Hall, I’m sure the butler would give you some brandy.”
“That sounds good to me,” he said. “But really I’m quite all right now.”
He got in beside her again, and a few minutes later the car swung right-handed past an old lodge into the huge grounds of Denton Hall. In the distance was the house with its broad terraces running down to the big ornamental lake, with its celebrated pagoda on the little island in the middle. Further on a line of weeping willows marked the banks of the river Dray, which passed right through the property.
The car drew up at the front door, and Jimmy’s heart began to beat a trifle quicker. A glance at the butler did not inspire him with confidence. And as the door closed behind him he understood the feelings of the fly.
He looked up as three men came down the stairs, and the centre one was Uncle Arthur.
“Here he is,” laughed the girl. “It was almost too easy.”
“My God!” stammered Jimmy. “I don’t understand… I… This is a trap.”
The girl had lit a cigarette and was laughing softly to herself, but the three men had stood looking at him in silence.
“You are a very foolish
young man,” said Uncle Arthur at length.
“Let us come in here.” He led the way into what was evidently the smoking-room.
“You are going to murder me, are you?” said Jimmy. “Like you murdered Teddie Morgan. But awkward, won’t it be – having dead journalists lying about all over the place?”
“They are a tribe who can well be thinned out,” answered the other genially. “Yes, Mr Sefton, owing to your reprehensible curiosity, you are, as they say, for it. You see you left us with no alternative.”
He lit a cigarette.
“I assure you I have given the matter deep and earnest thought,” he continued. “I don’t want to kill you, any more than I wanted to kill that other young ass. But I have to weigh in the balance your life against my future peace of mind. I should hate to think that at any moment I might meet you, and you might say – ‘That charming well-dressed gentleman is a forger.’”
“And murderer,” said Jimmy, lighting a cigarette in his turn.
“Have it your own way,” conceded the other. “But you see my difficulty. Supposing I let you continue your hunt for my poor person – for the headquarters of the gang as you so realistically put it. In the course of a week you might have stumbled on something – just as your friend Morgan did. Will you believe it, what put him on to us was the fact that he happened to see my butler’s face one day as he passed the lodge gates?”
“Any judge would convict on that alone,” agreed Jimmy affably.
“We have not all got your classical beauty of features, Mr Sefton. Still the point is a small one: the result was what mattered. He became most intrusive: he even trespassed on my property. In fact we actually discovered him concealed by the edge of the lake watching that charming pagoda through field-glasses. He pretended he was fishing, Mr Sefton – even as I gather you were going to do. Yet his rod was not put together, and his basket was empty.”