by Sapper
The laughter in court having been instantly quelled, the witness proceeded. Just after the German had arrived another visitor came. No – she didn’t know his name either. But he was English, and she showed him into the laboratory too. Then she went down to finish her dinner.
About ten minutes later the front-door bell rang again. She went upstairs to find the German dancing about in the hall in his excitement. He wanted to know when Professor Goodman was returning. Said he had made an appointment, and that unless the Professor returned shortly he would go as the other visitor had gone.
Pressed on this point by the Coroner – she knew the second visitor had gone, as the only people in the laboratory as she passed it were the two men already alluded to. And just then Professor Goodman came in, apologised for having kept the German waiting, and they disappeared into the laboratory. For the next hour and a half she heard them talking whenever she passed the door; then the laboratory bell rang. She went up to find that the German was leaving. Through the open door she saw Professor Goodman bending over his bench hard at work; then just as she was halfway across the hall she heard the key turn in the door. And the German had waved his arms in the air, and said something about the house going sky-high. The motor had gone by that time, and the box and the two men. It was just before then that she’d spoken to them. And it was about four or five minutes later after the German had disappeared down the road that the explosion took place.
The witness paused, and stared into the court.
“There he is,” she cried. “That’s him – just come in.”
Drummond swung round in time to see the tall, ungainly figure of Professor Scheidstrun go shambling up the court. He was waving his arms, and peering short-sightedly from side to side.
“I hof just heard the dreadful news,” he cried, pausing in front of the Coroner. “I hof it read in the newspaper. My poor friendt has himself blown up. But that I had gone he would myself have blown also.”
After a short delay he was piloted into the witness-box. His evidence, which was understood with difficulty, did, however, elucidate the one main fact which was of importance – namely, the nature of the explosive which had caused the disaster. It appeared that Professor Goodman had been experimenting for some time with a new form of blasting powder which would be perfectly harmless unless exploded by a detonator containing fulminate of mercury. No blow, no heat would cause it to explode. And when he left the house the Professor had in front of him numerous specimens of this blasting powder of varying quality. One only was the perfected article – the rest were the failures. But all were high explosive of different degrees of power. And then some accident must have happened.
He waved his arms violently in the air, and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief that had once been white. Then like a momentarily dammed stream the flood of verbosity broke forth again. The partially stunned court gathered that it was his profound regret that he had only yesterday afternoon called the deceased man a fool. He still considered that his views on the atomic theory were utterly wrong, but he was not a fool. He wished publicly to retract the statement, and to add further that as a result of this deplorable accident not only England but the world had lost one of its most distinguished men. And with that he sat down again, mopping his forehead.
It was then the Coroner’s turn. He said that he was sure the bereaved family would be grateful for the kind words of appreciation from the distinguished scientist who had just given evidence – words with which he would humbly like to associate himself also. It was unnecessary, he considered, to subject Mrs Goodman to the very painful ordeal of identifying the remains, as sufficient evidence had already been given on that point. He wished to express his profound sympathy with the widow and daughter, and to remind them that “Peace hath its victories no less renowned than War.”
And so with a verdict of “Accidental Death caused by the explosion of blasting powder during the course of experimental work,” the proceedings terminated. The court arose, and with the court rose Algy, to discover, to his surprise, that Hugh had already disappeared. He hadn’t seen him go, but that was nothing new. For as Algy and everyone else connected with Hugh Drummond had discovered long ago, he had a power of rapid and silent movement which was almost incredible in such a big man. Presumably he had got bored and left. And sure enough when Algy got outside he saw Drummond on the opposite side of the street staring into the window of a tobacconist’s. He sauntered across to join him.
“Well – that’s that,” he remarked. “Don’t seem to have advanced things much.”
“Get out of sight,” snapped Drummond. “Go inside and stop there. Buy matches or something.”
With a feeling of complete bewilderment Algy did as he was told. He went inside and he stopped there, until the proprietor began to eye him suspiciously. There had been two or three cases of hold-ups in the papers recently, and after he had bought several packets of unprepossessing cigarettes and half a dozen boxes of matches the atmosphere became strained. In desperation he went to the door and peered out, thereby confirming the shopman’s suspicions to such good effect that he ostentatiously produced a dangerous-looking life-preserver.
Hugh had completely disappeared. Not a trace of him was to be seen, and feeling more bewildered than ever Algy hailed a passing taxi and drove off to Brook Street. Presumably Hugh would return there in due course, and until then he would have to possess his soul in patience.
It was two hours before he came in, and sank into a chair without a word.
“What’s all the excitement?” demanded Algy eagerly.
“I don’t know that there is any,” grunted Hugh. “I’m not certain the whole thing isn’t a false alarm. What did you think of the inquest?”
“Not very helpful,” said Algy. “Seems pretty conclusive that it really was an accident.”
Once again Hugh grunted.
“I suppose you didn’t notice the rather significant little point that your diamond pal Blantyre knew the old German.”
Algy stared at him.
“I happened to be looking at him as the German appeared, and I saw him give a most violent start. And all through the Boche’s evidence he was as nervous as a cat with kittens. Of course there was no reason why he shouldn’t have known him – but in view of what we know it seemed a bit suspicious to me. So I waited for them to come out of court. Sir Raymond came first and hung about a bit. Then came the old German, who got into a waiting taxi. And as he got in he spoke to Sir Raymond – just one brief sentence. What it was I don’t know, of course, but it confirmed the fact that they knew one another. It also confirmed the fact that for some reason or other they did not wish to have their acquaintance advertised abroad. Now – why? That, old boy, is the question I asked myself all the way down to Bloomsbury in a taxi. I had one waiting too, and I followed the German. Why this mystery? Why should they be thus bashful of letting it be known that they had met before?”
“Did you find out anything?” asked Algy.
“I found out where the old German is staying. But beyond that nothing. He is stopping at a house belonging to a Mr Anderson – William Anderson, who, I gathered from discreet inquiries, is a gentleman of roving disposition. He uses the house as a sort of pied-à-terre when he is in London, which is not very often. Presumably he made the German’s acquaintance abroad, and invited him to make use of his house.”
“Don’t seem to be much to go on, does there?” said Algy disconsolately.
“Dam’ little,” agreed Hugh cheerfully. “In fact if you boil down to it, nothing at all. But you never can tell, old boy. I saw a baby with a squint this morning and passed under two ladders, so all may yet be well. Though I greatly fear nothing will come of it. I thought vaguely yesterday that we might get some fun by means of these notes of the old man’s, but ’pon my soul – I don’t know how. In the first place, they’re indecipherable; and eve
n if they weren’t, I couldn’t make a diamond in a thousand years. In the second place, they don’t belong to us; and in the third it would look remarkably like blackmail. Of course, they’re our only hope, but I’m afraid they won’t amount to much in our young lives.”
He sighed profoundly, and replaced the envelope in his pocket.
“Oh! for the touch of a vanished hand,” he murmured. “Carl – my Carl – it cannot be that we shall never meet again. I feel, Algy, that if only he could know the position of affairs he would burst into tears and fly to our assistance. He’d chance the notes being unintelligible if he knew what they were about. Once again would he try to murder me with all his well-known zest. What fun it would all be!”
“Not a hope,” said Algy. “Though I must say I do rather wonder what the blighter is doing now.”
To be exact, he was just putting the last final touch on the aquiline nose of Edward Blackton, and remarking to himself that everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Replaced carefully on their respective pegs were the egg-stained garments of Professor Scheidstrun; the grey wig carefully combed out occupied its usual head-rest.
And not without reason did Edward Blackton – alias Carl Peterson – alias the Comte du Guy, etc. – feel pleased with himself. Never in the course of his long and brilliant career had a coup gone with such wonderful success. It almost staggered him when he thought about it. Not a hitch anywhere; not even the suspicion of a check. Everything had gone like clockwork from beginning to end, thereby once again bearing out the main theory of his life, which was that the bigger the coup the safer it was. It is the bank clerk with his petty defalcations who gets found out every time; the big man does it in millions and entertains Royalty on the proceeds. But in his line of business, as in every other, to get big results the original outlay must be big. And it was on that point that Mr Blackton felt so particularly pleased. For the original outlay in this case had not only been quite small, but, in addition, had been generously found by the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate. Which tickled his sense of humour to such an extent that once or twice it had quite interfered with the delicate operation of face-building.
But at last he had finished, and with his Corona drawing to his entire satisfaction he locked up his inner sanctuary and stepped into the room which served him as an office. At three o’clock he was to meet Sir Raymond Blantyre and receive from him the remaining quarter of a million in notes; at three-fifteen he would be on his way to the house Freyder had acquired for him to begin business in earnest. A note from Freyder received that morning had stated that Professor Goodman, though a little dazed, seemed in no way to have suffered from his uncomfortable journey, which was eminently satisfactory. For it was certainly no part of his play to treat his prisoner with anything but the utmost care and consideration, unless, of course, he should prove foolish. For a moment Blackton’s eyes narrowed at the thought; then he gave the faintest possible shrug of his shoulders. Sufficient unto the day, and he had dealt with such cases before.
So after a final look round the room he carefully pulled down the blinds and went downstairs. Mr William Anderson was leaving London for another of his prolonged visits abroad.
His anticipations that there would be no trouble over the second payment were justified. Sir Raymond Blantyre and three other members of the syndicate were awaiting his arrival, and the expressions on their faces reminded him of young girls being introduced to a man whose mother has told them is very wicked and not at all a nice person to know.
“Well, gentlemen,” he remarked affably, “I trust you are satisfied. This – er – fortunate accident has settled things very pleasantly for all concerned, has it not?”
“It really was an accident?” said Sir Raymond, and his voice shook a little.
“Surely, Sir Raymond, your pitiable agitation in court this morning was not so great as to prevent your hearing the verdict? And that, I think, is all that concerns any of us; that, and the fact that Professor Goodman will not deliver his address to the Royal Society which was the raison d’être of our meeting. And so shall we terminate the business?”
In silence Sir Raymond handed over the notes which Blackton carefully folded and placed in his pocket-book.
“Delightful weather, is it not?” he said courteously. “My – ah – daughter tells me that Montreux has never been more lovely.”
“You are going back to Switzerland at once?” said Sir Raymond.
“Who knows?” answered the other. “I am a man of moods.” He picked up his hat, and a faint smile hovered round his lips. “But I certainly feel that I have earned a holiday. Well, gentlemen – I will say goodbye. Possibly we may meet again, though I doubt if I shall still be Mr Blackton. A pity, because I rather fancy myself like this. It is quite my best-looking role, so I am informed by competent judges. But change and novelty are essential in my work, as doubtless you can understand.”
He strolled towards the door, still smiling gently.
“One moment, Mr Blackton,” cried Sir Raymond. “What about Mr Lewisham? His wife rang me up on the telephone this morning to say that he had not returned last night, and that she’d had a wire from Euston saying he’d been called North on business.”
Blackton studied the ash on his cigar.
“Really,” he murmured. “You don’t say so. However, I don’t know that I’m greatly interested. He wasn’t very entertaining, was he?”
“But that note,” cried Leibhaus – “the threatening note.”
“Destroyed by me personally. You may rest assured of that. And when you next see Mr Lewisham, please give him my kind regards. Doubtless an excellent man, though I thought him very quiet the last time I saw him. Dull – and overburdened with conscience. A depressing mixture. Well, gentlemen, once again – goodbye. Or shall I say – au revoir?”
The door closed behind him a little abruptly. Just at the moment the topic of Mr Lewisham was not one he wished to go into in detail. Once he was on his way to Valparaiso it wouldn’t matter so much – but at the moment, no. The subject failed to commend itself to him, and he dismissed it from his mind as he entered his waiting motor-car. It still remained the one weak link in the whole business, but nothing more could be done to strengthen it than he had already done. And that being the case, there was no object in bothering about it further. There were other things of more immediate importance in the near future to be decided, and it was of those he was thinking as the car spun smoothly along towards the luxurious house Freyder had acquired for him on the borders of the New Forest.
After mature thought he had decided to add a completely new character to his repertoire. At first he had considered the possibilities of being an ordinary English country gentleman, but he had very soon dismissed the idea. The gentleman part he could do – none better; even the English, but not the country. And he was far too clever not to realise his own limitations. Yet it was a pity since no type is more inconspicuous in its proper place, and to be inconspicuous was his object in life. But it was too risky a role to play in the middle of the genuine article, and so he had reluctantly decided against it. And his intention now was to assume the character of an elderly recluse of eccentric habits and great wealth devoted to all sorts of scientific research work – particularly electrical and chemical. Most of his life had been spent abroad, and now, in his declining years, he had come back to the country of his birth partially from feelings of sentiment, but more particularly to look after his only brother, whose health and brain had been failing for some time. A part of the house was set apart for this brother, who was subject to delusions and saw no one.
Six months was the period he gave it before – in a last despairing effort to restore his brother’s health – he took him for a cruise on a private yacht, and buried him quietly at sea. Possibly less; a great deal would depend on the rapidity with which the invalid produced the diamonds. For though he
had no doubt as to his ability to learn the process in a very short time, the thought of mixing chemicals and getting electric shocks bored him excessively. Having got the dog, he had no intention of barking himself. No – six months was the period he had in his mind; after which the real game would begin. Again would an eminent savant approach Sir Raymond Blantyre and his syndicate and make diamonds artificially; again would the services of Mr Edward Blackton be requisitioned to deal with the situation. And as the gorgeous possibility of being paid a vast sum to kill himself dawned on him, as the endless vista of money, money, all the time stretched out before his imagination in all its wonderful simplicity, the charm of the countryside took on an added beauty. A glow of sublime benevolence flooded his soul; for one brief moment he took up the speaking-tube to stop the car. He felt he wanted to hear the birds sing; to put buttercups in his hair and dance with the chauffeur on the green sward. And since such a performance might have perplexed that worthy mechanic more than it enthralled him, it was just as well that at that moment the car swung through some massive gates and entered the drive of a largish house, which could be seen in the distance through the trees.
Mr William Robinson had reached his destination. For, quite rightly realising that shibboleth of our country life which concerns itself with whether a stranger belongs to the Leicestershire or the Warwickshire branch of the family, he had decided against calling himself De Vere Molyneux.