The Man Without A Face

by The Man Without a Face (retail) (epub)

  “Very thoughtful of you,” said Harrison sweetly.

  “I’m afraid you have misunderstood me, Mr. Harrison,” said Helen Williams, gently. “Honestly I did come here to see if I could straighten things out and you believe, I am certain, it was just idle curiosity. Why can’t we be friends?”

  “Of course we can. We are great friends,” answered Harrison. “I have the highest admiration for you. Philip didn’t mean what he said.”

  Philip was looking a picture of misery and said nothing at all.

  “But Livia meant what she said,” said Miss Williams. “It was very neat the way you went round it, but she was right, wasn’t she, Mr. Harrison?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That you have your suspicions?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re not satisfied about Sir Jeremiah?”

  “Why not?”

  “I wish you’d be honest with me, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Williams. “I might be able to help you.”

  “Certainly you might if—”

  “If?”

  “If that was what I thought.”

  Miss Williams flushed and looked angrily at Harrison.

  “You’re laughing at me,” she said, with a great effort at self-control, “and no woman likes being laughed at. Still I want to be friends and I forgive you.” She smiled. “Goodbye, Mr. Harrison; I expect we shall meet in London.”

  “Of course we shall,” answered Harrison.

  He opened the door for her and watched her progress. The butler was hovering in the hall and dashed to the front door. Harrison thought he detected some recognition as Miss Williams went out. Slight and almost imperceptible and yet he felt that the lady and the butler were not entirely unknown to one another.

  Chapter IX

  A Very Strong Combination

  When Harrison went back into the room, Philip Bamberger was still sitting staring mournfully at space.

  “Now then, Mr. Bamberger,” he said, cheerfully, “we’re getting something to work on.”

  “I’m sick of the whole business,” said Philip, sadly. “I never thought Livia would behave like that.”

  “She’s spoilt,” said Harrison.

  “Now don’t you start attacking her,” answered Philip, “or I really think I shall go off my head.”

  “I’m not attacking her, but you wouldn’t let me finish,” said Harrison. “There’s no doubt she is spoilt, she like her own way. You know that as well as anybody. She’s untamed, she’s loyal. A queer mixture. She’s good-natured and she’ll come round all right directly she knows what we are doing.”

  “Do you think so?” asked Philip, brightening up considerably.

  “Of course she will,” answered Harrison. “And, for my part, I would far rather she went on for a while as she is at present.”

  “Hating me?” asked Philip, downcast again.

  “I wouldn’t call it hate,” said Harrison. “It’s the way it takes her, that’s all. She’s really very fond of you but she’s upset, that’s all.”

  “But you want her to go on being upset?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “I don’t understand at all,” said Philip. “I can’t possibly see what good it’s going to do you.”

  “Of course you can’t,” replied Harrison, “but if you’re now in a fit state of mind to listen to me I’ll try and explain. But must have Henry here. He can take a few mental notes. He’s most important in that way.”

  Henry was summoned and soon appeared, dressed and more philosophically minded. Harrison suggested an adjournment to the room with the remarkable door. He did not think they would be overheard but he thought every precaution was necessary.

  “Do you suspect anybody then?” asked Philip, as they settled themselves own.

  “Certainly,” answered Harrison. “Mr. Finney, for example.”

  “That’s really rather absurd,” said Philip. “Father trusted Finney in every way.”

  “Which might make Mr. Finney still more undesirable if he was unworthy of it,” replied Harrison.

  “By the way, sir,” said Henry, “I don’t know if it’s of any importance but I met Mr. Finney, the butler, coming out of your room, carrying something.”

  “Oh?” said Harrison.

  “It was a book, sir,” answered Henry, “so I asked him what he meant by it. He said it was one of the books out of Sir Jeremiah’s room. He thought you must have forgotten to put it back and so he was doing it for you. I thanked him kindly and said what a nice man he was.”

  “You’re right, Henry,” said Harrison. “Your manners are beyond reproach. But doesn’t that prove my point?”

  “You mean that Finney wanted to know what you had found last night?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you even left the book about?”

  “Of course not,” answered Harrison. “That particular book, quite without your permission, is locked up in my case. But I am of a very suspicious nature—a beastly habit, I know, and worse still when it’s acquired—but I can’t help it. When I had finished last night I wondered whether there might be somebody in the house itself who knew more than was good for them. So I took the books out with me to make certain. As I went up to bed I felt sure there were other people awake in the house, people who were particularly interested in my doings. That was not mere suspicion—I knew I was being watched. So I was glad I had taken the precaution and I left one book on my window-sill and locked up the other. Finney’s too interested.”

  “It’s rather a shock,” said Philip, “and it strikes me as carrying suspicion to a very long distance. Surely he might have been doing what he said?”

  “He had given himself away before, if you remember,” answered Harrison.

  “In what way?”

  “He knew Mr. Cross by the way he announced him,” said Harrison. “He assumed you knew him, too, I’m afraid. Have you ever seen Mr. Cross before?”

  “Never,” replied Philip. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Nor have I,” said Harrison, “and nor has Henry. But for a moment Mr. Finney assumed that Mr. Cross was generally known, which shows that he himself knew him. Higgins threw a little more light on the subject too when you had gone downstairs. I’ll explain all that later, sufficient for the moment that we are certainly entitled not to trust Finney.”

  Harrison jumped up and looked along the shelves of Czechoslovakian history.

  “That proves it,” he said, coming back to his chair. “Someone has moved them about since I looked over them last night, and the particular book Finney so pleasantly rescued from my room is not yet back in its place. He is, I expect, making a careful study of it; wasted effort, of course, but shows great attention to detail.”

  “Then that means Finney, Cross, and—” Philip paused, as if hardly daring to continue.

  “Miss Williams,” added Harrison.

  “Of course,” said Henry. “If she’s anything like the other one she’s sure to be up to mischief.”

  “Henry, Henry,” said Harrison, reprovingly, “prejudice again.”

  “But it’s leading me right out of my depth,” said Philip, despairingly.

  “It isn’t,” answered Harrison, patiently. “It’s leading you right into it, for now we know that Miss Helen Williams had something to do with your father’s death.”

  “Good heavens!” exclaimed Philip.

  “That being so,” continued Harrison, “it is time we looked at the facts we have just collected and see what we’ve got. Henry, keep your eye closely on me for fear I go astray.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You see, Mr. Bamberger, we have discovered the enemy. At any rate that is what we may as well call that very charming woman for the time being. The enemy is outside the house and needs an accomplice inside, so she buys Finney. I don’t know much about the gentleman—”

  “He’s been with us for years,” said Philip.

  “In that case, then, I sh
ould say he had been diplomatically purchased. Possibly for a fair sum. Now to get our events in order of time. Finney being in this mood has obviously been given the job of reporting on anything fresh that happens in this house. That’s where Higgins comes in. This morning I questioned Higgins about the stranger who came to see your father a month ago.”

  “The stranger?” said Philip.

  “I assumed that one had called here,” answered Harrison, “and Higgins proved I was right. Neither Higgins nor Finney liked the look of him but Sir Jeremiah saw him and greeted him cordially. Finney was even reproved later for trying to turn him away. But what happens next? Although it was obvious that this stranger was a friend of your father, next morning Finney tells Higgins that he is on no account to be admitted again and even takes the trouble to tell the man at the lodge to keep a sharp look-out for this particular person. What do you make of that?”

  “I must admit it seems contradictory,” said Philip.

  “Isn’t it possible that Finney reported the stranger’s visit, say by telephone, that night to his employers, the enemy for example?” asked Harrison.

  “Of course,” said Henry, “and they knew who he was.”

  “Exactly,” answered Harrison. “If Finney described him, they may have realised that the stranger was, to put it mildly, a man who would be doing them no good by calling on Sir Jeremiah. In that case, they would instruct Finney to see that it did not occur again, that the stranger shouldn’t be allowed to see Sir Jeremiah a second time, at any rate.”

  “It sounds all right,” said Philip.

  “It explains your contradiction,” answered Harrison, “and it explains why Higgins was so puzzled. But it would not be fair to assume so much about Finney if we had not further evidence against him. Of course, there might be someone else in the house working with the enemy but we are certain there is someone and I plump for Finney.”

  “But what is the other evidence?” asked Philip.

  “This morning,” replied Harrison.

  “In what way?” asked Philip.

  “How did Miss Williams know I was here?” said Harrison.

  “I don’t expect she did,” replied Philip.

  “Then why did she come?”

  “To make it up between Livia and myself.”

  “A singular coincidence,” said Harrison, “except that she expected to find me here.”

  “You are certain of that?”

  “Positive,” answered Harrison. “The excuse was a good one. She has a bright brain, there’s no doubt of that, and a sense of humour, too. She must have chuckled at the thought of Livia Marston and myself meeting again—under your roof, too.”

  “But why?”

  “Not too quickly,” said Harrison, “Now first, she knew I was here and that is partly why she came. I am ready to swear that directly I arrived last night the good Mr. Finney ran post haste to the telephone to communicate the astonishing news.”

  “That sounds possible,” said Philip.

  “I think it is the only interpretation we can put on it,” answered Harrison, “and it will very soon bring us to Mr. Cross. But first of all I want to be certain that we agree about Miss Williams.”

  “In what way?” asked Philip.

  “First as the enemy we have to tackle, you agree to that?”

  “I must.”

  “And secondly, that she is in some way connected with your father’s death.”

  “I still don’t grasp it,” exclaimed Philip.

  “Miss Williams, if that is her name and whoever she may be,” replied Harrison, “knew something was going to happen during the famous festivities. The only thing that did happen was a terrible tragedy.”

  “But—” started Philip.

  “Let me go on, Bamberger,” said Harrison. “Because she was so certain that her plan was a remarkably good one—in fact, without a flaw—she invited me down to see how it went.”

  “You feel certain of that, sir?” asked Henry.

  “Positive,” answered Harrison. “Miss Williams is a brilliant woman, not only in looks but in intelligence, as well. I can’t help admitting a real admiration for her. I may flatter myself but I think the feeling is a bit mutual; so when she decided to bring off her really flawless effort she thought she would like me as an audience.”

  “Quite a mistake,” said Henry.

  “I certainly hope so, Henry,” answered Harrison, “and I am inclined to agree with you. The way the invitation was fixed up made me think there was something wrong: something criminally wrong. No one would go to that trouble unless there were high stakes on the table and unless something quite against the law was contemplated. She has pluck, has Miss Williams. She has almost what you might call ‘cheek.’ She must be such a born adventuress—or gambler, or whatever you like to call it—that she hates to play a game alone. She must have an opponent, and she chose me. The only difficulty is that, even if you think you have all the cards in your hand, you can never be quite sure of winning.”

  “And you think she is sure?” asked Philip.

  “‘Was’ would be a better word,” answered Harrison. “That must have been how she felt. She had only to put her hand on the table and say ‘all the tricks are mine’. Now she is not quite so certain and feels she will have to play the game out, trick by trick. I must confess I like the way she does it. She boldly grasps a situation and takes action at once. Look at this morning.”

  “Wind up?” asked Henry.

  “Not as bad as that,” answered Harrison. “She didn’t like my reappearance in the charming neighbourhood of Penstoke. There is no panic about it but she wanted to find out what I was up to. I don’t expect she thought she would have much success but still she could try and make things more difficult for me. You must admit her use of Miss Marston was quite an inspiration. It might have been calculated to make bad blood between us, Bamberger, mightn’t it?”

  “It’s very ingenious,” said Philip, “and it sounds right too. But what about Mr. Cross?”

  “Yes, sir,” echoed Henry. “What about Mr. Cross?”

  “Mr. Cross is a very important person,” answered Harrison.

  “I should have thought quite the reverse,” said Philip.

  “He acted well enough,” answered Harrison. “If ever I adopt a criminal career I certainly shall follow Mr. Cross’s methods. That rather useless, ineffective attitude is admirable: the kind of man no one takes any notice of except to ask him to do something for you. No particular interest in what is going on but always willing to be helpful. Colourless but undeniably useful.”

  “That’s just what I should have said myself,” said Philip.

  “I doubt very much whether that is the real Mr. Cross,” rejoined Harrison. “His eyes were too active to justify the pose. Mr. Cross is a very acute German. He was watching everything—making a mental note oi every little word and incident. Of course he was particularly watching me.”

  “You?” asked Philip, incredulously. “He didn’t seem to say a word to you or really take any notice of you?”

  “Considering that’s what he came for,” said Harrison drily, “he had to watch me.”

  “What he came for?” asked Philip.

  “Certainly,” replied Harrison. “You may think am flattering myself but, as I see it, Miss Williams wanted him to have a good look at me just to know what he was up against. If I hadn’t come down here again there might have been no need, but when she got the news she thought it best we should meet. Mr. Cross and I have never met before, I am certain of that. I shouldn’t be surprised if we meet again but, at any rate, we have both had the chance of summing each other up.”

  “And you are really suspicious of him?” asked Philip.

  “Suspicious, my dear Bamberger,” answered Harrison. “The word is hardly strong enough. Miss Williams and Mr. Cross are hunting in couples and any partner that lady selects will have to be watched with the utmost care. Cross and Williams are a very strong combination, to my mind.”<
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  “But even then,” interposed Philip, “I don’t see how Mr. Marston comes into all this?”

  “If you did, Bamberger,” answered Harrison, “if I did, even if Henry did, there would be nothing more for us to worry about. Which reminds me, may I use your telephone for a moment?”

  “Why, certainly,” said Philip. “Do you want to be alone?”

  “If you don’t mind,” said Harrison. “It won’t take me a moment.”

  Philip Bamberger and Henry went out into the garden where they were soon joined by Harrison.

  “A lovely garden, Bamberger,” he said, smiling happily—a smile which indicated to Henry that Harrison was well pleased about something or other. “I wish we could stay in it all day.”

  “You would be very welcome,” said Philip.

  “You can’t imagine how much an hour or so in a garden like this would mean to people condemned to live most of their lives in London streets. He can’t, can he, Henry?”

  Henry looked at his master and thought of his beautiful lawns in the Temple. The country might be all right and Mr. Bamberger’s garden was certainly charming, but to start comparisons with the Temple. A protest seemed justified.

  “I know you agree with me,” said Harrison, then he turned to Bamberger. “Henry’s silence is extraordinarily indicative. But we have too much to do to stay here, Bamberger. We have a lot to see and hear in Penstoke.”

  “You have?” asked Philip.

  “A great deal,” answered Harrison, “and if we can’t admire your garden, we can certainly admire the country round it. By the way, I have just been talking on the telephone to Mrs. Marston.”

  Bamberger gave a start of surprise, while Henry nodded wisely. So that was why Harrison was so cheerful. He had fixed up something which definitely pleased him. There was no doubt of that.

  “I think I have planted a spy in the enemy’s camp,” said Harrison.

  “In what way?” asked Philip.

  “I think Miss Livia will go up to London with Miss Williams.” Philip looked downcast.

  “Don’t worry about her, Bamberger,” said Harrison, reassuringly. “Indeed, she’s going to be very useful.”