This time the flash was much more blinding: obviously a very strong charge had been used. Harrison, who had looked steadily at the floor so as to miss as much as possible the effect on his eyes, braced himself together and gave both his neighbours a terrific push. One escort went swaying across the row of chairs where they were seated, while Miss Williams fell heavily into the arms of the other.
Up Harrison jumped and made full tilt for the door. Many of the guests were holding their hands to their eyes while others were trying to recover their normal vision. Cross, who had been very close to the flash, seemed almost blinded but was already shouting to all and sundry to stop the photographer escaping with his camera.
Showing no consideration for the feelings of his fellow guests, Harrison pushed them on one side and made for the hall. The front door was being held open by Finney for a new guest and Harrison ran to it. To the guest’s great surprise, Finney dragged him in but found he could not shut the door in time. He therefore proceeded to bar the way, while the other servants looked on, their eyes bulging with astonishment.
“No, don’t,” shouted Finney, as Harrison came running at him.
Harrison, however, had worked up too much speed to be stopped in this way, and a slight lurch of the shoulder, as he reached the doorway, sent Finney sprawling full length in the hall.
Even as he ran, he heard the noise of men starting in pursuit from the reception-room. He gave a quick look round to see if there was any sign of Henry but he could see none. He sprang down the steps in front of the house at an astonishing angle, much to the amazement of one or two chauffeurs who were standing about, and ran for dear life down the road.
At a convenient side turning he pulled up and started walking quietly along it. Then he stopped altogether and lit a cigarette. He listened for the sounds of pursuit but there were none. All he could hear was the steady tramp of feet coming towards him, the undeniable sounds of a policeman on his beat.
Harrison mopped his forehead. Death had come rather too near to be pleasant. “Thank God for Henry,” he exclaimed aloud, much to the astonishment of the solid-looking policeman who had by then come up with him.
Chapter XVII
Behind The Shutter
“Warm evening, sir,” said the policeman, genially, stopping as he reached Harrison.
“Too warm to be pleasant, officer,” answered Harrison. “Had to come out into the air to get cool.”
“I don’t blame you, sir,” said the policeman.
“I say, officer, I wish you’d do me a favour,” asked Harrison, suddenly. “You know the house where all the lights are? A big party and all that?”
“Yes, sir,” said the policeman, “I’ve passed it once or twice tonight already. A real show. We don t get many of them in this district now. What do you want me to do?”
“A friend of mine’s there. A little man with a big moustache. You might tell him I’m waiting for him here.
“If you will excuse me saying so, sir,” commented the policeman, “why not tell him yourself?”
“That idea had occurred to me,” said Harrison, “but I’m not very popular along there at the moment.”
The policeman looked suspiciously at him and started to move away with the remark that people, unspecified, thought themselves very clever at pulling the legs of policemen, definitely specified.
“Really not, officer,” said Harrison, apologetically. “Have you ever heard of Clay Harrison?”
“Of course I have,” said the constable, turning back. “Clever, they say, but an amateur.”
“That’s me,” said Harrison.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” said the policeman, quickly. “No offence meant. But how can I tell?”
“If you can’t tell the difference between a cat-burglar and Clay Harrison,” was the answer, “you ought not to trust to a visiting card. What good would it do if I show you one?”
“That’s all right, sir,” said the policeman, “but you asked in such a funny way. Anything queer going on?”
“I should think there is,” said Harrison. “I’ve only just got out of that house with my skin and my friend’s still inside. It will be a great favour if you keep an eye on the door and do as I ask. You’d be certain to recognise my friend, he’ll be in rather a hurry.”
“Anything to oblige, sir,” said the policeman, and immediately moved off at a much quicker pace than Harrison would have expected of him.
It was not very long before a smallish figure in a bowler hat appeared at the top of the side turning. Its face was most aggressively adorned with a walrus moustache of noble proportions. The figure turned the corner and came up to Harrison.
“A warm night, ye ken,” said the figure, as it reached Harrison.
“Henry,” exclaimed Harrison, with great warmth.
“Mr. Weelyam Maclagen, at your service,” replied the figure, bowing and raising his bowler hat.
“Henry, what on earth are you up to?’
“Mr. Weelyam Maclagen, an escaped Press photographer, at your service,” answered the figure, with an increasingly disconcerting imitation of a Scots accent.
“Pretty good, Henry. I congratulate you on the disguise.”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Henry. “I think, without taking too much to myself, it might be called effective.”
“You can take that thing off now, Henry.”
“I should prefer to wear it, sir,” said Henry. “Best to remain in character.”
“Very well,” answered Harrison, with a smile. “What happened after I left?”
“As a matter of fact, sir,” said Henry, “I hardly saw you leave. I was thinking about myself. When I made the second flash—pretty bright, wasn’t it—I thought I was going to blow the whole place up—there was a terrific uproar and I saw that man Cross coming towards me. He didn’t seem to be able to see anything at all but he was shouting about the camera, and saying the most terrible things about myself.”
“I realised that,” said Harrison.
“So I hauled out the plate from the back of the camera,” continued Henry. “I’m certain he didn’t see me do it and dashed off out of the room. Cross got to the camera as I went and threw it on the floor with an awful crash. Must have smashed it right up. A good lens, too, sir, and it’ll have to be paid for by somebody.”
“That’s all right, Henry,” said Harrison.
“I saw Finney, looking very ruffled and standing by the door like a goal-keeper. He glared at me and, although I had the plate under my coat, I knew there’d be enough struggle to do it some harm. Either he’d break it when he got hold of me or I’d drop it in trying to get past him. I knew I couldn’t get it out of the house safely.”
“That’s true, Henry,” said Harrison. “But the plate didn’t matter so long as you got out all right.”
“Didn’t matter,” replied Henry. “But you told me to get a photograph of Cross. That was my job and I wasn’t going to fall down on it.”
“Good for you, Henry.”
“So instead of making for the door, I ran upstairs. That gave Finney the shock of his life. I don’t think Mr. Finney is a quick thinker, sir, for he didn’t seem to know what to do. Many of the guests had started to come out of the reception-room and some of the more frightened were getting their hats and coats. By the crashing sounds from inside, Mr. Cross was still jumping on the camera—”
“Just improving the story a bit, aren’t you, Henry?”
“Well, sir, that’s what I imagined was happening.”
“Stick to facts, Henry, no need to imagine things.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Henry. “I got to the first landing with nobody in sight at all. Then I heard somebody coming up the stairs. It must have been Finney, sir, for it sounded more like a grampus than a human being.” Harrison raised his eyebrows. “Really, sir,” protested Henry, “that’s not imagination.”
“All right,” said Harrison.
“Then I found a corridor, sir, with a window at th
e end of it. So I ran down the corridor which seemed to go to the back of the house and found the window was open. I leaned out because I thought I might get out that way, but there was a good drop into the garden and I thought I might break the precious plate if I risked it. But I noticed that there were shutters outside the windows pushed back against the wall.”
“So did I, Henry.”
“Might have been put there by an angel from heaven, sir. I ledged the wooden arrangement which holds the plate behind the shutter on the left-hand side and there it is, safe and sound.”
“Excellent, Henry,” said Harrison, “and what did you do then?”
“I heard Finney come into the corridor and so I turned back, as I had found it was a blind alley and started running towards him. He stopped and threw out his arms and I made the feeblest attempt in the world to get past him, just a nice little gentlemanly struggle, and then Mr. Finney marched me downstairs by the collar.”
“Most undignified, Henry,” said Harrison, laughing.
“I suppose it was, sir, but it pleased Finney and I kept cursing in character, if I may call it that. I talked broad Scotch and said ‘Hoots’ every other minute. Cross was standing in the hall—”
“Miss Williams?”
“No, sir, no sign of her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, sir,” said Henry. “Indeed, I felt very relieved she wasn’t there. She was the first person I looked for. Because I thought she might see through me, moustache and all, if anyone could. Cross didn’t seem to suspect who I was. But he was furious about the camera. He called to two men standing near him—”
“Josephs and Skelofski,” said Harrison.
“Good lord, I suppose they were,” said Henry, “and said, ‘Take him upstairs.’ I protested loudly in my best Scotch and some of the guests who had formed a kind of circle round us agreed with me. One of them said he couldn’t see the reason for all the fuss. Better let the little beggar go, he said, no good getting up against the Press. Cross said he didn’t believe I came from a newspaper at all and he wanted to question me. I said I wasn’t going to be talked to like that and the same guest said if that was the case far better hand me over to the police than start using a little private third degree. Meanwhile, one of Cross’s friends had gone all over me with his hands. A nasty feeling, sir, but he certainly was an expert and didn’t I thank my stars that I had got rid of that plate. When he had finished the man winked at Cross who did not seem to care so much, then.”
“Still no sign of Miss Williams?”
“None at all, sir,” answered Henry. “Then another guest said it was all a stupid fuss about nothing, and that they had better send me about my business. ‘Throw him out,’ said Cross to Finney, and then he turned to me and said, ‘And don’t come crashing in here again. Next time you’ll have the police to deal with.’ I could have laughed till I cried but I didn’t dare. Fancy Cross threatening like that. I wish you had been there, sir.”
“I’m extremely glad I wasn’t, Henry.”
“So Cross stalked back into the reception-room followed by most of the guests, and Finney took my collar again and started pushing me to the door. Although, quite honestly, sir, I wanted to be on the other side as soon as possible, I wasn’t going to make it too easy for Finney this time and I may say he found it pretty hard work. He daren’t be too rough because some of the guests might have interfered. They produced my elegant bowler from somewhere and pushed it on my head. Someone opened the door and Finney pushed me onto the top step, still holding my collar. And here’s the cream of the story, sir, with all their talk of police and all that.”
“Well?”
“As we got out into the open, Finney saw a policeman standing on the other side of the road who seemed to be keeping a benevolent eye on the house. Finney shook like a leaf, I’ll swear he did, sir. I was so near to him when he saw that policeman. He dropped his hand from my collar and darted back into the house and shut the door. It was like a pantomime. So I put my bowler straight, tried to look quite unruffled and marched down the stairs.”
“And the policeman?”
“A regular sportsman, sir. He crossed the road and came up to me. I suppose the chauffeurs and people hanging about thought I was for it. But he gave me a huge smile and told me my friend was waiting round the corner. Then he gave me directions exactly how to find you, sir. The way he said ‘your friend’ was marvellous.”
“Excellent, Henry,” said Harrison. “Did you find it very difficult to get in?”
“Not so bad, sir,” answered Henry. “I arrived in a taxi with all my apparatus and climbed up the steps. I saw there were one or two more people arriving, so I waited until they came up and pushed in with them. I must say I was rather surprised when our esteemed friend Finney opened the door, but he gave no sign of recognising me and I produced my broadest Scotch for his benefit. Of course he made a fuss and wanted to see my card so I showed him your invitation, very discreetly so that he couldn’t see any name, and said ‘Agency?’”
Harrison laughed.
“That’s a curious thing, you know, sir,” said Henry, solemnly. “‘Agency’ seems to be a magic word as far as journalists are concerned. If you mention the name of one paper you may be tripped up but just say ‘Agency’ and nobody argues. Finney was quite flummoxed by Agency and, as we agreed, he is not a gentleman of quick intelligence, so I got in with all my luggage—and it was a fair amount to carry, too. More guests were arriving so Finney had to go on doing his job so I followed some of them into the reception-room, keeping well behind them and found that very convenient curtain—you said I should, sir. From behind it I could see you sitting talking to that woman and Cross was standing in the middle of the room, looking straight at me if he had only known it. It was not quite ten, sir, and I was almost tempted not to wait, but that was the arrangement. When ten arrived I let off and, as Cross was looking in my direction still, I should say I have got a splendid picture.”
“Which we must get hold of,” said Harrison.
“Anything I can do to help?” said a kind voice, and they saw the friendly policeman coming towards them.
“Hoots,” said Henry, in his most villainous music-hall Scots accent. “Here’s the wee policeman.”
“So your Scotch friend found you all right, sir,” said the policeman, in a cheery voice.
Harrison looked at the man and realised what instantaneous confidence the blue uniform gives. He felt thoroughly safe with this arm of the law to shelter him, although a short while before he had known insecurity and its worst and had gambled very close to life’s edge. Ye the presence of the policeman made even that seem a wild kind of dream. “Yes, thanks to you, officer,” said Harrison. “I should say I saved him a tumble down those stairs, sir,” said the policeman, with twinkling eye. “The butler seemed to change his mind when he saw me.”
“You’re richt, ye ken,” said Henry, solemnly.
“Anything very queer going on there, sir?” said the policeman.
“I can’t be certain yet,” was the reply. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sorry you stopped watching because some of them may have slipped away by now. Still, not much harm has been done. And, as you volunteered it, officer, you could give me a little help!”
“With pleasure, sir,” was the reply.
“I dropped something in the garden before I came away,” said Harrison, while Henry looked at him with the greatest surprise. “And we’re going back to look for it. If you hear me call out or there sounds like a scuffle of any kind, you might march in and arrest my friend and myself.”
“Arrest you, sir?” queried the constable.
“That’s the best way,” answered Harrison. “The safest. We shall be trespassing or something like that.”
“It sounds very strange to me, sir,” replied the policeman. “Still, if you want me to do it, I’ll do it.”
“I certainly do want you to,” said Harrison, “and by the way, officer, do you
know if one can get to the back of these houses from the front without going through the front door—you know what I mean!”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” was the answer. “Quite simple, sir. All these houses are alike. There’s a separate path down to the tradesmen’s entrance and you can go past it right into the garden. If that’s what you mean.”
“It’s exactly what I mean,” said Harrison. “Now then, my Scotch friend, let’s get back to the garden and pick up our lost property.”
“Gang awa’,” said Henry, much to the joy of the policeman, who was satisfied as to Henry’s assumed nationality because it was just like the only Scottish talk he had ever heard.
The three of them walked back to the house, Harrison and Henry moving away from their friendly policeman when they drew near. There was still a blaze of light coming from the windows, and a few cars were standing in the drive. All seemed normal and there was certainly no sign that any excitement had followed the recent scenes. The givers of the reception had certainly smoothed down their guests and possibly were receiving sympathetic remarks on the inconvenience they had been obliged to undergo at the hands of a too-pestering Press photographer. Cross’s action in battering the camera to pieces might need a little explaining, but even that can be got over when your guests would be typically English in hating to appear to have noticed anything so violent as that.
Harrison and Henry walked down to the servants’ entrance ready with an excuse if any questions should be asked. All doors, however, seemed to be open on this particular night, for which the heat might be in some way accountable. They got into the garden without mishap and slipped behind some bushes to reconnoitre the ground.
The house was fairly squarely built and the back was similar to the front. The builder must have had a great liking for shutters, having placed these ornaments at every window of the house. The ground floor was as brilliantly lit as in the front, but the windows of the first floor were mainly unlighted. One window in the centre stood out clearly, while the one next to it showed a dim light.
The Man Without A Face Page 23