The Man Without A Face

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

  “That’s the one we want,” whispered Harrison, pointing to the centre window.

  “It must be,” Henry whispered back, “obviously a bright passage light.”

  “On the left-hand, Henry?” said Harrison.

  “My left-hand side, sir,” was the answer.

  “That means the right-hand side, looking from here,” said Harrison.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There seem to be one or two useful ledges,” said Harrison. “I think I can climb up fairly easily. Come and give me a lift up, Henry.”

  They cautiously left their retreat and kept close to the shadows as they went quickly towards the house. They paused for a moment between two brightly-lit windows and then Harrison carefully selected hand- and foot-holds for his ascent. Henry bent down in approved acrobatic fashion and Harrison used him as a first step. Then Henry’s shoulder came in useful and Harrison finally found himself quite securely standing on a cornice above the ground-floor windows which was about three feet below the level of the first floor and ran along the width of the back of the house.

  He gained his shutter in safety and looked into the window to see if there was any sign of life. The corridor was quite empty. It was not nearly as long as he imagined from Henry’s description but that was excusable in consideration of Henry’s feelings as he had run along it. In the same way, Harrison thought, the distance from the side-turning where he had sheltered had seemed much shorter coming back to the house than when he had originally ran along it.

  He felt cautiously behind the right-hand shutter and there, securely lodged, he found the wooden case containing the photographic plate. Holding on to the window ledge with one hand, he pulled out the case with the other and then, leaning perilously down from his perch he managed to hold it down low enough just for it to touch Henry’s fingers as he held his hand high in the air.

  “Ready?” whispered Harrison.

  “Let it go,” Henry whispered back in return, and Harrison let it slip gently from his grasp.

  “All right?” he said.

  “Quite safe,” was the reply.

  Harrison resumed his vertical position and was just preparing to climb down when he thought he heard the word, “Help,” whispered near him. He stopped and listened and again it sounded. There was no doubt of it this time. It certainly was “help” and came from the dimly-lit window next to the one he was holding on to. He carefully worked his way along to the window, cautiously keeping in the shadow for even this might be a trick and he did not feel disposed to take any more risks.

  “Anybody there?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” came a voice. “Help me to get out. I’m locked in.”

  “Who are you?” said Harrison.

  “My name’s Marston,” said the voice.

  “Livia Marston?” asked Harrison, with surprise.

  “Thank God you know my name,” said the voice, shaking with a sob. “I’m locked in here and I can’t get out.”

  Harrison moved nearer to the window.

  “Clay Harrison here,” he said.

  “Thank heaven it’s you, Mr. Harrison,” said Livia Marston. “I’m terrified of them. Get me out of this place, I implore you.”

  “If you can get out of the window,” said Harrison, “I’ll get you to the ground.”

  “How do you think I’m going to do that?” answered Livia, bitterly. “You don’t think I can squeeze through these bars, do you?”

  “Good heavens,” said Harrison, as he saw that there were thick iron bars fixed into the window-frame, like those conventionally associated with prisons. He pulled at one and it was as firm as a rock.

  “Can’t you do anything?” asked Livia, in a hysterical voice.

  “Not straight away,” answered Harrison. “But if you can keep calm, you’ll be out of this pretty soon. Half an hour at most, I promise you that.”

  “You do promise,” said the girl, piteously. “I can’t stand much more of this.”

  “You’ve nothing to worry about now,” said Harrison. “I’ll keep my word.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harrison,” said the girl, fervently.

  Harrison proceeded to climb down to the ground and was standing beside Henry.

  “Somebody up there, sir?” asked Henry.

  “Livia Marston,” answered Harrison, dragging Henry back to the bushes.

  “What are we going to do now?” asked Henry.

  “Have a look at the house, Henry,” replied Harrison. “Are your eyes accustomed to the darkness? If so, take a good look at the windows on the first floor. I shall be able to see them properly myself in a minute. What can you see?”

  “Nothing much, sir,” said Henry, “they’ve all got bars to them.”

  “Exactly,” said Harrison.

  “Must be pretty frightened of burglars, sir.”

  “I’m afraid the bars aren’t to keep people from getting in, Henry,” said Harrison, seriously. “They’re more likely to be there to keep people from getting out. Come along.”

  They went carefully to the tradesman’s entrance, but were not quite so lucky as before, because as they reached it, a maidservant looked out. Seeing them coming somewhat stealthily along, she gave a shriek and rushed indoors. Harrison and Henry immediately quickened their pace and headed for the friendly policeman, who was standing on the other side of the road, keeping watch. One or two men came out of the drive, obviously in pursuit, on the warning of the servant, but, seeing nothing suspicious, went towards the group of chauffeurs, while Harrison, Henry, and the policeman walked away.

  “Find what you lost, sir?” asked the policeman.

  “Yes,” said Harrison. “Here it is,” and took the large photographic plate case from Henry.

  “Curious thing to lose, sir,” said the policeman.

  “I can’t think how I managed to do it,” said Harrison, with a twinkling eye. “Especially as it’s so valuable.”

  “Indeed, sir,” said the policeman, incredulously.

  “So valuable,” continued Harrison, “that I want you to take care of it.”

  The policeman looked dubiously at him. “Let’s get round to our corner again,” said Harrison. “It’s a nice convenient place for a conference. Then I’ll tell you what my idea is.”

  They walked on to the spot where Harrison had first seen the policeman, and standing by a lamp-post they talked while Harrison puffed a cigar. “A cigar,” thought Henry. “Things are moving all right now. He’s settling down to it.”

  “First of all, officer,” said Harrison, “I might explain that I discovered even more in that house than I expected.”

  “Really, sir,” replied the policeman. “Gambling, sir?”

  “You’re right, officer,” answered Harrison. “Pretty serious, too.”

  “I can’t do much alone, sir,” said the policeman, somewhat at a loss.

  “That’s true enough,” said Harrison “It’s serious enough for Scotland Yard. I think they had better raid the place.”

  “Well, sir—” started the policeman, with some hesitation.

  “I’ll speak to them about it while you keep an eye on the house again,” said Harrison.

  “And this thing, sir?” asked the policeman, holding up the photographic plate.

  “I expect Inspector Murray will come down himself with a squad,” said Harrison. “Hand it over to him. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t drop it. It’s my Scotch friend’s master-piece, and Murray may be very pleased to see it.”

  “Indeed it is an’ a’,” said Henry, solemnly, drifting into a north-country dialect.

  “I’ll take care of it, sir,” said the policeman. “Anything else?”

  “Well, first of all, I want a telephone.”

  “There’s one at the police station, sir, but that’s some distance. There’s a public-box just a minute away.”

  “That’ll do,” said Harrison, “and I want a garage.”

  “There’s a good one just by the telephone-box, sir,” was t
he reply.

  “Good,” said Harrison. “Well, good night, officer, you have been very useful and I shall take care headquarters hear about it.”

  The policeman almost blushed and with a word of embarrassed thanks he went off, carefully nursing the precious photographic plate.

  “Now then, Henry,” said Harrison. “In your best Scotch, Lancashire, or whatever dialect you prefer, you will negotiate for a motor-car to take us to Southampton at once while I do my telephoning.”

  “Leave it to me, sir,” answered Henry.

  Harrison had no difficulty in getting through to his friend, Murray, and, after a long conversation, strolled across to the garage, where an excellent saloon was waiting outside.

  “Here it is, sir,” said Henry, and then, as if his lapse into normal English might make the garage attendant suspicious, “the wee motorr-car is ready, ye ken.”

  “Excellent,” said Harrison. “Everything fixed up?”

  “Aye! Aye!” answered Henry, in reminiscence of Harry Lauder.

  “We’d better get off then,” said Harrison, and they were soon driving across London to the south.

  Harrison was silent for some time and then he produced a fresh cigar and lit it.

  “Cigar, Henry?” he asked.

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  “Light your pipe, then, Henry?”

  “You really don’t mind, sir?” said Henry, with a look of great surprise.

  “Be as comfortable as you can, Henry,” said Harrison. “You have to do some listening.”

  Henry filled his pipe with a fragrant, if heavy, mixture, and waited.

  “That was a near thing, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “What was, sir?”

  “To-night, Henry,” was the answer, “you saved my life.”

  “As serious as that, sir?”

  “It was, Henry.”

  “I thought so, sir!”

  “Why, Henry?”

  “You seemed rather strange when you sent me off, sir,” said Henry, “and I guessed that something depended on my doing my share with the camera to time—”

  “Everything, Henry.”

  “So I knew I mustn’t fail you, sir.”

  “You’re a great friend to have, Henry.”

  “My job, that’s all, sir.”

  Harrison looked at Henry, still wearing his ludicrous walrus moustache, and realised the genuine simplicity with which the last words had been said. Henry could boast and exaggerate and be melodramatic on occasion, but this was simpleness of feeling and nothing else. Both their eyes were slightly moist for a moment and neither of them spoke.

  “What were they going to do to you, sir?” asked Henry, abruptly.

  “I’ve only the vaguest idea, Henry,” said Harrison. “They were very pressing for me to go upstairs in that house, but I knew if I once went up I should never come down again.”

  “Murder you, sir?”

  “I suppose so, Henry. I was in their way and had to go.”

  “But they couldn’t dispose of you, sir.”

  “Miss Williams and Mr. Cross could dispose of anything, Henry. I’m certain of that. They could have sworn blind that I had left the reception with the other guests, there would have been no one to deny it, and some quite simple method could have been used to get me out of the world.”

  Henry turned a little pale, and was silent.

  “I trembled when you told me you had run up the stairs, Henry,” said Harrison. “Had you gone into one of those rooms—had either of us, for that matter—there would have been no chance of escape.”

  “The bars,” said Henry.

  “As strong as prison cells,” said Harrison. “Luckily our friend Finney didn’t realise or he would never have dragged you downstairs.”

  “That’s why Cross was so furious and wanted me taken up again?”

  “Exactly,” said Harrison.

  “And how did you know about Josephs and Skelofski, sir?”

  “They have been my constant companions since I left the chambers,” said Harrison. “In fact, they called for me and were digging automatics into my ribs the whole evening.”

  “And if you don’t mind, sir, what about the gambling?”

  “There wasn’t any, Henry,” answered Harrison. “Murray knows that, but it is a good reason for a raid, and a raid there must be. We have to get Miss Marston out of the place as soon as possible, and that seemed the only way to do it. I also wanted something done about the photograph, and I thought it would be much safer if our worthy friend handed it himself to somebody from the Yard.”

  “Staff work, sir,” said Henry, admiringly.

  “One or two things had to be done too,” said Harrison. “I wanted Murray to guarantee me at a bank at Southampton because we haven’t much money between us and we shall want some for Havre.”

  “We’re going to Havre, sir?”

  “Surely you realise that’s why you brought the passports, Henry,” said Harrison, reprovingly.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And also, Henry,” Harrison continued, “I wanted Murray to tell the Havre police I was likely to be there making important inquiries. I’m feeling very much like ‘safety first’ after to-night’s experience.”

  “I quite understand,” said Henry.

  “So now I think we can reckon our lines are pretty well laid,” said Harrison, as a conclusion to the conversation, and again they were both silent.

  It was some time before either spoke again. “They searched you, Henry,” said Harrison, slowly.

  “They did, sir,” answered Henry, “and they knew what they were doing. Pretty expert at it.”

  “It’s lucky they didn’t try to search me,” said Harrison. “They might have found something.”

  He felt in his pocket for his wallet. This he opened with extreme care and held out, for Henry to see again, the cigarette picture of Admiral Benbow.

  Chapter XVIII

  The Helpful Sergeant

  When they had passed Guildford, Harrison decided to stop for a while and discuss matters with the chauffeur. Still being in evening clothes, he felt it necessary to devise some arrangement by which he need not be too conspicuous. Henry was so satisfied with his own disguise that all he could do was to bemoan the fact that he had not procured another of Mr. Spoker’s outstanding moustaches for Harrison. The latter had tactfully suggested removing this adornment, now that the need for it was no longer apparent, but Henry’s face fell so alarmingly that he did not insist. Besides, Henry had a very large number of arguments in favour of the lack of suspicion in a place like Havre of a Scots tourist with a bristly moustache.

  The chauffeur was not very helpful with suggestions. They might drive to a small commercial hotel in Southampton and throw themselves on the mercy of the proprietor. Harrison would have to invent some story as to his lack of luggage—“And hat,” interpolated Henry. Possibly, thought the chauffeur, the gentleman might say he had had more to drink than was good for him. He might even make it realistic by rolling out of the car on Henry’s arm. Harrison doubted whether any keeper of a commercial hotel would be willing to accept him in that state, although the chauffeur stoutly insisted they were used to that sort of thing.

  But not in evening dress, was Henry’s decisive comment. Upon this the chauffeur appeared likely to sulk, and muttered that, of course, if his idea were so bad why had they ever asked him at all. Harrison soothed him as best he could. He explained that the suggestion was excellent but that he did not want to risk refusal and they might have the ill luck to light on a proprietor who objected, no doubt foolishly, to receiving drunken men in evening dress without luggage in the early hours of the morning. The chauffeur, mollified, agreed that there was something in this argument but all the same, and he looked suspiciously at Harrison, it wasn’t as if the police were after him.

  The mention of the word police gave Harrison a fresh line of thought. He could see that the chauffeur himself was not as trusting as he had been
and the thought of trouble in that direction would be annoying. He turned to the chauffeur and asked him how well he knew the road. The chauffeur thought that without boasting he could give many a chauffeur points on the subject. The smaller places near Southampton, possibly on a side road, surely the chauffeur did not know those? Certainly the chauffeur did and could prove it.

  Then Harrison made his proposition. They would go on a bit further and then push off into a side road and stop the car. Then they would all try and get a rest. The chauffeur was not very impressed with the idea, but Harrison explained that when it was really morning he proposed to find a likely stop and see what he could do. The chauffeur thought that was a possible idea, although why Harrison should prefer a village policeman to a commercial hotel was quite beyond him. He protested when it was explained that this would remove—indeed, might already have removed—his own suspicions, and that Harrison had many friends in the police force, and would be likely to get a warmer welcome in this way than at any unknown hotel.

  “So that’s that,” said Henry, who had taken a rooted objection to the chauffeur’s attitude. “And get along with your driving now, mon, or not a saxpence do you get from either of us.”

  This thoroughly shook up the chauffeur, whose aggressive manner left him and in a short while they had left the main road and were drawn up in a wide side road under a belt of excellent trees. They settled down as best they could, dozing occasionally, and Harrison having at intervals to take a sharp walk on the road to keep himself warm.

  When morning had made a full and cheerful appearance and there was another extremely warm day indicated, Harrison stirred up his companions, and the chauffeur piloted them to a spot not far from Southampton where they were soon able to locate the native police officer. He answered to the name of Sergeant Merivale and was only suspicious of Harrison’s costume.

  “Well, sir, seeing’s believing,” said the sergeant, when Harrison had brought him to the door and had explained that he needed help. “Some officers might have arrested you on the spot for appearing in evening dress at this hour in the morning, but I’m always willing to hear both sides.”

  “That’s very good of you, Sergeant,” answered Harrison.