‘Oh, she don’t live here, then?’ inquired Brant, with a swift glance at Rose.
‘No,’ answered Fordyce shortly. ‘The house isn’t exactly furnished for residential purposes.’
‘Well, caretakers, you know,’ growled Brant. ‘There might have been a room somewhere. And what about him?’
He jerked his head towards Ben, and Fordyce frowned severely.
‘Aren’t you a trifle curious about my private affairs?’ he demanded. ‘It isn’t quite usual, you know, to discuss these things with house-hunters.’
‘Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure—’
‘Not at all. If you really want to know, this is my servant, Ben—’
‘Yus, that’s me,’ nodded Ben emphatically.
‘And this’—Fordyce indicated Rose—‘is a little friend of mine. Now, run away, will you, as I said?’
Rose looked at him, hesitatingly. Then she walked to the door. But, before she slipped out, she gazed directly at Fordyce, and said:
‘As you think it’s best. But—I won’t leave the house!’
She smiled as she departed, and Fordyce smiled back at her. His smile changed rapidly to a frown, however, when he turned and saw Henry moving towards the door to the inner room.
‘Now, then, not so fast, young man!’ he exclaimed, interposing. ‘This house isn’t yours yet, you know!’
‘But we’re thinking of taking it, aren’t we?’ replied Henry blandly. ‘And so I was just thinking of looking in there.’
The two men regarded each other fixedly. In the short silence that followed, two wills combated.
‘Tell me then,’ said Fordyce—‘just as a matter of curiosity. Why are you so particularly keen to see that room?’
‘Well, if you want to know,’ responded Henry promptly, ‘it’s because you’re so particularly keen not to show it to me. Funny how we’re made, isn’t it?’
Fordyce smiled. And, suddenly, Ben rubbed his eyes and stared at Henry. Where had he seen him before?…
‘Now, I call that a perfectly sound reason,’ observed Fordyce. ‘I’m rather built that way myself. When people hide things from me, I simply can’t rest till I know what they’re keeping back.’
‘And there’s somethink familier abart them hother two,’ thought Ben. ‘But I’ll swear I ain’t seed them afore …’
Fordyce was still speaking.
‘If you like, I’ll return frankness for frankness. The reason why I don’t feel under any further obligation to show you any more rooms is because I am perfectly certain you have no intention of taking this house.’
‘I think I have already implied as much,’ answered Nora frigidly, while her uncle muttered, ‘Impudence!’
‘And I am equally certain,’ continued Fordyce, ‘that you never had any intention of taking this house.’
‘Confound you, sir—’ began Brant.
‘When I opened the front door to you just now, you seemed surprised to see me. Perhaps you expected to see someone else? If that young gentleman there,’ added Fordyce, glancing at Henry, ‘who is so curious about the ceilings and who affects to be so deficient in the top storey himself, had not stuck his foot very definitely in the doorway, I think you other two would have fled. But he insisted on coming in—and, having come in, you all stuck to your parts.’
Brant started to bluster.
‘Our parts?’ he exclaimed. ‘Our parts? What do you mean? What the devil do you take us for?’
‘Well, not for house-hunters, certainly,’ replied Fordyce calmly. ‘It may interest you to know that there is no such agent as Johns, of Grindle Street.’
‘Bah!’
‘There isn’t such a street as Grindle Street. I invented it.’
For a second, Brant was speechless. Henry smiled quietly, and it was Nora who tried to save the situation. She did not attempt the impossible feat of trying to rebuild the structure which Fordyce’s trick had toppled to the ground. She merely walked to the door, observing:
‘All this is quite profitless. Let’s be going.’
‘’Ear, ’ear,’ cheered Ben.
Brant fumed with righteous indignation, or with indignation which he tried to make appear righteous.
‘Monstrous! Scandalous!’ he cried. ‘I never heard anything like it! Not house-hunters, eh? Well, for that matter, are you a house-owner?’
‘I don’t see any necessity to inform you,’ responded Fordyce.
‘No? Well, that’s interesting,’ said Brant, looking at his companions for corroboration and support. ‘Very interesting. But suppose—I insist?’
‘Insist?’ frowned Fordyce.
‘Yes, insist!’ He advanced a step towards Fordyce, threateningly.
‘Careful!’ warned Nora, at the door.
‘Silence, Nora! This man’s an impudent—’
‘’Ere, ’ere!’ interposed Ben, suddenly stepping forward. ‘None o’ yer sorse, guv’nor!’
‘Sauce!’ fumed Brant, turning on him savagely.
‘Yus, sorse! S-o-r-s, sorse! That’s wot I ses. None o’ yer—’
‘Don’t interfere, Ben,’ interrupted Fordyce. ‘Leave this to me.’
But Ben was working up. The tides of courage and indignation were rising, encouraged by what he conceived to be the weaknesses of his opponents. He could tell them a thing or two. He could show them a thing or two! If all else failed, he had something useful still in his pocket.
‘I begs ter differ, guv’nor, as they ses in perlite society,’ he replied to Fordyce. ‘Let ’em go hin the nex’ room and ’ave a look, if they wants ter.’ He swung round to Brant. ‘Go hin, Nosey Parker! Look till ye’r’ blind!’
‘Are you mad, Ben?’ exclaimed Fordyce.
‘No, I ain’t,’ retorted Ben excitedly, ‘and I tike some credit fer that!’
‘What an amusing man!’ murmured Nora, while the others hesitated.
‘Yus—reg’ler George Robey, ain’t I? Well—wotcher waitin’ for? Yer was nosey enuff afore the hinvite came! They won’t find nothink. They won’t find no leakin’ roof—no, hor no leakin’ body!’
‘Body!’ cried Brant, while the others started.
‘You fool!’ growled Fordyce helplessly.
‘Wotcher waitin’ for?’ roared Ben. ‘Shall I call yer a taxi?’
‘No, thanks—I’ll walk,’ said Henry suddenly, and, opening the door, entered the room.
Fordyce stared at Ben. Then he followed Henry. In the tense silence that followed, Brant drew nearer to Nora, and whispered to her. Then they fastened their eyes on the doorway, and, a second later, Henry came out, followed by Fordyce, the latter’s face wearing a look of blank astonishment.
‘Nothing remarkable in there,’ commented Henry.
‘Wot did I say?’ retorted Ben. ‘Roof leakin’, ducky? That’s orl right, then. Nah I s’pose yer’ll tike the ’ouse. Well, yer can ’ave it, fer I ain’t makin’ no hoffers. I’m goin’!’
He made a movement towards the passage, but Brant intruded his agitated form.
‘Not so fast, my man—not so fast!’ he exclaimed.
‘Fast, is it?’ cried Ben, growing more and more excited, and realising that, once he allowed his spirit to drop, he was done for. ‘Oh, I’m a little flash o’ lightnin’, I am! I’ve bin tryin’ ter move hout o’ this bloomin’ ’ouse fer a hour, and I’ve moved ’arf-a-hinch. Real Derby winner, ain’t I? Nah, then, git hout of it!’
He gave Brant a thrust, but Brant thrust him back. The next moment, Ben whipped out his revolver.
‘Orl right, yer will ’ave it!’ he shouted fiercely. ‘’Ands hup!’
A gasp of astonishment went round the room. Brant, although covered, did not move, as though unable to credit the fact that this dilapidated seaman could really constitute a menace.
‘Where on earth did you get that?’ cried Fordyce, in one last effort to stem the tide.
‘Orf the corpse—’
‘Corpse!’ blinked Brant.
‘There, that’s do
ne it, but it don’t matter. It ain’t nothink ter do with me. ’E knows that. And I’m goin’ ter ’op it. Yus, and if hennybody hinterferes, there’ll be more corpses, see? Lor’ blimy, yus!’
Fordyce advanced resolutely to Ben.
‘Put that down,’ he said, very sternly. ‘Put it down, do you hear? You’re the biggest dolt I’ve ever come across, and you’ll hang yourself yet. It’s true,’ he said, to the others, ‘there was a dead man in the next room, and I was on the point of calling the police when you arrived.’ He turned back to Ben, who was still brandishing the revolver. ‘What’s happened, Ben? Have you done anything?’
Ben’s voice now rose to a frenzy.
‘Me done hennythink?’ he cried wildly. ‘That’s right, guv’nor—blime the ’ole bloomin’ war onter me! ’Corse I ain’t done nothink. Yer doesn’t need to do things in this’ ’ere ’ouse. Yer jest stands still, and they ’appen. Everythink’s looney. People comin’ ’ere and bein’ murdered, and then ’oppin’ horf agin, and footsteps without no feet, and then you comin’ ’ere and givin’ nimes of ’ouse agents wot don’t hexist—swipe me, I’m fair sick ter death of it, stright. And I’m goin’, and I’ll send the perlice back ’ere right enuff, don’t you worry. Git hout o’ my way!’
Fordyce made a grab at him, but, for once, Ben was too quick, and darted aside. Then Nora began to walk forward.
‘Come, don’t be foolish,’ she said quietly. ‘Give me that revolver.’
‘Keep orf, keep orf,’ shouted Ben.
‘Be careful,’ warned Fordyce.
But Nora kept on. ‘Give it to me,’ she said, and stretched out her hand.
‘Keep orf, I say!’ yelled Ben, brandishing the revolver wildly.
‘Look out, Ben!’ cried Fordyce suddenly.
For now Brant and Henry had whipped out revolvers, and their attitudes denoted that they meant business. Ben saw them, and lost his head utterly. Leaping forward just before Ben’s frantic shot rang out, Fordyce hurled himself in front of Nora—and, the next instant, nearly doubled up.
‘Guv’nor!’ gasped Ben. ‘Guv’nor—!’
Sobered, he dropped his pistol.
16
Cross-Examination
Henry darted forward and picked up Ben’s revolver. He no longer wore the look of a simpleton. Indeed, although Brant now took charge of the situation, Henry was the cooler of the two, and followed events with more quiet assurance.
Nora, like Ben, was momentarily dazed. She watched Gilbert Fordyce slowly straighten from his sudden spasm of pain, and, as he spoke, a look of intense relief spread over her face.
‘Well—that’s that,’ muttered Fordyce.
‘Guv’nor!’ stammered the seaman contritely. ‘I didn’t mean it—yer knows that. I never knowed it was loaded.’
‘It’s just as well to find out first, you know,’ replied Fordyce, gritting his teeth. ‘But don’t worry, Ben. It’s only a graze.’
He took a handkerchief from his pocket with his left hand, and dropped it over his right wrist. Nora sprang forward.
‘Can I—can I—?’ she asked.
‘Ah, may I trouble you?’ asked Fordyce coolly.
She took the handkerchief, examined the wound, and bound the handkerchief round it. As he had said, it was only a graze, but it might have been considerably more. Nora shuddered—an odd thing, perhaps, for such a cool young lady to do.
‘That was rather—decent of you,’ she murmured.
‘A pity it couldn’t have been in a slightly better cause, eh?’ suggested Fordyce.
Nora bit her lip. ‘Perhaps we can’t all be choosers, you know.’
He shot a quick glance at her.
‘Do you mean that?’
She answered his glance, but not his question.
‘Is that too tight?’ she inquired.
‘No,’ said Fordyce. ‘Just right. Thanks.’
The passage door swung open, and Rose came running in. She had heard the shot and her eyes were wide with fear, a fear that did not decrease when she saw Fordyce’s bound wrist, and the threatening revolvers of the two male ‘house-hunters.’ Henry was standing over Ben, and Brant now swung round quickly to her.
‘What was that?’ she cried.
‘Ah, come in, you!’ retorted Brant sharply. ‘Now you’ve come back, you can stay back, till I’ve cleared this up a bit.’ She hesitated, and he repeated, angrily, ‘Come in! D’you hear?’
He advanced to her, as she stood cowering by the door, and seized her shoulder. Fordyce glared at him.
‘Don’t you treat her roughly,’ he growled.
‘Be quiet!’ Brant snapped back, and giving the girl a shove, said, ‘Get over there.’
‘What’s happened?’ gasped Rose.
‘Never you mind,’ answered Brant. ‘You speak when I ask you to—not till then. Now then, you,’ he cried, turning back to Fordyce, ‘put ’em up!’
‘Sorry,’ responded Fordyce calmly, ‘but I’ve got a better use for them.’
His hand moved towards his pocket, and Brant barked quickly:
‘Now then—none of that! Keep your hand out of your pocket, or—’
‘You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?’ queried Fordyce, bringing out his cigarette case.
‘Yes, I do,’ retorted Brant angrily.
‘That’s unfortunate,’ murmured Fordyce as he opened the case and extracted a cigarette.
‘You’re running yourself into danger,’ Brant warned him.
‘Oh, I’m in no danger,’ observed Fordyce. ‘You see, the hangman won’t worry if I smoke. But he might—if you shoot.’
A red flush began to spread over Brant’s countenance, and he wavered.
‘Uncle!’ warned Nora.
‘Oh—bah!’ fumed Brant. ‘Well, get on with it. Search him, my boy,’ he said to Henry. ‘I’ll see he doesn’t get up to any mischief.’
‘Righto,’ replied Henry briskly. ‘Yes, give him a bullet if he tries to knock me on the head!’
The first article he took out of Fordyce’s pocket was a box of matches. Fordyce relieved him of the box, smilingly.
‘Thanks, just what I wanted,’ he remarked, and lit his cigarette. Then he returned the case to Henry.
‘Cool, aren’t you?’ said Henry.
‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ replied Fordyce. ‘Rather a handsome case, isn’t it?’
Henry read out the initials, ‘G. F.,’ and Ben smiled faintly.
‘Yus, I knows wot that stands for,’ he muttered.
Henry completed his search quickly. He was no bungler. In cash, Fordyce had only a few shillings on him. In other respects, his pockets were equally unexciting.
‘Clean slate,’ reported Henry.
‘Good,’ answered Brant. ‘And, now, the other.’
Henry turned to the seaman. ‘Come along, Ben,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s see your treasures. Have you got any more little revolvers about you?’
‘Nah, then,’ retorted the seaman. ‘’Oo sed yer could call me Ben?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sure,’ grinned Henry, ‘but I don’t know your other name.’
‘Lloyd George.’
Fordyce laughed.
‘You know, I like you, Ben, upon my soul I do!’ he said.
‘Yus, I’ve noticed it,’ answered Ben, as Henry began to examine his unilluminating pockets. ‘I’ll give yer a job in the cabbynet nex’ eleckshun.’
‘Thanks. What’ll it be?’
‘’Ead o’ the Messin’ Abart Department. That’s wot yer was born for, I reckons … Hout comes orl me little ’eirlooms! Nice bit o’ string, ’Enery, ain’t it? I’ve ’ad a big hoffer fer that. ’Undred pahnds—but I wouldn’t tike it. Sending it ter Christie’s. Hexpeck there’ll be some big biddin’ among the ’angmen.’
‘Oh, shut that fellow’s mouth!’ exclaimed Brant.
‘Believe me,’ Fordyce assured him, ‘it can’t be done. I’ve tried myself.’
‘Have you? Well, p’r’aps your methods aren�
�t mine. Now then, Henry, haven’t you finished?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Henry. ‘Another clean slate—’
‘Fust time hennybody’s called me clean,’ interposed Ben. ‘I’m gettin’ hon, I am!’
‘Now the girl,’ said Brant, ignoring him. ‘And, for God’s sake, hurry!’
Rose shrank away as Henry approached.
‘Don’t worry—I’m not going to hurt you,’ Henry promised, and proceeded to search her quietly while Brant turned to Fordyce.
‘I reckon that’s a pretty story you’ve put up,’ he exclaimed, ‘but I want the truth this time. Who are you?’
‘That’s not your business,’ answered Fordyce.
‘That’s where you’re wrong. It is my business, and the sooner you get that into your head, the better for everyone. Who are you, and who’s that blithering idiot over there?’
‘Isn’t this all rather useless, Uncle?’ suggested Nora.
‘Useless? We’ve got to get to the bottom of it, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, but will it help us to—’ She lowered her voice. ‘To get through—’
‘Sh!’ warned Brant. ‘Perhaps the girl can tell us something.’
He turned towards her, and, as he did so, saw Henry reading the telegram which he had taken from Rose’s pocket.
‘Hallo—what’s that?’ he demanded.
‘What’s what?’ said Henry.
‘Telegram, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? I was just going to read it out.’
‘Were you?’ answered Brant, looking at him shrewdly. ‘Well, I’ll save you the trouble.’ He snatched the form from Henry’s hand, and read: ‘“Keep clear No. 17 today—”’
‘Ah, some ’un was wise,’ murmured Ben.
‘“Sheldrake moving,”’ continued Brant, in a puzzled voice. ‘“Lie low till instructions. Suffolk necklace”—what’s this?—“Suffolk necklace has been found. Barton.” Barton!’
He paused, and Henry emitted a low whistle. There was a short silence, during which Rose glanced appealingly at Fordyce, and he threw her a reassuring smile. It was little enough he could do, but a smile of hope sometimes goes a long way.
‘So—Detective Barton’s on this game!’ murmured Nora.
‘Looks like it,’ said Brant uneasily.
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