‘Who’s the telegram addressed to, Uncle?’ she asked.
‘Ackroyd,’ replied Brant. ‘No. 15—next door.’ He barked at Rose. ‘You! Where did you get this?’
‘It came for my father,’ answered Rose.
‘Your father, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’re Miss Ackroyd?’
‘Yes.’
‘H’m. How did you get here?’ Rose was silent. ‘Come, answer me,’ he exclaimed, in a bullying tone.
‘Don’t bully that girl!’ cried Fordyce angrily, and turned to Nora. ‘I say, Miss Brant, do you stand for this?’
‘If your friend is sensible, she won’t be hurt—I’ll stand for that.’
‘Oh, why don’t they keep quiet!’ burst out Brant, to the ceiling. ‘Get into that next room, G. F., or whatever you call yourself, and take that blithering idiot of a friend of yours with you.’ He pointed to Ben. ‘Where did you get him? In a rag and bone sale? Go on—I’ll call you when I want you.’ Fordyce did not move. ‘Step lively, now—unless you want another bullet?’
‘You are a blusterer,’ responded Fordyce.
‘Oh! Blusterer, am I!’
Rose interposed, with a sharp little cry.
‘Please go,’ she said. ‘They wouldn’t dare hurt me—I’m sure they wouldn’t.’
Fordyce frowned, and looked at Nora.
‘Is that your advice, Miss Brant?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘You’d better go. I’ve told you she won’t be hurt.’
‘That’s a promise?’ She nodded. ‘Oh, well, come along, Ben. We’re under orders—for the moment. Not permanently, you know. And cheer up, Miss Ackroyd—the fog’ll pass.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it will,’ she replied faintly.
Ben gazed towards the door to the inner chamber uneasily.
‘Wot do they wanter git rid of us for?’ he demanded, as he hesitated.
‘They don’t like us, Ben.’
‘Well, that’s mewchel, ain’t it? We ain’t ezackly gorn on them!’
‘Will you go?’ shouted Brant.
‘Oh, hennythink ter hoblige, I’m sure. Keep yer ’air hon. ’Ouse-’unter, I don’t think!’ He turned once more to Fordyce. ‘Guv’nor, ’ave we really gotter go in there?’
‘Afraid so, old sport.’
‘Wot—in that there vanishin’-room? Well—p’r’aps we can do a bit o’ vanishin’!’
Fordyce walked up to him, and patted him on the shoulder.
‘Buck up,’ he said. ‘I thought you were getting back your pluck!’
‘It comes and goes, like,’ murmured Ben.
They went to the door. As they reached it, Fordyce turned to Brant.
‘I warn you,’ he remarked quietly, ‘if you hurt a hair of that girl’s head, there won’t be a whole bone of you left to bury.’
‘Which I ’opes is termorrer,’ added Ben, as Fordyce swung the door open. ‘No flahers, by request!’
Then they vanished into the vanishing-room, and the door closed behind them.
17
Trapped!
Brant gave a sigh of relief, and turned to Rose briskly.
‘Now then,’ he began, ‘we can move a little faster. How did you get here?’
‘If you want to know,’ answered Rose, with a note of defiance in her voice, ‘I—I came over the roof.’
‘Over the roof, eh?’ exclaimed Brant, with a rapid glance at the others. ‘Well, that’s a bit rum, isn’t it?’
‘Why did you come?’ asked Nora.
Rose turned to her immediately, as the preferable tormentor.
‘I came to find my father.’
‘So!’ observed Brant, whistling softly. ‘Your father. And he came over first, then, eh?’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Look here, my girl. That man whose body’s supposed to have been in the next room—was that your father?’
‘No, thank God!’ exclaimed Rose.
‘Yes, yes, but are you quite sure? Did you see him?’
‘No,’ answered Rose faintly.
‘Very well, then! How do you know it wasn’t your father? It might have been.’
‘Don’t be so brutal!’ murmured Nora.
‘I tell you, it wasn’t,’ exclaimed Rose, all the more emphatic because of her sudden doubt. ‘They said it was—a man who used to lodge with us a little while ago.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Smith.’
Once more Brant glanced at the others significantly. His eyes rested for a moment on Henry, who was sitting quietly on a case, silent and listening. He returned to Rose.
‘His name was Smith. Well, that’s a common name enough, isn’t it? Might be anybody, mightn’t it? But what would this Mr Smith be doing here?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Rose, shaking her head wearily. ‘It’s no good asking me that.’
‘Well, I’ll ask you this, then. Was there any trouble between this Mr Smith and your father?’
‘No!’ answered Rose, very decisively.
‘You seem very certain?’
‘I am certain!’ She knew what they were trying to make out. Her eyes flashed with indignation.
‘Well, well, my girl, I’ve not denied it yet, have I? But, look here, let’s straighten this out a bit more. You came across the roof after your father—’
‘Yes.’
‘But why did he come across?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t? Or won’t?’ Suddenly he shot out, ‘That telegram! Did he know anything about that?’
‘No. It came after he’d gone.’
‘After he’d gone! Then—he never got it?’
‘No.’
‘The warning missed him,’ Brant muttered. ‘Well, then, what about those diamonds?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Damn it, you don’t know anything—!’
‘Hush! You frighten her!’ interposed Nora. ‘Let me go on with this. Tell us, Miss Ackroyd, are you in your father’s confidence?’
‘In his confidence?’ repeated Rose. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, mightn’t your father have some secret he’s keeping from you? Connected, you know, with Mr Smith—and the way over the roof?’
Rose’s mind began to spin. She did not answer. With a half-triumphant glance at his niece, Brant resumed the attack.
‘This Mr Smith, now,’ he said. ‘You spoke of him as a lodger you used to have. When did he leave?’
‘He left us six months ago.’
‘Six—months—ago!’ repeated Brant slowly. The information appeared to astonish him considerably, and he made little effort to conceal his surprise, in spite of his niece’s warning signs. ‘You say Mr Smith left you six months ago. Why did he leave? Come, why did he leave?’
Rose began to grow hysterical.
‘Why did he leave?’ she cried. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’
‘Because—’
‘If you ask me anything more, I shall scream!’
Nora laid her arm on her uncle’s sleeve. ‘Better go slow, I think,’ she said. ‘She’s about reached the end of herself.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ muttered Brant grudgingly. ‘Look here, Miss Ackroyd, I’ve finished with you—for the present. Go into that room and send me that fellow they call Ben. Now, then, hurry up!’
Rose walked mechanically to the door, Brant following her. Then Henry broke his long silence, and addressed a remark to Nora behind her uncle’s back.
‘Never get anywhere at this game, he won’t,’ he murmured. ‘All nerves.’
Rose opened the door, and passed unsteadily into the inner room. When it was closed, Brant turned round, and faced his companions with a deep frown.
‘Rum go, isn’t it?’ observed Henry.
‘Rum? It’s a double-cross!’ rasped Brant. ‘Damn it, call this a get-away? It looks more like being a put-away! If Smith hasn’t been here for six months, we’re being double-crossed, to a certainty!’
Alone now, their tongues were loosened; yet, even so, there was a strange atmosphere of suspicion in that gloomy room. United against the three people in that inner chamber, they did not appear united among themselves.
Brant scowled at Henry, who smiled blandly back. Nora frowned at both.
‘It looks to me,’ she observed, with a shrug, ‘as if Ackroyd’s been carrying on Smith’s game.’
‘He must have been,’ Henry nodded. ‘Confoundedly clever of him—’
‘I said it was madness to come in here,’ interrupted Brant, clenching his hand impotently. ‘Didn’t I? Didn’t I, Nora?’
‘It’s what I’ve been saying all along,’ retorted Nora. ‘We ought to have made some excuse on the doorstep.’
‘Well, I wanted to,’ said Brant angrily, ‘only our precious Henry wouldn’t let us.’
‘Well, even after that,’ Nora went on, ‘we could have gone, without wasting all this useless time. We can go now!’
‘Can we, my dear Nora?’ queried Henry. ‘I’m not quite sure of that.’
Brant turned on him savagely.
‘There you go—putting your confounded spoke in again,’ he exclaimed. ‘Who the devil are you, anyway?’
‘A brother in misfortune,’ responded Henry smoothly. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘Not quite, Henry,’ answered Nora, as smoothly. ‘We’d like to know who you really are?’
‘What a question, from a sister!’ observed Henry sarcastically. ‘I’m your brother, my child, by adoption, on the doorstep—’
‘Oh, don’t be funny,’ interposed Brant. ‘We know you butted in on the doorstep. But what are you after? That’s something we don’t know!’
‘Oh, don’t lose your wool,’ returned Henry, changing his tone. ‘I’m after Smith, the same as you are. This is the Get-Away Guild, isn’t it? Very well then. I’m here to get away. They’ve had a large enough slice of my plunder, and it’s about time I saw some return for it.’
‘Ah, that’s what we say,’ agreed Brant, with a glance at Nora. ‘So you’ve got to slip the country, too?’
‘Yes, damn quick. I’m here for Smith and his blasted tunnel—and Smith isn’t here to show us the way! I’ve got my appointment card, same as you have—4.30 appointment for the Goods Train Ferry for the Continent, that starts under this house. Satisfied yet, or not?’ he added. ‘Here’s my ticket. Where’s yours?’
He whipped a little badge out of his pocket inscribed, ‘No. 17. 4.30.’ Brant and Nora produced theirs. Brant nodded, satisfied, but Nora regarded Henry dubiously.
‘Are you quite sure that’s your ticket, Henry?’ she asked.
‘Of course it’s my ticket,’ answered Henry. ‘What do you mean?’
Nora hesitated, then responded:
‘Well, I saw it in your hand when you took the telegram from Miss Ackroyd’s pocket.’
‘Perfectly true, cute one! I was keeping it handy. Anything wrong in that?’
Brant frowned, his doubts beginning to return. He asked, suspiciously:
‘Let’s hear—what are you wanted for?’
‘Gawd knows,’ said a voice behind him. ‘Didn’t yer send fer me?’
Ben had just popped his reluctant head in from the adjoining room. He had taken his time, being in no hurry for an interview which promised little pleasantness. And, now he had appeared, he discovered he was too soon.
‘Not yet, you fool!’ shouted Brant.
‘Oh! Wrong agin,’ muttered Ben, and popped his head back once more.
‘That fellow’s the biggest fool!’ grumbled Brant irritably.
‘And so are you, Uncle,’ said Nora severely, ‘raising your voice like that. You’re losing your nerve. Bullies are always cowards!’
‘Pah! What’s come over her?’ murmured Brant, angry because of the truth of her words. He was losing his nerve, and he knew it. He fastened on Henry again. ‘One of the queerest things about the whole business is that telegram. Those Suffolk diamonds, now—do you know anything about them? Were you in that scoop?’
‘Why should I be?’ answered Henry. ‘That was Sheldrake’s job. Don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, I know. And—so the telegram says—Sheldrake’s moving! What the devil’s that mean? Sheldrake was gaoled for it six months ago—’
‘But they never found the diamonds.’
‘No. I know that.’
‘He’d hidden them too well.’
‘Exactly. And Barton—who’s sent this wire—is supposed to have sworn to find ’em. All right. I reckon I’m as well up in the history of these things as you are. But I don’t understand how Sheldrake can be moving, if he’s in prison—’
‘Ah, that’s because you’re not quite as well up in the history of these things as I am,’ interposed Henry, smiling quietly. ‘You didn’t know, for instance, that Sheldrake broke prison last week.’
Brant stared at him, and so did Nora.
‘What!’ he exclaimed. ‘Did he, by God!’ Henry nodded. A sudden panic seized Brant. ‘Well, then, the thing’s clear, isn’t it? Sheldrake knows this place—he’s bound to know it—bound to know Smith, and I’ll bet he’s heading for this get-away—’
‘Yes, and with Barton after him!’ interposed Nora suddenly.
Brant nodded despairingly.
‘There you are! That’s what I mean! By God, if Barton’s making for here, we’re done for.’
‘Oh, you give up at every point,’ cried Nora scornfully. ‘There’s one way open still.’
‘What?’
‘The way I’ve urged all along. The way out. What about a bolt for the front door—now?’
‘Yes, yes!’—agreed Brant excitedly. ‘That’s the only thing. We won’t worry about them in there. Come along my girl, come along—’
He threw open the passage door, and then stopped suddenly.
The front-door bell was ringing.
18
The Unseen Figure
For the first time since he had entered that room, Henry looked anxious. The uncanniness of the house, which had gripped each other inmate in turn, appeared to have left him cold; but now, as the bell sounded in their ears, something of his coolness left him, and a startled expression entered his eyes.
‘Damn,’ he muttered softly, and for five seconds no other word was spoken.
Then Brant, unable to stand the silence any longer, chattered:
‘Suppose—that’s Barton, and the police!’
‘Keep your head!’ answered Nora. ‘It might be anybody.’
‘Who could it be—if it’s not the police?’ insisted Brant shakily.
Nora looked at Henry, as she replied:
‘It might be—Sheldrake?’
Henry nodded, and regained command of himself.
‘Cute kid,’ he said. ‘That’s far more likely!’ He paused, then suddenly added, ‘I say! If it is Sheldrake—are we going to let him get clear with all those diamonds? Fair’s fair, eh?—when the odds are three to one against him. Eh?’
‘Hallo—that’s an idea, certainly,’ answered Brant, licking his lips.
‘It is an idea. What do you say to making him divide? It’s £40,000. Worth just a little bit of trouble, eh?’
‘By God, yes!’
‘Fools,’ snorted Nora. ‘Shoot your lion first—then think about sharing the carcase!’
‘Don’t listen to her,’ interposed Brant. ‘Yes, it’s a big deal. We’ll—’
Again the bell rang, its note vibrating hollowly through the house. Brant took out his handkerchief, and wiped his forehead. He glanced at Henry.
‘Er—well,’ he muttered. ‘Who’s going down?’
Henry smiled grimly. ‘I’m sure you’d make an excellent butler,’ he observed, with irony.
‘Nonsense! Nonsense! This isn’t the time to … You go, Nora.’
‘No, hold on,’ interrupted Henry suddenly. ‘I’ve an idea. There’s a window on the next landing—I may get a squint who it is from there.’
>
He darted from the room, and disappeared down the rickety stairs. Nora drew nearer to her uncle as soon as they were alone, and spoke in a lowered voice.
‘Keep your head, Uncle,’ she whispered. ‘And—watch him!’
‘I am watching him,’ answered Brant testily. ‘But what do you mean?’
‘Don’t trust him. That’s what I mean. That wasn’t his badge he showed us. He took it off the Ackroyd girl—’
‘What?’
‘It’s true. I saw him.’
‘You did? My God! Then perhaps—’ He seized her arm in a tight grip. ‘Perhaps he’s Sheldrake!’
‘I thought of that. But perhaps he’s anybody! There’s no one you can trust in this crooked life—this life you’ve tricked me into!’ she burst out impulsively.
Brant snapped his teeth. ‘I do wish you’d shut up that sort of talk,’ he complained. ‘This isn’t the time for it. We’ve got to find Smith and his damned tunnel. We’ll talk when we get to The Hague—’
‘You’re an optimist,’ remarked Nora. ‘It’s a quality I’ve not noticed in you before. How shall we get to The Hague if Smith is dead?’
‘Yes, but how do we know he’s dead?’ Brant rapped back. ‘Is he? If he’s dead, where’s his body? There you are … Confound that fellow downstairs! Why doesn’t he come up again?… As I was saying—where’s his body? I don’t believe he is dead. But that’s the thing we’ve got to find out. Come on—we’ll have that sailor in.’ He ran towards the door of the inner room. ‘Yes, I’ll tickle him up a bit!’
But Nora was swiftly by his side, looking straight into his eyes.
‘Uncle,’ she said, ‘I won’t have him hurt!’
‘Won’t have him—? You leave me to manage this in my own way, my girl! What in the name of heaven’s come over you? I’ll speak to you later!’
‘Why later? Why not now?’
‘What—now?’ he exclaimed, almost choking with anger. ‘With … Nora, do you want to be caught?’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she answered dully. ‘I’m sick of this life—yes, and of you. And if we come through this, I’m going to quit. I don’t care what it costs me.’
‘Tchar!’
‘Oh, you can snort as much as you like. I mean it. I’ve just about come to the end.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that sort of prattle before,’ he cried savagely. ‘And it don’t go down with me—not a little bit!’ He was by the door, and he now flung it open. ‘Now, then, Ben, or whatever you were christened!’ he called. ‘Come here!’
No. 17 Page 11