Ben appeared at the door. His brain was numbed to it all, and he almost bore himself with a swagger. His hands were in his pockets, and he did not close the door, but Brant closed it for him, and turned the key. Then he demanded, bluntly:
‘Who are you?’
‘Bishop o’ London,’ replied Ben.
‘Don’t play the goat,’ frowned Brant. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Lummy, am I here? S’pose I am, but yer can’t be sure o’ hennythink in this ’ouse, can yer?’
‘I say, what are you doing here?’
‘Oh, doing? That’s diff’rent. Collectin’ cigarette cards.’
‘You’d better be careful!’ began Brant, but turned as Henry suddenly reappeared from the passage. ‘Well?’ he asked anxiously. ‘See anything?’
‘You can’t see your hand before your face,’ replied Henry, glancing at Ben, who was strolling jauntily round the room. ‘The fog’s all round the place. We might be surrounded, and never know it.’
‘But didn’t you even see the doorstep?’ demanded Nora.
‘Oh yes, I did get a glimpse of that,’ he responded. ‘No one. No one at all. Whoever was there has gone.’ He jerked his head towards Ben. ‘Have you got anything out of him?’
‘No, not yet. I’m only just starting,’ replied Brant, and walked across to where Ben was standing. ‘Keep still, can’t you? You’re not on a walking tour! Now, then. What do you know about this murdered man?’
‘Oh, lummy,’ said Ben with a groan. ‘All I knows is that ’is nime was Smith, ’e useter lodge nex’ door, and I ain’t murdered ’im. ’Corse, I might ’ave done it hin me sleep, yer know,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘and it might jest ’ave slipped me memory like—’
‘Have you any idea who did murder him?’ interposed Brant.
‘Yus, ’corse I ’ave,’ answered Ben promptly. ‘Gal’s father done ’im in.’
‘Oh, you think that, do you?’
‘Pline as mud, ain’t it? One feller’s murdered. T’other feller’s disappeared. Twice two’s four. Clear as honions.’
‘Yes, but, damn it, you tell us that both have disappeared,’ retorted Henry. ‘Corpses don’t disappear, my man. Are you quite sure you’ve done nothing with the body?’
‘Me? Wot should I ’ave done with it?’ demanded Ben indignantly. ‘I don’t collect ’em!’
‘You might have thrown it out of the window,’ suggested Brant.
Ben opened his eyes wide.
‘Wot for?’ he inquired.
‘Well, well—if you didn’t want the body discovered—’
‘Oh, ’corse no one ’d never see it layin’ on the pavement, would they?’ cried Ben with spirit. ‘If I didn’t want it discovered! Lor’ luvvaduck! Chucked it aht o’ the winder, did I? The Merchant Service is gettin’ hon!’
Brant swore, and Nora smiled. Henry smiled also, but pursued the point.
‘You know, Ben—’
‘Bloomin’ fermilier, ain’t yer, ’Enery?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder if you ever saw this runaway corpse at all!’
As he spoke, a shadowy, groping hand slowly rose outside the window. The inmates of the room had their backs to it, and did not see the hand, which groped about for the latch.
‘’Corse I seed the corpse,’ said Ben. ‘And ’corse ’e seed it.’ He jerked his thumb towards the inner room. The hand at the window found what it was groping for, and the window began to open. ‘That bloke in the next room seed it same as I did. ’E told yer.’
‘Yes—who is that chap?’ asked Henry.
‘Passer-by. When I sees the blinkin’ corpse, I ’ops it. I ’ops it outer the blinkin’ ’ouse, and blunders inter this blinkin’ feller—and then, blast me, ’e mikes me ’op it back agin.’
The hand at the window suddenly shot up, clawed the air, and disappeared. Happily unconscious of events behind him—he had quite enough before him—Ben continued:
‘I’ll tell yer wot it is. ’E’s one o’ them narsty conshyenshus fellers wot won’t let a thing alone. Carn’t close ’is eyes to a narsty sight, like. Know wot I mean?’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ growled Brant. ‘Can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business!’
‘That’s right. Kind o’ bloke they loves in ’Eving, but ’ates dahn ’ere.’
‘Yes, yes, I don’t want to hear any more comments!… Where’s that draught coming from?… Do you know anything about the diamonds?’
‘Diamonds? Me?’
Once more the inmates of the room missed something through lacking eyes in the backs of their heads. The passage door slowly and softly opened, and a figure crouched in the aperture. A big, broad-shouldered figure, with one shoulder higher than the other.
‘Now, then, don’t pretend you don’t know anything about these diamonds,’ rasped Brant. ‘The telegram mentioned them—’
‘Oh, what’s the use?’ muttered Henry.
The figure at the door, however, appeared immensely interested. While its eyes were alert for any movement that might lead to its discovery, its ears were also alert to miss no word of the conversation.
‘The telegram says that the Suffolk necklace has been found,’ pursued Brant.
‘Well, wot abart it?’ demanded Ben. ‘Where’s yer diamonds?’
‘The Suffolk necklace, you fool!’
‘Fool yerself!’
‘Do you know anything about them? Answer me, or I’ll—’
‘Oh, yus, o’ corse I do,’ interposed Ben. ‘Look at me guv’nor. I’m orl hover diamonds!’ He opened his coat, and thrust out his threadbare waistcoat. ‘’Ow silly of me. I stole them sparklers larst Thursday week. Or was it Toosday? No—Toosday was the Crahn Jools!’
The figure at the door slipped into the room, and swinging the door wide till it almost met the wall, slid behind it.
‘If you think we’re here for a joke—!’ shouted Brant, raising his hand.
‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Nora.
A scream sounded from the inner chamber. It had barely died down when the room was plunged into darkness.
19
Ben Enters the Cupboard
For several seconds, chaos reigned. Ben instinctively put up his hands, to ward off invisible foes in the darkness; he could see nothing, for the fire had burned low by now, and was nearly out. The other inmates of the room, no less alarmed, stood strained and alert, waiting for the next step without any knowledge of what it would be, or whence it would come. All they knew, for certain, was that a candle had mysteriously gone out on one side, and a shriek had occurred on the other, while a cold draught slithered through a room of which both the doors and the window had been securely closed.
‘Oh, Gawd, wot a ’ouse, wot a ’ouse!’ chattered Ben’s voice.
It awoke the others to action. Brant stumbled to the door of the adjoining room, from which the scream had come, and, as he opened it with trembling hands, a streak of candle-light slanted in. It slanted across to them and beyond them, right on to the door of the cupboard, catching it just as it quietly swung to; but no one saw it swing to, for all eyes were turned towards the light’s source.
‘Who’s in there?’ cried Brant, pausing on the threshold.
‘Miss Ackroyd got frightened,’ answered Fordyce’s voice quietly.
‘Stay where you are—don’t move!’ shouted Brant. ‘Don’t forget, I’ve got my revolver handy!’
He slipped into the inner room. Henry watched him for an instant, then glanced at Nora.
‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘who did that? Who put out the candle?’
Nora shook her head.
‘Not me, guv’nor,’ volunteered Ben.
Henry rounded on him suddenly.
‘I believe you did, confound you!’ he exclaimed.
‘’Corse I did!’ answered Ben, surging on a tide of angry reaction. ‘I does heverythink, doesn’t I? I kills a man with a lead pencil—’
‘Shut up,’ said Henry, fumbling with matc
hes, and moving towards the extinguished candle stump.
‘—and then I chucks ’im aht o’ the winder on a hempty stummick, ter ’ide ’im hon the pavement. Then I blows a candle hover, ’arf acrorst a room.’ He emitted a hard, blowing sound, in ironic illustration of his assumed prowess in that direction. ‘If I could blow like that, guv’nor, I’d blow the lot o’ yer to Jericho! Blarst me, I would!’
With an exclamation of annoyance, Henry re-lit the candle, which had toppled over to the floor, just as Brant returned from the inner room. He closed the door behind him swiftly, and re-locked it.
‘Well?’ asked Nora.
‘Nothing—as far as I can make out,’ answered Brant. ‘Nerves. The girl got frightened and shrieked.’
‘At nothing?’
‘So they say … Hallo! I said there was a draught! That door’s open.’ He pointed to the door to the passage. ‘It wasn’t open before, was it?’
‘No,’ replied Henry definitely. ‘I closed it.’
‘When you came up from the next floor just now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then how the devil did it get open?’
‘Oh, I done it,’ observed Ben. ‘It’s quite heasy. Yer jest stretches aht yer harm and mike it grow, like a telescope—’
‘Hold your tongue!’ interposed Henry. ‘Perhaps it blew open.’
‘Yes—look—the window!’ exclaimed Brant. ‘Wasn’t that shut, too?’
‘It can’t have been,’ said Henry.
‘Well, we’ll have it shut now, anyway,’ answered Brant, climbing on to the packing-case beneath it. ‘And we’ll have it bolted, too.’
‘Ah, that won’t be no good, guv’nor, not with me abart,’ commented Ben. ‘I’ve ’ad a corse at Meskerline and Dervant’s, I ’ave.’
‘I expect the wind blew in through this window,’ suggested Brant, as he fastened it, ‘upset the candle, and then blew the door open.’
‘Only the door happens to open inwards,’ murmured Henry.
‘Well, it hasn’t blown the fog away,’ remarked Nora. ‘Can you see anything, Uncle?’
‘Not a darn,’ he replied, as he sprang down from the case.
‘Everything’s falling to pieces in this damned house,’ said Henry.
‘Yus,’ replied Ben quickly, to divert attention from his actions to himself, for under cover of Brant’s occupation at the window, he had managed to slip towards the inner door and unlock it. ‘The ’ole show’ll soon come dahn—and then I hexpeck, yer’ll say as ’ow I was the bloomin’ hearthquake.’
‘Come away from that door!’ commanded Brant. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Nothink,’ lied Ben stoutly.
‘I don’t trust you, my lad.’
‘Queen Anne’s dead!’
‘And I’m going to put you where you won’t be up to any more mischief,’ continued Brant, looking around the room.
‘Is there sich a plice?’ queried Ben innocently.
‘Ah, yes—there is,’ exclaimed Brant, as his eye lit on the cupboard door. ‘We’ll put you in there. Here, Henry—give me a hand …’
‘Righto,’ answered Henry, advancing quickly. ‘What’s the idea? Strap him up?’
‘’Ere, ’ere!’ objected the seaman as they seized him. ‘Wot’s goin’ ter ’appen nah?’ They did not answer, but, slipping off his belt, began to strap it round his feet. ‘Oi! I’ll tell the Board o’ Trade! Yer surely ain’t goin’ ter shut me hup in a cupboard—me, wot’s stoked a ship the size o’ Windser Castle—’
‘Brutes!’ murmured Nora helplessly.
‘Yus, ain’t they, miss?’ agreed Ben. ‘Fust-class brutes! Of horl the hinsults! This is my lucky day, I don’t think! Oi—go heasy, there! If yer wants to git hon in the world, find aht the star I was born hunder, and choose another. I’m a murderer. I’m a liar. I’m a ’uman writin’-desk. And nah, blimy, I’m ter be a bloomin’ cupboard fitting.’
They lifted him to his feet, and began to carry him to the cupboard.
‘There’s one thing I am yer’ve none o’ yer fahnd out,’ exclaimed Ben.
‘Oh, and what’s that?’ asked Brant.
‘’Ungry,’ retorted Ben.
They opened the cupboard door quickly, shoved the unfortunate seaman in, and closed and locked the door. A second’s silence ensued. Then, from the depths of the cupboard, rose a muffled roar of terror.
‘Huh! Afraid of the dark,’ commented Brant, coming away, with a slight shudder.
‘You brutes—both of you!’ muttered the girl.
Henry, on his way to the passage, regarded her with an odd expression.
‘Sorry, but we can’t afford to be squeamish in this game, my girl,’ he said. ‘Unpleasant things have to be done occasionally.’
‘Hey—where are you going?’ demanded Brant, as Henry resumed his way to the passage.
‘I think I’d like another little squint at that front door,’ answered Henry. ‘If we decide to make a bolt for it, we want to be sure first all’s clear, eh?’
He went into the passage quickly, and disappeared down the stairs. Brant gazed after him for an instant, then turned to Nora.
‘Wise to let him go?’ he queried, looking at her anxiously.
‘If you think not,’ she replied, ‘you’d better go and stop him.’
‘That’s right! Be funny!’
‘I assure you, Uncle, I don’t feel at all funny!’
‘Nor do I. Now, look here, my girl. This is how I figure it out. That sailor fellow’s a fool—all the same, he hit on the right idea.’
‘What idea?’ asked Nora dully.
‘Why, that the girl’s father outed Smith. Ackroyd finds Smith here. Smith had come to keep his appointment here with us, see? That’s clear, isn’t it? He must have come, because we heard from him—otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. Very well, then. The two men meet, there’s a tussle, and Smith comes off second best. Rum, I admit,’ he reflected, ‘because Smith’s supposed to be a pretty hefty fellow, from all accounts. However, perhaps Ackroyd is, too. Ackroyd—the girl’s father—disappears after the tussle. Lord knows where!’ He banged his hands together suddenly. ‘Yes, that’s it, of course. Ackroyd’s gone to give the alarm. Ten to one, there’s a ring of police round the house at this moment—’
‘Yes, that may explain Ackroyd’s disappearance,’ interposed Nora. ‘But it doesn’t dispose of Smith’s. How do you account for that?’
‘I don’t account for it. It beats me,’ replied Brant distractedly. ‘But suppose Smith wasn’t dead? Suppose he was only shamming—or was only stunned?… Look out, Nora! Quick! Behind you!’
The door of the inner room opened abruptly, and a man with a crooked shoulder sprang out.
20
The Man with the Crooked Shoulder
‘Good God! Smith!’ cried Brant, gasping.
‘Yes, Smith,’ replied the man sharply. ‘Surprised to see me, eh?’
He glanced at Brant searchingly, then transferred his gaze to Nora.
‘Where have you been?’ asked Brant.
‘Not in the next Kingdom, where you expect I’ve been,’ answered the man. ‘I’ve got a tough skin—tougher than yours, I reckon, from the look of you. One needs it for this game. Who the hell’s in there with the Ackroyd girl?’
Before Brant could reply, Henry came running back from his tour of investigation.
‘Fog’s worse than ever,’ he said as he entered. ‘I rather believe I heard a police whistle. So we’d better—’
He stopped abruptly.
‘Hallo! Who’s this?’ demanded the man, regarding Henry with suspicion.
‘It’s Smith, Henry—Smith!’ cried Brant, delight and relief in his tone. He seized Henry by the arm, and Henry felt the fingers trembling. ‘You see, he’s not dead!’
‘Smith!’ said Henry slowly. ‘Why—he—’
‘He’s been through a tough time, but he’s come through all right,’ interposed the man. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later—�
�
‘Yes, but where’s Ackroyd?’ persisted Henry.
The man smiled ironically. ‘Of course, this is the time for questions, isn’t it? Don’t worry about Ackroyd. I’ve made him safe enough. And if you’re all for that ferry train, you’d better hustle. You haven’t a great many minutes.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Henry, still staring at the man, ‘we must hurry, of course, but—’
‘Did you say you heard a police whistle?’ demanded the man.
‘Yes—I thought so—’
‘Well, that settles it!’ barked Brant. ‘Come along. He’s right—this isn’t the time for explanations.’
‘No, but we’ll be sure of ourselves, just the same,’ exclaimed the man suddenly. ‘Let’s have a look at your tickets.’
Nora held up her badge, and Brant held up his, approaching the man as he did so.
‘There—we’re square,’ he said, and then added, in a quick, low voice, ‘I say, Smith, I don’t know anything about that other fellow—he’s not with us.’
Henry also approached the man, as he took his badge from his pocket and presented it.
‘So you’re Smith, are you?’ he frowned.
‘Of course I am!’ retorted the man. ‘The question is, who are you? But we can’t enter into all that now—’
‘There’s just one thing we would like to know,’ interposed Nora, and Smith turned and looked at her with an impatient expression. ‘Was it really Ackroyd who knocked you on the head?’
‘Who else could it have been?’ answered the man. ‘Of course, if you’re set on wasting time—’
‘We’re not,’ said Nora coolly, ‘but one likes just a little light, you know—especially before going through a tunnel. How did you disappear from the next room, where you were supposed to be?’
‘Don’t blame me when you’re caught,’ exclaimed the man angrily. ‘If you’re really bursting to know—when I came to in the next room I didn’t feel quite fit enough to enter into complications all at once. I heard the devil of a noise going on in here, and thought I’d recover a bit before joining in. So I dragged myself into a cupboard—there’s quite a useful one—and locked myself in. I didn’t want anyone coming along to finish me off.’
No. 17 Page 12