No. 17

by J. Jefferson Farjeon

  ‘Yes, she has,’ said Rose.

  ‘It was rotten luck Smith coming back when he did,’ Fordyce went on. ‘In another minute I’d have been free … Oh, well, we’ll think of some other way.’

  Words were easy. But what other way was there? Two people securely bound in chairs, in a room with the door locked against them, have somewhat limited resources.

  ‘Do you think she really means to come back?’ asked Rose.

  ‘I’m perfectly certain she’ll come back,’ responded Fordyce, ‘if she gets a chance. But we can’t wait for that. Old Smith’s got his suspicions aroused—afraid her smart story about having left her bag in the next room didn’t quite go down. I say, is there any hope at all of your slipping your knots, Miss Ackroyd?’

  She struggled fruitlessly for a few seconds, and then gave up.

  ‘No—I’m afraid not,’ she murmured, beginning to cry. ‘They’re too tight. I—I think—I’m going to faint!’

  ‘No, no, you won’t do that!’ exclaimed Fordyce briskly. ‘Miss Brant’s not the only girl I know who’s got pluck, eh? Too much grit in your family for fainting. Besides,’ he added, ‘think of your father! We simply mustn’t let him down, you know.’

  Rose looked towards the cupboard, and gritted her teeth.

  ‘No, no—I am thinking of him,’ she said. ‘It’s all right—I won’t faint.’

  ‘Splendid!’ cried Fordyce. ‘You really are wonderful. You’ve no notion what a help it is to me to find you sticking it like this.’ He strained against his cords, but they refused to yield. He was bound more securely this time. ‘Yes, I’m thinking of your father, too,’ he went on. To have remained silent would have been a tacit admission of defeat. ‘We’ve simply got to get him out of there, you know—and poor old Ben, too, by George!’

  He gazed at the cupboard, and all at once emitted a sharp exclamation.

  ‘What is it?’ exclaimed Rose, hopefully catching at any straw.

  ‘Look!’ answered Fordyce. ‘Smith turned the key when he bundled your father in there—yes, the door’s locked right enough—but he didn’t shoot the bolt at the bottom. Now, if I could get against that door, with my back to it—I might be able to wangle that key, eh?’

  ‘Oh, can you, can you?’ cried Rose, her eyes glowing.

  ‘The policy in this game,’ returned Fordyce, ‘is to assume that you can do anything. All I’ve got to do is to discover the chair-step.’

  He attempted to move towards the cupboard by a series of jerks. Unfortunately, they moved him farther away from the cupboard, instead of nearer it.

  ‘Doesn’t seem to me I’ve got the chair-step quite right,’ he frowned. ‘It’s a rotten dance, what? Still, there may be some way of doing it.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea!’ exclaimed Rose suddenly, while he considered.

  ‘Well done, House of Ackroyd!’ responded Fordyce. ‘Let’s hear it!’

  ‘Why, you’re going the wrong way, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Well, then, if you could manage to turn your chair round, and did the same thing, you’d be going the right way!’

  ‘By Jove, that is a brain-wave!’ cried Fordyce, with genuine admiration. ‘Upon my soul that’s the cleverest thing I’ve heard for months! And yet it’s so simple, isn’t it? All really clever things are … Of course,’ he added, ‘when I reach the cupboard, I shall be facing it, with the back of my chair, where my unfortunate hands are, on the wrong side. But I dare say I can swing round again—hallo! Look at this!’

  He had half risen, in his effort to turn round, and discovered that he could raise the chair right off the ground while he stood in a stooping position. Then he shuffled back a pace, and sat down on the chair. Repeating the process, he found that he was covering the distance between himself and the cupboard very effectively.

  ‘Ha! I’ve beaten you, my child!’ he declared. ‘Your idea was good, but mine’s better—though mine, I admit, was an accidental discovery. Now I know what a snail feels like when it’s crossing the road with its house on its back! Look, my child—I’m half-way there!’

  ‘Oh, do be careful!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘If you fell over!’

  ‘I won’t,’ he assured her. ‘That’s why I’m taking this little breather, to get my brain steady again for the last lap.’

  ‘Can you hear anything in the cupboard?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Not a sound. But the door’s padded, you know,’ he went on quickly. ‘I noticed that before—so we wouldn’t hear anything, anyhow. Don’t you worry, Miss Ackroyd! Your father will come through this all right. He’s a wonder. Fancy his keeping the game up all this time—acting for the police, and pretending to be Smith!’

  ‘I suppose it was Smith who stunned him when he came back this afternoon,’ said Rose.

  ‘Of course, that’s it. And that clears up one mystery. But it doesn’t clear up the biggest mystery, does it?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Why, what Smith’s game is—and what he’s come back for.’ He began to operate with the chair once more. ‘On with the dance!’ he smiled. ‘I’ve changed my opinion of the chair-step. I quite like it!’

  As he neared the cupboard, smiling complacently, Rose’s eyes suddenly froze. They had strayed towards the window, and she saw a hand feeling about outside.

  ‘Quick—quick!’ she gasped.

  ‘I’m being as quick as I can,’ answered Fordyce, absorbed in his occupation, and not noticing the cause of her new alarm; ‘but I’m not exactly equipped for speed, you know.’

  ‘There’s—there’s a hand at the window,’ choked Rose.

  ‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Fordyce, abruptly redoubling his efforts.

  ‘I think it’s—it’s Smith—come back—’

  A head and shoulders, dim and distorted by the fog, now appeared. Rose screamed, and Fordyce felt his forehead become moist.

  ‘Steady, steady,’ he muttered. ‘It’s all right—I’ve got hold of the key—I’ve—Good God!’

  He had managed to work his fingers over the key, but the position was an almost impossible one. The key lurched out as he gripped it, and slid to the floor.

  At the same moment the figure outside, unable to open the fastened window, adopted drastic measures. There was a crash of glass, Rose screamed again, and an arm came through the window, feeling for the latch.

  The arm found the latch, and the window was opened wide. Then, out of the yellow fog, leapt a figure.

  ‘Eddie!’ shouted Fordyce, almost sick with relief.

  ‘F-Fordyce!’ stammered Eddie.’ ‘M-may I come in?’

  Rose’s mind reeled, but she managed to retain her senses—just. This new apparition was thoroughly beyond her comprehension—just another of the things that, as Ben put it, simply happened if you stood still and waited for them. But, whatever it meant, one thing was certain. The boyish, smiling youth was not an enemy, but a friend.

  ‘God bless you, Eddie!’ cried Fordyce. ‘Come here, quickly … It’s all right, Miss Ackroyd. May I introduce my friend, Eddie Scott? Here, cut these ropes, my lad, and then we’ll all shake hands.’

  ‘How do, how do!’ jerked Eddie, working like a Trojan. ‘W-what’s happened?’

  ‘Tell you presently. First, what happened to you?’

  ‘M-me? Oh! L-lost you. Chased silly b-blighter coming out of this h-house. M-miles and m-miles. L-lost again. But g-got back. I say, they h-have trussed you up, h-haven’t they? F-found your s-silly n-note. P-priceless idiot, you are! R-rang bell!’

  ‘I’ll bet that gave ’em a scare!’ chuckled Fordyce. ‘Go on! What then?’

  ‘No answer,’ continued Eddie. ‘Rang t-twice. Then tried w-w-water-pipe. Goes-up by w-window here to roof. Got here once. Opened w-window. F-fell down. D-don’t kick me—I’ll have your l-leg free in a m-minute. F-fell down. Nasty knock. Got a b-big b-bump. But wh-wh-wh-who cares? W-water-pipe again. Perseverance. Thought of B-Bruce’s spider. W-wouldn’t be beaten by little spider! G-got to window again.
Smashed it. And h-here I am!’

  ‘Good man,’ cried Fordyce as he sprang free. ‘And a splendid story you’ve told! But mine’ll keep, and we’ll talk later. Quick, as though the devil were after you. Unlock that cupboard door—key’s on the ground—while I—’

  He ran across to Rose, and while he unbound her Eddie picked up the key and opened the cupboard door. The next instant he bounded back, as an odd bundle of clothes sprang out at him.

  ‘Hi!’ exclaimed Eddie. ‘What’s in here? A j-jack- in-the-box?’

  ‘’Oo the ’ell are you?’ cried the bundle of clothes, waving its arms wildly.

  ‘Stop, Ben, stop!’ shouted Fordyce. ‘It’s all right, old fellow—you’re among friends!’

  ‘Friends?’ repeated Ben, gasping, while Rose, now freed also, ran quickly to the cupboard to help her father. ‘Fust time ’e told me that’—he laughed wildly to Eddie—‘’e was sittin’ hon me neck, makin’ a ’uman writing-desk o’ me. Orl friends, ’e ses. Then ’e mikes me turn hout me pockets. More friends! Shouldn’t wonder if ’e didn’t kiss me in a minute and chuck me aht o’ the winder!’

  Eddie stared at the strange creature, while Fordyce, torn between desperation and amusement, interposed.

  ‘By Jove, I will chuck you out of the window, if you don’t shut up! Where’s Mr Ackroyd?’

  ‘’Oo’s that?’ blinked Ben. ‘Another of ’em?’

  Fordyce turned, as Rose led her father out of the cupboard. She lowered him gently to a chair. He looked worn out and faint.

  ‘Feeling a bit groggy, sir, I’m afraid,’ said Fordyce.

  ‘I’ll be all right in a minute,’ panted Ackroyd. ‘It was that fellow knocked me out.’

  ‘What, Ben?’ demanded Fordyce sharply, and turned to the defaulter. ‘What on earth—? You are a prize idiot, my lad, if ever there was one. That’s Miss Ackroyd’s father.’

  ‘Eh? Wot for?’ muttered Ben.

  ‘What for? Don’t be an idiot!’ He took out his flask. ‘See if you can keep quiet for just a minute, while I help Mr Ackroyd to recover from the fruits of your idiocy!’

  ‘Jest a minit nothink!’ retorted Ben indignantly. ‘I’ve ’ad enuff “jest a minits”! Jest a minit, and some ’un ’its me on the ’ead when I’m shoved in that there cupboard. Jest a minit, and ’e pops aht o’ the cupboard. Jest a minit, and ’er father pops hin. Then I gits a bit o’ me own back, and fair knocks ’im abart. ’Owcher hexpeck a feller to know ’oo’s ’oo, when ’e’s in a dark cupboard with blokes poppin’ hin and hout that ’e’s never seen afore any’ow? Blimy,’ he concluded, in a final indignant burst, ‘heverybody’s ’ittin’ me abart! Ain’t I ter ’it nobody?’

  ‘Oh, I hope to give you something proper to hit presently, Ben,’ answered Fordyce, having attended to Ackroyd during this dissertation. ‘We’ve got to catch those rascals yet.’

  Ben looked a little blank, while Ackroyd shook his head.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible now,’ he said. ‘We’ve lost them.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t hofferin’ no reward fer their recovery,’ observed Ben. ‘If a murderer gits away, I ses, let ’im!’

  ‘Not my view, old son,’ smiled Fordyce.

  ‘Nor mine,’ agreed Ackroyd. ‘All the same, I’m afraid I’m finished for the day.’

  Fordyce walked to the door, and tried it.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, sir,’ he said. ‘If we can get out of this room, I’m carrying on for you.’ He shook the door, but it stood firm. Then he glanced at the window. ‘Eddie,’ he exclaimed suddenly.

  ‘Yes?’ answered Eddie.

  ‘Look here—did you say your water-pipe went up to the roof?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Think you could shinny up it?’

  Eddie grinned. ‘Rather! That’s j-just in my line.’

  ‘Lummy,’ murmured Ben. ‘’E’s the cat burglar!’

  ‘Then up you go, my lad,’ ordered Fordyce. ‘Get on to the roof, and, when you’re there, climb across in that direction’—he pointed with his hand—‘till you come to a skylight. It’s the skylight just outside the door there, so you can easily get your bearings. Drop through the skylight into the passage, and then unlock that blessed door.’

  ‘Reg’ler Napoleon, ain’t ’e?’ observed Ben.

  Eddie was already climbing out.

  ‘B-bet you it won’t take me more than sixty s-s-seconds,’ he cried.

  ‘It will, if you stop to talk,’ retorted Fordyce.

  Eddie disappeared, and Fordyce turned back to the others. Rose looked at him anxiously, and he threw her a reassuring smile.

  ‘Work’s over for both of you for today,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree, Miss Ackroyd, that your father’s done his bit—’

  ‘He has,’ she interposed. ‘I’ve made him promise to give this game up!’

  ‘It was an easy promise,’ said Ackroyd, half apologetically. ‘You see, after this I’m afraid the game will be up, anyhow!’

  ‘Never mind—I expect it’s been profitable to the police while it lasted. Your daughter will see you home, and look after you—and also after herself, I hope. She’s had a pretty stiff time herself.’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she answered, ‘but—’

  ‘No “buts”!’

  ‘I was going to say—you’ve had a stiff time too, Mr Fordyce. Won’t you go home too?’

  ‘I couldn’t yet,’ he replied. ‘I owe that brute Smith one. And then—’ He paused. ‘There’s that girl. I’m not very happy about her.’

  He glanced up at the ceiling impatiently. They could now hear Eddie creeping gingerly across it. Ben looked a trifle worried. He recalled the last time he had heard that sound. Of course, it was Eddie up there now … But—was it ‘of course’? Was anything ‘of course’ in this house?

  ‘Bah! Don’t worry about that girl,’ snorted Ackroyd. ‘She’s no good—just a dupe of that fellow Brant’s.’

  ‘Maybe,’ answered Fordyce simply; ‘but she saved my life.’

  ‘Did she? Thought you’d be useful to her some day, I expect! No, it’s the chap they called “Henry” I’m worried about. It’s my belief he’s not a crook at all.’

  ‘Who do you think he is, then?’ asked Rose.

  ‘I believe he’s a detective!’

  Fordyce stared at him.

  ‘A detective!’ he exclaimed. ‘What makes you think that, sir?’

  ‘Well, there’s more in this than meets the eye,’ answered Ackroyd, frowning. ‘I feel sure he was putting up a big bluff—everything he said and did made me think so.’

  ‘I noticed something funny about him too,’ interposed Rose, ‘when he was searching me, and took the badge out of my pocket.’

  ‘Well?’ asked Fordyce.

  ‘He didn’t show it to the others. Why didn’t he?’ Fordyce shook his head. ‘He seemed—almost nervous, I thought. Anyway, he didn’t show it, and I haven’t got it—’

  ‘There you are!’ cried Ackroyd excitedly. ‘It was that badge he showed me! I knew he wasn’t with Brant and the girl, before Brant told me—I expected those two, of course, but this chap’s a mystery!’

  ‘Well, it’s one I’ll have to try to clear up,’ said Fordyce. ‘I wish Eddie would hurry—ah, I think I hear him now at the skylight. Did your daughter tell you about the telegram, Mr Ackroyd?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Know anything about it?’

  ‘No. That’s another mystery. Never had any dealings with Barton in my life.’

  ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘And I don’t know anything about the Suffolk necklace, either—barring what came out in the papers, after Sheldrake was caught. He hadn’t got the necklace on him, you know—and Barton’s sworn to find it. That completes my knowledge of the business.’

  ‘Then why did Barton send you that telegram?’ exclaimed Rose blankly.

  ‘I’ve said, my dear—I don’t know,’ repeated her father. ‘My head’s buzzing!’

  ‘Oi!�
�� cried Ben. ‘’E’s dropped inter the passidge.’

  ‘Yes, I hear him,’ nodded Fordyce, and went to the door.

  ‘Oi! Look hout!’ warned Ben. ‘’Owjer know it’s ’im?’

  ‘It must be him,’ retorted Fordyce.

  ‘Garn—nothin’s “must” in this ’ouse,’ answered Ben. ‘More like it’ll be the Shar o’ Persher.’

  But, for once, the door opened and revealed the expected. Eddie stood in the passage, smiling, triumphant, and slightly breathless.

  Rose helped her father from his chair with a sigh of relief. She smiled gratefully at Eddie, and Eddie smiled back, and Fordyce had to speak to him twice to get his attention.

  ‘Here, take this candle, Eddie,’ he said. ‘You’ll need it, while you take them downstairs. Some of the stairs are missing, aren’t they, Ben?’

  ‘Yus,’ replied Ben, ‘and it’s time we was too!’

  Ben had an uneasy feeling that the time had not yet come, however. While the others were leaving the room, he lingered behind. Something was on his mind, some new angle of the affair. And when, a minute later, Fordyce returned to collect the rearguard of the party, he found Ben in a strange mood.

  ‘Coming, Ben?’ he queried.

  Ben blinked at him. His eyes were bright, and his breath came rather fast.

  ‘I say—anything up?’ queried Fordyce regarding him sharply.

  ‘Eh? No, guv’nor. Nuffin’,’ answered the seaman. ‘On’y—wot’s the gime now?’

  ‘My friend Eddie is seeing the others home,’ replied Fordyce, ‘and after that he is going to find that policeman you used to be so anxious about.’

  ‘Yus. But wot abart hus?’

  ‘Well, I rather thought you might like to come along with me, Ben.’

  ‘Garn! I ain’t no good. Yer knows it.’

  ‘On the contrary, the very sight of you cheers my soul!’

  Ben frowned, and rubbed his stubbly chin.

  ‘Look ’ere, guv’nor,’ he said coaxingly. ‘Doncher think—ain’t we done enuff—you and me?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ responded Fordyce. ‘Believe me, old chap, our best work is yet to come.’

  Ben continued to rub his stubbly chin. He looked up at the window—yellow an hour ago, but now nearly black. He glanced at the cupboard, in which perhaps he had spent his most uncomfortable time during this most uncomfortable afternoon, and his eyes rested on the cupboard for several seconds, while Fordyce, with considerate patience, kept his eyes on Ben.