The Incredible Crime

by Lois Austen-Leigh

  The University converted.

  “Five to three,” said Skipwith, with a sigh. “Can they keep this pace up?”

  “They are all of them in the pink of condition,” replied his companion, “fit to play for their lives. It’s a magnificent sight.”

  “I have never seen a better scrum half than ours,” said Skipwith. “Look at the way he handles the ball; he seems able to take any kind of a pass.”

  “You’re right,” said the international, “he takes his passes in his stride, and yet never runs away from his own centres.”

  As the Cambridge scrum half was backed up by two useful centres, and had two very fast runners on the wings, and a back with a wonderful faculty for bringing off place kicks, the score of the ’Varsity went up. At half-time it was Cambridge 10 and United Medicos 3. When play was resumed, the visitors, as was expected, made a tremendous effort; a more magnificent effort than even the experienced among the onlookers had believed them capable of. For some time the ’Varsity was on the defensive, and the roar of the crowd rose and fell with the irregularity of the waves of the sea. Finally a Cambridge man intercepted a pass, ran from the half-way line to within a few yards of the goal-posts, then he was smothered by one of the opposing side, but the ball went loose and one of the several backers-up picked it up and scored a try. It was again converted.

  “That full-back kicks with the certainty of an angel sent from heaven,” said the international in a burst of complete satisfaction.

  “If he’s an angel sent from heaven, his raiment is somewhat spotted,” laughed Skipwith. “Been trying three falls with the devil!”

  The visitors now made desperate efforts to alter the course of the game, but every forward rush was beaten back and every passing movement held. The ’Varsity was never long on the defensive, and one of the best matches ever played ended in a victory for Cambridge.

  As he moved slowly off the ground with the rest of the immense crowd, Skipwith fell in with Maryon. In tones of satisfaction they commented on the match they had just witnessed, and made some more hopeful and very satisfactory prognostications for the Oxford match.

  Then the Professor said: “You’re a handy man in a sailing-boat, aren’t you, Maryon?”

  “I love it,” replied the other; “there’s nothing like it after a hard term for wiping the cobwebs away.”

  “Well, look here, I want two fellows to come with me in a ten-tonner at the end of the term. I am going to the East Coast, and shall get some good duck-shooting. Come with me?”

  “I really believe I could,” said Maryon thoughtfully. “How soon would you be going?”

  “Just as soon as ever full term is over. I am going up the coast of Suffolk to the place of a relative of the Pinsents.”

  “It sounds awfully jolly, and I should love to come.”

  “If you can think of another kindred spirit who’s ready to rough it, let me know,” said Skipwith.

  As they talked they had moved slowly with the crowd off the ground and down West Road, and Maryon never noticed that moving just behind him and listening to his conversation was the “face” whose fancied presence in Cambridge had made him so uneasy. This time the “face” was trying to look as much like an undergraduate as possible. He had no hat, grey bags, Norfolk jacket, and he was rather more smothered in a large muffler than most. Before the crowd thinned the figure had disappeared.

  Chapter XVII

  Next day, Sunday, Maryon, who had thought it necessary to keep a morning chapel, had lunched in hall and gone up to his rooms in College to get through some arrears of work. He had not been settled to it long when a smallish, clean-shaven man looked in at the porter’s lodge, and asked if Mr. Maryon had rooms in College.

  “Yes, sir,” was the reply, “and I believe you’d find him in if you was to go up now; the opposite building, staircase B, second from the left; you will find his name over the door.

  “Not across the grass, sir,” said the porter in stern disapproval, having come out of his room to intercept someone else; “you goes round by the path, and well you knows it, I’ll be bound.”

  The gentleman murmured an apology, and with a slight smile pursued his humble course along the path. A few minutes later he was knocking at Maryon’s door, and a voice bade him enter. When he did, the sight of him brought the don to his feet with an exclamation.

  “By Jove! Then it is you, after all? I thought it was, last week, but you cut me dead…I am delighted to see you…”

  They shook hands warmly.

  “Yes, I know I did,” said the new-comer. “You took me rather aback by recognizing me.”

  “Well, if I did, you certainly didn’t show it,” laughed Maryon.

  “I believe I am interrupting you in a lot of work,” he said, looking at the paper-strewn table.

  “Yes, you are, but the work can wait. I have looked forward for years to making your acquaintance. Here, take this chair and we’ll have something to drink and a pipe!”

  When they had got settled with their drink, and pipes alight, Maryon again said: “Do you realize how curious it is, though I have no doubt at all you know all about me, I don’t even know your name; you are only No. 4 to me. You speak like an Englishman, but there was a report in the Service that your father was a Jew and your mother a Cossack!”

  Both men laughed.

  “I am what you call over here a Colonial. I was once in the Canadian Mounted Police, and my name is McDonald.”

  “Is it your name for the moment?” asked Maryon, with a twinkle in his eye, “or was it really your father’s name before you?”

  McDonald smiled. “It’s my name all right, and my father’s before me. I’ve a job at the C.I.D. and am known by that name there, anyhow.”

  “That’s good enough for me, then.”

  “On the other hand, I know plenty about you. I came across some of your work during the war, and seeing that you were an amateur, I have the greatest admiration for what you did. You were in some very nasty places.”

  “Thank you,” said Maryon soberly.

  “You must have a wonderful memory for faces; you saw mine as it is now,” he said with a grin, “for three minutes fourteen years ago; you’ve no business to go recognizing me again like this!”

  “I have a good memory for faces,” assented Maryon. “But you don’t realize what a figure, what a legend, No. 4 was to all us amateurs as you justly call us! And when I got a chance of seeing you I looked at you.”

  McDonald laughed, but was obviously gratified.

  “I feel for you,” went on Maryon, “something of what a preparatory schoolboy feels for an All-England cricketer.”

  McDonald laughed outright.

  “Good. I want you to go on feeling that way.”

  There was a pause while both men pulled at their pipes, then the older man began: “You’ve settled down to a wonderfully peaceful life here; do you ever regret the excitements of the past?”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t even want to think of a great many of them.”

  “Well, I don’t blame you, and this place must act as a soporific in comparison.”

  “There’s plenty of hard work done up here,” interrupted Maryon.

  “Yes, I can believe that, but of a totally different kind. There’s a wonderful leisure about this place. The streets are crowded, if you like, but College courts are an oasis of peace to-day—it’s Sunday, isn’t it? There are so many church bells going. Why even the clocks seem to strike slower here than in London! I suppose you mean to finish your days here?”

  “I expect so,” said Maryon, “and if I am lucky, end up as a Professor or perhaps even Master of a College.”

  “By gee!” said the Canadian slowly. “By gee! And as I was coming along here this afternoon, I met a gentleman all dressed in black silk, with a white bib, and a funny little flat hat on hi
s head; he had a beautiful expression on his face, rather like God Almighty; and in front of him walked two men as solemn as he was, carrying silver pokers, and after him walked another chap with another poker; and the people all moved off the path for him, and it was all I could do not to make a bow as he passed!”

  Maryon laughed, but McDonald went on quite solemnly: “Now, it wasn’t King George, because I know him quite well by sight; who the bloody hell was it?”

  “The Vice-Chancellor,” said Maryon with a grin, “on his way to hear the University sermon.”

  The C.I.D. man gazed at him in silence. “I don’t feel able even to swear,” said he helplessly. “What an incredible spot this is! The Vice-Chancellor on his way to hear a sermon! Well—well—well, of course I’d heard of such things, but I never knew quite what it was like; and I’d also heard that grass was sacred, so after asking the gentleman at your gate the way to your rooms, I thought I would cut across the grass.”

  “I hope you were stopped,” said Maryon in mock severity.

  “I’d only got as far as looking at it when I was stopped, and it wasn’t what was said so much as the way it was said. I haven’t been spoken to like that since my mother told me to mend my manners at table.”

  Maryon shouted with laughter. “There’s another gentleman in the University, you know, called the Senior Proctor,” he said. “He’s in something the same line of business as you are; but when he walks abroad on his business he doesn’t slink round like a miserable detective; he walks proudly down the middle of the street followed by two men, one carrying a copy of the University Statutes and the other a Bible.”

  Maryon was laughing unrestrainedly at the limp figure in the chair opposite, who was gazing at him without a shadow of a smile.

  “Well—well—well, he’s a sort of policeman, you say, and he’s followed about by a chap carrying a Bible; do you know it makes me feel all-overish, as mother used to say. Now do you suppose he reads the Bible aloud to the bad man when he’s caught him?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Maryon. “I must find out, for one day, I dare say, the job will fall to my lot.”

  “Well—well—I am sure I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.”

  “That’s how it takes you, is it?” said Maryon, grinning.

  “Yes, that’s how it takes me,” said the detective, without a smile.

  There was a complete change in his manner, the limp, bewildered look had gone, he sat up in his chair, and the lines in his face seemed to be intensified; in a moment he looked a much older man, and Maryon, observing all this, realized in a flash how it was this man was able to disguise himself so successfully.

  He suddenly felt a chill foreboding.

  “I am up here on business, and a darned difficult bit of business, too; I have come to you because I want your help, but first you must give me your word that nothing goes beyond us two.”

  It was Maryon’s turn to look grave now. “I’d be proud to help you if I am able, but wait a moment.” He got up, putting a notice outside to say he was not at home; then he sported his oak.

  McDonald went on: “It’s drug trouble; there’s a new and most infernal drug getting into the country. You know how these things first show themselves? A small set in the society of a big city; so far it’s only in London and Manchester that we have traced it. There have been one or two deaths we’ve been very suspicious about, but we had to let them be brought in as suicide; one death we knew was murder, but we had absolutely no proof at all to bring before a British jury.”

  “I know that sort of case,” said Maryon gravely, as he pulled at his pipe. “It’s the most maddening sort of all—to know, and yet not have proof to convince others.”

  “Yes, it’s heart-breaking to the detective. In this country there’s comparatively little drug-taking, and what there is, is in the large cities. Most of our legislation in regard to it has been to help Europe rather than ourselves. The British Dangerous Drugs Act of 1920 was the first one of much consequence; that was amended a year or two later. It has given a good deal of trouble to doctors and chemists, but the trouble has been worth it. For years the drug-takers remained stationary, but now lately there has begun this sudden increase, and in a serious form. We have been working hard on it, and now we have a direct line to Cambridge; there is someone here handling that drug.” A long pause followed.

  Maryon looked up at McDonald, but did not speak.

  “We are of opinion that it is almost certainly a University man,” and then, looking directly at Maryon for the first time, “and I want your help.”

  Maryon pulled at his pipe, then he said: “You’ll have to satisfy me that you are justified in suspecting anyone up here, and then I will help you.”

  “I’m not at liberty to give you direct proof; I am tied. I can only appeal to you on two points.”

  For the first time McDonald, who had been sitting very still, got up out of his chair, and stood over Maryon and spoke very earnestly. “You were good enough to speak highly of my professional character just now; can’t you believe me without proof? Am I likely to go off on a wild-goose chase? Am I easily deceived? Think of my experience! And after that I appeal to you because you know, as so few in England do, the awful havoc wrought by these drugs…think, think, Maryon, of some of those dens out East, those women…”

  “Oh, my God!” exclaimed Maryon, “that’ll do; let me think a moment.”

  McDonald sat down again and kept quite still. He looked tired.

  “I can’t give you a promise to help you blindfold,” said Maryon, and he spoke a little hoarsely, “but I will do what I can as far as it is consistent with my ideas of honour.”

  McDonald gave a short laugh. “I suppose I shall have to be content with that; and as there’s honour among thieves I will treat you fairly, and confess that I overheard a conversation between you and Professor Skipwith, and I want you to take me on that boat.”

  “Do you mean to say you overheard us plan that?”

  “Yes; I was in the crowd behind you.”

  “Well, I’m blowed…and what makes you want to come?”

  “We suspect that there’s stuff coming in from the East coast. The Inspector of Coast-guards there is an object of some suspicion, and for me to get taken down there by two innocent Cambridge dons would be of invaluable assistance,” he said with a smile.

  Maryon’s tense expression relaxed a little too.

  “I don’t mind doing that at all,” he said; “in fact I should like to have you very much. You are not, I suppose, really suspecting Skipwith or me?”

  “No,” said McDonald, laughing. “I have promised to be above-board with you; but there is another person I am suspecting down there, a certain Lord Wellende; do you know anything about him?”

  “Nothing. I have heard the name, but for the moment I cannot recall in what connection.”

  “And there is yet another person, and I am afraid it will get your goat when I tell you who it is—Professor Temple.”

  “Temple!” exclaimed Maryon angrily. “You’re mad!”

  “Yes, of course you were bound to say that, but when you are cool again you will remember that I am not mad. I am about the sanest person in Europe.”

  “And the most modest,” said Maryon bitterly.

  “Yes, and the most modest,” agreed McDonald blandly. They both laughed and felt a little better.

  “It’s come back to me now,” said Maryon. “Lord Wellende is a relation of Temple’s; that is how I knew his name.”

  “Yes, he is; and I wish you could tell me why, after not having been on terms for years, the Professor goes and stays so often with his cousin.”

  “I know nothing about it,” said Maryon shortly; “and as for Temple—the first sign of a drug-taker is an utter disregard for truth, and a more meticulously accurate man than Temple never walked. Why, the oth
er day—”

  “No one suspects the Professor of taking the stuff; we suspect him of handling it.”

  “I would stake my life on Temple’s integrity.”

  “Good. I am very glad to hear you say it. Then you can have no objection to helping me clear him.”

  Maryon grunted.

  “My great difficulty,” McDonald went on, “is that my suspects are such decent people. Take Studde, now, the Coast-guards officer. He has a blameless record in the Navy; he comes of the sort of people that are considered the backbone of the nation; his eldest brother is the squire, another is a dean, and, as far as I can discover, there isn’t a rotter or a wrong ’un among them. He has always said Lord Wellende or his people were bringing contraband up their river in barges, and when he gets a chance of searching a barge, he doesn’t do it. He comes away, and just says there’s nothing wrong, and pooh-poohs all he has said before. And that after lunching and spending the afternoon with Miss Pinsent, whom I suppose you know?”

  “Miss Pinsent! Are you suspecting her of smuggling too?”—disgustedly.

  “No, I am not, only she happens to be a cousin of this Lord Wellende. They might be using her as a cat’s paw, which would be an awful shame.”

  “It’s all utter bosh,” said Maryon crossly.

  “A family that produces Professor Temple,” continued McDonald, “who is about the ablest toxicologist we have, and a genius, may very well produce a rotter in the same generation; and I rather expect to find this peer is a decadent. I haven’t had time so far to make inquiries.”

  “I know nothing about him myself, except that I fancy I connect his name with hunting,” said Maryon.

  “Yes, but isn’t there a sort that will go out hunting with scent on their hair, and be met by a car with a good lunch?”

  “I dare say; I am sure I don’t know.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, in confidence, mind you, that’ll stiffen your back. Do you remember, last year, the death of the Secretary of State for Internal Affairs?”