“Have you finished?” inquired the Angel, as he paused. “A most admirable and appealing speech, but really only a waste of breath. I have no intention of releasing any of you until I get the truth,”
“You’ve had the truth!” snapped Bellman. “I second everything Phelps has said. Let us go and we won’t make any trouble.”
“You won’t make any trouble, anyway,” she retorted. “You've forgotten that very convenient well in the garden into which I think you planned to put me.”
The faces before her paled visibly in the light of the lamp.
“My God!” cried Scarthright. “You don’t intend to murder us?”
“It will depend on you,” said the Angel—and there was inexorable purpose in her eyes.
*
Into the Angel’s mind crept a doubt. Had she made a mistake? Were none of these men, whom she had suspected, guilty? Were all her efforts and her risks to come to naught? It was impossible. It must be one of them. Everything she had discovered about them proved how unscrupulous they were. She was allowing herself to be talked over and these men were adepts in the use of smooth speech. Certainly there was the possibility that the murderer was not among them. It might have been Montgomery Webb or Oscar Leeming, but she had based her scheme on the conviction that the killing of Drake had been a conspiracy in which they were all concerned. She steeled herself and crushed down her vague doubts.
“Well,” she said coldly, “I don’t intend to argue the matter further. I’ve told you what I want, and you will get neither food nor drink until you decide to speak—”
She broke off with a startled cry, for Bellman suddenly sprang to his feet and came charging towards her. It flashed to her brain that during the time they had been talking he had managed somehow to free himself—and then he was clawing at her with strong, murderous fingers. She tried to fight him off, and opened her mouth to call for help; but us hands were at her throat, and the cry was choked before it was born. They staggered across the bare room and brought up against the mantelpiece. Its sharp edge caught the Angel across the back, and she felt herself go sick and dizzy with the pain. There was a crash, and sudden darkness was followed almost instantly by a brighter light that flickered strangely.
Bellman flung her from him, and she nearly fell into the blazing oil, which was streaming from the broken lamp over the wooden floor. Instinctively however, she gripped the mantelpiece and saved herself. She saw, dazedly old Harker appear in the doorway just as Bellman reached it and grappled with him. They swayed back into the room, and the Angel stumbled towards them, watching for an opportunity to help Harker, but before she could find one, Bellman had forced his adversary to the door, and with a well-planted blow sent him staggering through. The old man crashed into his son, and they both fell heavily.
Bellman was halfway across the threshold when the Angel caught at him and tried to pull him back. He turned on her with a snarl of fury and attempted to break free, but she clung on desperately, calling loudly for help. He changed his tactics so suddenly that she was unprepared. Instead of trying to break away, he dragged her with him into the hall, just as Cordelia and ‘Brother Bert’ appeared on the scene. The maid uttered a shrill scream and rushed to her mistress’ assistance, but Bellman his face distorted with rage, picked up the Angel and flung her with all his strength at the other girl. They fell together in a confused heap, and Bellman turned to meet ‘Brother Bert’ as that little man made a rush at him.
Smoke was pouring now in a thick cloud through the open doorway of the dining room, and the vicious crackling of burning wood added to the din and rose above the frantic shouting of the three helpless men. Old Harker got shakily to his feet and went to ‘Brother Bert’s assistance, but a blow from Bellman which missed the little burglar caught him unluckily full on the chin and sent him sprawling. Bellman, panting and almost spent hooked his foot behind ‘Brother Bert’s’ ankles, and at the same time planted a short-arm jab in his stomach.
Mr. Smith uttered a gasping groan and went staggering backwards into the burning room, Bellman gave a hoarse grunt of triumph, pulled the door shut, and turned the key, ignoring the smothered cries of his associates. As the Angel came unsteadily to her feet he pulled the key from the lock and darted for the front door. She went after him, calling to Ginger. But that unfortunate youth had struck his head violently in falling, and was only semi-conscious.
Bellman dragged the door open before she could reach him, slammed it in her face, and, plunging down the steps, went racing towards the drive. As he reached the dark avenue he flung the key, which he held, from him into the shrubbery. His heart was hammering in his chest, and there was a dull pain in his side. If the blood had not been beating in his ears he would have heard the car approaching. But he heard nothing, and the first warning he had of its presence was the two glaring white circles of light that sprang suddenly out of the blackness to meet him as he rounded the bend. He tried to dodge them, but it was too late. Something caught him and hurled him up in the air. He uttered a thin, breathless scream and fell, to lie motionless on the hard gravel...
Jimmy Holland brought the car to a skidding stop and got out, followed by Freddie Babbington. He had seen the running figure too late to avoid it.
“Is he hurt?” asked the Hon. Freddie, nervously and rather foolishly, as Jimmy bent over the still form.
“He’s not dead,” answered Jimmy, with relief. “Though he’d only have himself to blame if he were. Of all the dam’-fool things—running round that bend like that! He must have heard us.” He caught his breath suddenly. “Good God—it’s Bellman!”
“Bellman? That’s one of the fellers we’re looking for, isn’t it, old boy?” said Freddie.
Before Jimmy could reply, the uneven sound of running feet reached them, and they looked round. Into the car’s brilliant lights came the figure of a girl, and they recognised the Angel. Her face was white and strained.
“Angela—” began Jimmy—and she gave an exclamation of thankfulness as she saw who it was.
“Oh, it’s you!” she panted. “Have you caught him—Bellman?”
“I’m afraid we have,” he answered. “He ran full tilt into my car. I think he’s injured—”
“Never mind that,” she interrupted impatiently. “Has he got the key?”
“The key? What key?”
“The key of the dining room!” She spoke with difficulty. “The key of the dining room! The others are in there—helpless—and the room’s on fire!”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Two From Four
For the fractional part of a second Jimmy Holland stared in horror at the strained, white face of the girl before him, and then he acted. Wheeling round he dashed to where the unconscious Bellman lay, and, stooping, began to search his pockets. He found a bunch of keys among other things but no single key. Neither was there anything in the man’s hands.
“There’s no key here,” he said. “Probably he dropped it when the car hit him.”
“I’ll have a look—” began Freddie Babbington, but the Angel cut him short.
“There’s no time to look!” she cried. “We must break down the door.” She was flying back towards the house before she had finished speaking.
“You stay here with Bellman,” said Jimmy to Freddie, and followed her. Cordelia Smith met them in the porch sobbing hysterically.
“Bert—Bert’s in there!” she wailed. “Bert an’ them others, and they’re screaming something horrible. Fer ’Eaven’s sake do somethin’ or ’e’ll be burnt to death!”
Jimmy’s face set. The hall was full of smoke, and old Harker was attacking the stout door with a broken chair.
“Let me try.” Jimmy took the chair from the helpless man, but at his first blow it smashed to pieces in his hand.
He flung the remains of it away.
“We’re wasting time,” he said. “What about the windows?”
“The shutters are fastened inside,” said the Angel. “And—”
“That doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “They’ll be easier to smash than the door.”
He ran out into the darkness and round to the windows. The remains of a rockery provided him with a heavy lump of concrete, and with this he smashed the glass. Eddies of smoke curled out from the joints in the shutters beyond, and the acrid smell of burning wood stung his nostrils. A confused jumble of oaths and screams came dully to his ears as he frantically attacked the shutters. Blow after blow he rained on them with the heavy implement before, with a sharp crack, the fastenings gave and the shutters flew inwards. A wave of burning air rushed out together with a billow of thick, choking smoke. He could see a red glare and yellow-white flames came leaping and dancing through the aperture he had made. Jimmy tore his handkerchief from his pocket and bound it hurriedly round his mouth and nose, and pushing the broken shutters wider, clambered into the blazing room.
The heat was terrible. It burned his flesh and made him gasp for breath, and almost blinded him. Through streaming eyes he peered about, hastily made out a dim shape near the door round which the flames were licking, and stumbled over to it. Holding his breath, for even with the handkerchief it was impossible to breathe that scorching air, he stooped, groped for a hold, and succeeded in lifting the limp figure up. With bursting lungs and burning eyes he staggered back to the window and thrust his burden on to the sill. The Angel and Harker were standing outside anxiously and willing hands assisted him. The unconscious ‘Brother Bert’ was handed out into the cool air and Jimmy after gulping some of it into his tortured lungs, turned back into the inferno of smoke and flames, guided by the groans and faint cries which rose spasmodically above the roar and crackle of the fire. He stumbled over a limp body, gripped it, and dragged it blindly to the window. It was as much as he could do to hoist it up, for he was nearly spent. But he managed it somehow, though the effort left him gasping and weak.
“Jim, don’t risk any more—come out!” The Angel’s voice, high-pitched with anxiety, came to him clearly, but he shook his head and once more plunged into the raging furnace that now surrounded him. His eyes were useless. He could only dimly see, and the pain in them was agonizing. His clothes were alight in several places, and his hair was singed
“Jim, come back. For Heaven’s sake come back.” The appeal reached him faintly and, it seemed, from a very long way away. He stumbled and almost fell, recovered himself, and tried desperately to find the men he was trying to save. But in his blindness he was searching in the wrong part of the room. The heat was now appalling. His skin seemed to be shrivelling, and his flesh felt raw. A great tongue of flame leapt up and curled round him, and his senses swam. Burnt, blackened, and choking, he groped unsteadily for the window, reached it, and fell unconscious across the sill....
*
Jim Holland opened his smarting eyes to a cool breeze and became aware that his forehead was being gently bathed. Regaining full consciousness he discovered that he was lying with his head pillowed in the Angel’s lap. An uncertain reddish light flickered and danced behind her, and the air was strongly aromatic with the smell of burning.
He looked up into the girl’s face, and she saw that he had recovered.
“Better?” she asked softly.
“Yes. I’m quite all right.” His voice was cracked and hoarse. “What happened? Did you get those men out?”
“No.” She shook her head. “The rest of the ceiling fell just after Harker and I succeeded in dragging you out through the window. In another second you, too, would—”
She finished the sentence with a little shiver. Jimmy sat up stiffly and looked beyond her. The old house was blazing furiously. Great white and orange flames hissed and darted skywards from a glowing red furnace. Billows of smoke rolled sluggishly over the burning building, and showers of sparks shot upwards intermittently as portions of the interior of the doomed structure gave way and fell,
“Can nothing be done?” muttered Jimmy.
“Harker has taken the car and gone to give the alarm,” said the Angel. “But I think it will be too late.”
She rose to her feet and turned to survey the holocaust.
“Which—” Jimmy scrambled up and came to her side, “—which of those men—”
“You saved Julian Hathaway,” she answered quickly, before he could complete the question, “and—and a man who is employed by Mr. Harker. Daniel Phelps and Abel Scarthright are—still there.”
“Poor devils,” said Jimmy soberly. “What a dreadful end.”
There was a crash and a great fountain of flame and sparks gushed upwards.
“Part of the roof’s gone,” said Jimmy. “The whole place’ll be gutted. There’s not a chance of saving it now.”
He turned towards the drive looking for the lights of his car, but there was no sign of them or it.
“Mr. Babbington took Bellman and Hathaway into Horsham to a doctor,” said the Angel, answering his unspoken question. “They were both badly injured and he thought they ought to have medical attention at once.”
“Quite right,” agreed Jimmy, and suddenly: “Listen!”
The first notes of a jangling bell reached them, growing louder and louder.
“The fire engines,” said Jimmy and a few seconds later they came rushing up the drive, the brass helmets of the men who manned them turned to copper in the ruddy light.
But fifty engines could not have saved the old house then. The fire had gained too big a hold. Dawn began to streak the east, and the firemen were still fighting a losing fight. The sun, pale and without heat, rose shedding its yellow light on a blackened structure of red-hot brick and smouldering wood from which rolled clouds of steam and smoke and around which the figures of the firemen still moved untiringly.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Secret Of The Photograph
Jimmy Holland gave a sharp rat-tat with the small chromium-plated knocker on the Angel’s front door and waited. After a slight pause it opened and Cordelia appeared on the threshold.
“Oh, it’s you!” she said, and her small face broke into a smile. “Early, ain’t yer? Miss Kesson’s in her bath, but you can go in.”
“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” declared Jimmy gravely. “Let Miss Kesson finish her ablutions in the privacy which is suitable to such occasions. I will wait in the sitting room.”
“That’s what I meant, yer know that very well,” said Cordelia indignantly. “Get along with yer!”
Jimmy grinned, and entered the cosy little lounge.
“Would you like some cawfee?” asked the maid, lingering at the door
Jimmy shook his head.
“No, thanks!” he said. “I’ll wait until Miss Kesson emerges from the bath.”
Cordelia left him, and lighting a cigarette he strolled over to the window and stared down into the street. It was the morning of the day following the fire at Horsham and he looked drawn and worn out, for he had very little sleep for two nights. In his frantic attempt to rescue Phelps and Scarthright he, too, had suffered several baddish burns, and although these had been dressed, they still pained him. Throughout the day the old house had smouldered; the debris so hot that it was impossible until the evening to search for the bodies of the two men who had perished in the flames. Even then only the firemen in special protective suits could enter the ruins. They discovered the charred remains under a heap of hot embers, bearing very little semblance to anything human and completely beyond recognition. They were removed to the mortuary at Horsham to await the inquest, and this was rather troubling Jimmy, for he did not see how he could avoid dragging the Angel into it. After all, she had taken them to the house and was to a certain extent responsible for what had happened. It was true that Bellman had started the fire in his dash to escape, and but for his locking the door of the burning room they could have been easily saved. All the same, a public inquiry was going to be very unpleasant for the girl. He was still frowning over this when she came in wrapped in a silken dressing gown and br
inging with her a delicate aura of bath salts.
“You’re an early visitor,” she greeted. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Two hours ago,” he replied. “But I’ll have a cup of coffee with you if you ask me.”
“Consider yourself asked!” said the Angel gaily, and touched the bell. “I suppose,” she went on, “that this is not entirely a friendly call? You want something, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t sound very complimentary, but you’re quite right,” he answered. “I want the truth.”
“I thought that’s what you might have come for,” she said quietly.
He waited, expecting her to go on, but she remained silent. He was just on the point of opening his mouth to tell her how necessary it was that she should confide in him, when Cordelia entered with a laden breakfast tray.
She set it down on a low table near the fire and paused in the doorway just as she was going out.
“I ’spose Bert ’ull ’ave ter go back ter Pentonville?” she said.
“I’m afraid he will—when he comes out of hospital—which won’t be for several days,” answered Jimmy, to whom she had addressed the question. “There’s nothing seriously the matter with him, but he’s had a bad shock and one of his arms is severely burned. However, I’ll do my best for him—”
“It won’t do ’im no ’arm to finish his stretch,” said Cordelia. “But I wanted ter know if—will it ’ave ter come out that I’m ’is sister—“ She stopped abruptly, fidgeting nervously, her small face reddening. “Yer see,” she went on suddenly, “I wouldn’t like— If Mr. Limpet knew that me brother was a crook—”
A light broke on the momentarily astonished Jimmy.
“Don’t you worry about that, Cordelia,” he said. “There’s no reason why Limpet should know anything about your brother, but even if he did know, it wouldn’t make any difference to you. I know Limpet well enough for that.”
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