Cordelia, crimson with embarrassment, gasped a mumbled word of thanks and hastily departed.
“Well what do you know about that?” said Jimmy. “Limpet has apparently made a conquest. There’s some advantage in looking like an archbishop after all.”
The Angel handed him a cup of coffee.
“There are also a number of advantages in not,” she remarked. “Personally, I prefer the more athletic type of man.”
“Like me?” suggested Jimmy, and she coloured.
“I was speaking generally,” she retorted, and hastily changed the subject. “How is Bellman?”
“Bad,” he replied. “Concussion and a fractured leg. It’s a toss up whether he pulls through.”
“I can’t say I’m very sympathetic,” she said. “It was a wicked thing to lock that door. He knew the lamp had set the room on fire.”
“I can’t imagine why he did it,” said Jimmy. “It wasn’t necessary for his escape.” He paused and then went on: “Look here. Reverting to the reason for my having inflicted myself on you so early—are you going to tell me all about it?”
She was a long time answering.
“I suppose I may as well,” she said at last. “It doesn’t matter very much now. All my hopes and schemes have come to nothing, anyway.”
She began in a low, hesitant voice to repeat what she had told the four helpless men at Horsham on the night of the tragedy.
Jimmy listened in growing amazement.
“So that’s it, is it?” he said, when she finally ceased speaking. “You really are an amazing girl. Why didn’t you take the police into your confidence?”
“What would have been the use?” she asked. “They were convinced that daddy was guilty. Everything had been tried to save him. An appeal, everything—they wouldn’t have listened to me. I had no proof, nothing but the fact that I knew he was innocent. Harker believed it, too. He was our chauffeur and knew me since I was a little tot. He was ready to do anything to help me, for he was very fond of my father and mother, I had very little to work on, but I found out that Drake was associated with these other men and that their reputations were not of the best. I concluded that as my father had not killed Drake it was more than likely that one of these men had, and I set out to try to prove my idea. I was not successful. It doesn’t look now as if I’m ever likely to be,” she added bitterly.
“And how does the photograph and the unknown man who took you to the houseboat come into it?” he asked.
“They don’t,” she replied. “They’ve got nothing to do with it at all.” She hesitated. “Since I’ve told you so much I may as well tell you everything,” she continued. “I was at Montgomery Webb’s house on the night he was murdered. I went there with the intention of searching his papers for the evidence I was seeking. And I found him—dead. His murderer was still there when I arrived, and during his escape he dropped that picture.”
“Then the man who killed Webb is the mysterious individual who has been after the photograph?” said Jimmy.
She nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “now you know as much as I do.”
He frowned and rubbed his chin.
“What is worrying me,” he said, after a little while, “is how I’m going to prevent all this coming out. That’s why I wanted you to tell me the truth. There’ll be an inquest on Scarthright and Phelps and the coroner will want to know how they came to be in that house at all.”
“Does it matter whether it comes out or not?” she asked wearily. “I don’t mind. I’ve failed and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s not all that matters,” said Jimmy angrily. “The only thing that matters is keeping you out of it. Oh Lord, you have got yourself into a mess, haven’t you?”
“And I’ll have to take the consequences,” said the Angel. “I’ve always been prepared for that in case anything went wrong.”
“Did you find out anything about these men?” asked Jimmy, pacing up and down the room. “Anything, I mean, against them?”
“No; not a single thing,” she answered. “They were too clever. I couldn’t find a single document that wasn’t completely innocent.”
“I’ve known for a long time that there was an organised group operating and carrying out blackmail on a large scale,” he said, “and I’ve suspected that these men were part of it. In the case of Webb we proved it. Papers and documents were found that proved it conclusively. What you’ve told me about Drake goes further to confirm my suspicions. ‘Birds of a feather flock together’ is an old saying, but a true one. And it applies particularly to crooks. There’s somebody, too, who acts as the head of the bunch, somebody who remains in the background and who, I believe, is unknown to the others. There was a letter among Webb’s effects which put this idea into my mind.”
She looked at him with quickened interest.
“Who?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I’ve no notion,” he replied. “The letter was unsigned.”
“Would it be possible,” she said, “for this mysterious person to have been responsible for the murder of Leonard Drake?”
“There’s nothing against such a theory,” he answered. “But how is it possible to find out? We don’t know the man and, after what happened at Horsham, he’ll probably break up the organisation and fade into oblivion.”
“Unless Bellman can be persuaded to talk,” suggested the Angel, “or Hathaway.”
“Bellman may quite possibly die without recovering consciousness,” said Jimmy. “Hathaway won’t say anything and neither will Leeming. Why should they? If they squeal, it’ll mean long sentences for both of ’em, and if they keep quiet there’s no evidence.”
“There must be evidence somewhere,” said the Angel. “There must documents and things relating to their blackmailing activities—there must be!”
“Of course there must be,” said Jimmy. “But where? Probably in a safe deposit or a bank, but we’ve no means of finding out. We can’t search every safe and every bank.”
The Angel sighed and mechanically poured herself a fresh cup of coffee.
“It looks rather hopeless,” she said.
“It is hopeless and it’s going to be worse,” declared Jimmy savagely “I don’t care a darn about anything except getting you out of the mess you’re in, and it’s a serious one. You’ve broken half the laws in Christendom and, unless I can prevent it, it’s all coming out at that infernal inquest.”
“I’ve told you not to worry about me,” she said.
“But I do worry about you!” stormed Jimmy. “I’m only worrying about you! Darn it, woman, how can I marry you if you’re in prison?”
“Oh!” The Angel was startled at his vehemence. “I didn’t know you contemplated anything of the sort,” she said feebly.
“Well, you know now,” said Jimmy crossly.
“And you may as well know that I have no intention of marrying you in prison or out of it!” she replied.
“Why?” he demanded curtly.
“Why?” she repeated. “Well, because I—because I don’t want to.”
“That seems to be a reasonable answer,” he admitted. “Anyway I’m going to marry you, and that’s that!”
“The daughter of a convicted murderer,” she said quietly. “Don’t be a fool, Jimmy! It would ruin your career.”
“If that’s all you’ve got against it,” he retorted, “it doesn’t come into the matter at all. I sent in my resignation yesterday.”
“What?” She stared at him.
“I sent in my resignation yesterday,” he repeated doggedly. “It doesn’t take effect until the end of the month, but from then onwards I propose to live the life of a gentleman of leisure, devoting all my time to my wife and family— Who the dickens is that?”
A thunderous knocking on the front door had broken into his speech
“1 don’t know—I’m not expecting anybody,” said the Angel, and then as a loud voice reached her ears: “It’s Mr.
Babbington!”
Mr. Babbington it was. He came into the sitting room like a young cyclone, brushing aside Cordelia’s efforts at announcing him.
“Hello-ello!” he greeted, his big face one expansive grin. “I’ve been to your flat, James, and Limpet told me I should find you here, and here I am, old boy!”
“And then what?” demanded Jimmy.
“List, while I tell you—I’ve solved the secret of Uncle Ebenezer!”
“You never have!” cried Jimmy.
“I have, old boy,” said the Hon. Freddie, nodding his head vigorously. “I have, old boy. Quite accidentally, I may say, but nevertheless a true bill for all that.”
“Well, don’t make a song and dance about it,” broke in Jimmy impatiently. “Tell us what it is—or show us.”
“Yes, do, Mr. Babbington,” said the Angel. “You don’t know how curious I am to know.”
“Lady,” said the irrepressible Freddie, with a bow, “thy word is law. Well, the fact of the matter is this. I had that photograph in the pocket of my jacket when we came down to Horsham. You remember, James, I was looking at it when—”
“Yes, yes, I remember all that,” interrupted his friend. “For Heaven’s sake cut the cackle and come to the horses!”
“Hang it!” said Freddie. “Give a chap a chance! I must explain, old boy. This morning my man was looking after my clothes while I was in the bath and found Uncle Ebenezer. It’s not the kind of photograph he’s used to finding in my pockets, and it must have given him rather a shock Anyhow, he brought it into the bathroom and asked what he should do with it. I told him to put it down; it was a most important relic. He did so and after I’d dried myself, I had a look at dear old Uncle Ebenezer, thinking there was something to be said. for all those whiskers after all; less face to shave, you know, and all that—”
“If you don’t come to the point,” threatened Jimmy, “I shall hit you—hard!”
“Just coming to it, old boy,” said Freddie. “No good getting violent. Well, I was looking at the photograph when it slipped out of my hand and fell smack into the bath!”
He paused dramatically, but neither spoke.
“I fished it out as quickly as I could,” he went on, “and mopped it with a towel and it wasn’t much the worse, and then I saw that one corner had peeled away from the mount and, would you believe it Uncle Ebenezer was not the only pebble on the beach. There was another photograph exactly the same size an’ everything underneath. To cut a long story short I got some clean water and peeled off Uncle Ebenezer and there was the other—not a period piece at all, old boy but the enlargement of a modem snap—and a very queer picture it is. Look here!”
He plunged a hand into his breast pocket, produced an envelope and from it a rather limp piece of cardboard.
“There, look at that, old boy,” he cried triumphantly, “and say if little Freddie isn’t the cat’s boudoir slippers!”
He laid the photograph down face upwards on the table and they bent over it. It was the picture of a piece of parkland, and in the foreground were two men. One, clearly recognisable, was pointing a revolver at the other, who was staggering back, his hands clasped to his breast. There was a cloud of smoke, and the photograph had obviously been taken at the moment when the man with the pistol had pressed the trigger,
“Bellman!” cried Jimmy. “Bellman! And the other man’s Leonard Drake—”
“Look out, old boy!” exclaimed the Hon. Freddie, and Jimmy was just in time to catch the Angel as she fell.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Collecting The Pieces
Jimmy Holland sat in the Assistant Commissioner’s office at New Scotland Yard three days later and faced the dapper Colonel Blair across his big desk.
“We shall be sorry to lose you, Holland,” said the Assistant Commissioner. “But you’ll certainly be departing in a blaze of glory. The whole thing’s amazing, but you’ve proved your theory about the Black Ring. I must confess I was a bit sceptical.”
“I know you were, sir.” said Jimmy. “But I was always convinced that there was something of the sort in existence.”
“Well, of course, the confession of Bellman clinches the matter. It’s a thousand pities he didn’t live to stand his trial for the murder of Webb.”
“It is, and it isn’t, sir,” said Jimmy. “Personally, I think it’s better as it is. We’ve got his confession, that’s the main thing.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Colonel Blair was in an agreeable mood. “It’ll be better for the girl. It would have meant a lot of unpleasant publicity for her. She was quite wrong, of course, in the attitude she adopted, but I must say I admire her pluck. By Gad! To think after all this the truth should come out. I knew Easthanger—a damned nice man—but I always thought he was guilty of shooting Drake.”
“So did everybody, sir, except his wife and his daughter and his chauffeur,” said Jimmy grimly, “and they were right. Lord Easthanger was hanged for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“The evidence was overwhelming: motive, opportunity, his own pistol, everything— Oh, well, it’s no use going over all that. His memory will be cleared, that’s all we can do. It was a terrible miscarriage of justice, but nobody was to blame. Bellman killed Drake because Drake discovered that he had perpetrated a fraud in his business and was blackmailing him. Dog eating dog with a vengeance.”
“And staged the crime so that suspicion was bound to fall on Lord Easthanger,” said Jimmy. “Unfortunately for Bellman, Montgomery Webb accompanied Drake to the appointment with Easthanger, and at Drake’s request concealed himself in some bushes so that Easthanger should only think he had to deal with Drake. He took a perfect picture of the murder and proceeded to do a little blackmail on his own account. A nice bunch.”
“Well, he got his desserts,” grunted Colonel Blair. “Bellman put a stop to his blackmail when he killed him. It was lucky he dropped that photograph, though. I doubt if he would have confessed if you hadn’t confronted him with that.”
“I don’t think he would, sir,” agreed Jimmy. “He tried his best to get it back.”
“What I don’t quite understand,” said Blair, frowning, “is why he locked that door at Horsham. Did he want his three friends to be burned to death?”
“Yes,” answered Jimmy. “He wanted all the money in the ‘Black Ring’ for himself, and he saw a chance to get it. He was the unknown head who sent them their instructions and planned all this. They didn’t know he was, because he sent letters to himself as well. All the papers and documents relating to the ‘Black’ business were kept in a fictitious name in a safe at the Fetter Lane deposit. The money that they squeezed from their victims was also deposited there, in cash, and shared out every month—two-thirds between the active members of the group and one-third to the ‘unknown’ head. This latter was sent to an accommodation address, which was different every time. Bellman appointed himself ‘treasurer’. He was the only person who went to the deposit on his own instructions through the mythical head.”
“He seems to have gone to the deuce of a lot of trouble for nothing,” said the Assistant Commissioner.
“It wasn’t for nothing,” said Jimmy quickly. “It was a very cunning idea. If anything went wrong he couldn’t be touched. They wouldn’t squeal if they were arrested because they didn’t know who he was. And he was always in close touch with them in his own capacity to see that his instructions were carried out. This happened in the case of the Angel when they abducted her from the restaurant. He couldn’t interfere at the time because he was as much concerned as the others, but while she had that photograph he couldn’t allow the plan that Scarthright had suggested to be carried through to its conclusion. So he ‘rescued’ her. In my opinion Bellman was the cleverest of the whole bunch.”
“Well, there won’t be any bunch now,” said Colonel Blair. “Bellman, Scarthright, and Phelps are dead, and Hathaway and Leeming will get seven years, I should think, so the ‘Black Ring’ ceases to exist.”
> “And so does Detective-Inspector Holland,” said Jimmy. “From the thirty-first of this month.”
“The first is an asset,” replied Colonel Blair. “The second almost a national calamity!”
*
Three months later the boat train drew into Victoria Station and began to eject its passengers on to the long platform. Jimmy Holland, bronzed and a little broader, turned and helped his wife to alight.
“Can you see Limpet anywhere?” he said, looking along the crowded platform. “I wired for him to meet us with the car.”
The Angel glanced quickly about.
“No, I can’t,” she said. “But I shouldn’t think— Oh, there’s Cordelia. Look over there!”
Jimmy followed the direction of her eyes and saw the maid walking quickly towards them. The Angel waved and Cordelia hurried up.
“I was really beginning to get afraid you’d missed the train,” she said in ultra affected drawl. “I do ’ope you had fine weather and a desirable passage, madam.”
The Angel gasped.
“My husband is with the car,” went on Cordelia. “An unfortunate argument between the chauffeur and a taxi-driver detained him— Oh, ’ere—ahem—here he comes now!”
The dignified and benevolent figure of Limpet was approaching rapidly.
“Your husband!” said Jimmy.
“Yes, we decided to get married soon after you left on your honeymoon, sir,” answered the metamorphosed Cordelia. “I trust that it will make no difference to our continuing to serve you in our various capacities?”
“Limpet!” breathed the aghast Jimmy. “Limpet all over again in female form.”
“I’m sure it will make no difference at all, Cordelia,” said the Angel her mouth twitching as she strove to check the laughter which the maid’s newly-acquired accent brought bubbling up within her.
“Look here, what have you done to Cordelia?” demanded Jimmy as he and Limpet followed the luggage to the waiting car.
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