Death on the Highway

by Death on the Highway (retail) (epub)

  “I don’t see why, sir.”

  “They weren’t to know there was nothing in it, Henry,” said Harrison. “Besides, I think this is an extraordinarily interesting envelope. Do you see how England is spelt?”

  “E-n-g-e-l-a-n-d. I hadn’t noticed that, sir,” said Henry. “Very ignorant.”

  “I don’t think so,” answered Harrison. “I should say it was written by a foreigner. And I can’t imagine a foreigner playing a practical joke like this.”

  “Foreigners haven’t our British sense of humour,” said Henry.

  “And there’s another thing, Henry,” said Harrison; “look at the postmark. ‘La Plage, Var.’”

  “I have never heard of it, sir,” answered Henry.

  “Nor have I,” said Harrison. “Look it up and see where it is.”

  After a few moments Henry produced the information that La Plage was a small resort on the Mediterranean a few miles from Toulon. A pleasant beach, good bathing, one hotel and the inevitable casino.

  “That explains the envelope, Henry,” said Harrison. “It’s the cheap sort provided in a café. But why in pencil? Pen and ink are always supplied if you want them. This envelope means something, I’m certain. I wonder, Henry—” Harrison paused.

  Henry looked puzzled but did not speak.

  “I wonder Henry,” repeated Harrison, “if it isn’t a cry for help.”

  Chapter VII

  The Twisted Arm

  The chambers were very quiet next morning and Harrison concentrated on a number of small matters needing his attention, forgetting, for the moment, the murdered tramp and everything connected with him. Nothing disturbed the atmosphere of peace until lunch time, and Harrison remarked on it to Henry. Not a caller, not even the postman, he said; quite remarkable.

  Henry was not so impressed. The calm before the deluge, was his attitude. He explained that there were some people who could tell of approaching rain by a sudden twinge of rheumatism or some other pain. He was like that over events. There was something in the air, he knew it. Second sight, suggested Harrison. This did not strike Henry as probable. He even looked at his master to see if he was making fun at the suggestion. Harrison certainly did not look convinced, and Henry strongly urged that he had a kind of mental rheumatism which told him that a storm of events was brewing.

  “The shooting of intellectual corns,” remarked Harrison.

  Such vulgarity shocked Henry and he felt there was nothing to gain in pursuing an argument with such a spirit of levity abroad. So he merely looked rather portentous and solemnly intoned, “Wait and see, sir.”

  Harrison suggested that they should not even lunch but start the vigil straight away, but Henry gave him a reproachful look as if to indicate that a jest of this nature can be carried too far, even with a faithful servant. Whereupon Harrison returned to his work and Henry settled down to transcribing some of his shorthand notes.

  Again the atmosphere of glorious calm descended on the place. I should have been worried in the old days, thought Harrison, when I hoped against hope for the arrival of a brief, if things had seemed as quiet as this. He was on the point of going into Henry’s room to make a few further suggestions regarding soothsayers and impending events. or it was now late afternoon. He was even thinking of something on the lines of “beware the Ides of March, Henry,” when there was a ring at the bell and Henry soon appeared with a card.

  “The deluge, Henry?” asked Harrison.

  “Not quite, sir,” smiled Henry, “but it’s the start.”

  “Mr. Humphrey Bliss,” Harrison read from the card. “What do we know about him?”

  “Young barrister, sir,” said Henry. “Very enterprising.”

  “I su pose that’s the man,” said Harrison; “means to get on at the Bar. Far more push and go than I had. Does not mind being a bit offensive about it. Rude to judges and that sort of thing.”

  “He gets into the papers, sir,” commented Henry.

  “True,” answered Harrison. “Quite a public figure, in his way. He was in quite a good case a few days ago.”

  “The case wasn’t very good, sir,” said Henry. “The Press was.”

  “Henry,” said Harrison, severely, “we must not criticise the Press. I can only decide a case is good by the amount of space it is given in the Press.”

  “Then it was a marvellous case, sir,” replied Henry.

  “Henry,” said Harrison,” you’re trying to get one back on me for mocking at your mental rheumatics. What does Mr. Bliss want?”

  “A chat with you, sir,” answered Henry.

  “No more detail than that, Henry?”

  “Not to me, sir,” answered Henry.

  “I can’t think what he wants with me,” said Harrison, “but I should say he’s worth seeing. Show him in, Henry.”

  Henry ushered in a fairly tall, squarely-built man in the early thirties. He was clean-shaven, with a grim mouth and a determined chin. He looked pugilistic, and Harrison was somewhat surprised when he was greeted in a gentle and pleasantly musical voice.

  “It is good of you to see me, Mr. Harrison,” said the newcomer.

  “Knowing you to be a busy man in the Courts, Mr. Bliss,” replied Harrison, “I assumed it was something of importance.”

  “Important to me, at any rate,” said Bliss, “but you may feel inclined to throw me out before I have finished.”

  “I should not like to try,” answered Harrison.

  “That is a tribute to my unfortunate face, I suppose,” said Bliss. “I’m not nearly as frightful as I look, I can assure you. My face seems to be my fortune in the courts, however. Whenever I say anything, the judge thinks I am creating a scene—”

  “And the newspapers do the rest,” commented Harrison.

  “I won’t deny that I’m a fighter,” said Bliss, “and I hate to lose, but really one would think I was the worst-tempered man in England.”

  “I congratulate you on the way you are going ahead,” remarked Harrison.

  “That’s really what I’ve come to see you about,” said Bliss. “You won’t mind if I’m quite honest with you, Mr. Harrison? The point is that I’m not wholly satisfied. The Bar isn’t an entirely safe profession. I may be slightly successful now but it may not last.”

  “A gloomy thought for a young man,” said Harrison.

  “You know what I mean,” continued Bliss. “There is something in doing a more regular job. Yours, for example.”

  Harrison laughed. “I shouldn’t call it regular,” he said. “It’s worse than the Bar. I’m expected to win without fail every time.”

  “But you make a comfortable income out of it,” said Bliss.

  “I don’t compare with a K.C.” answered Harrison.

  “Still, you have gained a great reputation,” said Bliss. “However modest you may try to be, you can’t alter the fact that you are widely known and respected—I might almost say, feared.”

  “A compliment is always pleasant,” said Harrison, “but that isn’t why you came here, Mr. Bliss.”

  “Now this is where you throw me out,” said Bliss; “do you think there is room for two in your line?”

  Harrison looked at his visitor.

  “Shall I go?” asked Bliss.

  “Good heavens, no,” answered Harrison. “You’re just becoming interesting. Competition is always a good thing.”

  “I want you to take this seriously, Mr. Harrison,” said Bliss. “I’m a young barrister. I shouldn’t be surprised if my knowledge of languages is equal to yours.” Harrison smiled again. “I’ve had a little to do with the criminal mind in my cases and, as an amateur, I’ve studied criminal psychology fairly deeply. I feel I have the right equipment for exactly the kind of work you are doing. I want your advice.”

  “To answer your first question, Mr. Bliss,” said Harrison, “I should be surprised if there is room for two ‘in my line,’ as you put it, but that should not deter you. If you think you can beat me at it, go ahead. I have no objecti
on whatever.”

  “I don’t think you quite understand me, Mr. Harrison,” answered Bliss. “What worries me is how to start. How did you start?”

  “I don’t think I did start,” said Harrison, “I just drifted.”

  “Come, come, Mr. Harrison,” said Bliss, in a definite vein of cross-examination, “that doesn’t answer my question at all. You must have had some reason for starting. Did you think, for example, you had some mission against the evil in the world?”

  “I can’t say I did then,” answered Harrison, amused at the turn the conversation had taken, “I’m not so sure now.”

  “But you do it for bread and butter,” pressed Bliss.

  “Partly,” said Harrison; “but some of the criminals I have been after I would have followed to the end of the world without any hope of reward.”

  “You’re very moral, Mr. Harrison,” said Bliss. “Do you hate the criminal so much?”

  “Mr. Bliss, we are getting away from the point,” said Harrison. “Much as I admire your frankness, I do not feel inclined to make a speech for the defence on behalf of Mr. Clay Harrison.”

  Humphrey Bliss looked searchingly at Harrison and then said, “I’m sorry. I was getting too interested, that was all. Still I’m going to put a much worse question now. Do you make much out of it?”

  “Really Mr. Bliss—” started Harrison.

  “I know, Mr. Harrison, it sounds terrible,” said Bliss, gently; “I’m living up to my frankness. But what I had in mind was a partnership and, in that case, a balance sheet is not unusual.”

  “You win, Mr. Bliss,” answered Harrison; “I thought I was fairly proof against surprise, but I’m not.”

  “I try to sum up the men I deal with,” said Bliss, “and with you, Mr. Harrison, I thought it best to come to the point as quickly as possible. Now you have my idea. I can raise a certain amount of capital—quite a lot, as a matter of fact. Between us I think we could make a big show. I’m serious. I think there are great opportunities if we organise it properly. But of course I must know how you work and what it’s worth.”

  “You’ll excuse me, I know, Mr. Bliss, if I say that your sudden suggestion is rather overwhelming.”

  “Certainly,” answered Bliss; “but there really was no point in beating about the bush.”

  “Wasn’t there?” asked Harrison.

  “Of course you needn’t decide now, Mr. Harrison,” Bliss went on. “I myself like to do things straight away. I should be perfectly willing to go into details at once and fix things up before I left the room—”

  “Why not?” asked Harrison.

  “Splendid,” said Bliss, “I’m glad you feel like that.”

  “Like what?” demanded Harrison.

  Bliss looked at Harrison and was somewhat confused by his stern gaze.

  “What was your real reason for coming here, Mr. Bliss?” asked Harrison.

  “I’ve told you,” said Bliss.

  “You’ve told me,” answered Harrison, scornfully, “lies that wouldn’t deceive a child.”

  “Mr. Harrison,” protested Bliss.

  “Again I ask you, Mr. Bliss, why did you come here?”

  “Of course if that’s the way you’re going to take it,” said Bliss, rather feebly.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” said Harrison.

  Bliss started to move towards the door.

  “I don’t know what your game is, Mr. Bliss,” said Harrison, “but stick to the Courts. Don’t come here again without a better story and now—get out.”

  The man with the pugilist’s face and the musical voice needed no second warning and was through Henry’s room and out of the front door with almost unbecoming speed.

  “Flight of bliss,” remarked Henry, coming into Harrison’s room.

  “That was a near thing, Henry,” said Harrison; “I don’t often lose my temper.”

  “As bad as that, sir,” said Henry, sympathetically.

  “Henry, he asked me how much money I made out of my job,” said Harrison.

  Henry whistled. Words failed him. Such impudence was beyond the range of his vocabulary.

  “But that wasn’t why he came, Henry,” continued Harrison.

  “What on earth did he want then, sir?”

  “To go into partnership, Henry.”

  “A brain storm, sir.”

  “And that wasn’t really why he came.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Nor do I, Henry,” answered Harrison. “This Mr. Bliss, with the most profuse—and insincere—apologies, treated me to one of his worst efforts in cross-examination. But I can’t think why. He had a reason for it and a pretty important one, I should say. He’s no fool, and he was playing a queer kind of game. I can’t help thinking there must be something serious behind it all.”

  Henry looked sharply at his master. He was used to following the different tones of his voice and the solemn note of the last sentence was a great surprise.

  “Surely you don’t connect him with the murdered tramp, sir?” he asked.

  “You’re jumping again, Henry,” said Harrison, “but you have an uncomfortable way of carrying my unspoken thoughts to a logical conclusion. We mustn’t jump as far as that yet but, at the same time mustn’t forget the possibility.”

  “Thank you, sir,” answered Henry, with a huge smile.

  “This means a job for you, too, Henry,” said Harrison. “I know you haunt all sorts of place round here where gossip is to be picked up. How you find the time to, I don’t know, but it’s a useful habit. You’d better discover everything you can about Mr. Bliss, especially his habits outside the Courts, if his finance is all right and that sort of thing.”

  “Certainly, sir,” replied Henry.

  “Not a word of his visit, Henry,” said Harrison.

  “I don’t suppose he’s likely to mention it to anybody else himself, sir,” said Henry, with a chuckle.

  “Very likely not,” answered Harrison, “But—” He was interrupted by the telephone.

  “Answer it, Henry,” said Harrison. “If it isn’t frightfully important I don’t want to talk to anybody or see anybody till tomorrow.”

  Harrison listened while Henry, in his blandest manner, settled down to deal with the person at the other end. His statement of Harrison’s absence, however, and other imaginings of a similar character seemed to have little effect.

  “She doesn’t believe me,” said Henry, turning to Harrison. “Women are always so persistent on the telephone.”

  “A she, is it?” asked Harrison. “Who?”

  “I think it must be Mrs. Crewe, sir,” answered Henry.

  “Mrs. Crewe,” exclaimed Harrison; “of course I’ll speak to her.”

  Henry surrendered the telephone with misgiving. He still strongly disapproved of the manner in which Harrison had “slacked” at Great Crockham, and, therefore, of the company he had kept in doing so. He felt more than justified when Harrison, after a long and obviously enjoyable chat, put down the receiver and announced that he was going out to dinner.

  “That will leave you free, Henry, to make the inquiries about Mr. Bliss,” said Harrison, airily.

  “That woman’s after you, sir,” answered Henry, like some warning prophet.

  “Well, Henry, if the pursuit includes the opera, I’m willing to be caught.”

  “Bribery, sir?”

  “Not quite that, I hope, Henry,” answered Harrison. “But she has a spare seat in her box for Rosenkavalier and offered it to me. Can you see me refusing? I’m not so keen on the dinner, but that is a part of the programme. I could hardly refuse, and Mrs. Crewe’s very good company.”

  “And her daughter?” asked Henry, suspiciously.

  “Does that worry you, Henry?”

  “You told me she made up to you, sir,” explained Henry.

  “I’ll be very careful, I promise you,” said Harrison, gravely. “It is just a family party, Mrs. Crewe, the friendly daughter and the son wh
o has no time for me at all. And I shall have to change pretty soon, Henry, for the opera starts early and Mrs. Crewe insists on a normal dinner first. Ever heard of the Luxor Hotel?”

  “Bloomsbury, sir?”

  “I should say so, Henry. I shall want a taxicab.”

  As Harrison prepared to change his clothes, Henry disappeared to boil a kettle, for the chambers had no hot water supply of a modern type. Harrison sang his medley of Puccini and Sullivan with the greatest vigour during these operations despite the atmosphere of deadly disapproval which Henry managed to convey in his every action. He did not mutter, but Harrison felt that he was mentally doing so.

  Henry held the door of the taxicab as if he were ushering his master into a mourning coach, and the reaction in Harrison’s mind to this behaviour was to register a silent vow to go out more often. Henry is growing jealous, he said to himself; if I were married a wife couldn’t have been so unpleasant about my going off on my own. I shall have to speak to him about it. It did not take long to reach the Luxor Hotel, which was one of the many in the neighbourhood of the British Museum. A clean, brightly painted front with a not too obtrusive inscription. It was obviously a row of houses converted to this particular use, and had an air of middle-class well-being and pleasant respectability.

  A porter in a neat uniform sat in a small office in the hall and asked his business. The name of Mrs. Crewe produced an amazing deference. He turned to the telephone and spoke with someone in the Crewe family. “Will you go straight up, sir?” he said. “Mrs. Crewe is waiting for you.” He looked round the hall and saw that a page had materialised from nowhere, a custom of the species. Telling the boy to watch the door, he himself conferred the remarkable honour on Harrison of showing him personally to the upper regions.

  Harrison went into a brightly-lit sitting room, which, with its clean and light-coloured chintz coverings, justified the favourable opinion he had formed of the place. Mrs. Crewe was sitting in a comfortable armchair, while Netta Crewe was standing devotedly beside her. A pretty family picture, while Harrison noted at the same time that the younger woman was wearing an exceedingly attractive evening gown and looked even more charming than she had done at Great Crockham.