“Well, sir,” was the rather hesitating reply, “you didn’t seem to want me with you when you talked to Sergeant Griskin and Mr. Garfitt so I talked to Miss Rich, and after dinner you were talking away to Miss Docket and Miss Rich said the country looked beautiful at night so we went and looked at it. And when I came in, you had gone to bed.”
“I was pretty tired, Henry,” said Harrison. “And you persuaded Miss Rich, I hope, to have a certain amount of confidence in us?”
“I flatter myself, sir, that she became quite enthusiastic about it,” answered Henry.
“That’s good,” said Harrison. “Now for my second idea. You know my methods well enough by now. You know I believe in rattling the enemy if I can. Get them worried and they won’t think as clearly as they would like to. I think I’ve started the Crewes on the rattling stage and I hope the newspaper effort will complete it.”
‘“I see, sir,” commented Henry. “You don’t think it will put them on their guard instead?”
“They are on their guard, Henry,” answered Harrison. “They’ve been on their guard ever since I walked into Overstead House to lunch. No, I’m hoping this will give them something to think about, and not very pleasantly either. What time did Miss Docket say for breakfast, Henry?”
“Whenever it suited you, sir.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Nothing special, sir,” answered Henry.
“In that case, Henry, I think it would be a good idea, as we are both feeling tolerably fresh, if we just ran through our impressions—to see how far we have really gone. Can you produce the notebook and pencil?”
Henry had disappeared from the room almost before Harrison had finished his sentence and was soon back with the pencil and notebook.
“One thing, Henry, I have been wanting to mention to you, but it kept slipping my memory,” said Harrison, “what about Humphrey Bliss? Did you make those discreet enquiries?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Henry. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about it. I came across a clerk who knew his clerk quite well.”
“Quite accidentally, of course, Henry.”
“Of course, sir,” said Henry, with a twinkle. “It was way back somewhere in the undergrowth of Fleet Street. We found ourselves having a drink together. Almost like magic, sir. And quite casually, too, I found that he wouldn’t be put out if he had another at my expense. I’m afraid there wasn’t much to tell, sir, except that Mr. Bliss bets a lot.”
“And he wanted to invest his winnings in the firm of Harrison and Bliss?”
“But he hasn’t been winning, sir.”
“That’s a pity, Henry.”
“In fact, he’s been losing pretty hard, sir.”
“The clerk told you so?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Henry; “I gathered that Bliss’s clerk said his master was very hard up. He’d been losing heavily and owed a great deal. In fact, Bliss’s clerk didn’t feel too sure about his own position. Bliss gets a number of cases but there’s not a great deal in them. Small-fee police court briefs and sometimes on the ‘pay if you win’ sort of system. What they really wanted was a nice fat case with a lot of guineas and not too much work.”
“Far be it from us, Henry,” said Harrison, “to scoff at briefs for small fees—we never even saw those in our barrister days. But it seems strange that Mr. Bliss should at one and the same time owe money and want to invest it.”
“However that may be, sir,” said Henry, “it seems pretty essential for him to make some money somewhere.”
“Make some notes of it, Henry,” said Harrison, “and keep them for future reference. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if even that has something to do with the Crewes.”
“Really, sir?”
“Of course I can’t say how, at the moment, but it seems very likely. Now, Henry, just let us stop a moment and see where we have got to. We need not go into all the details of the murder of the strange tramp, but there are one or two points we should look at from a different angle. As a general comment, we might say that the Crewes must have thought me a detective of almost supernatural genius. The mention of the boots, the suggestion of an international plot, the casual reference to La Plage, three winners, Henry, although I did not know it. And yet another one to add to them.”
“The attic window, sir?” suggested Henry.
“Exactly,” answered Harrison. “I had to say something and a child could have noticed that. But, once in a way Henry, reputation’s a fine thing, and they read much more into my words than I could have intended just because they were trying to be certain how much I knew. I really was being infernally clever.”
“They thought so, at any rate, sir,” said Henry.
“That’s an extraordinarily unkind remark to make, Henry,” said Harrison with a smile. “I could argue that I had noticed the essential points even if I failed to recognise their full value straight away but, even if your low opinion of me is justified, the fact that they think I’m clever is a point scored in our favour. You agree there, Henry?”
“That’s just what I meant, sir.”
“Now, Henry, you have all the evidence before you. As much as I have, at any rate. What do you make of the attic?”
“A very unpleasant warning to you, sir.”
“I didn’t quite mean that, Henry,” answered Harrison. “Still, we’ll take that first. Does that convey anything to you?”
“Nothing else, sir.”
“Think, Henry, why should they have chosen to leave that warning in the attic, of all places?”
“I suppose it was as good as any other, sir,” said Henry, undecidedly, for, although he felt he must supply some answer, he was certain that Harrison himself had already found a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“It was more important than any other, Henry,” said Harrison. “To the Crewes it was the most important room in the house. That is why they intended to give me a shock if, by any chance, I thought it important, too.”
“But why, sir?”
“What else was there in the attic, Henry?”
“The only other thing I saw was a heap of old sacking, sir, in the corner away from the window.”
“Well?” asked Harrison.
“That’s all, sir.”
“Quite?”
“I can’t think of anything else, sir,” said Henry, apologetically.
“Then we had better try another line of approach,” said Harrison. “What about Lucy’s ghost?”
“The face at the window, sir?”
“Yes, Henry, was there a face at the window?”
“You didn’t seem to encourage Lucy to think there was one, sir.”
“Never mind about me, Henry,” answered Harrison. “Use your independence of mind. Was there a face at the window?”
“No smoke without fire, sir, and all that sort of thing,” said Henry. “Suppose we do assume they saw something—”
“Yes, Henry?”
“I’ve got it, sir,” cried Henry, excitedly. “The Crewes had somebody locked up in the attic.”
“The sacking being the makeshift for a bed, Henry?”
“Of course, sir,” said Henry. “What an idiot not to see it before. But how does all that fit in?”
“Easy, Henry, easy,” answered Harrison. “You’ve made one startling discovery. Don’t hurry things. Let us agree that it is a discovery and is likely to be right. What do we know about it? Mrs. Crewe was very much annoyed at Lucy going on to the attic floor. The bolt and hinges of the door were in excellent condition. The window was clean. The sacking might have been a bed. The Crewes arrange the pistol trap. But, Henry, and this is a great ‘but,’ where is the prisoner?”
“They might have brought him or her in with them, sir,” said Henry, musing. “No one seems to have seen them arrive.”
“Quite right, Henry,” commented Harrison. “But they were seen going away and there was no extra person with them. But there is also no sign of a prisoner about the ho
use. We certainly didn’t see one in the attic, did we?”
“No, sir,” said Henry. “It’s all very mysterious.”
“That means,” went on Harrison, patiently, “that if there was a prisoner in the attic, that person went away before the Crewes themselves departed.”
“That doesn’t get us far,” said Henry, ruefully.
“Henry, you’re too faint-hearted,” said Harrison. “Here you have evolved a whole theory of someone kept in captivity in an attic in the middle of Surrey—and I’m inclined to think you’re right—and then you have no suggestion as to how to make use of it.”
“It does seem important, I know, sir,” replied Henry, “and it makes the Crewes still more suspicious but, in your own words, sir, we should be jumping at conclusions if we connected it with the murdered tramp.”
“Very well, Henry, if that’s how you feel,” said Harrison.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, sir,” said Henry, “you can be very annoying at times. I know you’ve got some ideas about it all and I expect they’re waiting just round the corner if only I could get as far as the end of the road. But I can’t, sir, and it really isn’t fair to tantalise me like this.”
“You’re right, Henry,” answered Harrison, in a gentle tone, “I deserved it. I have an idea, but I wanted to see if you could possible get to it without me. I should feel so much more convinced if you did. But here goes. I’m not going into all the details of the strange tramp all over again. You know about them as well as I do. But I have thought and thought about the descriptions we have had of the visitor to Miss Docket’s kitchen and of the body I actually saw with my own eyes. Henry, they don’t fit.”
“That’s what you meant, sir, when you told Miss Rich that her story gave you a clue.”
“Of course, Henry. I thought you’d spot it then. Miss Rich’s description was accurate enough. I feel certain of that. At the same time, I am in the habit of believing my own eyes. Now, Henry, what about it?”
Henry opened his mouth wide. “Two different people,” he almost whispered.
“Two different people,” emphasised Harrison. “Why not? The tramp who spent the night at Miss Docket’s kitchen was not the man who was found dead in the ditch.”
“Wonderful, sir,” said Henry; “that certainly is a step forward.”
“Thanks to Miss Rich,” said Harrison.
“But, sir,” exclaimed Henry, his eyes shining with excitement, “the prisoner, sir. Why shouldn’t he be the man in the ditch?”
“That would be any number of steps forward, wouldn’t it, Henry?” answered Harrison. “But I think we should be poor guests if we kept Miss Docket’s breakfast waiting any longer.”
Henry knew that there would be no answer to his last question, but he felt morally certain that this was the direction towards which his master had been painfully leading him. He felt somewhat small in considering his own dullness, but case was working out in a remarkable manner and he looked at Harrison with undisguised admiration.
“Thank heaven for your hero worship, Henry,” said Harrison, as they went downstairs. “And thank heaven, too, that you bear no malice. Here have I been trying to be terribly clever at your expense and, except to apologise for telling me I am annoying—and you had enough provocation— you have put up with it all.”
Henry’s smile of affection showed that he had certainly borne no malice, and the pair were in a very satisfactory mood when they greeted Miss Docket. From her they learned that Miss Rich, generously provided with capital, had left by a very early train. She had said that she did not intend to give Harrison the chance of sleeping on his decision and therefore reversing it.
“That is a good omen,” commented Harrison.
“You’ll find May Rich utterly reliable,” said Miss Docket. “It almost became one of my grievances against her. I felt so frightfully incompetent myself when she took anything in hand. Indeed, Mr. Harrison, I’m very interested as to how that girl turns out. She can’t help acting. It’s her nature, and I shouldn’t be surprised if you find her the most perfect specimen of the idle rich in this place you’re going to.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” replied Harrison.
“Can’t you really take me with you?” pleaded Miss Docket. “I won’t interfere in any way. I’ll be as tame as a mouse and sit in the corner all the time. I hate to be out of it all. And you must remember you wouldn’t have had anything to do with the case if it hadn’t been for me. Won’t you have pity on me, Mr. Harrison?”
“Really, Miss Docket, I would if I could,” said Harrison. “But don’t you see that the fact that you know both the Crewes and Miss Rich rules you out at present. If there is any chance of sending for you I certainly will take it. I’d be very sorry if you thought me ungrateful.”
“Of course I don’t, Mr. Harrison,” was the cheery answer. “I only thought I’d try a few womanly tears on you to see what effect they would have. I trust you implicitly. Go ahead.”
“Besides,” said Harrison, “I’m afraid I haven’t warned Miss Rich this business is likely to be very dangerous.”
“Seriously?” asked Miss Docket.
“In dead earnest,” answered Harrison. “The people we are up against will stick at nothing. I shall certainly be a marked man and Henry will have his share. Miss Rich is less likely to be in danger if she doesn’t know that danger exists.”
“I certainly shall be glad when it’s all over,” said Miss Docket, anxiously. “But I would like to be sharing in it.”
Harrison smiled, and the breakfast table conversation proceeded on less serious lines. It was not long before he and Henry were on the train back to London, after having received a final benediction from Miss Docket. Henry spent most of the time in the compartment worrying out the problem as to how he was to arrange Harrison’s work so that they should get off to the South of France with all possible speed. Harrison read newspapers and mentally congratulated Garfitt on the best display of them all. There was little doubt that Great Crockham would be the centre of journalistic attention in a very short while, and to Harrison this departure was more a flight from the reporting wrath to come than a conscience-stricken dash to work-strewn chambers, although Henry would have been seriously perturbed at such a thought.
They left the train at Waterloo Station and went towards the archway through which the taxicabs pass when bringing passengers to and from the main lines. Their way lay past rows of seats where intending passengers—or such one assumes them to be—sit in dreary ranks, looking across the roadway and catching the full force of any draughts which may feel like paying their unwanted attentions through the archway. There was a fair number of people sitting there, and the station itself was alive with the movement of passengers hurrying in all directions.
As they reached the pillar of the archway Harrison suddenly cried, “Duck, Henry, for God’s sake.”
Henry did so and over their heads went a missile which shattered against the pillar in front of them.
One or two people moved forward to see what had happened, and a fussy looking little man, who was near Harrison, went up to examine the object.
“Well, I declare,” he said, “an egg. That’s a nice thing to be throwing about the place.”
Harrison examined it too, and saw that a dark fluid had dropped from the egg as it smashed against the pillar, and had splashed in all directions. He looked at the fluid carefully and then said to the little man, “I would not let anyone touch it, if I were you. Better call a policeman over and warn him too.”
The little man looked extraordinarily important, and went off to obey orders. “Come along, Henry, quick’s the word,” he said, dragging him out of the station and into a taxicab; “we don’t want to be mixed up in this. Our fussy little friend can have all the glory.”
“That was a near thing, sir,” said Henry, as they drove towards the Temple.
“It was, Henry,” said Harrison, solemnly; “much too near to be pleasant.”
“But how did you realise in time, sir?”
“I noticed a man on the seats in the station who was looking at me with a shade too much interest,” was the reply. “I felt certain he was there to watch me, so I kept the corner of my eye on him as we went out, really to see if he started to follow. Suddenly I saw his hand shoot up and throw some object towards us. That’s why I called out.”
“I suppose it would have been impossible to find him afterwards,” said Henry.
“Hardly worth the effort,” answered Harrison. “I must say the egg was ingenious. Easy to blow and seal up again. Easy to throw. And mightily easy to break itself against my head when it hit it.”
“You’re certain it was meant for you, sir?”
“I’m afraid so, Henry,” said Harrison; “and a very ugly bit of work, too. Almost too horrible to think too long about. For the egg, Henry, was full of some kind of acid. Fairly weak, I expect, but strong enough to have left its mark if it had hit me, as it was intended to do.”
Part Two
There
Chapter XIII
Two Taxicabs
Owing to a variety of reasons, Harrison was not able to leave England for another three days. One of the most important being the growth of his “practice” as a private detective. Gone were the days of earlier cases when, in Henry’s phrase, they could “flip off to the world’s edge” at a moment’s notice. Harrison had the threads of a large number of incomplete investigations in his hands and, although none of them actually raised as grave issues as the case of the murdered tramp, again in Henry’s phrase, “it would never do to let the clients think so.”
Harrison had said jokingly that there was something to be said, after all, for Mr. Humphrey Bliss’s offer, that a junior to carry on in his absence would have been a very desirable arrangement. But he knew in his heart of hearts that this was peculiarly individual work. He could not pass his brief on to a fellow “K.C.”; Clay Harrison or nothing, was the attitude of those who consulted him, and the possessor of a reputation has to pay for the success which has produced it. Added to this, he was scrupulously conscientious, and the possibility of neglecting any affair with which he had been entrusted gave him the greatest anxiety.
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