Mrs. Crewe looked round the room and soon saw Harrison. “She has spotted me,” said Harrison, “I’d better go over and speak to her.” Then he added in answer to the unspoken question of the other men, “Oh, no, I don’t need an escort, I shall be perfectly safe.”
The dancing had started again as he threaded his way across the space between and noted that the asphalt or concrete of its composition was like hell to weary feet used to the kindlier contact of a ballroom floor.
“You accepted my invitation, then?” asked Mrs. Crewe, the pleasing smile on her lips belying the hard look of her eyes.
“Your suggestion, may I call it, Mrs. Crewe?” answered Harrison. “There are so many of us that I could not inflict such a number on your hospitality so we obtained a table of our own when we arrived. But I really had to come to the Casino, if only to hear the singing of Miss Esberg, of whom I have heard so much.”
Harrison looked at Mrs. Crewe and also at the fair-haired girl. The latter smiled rather weakly, but showed no particular pleasure at his remark. Mrs. Crewe still looked grimly at him but said nothing.
“Surely you will do me the honour of introducing me?” said Harrison.
“Why not,” said Mrs. Crewe, as if answering herself.
“Famous people ought to know each other,” said Netta, mockingly.
“Drina,” said Mrs. Crewe, “this is Mr. Clay Harrison. I don’t expect you’ve heard his name, but he’s rather well known in England as a detective.” There was a wealth of emphasis on the word “England” and Harrison could not miss the hint that the South of France and his own country were, in Mrs. Crewe’s estimation, singularly different propositions.
“It is a very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Esberg,” said Harrison, holding out his hand. “I am looking forward greatly to hearing you sing tonight.”
He realised that the eyes of the three others were on the girl. They were certainly guarding her closely and on the alert for anything unusual. The girl’s eyes betrayed very little interest as she held her hand out limply to Harrison, with an inaudibly muttered remark. But as she took his hand and held it for the fraction of a second, she gave it a distinct pressure which was certainly intentional. It was exactly what Harrison had hoped for. Drina Esberg had recognised his name. She was too frightened of the others for open recognition, but she had found a method of conveying her knowledge.
That pressure of the hand, unknown by the Crewes, spoke volumes, and was certain proof to Harrison that Drina Esberg was the writer of the envelope which had been delivered at his chambers. Another piece of the puzzle fitted in, thought Harrison, and then he said, with the most innocent look in the world, as Drina Esberg’s hand, still fantastically limp, slid down and lay on the table. “I should be more than honoured if you would dance with me, Miss Esberg?”
“The great detective dances?” said Mrs. Crewe, raising her eyebrows.
“He would even wear a paper hat if Miss Esberg insisted,” answered Harrison.
“I’m afraid you’d better not take the risk before singing, Drina,” said Mrs. Crewe and then, turning to Harrison, “Poor Drina gets so fearfully tired if she over-exerts herself, and it spoils her singing. But why not dance with Netta?”
“I could hardly have expected Miss Netta to have forgiven me,” said Harrison.
“I should love to dance with you, Mr. Harrison,” said Netta, springing up.
All smiles, Harrison led her on to the floor and Netta soon realised she was dancing with a man who was no mean exponent, and congratulated him thereon. He was equally complimentary, and none of those twirling on the dancing floor could have imagined the conflict which actually dominated the pair. In fact, some of the sentimentally-inclined and more elderly onlookers commented on them as an admirably suited couple.
Harrison soon realised that another couple were keeping very near them all the time they danced. This involved some astonishing gyrations on the part of the man, but he grimly persisted and, although he sometimes shot his partner nearly off her feet by the suddenness of a particular turn, he was never very far behind.
“Your servant is very attentive,” said Netta.
“Yes,” answered Harrison, for he had already noticed Henry seize Miss Rich directly his master had reached the floor with Netta and twirl her speedily in pursuit. “He may be afraid for me again. He thinks you are a very dangerous young woman.”
“And you?”
“I personally think you are a very delightful one,” answered Harrison. “So much so that I propose to give you a piece of advice.”
“How funny,” she answered, with a charming little laugh; “I danced with you so that I could do the same to you. Well, you first.”
“Very unimportant really,” said Harrison. “Just settle down and get married—and give up all these excitements.”
“What excitements?”
“You’re too charming to go on like this,” said Harrison, not answering her question.
“Like what?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling in the frown Harrison had noticed so often.
“I feel certain you must be in love with somebody,” continued Harrison. “So it should not be difficult.”
The girl looked strangely at him.
“Isn’t he willing?” persisted Harrison.
Almost taken off her guard, the girl nodded rather sadly.
“A pity,” he said, and then added with a strange emphasis, “your brother isn’t very helpful, is he?”
The girl looked at him almost with terror and, for a moment, seemed likely to lose her control altogether.
“Better not discuss my affairs,” she said, in a very low tone, “Mrs. Crewe wouldn’t like it.”
“Very well,” said Harrison; “but I understand much more than you realise.”
Again the look of terror came into her eyes and she was silent. Harrison looked round the room and noticed Mrs. Crewe and Archie in deep consultation, while Drina Esberg, despite the listlessness of her attitude, seemed to be listening earnestly to them.
“And now for your piece of advice, Miss Crewe,” said Harrison, gently.
The girl looked bewildered, as if bringing back her thoughts from a great distance. The frown became even more emphatic and she looked straight into Harrison’s eyes. There was a sincere atmosphere about her which greatly impressed him. He had not realised how naturally beautiful her eyes could be. Stripped of all the trappings of coquetry and the mannerisms of feminine conquest, there was something genuinely attractive about Netta Crewe. Harrison did not show his surprise but merely waited for what the girl would say. He did, however, revise some of his early impressions of her, a method he had often had to adopt regarding a number of characters he had encountered during earlier cases.
“Keep out of it,” was all Netta Crewe said.
“Sorry,” answered Harrison, “I can’t.”
“You don’t know Mrs. Crewe,” said Netta.
“I do.”
“She’s a tigress.”
“I know.”
“You can’t do it.”
“I’m going to try.”
“You may be very clever, Mr. Harrison,” said Netta, with a note of appeal in her voice, “but she is clever, too.”
“I hope ‘too clever’ is going to be a better way of putting it,” answered Harrison.
“Very well,” said Netta Crewe, hopelessly, “I’ve done my best.”
The music stopped and Harrison escorted her slowly back to the Crewe table. “I know, Miss Crewe,” he said, “that this time you are not repeating something Mrs. Crewe told you to say to me. Believe me, I appreciate it greatly. May I say again that I understand much more than you realise.”
This time the girl did not look alarmed, but her eyes seemed to convey an impression of gratitude as she took her place between Archie and Mrs. Crewe.
It was now time for Drina Esberg to sing, and Archie gallantly escorted her to the little platform while Harrison made his way to his own party.
&nbs
p; “Anything happened yet?” asked Mallison.
“Nothing,” said Harrison. “We still have to keep our eyes on the opposite camp.”
“Still he is a very elegant dancer,” said Garfitt, addressing nobody in particular. The starting of Archie Crewe’s efforts as an accompanist prevented him from enlarging on the point.
Drina had a pleasant, if not very powerful, voice, and got through two songs with a certain amount of credit. Garfitt was in despair at the lack of finish in Archie Crewe’s work. He whispered that it was obvious the man was a crook, he had to have some profitable occupation to subsidise his music. There seemed to be no overwhelming demand for a third song despite the strenuous applause of the Harrison party, and Drina Esberg was carefully shepherded back to her seat.
The dancing started again and soon the Crewes and Drina rose from their table and went through a small door at the end of the hall.
“Come along,” said Harrison, “we all follow.”
The party moved off in a body and, following in the wake of the others, found themselves in a large room where a number of people were gathered round a boule table. Croupiers were operating with their accustomed efficiency and play was steadily proceeding.
The Crewe party were ranged on the side opposite to the croupier who was throwing the ball, so Harrison and his friends stood at the side of the croupier. No shadow of recognition passed between them, and the Crewes seemed earnestly intent on the play.
Henry was dispatched to change some French notes for counters and came back bursting with excitement. “Look, sir,” he said to Harrison, holding up a white counter which represented five francs—it had a five stamped boldly upon it, “the ivory five.”
“Exactly,” said Harrison. “When you told me that La Plage had a casino I felt our solution might be here.”
“You knew all the time, sir,” said Henry.
“Well, it wasn’t difficult to recognise what you called the ‘ivory five’ as a token used at one of these casinos, Henry,” answered Harrison. “But we’ve got to keep our eyes open. Things are going to happen in here. You keep your eyes on Archie Crewe’s hands.”
The play proceeded and Harrison and his party made desultory bets. Rich won fairly consistently while Garfitt, using a system of his own invention, invariably lost. Drina Esberg seemed to be the only one who played steadily. Every round she chose a number and watched eagerly. To those who were watching her, she seemed a gambler of the authentic type and her concentrated expression impressed the many holiday-makers who were just having a modest flutter.
For some considerable time the game went on. Some of the Harrison party had lost all their counters and were merely spectators while the others continued to play at intervals. The Crewes also played at intervals, but Drina Esberg went steadily, almost monotonously on, round after round.
Suddenly Harrison said, “Come along back to our table and don’t speak to me,” and his friends obediently followed.
At the table he snatched a menu and producing a pencil wrote down a series of figures. Then he leaned back with a smile of satisfaction.
“What on earth’s all that?” asked Garfitt.
“Judge for yourself,” answered Harrison, cheerfully, and handed him the menu.
Garfitt looked at the figures which ran “3-4-5-1-4-9-1-9-1-1.” He gripped the menu firmly and stared at them. “I give it up,” he said; “what do they mean?”
“I don’t know,” answered Harrison, exasperatingly cheerful, “but I’m certain I’ve got them down right.”
“Delighted to hear it,” said Garfitt, heavily.
“Is that what you’ve been waiting for?” asked May Rich.
“It certainly is,” replied Harrison. “So now we can go home.”
“I don’t understand at all,” said Mallison.
“Sorry, Mallison,” said Harrison. “They do mean something. I’ll explain when I know. By the way, Henry, what did you notice about our friend, Archie Crewe?”
“Not much, sir,” answered Henry, ruefully. “I only spotted one little mannerism. Directly he put anything on a number, he put his fingers in his left-hand waistcoat pocket.”
“Not much, Henry,” said Harrison. “Not much? Don’t you realise that that was where he used to keep the ‘ivory five’?”
Chapter XXI
The Counter Code
To the great disappointment of them all, Harrison decided to go to bed directly he arrived back at the villa. He was obdurate to all their pleadings. He told them that it might be an all-night job for him, and although Miss Rich, with unanimous agreement of the others, urged that she was willing to sit up all night herself if there was any chance of further news, Harrison was not to be persuaded.
“I’m sorry to keep you all in the dark,” he said, “but I feel certain tomorrow is going to be a very important day for us, in fact the important day. Far better for only one of us to go without sleep—and even that may not be necessary. I want Garfitt, Mallison, and you, Henry, to be fresh tomorrow.”
“I’m used to being out of my bed for a night,” objected Garfitt.
“Not when you’re doing a job with me,” said Harrison, firmly. “That news editor of yours may be easier to deal with than I am. Off you go, and don’t be afraid to go to sleep, for it won’t help you to stay awake. There’s one thing I expect I shall want,” he added turning to Mallison. “Have you a directory to La Plage?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“A map, then?”
“Yes, I think I have.”
“Showing the streets?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” answered Harrison. “Let me have it before you go to bed yourself. Good night, everybody.”
Henry had been hoping against hope that, when they got upstairs, his master would be communicative to him but, although he lingered in Harrison’s bedroom while his master put on the famous old Norfolk jacket which showed traces of senile decay, the conversation consisted of a series of un-answered hints on his part.
“Sorry Henry,” said Harrison, affectionately; “I’d tell you anything fresh, if I knew anything. I’ve got some ideas, but I shall have to work away with pencil and paper to see if they are right. One thing I can tell you, Mrs. Crewe has made her big move, and it’s up to me now to discover what it is.”
“You don’t know, sir?”
“I need the pencil and paper to find out, Henry,” answered Harrison.
Henry was going to ask another question when a knock came at the door and, in response to an invitation to enter, Mrs. Yvette Mallison’s head appeared. She was exceedingly sorry to interrupt but could she have a word with Mr. Henry. It was really very important.
As this was obviously to be a confidential discussion, Henry went out and closed the door while Harrison settled down at a little table in front of the window which looked out on to the glories of a Mediterranean night. For a time he could do nothing except look at the dark curtains of heaven with their generous scatterings of sparkling stars. The world seemed at peace and, with an increased indignation at the crime the Crewes were committing in polluting a beautiful world, he settled down to his task.
He hardly noticed the opening of his bedroom door and the appearance of Henry with a tray containing tea.
“Mrs. Mallison’s idea, sir,” said Henry, putting the tray beside him. “She thought you would work more easily after it. But she insisted on my making it for you.”
“A woman in a thousand, Henry,” said Harrison. “I can’t say how grateful I am. Good night and sleep well.”
Much as he would like to have lingered, Henry realised that it would be of no avail, and so himself said good night, noticing as he departed that the paper in front of his master was covered with figures and letters.
For an hour or more Harrison was absorbed in his task. The Mediterranean night might not have existed while he was in this mood of concentration. Having come to some conclusion with the figures which he had brought home from the Casino, he then test
ed his result by the map which he had procured from Mallison. The map was badly printed, and La Plage was so unimportant that its area was reproduced on the most ungenerous scale. Still, it seemed to be a thoroughly detailed effort, and suddenly Harrison saw thereon a name which caused him to push back his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. Had Henry seen his look then he would have known that his master had found what he wanted for the raising of the curtain on the last act of his contest with Mrs. Crewe.
Harrison immediately went to bed and was soon fast asleep. He was, however, awake again by seven and, finding Marie in the kitchen, he persuaded her to rouse the rest of the household. Toilets were obviously made with the greatest possible speed, and the “gang” were soon downstairs awaiting further instructions. Harrison decided that, at that hour, the “market-place” would be a pleasanter spot than the drawing-room for his explanation, and he felt certain that Mrs. Crewe would be so confident of her plan that she would not have worried to maintain the watch on the villa too closely.
They all settled round Harrison and the genial morning air and light gave a picnic atmosphere to the proceedings. A passer-by would have thought that a very sensible party of holiday-makers were making the most of their stay, passing the time with light conversation.
“I promised you I would tell you when I found anything out,” began Harrison, “so I may as well say at once that now we know Mrs. Crewe’s next move.”
“Excellent,” said Mallison.
“And the curious thing is,” said Harrison, “that Drina Esberg, although so carefully guarded, was the one to tell me about it.”
“Pretty smart work,” said Garfitt. “But why wait till this morning to tell us?”
“Because I had to find out what the message meant,” was the reply. “You see, she told me in numbers—and, for heaven’s sake, Garfitt, don’t mutter ‘I lisped in numbers’ or you shan’t hear any more. It was like this. When we went into the boule room, I told Henry to watch Archie and I would watch Drina Esberg. I think we both did our job properly. I noticed that she backed a number every time—and gave the impression of being a great gambler. But once, when she did win, I was surprised to see she did not pick up her winnings. In fact, the croupier scooped her counters in without her noticing it. Now a gambler doesn’t forget to pick up the winnings. That’s why, presumably, one gambles.”
Death on the Highway Page 27