Warrant for X

by Philip MacDonald

  Sheldon Garrett frowned at the now blank whiteness of the sheet. He was pale with the pallor of one who has spent recent days upon a sickbed and in the thinness of his face new lines seemed to have etched themselves deeply. He shook his head and a small sound came from his lips. Avis Bellingham, beside him, put an unobtrusive hand upon his arm. He turned his head and looked at her but did not speak.

  The operator left the room, a black case in each hand. The door closed behind him; to be immediately opened again by their host, who surveyed them upon their chairs with something of amusement.

  “You look,” he said, “like two children in the ninepennies.”

  ‘ Garrett did not smile. He said:

  “Even in dime seats one ought to get something for the money.”

  Anthony looked at him. “Meaning that you’re no forrader. You didn’t expect to be, did you?”

  Garrett lifted his shoulders.

  Avis said: “You’ve seen it four times, lorn. If the woman had been there you’d have recognized her at once. So——”

  Garrett said: “I know, I know! I’m just a goddam fool!” Anthony said: “I’ve come to cheer you.” He put a hand to his breast pocket and brought it away holding a thin packet of neatly folded quarto sheets. “You might like to read this. Possible cure for those Bayswater Blues.” He put the sheets into Garrett’s hand. He said:

  “Copy of letter to Lucas, delivered at noon. But before you read it the time has come, the sleuthhound said, to tell you many things—the first being that I am now in a position to report that, beyond the flock of social and friendly inquiries for you at Travers Hoylake’s nursing home, where you’re still supposed to be, there have been four anonymous telephone calls—in each case in a man’s voice and emanating from various untraceable call boxes. Second, a young woman called in person this afternoon—a mysterious beauty of whom you will hear more in our next thrilling instalment. Further, you will doubtless be glad to hear that the police have at last succeeded in attaching a line to the elusive Mrs Bellows, aunt to Janet Murch. . . .”

  Garrett got to his feet. A wide smile took many of the new lines from his face. He said:

  “Where is she? Have they got anything out of her? Does she know where Murch is? I always knew that if——”

  Anthony smiled. “All zeal, Mr Easy! Hold your horses. So far they only have one end of the line on the old lady, the end that begins in St Pancras; the other appears to be in a little Midlothian village called Brodie; we shall know for certain by this evening.” He pointed to the sheets in Garrett’s hands. “Now get to it.” He wandered across to the writing table and sat upon its edge and lit a cigarette.

  Avis Bellingham moved closer to Garrett. She looked over his shoulder and with him read:

  MY DEAR LUCAS: This for your files. It is a condensed record of my recent nefarious (and, of course, unsanctioned) activities in the matter of the KJB Domestic Agency and of the steps which today led to the arrest of Arthur Jenks or Smithers, Eustace Hines and Bella Barnes. With the kind and courageous co-operation of Mrs George Bellingham the following series of events was brought about:

  1. Mrs Bellingham gave her maid a holiday.

  2. Mrs Bellingham informed the KJB Agency that she was without a maid and ordered another immediately.

  3. Having been supplied with one (Ada Brent), Mrs Bellingham, soon enough after Brent’s employment, copied out—as if it were original—a letter drafted by me purporting to be for no less a person than Lord——, [4] who is actually an acquaintance of hers and therefore (if any suspicion were aroused in the KJ Bosoms) would not look like a trap. (This letter, had it been genuine, would have been the very apotheosis of blackmailing tools, consisting as it did of nearly a thousand words of red-hot and by no means soulful passion.)

  4. Having given Brent ample opportunity to find this letter, Mrs Bellingham informed me, whereupon I had Brent’s movements carefully checked, finding that she visited KJB in the evening, on Monday, the tenth instant, after closing hours. She was admitted and remained in the house for twenty minutes.

  5. On the morning of Tuesday, the eleventh instant, Mrs Bellingham was visited by a man giving the name of Jenks. He did not tell her from whom he came but proceeded to blackmail her by selling to her a photostatic copy of the letter mentioned above. Mrs Bellingham, admirably simulating a thoroughly blackmailable woman, was then blackmailed—by instalments, as it were—Mr Jenks arranging to call for the money on the morrow.

  6. Having made the above arrangements, Mrs Bellingham notified me and I in turn got in touch with Pike.

  7. This morning, acting on my advice, Mrs Bellingham sent Ada Brent out upon an errand which would take her a couple of hours—and when Mr Jenks called to receive his first payment he was overheard by means of a dictaphone and subsequently arrested by Detective Sergeant Sharpies.

  8. Brent returned to Lords’ Mansions at exactly the moment when Jenks was being brought out in custody. She was in a taxi; she was seen and recognized by Detective Officer Manners, who had had the job of following her before. I also saw her, having just arrived at Lords’ Mansions myself to fetch Mrs Bellingham. Brent did not get out of the taxi. Neither Manners nor myself gave any indication of having seen her. She has, naturally enough, not returned to Mrs Bellingham’s, but she has been followed. Dyson was with me and, obtaining another taxi, managed to keep hers in sight.

  I should also put it on record that I have asked you, and you have agreed, not to take any steps to arrest Ada Brent but to have her watched. I understand that one of Pike’s men relieved Dyson shortly after noon and that, therefore, we can assume that Brent will be kept under continual observation.

  And there, with an initialled signature, the letter ended. But Garrett, even after he had read it, remained with gaze down bent upon the last page. Avis eyed him with concern, for his pallor had give a way to a dull red flush spreading from collar to forehead. She saw his eyes close and a little grimace which told of pain distort his face. She said something and moved closer to him but he held her off with outstretched hand as he looked at Anthony with furious eyes. He said:

  “Take a bit too much on your own shoulders, don’t you?”

  “Why, Tom!” said Avis in astounded dismay.

  Anthony said quietly: “Don’t know what you mean.”

  Garrett’s lips drew back a little from his teeth. “Just this: you might’ve got Avis hurt by these bastards! That’s all! I suppose you didn’t think of that! Next time try your tricks with a policewoman or some of your own family!”

  “Tom!” said Avis Bellingham; and then was silent at a sign from Anthony, who said:

  “Take it easy, Garrett. And get it straight.” His tone was sober but free from anger or even tensity. “You think I put Avis in danger because——”

  Garrett interrupted, taking a step nearer to Anthony. His voice was harsh and his words came fast. “I know you put Avis in danger! Didn’t these gorillas try and get me? Hadn’t they been following me? Wasn’t it likely they’d seen me with Avis and checked up on her? And then you go and get her to hire a maid through them to work a trap! Don’t you see, they might ’ve got onto it and——”

  “Shut up!” said Anthony with a sudden force and loudness that made Avis jump.

  Garrett glared but was silent. Unconsciously he put a hand up to his head.

  “Listen,” said Anthony in ordinary tone. “It was possible that they might connect Avis with you—but, if they did, all they had to do was to refuse the bait. And it was only a maid she engaged. And Dyson and Flood were in the next flat,

  always one of ’em there, all the time——”

  “Anthony!” said Avis Bellingham. “You didn’t tell me that!”

  “And,” said Anthony, ignoring her, “the minute KJB took the bait it was perfectly certain that Avis wasn’t in danger.” He grinned suddenly. “So be good.”

  Garrett sat down suddenly upon the back of a chair. His hand was still at his head. He said after a moment:
>
  “You’re right. And I’m what’s known here as B.F. Sorry, Gethryn.” ,

  Avis frowned upon him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom!”

  “Head hurts,” he said. “Very pathetic case.”

  She smiled at him then and pulled round another chair and made him sit in it and perched herself upon its arm. He looked his thanks and spoke to Anthony. He said:

  “Have to hand it to you. You’re an ingenious devil!” Anthony touched his forehead. “Thank ’ee kindly, sir.

  “We oughtn’t to be long now,” said Garrett. “Ought we?” Anthony lifted his shoulders. “Quien sabe?”

  “What I’m thinking,” said Avis suddenly, “is how sorry I am for all the poor people who’ve really been blackmailed. Just think what they’ll go through when this case comes on!”

  Anthony shook his head. “Not nearly as much as you think. We have a habit of conducting trials for blackmail without publishing the names of the blackmailees; and another habit—carried as far as is possible—of legally forgetting the errors of the blackmailees. I’ll hazard a guess that the only real mud stirred up will be for Jenks and Company.” He stood up. “And now, children, I leave you.”

  Avis looked at him. “Wait a minute! Why do we have to wait for that second instalment about the beautiful visitor at the nursing home?”

  Anthony smiled at her. “Because I belong to the Detective’s Union; motto: Never tell.”

  Avis did not smile. She said: “Well, I think it’s horrid of you!” Her gaze flickered for a moment towards Garrett.

  Anthony said: “Among my nobler qualities, however, is that of admitting when I’m wrong. I will now, therefore, tell you that the beautiful unknown who called at noon today at the nursing home and inquired after the progress of Mr Thomas Sheldon Garrett was none other than Miss Ada Brent!”

  They stared at him wide eyed.

  “And what d’you know about that!” said Garrett after a pause. “What’s it mean, anyway?”

  Anthony walked towards the door. “God knows,” he said, “and He won’t split.”

  2

  There was silence in the room of Sir Egbert Lucas. Lucas looked at Pike; Pike at Lucas. They did not speak. A telephone bell rang and Lucas with impatient gesture picked up the receiver. He said after a moment:

  “Send him in.”

  Pike looked inquiry and was answered by an affirmative nod. They waited.

  The door opened and through it came the long and elegant person of Colonel Anthony Gethryn. He sat upon the arm of a chair and looked from one frowning face to the other. He said:

  “Problem picture. After John Collier. Police, what ails you?”

  “Cheerful, aren’t you?” Lucas was sour.

  “Why not? Our affair marches. Or doesn’t it?”

  “Marches!” said Lucas and barked a laugh without mirth.

  “Obstacles,” said Anthony, offensively oracular, “are made to be overcome.”

  Lucas looked at him. “Oh, quite! And all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds! And so on ad infinitum and ad nauseam! What you think you’re——”

  Anthony interrupted. “Whoa! And tell me why woe there is.”

  “Pike will,” said Lucas and fell to drawing horses’ heads.

  Pike cleared his throat. “What Sir Egbert means,” he said, “is that we’ve come to what you might call a dead end; a blind alley, as you might say.”

  Anthony said: “Might, but won’t. Elucidate.”

  “Try French,” said Lucas with bitterness. “Cul-de-sac, Gethryn!”

  “Irritable,” said Anthony. “Peevish. Snaps. Refuses food. A pinch of sulphur in the drinking water works wonders.” He looked at Pike. “Am I seriously to understand that you can’t make a case against KJB and Company? After all the trouble I’ve taken?”

  Pike stared, “Oh, that’s all right, sir! Our trouble is that, after netting this lot, we can’t get any further with what I might call the Murch affair.”

  Anthony stood up. Once more he looked from one to the other of the two men. He said:

  “History in the making. Tableau Number 14, English Policemen at Last Interested in Shutting Stable Doors. . . .”

  “Shut up!” said Lucas savagely.

  Anthony sat down. “Sorry. Seriously, though, what’s the matter? Won’t any of the birds sing?”

  The point of Lucas’ pencil broke and he threw it down on his desk with a little clatter. “That’s just it!” he said. “Damn you, Gethryn: you get us all stewed up about this case and just when it begins to be interesting we’re forced back to where we started.”

  “No,” said Anthony. “No. At the beginning of the case it wasn’t a case at all.” Once more he looked at Pike. “What did Hines say?”

  Lucas answered him. “Nothing. Wouldn’t make a statement; insisted on getting his solicitors first. And the solicitors, my lad, are none other than Dunkle and Abrahams. And Hines is getting Dunkle himself !”[5]

  Anthony whistled. “And Jenks? No statement from him?”

  Pike said: “A long one sir. But——”

  “All hot air,” said Lucas. “Two thousand words meaning abracadabra.”

  Anthony pulled at his lower lip. “H’mm! What about the office girl—Barnes?”

  Pike shook his head. “Nothing, sir. For the very good reason that she doesn’t know anything.”

  Lucas looked at Anthony. “Pike’s dead sure of that. He wants to let her go; but I think we’d better have her up and then get her remanded.”

  “That young woman, sir, has no more to do with any crooked business than—than the Archbishop of Canterbury.” Pike’s tone was resolute.

  Anthony said: “Pike knows.”

  Lucas said: “If I let her go I’ll put a man on her.” He scribbled a line or two on a memorandum form and pressed a bell and gave it to the secretary who came in answer. Pike smiled at Anthony.

  The secretary went and there was silence in the room for a long moment.

  “I sometimes long,” said Lucas meditatively, “for the—ah—wider questioning powers of my American colleagues.” Anthony grinned. “I’d love to see you giving Master Smithers-Jenks what I believe is known as the ‘works.’ I can see it all. Scene One: An Underground Cell in Scotland Yard. Characters: Police Captain Egg Lucas; Snipe Jenks. Uniforms by Office of Works. The piece of hose piping used in this scene supplied by Messrs Dunlop.”

  Pike, shocked, studied the shining toecaps of his boots. “But why the despair?” said Anthony. “You’ve had plenty of prisoners who wouldn’t talk at first. They will later—after we’ve got on to Mother Bellows and——”

  Lucas interrupted. “Show him that wire, Pike.”

  Pike got to his feet and crossed to Lucas’ table and took from a tray upon it a pink telegraph form. In silence, his long face seeming more lantern shaped than ever, he handed these to Anthony:

  Anthony read:

  A.C.I. SCOTLAND YARD—LONDON | NO TRACE ANYONE BY NAME BELLOWS IN BRODIE STOP NO RESIDENT THERE THAT NAME AND SO FAR NO RECORD ANY RESIDENT HAVING CONNECTION THAT NAME STOP IN CIRCUMSTANCES YOUR DESCRIPTION BELLOWS NOT DETAILED ENOUGH STOP IF FURTHER CO-OPERATION DESIRED AMPLIFY DESCRIPTION

  S MACFARLAND

  SUPT MIDLOTHIAN

  “H’mm!” said Anthony and again pulled at his lower lip. “And now,” said Lucas with relish, “to quote a line from your friend Sheldon Garrett’s play: ‘How do you like them onions?’ ”

  Anthony shook his head. “Not so well. What ’ve you done?”

  Pike said: “Sent a man down to Iron Court to get the fullest description we can. See if he can get a photograph; all that. As soon as he gets back I’ll send MacFarland another wire.”

  “You know what we should do.” Lucas’ tone was reflective. “Take in this Brent woman and see whether she’s got anything to say.”

  Anthony shook his head. “Not unless the third degree’s come to town. Listen, Lucas: that woman, imagining herself free, is the only chance we
have to get something on the Murch line quickly.” He looked at Pike. “I hope to God you’ve got a good man on her.”

  “The best I’ve got, sir.”

  Lucas said: “I still think we ought to take her in. How do we know she’ll lead us to anything? What she’ll probably do——”

  Anthony interrupted. “She’s already done something, Lucas. About a half-hour before your men took over from Dyson our Miss Brent called at Travers Hoylake’s nursing home, asking for news of Garrett.” He looked from Lucas to Pike and back again. “You’d have got that from your own men tonight but I thought I’d be first with the news.” He surveyed Lucas’ expression with pleasure. “And how, if I may ask you, do you like them onions?”

  3

  Miss Ada Brent, walking briskly, came out of the arcade of Knightsbridge station. She was first of the attenuated little crowd which had left the same underground train. Miss Brent turned to her right and, evenly maintaining her pace, pursued her way. About ten yards behind her, separated from her by other pedestrians, came a man whose size and clothes, gait and features, colouring and manner were so ordinary as to render him—as indeed they had on many an eventful occasion—practically invisible.

  Miss Brent bore, except in feature, no resemblance to the quondam maid of Mrs George Bellingham. Admirably, though perhaps in some subtle details oversmartly, dressed in severely cut and laudably tailored clothes, she was a sight to give pleasure to the eye of any young man and to arouse hope in the breast of those of their elderly brethren who like their women dominant. But, on this morning at least, Miss Brent did not so much as note the many glances cast at her. The V-shaped lines of a frown drew her slender brows together; the corners of her mouth were down turned and about her eyes was a fixed look telling of concentrated thought which was difficult or unpleasing or both. Miss Brent looked worried; could not, indeed, have looked more worried even had she known that, at the moment when she turned into Stukeley Gardens, she was the subject of a conversation then taking place in the office of the active head of the Criminal Investigation Department.