Room 13 (5 page)

“Do you know who it was?”

The East African pretence had been tacitly dropped. Jeff might do so safely, for he would know that the cause of John Gray’s retirement from the world was no secret.

“I don’t know the man. He was a stranger to me. Very few people know him personally. In his set – our set – not half a dozen people could identify him. Only one man in the police knows him–”

“Who is that?” interrupted the other quickly.

“A man named Reeder. I heard that in prison – of course you knew I had come from Dartmoor?”

Jeff nodded with a smile.

“That is the fellow who is called The Great Unknown,” he said, striving to thin the contempt from his voice. “I’ve heard about him in the club. He is a very stupid person of middle age, who lives in Peckham. So he isn’t as much unknown as
your
mystery man!”

“It is very likely,” said the other. “Convicts invest their heroes and enemies with extraordinary gifts and qualities. I only know what I have been told. At Dartmoor they say Reeder knows everything. The Government gave him carte blanche to find the Big Printer–”

“And has he found him?” asked Jeff Legge innocently.

“He’ll find him,” said Johnny. “Sooner or later there will be a squeak.”

“May I be there to hear it,” said Jeff Legge, and showed his white teeth in a mirthless smile.

Johnny was alone in the lower garden, huddled up on a corner of the marble bench, out of sight but not out of hearing of the guests who were assembling on the lawn. He had to think, and think quickly. Marney knew! But Marney had not told, and Johnny guessed why.

When had Jeff Legge told her? On the way back from the church, perhaps. She would not let Peter know – Peter, who believed her future assured, her happiness beyond question.

What had Jeff said? Not much, Johnny guessed. He had given her just a hint that the charming Major Floyd she had known was not the Major Floyd with whom she was to live.

Johnny was cool now – icy cold was a better description. He must be sure, absolutely sure, beyond any question of doubt. There might be some resemblance between Jeff Legg and this Major Floyd. He had only seen the crook once, and that at a distance.

He heard the rustle of skirts and looked round quickly. It was the maid he had seen quarrelling with Barney.

“Mr Kane says, would you care to be in the group that is being photographed, Captain Gray?” she asked.

He did not immediately reply. His eyes were scanning her with a new interest.

“Tell him I’d rather not, and come back.”

“Come back, sir?” she repeated in astonishment.

“Yes, I want to talk to you,” said Johnny with a smile. “Have mercy on a disgruntled guest, who can find nobody to entertain him.”

She stood, hesitating. He could see the indecision in her face.

“I don’t know if Mr Kane would like that,” she said, and a smile trembled at the corner of her mouth. “Very well, I’ll come back.”

It was not till ten minutes later, when he judged the photograph had been taken and the guests had gone again to the house, that she appeared, demure but curious.

“Sit down,” said Johnny. He threw away his cigarette and moved to the end of the stone bench.

“Don’t stop smoking for me, Captain Gray,” she said.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“With Mr Kane? About six months,” she said.

“Pretty good job?” he asked carelessly.

“Oh, yes, sir, very.”

“What is your name?”

“My name is Lila. Why do you ask?”

“I think you and I ought to get better acquainted, Lila,” he said, and took her unresisting hand.

Secretly she was amused; on the surface she showed some sign of being shocked.

“I didn’t know you were that type of flirting man, Mr Gray – you’re a Captain, though, aren’t you?”

“‘Captain’ is a purely honorary title, Lila,” said Johnny. “I suppose you’ll miss your lady?”

“Yes, I shall miss her,” said Lila.

“A nice girl, eh?” bantered Johnny.

“And a very nice husband,” she said tartly.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, I suppose he is a nice fellow. I don’t know much about him.”

“Good-looking?” suggested Johnny.

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

“I suppose he is.”

“And very much in love with Miss Kane. That fellow adores her,” said Johnny. “In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a man so much in love with a woman.”

She suppressed a sigh.

“Oh, yes, I suppose he is,” she said impatiently. “Do you want me any more, Captain Gray, because I’ve a lot of work to do?”

“Don’t run away,” said Johnny in his most gentle voice. “Weddings always make me romantic.” He took up the thread where it was interrupted. “I don’t expect the Major will have eyes for any other girl for years,” he said. “He’s head over heels in love, and why shouldn’t he be? I suppose,” he said reminiscently, avoiding her eyes, “he is the sort of man who would have had many love affairs in the past.” He shrugged his shoulders. “With the kind of girls that one picks up and puts down at pleasure.”

Now a flush, deep and even, had come to her face, and her eyes held a peculiar brightness.

“I don’t know anything about Major Floyd,” she said shortly, and was rising, but his hand fell upon her arm.

“Don’t run away, Lila.”

“I’m not going to stay,” she said with sudden vehemence. “I don’t want to discuss Major Floyd or anybody else. If you want me to talk to you–”

“I want to talk to you about the honeymoon. Can’t you picture them, say, on Lake Como, in a bower of roses? Can’t you imagine him forgetting all that’s past, all the old follies, all the old girls–?”

She wrenched her arm from his grip and stood up, and her face was deadly white.

“What are you getting at, Gray?” she asked, all the deference, all the demureness gone from her voice.

“I’m getting at you, Miss Lila Sain,” he said, “and if you attempt to get away from me, I’ll throttle you!”

She stared at him, her breath coming quickly.

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman, too,” she said.

“I’m supposed to be Johnny Gray from Dartmoor. Sit down. What’s the graft, Lila?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“What’s the graft?” asked Johnny with deadly calm. “Jeff Legge put you here to nose the house for him, and keep him wise as to what was going on.”

“I don’t know Jeff Legge,” she faltered.

“You’re a liar,” said Johnny ungently. “I know you, Lila. You run with Legge and you’re a cheap squeak. I’ve seen you a dozen times. Who is Major Floyd?”

“Go and ask him,” she said defiantly.

“Who is Major Floyd?”

The grip on her arm tightened.

“You know,” she said sullenly. “It’s Jeff Legge.”

“Now listen, Lila. Come here.” He had released her, and now he crooked his finger. “Go and blow to Jeff, and I’ll squeak on you both – you understand that? I’ll put Jeff just where I want him to be – there’s a vacant cell at Dartmoor, anyway. That gives you a twinge, doesn’t it? You’re keen on Jeff?”

She did not reply.

“I’ll put him where I want him to be,” he repeated slowly and deliberately, “unless you do as I tell you.”

“You’re going to put the ‘black’ on him?” she said, her lips curling.

“‘Black’ doesn’t mean anything in my young life,” said Johnny. “But I tell you this, that I’ll find Reeder and squeak a whole pageful unless I have my way.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want to know where they’re going, and where they’re staying. I want to know their plans for the future. Are you married to him, by any chance?”

A glance at her face gave him the answer.

“You’re not? Well, you may be yet, Lila. Aren’t you tired of doing his dirty work?”

“Perhaps I am and perhaps I’m not,” she replied defiantly. “You can do nothing to him now, anyway, Johnny Gray, He’s got your girl, and if you squeaked like a garden of birds you couldn’t undo what that old God-man did this morning! Jeff’s too clever for you. He’ll get you, Gray–”

“If he knows,” said Johnny quietly. “But if he knows, Reeder knows too. Do you get that?”

“What are you going to do?” she asked after a silence.

“I’m having one of my little jokes,” said Johnny between his teeth. “A real good joke! It is starting now. I can’t tell Peter, because he’d kill your young man, and I have a particular objection to Peter going to the drop. And
you
can’t tell Jeff, because there’d be a case for a jury, and when Jeff came out you’d be an old woman. That’s not a good prospect, eh? Now tell me all you’ve got to tell, and speak slowly, because I don’t write shorthand.”

He whipped a small notebook from his pocket, and as she spoke, reluctantly, sulkily, yet fearfully, he wrote rapidly. When be had finished: “You can go now, my gentle child,” he said, and she stood up, her eyes blazing with rage.

“If you squeak, Johnny Gray, I’ll kill you. I never was keen on this marriage business – naturally. I knew old Legge wanted him to marry Peter’s daughter, because Legge wanted to get one back on him. But Jeff’s been good to me; and the day the busies come for Legge I’ll come for you, and I’ll shoot you stone dead, Johnny, as God’s my judge!”

“Beat it!” said Johnny tersely.

He waited till she was gone through one of the openings in the box hedge, then passed along to the other and stopped. Peter Kane was standing in the open, shielded from view by the thin box bush, and Peter’s face was inscrutable.

“Hallo, Johnny! Running for the compensation stakes?”

Johnny laughed.

“You mean the maid? She is rather pretty, isn’t she?”

“Very,” said the other.

Had he heard? That was a question and a fear in Johnny’s mind. The marble bench was less than six feet from the bush where Peter Kane stood. If he had been there any time – “Been waiting long for me, Peter?” he asked.

“No; I just saw you take a farewell of Lila – very nice girl, that, Johnny – an extraordinarily nice girl. I don’t know when I’ve met a nicer. What did you find to talk about?”

“The weather, dicky-birds and the course of true love,” said Johnny, as Kane took his arm and led him across the lawn.

“Everything variable and flighty, eh?” said Peter with a little smile. “Come and eat, Johnny. These people are going away soon. Marney is changing now. What do you think of my new son-in-law, eh?”

His old jovial manner held. When they came into the big reception-room and Peter Kane’s arm went round his son-in-law’s shoulder, Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he did not know! He had sweated in his fear of what might follow a discovery.

Thirty-six people sat down in the dining-room, and, contrary to convention, Marney, who sat at the head of the table, was wearing her going-away dress. John shot a quick glance at her as he came in, but she averted her eyes. Her father sat on her left; next to him was the clergyman who had performed the ceremony. Next came a girl friend, and then a man, by whose side Johnny sat.

He recognised the leathery features instantly.

“Been away, Johnny?” Detective-Superintendent Craig asked the question in a voice so carefully pitched that it did not reach any farther than the man to whom he spoke.

The chatter and buzz of conversation, the little ripples of laughter that ran up and down the table, did something to make the privacy of their talk assured.

As old Barney bent over to serve a dish, Craig gave a sidelong glance at his companion.

“Peter’s got old Barney still – keeping honest, Barney?”

“I’m naturally that way,” said Barney
sotto voce.
“It’s not meeting policemen that keeps me straight.”

The hard features of the detective relaxed.

“There are lots of other people who could say that, Barney,” he said, and when the man had passed to the next guest: “He’s all right. Barney never was a bad man. I think he only did one stretch – he wouldn’t have done that if he’d had Peter’s imagination, Johnny.”

“Peter’s imagination?”

“I’m not referring to his present imagination, but the gift he had fourteen-fifteen years ago. Peter was the cleverest of them all. The brilliant way his attack was planned, the masterly line of retreat, the wonderful alibis, so beautifully dovetailed into one another that, if we had pinched him, he’d not only have been discharged, but he would have got something from the poor box! It used to be the life ambition of every young officer to catch him, to find some error of judgement, some flaw in his plan. But it was police-proof and fool-proof.”

“He’d blush to hear you,” said the other dryly.

“But it’s true, Johnny! The clever letters he used to write, all to fool us. He did a lot of work with letters – getting people together, luring ’em to the place he wanted ’em and where their presence served him best. I remember how he got my chief to be at Charing Cross under the clock at ten past nine, and showed up himself and made him prove his alibi!” He laughed gently.

“I suppose,” said Gray, “people would think it remarkable that you and he are such good friends?”

“They wouldn’t say it was remarkable; they say it was damned suspicious!” growled the other. “Having a drink?” he said suddenly, and pulled a wine bottle across the table.

“No, thanks – I seldom drink. We have to keep a very clear head in our business. We can’t afford to dream.”

“We can’t afford anything else,” said Craig. “Why ‘our business’, old man? You’re out of that?”

Johnny saw the girl look towards him. It was only a glance – but in that brief flash he saw all that he feared to see – the terror, the bewilderment, the helplessness. He set his teeth and turned abruptly to the detective.

“How is
your
business?” he asked.

“Quiet.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said John Gray with mock concern. “But trade’s bad everywhere, isn’t it?”

“What sort of time did you have – in the country?” asked Craig, and his companion grinned.

“Wonderful! My bedroom wanted papering, but the service was quite good.”

Craig sighed.

“Ah well, we live and learn,” he said heavily. “I was sorry about it, Johnny, very sorry. It’s a misfortune, but there’s no use grieving about it. You were one of the unlucky ones. If all the people who deserved prison were
in
prison – why, there wouldn’t be any housing problems. I hear there were quite a lot of stars there,” Craig went on. “Harry Becker, and young Lew Storing – why, old Legge must have been there in your time. And another fellow – now, what’s his name? The slush man – ah, Carper, that’s it. Ever see him?”