{"id":1852917,"date":"2025-06-16T18:11:06","date_gmt":"2025-06-16T18:11:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/1852917\/"},"modified":"2025-06-16T18:11:06","modified_gmt":"2025-06-16T18:11:06","slug":"%f0%9f%95%b5%ef%b8%8f%e2%99%82%ef%b8%8f-room-13-by-edgar-wallace-%f0%9f%94%8d-a-mystery-that-defies-logic","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/1852917\/","title":{"rendered":"\ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2642\ufe0f Room 13 by Edgar Wallace \ud83d\udd0d A Mystery That Defies Logic!"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\"  width=\"580\" height=\"385\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/6Ke40FuHGyY\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe><br \/>\n<br \/>\n\ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2642\ufe0f Room 13 by Edgar Wallace \ud83d\udd0d A Mystery That Defies Logic!<br \/>\n<br \/>\nStep into the shadowy corridors of intrigue and suspense with Edgar Wallace\u2019s gripping tale, Room 13. In this classic mystery, a determined detective finds himself unraveling a complex web of secrets, lies, and murder\u2014all linked to a single room with a sinister reputation. Wallace, a master of crime fiction, crafts a thrilling narrative full of unexpected twists, clever dialogue, and compelling characters. As danger closes in and the stakes rise, nothing is quite as it seems. Join us at Storytime Haven as we unlock the mystery behind Room 13, where every door could lead to peril. Chapter 1. Over the grim stone archway was carved the words: PARCERE SUBJECTIS. In cold weather, and employing the argot of his companions, Johnny Gray translated this as \u201cParky Subjects\u201d&#8211;it certainly had no significance as \u201cSpare the Vanquished,\u201d for he had been neither vanquished nor spared. Day by day, harnessed to the shafts, he and Lal Morgon had pulled a heavy hand-cart up the steep slope, and day by day had watched absently the red-bearded gate-warder put his key in the big polished lock and snap open the gates. And then the little party had passed through, an armed warder leading, an armed warder behind, and the gate had closed. And at four o\u2019clock he had walked back under the archway and halted whilst the gate was unlocked and the hand-cart admitted. Every building was hideously familiar. The gaunt \u201challs,\u201d pitch painted against the Dartmoor storms, the low-roofed office, the gas house, the big, barn-like laundry, the ancient bakery, the exercise yard with its broken asphalt, the ugly church, garishly decorated, the long, scrubbed benches with the raised seats for the warders\u2026 and the graveyard where the happily released lifers rested from their labours. One morning in spring, he went out of the gate with a working party. They were building a shed, and he had taken the style and responsibility of bricklayer\u2019s labourer. He liked the work because you can talk more freely on a job like that, and he wanted to hear all that Lal Morgon had to say about the Big Printer. \u201cNot so much talking to-day,\u201d said the warder in charge, seating himself on a sack-covered brick heap. \u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Lal. He was a wizened man of fifty and a lifer, and he had one ambition, which was to live long enough to get another \u201clagging. \u201cBut not burglary, Gray,\u201d he said as he leisurely set a brick in its place; \u201cand not shootin\u2019, like old Legge got his packet. And not faking Spider King, like you got yours.\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t get mine for faking Spider King,\u201d said Johnny calmly. \u201cI didn\u2019t know that Spider King had been rung in when I took him on the course, and was another horse altogether. They framed up Spider King to catch me. I am not complaining.\u201d \u201cI know you\u2019re innocent&#8211;everybody is,\u201d said Lal soothingly. \u201cI\u2019m the only guilty man in boob. That\u2019s what the governor says. \u2018Morgon,\u2019 he says, \u2018it does my heart good to meet a guilty man that ain\u2019t the victim of circumstantiality. Like everybody else is in boob,\u2019 he says.\u201d Johnny did not pursue the subject. There was no reason why he should. This fact was beyond dispute. He had known all about the big race-course swindles that were being worked, and had been an associate of men who backed the \u201crung in\u201d horses. He accepted the sentence of three years\u2019 penal servitude that had been passed without appeal or complaint. Not because he was guilty of the act for which he was charged&#8211;there was another excellent reason. \u201cIf they lumbered you with the crime, it was because you was a mug,\u201d said old Lal complacently. \u201cThat\u2019s what mugs are for&#8211;to be lumbered. What did old Kane say?\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t see Mr. Kane,\u201d said Johnny shortly. \u201cHe\u2019d think you was a mug, too,\u201d said Lal with satisfaction&#8211;\u201chand me a brick, Gray, and shut up! That nosey screw\u2019s coming over.\u201d The \u201cnosey screw\u201d was no more inquisitive than any other warder. He strolled across, the handle of his truncheon showing from his pocket, the well-worn strap dangling. \u201cNot so much talking,\u201d he said mechanically. \u201cI was asking for a brick, sir,\u201d said Lal humbly. \u201cThese bricks ain\u2019t so good as the last lot. \u201cI\u2019ve noticed that,\u201d said the warder, examining a half-brick with a professional and disapproving eye. \u201cTrust you to notice that, sir,\u201d said the sycophant with the right blend of admiration and awe. And, when the warder had passed: \u201cThat boss-eyed perisher don\u2019t know a brick from a gas-stove,\u201d said Lal without heat. \u201cHe\u2019s the bloke that old Legge got straightened when he was in here&#8211;used to have private letters brought in every other day. But then, old Legge\u2019s got money. Him and Peter Kane smashed the strong-room of the _Orsonic_ and got away with a million dollars. They never caught Peter, but Legge was easy. He shot a copper and got life.\u201d Johnny had heard Legge\u2019s biography a hundred times, but Lal Morgon had reached the stage of life when every story he told was new. \u201cThat\u2019s why he hates Peter,\u201d said the garrulous bricklayer. \u201cThat\u2019s why young Legge and him are going to get Peter. And young Legge\u2019s hot! Thirty years of age by all accounts, and the biggest printer of slush in the world! And it\u2019s not ord\u2019nary slush. Experts get all mixed up when they see young Legge\u2019s notes&#8211;can\u2019t tell &#8217;em from real Bank of England stuff. And the police _and_ the secret service after him for years&#8211;and then never got him!\u201d The day was warm, and Lal stripped off his red and blue striped working jacket. He wore, as did the rest of the party, the stained yellow breeches faintly stamped with the broad arrow. Around his calves were buttoned yellow gaiters. His shirt was of stout cotton, white with narrow blue stripes, and on his head was a cap adorned with mystic letters of the alphabet to indicate the dates of his convictions. A week later, when the letters were abolished, Lal Morgon had a grievance. He felt as a soldier might feel when he was deprived of his decorations. \u201cYou\u2019ve never met young Jeff?\u201d stated rather than asked Lal, smoothing a dab of mortar with a leisurely touch. \u201cI\u2019ve seen him&#8211;I have not met him,\u201d said Johnny grimly, and something in his tone made the old convict look up. \u201cHe \u2018shopped\u2019 me,\u201d said Johnny, and Lal indicated his surprise with an inclination of his head that was ridiculously like a bow. \u201cI don\u2019t know why, but I do know that he \u2018shopped\u2019 me,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cHe was the man who fixed up the fake, got me persuaded to bring the horse on to the course, and then squeaked. Until then I did not know that the alleged Spider King was in reality Boy Saunders cleverly camouflaged.\u201d \u201cSqueaking\u2019s hidjus,\u201d said the shocked Lal, and he seemed troubled. \u201cAnd Emanuel Legge\u2019s boy, too! Why did he do it&#8211;did you catch him over money?\u201d Johnny shook his head. \u201cI don\u2019t know. If it\u2019s true that he hates Peter Kane he may have done it out of revenge, knowing that I\u2019m fond of Peter, and\u2026 well, I\u2019m fond of Peter. He warned me about mixing with the crowd I ran with&#8212;-\u201d \u201c_Stop that talking, will you!_\u201d They worked for some time in silence. Then: \u201cThat screw will get somebody hung one of these days,\u201d said Lal in a tone of quiet despair. \u201cHe\u2019s the feller that little Lew Morse got a bashing for&#8211;over clouting him with a spanner in the blacksmith\u2019s shop. He was nearly killed. What a pity! Lew wasn\u2019t much account, an\u2019 he\u2019s often said he\u2019d as soon be dead as sober.\u201d At four o\u2019clock the working party fell in and marched or shuffled down the narrow road to the prison gates. _Parcere Subjectis._ Johnny looked up and winked at the grim jest, and he had the illusion that the archway winked back at him. At half-past four, he turned into the deep-recessed doorway of his cell, and the yellow door closed on him with a metallic snap of a lock. It was a big, vaulted cell, and the colour of the folded blanket ends gave it a rakish touch of gaiety. On a shelf in one corner was a photograph of a fox terrier, a pretty head turned inquiringly toward him. He poured out a mugful of water and drank it, looking up at the barred window. Presently his tea would come, and then the lock would be put on for eighteen and a half hours. And for eighteen and a half hours he must amuse himself as best he could. He could read whilst the light held&#8211;a volume of travel was on the ledge that served as a table. Or he could write on his slate, or draw horses and dogs, or work out interminable problems in mathematics, or write poetry\u2026 or think. That was the worst exercise of all. He crossed the cell and took down the photograph. The mount had worn limp with much handling, and he looked with a half-smile into the big eyes of the terrier. \u201cIt is a pity you can\u2019t write, old Spot,\u201d he said. Other people could write, and did, he thought as he replaced the photograph. But Peter Kane never once mentioned Marney, and Marney had not written since\u2026 a long time. It was ominous, informative, in some ways decisive. A brief reference, \u201cMarney is well,\u201d or \u201cMarney thanks you for your inquiry,\u201d and that was all. The whole story was clearly written in those curt phrases, the story of Peter\u2019s love of the girl, and his determination that she should not marry a man with the prison taint. Peter\u2019s adoration of his daughter was almost a mania&#8211;her happiness and her future came first, and must always be first. Peter loved him&#8211;Johnny had sensed that. He had given him the affection that a man might give his grown son. If this tragic folly of his had not led to the entanglement which brought him to a convict prison, Peter would have given Marney to him, as she was willing to give herself. \u201cThat\u2019s that,\u201d said Johnny in his r\u00f4le of philosopher. And then came tea and the final lock up, and silence\u2026 and thoughts again. Why did young Legge trap him? He had only seen the man once; they had never even met. It was only by chance that he had ever seen this young printer of forged notes. He could not guess that he was known to the man he \u201cshopped,\u201d for Jeff Legge was an illusive person. One never met him in the usual rendezvous where the half-underworld foregather to boast and plot or drink and love. A key rattled in the lock, and Johnny got up. He forgot that it was the evening when the chaplain visited him. \u201cSit down, Gray.\u201d The door closed on the clergyman, and he seated himself on Johnny\u2019s bed. It was curious that he should take up the thread of Johnny\u2019s interrupted thoughts. \u201cI want to get your mind straight about this man Legge\u2026 the son, I mean. It is pretty bad to brood on grievances, real or fancied, and you are nearing the end of your term of imprisonment, when your resentment will have a chance of expressing itself. And, Gray, I don\u2019t want to see you here again.\u201d Johnny Gray smiled. \u201cYou won\u2019t see me _here_!\u201d he emphasised the word. \u201cAs to Jeff Legge, I know little about him, though I\u2019ve done some fairly fluent guessing and I\u2019ve heard a lot.\u201d The chaplain shook his head thoughtfully. \u201cI have heard a little; he\u2019s the man they call the Big Printer, isn\u2019t he? Of course, I know all about the flooding of Europe with spurious notes, and that the police had failed to catch the man who was putting them into circulation. Is that Jeff Legge?\u201d Johnny did not answer, and the chaplain smiled a little sadly. \u201c\u2018Thou shalt not squeak\u2019&#8211;the eleventh commandment, isn\u2019t it?\u201d he asked good-humouredly. \u201cI am afraid I have been indiscreet. When does your sentence end?\u201d \u201cIn six months,\u201d replied Johnny, \u201cand I\u2019ll not be sorry.\u201d \u201cWhat are you going to do? Have you any money?\u201d The convict\u2019s lips twitched. \u201cYes, I have three thousand a year,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cThat is a fact which did not come out at the trial, for certain reasons. No, padre, money isn\u2019t my difficulty. I suppose I shall travel. I certainly shall not attempt to live down my grisly past.\u201d \u201cThat means you\u2019re not going to change your name,\u201d said the chaplain with a twinkle in his eye. \u201cWell, with three thousand a year, I can\u2019t see you coming here again.\u201d Suddenly he remembered. Putting his hand in his pocket, he took out a letter. \u201cThe Deputy gave me this, and I\u2019d nearly forgotten. It arrived this morning.\u201d The letter was opened, as were all letters that came to convicts, and Johnny glanced carelessly at the envelope. It was not, as he had expected, a letter from his lawyer. The bold handwriting was Peter Kane\u2019s&#8211;the first letter he had written for six months. He waited until the door had closed upon the visitor, and then he took the letter from the envelope. There were only a few lines of writing. _Dear Johnny, I hope you are not going to be very much upset by the news I am telling you. Marney is marrying Major Floyd, of Toronto, and I know that you\u2019re big enough and fine enough to wish her luck. The man she is marrying is a real good fellow who will make her happy._ Johnny put down the letter on to the ledge, and for ten minutes paced the narrow length of his cell, his hands clasped behind him. Marney to be married! His face was white, tense, his eyes dark with gloom. He stopped and poured out a mugful of water with a hand that shook, then raised the glass to the barred window that looked eastward. \u201cGood luck to you, Marney!\u201d he said huskily, and drank the mug empty. Chapter 2. Two days later, Johnny Gray was summoned to the Governor\u2019s office and heard the momentous news. \u201cGray, I have good news for you. You are to be released immediately. I have just had the authority.\u201d Johnny inclined his head. \u201cThank you, sir,\u201d he said. A warder took him to a bathroom, where he stripped, and, with a blanket about him, came out to a cubicle, where his civilian clothes were waiting. He dressed with a queer air of unfamiliarity, and went back to his cell. The warder brought him a looking-glass and a safety-razor, and he completed his toilet. The rest of the day was his own. He was a privileged man, and could wander about the prison in his strangely-feeling attire, the envy of men whom he had come to know and to loathe; the half madmen who for a year had been whispering their futilities into his ear. As he stood there in the hall at a loose end, the door was flung open violently, and a group of men staggered in. In the midst of them was a howling, shrieking thing that was neither man nor beast, his face bloody, his wild arms gripped by struggling warders. He watched the tragic group as it made its way to the punishment cells. \u201cFenner,\u201d said somebody under his breath. \u201cHe coshed a screw, but they can\u2019t give him another bashing.\u201d \u201cIsn\u2019t Fenner that twelve-year man, that\u2019s doing his full time?\u201d asked Johnny, remembering the convict. \u201cAnd he\u2019s going out to-morrow, too!\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s him,\u201d said his informant, one of the hall sweepers. \u201cHe\u2019d have got out with nine, but old Legge reported him. Game to the last, eh? They can\u2019t bash him after to-morrow, and the visiting justices won\u2019t be here for a week.\u201d Johnny remembered the case. Legge had been witness to a brutal assault on the man by one of the warders, who had since been discharged from the service. In desperation the unfortunate Fenner had hit back, and had been tried. Legge\u2019s evidence might have saved him from the flogging which followed, but Legge was too good a friend of the warders&#8211;or they were too good friends of his&#8211;to betray a \u201cscrew.\u201d So Fenner had gone to the triangle, as he would not go again. He could not sleep the last night in the cell. His mind was on Marney. He did not reproach her for a second. Nor did he feel bitter toward her father. It was only right and proper that Peter Kane should do what was best for his girl. The old man\u2019s ever-present fear for his daughter\u2019s future was almost an obsession. Johnny guessed that when this presentable Canadian had come along, Peter had done all in his power to further the match. Johnny Gray walked up the steep slope for the last time. A key turned in the big lock, and he stood outside the gates, a free man. The red-bearded head warder put out his hand. \u201cGood luck to you,\u201d he said gruffly. \u201cDon\u2019t you come over the Alps again.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve given up mountain climbing,\u201d said Johnny. He had taken his farewell of the Governor, and now the only thing to remind him of his association with the grim prison he had left was the warder who walked by his side to the station. He had some time to wait, and Johnny tried to get some information from another angle. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t know Jeff Legge,\u201d said the warder, shaking his head. \u201cI knew the old man: he was here until twelve months ago&#8211;you were here, too, weren\u2019t you, Gray?\u201d Johnny nodded. \u201cMr. Jeff Legge has never been over the Alps, then?\u201d he asked sardonically. \u201cNo, not in this prison, and he wasn\u2019t in Parkhurst or Portland, so far as I can remember. I\u2019ve been at both places. I\u2019ve heard the men talking about him. They say he\u2019s clever, which means that he\u2019ll be putting out his tins one morning. Good-bye, Gray, and be good!\u201d Johnny gripped the outstretched hand of the man, and, when he was in the carriage, took out his silk handkerchief and wiped his hand of the last prison contact. His servant was waiting for him at Paddington when he arrived that afternoon, and with him, straining at a leash, a small, lop-eared fox terrier, who howled his greeting long before Johnny had seen the group. In another second the dog was struggling in his arms, licking his face, his ears, his hair, and whining his joy at the reunion. There were tears in Johnny\u2019s eyes when he put the dog down on the platform. \u201cThere are a number of letters for you, sir. Will you dine at home?\u201d The excellent Parker might have been welcoming his master from a short sojourn at Monte Carlo, so very unemotional was he. \u201cYes, I\u2019ll dine at home,\u201d said Johnny. He stepped into the taxicab that Parker had hired, and Spot leapt after him. \u201cThere is no baggage, sir?\u201d asked Parker gravely through the open window. \u201cThere is no baggage,\u201d said Johnny as gravely. \u201cYou had better ride back with me, Parker.\u201d The man hesitated. \u201cIt would be a very great liberty, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cNot so great a liberty as I have had taken with me during the past year and nine months,\u201d said Johnny. As the cab came out into dismal Chapel Street, the greatly daring Parker asked: \u201cI hope you have not had too bad a time, sir?\u201d Johnny laughed. \u201cIt has not been pleasant, Parker. Prisons seldom are.\u201d \u201cI suppose not, sir,\u201d agreed Parker, and added unnecessarily: \u201cI have never been in prison, sir.\u201d Johnny\u2019s flat was in Queen\u2019s Gate, and at the sight of the peaceful luxury of his study he caught his breath. \u201cYou\u2019re a fool,\u201d he said aloud to himself. \u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the obliging Parker. That night many men came furtively to the flat in Queen\u2019s Gate, and Johnny, after admitting the first of these, called Parker into his small dining-room. \u201cParker, I am told that during my absence in the country even staid men have acquired the habit of attending cinema performances?\u201d \u201cWell, sir, I like the pictures myself,\u201d admitted Parker. \u201cThen go and find one that lasts until eleven o\u2019clock,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cYou mean, sir&#8212;-?\u201d \u201cI mean I don\u2019t want you here to-night.\u201d Parker\u2019s face fell, but he was a good servant. \u201cVery good, sir,\u201d he said, and went out, wondering sorrowfully what desperate plans his master was hatching. At half-past ten the last of the visitors took his leave. \u201cI\u2019ll see Peter to-morrow,\u201d said Johnny, tossing the end of his cigarette into the hall fire-place. \u201cYou know nothing of this wedding, when it is to take place?\u201d \u201cNo, Captain. I only know Peter slightly.\u201d \u201cWho is the bridegroom?\u201d \u201cA swell, by all accounts&#8211;Peter is a plausible chap, and he\u2019d pull in the right kind. A major in the Canadian Army, I\u2019ve heard, and a very nice man. Peter can catch mugs easier than some people can catch flies&#8212;-\u201d \u201cPeter was never a mug-catcher,\u201d said John Gray sharply. \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the other. \u201cThere\u2019s one born every minute.\u201d \u201cBut they take a long time to grow up, and the women get first pluck,\u201d said Johnny good-humouredly. Parker, returning at 11.15, found his master sitting before a fire-place which was choked with burnt paper. Johnny reached Horsham the next afternoon soon after lunch, and none who saw the athletic figure striding up the Horsham Road would guess that less than two days before he had been the inmate of a convict cell. He had come to make his last desperate fight for happiness. How it would end, what argument to employ, he did not know. There was one, and one only, but that he could not use. As he turned into Down Road he saw two big limousines standing one behind the other, and wondered what social event was in progress. Manor Hill stood aloof from its suburban neighbours, a sedate, red-brick house, its walls gay with clematis. Johnny avoided the front gates and passed down a side-path which, as he knew, led to the big lawn behind, where Peter loved to sun himself at this hour. He paused as he emerged into the open. A pretty parlourmaid was talking to an elderly man, who wore without distinction the livery of a butler. His lined face was puckered uncomfortably, and his head was bent in a listening attitude, though it was next to impossible for a man totally deaf to miss hearing all that was said. \u201cI don\u2019t know what sort of houses you\u2019ve been in, and what sort of people you\u2019ve been working for, but I can tell you that if I find you in my room again, looking in my boxes, I shall tell Mr. Kane. I won\u2019t have it, Mr. Ford!\u201d \u201cNo, miss,\u201d said the butler huskily. It was not, as Johnny knew, emotion which produced the huskiness. Barney Ford had been husky from his youth&#8211;probably squawked huskily in his cradle. \u201cIf you are a burglar and trying to keep your hand in, I understand it,\u201d the girl continued hotly, \u201cbut you\u2019re supposed to be a respectable man! I won\u2019t have this underhand prying and sneaking. Understand that! I won\u2019t have it!\u201d \u201cNo, miss,\u201d said the hoarse Barney. John Gray surveyed the scene with amusement. Barney he knew very well. He had quitted the shadier walks of life when Peter Kane had found it expedient to retire from his hazardous calling. Ex-convict, ex-burglar and ex-prize-fighter, his seamy past was in some degree redeemed by his affection for the man whose bread he ate and in whose service he pretended to be, though a worse butler had never put on uniform than Barney. The girl was pretty, with hair of dull gold and a figure that was both straight and supple. Now her face was flushed with annoyance, and the dark eyes were ablaze. Barney certainly had prying habits, the heritage of his unregenerate days. Other servants had left the house for the same reason, and Peter had cursed and threatened without wholly reforming his servitor. The girl did not see him as she turned and flounced into the house, leaving the old man to stare after her. \u201cYou\u2019ve made her cross,\u201d said John, coming up behind him. Barney Ford spun round and stared. Then his jaw dropped. \u201cGood Lord, Johnny, when did _you_ come down from college?\u201d The visitor laughed softly. \u201cTerm ended yesterday,\u201d he said. \u201cHow is Peter?\u201d Before he replied the servant blew his nose violently, all the time keeping his eye upon the new-comer. \u201cHow long have you bin here?\u201d he asked at length. \u201cI arrived at the tail-end of your conversation,\u201d said Johnny, amused. \u201cBarney, you haven\u2019t reformed!\u201d Barney Ford screwed up his face into an expression of scorn. \u201cThey think you\u2019re a hook even if you ain\u2019t one,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat does she know about life? You ain\u2019t seen Peter? He\u2019s in the house; I\u2019ll tell him in a minute. _He\u2019s_ all right. All beans and bacon about the girl. That fellow adores the ground she walks on. It\u2019s not natural, being fond of your kids like that. I never was.\u201d He shook his head despairingly. \u201cThere\u2019s too much lovey-dovey and not enough strap nowadays. Spare the rod and spoil the child, as the good old poet says.\u201d John Gray turned his head at the sound of a foot upon a stone step. It was Peter, Peter radiant yet troubled. Straight as a ramrod, for all his sixty years and white hair. He was wearing a morning coat and pearl-grey waistcoat&#8211;an innovation. For a second he hesitated, the smile struck from his face, frowning, and then he came quickly his hand outstretched. \u201cWell, Johnny boy, had a rotten time?\u201d His hand fell on the young man\u2019s shoulder, his voice had the old measure of pride and affection. \u201cFairly rotten,\u201d said Johnny; \u201cbut any sympathy with me is wasted. Personally, I prefer Dartmoor to Parkhurst&#8211;it is more robust, and there are fewer imbeciles.\u201d Peter took his arm and led him to a chair beneath the big Japanese umbrella planted on the lawn. There was something in his manner, a certain awkwardness which the new-comer could not understand. \u201cDid you meet anybody\u2026 there\u2026 that I know, Johnny boy?\u201d \u201cLegge,\u201d said the other laconically, his eyes on Peter\u2019s face. \u201cThat\u2019s the man I\u2019m thinking of. How is he?\u201d The tone was careless, but Johnny was not deceived. Peter was intensely interested. \u201cHe\u2019s been out six months&#8211;didn\u2019t you know?\u201d The other\u2019s face clouded. \u201cOut six months? Are you sure?\u201d Johnny nodded. \u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d \u201cI should have thought you would have heard from him,\u201d said John quietly. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t love you!\u201d Peter\u2019s slow smile broadened. \u201cI know he doesn\u2019t; did you get a chance of talking with him?\u201d \u201cPlenty of chances. He was in the laundry, and he straightened a couple of screws so that he could do what he liked. He hates you, Peter. He says you shopped him.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s a liar,\u201d said Peter calmly. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t shop my worst enemy. He shopped himself. Johnny, the police get a reputation for smartness, but the truth, is every other criminal arrests himself. Criminals aren\u2019t clever. They wear gloves to hide their finger-prints, and then write their names in the visitors\u2019 book. Legge and I smashed the strong-room of the _Orsonic_ and got away with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds in American currency&#8211;it was the last job I did. It was dead easy getting away, but Emanuel started boasting what a clever fellow he was; and he drank a bit. An honest man can drink and wake up in his own bed. But a crook who drinks says good morning to the gaoler.\u201d He dropped the subject abruptly, and again his hand fell on the younger man\u2019s shoulder. \u201cJohnny, you\u2019re not feeling sore, are you?\u201d Johnny did not answer. \u201cAre you?\u201d And now the fight was to begin. John Gray steeled himself for the forlorn hope. \u201cAbout Marney? No, only&#8212;-\u201d \u201cOld boy, I had to do it.\u201d Peter\u2019s voice was urgent, pleading. \u201cYou know what she is to me. I liked you well enough to take a chance, but after they dragged you I did some hard thinking. It would have smashed me, Johnny, if she\u2019d been your wife then. I couldn\u2019t bear to see her cry even when she was quite a little baby. Think what it would have meant to her. It was bad enough as it was. And then this fellow came along&#8211;a good, straight, clean, cheery fellow&#8211;a gentleman. And well, I\u2019ll tell you the truth&#8211;I helped him. You\u2019ll like him. He\u2019s the sort of man anybody would like. And she loves him, Johnny.\u201d There was a silence. \u201cI don\u2019t bear him any ill-will. It would be absurd if I did. Only, Peter, before she marries I want to say&#8212;-\u201d \u201cBefore she marries?\u201d Peter Kane\u2019s voice shook. \u201cJohn, didn\u2019t Barney tell you? She was married this morning.\u201d Chapter 3. \u201cMarried?\u201d Johnny repeated the word dully. Marney married\u2026! It was incredible, impossible to comprehend. For a moment the stays and supports of existence dissolved into dust, and the fabric of life fell into chaos. \u201cMarried this morning, Johnny. You\u2019ll like him. He isn\u2019t one of us, old boy. He\u2019s as straight as\u2026 well, you understand, Johnny boy? I\u2019ve worked for her and planned for her all these years; I\u2019d have been rotten if I took a chance with her future.\u201d Peter Kane was pleading, his big hand on the other\u2019s shoulder, his fine face clouded with anxiety and the fear that he had hurt this man beyond remedy. \u201cI should have wired\u2026\u201d \u201cIt would have made no difference,\u201d said Peter Kane almost doggedly. \u201cNothing could have been changed, Johnny, nothing. It had to be. If you had been convicted innocently&#8211;I don\u2019t say you weren\u2019t&#8211;I couldn\u2019t have the memory of your imprisonment hanging over her; I couldn\u2019t have endured the uncertainty myself. Johnny, I\u2019ve been crook all my life&#8211;up to fifteen years ago. I take a broader view than most men because I am what I am. But she doesn\u2019t know that. Craig\u2019s here to-day&#8212;-\u201d \u201cCraig&#8211;the Scotland Yard man?\u201d Peter nodded, a look of faint amusement in his eyes. \u201cWe\u2019re good friends; we have been for years. And do you know what he said this morning? He said, \u2018Peter, you\u2019ve done well to marry that girl into the straight way,\u2019 and I know he\u2019s right.\u201d Johnny stretched back in the deep cane chair, his hand shading his eyes, as though he found the light too strong for him. \u201cI\u2019m not going to be sorry for myself,\u201d he said with a smile, and stretching out his hand, gripped Kane\u2019s arm. \u201cYou\u2019ll not have another vendetta on your hands, Peter. I have an idea that Emanuel Legge will keep you busy&#8212;-\u201d He stopped suddenly. The ill-fitted butler had made a stealthy appearance. \u201cPeter,\u201d he began in his husky whisper, \u201che\u2019s come. Do you want to see him?\u201d \u201cWho?\u201d \u201cEmanuel Legge&#8211;uglier than ever.\u201d Peter Kane\u2019s face set, mask-like. \u201cWhere is Miss Marney&#8211;Mrs. Floyd?\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s gettin\u2019 into her weddin\u2019 things and falderals for the photogrypher,\u201d said Barney. \u201cShe had &#8217;em off once, but the photogrypher\u2019s just come, and he\u2019s puttin\u2019 up his things in the front garden. I sez to Marney&#8212;-\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re a talkative old gentleman,\u201d said Peter grimly. \u201cSend Emanuel through. Do you want to see him, Johnny?\u201d John Gray rose. \u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll wander through your alleged rosary. I want nothing to remind me of The Awful Place, thank you.\u201d Johnny had disappeared through an opening of the box hedge at the lower end of the lawn when Barney returned with the visitor. Mr. Emanuel Legge was a man below middle height, thin of body and face, grey and a little bald. On his nose perched a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. He stood for a second or two surveying the scene, his chin lifted, his thin lips drawn in between his teeth. His attire was shabby, a steel chain served as a watch-guard, and, as if to emphasise the rustiness of his wrinkled suit, he wore boots that were patently new and vividly yellow. Hat in hand, he waited, his eyes slowly sweeping the domain of his enemy, until at last they came to rest upon his host. It was Peter Kane who broke the deadly silence. \u201cWell, Emanuel? Come over and sit down.\u201d Legge moved slowly toward his host. \u201cQuite a swell place, Peter. Everything of the best, eh? Trust you! Still got old Barney, I see. Has he reformed too? That\u2019s the word, ain\u2019t it&#8211;\u2018reformed\u2019?\u201d His voice was thin and complaining. His pale blue eyes blinked coldly at the other. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t go thieving any more, if that is what you mean,\u201d said Peter shortly, and a look of pain distorted the visitor\u2019s face. \u201cDon\u2019t use that word; it\u2019s low&#8212;-\u201d \u201cLet me take your hat.\u201d Peter held out his hand, but the man drew his away. \u201cNo, thanks. I promised a young friend of mine that I wouldn\u2019t lose anything while I was here. How long have you been at this place, Peter?\u201d \u201cAbout fourteen years.\u201d Peter sat down, and the unwelcome guest followed his example, pulling his chair round so that he faced the other squarely. \u201cAh!\u201d he said thoughtfully. \u201cLiving very comfortable, plenty to eat, go out and come in when you like. Good way of spending fourteen years. Better than having the key on you four o\u2019clock in the afternoon. Princetown\u2019s the same old place&#8211;oh, I forgot you\u2019d never been there.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve motored through,\u201d said Peter coolly, deliberately, and knew that he had touched a raw place before the lips of the man curled back in a snarl. \u201cOh, you\u2019ve motored through!\u201d he sneered. \u201cI wish I\u2019d known; I\u2019d have hung my flags out! They ought to have decorated Princetown that day, Peter. You drove through!\u201d he almost spat the words. \u201cHave a cigar?\u201d Emanuel Legge waved aside the invitation. \u201cNo, thanks. I\u2019ve got out of the habit&#8211;you do in fifteen years. You can get into some, too. Fifteen years is a long time out of a life.\u201d So Emanuel had come to make trouble, and had chosen his day well. Peter took up the challenge. \u201cThe man you shot would have been glad of a few&#8211;he died two years after,\u201d he said curtly, and all the pent fury of his sometime comrade flamed in his eyes. \u201cI hope he\u2019s in hell,\u201d he hissed, \u201cthe dirty flattie!\u201d With an effort he mastered himself. \u201cYou\u2019ve had a real good time, Peter? Nice house, that wasn\u2019t bought for nothing. Servants and what not _and_ motoring through the moor! You\u2019re clever!\u201d \u201cI admit it.\u201d The little man\u2019s hands were trembling, his thin lips twitched convulsively. \u201cLeave your pal in the lurch and get away yourself, eh? Every man for himself&#8211;well, that\u2019s the law of nature, ain\u2019t it? And if you think he\u2019s going to squeak, send a line to the busies in charge of the case and drop a few hundred to &#8217;em and there you are!\u201d He paused, but no reply came. \u201cThat\u2019s how it\u2019s done, ain\u2019t it, Peter?\u201d Kane shrugged his shoulders indifferently. \u201cI don\u2019t know&#8211;I\u2019m never too old to learn.\u201d \u201cBut that\u2019s the way it\u2019s done?\u201d insisted the man, showing his teeth again. \u201cThat\u2019s the way you keep out of boob, ain\u2019t it?\u201d Peter looked at his tormentor, outwardly untroubled. \u201cI won\u2019t argue with you,\u201d he said. \u201cYou can\u2019t,\u201d said the other. \u201cI\u2019m logical.\u201d He gazed around. \u201cThis house cost a bit of money. What\u2019s half of two hundred thousand? I\u2019m a bad counter!\u201d Peter did not accept the opening. \u201cIt\u2019s a hundred thousand, ain\u2019t it? I got sixty thousand&#8211;you owe me forty.\u201d \u201cWe got less than a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, if you\u2019re talking about the ship job. You got sixty thousand, which was more than your share. I paid it into your bank the day you went down.\u201d Legge smiled sceptically. \u201cThe newspapers said a million dollars,\u201d he murmured. \u201cYou don\u2019t believe what you read in the newspapers, do you? Emanuel, you\u2019re getting childish.\u201d Then suddenly: \u201cAre you trying to put the black on me?\u201d \u201cBlackmail?\u201d Emanuel was shocked. \u201cThere\u2019s honour amongst&#8211;friends surely, Peter. I only want what\u2019s right and fair.\u201d Peter laughed softly, amusedly. \u201cComic, is it? You can afford to laugh at a poor old fellow who\u2019s been in \u2018stir\u2019 for fifteen years.\u201d The master of Manor Hill snapped round on him. \u201cIf you\u2019d been in hell for fifty I should still laugh.\u201d Emanuel was sorry for himself. That was ever a weakness of his; he said as much. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t, would you? You\u2019ve got a daughter, haven\u2019t you? Young? Married to-day, wasn\u2019t she?\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cMarried money&#8211;a swell?\u201d \u201cYes. She married a good man.\u201d \u201cHe doesn\u2019t know what you are, Peter?\u201d Emanuel asked the question carelessly, and his host fixed him with a steely glance. \u201cNo. What\u2019s the idea? Do you think you\u2019ll get forty thousand that way?\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve got a boy. You\u2019ve never sat in a damp cell with the mists of the moor hanging on the walls and thought and thought till your heart ached? You can get people through their children.\u201d He paused. \u201cI could get you that way.\u201d In a second Peter Kane was towering above him, an ominous figure. \u201cThe day my heart ached,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cyours would not beat! You\u2019re an old man, and you\u2019re afraid of death! I can see it in your eyes. I am afraid of nothing. I\u2019d kill you!\u201d Before the ferocity of voice and mien, Legge shrank farther into his chair. \u201cWhat\u2019s all this talk about killing? I only want what\u2019s fair. Fond of her, ain\u2019t you, Peter? I\u2019ll bet you are. They say that you\u2019re crazy about her. Is she pretty? I don\u2019t suppose she takes after you. Young Johnny Gray was sweet on her too. Peter, I\u2019ll get you through her&#8212;-\u201d So far he got, and then a hand like a steel clamp fell on his neck, and he was jerked from his chair. Peter spoke no word but, dragging the squirming figure behind him, as if it had neither weight nor resistance, he strode up the narrow pathway by the side of the house, across the strip of garden, through the gate and into the road. A jerk of his arm, and Emanuel Legge was floundering in the dusty road. \u201cDon\u2019t come back, Emanuel,\u201d he said, and did not stop to listen to the reply. John Gray passed out of sight and hearing of the two men, being neither curious to know Legge\u2019s business nor anxious to renew a prison acquaintance. Below the box hedge were three broad terraces, blazing with colour, blanketed with the subtle fragrance of flowers. Beyond that, a sloping meadow leading to a little river. Peter had bought his property wisely. A great cedar of Lebanon stood at the garden\u2019s edge; to the right, massed bushes were patched with purple and heliotrope blooms. He sat down on a marble seat, glad of the solitude which he shared only with a noisy thrush and a lark invisible in the blue above him. Marney was married. That was the beginning and the end of him. But happy. He recognised his very human vanity in the instant doubt that she could be happy with anybody but him. How dear she was! And then a voice came to him, a shrill, hateful voice. It was Legge\u2019s&#8211;he was threatening the girl, and Johnny\u2019s blood went cold. Here was the vulnerable point in Peter Kane\u2019s armour; the crevice through which he could be hurt. He started to his feet and went up the broad steps of the terrace three at a time. The garden was empty, save for Barney setting a table. Kane and his guest had disappeared. He was crossing the lawn when he saw something white shining in the gloom beyond the open French windows of a room. Something that took glorious shape. A girl in bridal white, and her hands were outstretched to him. So ethereal, so unearthly was her beauty, that at first he did not recognise her. \u201cJohnny!\u201d A soldierly figure was at her side, Peter Kane was behind her, but he had no eyes for any but Marney. She came flying toward him, both his hands were clasped in her warm palm. \u201cOh, Johnny\u2026 Johnny!\u201d Then he looked up into the smiling face of the bridegroom, that fine, straight man to whom Peter had entrusted his beloved girl. For a second their eyes met, the debonair Major Floyd and his. Not by a flicker of eyelash did Johnny Gray betray himself. The husband of the woman he loved was Jeff Legge, forger and traitor, the man sworn with his father to break the heart of Peter Kane. Chapter 4. Had he betrayed himself, he wondered? All his will power was exercised to prevent such a betrayal. Though a tornado of fury swept through and through him, though he saw the face of the man distorted and blurred, and brute instinct urged his limbs to savage action, he remained outwardly unmoved. It was impossible for the beholder to be sure whether he had paled, for the sun and wind of Dartmoor had tanned his lean face the colour of mahogany. For a while so terrific was the shock that he was incapable of speech or movement. \u201cMajor Floyd\u201d was Jeff Legge! In a flash he realised the horrible plot. This was Emanuel\u2019s revenge&#8211;to marry his crook son to the daughter of Peter Kane. Jeff was watching him narrowly, but by no sign did Johnny betray his recognition. It was all over in a fraction of a second. He brought his eyes back to the girl, smiling mechanically. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings. That her new husband stood by, watching her with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, that Peter was frowning anxiously, and that even old Barney was staring open-mouthed, meant nothing. \u201cJohnny, poor Johnny! You aren\u2019t hating me, are you?\u201d John smiled and patted the hand that lay in his. \u201cAre you happy?\u201d he asked in a low voice. \u201cYes, oh yes, I\u2019m happily married&#8211;that\u2019s what you mean, isn\u2019t it? I\u2019m very happy\u2026 Johnny, was it terrible? I haven\u2019t stopped thinking about you, I haven\u2019t. Though I didn\u2019t write\u2026 after\u2026 Don\u2019t you think I was a beast\u2026? I know I was. Johnny, didn\u2019t it hurt you, old boy?\u201d He shook his head. \u201cThere\u2019s one thing you mustn\u2019t be in Dartmoor&#8211;sorry for yourself. Are you happy?\u201d She did not meet his eyes. \u201cThat is twice you\u2019ve asked in a minute! Isn\u2019t it disloyal to say that I am? Don\u2019t you want to meet Jeffrey?\u201d \u201cWhy, of course, I want to meet Jeffrey.\u201d He crossed to the man, and Jeff Legge watched him. \u201cI want you to meet Captain Gray, a very old friend of mine,\u201d she said with a catch in her voice. Jeffrey Legge\u2019s cold hand gripped his. \u201cI\u2019m glad to meet you, Captain Gray.\u201d Had he been recognised? Apparently not, for the face turned to him was puckered in an embarrassed smile. \u201cYou\u2019ve just come back from East Africa, haven\u2019t you? Get any shooting?\u201d \u201cNo, I didn\u2019t do any shooting,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cLots of lions, aren\u2019t there?\u201d said Jeff. The lips of the ex-convict twitched. \u201cIn that part of the country where I was living, the lions are singularly tame,\u201d he said dryly. \u201cMarney, darling, you\u2019re glad to see Gray on your wedding day, aren\u2019t you?&#8211;it was good of you to come, Gray. Mrs. Floyd has often spoken about you.\u201d He put his arm about the girl, his eyes never leaving Johnny\u2019s face. He designed to hurt&#8211;to hurt them both. She stood rigidly, neither yielding nor resisting, tense, breathless, pale. She knew! The realisation came to John Gray like a blow. She knew that this man was a liar and a villain. She knew the trick that had been played upon her father! \u201cHappy, darling?\u201d \u201cVery&#8211;oh, very.\u201d There was a flutter in her voice, and now Johnny was hurt, and the fight to hold himself in became terrific. It was Peter who for the moment saved the situation. \u201cJohnny, I want you to know this boy. The best in the world. And I want you to think with me that he\u2019s the best husband in the world for Marney.\u201d Jeff Legge laughed softly. \u201cMr. Kane, you embarrass me terribly. I\u2019m not half good enough for her&#8211;I\u2019m just an awkward brute that doesn\u2019t deserve my good luck.\u201d He bent and kissed the white-faced girl. Johnny did not take his eyes from the man. \u201cHappy, eh? I\u2019ll bet you\u2019re happy, you rascal,\u201d chuckled Kane. Marney pulled herself away from the encircling arm. \u201cDaddy, I don\u2019t think this is altogether amusing Johnny.\u201d Her voice shook. The man from Dartmoor knew that she was on the verge of tears. \u201cIt takes a lot to bore me.\u201d John Gray found his voice. \u201cIndeed, the happiness of young people&#8211;I feel very old just now&#8211;is a joy. You\u2019re a Canadian, Major Floyd?\u201d \u201cYes&#8211;a French Canadian, though you wouldn\u2019t guess that from my name. My people were _habitant_ and went west in the \u2019sixties&#8211;to Alberta and Saskatchewan, long before the railway came. You ought to go to Canada; you\u2019d like it better than the place you\u2019ve been to.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sure I should.\u201d Peter had strolled away, the girl\u2019s arm in his. \u201cNo lions in Canada, tame or wild,\u201d said Jeff, regarding him from under his drooped eyelids. Gray had lit a cigarette. He was steady now, steady of nerve and hand. \u201cI should feel lonely without lions,\u201d he said coolly, and then: \u201cIf you will forgive my impertinence, Major Floyd, you have married a very nice girl.\u201d \u201cThe very, very best.\u201d \u201cI would go a long way to serve her&#8211;a long way. Even back to the lions.\u201d Their eyes met. In the bridegroom\u2019s was a challenge; in Johnny Gray\u2019s cold murder. Jeff Legge\u2019s eyes fell and he shivered. \u201cI suppose you like&#8211;hunting?\u201d he said. \u201cOh, no, you said you didn\u2019t. I wonder why a man of your&#8211;er&#8211;character went abroad?\u201d \u201cI was sent,\u201d said Johnny, and he emphasised every word. \u201cSomebody had a reason for sending me abroad&#8211;they wanted me out of the way. I should have gone, anyhow, but this man hurried the process.\u201d \u201cDo you know who it was?\u201d The East African pretence had been tacitly dropped. Jeff might do so safely, for he would know that the cause of John Gray\u2019s retirement from the world was no secret. \u201cI don\u2019t know the man. He was a stranger to me. Very few people know him personally. In his set&#8211;our set&#8211;not half a dozen people could identify him. Only one man in the police knows him&#8212;-\u201d \u201cWho is that?\u201d interrupted the other quickly. \u201cA man named Reeder. I heard that in prison&#8211;of course you knew I had come from Dartmoor?\u201d Jeff nodded with a smile. \u201cThat is the fellow who is called The Great Unknown,\u201d he said, striving to thin the contempt from his voice. \u201cI\u2019ve heard about him in the club. He is a very stupid person of middle age, who lives in Peckham. So he isn\u2019t as much unknown as _your_ mystery man!\u201d \u201cIt is very likely,\u201d said the other. \u201cConvicts 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&#8212;-\u201d \u201cAnd has he found him?\u201d asked Jeff Legge innocently. \u201cHe\u2019ll find him,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cSooner or later there will be a squeak.\u201d \u201cMay I be there to hear it,\u201d said Jeff Legge, and showed his white teeth in a mirthless smile. Chapter 5. 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&#8211;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&#8211;icy cold was a better description. He must be sure, absolutely sure, beyond any question of doubt. There might be some resemblance between Jeff Legge 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. \u201cMr. Kane says, would you care to be in the group that is being photographed, Captain Gray?\u201d she asked. He did not immediately reply. His eyes were scanning her with a new interest. \u201cTell him I\u2019d rather not, and come back.\u201d \u201cCome back, sir?\u201d she repeated in astonishment. \u201cYes, I want to talk to you,\u201d said Johnny with a smile. \u201cHave mercy on a disgruntled guest, who can find nobody to entertain him.\u201d She stood, hesitating. He could see the indecision in her face. \u201cI don\u2019t know if Mr. Kane would like that,\u201d she said, and a smile trembled at the corner of her mouth. \u201cVery well, I\u2019ll come back.\u201d 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. \u201cSit down,\u201d said Johnny. He threw away his cigarette and moved to the end of the stone bench. \u201cDon\u2019t stop smoking for me, Captain Gray,\u201d she said. \u201cHow long have you been here?\u201d he asked. \u201cWith Mr. Kane? About six months,\u201d she said. \u201cPretty good job?\u201d he asked carelessly. \u201cOh, yes, sir, very.\u201d \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d \u201cMy name is Lila. Why do you ask?\u201d \u201cI think you and I ought to get better acquainted, Lila,\u201d he said, and took her unresisting hand. Secretly she was amused; on the surface she showed some sign of being shocked. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were that type of flirting man, Mr. Gray&#8211;you\u2019re a Captain, though, aren\u2019t you?\u201d \u201c\u2018Captain\u2019 is a purely honorary title, Lila,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cI suppose you\u2019ll miss your lady?\u201d \u201cYes, I shall miss her,\u201d said Lila. \u201cA nice girl, eh?\u201d bantered Johnny. \u201cAnd a very nice husband,\u201d she said tartly. \u201cDo you think so?\u201d \u201cYes, I suppose he is a nice fellow. I don\u2019t know much about him.\u201d \u201cGood-looking?\u201d suggested Johnny. The woman shrugged her shoulders. \u201cI suppose he is.\u201d \u201cAnd very much in love with Miss Kane. That fellow adores her,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cIn fact, I don\u2019t know that I\u2019ve ever seen a man so much in love with a woman.\u201d She suppressed a sigh. \u201cOh, yes, I suppose he is,\u201d she said impatiently. \u201cDo you want me any more, Captain Gray, because I\u2019ve a lot of work to do?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t run away,\u201d said Johnny in his most gentle voice. \u201cWeddings always make me romantic.\u201d He took up the thread where it was interrupted. \u201cI don\u2019t expect the Major will have eyes for any other girl for years,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\u2019s head over heels in love, and why shouldn\u2019t he be? I suppose,\u201d he said reminiscently, avoiding her eyes, \u201che is the sort of man who would have had many love affairs in the past.\u201d He shrugged his shoulders. \u201cWith the kind of girls that one picks up and puts down at pleasure.\u201d Now a flush, deep and even, had come to her face, and her eyes held a peculiar brightness. \u201cI don\u2019t know anything about Major Floyd,\u201d she said shortly, and was rising, but his hand fell upon her arm. \u201cDon\u2019t run away, Lila.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not going to stay,\u201d she said with sudden vehemence. \u201cI don\u2019t want to discuss Major Floyd or anybody else. If you want me to talk to you&#8212;-\u201d \u201cI want to talk to you about the honeymoon. Can\u2019t you picture them, say, on Lake Como, in a bower of roses? Can\u2019t you imagine him forgetting all that\u2019s past, all the old follies, all the old girls&#8212;-?\u201d She wrenched her arm from his grip and stood up, and her face was deadly white. \u201cWhat are you getting at, Gray?\u201d she asked, all the deference, all the demureness gone from her voice. \u201cI\u2019m getting at you, Miss Lila Sain,\u201d he said, \u201cand if you attempt to get away from me, I\u2019ll throttle you!\u201d She stared at him, her breath coming quickly. \u201cYou\u2019re supposed to be a gentleman, too,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m supposed to be Johnny Gray from Dartmoor. Sit down. What\u2019s the graft, Lila?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t understand what you\u2019re talking about.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s the graft?\u201d asked Johnny with deadly calm. \u201cJeff Legge put you here to nose the house for him, and keep him wise as to what was going on.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know Jeff Legge,\u201d she faltered. \u201cYou\u2019re a liar,\u201d said Johnny ungently. \u201cI know you, Lila. You run with Legge and you\u2019re a cheap squeak. I\u2019ve seen you a dozen times. Who is Major Floyd?\u201d \u201cGo and ask him,\u201d she said defiantly. \u201cWho is Major Floyd?\u201d The grip on her arm tightened. \u201cYou know,\u201d she said sullenly. \u201cIt\u2019s Jeff Legge.\u201d \u201cNow listen, Lila. Come here.\u201d He had released her, and now he crooked his finger. \u201cGo and blow to Jeff, and I\u2019ll squeak on you both&#8211;you understand that? I\u2019ll put Jeff just where I want him to be&#8211;there\u2019s a vacant cell at Dartmoor, anyway. That gives you a twinge, doesn\u2019t it? You\u2019re keen on Jeff?\u201d She did not reply. \u201cI\u2019ll put him where I want him to be,\u201d he repeated slowly and deliberately, \u201cunless you do as I tell you.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re going to put the \u2018black\u2019 on him?\u201d she said, her lips curling. \u201c\u2018Black\u2019 doesn\u2019t mean anything in my young life,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cBut I tell you this, that I\u2019ll find Reeder and squeak a whole pageful unless I have my way.\u201d \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d she asked. \u201cI want to know where they\u2019re going, and where they\u2019re staying. I want to know their plans for the future. Are you married to him, by any chance?\u201d A glance at her face gave him the answer. \u201cYou\u2019re not? Well, you may be yet, Lila. Aren\u2019t you tired of doing his dirty work?\u201d \u201cPerhaps I am and perhaps I\u2019m not,\u201d she replied defiantly. \u201cYou can do nothing to him now, anyway, Johnny Gray. He\u2019s got your girl, and if you squeaked like a garden of birds you couldn\u2019t undo what that old God-man did this morning! Jeff\u2019s too clever for you. He\u2019ll get you, Gray&#8212;-\u201d \u201cIf he knows,\u201d said Johnny quietly. \u201cBut if he knows, Reeder knows too. Do you get that?\u201d \u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d she asked after a silence. \u201cI\u2019m having one of my little jokes,\u201d said Johnny between his teeth. \u201cA real good joke! It is starting now. I can\u2019t tell Peter, because he\u2019d kill your young man, and I have a particular objection to Peter going to the drop. And _you_ can\u2019t tell Jeff, because there\u2019d be a case for a jury, and when Jeff came out you\u2019d be an old woman. That\u2019s not a good prospect, eh? Now tell me all you\u2019ve got to tell, and speak slowly, because I don\u2019t write shorthand.\u201d He whipped a small notebook from his pocket, and as she spoke, reluctantly, sulkily, yet fearfully, he wrote rapidly. When he had finished: \u201cYou can go now, my gentle child,\u201d he said, and she stood up, her eyes blazing with rage. \u201cIf you squeak, Johnny Gray, I\u2019ll kill you. I never was keen on this marriage business&#8211;naturally. I knew old Legge wanted him to marry Peter\u2019s daughter, because Legge wanted to get one back on him. But Jeff\u2019s been good to me; and the day the busies come for Legge I\u2019ll come for you, and I\u2019ll shoot you stone dead, Johnny, as God\u2019s my judge!\u201d \u201cBeat it!\u201d 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\u2019s face was inscrutable. Chapter 6. \u201cHallo, Johnny! Running for the compensation stakes?\u201d Johnny laughed. \u201cYou mean the maid? She is rather pretty, isn\u2019t she?\u201d \u201cVery,\u201d said the other. Had he heard? That was a question and a fear in Johnny\u2019s mind. The marble bench was less than six feet from the bush where Peter Kane stood. If he had been there any time&#8212;- \u201cBeen waiting long for me, Peter?\u201d he asked. \u201cNo; I just saw you take a farewell of Lila&#8211;very nice girl, that, Johnny&#8211;an extraordinarily nice girl. I don\u2019t know when I\u2019ve met a nicer. What did you find to talk about?\u201d \u201cThe weather, dicky-birds and the course of true love,\u201d said Johnny, as Kane took his arm and led him across the lawn. \u201cEverything variable and flighty, eh?\u201d said Peter with a little smile. \u201cCome and eat, Johnny. These people are going away soon. Marney is changing now. What do you think of my new son-in-law, eh?\u201d His old jovial manner held. When they came into the big reception-room and Peter Kane\u2019s arm went round his son-in-law\u2019s 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. \u201cBeen away, Johnny?\u201d 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. \u201cPeter\u2019s got old Barney still&#8211;keeping honest, Barney?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m naturally that way,\u201d said Barney _sotto voce_. \u201cIt\u2019s not meeting policemen that keeps me straight.\u201d The hard features of the detective relaxed. \u201cThere are lots of other people who could say that, Barney,\u201d he said, and when the man had passed to the next guest: \u201cHe\u2019s all right. Barney never was a bad man. I think he only did one stretch&#8211;he wouldn\u2019t have done that if he\u2019d had Peter\u2019s imagination, Johnny.\u201d \u201cPeter\u2019s imagination?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not referring to his present imagination, but the gift he had fourteen&#8211;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\u2019d 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 judgment, some flaw in his plan. But it was police-proof and fool-proof.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019d blush to hear you,\u201d said the other dryly. \u201cBut it\u2019s true, Johnny! The clever letters he used to write, all to fool us. He did a lot of work with letters&#8211;getting people together, luring &#8217;em to the place he wanted &#8217;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!\u201d He laughed gently. \u201cI suppose,\u201d said Gray, \u201cpeople would think it remarkable that you and he are such good friends?\u201d \u201cThey wouldn\u2019t say it was remarkable; they\u2019d say it was damned suspicious!\u201d growled the other. \u201cHaving a drink?\u201d he said suddenly, and pulled a wine bottle across the table. \u201cNo, thanks&#8211;I seldom drink. We have to keep a very clear head in our business. We can\u2019t afford to dream.\u201d \u201cWe can\u2019t afford anything else,\u201d said Craig. \u201cWhy \u2018our business,\u2019 old man? You\u2019re out of that?\u201d Johnny saw the girl look toward him. It was only a glance&#8211;but in that brief flash he saw all that he feared to see&#8211;the terror, the bewilderment, the helplessness. He set his teeth and turned abruptly to the detective. \u201cHow is _your_ business?\u201d he asked. \u201cQuiet.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that,\u201d said John Gray with mock concern. \u201cBut trade\u2019s bad everywhere, isn\u2019t it?\u201d \u201cWhat sort of time did you have&#8211;in the country?\u201d asked Craig, and his companion grinned. \u201cWonderful! My bedroom wanted papering, but the service was quite good.\u201d Craig sighed. \u201cAh well, we live and learn,\u201d he said heavily. \u201cI was sorry about it, Johnny, very sorry. It\u2019s a misfortune, but there\u2019s no use grieving about it. You were one of the unlucky ones. If all the people who deserved prison were _in_ prison&#8211;why, there wouldn\u2019t be any housing problems. I hear there were quite a lot of stars there,\u201d Craig went on. \u201cHarry Becker, and young Lew Storing&#8211;why, old Legge must have been there in your time. And another fellow&#8211;now, what\u2019s his name? The slush man&#8211;ah, Carper, that\u2019s it. Ever see him?\u201d \u201cYes; he and I were once harnessed to the same cart.\u201d \u201cAh!\u201d said Craig encouragingly. \u201cI\u2019ll bet you heard a few things. He\u2019d talk to you.\u201d \u201cHe did.\u201d Craig bent toward him, lowering his voice. \u201cSuppose I told you a certain party coppered you, and suppose I said I\u2019ve reason to believe that your copper is the man I want. Now couldn\u2019t we exchange confidences?\u201d he asked. \u201cYes, we might squeak together, and it would sound like one of those syncopated orchestras. But we won\u2019t. Honestly, Craig, I can\u2019t tell you about the Big Printer. Reeder ought to know all about him!\u201d \u201cReeder!\u201d said the other scornfully. \u201cAn amateur! All this fal-de-lal about secret service men gets my goat! If they\u2019d left the matter to the police, we\u2019d have had the Big Printer&#8211;ever seen him, Johnny?\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d said Johnny untruthfully. \u201cReeder, eh?\u201d said the thoughtful detective. \u201cThey used to have an office man named Golden once, an old fellow that thought he could catch slushers by sitting in an office and thinking hard. Reeder isn\u2019t much better by all accounts. I saw him once, a soft fellow on the edge of senile decay!\u201d Craig sighed deeply, looked up and down the happy board with a bleak and grudging glance, and then: \u201cJust for a little heart-to-heart talk, I know where you could get an easy \u2018monkey,\u2019[*_\u00a3500_] Johnny,\u201d he said softly. Johnny did not smile. \u201cIt would have to be a monkey on a stick, Craig&#8212;-\u201d \u201cWe\u2019re both men of the world,\u201d interrupted the detective imploringly. \u201cYes,\u201d said Johnny Gray, \u201cbut not the same world, Craig.\u201d One last despairing effort the detective made, though he knew that, in angling for a squeak, he might as well have tried Peter himself. \u201cThe Bank of England will pay a thousand pounds for the information I want.\u201d \u201cAnd who can afford it better?\u201d said Johnny heartily. \u201cNow, shut up, Craig; somebody\u2019s going to make a speech.\u201d It was a mild and beatific oration delivered by the officiating clergyman. When it came to its machine-made peroration Craig, who was intensely interested in the sonorous platitudes, looked round and saw that his companion had gone from his side&#8211;later he saw him leaning over Peter\u2019s chair, and Peter was nodding vigorously. Then Johnny passed through the door. Somebody else was watching him. The bridegroom, twiddling the stem of his wineglass between his fingers, saw him go, and was more than ordinarily interested. He was sufficiently curious, at any rate, to catch the eye of the pretty maid and look significantly at the door. At that signal Lila followed Johnny Gray. He was not in the hall, and she went out into the road, but here saw no sign of the man she sought. There was, however, somebody else, and she obeyed his call to her. \u201cTell Jeff I want him before he starts on that honeymoon of his,\u201d snarled Emanuel Legge, glaring at her through the glasses. \u201cHe\u2019s been talking to that girl&#8211;I saw her face. What did he say?\u201d \u201cHow do I know?\u201d she snapped back. \u201cYou and your Jeff! I wish to the Lord I\u2019d never come into this job. What\u2019s the graft, anyway? That flash crook knows all about it, Legge.\u201d \u201cWho&#8211;Johnny Gray? Is he here? He did come, then?\u201d She nodded. \u201cWhat do you mean&#8211;\u2018he knows\u2019?\u201d \u201cHe knows Jeff&#8211;recognised him first pop,\u201d said the girl inelegantly, and Emanuel Legge whistled. \u201cHave you told Jeff that he has been recognised?\u201d The harsh features of Emanuel Legge were drawn and tense. \u201cWhat is the use of asking me? I haven\u2019t had a word with him. He\u2019s so taken up with this girl&#8212;-\u201d \u201cForget it,\u201d said Legge with a gesture. \u201cTell me what this Johnny Gray says.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll tell you one thing that amused me,\u201d said the girl grimly. \u201cHe said he\u2019d throttle me if I squeaked! And he\u2019s got a fascinating pair of hands. I shouldn\u2019t like to play rough with that fellow&#8211;there\u2019s no use in tut-tutting me, Emanuel. I\u2019ve told you all he said. He knows Jeff; he must have seen him before he went \u2018over the Alps.\u2019\u201d The old man was thinking, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed. \u201cIt\u2019s pretty bad if he guesses, because he\u2019s sweet on the girl, and there\u2019s going to be trouble. Get Jeff out quick!\u201d \u201cIf you stay here, Peter will see you,\u201d she warned him. \u201cGo down the lane and turn into the private path. I\u2019ll send Jeff to you in the lower garden.\u201d Nodding, he hurried away. It took her some time to find an opportunity, but presently she signalled the man with her eyes, and he followed her to the lawn. \u201cThe old man\u2019s waiting down in the lower garden,\u201d she said in a low voice. \u201cHurry.\u201d \u201cWhat is wrong?\u201d he asked quickly, sensing trouble. \u201cHe\u2019ll tell you.\u201d With a glance round Jeff hurried on to the terrace just as his father reached the rendezvous. \u201cJeff, Gray knows.\u201d The man drew a quick breath. \u201cMe?\u201d he said incredulously. \u201cHe didn\u2019t so much as bat a lid when I met him.\u201d Emanuel nodded. \u201cThat fellow\u2019s hell cool&#8211;the most dangerous crook in the world. I was in the Awful Place with him, and I know his reputation. There\u2019s nothing he\u2019s afraid of. If he tells Peter\u2026 shoot first! Peter won\u2019t be carrying a gun, but he\u2019s sure to have one within travelling distance&#8211;and Peter is a quick mover. I\u2019ll cover you; I\u2019ve got two boys handy that \u2018mind\u2019 me, and Johnny\u2026 well, he\u2019ll get what\u2019s coming.\u201d \u201cWhat am I to do?\u201d Jeff Legge was biting his nails thoughtfully. \u201cGet the girl away&#8211;you\u2019re due to leave by car, ain\u2019t you? Get her to the Charlton Hotel. You\u2019re supposed to stay there a week&#8211;make it a day. Clear to Switzerland to-morrow and stop her writing. I\u2019ll fix Peter. He\u2019ll pay.\u201d \u201cFor what?\u201d \u201cTo get his girl back; forty thousand&#8211;maybe more. \u201d Jeff Legge whistled. \u201cI didn\u2019t see that side of the graft before. It\u2019s a new variety of \u2018black.\u2019\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s what I choose to call it!\u201d hissed his father. \u201cYou\u2019re in fifty-fifty. You can have the lot so far as I care. _You make that girl eat dirt_, d\u2019ye hear? Put her right down to earth, Jeff.\u2026 Peter will pay.\u201d \u201cI promised Lila\u2026\u201d began the other, hesitant. \u201cPromise your Aunt Rebecca Jane!\u201d Emanuel almost screamed. \u201cLila! That trash, and you the big man, too&#8211;what are ye running? A girls\u2019 refuge society? Get!\u201d \u201cWhat about Gray?\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll fix Gray!\u201d Chapter 7. The old man made his way back to the road and passed quickly along until he came to the main highway. Two men were seated in the shade of a bush, eating bread and cheese. They came quickly enough when he whistled them, tall, broad-shouldered men whose heavy jowls had not felt a lather-brush for days. \u201cEither of you boys know Johnny Gray?\u201d he asked. \u201cI was on the \u2018moor\u2019 with him,\u201d said one gruffly, \u201cif he\u2019s the fellow that went down for \u2018ringing in\u2019 horses?\u201d Emanuel nodded. \u201cHe\u2019s in the house, and it\u2019s likely he\u2019ll walk to the station, and likely enough take the short cut across the fields. That\u2019ll be easy for you. He\u2019s got to be coshed&#8211;you understand? Get him good, even if you have to do it in the open. If there\u2019s anybody with him, get him in London. But get him.\u201d Emanuel came back to his observation post as the first of the cars went into the drive. Jeff was moving quickly&#8211;and there was need. Presently the car came out. Emanuel caught a glimpse of Jeff and the frightened face of the girl, and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of satisfaction. Peter was standing in the middle of the road, watching the car. If he knew! The smile vanished from the old man\u2019s face. Peter did not know; he had not been told. Why? Johnny would not let her go, knowing. Perhaps Lila was lying. You can never trust women of that kind; they love sensation. Johnny\u2026 dangerous. The two words left one impression. And there was Johnny, standing, one hand in pocket, the other waving at the car as it came into brief view on the Shoreham road, as unconcerned as though he were the least interested. A second car went in and came out. Some guests were leaving. Now, if Johnny had sense, he would be driven to London with a party. But Johnny hadn\u2019t sense. He was just a poor sucker, like all cheap crooks are. He came out alone, crossed the road and went down the narrow passage that led to the field path. Emanuel looked backward. His bulldogs had seen and were moving parallel to the unconscious Gray. From the road two paths led to the field, forming a Y where they met. Johnny had passed the fork when he heard the footsteps behind him. Glancing back, he saw a familiar face and did some shrewd guessing. He could run and easily outdistance these clumsy men. He preferred to face them, and turned, holding his malacca cane in both hands. \u201c\u2019Lo, Gray,\u201d said the bigger of the men. \u201cWhere\u2019n thunder are you going in such a hurry? I want to talk with you, you dirty squeaker! You\u2019re the fellow that told the deputy I was getting tobacco in through a screw!\u201d It was a crude invention, but good enough to justify the rough house that was booked to follow. They carried sticks in their hands, pliable canes, shotted at the end. The blow missed Johnny as he stepped back, and then something long and bright glittered in the afternoon sun. The scabbard of the sword cane he held defensively before him, the sword, thin and deadly, was pointed to the nearer of his enemies. They stopped, Saxon-like, appalled by the sight of steel. \u201cBad boy!\u201d said Johnny reproachfully. The razor-pointed rapier flickered from face to face, and the men stumbled back, getting into one another\u2019s way. One of the men felt something wet on his cheek, and put up his hand. When it came down it was wet and red. \u201cBeast, you have my brand!\u201d said Johnny with deadly pleasantry. \u201cCome when I call you.\u201d He clicked the sword back in its wooden sheath and strode away. His indifference, his immense superiority, was almost as tremendously impressive as his cold toleration. \u201cHe\u2019s ice, that fellow,\u201d said the man with the cut cheek. A sob of rage softened the rasp of his voice. \u201cBy\u2026 I\u2019ll kill him for that!\u201d But he made no attempt to follow, and his companion was glad. John Gray increased his pace, and after a while emerged into the outskirts of the town. Here he found a Ford cab and reached the station in time to see the train pull out. He had made a mistake; the time-table had been changed that day, but in half an hour there was a fast train from Brighton that stopped only at Horsham. He crossed the station yard to an hotel and was in the telephone booth for a quarter of an hour before he emerged, his collar limp, perspiration streaming down his face. There was no sign of a familiar face when he came back to the platform. He expected to see Emanuel eventually, and here he was not disappointed, for Emanuel arrived a few minutes before the Brighton train came in. Officially, it was their first meeting since they had been members of the same farm gang at Dartmoor, and Legge\u2019s expression of surprise was therefore appropriate. \u201cWhy, if it isn\u2019t Gray! Well, fancy meeting you, old man! Well, this is a surprise! When did you come out?\u201d \u201cCease your friendly badinage,\u201d said Johnny shortly. \u201cIf we can get an empty compartment, I\u2019ve got a few words to say to you, Emanuel. \u201cBeen down to the wedding?\u201d asked the old man slyly. \u201cNice girl, eh? Done well for herself? They tell me he\u2019s a Canadian millionaire. Ain\u2019t that Peter\u2019s luck! That fellow would fall off rock and drop in feathers, he\u2019s that lucky.\u201d Johnny made no answer. When the train stopped and he found himself opposite a first-class carriage, he opened the door and Emanuel hopped in. \u201cIf you\u2019re short of money&#8212;-\u201d began Legge. \u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d said the other curtly. \u201cI\u2019m short of nothing except bad company. Now listen, Emanuel\u201d&#8211;the train was puffing slowly from the station when he spoke again&#8211;\u201cI\u2019m going to give you a chance.\u201d The wide-eyed astonishment of Emanuel Legge was very convincing, but Johnny was not open to conviction at the moment. \u201cI don\u2019t get you, Johnny,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat\u2019s all this talk about giving me a chance? Have you been drinking?\u201d Johnny had seated himself opposite the man, and now he leant forward and placed his hand upon the other\u2019s knee. \u201cEmanuel,\u201d he said gently, \u201ccall off that boy, and there\u2019ll be no squeak. Take that wounded fawn look from your face, because I haven\u2019t any time for fooling. You call off Jeff and send the girl back home to-night, or I squeak. Do you understand that?\u201d \u201cI understand your words, Johnny Gray, but what they mean is a mystery to me.\u201d Emanuel Legge shook his head. \u201cWhat boy are you talking about? I\u2019ve only got one boy, and he\u2019s at college&#8212;-\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re a paltry old liar. I\u2019m talking about Jeff Legge, who married Peter\u2019s daughter to-day. I\u2019ve tumbled to your scheme, Emanuel. You\u2019re getting even with Peter. Well, get even with him, but try some other way.\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s married him of her own free will,\u201d began the man. \u201cThere\u2019s no law against that, is there, Johnny? Fell in love with him right on the spot! That\u2019s what I like to see, Johnny&#8211;young people in love. \u201d If he hoped to rattle his companion he was disappointed. \u201cNow he can unmarry of his own free will,\u201d said Johnny calmly. \u201cListen to me, Emanuel Legge. When you arrive in London, you\u2019ll go straight away to the Charlton Hotel and talk very plainly to your son. He, being a sensible man, will carry out your instructions&#8212;-\u201d \u201c_Your_ instructions,\u201d corrected Emanuel, his mouth twisted in a permanent smile. \u201cAnd what happens if I don\u2019t, Johnny?\u201d \u201cI squeak,\u201d said Johnny, and the smile broadened. \u201cThey are married, old man. You can\u2019t divorce &#8217;em. You can turn a brown horse into a black \u2019un, but you can\u2019t turn Mrs. Jeffrey Legge into Miss Marney Kane, clever as you are.\u201d Johnny leant forward. \u201cI can turn Mr. Jeffrey Legge into Dartmoor Jail,\u201d he said unpleasantly, \u201cand that\u2019s what I propose to do.\u201d \u201cOn what charge?\u201d Emanuel raised his eyebrows. \u201cGive us a little rehearsal of this squeal of yours, Gray.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s the Big Printer,\u201d said Johnny, and the smile slowly dissolved. \u201cThe Government has spent thousands to catch him; they\u2019ve employed the best secret service men in the world to pull him down, and I can give them just the information they want. I know where his stuff is planted. I know where it is printed; I know at least four of his agents. You think Jeff\u2019s secret is his own and yours, but you\u2019re mistaken, Emanuel. Craig knows he\u2019s the Big Printer; he told me so at lunch. All he wants is evidence, and the evidence I can give him. Old Reeder knows&#8211;you think he\u2019s a fool, but he knows. I could give him a squeak that would make him the cleverest lad in the world.\u201d Emanuel Legge licked his dry lips. \u201cGoing in for the \u2018con.\u2019 business, Johnny?\u201d he asked banteringly. There was no amusement in his voice. \u201cWhat a confidence man you\u2019d make! You look like a gentleman, and talk like one. Why, they\u2019d fall for you and never think twice! But that confidence stuff doesn\u2019t mean anything to me, Johnny. I\u2019m too old and too wide to be bluffed&#8212;-\u201d \u201cThere\u2019s no bluff here,\u201d interrupted Johnny. \u201cI have got your boy like that!\u201d He held out his hand and slowly clenched it. For fully five minutes Emanuel Legge sat huddled in a corner of the compartment, staring out upon the flying scenery. \u201cYou\u2019ve got him like that, have you, Johnny boy?\u201d he said gently. \u201cWell, there\u2019s no use deceiving you, I can see. Slush is funny stuff&#8211;they call it \u2018phoney\u2019 in America. Did you know that? I guess you would, because you\u2019re well educated. But it\u2019s good slush, Johnny. Look at this. Here\u2019s a note. Is it good or bad?\u201d His fingers had gone into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a thin pad of paper an inch square. Fold by fold he opened it out and showed a five-pound note. He caressed the paper with finger and thumb. The eyes behind the powerful glasses gleamed; the thin-lined face softened with pride. \u201cIs it good or bad, Johnny?\u201d Though the day was bright and hot, and not a cloud was in the sky, the four electric lamps in the carriage lit up suddenly. In the powerful light of day they seemed pale ghosts of flame, queerly dim. As the sunshine fell upon them their shadows were cast upon the white cornice of the carriage. \u201cThere\u2019s a tunnel coming,\u201d said Emanuel. \u201cIt will give you a chance of seeing them at their best&#8211;feel &#8217;em, Johnny! The real paper; bankers have fallen for &#8217;em.\u2026\u201d With a roar the train plunged into the blackness of the tunnel. Emanuel stood with his back to the carriage door, the note held taut between his hands. \u201cThere\u2019s only one flaw&#8211;the watermark. I\u2019m giving away secrets, eh? Look!\u201d He stretched his arms up until he held the note against one of the bracket lamps. To see, John Gray had to come behind him and peer over his shoulder. The thunder of the train in the narrow tunnel was almost deafening. \u201cLook at the \u2018F\u2019,\u201d shouted Emanuel. \u201cSee\u2026 that \u2018F\u2019 in \u2018Five\u2019&#8211;it\u2019s printed too shallow.\u2026\u201d As Johnny bent forward the old man thrust at him with his shoulder, and behind that lurch of his was all the weight and strength of his body. Taken by surprise, John Gray was thrown from his balance. He staggered back against the carriage door, felt it give, and tried to recover his equilibrium. But the thrust was too well timed. The door flew open, and he dropped into the black void, clutching as he did so the window ledge. For a second he swayed with the in and out swinging of the door. Then Legge\u2019s clenched fist hammered down on his fingers, and he dropped.\u2026 Chapter 8. He struck a layer of thick sand and turned a complete somersault. The wall of the tunnel caught and almost dislocated his arm, and he rebounded toward the whirling wheels. One wheel flicked him back against the wall, and he slid, his arms covering his face, the flint ballast of the road ripping his sleeves to ribbons.\u2026 He was alive. The train had passed. He saw the red tail-lights closing to one another. Gingerly he moved first one leg and then the other; then he rolled over toward the wall and lay on his back without further movement. His heart was pounding furiously; he felt a soreness working through the numb overlay of shock. Shock\u2026 shock sometimes killed men. His heart was going faster yet; he experienced a horrible nausea, and he found himself trembling violently. The proper thing to do was to inject a solution of gum-acacia into his veins (his thoughts were curiously well ordered). Doctors did that; he remembered the doctor telling him at Dartmoor. But there was no gum-acacia to be had. \u2026 Ten minutes later he lifted his body on his elbow and struggled to a sitting position. His head swam, but it did not ache; his arms\u2026 he felt them carefully. They were very sore, but no bones were broken. A roadman at the exit of the tunnel nearly dropped with amazement as a grimy young man whose clothes were in rags emerged, limping. \u201cI fell out,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cCan you tell me if there is anywhere I can hire a car?\u201d The roadman was going off duty and was willing to act as guide. Johnny hobbled up the steep slopes of the railway cutting, and with the assistance of the interested workman, traversed a wide field to the road. And then came a blessed sportsman on his way back from Gatwick Races, and he was alone in his car. At first he looked suspicious at the bruised and ragged figure that had held him up. In the end he flung open the door by his side. \u201cStep up,\u201d he said. To the railway worker Johnny had a few words to say. \u201cHere\u2019s five,\u201d he said. \u201cTwo for your help and three to stop your talking. I don\u2019t want this business to be reported, you understand? The truth is, I had been looking on the wine when it was red and gaveth its colour aright.\u201d Johnny had evidently touched a sympathetic chord. \u201cYou mean you was boozed?\u201d said the man. \u201cYou can trust me.\u201d The angel who drove him to London was not a talkative angel. Beyond expressing the wish that something drastic had happened to _him_ before he went racing, and the advancement of his view that all racing was crooked and all jockeys thieves, he contributed little to the entertainment of his passenger, and the passenger was glad. At the first cab-rank they struck&#8211;it was in Sutton&#8211;Johnny insisting upon alighting. \u201cI\u2019ll take you home if you like,\u201d said his gloomy benefactor. Gently the other declined. \u201cMy name is Lawford,\u201d said the motorist in a sudden outburst of confidence. \u201cI\u2019ve got an idea I know your face. Haven\u2019t I seen you on the track?\u201d \u201cNot for some time,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cRather like a fellow I once met\u2026 well, introduced to\u2026 fellow named Gay or Gray\u2026 regular rascal. He got time.\u201d \u201cThanks,\u201d said Johnny, \u201cthat was I!\u201d and the hitherto reticent Mr. Lawford became almost conversational in his apologies. The young man finished the journey in a Sutton taxi and reached Queen\u2019s Gate late in the afternoon. Parker, who opened the door to him, asked no questions. \u201cI have laid out another suit for you, sir,\u201d he returned to the study to say&#8211;the only oblique reference he made to his employer\u2019s disorder. As he lay in a hot bath, soaking the stiffness out of his limbs, Johnny examined his injuries. They were more or less superficial, but he had had a terribly narrow escape from death, and he was not wholly recovered from the violence of it. Emanuel had intended his destruction. The attempt did not surprise him. Men of Legge\u2019s type worked that way. He met them in Dartmoor. They would go to a killing without fire of rage or frenzy of despair. Once he had seen a convict select with deliberation and care a large jagged stone and drop it upon the head of a man working in the quarry below. Fortunately, a warder had seen the act, and his shout saved the intended victim from mutilation. The assailant had only one excuse. The man he had attacked had slighted him in some way. In the hearts of these men lived a cold beast. Johnny often pictured it, an obscene shape with pale, lidless eyes and a straight slit of a mouth. He had seen the beast staring at him from a hundred distorted faces, had heard its voice, had seen its hatefulness expressed in actions that he shivered to recall. Something of the beast had saturated into his own soul. When he came from his bath, the masseur whom Parker had summoned was waiting, and for half an hour he groaned under the kneading hands. The evening newspaper that Parker procured contained no news of the \u201caccident\u201d&#8211;Emanuel was hardly likely to report the matter, even for his own protection. There were explanations he could offer&#8211;Johnny thought of several. Free from the hands of the masseur, he rested in his dressing-gown. \u201cHas anybody called?\u201d he asked. \u201cA Mr. Reeder, sir.\u201d Johnny frowned. \u201cMr. Reeder?\u201d he repeated. \u201cWhat did he want?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know, sir. He merely asked for you. A middle-aged man, with rather a sad face,\u201d said Parker. \u201cI told him you were not at home, and that I would take any message for you, but he gave none.\u201d His employer made no reply. For some reason, the call of the mysterious Mr. Reeder worried him more than the memory of the tragic happening of that afternoon, more, for the moment, than the marriage of Marney Kane. Chapter 9. Marney made her journey to London that afternoon in almost complete silence. She sat in a corner of the limousine, and felt herself separated from the man she had married by a distance which was becoming immeasurable. Once or twice she stole a timid glance at him, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not even notice. They were not pleasant thoughts, to judge by his unchanging scowl. All the way up he nibbled at his nails; a wrinkle between his eyes. It was not until the big car was bowling across one of the river bridges that the strain was relieved, and he turned his head, regarding her coldly. \u201cWe\u2019re going abroad to-morrow,\u201d he said, and her heart sank. \u201cI thought you were staying in town for a week, Jeff,\u201d she asked, trouble in her eyes. \u201cI told father&#8212;-\u201d \u201cDoes it matter?\u201d he said roughly, and then she found courage to ask him a question that had been in her mind during that dreary ride. \u201cJeff, what did you mean this morning, on the way back from the church\u2026? You frightened me.\u201d Jeff Legge chuckled softly. \u201cI frightened you, did I?\u201d he sneered. \u201cWell, if that\u2019s all that\u2019s going to happen to you, you\u2019re a lucky girl!\u201d \u201cBut you\u2019re so changed\u2026\u201d she was bewildered. \u201cI&#8211;I didn\u2019t want to marry you\u2026 I thought you wanted\u2026 and father was so very anxious\u2026\u201d \u201cYour father was very anxious that you should marry a man in good society with plenty of money,\u201d he said, emphasising every word. \u201cWell, you\u2019ve married him, haven\u2019t you? When I told you this morning that I\u2019d got your father like that\u201d&#8211;he put out his thumb suggestively&#8211;\u201cI meant it. I suppose you know your father\u2019s a crook?\u201d The beautiful face flushed and went pale again. \u201cHow dare you say that?\u201d she asked, her voice trembling with anger. \u201cYou know it isn\u2019t true. You know!\u201d Jeffrey Legge closed his eyes wearily. \u201cThere\u2019s a whole lot of revelations coming to you, my good girl,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I guess we\u2019d better wait till we reach the hotel.\u201d Silence followed, until the car drew up before the awning of the Charlton, and then Jeff became his smiling, courteous self, and so remained until the door of their sitting-room closed upon them. \u201cNow, you\u2019ve got to know something, and you can\u2019t know it too soon,\u201d he said, throwing his hat upon a settee. \u201cMy name isn\u2019t Floyd at all. I\u2019m Jeffrey Legge. My father was a convict until six months ago. He was put in prison by Peter Kane.\u201d She listened, open-mouthed, stricken dumb with amazement and fear. \u201cPeter Kane is a bank robber&#8211;or he was till fifteen years ago, when he did a job with my father, got away with a million dollars, and squeaked on his pal. \u201cSqueaked?\u201d she said, bewildered. \u201cYour father betrayed him,\u201d said Jeffrey patiently. \u201cI\u2019m surprised that Peter hasn\u2019t made you acquainted with the technical terms of the business. He squeaked on his pal, and my father went down for twenty years.\u201d \u201cIt is not true,\u201d she said indignantly. \u201cYou are inventing this story. My father was a broker. He never did a dishonest thing in his life. And if he had, he would never have betrayed his friend!\u201d The answer seemed to amuse Legge. \u201cBroker, was he? I suppose that means he\u2019s a man who\u2019s broken into strong-rooms? That\u2019s the best joke I\u2019ve heard for a long time! Your father\u2019s crook! Johnny knows he\u2019s crook. Craig knows he\u2019s crook. Why in hell do you think a broker should be a pal of a \u2018busy.\u2019 And take that look off your face&#8211;a \u2018busy\u2019 is a detective. Peter has certainly neglected your education!\u201d \u201cJohnny knows?\u201d she said, horror-stricken. \u201cJohnny knows father is&#8211;I don\u2019t believe it! All you have told me is lies. If it were so, why should you want to marry me?\u201d Suddenly she realised the truth, and stood, frozen with horror, staring back at the smiling man. \u201cYou\u2019ve guessed, eh? We\u2019ve been waiting to get under Peter\u2019s skin for years. And I guess we\u2019ve got there. And now, if you like, you can tell him. There\u2019s a telephone; call him up. Tell him I\u2019m Jeff Legge, and that all the wonderful dreams he has had of seeing you happy and comfortable are gone! Phone him! Tell him you never wanted to marry me, and it was only to make him happy that you did&#8211;you\u2019ve got to break his heart, anyway. You might as well start now.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019d kill you,\u201d she breathed. \u201cMaybe he would. And that\u2019d be a fine idea too. We\u2019d have Peter on the trap. It would be worth dying for. But I guess he wouldn\u2019t kill me. At the sight of a gun in his hands, I\u2019d shoot him like a dog. But don\u2019t let that stop you telling him, Marney darling.\u201d He stretched out his hand, but she recoiled from him in horror and loathing. \u201cYou planned it all\u2026 this was your revenge?\u201d He nodded. \u201cBut Johnny\u2026 Johnny doesn\u2019t know.\u201d She saw the change in the man\u2019s face, that suave assurance of his vanish. \u201cHe does know.\u201d She pointed an accusing finger at him. \u201cHe knows!\u201d \u201cHe knows, but he let you go, honey,\u201d said Jeff. \u201cHe\u2019s one of us, and we never squeak. One of us!\u201d he repeated the words mechanically. She sat down and covered her face with her hands, and Jeffrey, watching her, thought at first that she was crying. When she raised her face, her eyes were dry. And, more extraordinary to him the fear that he had seen was no longer there. \u201cJohnny will kill you,\u201d she said simply. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t let me go\u2026 like that\u2026 if he knew. It isn\u2019t reasonable to suppose that he would, is it?\u201d It was Jeff Legge\u2019s turn to be uncomfortable. Not at the menace of Johnny\u2019s vengeance, but at her utter calmness. She might have been discussing the matter impartially with a third person. For a moment he lost his grip of the situation. All that she said was so obviously, so patently logical, and instinctively he looked round as though he expected to find Johnny Gray at his elbow. The absurdity of the situation struck him, and he chuckled nervously. \u201cJohnny!\u201d he sneered. \u201cWhat do you expect Johnny to do, eh? He\u2019s just out of \u2018bird\u2019&#8211;that\u2019s jail; it is sometimes called \u2018boob\u2019&#8211;I see there\u2019s a whole lot of stuff you\u2019ve got to learn before you get right into the family ways.\u201d He lounged toward her and dropped his hands on her shoulders. \u201cNow, old girl,\u201d he said, \u201cthere are two things you can do. You can call up Peter and put him wise, or you can make the best of a bad job.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll call father,\u201d she said, springing up. Before she could reach the telephone, his arm was round her, and he had swung her back. \u201cYou\u2019ll call nothing,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s no alternative, my little girl. You\u2019re Mrs. Legge, and I lowered myself to marry the daughter of such a squealing old hound! Marney, give me a kiss. You\u2019ve not been very free with your tokens of affection, and I haven\u2019t pressed you, for fear of scaring you off. Always the considerate gentleman&#8211;that\u2019s Jeff Legge.\u201d Suddenly she was in his arms, struggling desperately. He tried to reach her lips, but she buried her face in his coat, until, with a savage jerk that almost dislocated her shoulder, he had flung her at arm\u2019s distance. She looked up at the inflamed face and shuddered. \u201cI\u2019ve got you, Marney.\u201d His voice was hoarse with triumph. \u201cI\u2019ve got you properly\u2026 legally. You\u2019re my wife! You realise that? No man can come between you and me.\u201d He pulled her toward him, caught her pale face between his hands, and turned it up to his. With all the strength of utter horror and loathing, she tore herself free, fled to the door, flung it open, and stood back, wide-eyed with amazement. In the doorway stood a tall, broad woman, with vividly red hair and a broad, good-humoured face. From her costume she was evidently one of the chambermaids of the hotel. From her voice she was most obviously Welsh. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d demanded Jeff. \u201cGet out, damn you!\u201d \u201cWhy do you talk so at me now, look you? I will not have this bad language. The maid of this suite I am!\u201d Marney saw her chance of escaping, and, running into the room, slammed the door and locked it. Chapter 10. For a moment Jeff Legge stood, helpless with rage. Then he flung all his weight against the door, but it did not yield. He took up the telephone, but changed his mind. He did not want a scandal. Least of all did he wish to be advertised as Jeffrey Legge. Compromise was a blessed word&#8211;he knocked at the door. \u201cMarney, come out and be sensible,\u201d he said. \u201cI was only joking. The whole thing was just to try you&#8212;-\u201d She offered no reply. There was probably a telephone in the bedroom, he thought. Would she dare call her father? He heard another door unlocked. The bedroom gave on to the corridor, and he went out, to see the big chambermaid emerging. She was alone, and no sooner was she outside the door than it was locked upon her. \u201cI\u2019ll report you to the management,\u201d he said furiously. He could have murdered her without compunction. But his rage made no impression upon the phlegmatic Welsh woman. \u201cA good character I have, look you, from all my employers. To be in the bedroom, it was my business. You shall not use bad language to me, look you, or I will have the law on you!\u201d Jeffrey thought quickly. He waited in the corridor until the woman had disappeared, then he beckoned from the far end a man who was evidently the floor waiter. \u201cGo down to the office and ask the manager, with my compliments, if I can have a second set of keys to my rooms,\u201d he said suavely. \u201cMy wife wishes to have her own.\u201d He slipped a bill into the man\u2019s hand, of such magnitude that the waiter was overwhelmed. \u201cCertainly, sir. I think I can arrange,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd perhaps you would lend me your pass key,\u201d said Jeff carelessly. \u201cI haven\u2019t a pass key, sir. Only the management have that,\u201d replied the man; \u201cbut I believe I can get you what you want.\u201d He came back in a few minutes to the sitting-room with many apologies. There were no duplicate sets of keys. Jeff closed the sitting-room door on the man and locked it. Then he went over to the bedroom door. \u201cMarney!\u201d he called, and this time she answered him. \u201cAre you going to be sensible?\u201d \u201cI think I\u2019m being very sensible,\u201d was her reply. \u201cCome out and talk to me.\u201d \u201cThank you, I would rather remain here.\u201d There was a pause. \u201cIf you go to your father, I will follow and kill him. I\u2019ve got to shoot first, you know, Marney, after what you\u2019ve told me.\u201d There was a silence, and he knew that his words had impressed her. \u201cThink it over,\u201d he suggested. \u201cTake your time about it.\u201d \u201cWill you promise to leave me alone?\u201d she asked. \u201cWhy, sure, I\u2019ll promise anything,\u201d he said, and meant it. \u201cCome out, Marney,\u201d he wheedled. \u201cYou can\u2019t stay there all day. You\u2019ve got to eat.\u201d \u201cThe woman will bring me my dinner,\u201d was the instant reply, and Jeffrey cursed her softly. \u201cAll right, have it your own way,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I tell you this, that if you don\u2019t come out to-night, there will be trouble in your happy family.\u201d He was satisfied, even though she did not answer him, that Marney would make no attempt to communicate with her father&#8211;that night, at least. After that night, nothing mattered. He got on to the telephone, but the man he sought had not arrived. A quarter of an hour later, as he was opening his second bottle of champagne, the telephone bell tinkled and Emanuel Legge\u2019s voice answered him. \u201cShe\u2019s giving me trouble,\u201d he said in a low voice, relating what had happened. He heard his father\u2019s click of annoyance and hastened to excuse his own precipitancy. \u201cShe had to know sooner or later.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re a fool,\u201d snarled the old man. \u201cWhy couldn\u2019t you leave it?\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ve got to cover me here,\u201d said Jeff urgently. \u201cIf she phones to Peter, there is going to be trouble. And Johnny&#8212;-\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t worry about Johnny,\u201d said Emanuel Legge unpleasantly. \u201cThere will be no kick coming from him. \u201d He did not offer any explanation, and Jeff was too relieved by the assurance in his father\u2019s voice to question him on the subject. \u201cTake a look at the keyhole,\u201d said Emanuel, \u201cand tell me if the key\u2019s in the lock. Anyway, I\u2019ll send you a couple of tools, and you\u2019ll open that door in two jiffs&#8211;but you\u2019ve got to wait until the middle of the night, when she\u2019s asleep.\u201d Half an hour later a small package arrived by district messenger, and Jeffrey, cutting the sealed cord, opened the little box and picked out two curiously wrought instruments. For an hour he practised on the door of the second bedroom leading from the saloon, and succeeded in turning the key from the reverse side. Toward dinner-time he heard voices in Marney\u2019s bedroom, and, creeping to the door, listened. It was the Welsh woman, and there came to his ears the clatter of plates and cutlery, and he smiled. He had hardly got back to his chair and his newspaper when the telephone bell rang. It was the reception clerk. \u201cThere\u2019s a lady to see you. She asked if you\u2019d come down. She says it is very important.\u201d \u201cWho is it?\u201d asked Jeffrey, frowning. \u201cMiss Lila.\u201d \u201cLila!\u201d He hesitated. \u201cSend her up, please,\u201d he said, and drew a heavy velvet curtain across the door of Marney\u2019s room. At the first sight of Peter Kane\u2019s maid he knew that she had left Horsham in a hurry. Under the light coat she wore he saw the white collar of her uniform. \u201cWhat\u2019s the trouble with you, Lila?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhere is Marney?\u201d she asked. He nodded to the curtained room. \u201cHave you locked her in?\u201d \u201cTo be exact, she locked herself in,\u201d said Jeff with a twisted smile. The eyes of the woman narrowed. \u201cOh, it\u2019s like that, is it?\u201d she asked harshly. \u201cYou haven\u2019t lost much time, Jeff.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t get silly ideas in your nut,\u201d he said coolly. \u201cI told her who I was, and there was a row&#8211;that\u2019s all there is to it. Now, what\u2019s the trouble?\u201d \u201cPeter Kane\u2019s left Horsham with a gun in his pocket&#8211;that\u2019s all,\u201d she said, and Jeffrey paled. \u201cSit down and tell me just what you mean.\u201d \u201cAfter you\u2019d gone I went up to my room because I was feeling mighty bad,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve got my feelings, and there isn\u2019t a woman breathing that can see a man go away with another girl&#8212;-\u201d \u201cCut out all the sentiment and let\u2019s get right down to the facts,\u201d commanded Jeff. \u201cI\u2019ll tell it in my own way if you don\u2019t mind, Jeffrey Legge,\u201d said Lila. \u201cWell, get on with it,\u201d he said impatiently. \u201cI wasn\u2019t there long before I heard Peter in his room&#8211;it is underneath mine&#8211;and he was talking to himself. I guess curiosity got the better of my worry, and I went down and listened. I couldn\u2019t hear what he was saying, and so I opened the door of his room a little bit. He had just changed. The moment I went in he was slipping the magazine in the butt of a Browning&#8211;I saw him put it in his coat pocket, and then I went downstairs. After a while he came down too, and, Jeff, I didn\u2019t like the look of his face. It was all grey and pinched, and if ever I saw a devil in a man\u2019s eyes I saw it in Peter Kane\u2019s. I heard him order the car, and then I went down into the kitchen, thinking he was going at once. But he didn\u2019t leave for about half an hour.\u201d \u201cWhat was he doing?\u201d \u201cHe was in his own room, writing. I don\u2019t know what he was writing, because he always uses a black blotting-pad. He must have written a lot, because I know there were half a dozen sheets of stationery in the rack, and when I went in after he\u2019d left they had all gone. There was nothing torn up in the waste-paper basket, and he\u2019d burnt nothing, so he must have taken all the stuff with him. I tried to get you on the phone, but you hadn\u2019t arrived, and I decided to come up.\u201d \u201cHow did you come up&#8211;by train or car?\u201d \u201cBy taxi. There wasn\u2019t a train for nearly two hours.\u201d \u201cYou didn\u2019t overtake Peter by any chance?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t. He was driving himself; his machine is a Spanz, and it moves!\u201d Jeff bit his nails. \u201cThat gun of Peter\u2019s worries me a little,\u201d he said after a while, \u201cbecause he isn\u2019t a gunman. Wait.\u201d He took up the telephone and again called his father, and in a few words conveyed the story which Lila had brought. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to cover me now,\u201d he said anxiously. \u201cPeter knows.\u201d A long pause. \u201cJohnny must have told him. I didn\u2019t dream he would,\u201d said Emanuel. \u201cKeep to the hotel, and don\u2019t go out. I\u2019ll have a couple of boys watching both entrances, and if Peter shows his nose in Pall Mall he\u2019s going to be hurt.\u201d Jeff hung up the receiver slowly and turned to the girl. \u201cThank you, Lila. That\u2019s all you can do for me.\u201d \u201cIt is not all you can do for me,\u201d said Lila. \u201cJeff, what is going to happen now? I\u2019ve tried to pin you down, but you\u2019re a little too shifty for me. You told me that this was going to be one of those high-class platonic marriages which figure in the divorce courts, and, Jeff, I\u2019m beginning to doubt.\u201d \u201cThen you\u2019re a wise woman,\u201d said Jeffrey calmly. For a moment she did not understand the significance of the words. \u201cI\u2019m a wise woman?\u201d she repeated. \u201cJeff, you don\u2019t mean&#8212;-\u201d \u201cI\u2019m entitled to my adventures,\u201d said Jeffrey, settling himself comfortably in the big arm-chair and crossing his legs. \u201cI have a dear little wife, and for the moment, Lila, our little romance is finished.\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t mean that?\u201d she asked unsteadily. \u201cJeff, you\u2019re kidding. You told me that all you wanted was to get a share of Peter\u2019s money, and Emanuel told me the same. He said he was going to put the \u2018black\u2019 on Peter and get away with forty thousand.\u201d \u201cIn the meantime I\u2019ve got away with the girl,\u201d said Jeffrey comfortably, \u201cand there\u2019s no sense in kicking up a fuss, Lila. We\u2019ve had a good time, and change is everything in life.\u201d She was on her feet now, glaring down at him. \u201cAnd have I been six months doing slavey work, nosing for you, Jeffrey Legge, to be told that our little romance is finished?\u201d she asked shrilly. \u201cYou\u2019ve double-crossed me, you dirty thief! And if I don\u2019t fix you, my name\u2019s not Lila.\u201d \u201cIt isn\u2019t,\u201d said Jeffrey. He reached for a cigar and lit it. \u201cAnd never was. Your name\u2019s Jane&#8211;that is, if you haven\u2019t been telling me lies. Now, Lila, be an intelligent human being. I\u2019ve put aside five hundred for you&#8212;-\u201d \u201cReal money, I hope,\u201d she sneered. \u201cNo, you\u2019re not going to get away with it so easy, Mr. Jeffrey Legge. You\u2019ve fooled me from beginning to end, and you either carry out your promise or I\u2019ll&#8212;-\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t say you\u2019ll squeak,\u201d said Jeffrey, closing his eyes in mock resignation. \u201cYou\u2019re all squeakers. I\u2019m tired of you! You don\u2019t think I\u2019d give you anything to squeak about, do you? That I\u2019d trust you farther than I could fling you? No, my girl, I\u2019m four kinds of a fool, but not that kind. You know just as much about me as the police know, or as Johnny Gray knows. You can\u2019t tell my new wife, because she knows too. And Peter knows&#8211;in fact, I shouldn\u2019t be surprised if somebody didn\u2019t write a story about it in the newspapers to-morrow!\u201d He took out his pocket-case, opened it, and from a thick wad of notes peeled five, which he flung on to the table. \u201cThere\u2019s your \u2018monkey,\u2019 and au revoir, beauteous maiden,\u201d he said. She took up the notes slowly, folded them, and slipped them into her bag. Her eyes were burning fires, her face colourless. If she had flown at him in a fury he would have understood, and was, in fact, prepared. But she said nothing until she stood, the knob of the door in her hand. \u201cThere are three men after you, Jeffrey Legge,\u201d she said, \u201cand one will get you. Reeder, or Johnny, or Peter&#8211;and if they fail, you look out for me!\u201d And on this threat she took her departure, slamming the door behind her, and Jeffrey settled down again to his newspaper, with the feeling of satisfaction which comes to a man who has got through a very unpleasant task. Chapter 11. In a long, sedate road in suburban Brockley lived a man who had apparently no fixed occupation. He was tall, thin, somewhat cadaverous, and he was known locally as a furtive night-bird. Few had seen him in the day-time, and the inquisitive who, by skilful cross-examination, endeavoured to discover his business from a reticent housekeeper learnt comparatively little, and that little inaccurate. Policemen on night duty, morning wayfarers had seen him walking up Brockley Road in the early hours, coming apparently from the direction of London. He was known as Mr. J.G. Reeder. Letters in that name came addressed to him&#8211;large blue letters, officially stamped and sealed and in consequence it was understood in postal circles that he held a Government position. The local police force never troubled him. He was one of the subjects which it was not permissible to discuss. Until the advent of Emanuel Legge that afternoon, nobody ever remembered Mr. Reeder having a caller. Emanuel had come from prison to the affairs of the everyday world with a clearer perception of values than his son. He was too old a criminal to be under any illusions. Sooner or later, the net of the law would close upon Jeffrey, and the immunity which he at present enjoyed would be at an end. To every graft came its inevitable lagging. Emanuel, wise in his generation, had decided upon taking the boldest step of his career. And that he did so was not flattering to the administration of justice; nor could it be regarded as a tribute to the integrity of the police. Emanuel had \u201cstraightened\u201d many a young detective, and not a few advanced in years. He knew the art of \u201cdropping\u201d to perfection. In all his life he had only met three or four men who were superior to the well-camouflaged bribe. A hundred here and there makes things easier for the big crook; a thousand will keep him out of the limelight; but, once the light is on him, not a million can disturb the inevitable march of justice. Emanuel was working in the pre-limelight stage, and hoped for success. If his many inquiries were truthfully answered, the police had not greatly changed since his young days. Secret service men were new to him. He had thought, in spite of the enormous sums allocated to that purpose in every year\u2019s budget, that secret service was an invention of the sensational novelist; and even now, he imagined Mr. Reeder to be one who was subsidised from the comparatively private resources of the banks rather than from the Treasury. It was Emanuel\u2019s action to grasp the nettle firmly. \u201cIn-fighting is not much worse than hugging,\u201d was a favourite saying of his, and once he had located Mr. J.G. Reeder, the night-hawk&#8211;and that had been the labour of months&#8211;the rest was easy. Always providing that Mr. Reeder was amenable to argument. The middle-aged woman who opened the door to him gave him an unpromising reception. \u201cMr. Reeder is engaged,\u201d she said, \u201cand he doesn\u2019t want to see any visitors.\u201d \u201cWill you kindly tell him,\u201d said Emanuel with his most winning smile and a beam of benevolence behind his thick glasses, \u201cthat Mr. Legge from Devonshire would like to see him on a very particular matter of business?\u201d She closed the door in his face, and kept him so long waiting that he decided that even the magic of his name and its familiar association (he guessed) had not procured him an entry. But here he was mistaken. The door was opened for him, closed and bolted behind him, and he was led up a flight of stairs to the first floor. The house was, to all appearance, well and comfortably furnished. The room into which he was ushered, if somewhat bare and official-looking, had an austerity of its own. Sitting behind a large writing-table, his back to the fire-place, was a man whom he judged to be between fifty and sixty. His face was thin, his expression sad. Almost on the end of his nose was clipped a pair of large, circular pince-nez. His hair was of that peculiar tint, red turning to grey, and his ears were large and prominent, seeming to go away from his head at right angles. All this Emanuel noted in a glance. \u201cGood morning, or good afternoon, Mr. Legge,\u201d said the man at the desk. He half rose and offered a cold and lifeless hand. \u201cSit down, will you?\u201d he said wearily. \u201cI don\u2019t as a rule receive visitors, but I seem to remember your name. Now where have I heard it?\u201d He dropped his chin to his breast and looked over his spectacles dolefully. Emanuel\u2019s expansive smile struck against the polished surface of his indifference and rebounded. He felt for the first time the waste of expansiveness. \u201cI had a little piece of information I thought I\u2019d bring to you, Mr. Reeder,\u201d he said. \u201cI suppose you know that I\u2019m one of those unfortunate people who, through the treachery of others, have suffered imprisonment?\u201d \u201cYes, yes, of course,\u201d said Mr. Reeder in his weak voice, his chin still bent, his pale blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other. \u201cOf course, I remember. You were the man who robbed the strong-room. Of course you were. Legge, Legge? I seem to remember the name too. Haven\u2019t you a son?\u201d \u201cI have a son, the best boy in the world,\u201d said Emanuel fervently. There was a telephone receiver at Mr. Reeder\u2019s right hand, and throughout the interview he was polishing the black stem with the cuff of his alpaca coat, a nervous little trick which first amused and then irritated the caller. \u201cHe has never been in trouble, Mr. Legge? Ah, that\u2019s a blessing,\u201d he sighed. \u201cSo many young people get into trouble nowadays.\u201d If there was one person whom Legge did not want to discuss it was his son. He got off the subject as well as he could. \u201cI understand, Mr. Reeder, that you\u2019re doing special work for the Government&#8211;in the police department?\u201d \u201cNot in the police department,\u201d murmured the other. \u201cNo, no, certainly not&#8211;not in the police department. I scarcely know a policeman. I see them often in the streets, and very picturesque figures they are. Mostly young men in the vigour and prime of youth. What a wonderful thing is youth, Mr. Legge! I suppose you\u2019re very proud of your son?\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s a good boy,\u201d said Emanuel shortly, and Mr. Reeder sighed again. \u201cChildren are a great expense,\u201d he said. \u201cI often wonder whether I ought to be glad that I never married. What is your son by occupation, Mr. Legge?\u201d \u201cAn export agent,\u201d said Emanuel promptly. \u201cDear, dear!\u201d said the other, and shook his head. Emanuel did not know whether he was impressed or only sympathising. \u201cBeing in Dartmoor, naturally I met a number of bad characters,\u201d said the virtuous Emanuel; \u201cmen who did not appeal to me, since I was perfectly innocent and only got my stretch&#8211;lagging&#8211;imprisonment through a conspiracy on the part of a man I\u2019ve done many a good turn to&#8212;-\u201d \u201cIngratitude,\u201d interrupted Mr. Reeder, drawing in his breath. \u201cWhat a terrible thing is ingratitude! How grateful your son must be that he has a father who looks after him, who has properly educated him and brought him up in the straight way, in spite of his own deplorable lapses!\u201d \u201cNow, look here, Mr. Reeder.\u201d Emanuel thought it was time to get more definitely to business. \u201cI\u2019m a very plain man, and I\u2019m going to speak plainly to you. It has come to my knowledge that the gentlemen you are acting for are under the impression that my boy\u2019s got to do with the printing of \u2018slush\u2019&#8211;counterfeit notes. I was never more hurt in my life than when I heard this rumour. I said to myself: \u2018I\u2019ll go straight away to Mr. Reeder and discuss the matter with him. I know he\u2019s a man of the world, and he will understand my feelings as a father.\u2019 Some people, Mr. Reeder\u201d&#8211;his elbows were on the table and he leant over and adopted a more confidential tone&#8211;\u201cSome people get wrong impressions. Only the other day somebody was saying to me: \u2018That Mr. Reeder is broke. He\u2019s got three county court summonses for money owed&#8212;-\u2019\u201d \u201cA temporary embarrassment,\u201d murmured Mr. Reeder. \u201cOne has those periods of financial&#8211;er&#8211;depression.\u201d He was polishing the stem of the telephone more vigorously. \u201cI don\u2019t suppose you\u2019re very well paid? I\u2019m taking a liberty in making that personal statement, but as a man of the world you\u2019ll understand. I know what it is to be poor. I\u2019ve had some of the best society people in my office\u201d&#8211;Emanuel invented the office on the spur of the moment&#8211;\u201cthe highest people in the land, and if they\u2019ve said: \u2018Mr. Legge, can you oblige me with a thousand or a couple of thousand?\u2019 why, I\u2019ve pulled it out, as it were, like this.\u201d He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it, holding a large roll of money fastened with a rubber band. For a second Mr. J.G. Reeder allowed his attention to be distracted, and surveyed the pile of wealth with the same detached interest which he had given to Emanuel. Then, reaching out his hand cautiously, he took the note from the top, felt it, fingered it, rustled it, and looked quickly at the watermark. \u201cGenuine money,\u201d he said in a hushed voice, and handed the note back with apparent reluctance. \u201cIf a man is broke,\u201d said Legge emphatically, \u201cI don\u2019t care who he is or what he is, I say: \u2018Is a thousand or two thousand any good to you?\u2019&#8212;-\u201d \u201cAnd is it?\u201d asked Mr. Reeder. \u201cIs what?\u201d said Emanuel, taken off his guard. \u201cIs it any good to him?\u201d \u201cWell, of course it is,\u201d said Legge. \u201cMy point is this: a gentleman may be very hard pressed, and yet be the most solvent person in the world. If he can only get a couple of thousand just when he wants it&#8211;why, there\u2019s no scandal, no appearance in court which might injure him in his job&#8212;-\u201d \u201cHow very true! How very, _very_ true!\u201d Mr. Reeder seemed profoundly touched. \u201cI hope you pass on these wise and original statements to your dear son, Mr. Legge?\u201d he said. \u201cWhat a splendid thing it is that he has such a father!\u201d Emanuel cursed him under his breath. \u201cTwo thousand pounds,\u201d mused Mr. Reeder. \u201cNow, if you had said five thousand pounds&#8212;-\u201d \u201cI do say five thousand,\u201d said Emanuel eagerly. \u201cI\u2019m not going to spoil the ship for a ha\u2019porth of tar.\u201d \u201cIf you had said five thousand pounds,\u201d Mr. Reeder went on, \u201cI should have known that three thousand was \u2018slush,\u2019 or shall we say \u2018phoney\u2019&#8211;because you only drew two thousand from the City and Birmingham Bank this morning, all in hundred pound notes, series GI.19721 to 19740. Correct me if I\u2019m wrong. Of course, you might have some other genuine money stowed away in your little hotel, Mr. Legge; or your dear boy may have given you another three thousand as a sort of wedding present&#8211;I forgot, though, a bridegroom doesn\u2019t give wedding presents, does he? He receives them. How foolish of me! Put away your money, Mr. Legge. This room is very draughty, and it might catch cold. Do you ever go to the Hilly Fields? It is a delightful spot. You must come to tea with me one Sunday, and we will go up and hear the band. It is a very inexpensive but satisfactory method of spending two hours. As to those judgment summonses\u201d&#8211;he coughed, and rubbed his nose with his long forefinger&#8211;\u201cthose summonses were arranged in order to bring you here. I did _so_ want to meet you, and I knew the bait of my impecuniosity would be almost irresistible.\u201d Emanuel Legge sat, dumbfounded. \u201cDo you know a man named \u2018Golden\u2019? Ah, he would be before your time. Have you ever heard of him? He was my predecessor. I don\u2019t think you met him. He had a great saying&#8211;set a \u2018brief\u2019 to catch a thief. We called a note a \u2018brief\u2019 in those days. Good afternoon, Mr. Legge. You will find your way down.\u201d Legge rose, and with that the sad-faced man dropped his eyes and resumed the work he had been at when the visitor had interrupted him. \u201cI only want to say this, Mr. Reeder&#8212;-\u201d began Legge. \u201cTell my housekeeper,\u201d pleaded Reeder weakly, and he did not look up. \u201cShe\u2019s frightfully interested in fairy stories&#8211;I think she must be getting towards her second childhood. Good afternoon, Mr. Legge.\u201d Chapter 12. Emanuel Legge was half-way home before he could sort out his impressions. He went back to the Bloomsbury Hotel where he was staying. There was no message for him, and there had been no callers. It was now seven o\u2019clock. He wondered whether Jeff had restrained his impatience. Jeff must be told and warned. Johnny Gray, dead or maimed in a hospital, had ceased to be a factor. Peter Kane, for all his cunning and his vengefulness, might be dismissed as a source of danger. It was Mr. J.G. Reeder who filled his thoughts: the bored Civil Servant with a weak voice, who had such a surprising knowledge of things, and whose continuous pointed references to Jeffrey filled him with unquiet. Jeffrey must clear out of the country, and must go while the going was good. If he hadn\u2019t been such a fool, he would have moved that night. Now, that was impossible. Peter had not arrived at the Charlton, or the men whom Legge had set to watch would have reported. If it had not been for the disturbing interview he had had with Reeder, he would have been more worried about Peter Kane; for when Peter delayed action, he was dangerous. At eight o\u2019clock that night, a small boy brought him a note to the hotel. It was addressed \u201cE. Legge,\u201d and the envelope was grimy with much handling. Emanuel took the letter to his room and locked the door before he opened it. It was from a man who was very much on the inside of things, one of Jeff\u2019s shrewd but illiterate assistants, first lieutenant of the Big Printer, and a man to be implicitly trusted. There were six closely written pages, ill-spelt and blotted. Emanuel read the letter a dozen times, and when he finished, there was panic in his heart. \u201cJohnny Gray got out of the tunnel all right, and he\u2019s going to squeak to Reeder,\u201d was the dramatic beginning, and there was a great deal more.\u2026 Emanuel knew a club in the West End of London, and his name was numbered amongst the members, even in the days when he had little opportunity of exercising his membership. It was a club rather unlike any other, and occupied the third and fourth floor of a building, the lower floors being in the possession of an Italian _restaurateur_. Normally, the proprietor of a fairly popular restaurant would not hire out his upper floors to so formidable a rival; but the proprietors of the club were also proprietors of the building, the restaurant keeper being merely a tenant. It suited the membership of the Highlow Club to have their premises a little remote. It suited them better that no stairway led from the lower to the upper floors. Members of the club went down a narrow passage by the side of the restaurant entrance. From the end of the passage ran a small elevator, which carried them to the third floor. The County Council, in granting this concession, insisted upon a very complete fire escape system outside the building&#8211;a command which very well suited the members. Some there were who found it convenient to enter the premises by this latter method, and a window leading into the club was left unfastened day and night against such a contingency. On the flat roof of the building was a small superstructure, which was never used by the club members; whilst another part of the building which also belonged exclusively to the Highlow, was the basement, to which the restaurant proprietor had no access&#8211;much to his annoyance, since it necessitated the building of a wine storage room in the limited space in the courtyard behind. Stepping out of the elevator into a broad passage, well carpeted, its austere walls hung with etchings, Emanuel Legge was greeted respectfully by the liveried porter who sat behind a desk within sight of the lift. There was every reason why Emanuel should be respected at the Highlow, for he was, in truth, the proprietor of the club, and his son had exercised control of the place during many of the years his father had been in prison. The porter, who was a big ex-prize fighter, expressly engaged for the purpose for which he was frequently required, hurried from his tiny perch to stand deferentially before his master. \u201cAnybody here?\u201d asked Legge. The man mentioned a few names. \u201cLet me see the engagement book,\u201d said the other, and the man produced from beneath the ledge of his desk a small, red book, and Emanuel turned the pages. The old man\u2019s hand ran down the list, and suddenly stopped. \u201cOh, yes,\u201d he said softly, closing the book and handing it back. \u201cAre you expecting anybody, Mr. Legge?\u201d asked the porter. \u201cNo, I\u2019m not expecting anybody\u2026 only I wondered\u2026\u201d \u201cMr. Jeffrey got married to-day, I hear, sir? I\u2019m sure all the staff wish him joy.\u201d All the staff did not wish Mr. Jeffrey Legge joy, for neither he nor his father were greatly popular, even in the tolerant society of the Highlow, and moreover, strange as it may appear, very few people knew him by sight. \u201cThat\u2019s very good of you, very good indeed,\u201d murmured Emanuel absently. \u201cAre you dining here, sir?\u201d \u201cNo, no, I\u2019m not dining here. I just looked in, that is all.\u201d He stepped back into the elevator, and the porter watched it drop with pleasure. It was half-past eight; the glow was dying in the sky, and the lights were beginning to twinkle in the streets, as Emanuel walked steadily toward Shaftesbury Avenue. Providentially, he was at the corner of a side street when he saw Peter Kane. He was near enough to note that under his thin overcoat Peter was in evening dress. Slipping into the doorway, he watched the man pass. Peter was absorbed in thought; his eyes were on the ground, and he had no interest for anything but the tremendous problem which occupied his mind. Legge came back to the corner of the street and watched him furtively. Opposite the club, Peter stopped, looked up for a while, and passed on. The watcher laughed to himself. That club could have no pleasant memories for Peter Kane that night; it was in the Highlow that he had met the \u201cyoung Canadian officer\u201d and had \u201crescued\u201d him, as he had thought, from his dangerous surroundings. There had Peter been trapped, for the introduction of Jeff Legge was most skilfully arranged. Going into the club one night, Peter saw, as he thought, a young, good-looking soldier boy in the hands of a gang of cardsharpers, and the \u201crescued officer\u201d had been most grateful, and had called upon Peter at the earliest opportunity. So simple, so very simple, to catch Peter. It would be a more difficult matter, thought Emanuel, for Peter to catch _him_. He waited until the figure had disappeared in the gloom of the evening, and then walked back to the Avenue. This comedy over, there remained the knowledge of stark tragedy, of danger to his boy, and the upsetting of all his plans, and, the most dreadful of all possibilities, the snaring of the Big Printer. This night would the battle be fought, this night of nights would victory or defeat be in his hands. Reeder&#8211;Johnny&#8211;Peter Kane&#8211;all opposed him, innocent of their co-operation, and in his hands a hostage beyond price&#8211;the body and soul of Marney Legge. He had scarcely disappeared when another person known to him came quickly along the quiet street, turned into the club entrance, and, despite the expostulations of the elevator man, insisted upon being taken up. The porter had heard the warning bell and stood waiting to receive her when the door of the elevator opened. \u201cWhere\u2019s Emanuel?\u201d she asked. \u201cJust gone,\u201d said the porter. \u201cThat\u2019s a lie. I should have seen him if he\u2019d just gone.\u201d She was obviously labouring under some emotion, and the porter, an expert on all stages of feminine emotionalism, shrewdly diagnosed the reason for her wildness of manner and speech. \u201cBeen a wedding to-day, hasn\u2019t there?\u201d he asked with heavy jocularity. \u201cNow, Lila, what\u2019s the good of kicking up a fuss? You know you oughtn\u2019t to come here. Mr. Legge gave orders you weren\u2019t to be admitted whilst you were at Kane\u2019s.\u201d \u201cWhere is Emanuel?\u201d she asked. \u201cI tell you he\u2019s just gone out,\u201d said the porter in a tone of ponderous despair. \u201cWhat a woman you are! You don\u2019t believe anything!\u201d \u201cHas he gone back to his hotel?\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s just where he has gone. Now be wise, girl, and beat it. Anybody might be coming here&#8211;Johnny Gray was in last night, and he\u2019s a pal of Peter\u2019s.\u201d \u201cJohnny knows all about me,\u201d she said impatiently. \u201cBesides, I\u2019ve left Peter\u2019s house.\u201d She stood undecidedly at the entrance of the open elevator, and then, when the porter was preparing some of his finest arguments for her rapid disappearance, she stepped into the lift and was taken down. The Highlow was a curious club, for it had no common room. Fourteen private dining-rooms and a large and elegantly furnished card-room constituted the premises. Meals were served from the restaurant below, being brought up by service lift to a small pantry. The members of the club had not the club feeling in the best sense of the word. They included men and women, but the chief reason for the club\u2019s existence was that it afforded a safe and not unpleasant meeting-place for members of the common class, and gave necessary seclusion for the slaughter of such innocents as came within the influence of its more dexterous members. How well its inner secrets were kept is best illustrated by the fact that Peter Kane had been a member for twenty years without knowing that his sometime companion in crime had any official connection with its control. Nor was it ever hinted to him that the man who was directing the club\u2019s activities during Emanuel\u2019s enforced absence, was his son. Peter was a very infrequent visitor to the Highlow; and indeed, on the occasion of his first meeting with the spurious Major Floyd, he had been tricked into coming, though this he did not know. The porter was busy until half-past nine. Little parties came, were checked off in the book, and then&#8211;he looked at his watch. \u201cTwenty-five to ten,\u201d he said, and pushed a bell button. A waiter appeared from the side passage. \u201cPut a bottle of wine in No. 13,\u201d he said. The waiter looked at him surprised. \u201cNo. 13?\u201d he said, as if he could not believe his ears. \u201cI said it,\u201d confirmed the porter. Jeffrey ate a solitary dinner. The humour of the situation did not appeal to him. On his honeymoon, he and his wife were dining, a locked door between them. But he could wait. Again he tried the queer-shaped pliers upon the key of the second bedroom. The key turned readily. He put the tool into his pocket with a sense of power. The clatter of a table being cleared came to him from the other room, and presently he heard the outer door close and a click of the key turning. He lit his fourth cigar and stepped out on to the balcony, surveying the crowded street with a dispassionate interest. It was theatre time. Cars were rolling up to the Haymarket; the long queue that he had seen waiting at the doors of the cheaper parts of the house had disappeared; a restaurant immediately opposite was blazing with lights; and on a corner of the street a band of ex-soldiers were playing the overture of \u201cLohengrin.\u201d Glancing down into the street, he distinguished one of the \u201cminders\u201d his father had put there for his protection, and grinned. Peter could not know; he would have been here before. As to Johnny\u2026? Emanuel had been very confident that Johnny presented no danger, and it rather looked as though Emanuel\u2019s view was right. But if Peter knew, why hadn\u2019t he come? He strolled back to the room, looked at the girl\u2019s door and walked toward it. \u201cMarney!\u201d he called softly. There was no answer. He knocked on the panel. \u201cMarney, come along. I want to talk to you. You needn\u2019t open the door. I just wanted to ask you something.\u201d Still there was no answer. He tried the door: it was locked. \u201cAre you there?\u201d he called sharply, but she did not reply. He pulled the pliers from his pocket, and, pushing the narrow nose into the keyhole, gripped the end of the key and turned it. Then, flinging open the door, he rushed in. The room was empty, and the big bathroom that led out of the suite was empty also. He ran to the passage door: it was locked&#8211;locked from the outside. In a sweat of fear he flew through the saloon into the corridor, and the first person he saw was the floor waiter. \u201cMadam, sir? Yes, she went out a little time ago.\u201d \u201cWent out, you fool? Where?\u201d stormed Jeff. \u201cI don\u2019t know, sir. She just went out. I saw her going along the corridor.\u201d Jeff seized his hat and went down the stairs three at a time. The reception clerk had not seen the girl, nor had any of the pages, or the porter on the door. Oblivious to any immediate danger, he dashed out into the street, and, looking up and down, saw the minder and called him. \u201cShe hasn\u2019t come out this entrance. There\u2019s another in Pall Mall,\u201d he explained. \u201cJimmy Low\u2019s there.\u201d But the second man on the Pall Mall entrance had not seen her either. Jeff went back to interview the manager. \u201cThere is no other way out, sir, unless she went down the service stairs.\u201d \u201cIt was that cursed maid, the Welsh woman,\u201d snarled Jeffrey. \u201cWho is she? Can I see her?\u201d \u201cShe went off duty this afternoon, sir,\u201d said the manager. \u201cIs there anything I can do? Perhaps the lady has gone out for a little walk? Does she know London?\u201d Jeff did not stop to reply: he fled up the stairs, back to the room, and made a quick search. The girl\u2019s dressing-case, which he knew had been taken into the bedroom, was gone. Something on the floor attracted his attention. He picked it up, and read the few scribbled lines, torn from a notebook; and as he read, a light came into his eyes. Very carefully he folded the crumpled sheet and put it into his pocket. Then he went back to his sitting-room, and sat for a long time in the big arm-chair, his legs thrust out before him, his hands deep in his trousers pockets, and his thoughts were not wholly unpleasant. The light was now nearly gone, and he got up. \u201cRoom thirteen,\u201d he said. \u201cRoom thirteen is going to hold a few surprises to-night!\u201d Chapter 13. To Parker, the valet, as he laid out Johnny\u2019s dress clothes, there was a misfortune and a tragedy deeper than any to which Johnny had been a spectator. Johnny, loafing into his bedroom, a long, black, ebonite cigarette-holder between his teeth, found his man profoundly agitated. \u201cThe buckle of your white dress waistcoat has in some unaccountable way disappeared,\u201d he said in a hushed voice. \u201cI\u2019m extremely sorry, sir, because this is the only white dress waistcoat you have.\u201d \u201cBe cheerful,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cTake a happier view of life. You can tie the tapes behind. You could even sew me together, Parker. Are you an expert needle-worker, or do you crochet?\u201d \u201cMy needlework has been admired, sir,\u201d said Parker complacently. \u201cI think yours is an excellent suggestion. Otherwise, the waistcoat will not sit as it should. Especially in the case of a gentleman with your figure.\u201d \u201cParker,\u201d said Johnny, as he began to dress leisurely, \u201chave you ever killed a man?\u201d \u201cNo, sir, I have never killed a man,\u201d said Parker gravely. \u201cWhen I was a young man, I once ran over a cat&#8211;I was a great cyclist in my youth.\u201d \u201cBut you never killed a man? And, what is more, you\u2019ve never even wanted to kill a man?\u201d \u201cNo, sir, I can\u2019t say that I ever have,\u201d said Parker after a few moments\u2019 consideration, as though it were possible that some experience had been his which had been overlooked in the hurry of his answering. \u201cIt is quite a nice feeling, Parker. Is there a hip pocket to these&#8211;yes, there is,\u201d he said, patting his trousers. \u201cI\u2019m sorry there is,\u201d said Parker, \u201cvery sorry indeed. Gentlemen get into the habit of carrying their cigarette cases in the hip pocket, with the result that the coat tail is thrown out of shape. That is where the dinner jacket has its advantages&#8211;the Tuxedo, as an American gentleman once called it, though I\u2019ve never understood why a dinner jacket should be named after a Scottish town.\u201d \u201cTuxedo is in Dixie,\u201d said Johnny humorously, \u201cand Dixie is America\u2019s lost Atlantis. Don\u2019t worry about the set of my tail coat. I am not carrying my cigarette case there.\u201d \u201cAnything more bulky would of course be worse, sir,\u201d said Parker, and Johnny did not carry the discussion any farther. \u201cGet me a cab,\u201d he ordered. When Parker returned, he found his master was fully dressed. \u201cYou will want your cane, sir. Gentlemen are carrying them now in evening dress. There is one matter I would like to speak to you about before you go&#8211;it is something that has been rather worrying me for the past few days.\u201d Johnny was leaving the room, and turned. \u201cAnything serious?\u201d he asked, for a moment deceived. \u201cI don\u2019t like telling you, sir, but I have discussed the matter with very knowledgeable people, and they are agreed that French shapes are no longer worn in silk hats. You occasionally see them in theatrical circles&#8212;-\u201d Johnny put up a solemn hand. \u201cParker, do not let us discuss my general shabbiness. I didn\u2019t even know I had a hat of French shape.\u201d He took off his hat and looked at it critically. \u201cIt is a much better shape than the hat I was wearing a week ago, Parker, believe me!\u201d \u201cOf course I believe you, sir,\u201d agreed Parker, and turned to the door. Johnny dismissed his cab in Shaftesbury Avenue and walked down toward the club. It was dark now; half-past nine had chimed as he came along Piccadilly. It was a point of honour with all members of the Highlow that nobody drove up to the club, and its very existence was unknown to the taximen. That was a rule that had been made, and most faithfully adhered to; and the members of the Highlow observed their rules, for, if a breach did not involve a demand for their resignation, it occasionally brought about a broken head. Just before he reached the club, he saw somebody cross the road. It was not difficult to recognise Jeff Legge. Just at that moment it would have been rather embarrassing for Johnny to have met the man. He turned and walked back the way he had come, to avoid the chance of their both going up in the elevator together. Jeff Legge was in a hurry: the elevator did not move fast enough for him, and he stepped out on to the third floor and asked a question. \u201cNo, sir, nobody has come. If they do, I\u2019ll send them along to you. Where will you be? You haven\u2019t a room engaged&#8211;your own room is taken. We don\u2019t often let it, but we\u2019re full to-night, and Mr. Legge raised no objection.\u201d \u201cNo, I don\u2019t object,\u201d said Jeff; \u201cbut don\u2019t you worry about that. Let me see the book.\u201d Again the red-covered engagement book was opened. Jeff read and nodded. \u201cFine,\u201d he said. \u201cNow tell me again who is here.\u201d \u201cThere is Mr. George Kurlu, with a party of friends in No. 3; there\u2019s Mr. Bob Albutt and those two young ladies he goes about with&#8211;they\u2019re in No. 4.\u201d And so he recited until he came to No. 13. \u201cI know all about No. 13,\u201d said Jeff Legge between his teeth. \u201cYou needn\u2019t bother about me, however. That will do.\u201d He strode along the carpeted hallway, turned abruptly into the right-angled passage, and presently stopped before a door with a neat golden \u201c13\u201d painted on its polished panel. He opened the door and went in. On the red-covered table was a bottle of wine and two glasses. It was a moderately large room, furnished with a sofa, four dining chairs and a deep easy chair, whilst against one wall was a small buffet. The room was brilliantly lighted. Six bracket lamps were blazing; the centre light above the table, with its frosted bulbs, was full on. He did not shut the door, leaving it slightly ajar. There was too much light for his purpose. He first switched out the bracket lamps, and then all but one of the frosted bulbs in the big shaded lamp over the table. Then he sat down, his back to the door, his eyes on the empty fire-grate. Presently he heard a sound, the whining of the elevator, and smiled. Johnny stepped out to the porter\u2019s desk with a friendly nod. \u201cGood evening, Captain,\u201d said the porter with a broad grin. \u201cGlad to see you back, sir. I wasn\u2019t here last night when you came in. Hope you haven\u2019t had too bad a time in the country?\u201d \u201cAbroad, my dear fellow, abroad,\u201d murmured the other reproachfully, and the porter chuckled. \u201cSame old crowd, I suppose?\u201d \u201cYes, sir.\u201d \u201cSame old bolt down the fire-escape when the \u2018busies\u2019 call&#8211;or have you got all the \u2018busies\u2019 straightened?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t think there\u2019s much trouble, sir,\u201d said the porter. \u201cWe often have a couple of those gentlemen in here to dinner. The club\u2019s very convenient sometimes. I shouldn\u2019t think they\u2019ll ever shut us up.\u201d \u201cI shouldn\u2019t think so, either,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cWhich of the \u2018busies\u2019 do you get?\u201d \u201cWell, sir, we get Mr. Craig, and&#8211;once we had that Reeder. He came here alone, booked a table and came alone! Can you beat it? Came and had his dinner, saw nobody and went away again. I don\u2019t think he\u2019s right up there\u201d&#8211;he tapped his forehead significantly. \u201cAnything less like a \u2018busy\u2019 I\u2019ve never seen.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know whether he is a detective,\u201d said Johnny carelessly. \u201cFrom all I\u2019ve heard, he has nothing whatever to do with the police.\u201d \u201cPrivate, is he?\u201d said the other in a tone of disappointment. \u201cNot exactly private. Anyway,\u201d with a smile, \u201che\u2019s not going to bother you or our honourable members. Anybody here?\u201d The porter looked to left and right, and lowered his voice. \u201cA certain person you know is here,\u201d he said meaningly. Johnny laughed. \u201cIt would be a funny club if there wasn\u2019t somebody I knew,\u201d he said. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about me; I\u2019ll find a little corner for myself.\u2026\u201d Jeff looked at his watch; it was a quarter to ten, and he glanced up at the light; catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the buffet, was satisfied. Room 13! And Marney was his wife! The blood surged up into his face, gorging the thick veins in his temples at the thought. She should pay! He had helped the old man, as he would help him in any graft, but he had never identified himself so completely with the plan as he did at that moment. \u201cPut her down to the earth,\u201d had said Emanuel, and by God he would do it. As for Johnny Gray\u2026 The door opened stealthily, and a hand came in, holding a Browning. He heard the creak of the door but did not look round, and then: \u201c_Bang!_\u201d Once the pistol fired. Jeff felt a sharp twitch of pain, exquisite, unbearable, and fell forward on his knees. Twice he endeavoured to rise, then with a groan fell in a huddled heap, his head in the empty fire-place. Chapter 14. The doors and the walls of the private dining-rooms were almost sound-proof. No stir followed the shot. In the hall outside, the porter lifted his head and listened. \u201cWhat was that?\u201d he asked the waiting elevator man. \u201cDidn\u2019t hear anything,\u201d said the other laconically. \u201cSomebody slammed a door.\u201d \u201cMaybe,\u201d said the porter, and went back to his book. He was filling in the names of that night\u2019s visitors, an indispensable record in such a club, and he was filling them in with pencil, an equally necessary act of caution, for sometimes the club members desired a quick expungement of this evidence. In Room 13 silence reigned. A thin blue cloud floated to the ceiling; the door opened a little farther, and Johnny Gray came in, his right hand in his overcoat pocket. Slowly he crossed the room to where the huddled figure lay, and, stooping, turned it upon its back. Then, after a brief scrutiny, his quick hands went through the man\u2019s pockets. He found something, carried it to the light, read with a frown and pushed the paper into his own pocket. Going out, he closed the door carefully behind him and strolled back to the hall. \u201cNot staying, Captain?\u201d asked the porter in surprise. \u201cNo, nobody I know here. Queer how the membership changes.\u201d The man on duty was too well trained to ask inconvenient questions. \u201cExcuse me, Captain.\u201d He went over to Johnny and bent down. \u201cYou\u2019ve got some blood on your cuff.\u201d He took out his handkerchief and wiped the stain clean. Then his frowning eyes met the young man\u2019s. \u201cAnything wrong, Captain?\u201d \u201cNothing that I can tell you about,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cGood night.\u201d \u201cGood night, sir,\u201d said the porter. He stood by his desk, looking hard at the glass doors of the elevator, heard the rattle of the gate as it opened, and the whine of the lift as it rose again. \u201cJust stay here, and don\u2019t answer any rings till I come back,\u201d he said. He hurried along the corridor into the side passage and, coming to No. 13, knocked. There was no answer. He turned the handle. One glance told him all he wanted to know. Gently he closed the door and hurried back to the telephone on his desk. Before he raised the receiver he called the gaping lift-boy. \u201cGo to all the rooms, and say a murder has been committed. Get everybody out.\u201d He was still clasping the telephone with damp hands when the last frightened guest crowded into the elevator, then: \u201cHighlow Club speaking. Is that the Charing Cross Hospital?\u2026 I want an ambulance here\u2026 Yes, 38, Boburn Street\u2026 There\u2019s been an accident.\u201d He rung off and called another number. \u201cHighlow Club. Is that the police station?\u2026 It\u2019s the porter at the Highlow Club speaking, sir. One of our members has shot himself.\u201d He put down the instrument and turned his face to the scared elevator man who had returned to the high level. At the end of the passage stood a crowd of worried waiters. \u201cBenny,\u201d he said, \u201cCaptain Gray hasn\u2019t been here to-night. You understand? Captain&#8211;Gray&#8211;has&#8211;not&#8211;been&#8211;here&#8211;to-night.\u201d The guest-book was open on the desk. He took his pencil and wrote, on the line where Johnny Gray\u2019s name should have been, \u201cMr. William Brown of Toronto.\u201d Chapter 15. The last of the guests had escaped, when the police came, and, simultaneously with the ambulance, Divisional-Inspector Craig, who had happened to be making a call in the neighbourhood. The doctor who came with the ambulance made a brief examination. \u201cHe is not dead, though he may be before he reaches hospital,\u201d he said. \u201cIs it a case of suicide?\u201d The doctor shook his head. \u201cSuicides do not, as a rule, shoot themselves under the right shoulder-blade. It would be a difficult operation: try it yourself. I should say he\u2019d been shot from the open doorway.\u201d He applied a rough first dressing, and Jeffrey was carried into the elevator. In the bottom passage a stretcher was prepared, and upon this he was laid, and, covered with a blanket, carried through the crowd which had assembled at the entrance. \u201cMurder, or attempted murder, as the case may be,\u201d said Craig. \u201cSomeone has tipped off the guests. You, I suppose, Stevens? Let me see your book.\u201d The inspector ran his finger down the list, and stopped at Room 13. \u201cMr. William Brown of Toronto. Who is Mr. Brown of Toronto?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know, sir. He engaged a room by telephone. I didn\u2019t see him go.\u201d \u201cThat old fire-escape of yours still working?\u201d asked Craig sardonically. \u201cAnybody else been here? Who is the wounded man? His face seemed familiar to me.\u201d \u201cMajor Floyd, sir.\u201d \u201cWho?\u201d asked Craig sharply. \u201cImpossible! Major Floyd is&#8212;-\u201d It _was_ Floyd! He remembered now. Floyd, with whom he had sat that day&#8211;that happily-married man! \u201cWhat was he doing here?\u201d he asked. \u201cNow, spill it, Stevens, unless you want to get yourself into pretty bad trouble.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve spilled all I know, sir,\u201d said Stevens doggedly. \u201cIt was Major Floyd.\u201d And then an inspiration came to him. \u201cIf you want to know who it was, it was Jeff Legge. Floyd\u2019s his fancy name.\u201d \u201cWho?\u201d Craig had had many shocks in his life, but this was the greatest he had had for years. \u201cJeff Legge? Old Legge\u2019s son?\u201d Stevens nodded. \u201cNobody knows that but a couple of us,\u201d he said. \u201cJeff doesn\u2019t work in the light.\u201d The officer nodded slowly. \u201cI\u2019ve never seen him,\u201d he admitted. \u201cI knew Legge had a son, but I didn\u2019t know he was running crook. I thought he was a bit of a boy.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s some boy, let me tell you!\u201d said Stevens. Craig sat down, his chin in his hands. \u201cMrs. Floyd will have to be told. Good God! Peter Kane\u2019s daughter! Peter didn\u2019t know that he\u2019d married her to Legge\u2019s son?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know whether he knew or not,\u201d said Stevens, \u201cbut if I know old Peter, he\u2019d as soon know that she\u2019d gone to the devil as marry her to a son of Emanuel Legge\u2019s. I\u2019m squeaking in a way,\u201d he said apologetically, \u201cbut you\u2019ve got to know&#8211;Emanuel will tell you as soon as he gets the news.\u201d \u201cCome here,\u201d said Craig. He took the man\u2019s arm and led him to the passage where the detectives were listening, opened the door of a private room, the table giving evidence of the hasty flight of the diners. \u201cNow,\u201d he said, closing the door, \u201cwhat\u2019s the strength of this story?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know it all, Mr. Craig, but I know they were putting a point on Peter Kane a long time ago. Then one night they brought Peter along and kidded him into thinking that Jeff was a sucker in the hands of the boys. Peter had never seen Jeff before&#8211;as a matter of fact, _I_ didn\u2019t know he was Jeff at the time; I\u2019d heard a lot about him, but, like a lot of other people, I hadn\u2019t seen him. Well, they fooled Peter all right. He took the lad away with him. Jeff was wearing a Canadian officer\u2019s uniform, and, of course, Jeff told the tale. He wouldn\u2019t be the son of his father if he didn\u2019t. That\u2019s how he got to know the Kanes, and was taken to their home. When I heard about the marriage, I thought Peter must have known. I never dreamt they were playing a trick on him.\u201d \u201cPeter didn\u2019t know,\u201d said Craig slowly. \u201cWhere\u2019s the girl?\u201d \u201cI can\u2019t tell you. She\u2019s in London somewhere.\u201d \u201cAt the Charlton,\u201d nodded the other. \u201cNow, you\u2019ve got to tell me, Stevens, who is Mr. Brown of Toronto? It\u2019s written differently from your usual hand&#8211;written by a man who has had a bad scare. In other words, it was written after you\u2019d found the body.\u201d Stevens said nothing. \u201cYou saw him come out: who was he?\u201d \u201cIf I die this minute&#8212;-\u201d began Stevens. \u201cYou might in a few months, as \u2018accessory after,\u2019\u201d said the other ominously; \u201cand that\u2019s what you\u2019ll do if you conceal a murderer. Who is Mr. Brown?\u201d Stevens was struggling with himself, and after a while it came out. \u201cJohnny was here to-night,\u201d he said huskily. \u201cJohnny Gray.\u201d Craig whistled. There was a knock at the door. A police officer, wanting instructions. \u201cThere\u2019s a woman down below, pretty nigh mad. I think you know her, sir.\u201d \u201cNot Lila?\u201d blurted Stevens. \u201cThat\u2019s the girl. Shall I let her come up?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d said Craig. \u201cBring her in here.\u201d She came in a minute, distracted, incoherent, her hair dishevelled, her hands trembling. \u201cIs he dead?\u201d she gasped. \u201cFor God\u2019s sake tell me. I see it in your face&#8211;he\u2019s dead. Oh, Jeff, Jeff!\u201d \u201cNow you sit down,\u201d said the kindly Craig. \u201cHe\u2019s no more dead than you or I are. Ask Stevens. Jeff\u2019s doing very well indeed. Just a slight wound, my dear&#8211;nothing to worry about. What was the trouble? Do you know anything about it?\u201d She could not answer him. \u201cHe\u2019s dead,\u201d she moaned. \u201cMy God, I killed him! I saw him and followed him here!\u201d \u201cGive her a glass of wine, Stevens.\u201d The porter poured out a glass of white wine from one of the many deserted bottles on the table, and put it to her chattering teeth. \u201cNow, Lila, let\u2019s get some sense out of you. I tell you, Jeff\u2019s not dead. What is he to you, anyway?\u201d \u201cEverything,\u201d she muttered. She was shivering from head to foot. \u201cI married him three years ago. No, I didn\u2019t,\u201d she said in a sudden frenzy. \u201cGo on; tell us the truth,\u201d said Craig. \u201cWe\u2019re not going to pull him for bigamy, anyway.\u201d \u201cI married him three years ago,\u201d she said. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t a bad fellow to me. It was the old man\u2019s idea, his marrying this girl, and there was a thousand for me in it. He put me down in Horsham to look after her, and see that there were no letters going to Johnny. There wasn\u2019t any need of that, because she never wrote. I didn\u2019t like the marriage idea, but he swore to me that it was only to get Peter\u2019s money, and I believed him. Then to-night he told me the truth, knowing I wouldn\u2019t squeak. I wish to God I had now, I wish I had! He is dead, isn\u2019t he? I know he\u2019s dead!\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s not dead, you poor fish,\u201d said Craig impatiently. \u201cI might be congratulating you if he was. No, he\u2019s got a bit of a wound.\u201d \u201cWho shot him?\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s just what I want to know,\u201d said Craig. \u201cWas it you?\u201d \u201cMe!\u201d Her look of horror supplied a satisfactory answer to his question. \u201cNo, I didn\u2019t. I didn\u2019t know he was here, or coming here. I thought he was at the hotel, till I saw him. Yet I had a feeling that he was coming here to-night, and I\u2019ve been waiting about all evening. I saw Peter and dodged him.\u201d \u201cPeter? Has he been near the club?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cI don\u2019t know. He was on his way. I thought he was going to the Highlow. There\u2019s nowhere else he\u2019d go in this street&#8211;I saw him twice.\u201d Craig turned his bright, suspicious eyes upon the porter. \u201cPeter been here? I didn\u2019t see anything about Mr. Brown of Montreal?\u201d he asked sarcastically. \u201cNo, he hasn\u2019t. I haven\u2019t seen Peter since the Lord knows when,\u201d said the porter emphatically. \u201cThat\u2019s the truth. You can give the elevator boy permission to tell you all he knows, and if Peter was here to-night you can hang me.\u201d Craig considered for a long time. \u201cDoes Peter know his way in by the easy route?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou mean the fire-escape? Yes, Peter knows that way, but members never come in by the back nowadays. They\u2019ve got nothing to hide.\u201d Craig went out of the room and walked down the passage, stopping at No. 13. Immediately opposite the door was a window, and it was wide open. Beyond was the grille of the fire-escape landing. He stepped out through the window and peered down into the dark yard where the escape ended. By the light of a street lamp he saw a stout gate, in turn pierced by a door, and this led to the street. The door was open, a fact which might be accounted for by the presence in the yard of two uniformed policemen, the flash of whose lanterns he saw. He came back into the corridor and to Stevens. \u201cSomebody may have used the fire-escape to-night, and they may not,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat time did Gray come in? Who came in first?\u201d \u201cJeff came first, about five minutes before Gray.\u201d \u201cThen what happened?\u201d \u201cI had a chat with Captain Gray,\u201d said the porter, after a second\u2019s hesitation. \u201cHe went round into the side passage&#8212;-\u201d \u201cThe same way that Jeff had gone?\u201d The porter nodded. \u201cAbout a minute later&#8211;in fact, it was shorter than a minute&#8211;I heard what I thought was a door slammed. I remarked upon the fact to the elevator man.\u201d \u201cAnd then?\u201d \u201cI suppose four or five minutes passed after that, and Captain Gray came out. Said he might look in later.\u201d \u201cThere was no sign of a struggle in Captain Gray\u2019s clothes?\u201d \u201cNo, sir. I\u2019m sure there was no struggle.\u201d \u201cI should think not,\u201d agreed Craig. \u201cJeff Legge never had a chance of showing fight.\u201d The girl was lying on the sofa, her head buried in her arms, her shoulders shaking, and the sound of her weeping drew the detective\u2019s attention to her. \u201cHas she been here before to-night?\u201d \u201cYes, she came, and I had to throw her out&#8211;Emanuel told me she was not to be admitted.\u201d Craig made a few notes in his book, closed it with a snap and put it in his pocket. \u201cYou understand, Stevens, that, if you\u2019re not under arrest, you\u2019re under open arrest. You\u2019ll close the club for to-night and admit no more people. I shall leave a couple of men on the premises.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll lock up the beer,\u201d said Stevens facetiously. \u201cAnd you needn\u2019t be funny,\u201d was the sharp retort. \u201cIf we close this club you\u2019ll lose your job&#8211;and if they don\u2019t close it now they never will.\u201d He took aside his assistant. \u201cI\u2019m afraid Johnny\u2019s got to go through the hoop to-night,\u201d he said. \u201cSend a couple of men to pull him in. He lives at Albert Mansions. I\u2019ll go along and break the news to the girl, and somebody\u2019ll have to tell Peter&#8211;I hope there\u2019s need for Peter to be told,\u201d he added grimly. Chapter 16. A surprise awaited him when he came to the Charlton. Mrs. Floyd had gone&#8211;nobody knew whither. Her husband had followed her some time afterwards, and neither had returned. Somebody had called her on the telephone, but had left no name. \u201cI know all about her husband not returning,\u201d said Craig. \u201cBut haven\u2019t you the slightest idea where the lady is?\u201d The negative reply was uncompromising. \u201cHer father hasn\u2019t been here?\u201d His informant hesitated. \u201cYes, sir; he was on Mrs. Floyd\u2019s floor when she was missing&#8211;in fact, when Major Floyd was down here making inquiries. The floor waiter recognised him, but did not see him come or go.\u201d Calling up the house at Horsham he learnt, what he already knew, that Peter was away from home. Barney, who answered him, had heard nothing of the girl; indeed, this was the first intimation he had had that all was not well. And a further disappointment lay in store for him. The detective he had sent to find Johnny returned with the news that the quarry had gone. According to the valet, his master had returned and changed in a hurry, and, taking a small suit-case, had gone off to an unknown destination. An inquiry late that night elicited the fact that Jeff was still living, but unconscious. The bullet had been extracted, and a hopeful view was taken of the future. His father had arrived early in the evening, and was half mad with anxiety and rage. \u201cAnd if he isn\u2019t quite mad by the morning, I shall be surprised,\u201d said the surgeon. \u201cI\u2019m going to keep him here and give him a little bromide to ease him down.\u201d \u201cPoison him,\u201d suggested Craig. When the old detective was on the point of going home, there arrived a telephone message from the Horsham police, whom he had enlisted to watch Peter\u2019s house. \u201cMr. Kane and his daughter arrived in separate motor-cars at a quarter past twelve,\u201d was the report. \u201cThey came within a few minutes of one another.\u201d Craig was on the point of getting through to the house, but thought better of it. A fast police car got him to Horsham under the hour, the road being clear and the night a bright one. Lights were burning in Peter\u2019s snuggery, and it was he himself who, at the sound of the motor wheels, came to the door. \u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d he asked, as Craig came up the dark drive, and, at the sound of the detective\u2019s voice, he came half-way down the drive to meet him. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, Craig? Anything special?\u201d \u201cJeff\u2019s shot. I suppose you know who Jeff is?\u201d \u201cI know, to my sorrow,\u201d said Peter Kane promptly. \u201cShot? How? Where?\u201d \u201cHe was shot this evening between a quarter to ten and ten o\u2019clock, at the Highlow Club.\u201d \u201cCome in. You\u2019d better not tell my girl&#8211;she\u2019s had as much as she can bear to-night. Not that I\u2019m worrying a damn about Jeff Legge. He\u2019d better die, and die quick, for if I get him&#8212;-\u201d He did not finish his sentence, and the detective drew the man\u2019s arm through his. \u201cNow, listen, Peter, you\u2019ve got to go very slow on this case, and not talk such a darned lot. You\u2019re under suspicion too, old man. You were seen in the vicinity of the club.\u201d \u201cYes, I was seen in the vicinity of the club,\u201d repeated Peter, nodding. \u201cI was waiting there&#8211;well, I was waiting there for a purpose. I went to the Charlton, but my girl had gone&#8211;I suppose they told you&#8211;and then I went on to the Highlow, and saw that infernal Lila&#8211;by the way, she\u2019s one of Jeff\u2019s women, isn\u2019t she?\u201d \u201cTo be exact,\u201d said the other quietly, \u201cshe\u2019s his wife.\u201d Peter Kane stopped dead. \u201cHis wife?\u201d he whispered. \u201cThank God for that! Thank God for that! I forgive her everything. Though she is a brute&#8211;how a woman could allow&#8211;but I can\u2019t judge her. That graft has always been dirty to me. It is hateful and loathsome. But, thank God she\u2019s his wife, Craig!\u201d Then: \u201cWho shot this fellow?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know. I\u2019m going to pull Johnny for it. \u201d They were in the hall, and Peter Kane spun round, open-mouthed, terror in his eyes. \u201cYou\u2019re going to pull Johnny?\u201d he said. \u201cDo you know what you\u2019re saying, Craig? You\u2019re mad! Johnny didn\u2019t do it. Johnny was nowhere near&#8212;-\u201d \u201cJohnny was there. And, what is more, Johnny was in the room, either at the moment of the shooting or immediately after. The elevator boy has spoken what\u2019s in his mind, which isn\u2019t much, but enough to convict Johnny if this fellow dies.\u201d \u201cJohnny there!\u201d Peter\u2019s voice did not rise above a whisper. \u201cI tell you frankly, Peter, I thought it was you.\u201d Craig was facing him squarely, his keen eyes searching the man\u2019s pallid face. \u201cWhen I heard you were around, and that you had got to know that this fellow was a fake. Why were you waiting?\u201d \u201cI can\u2019t tell you that&#8211;not now,\u201d said the other, after turning the matter over in his mind. \u201cI should have seen Johnny if he was there. I saw this girl, Lila, and I was afraid she\u2019d recognise me. I think she did, too. I went straight on into Shaftesbury Avenue, to a bar I know. I was feeling queer over this&#8211;this discovery of mine. I can prove I was there from a quarter to ten till ten, if you want any proof. Oh, Johnny, Johnny!\u201d All this went on in the hall. Then came a quick patter of footsteps, and Marney appeared in the doorway. \u201cWho is it&#8211;Johnny? Oh, it is you, Mr. Craig? Has anything happened?\u201d She looked in alarm from face to face. \u201cNothing has happened to Johnny?\u201d \u201cNo, nothing has happened to Johnny,\u201d said Craig soothingly. He glanced at Peter. \u201cYou ought to know this, Marney,\u201d he said. \u201cI can call you Marney&#8211;I\u2019ve known you since you were five. Jeff Legge has been shot.\u201d He thought she was going to faint, and sprang to catch her, but with an effort of will she recovered. \u201cJeff shot?\u201d she asked shakily. \u201cWho shot him?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know. That\u2019s just what we are trying to discover. Perhaps you can help us. Why did you leave the hotel. Was Johnny with you?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cI haven\u2019t seen Johnny,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I owe him&#8211;everything. There was a woman in the hotel.\u201d She glanced timidly at her father. \u201cI think she was an hotel thief or something of the sort. She was there to&#8211;to steal. A big Welsh woman.\u201d \u201cA Welshwoman?\u201d said Craig quickly. \u201cWhat is her name?\u201d \u201cMrs. Gwenda Jones. Johnny knew about her, and telephoned her to tell her to take care of me until he could get to me. She got me out of the hotel, and then we walked down the Duke of York steps into the Mall. And then a curious thing happened&#8211;I was just telling daddy when you came. Mrs. Jones&#8211;she\u2019s such a big woman&#8212;-\u201d \u201cI know the lady,\u201d said Craig. \u201cWell, she disappeared. She wasn\u2019t exactly swallowed up by the earth,\u201d she said with a faint smile, \u201cand she didn\u2019t go without warning. Suddenly she said to me: \u2018I must leave you now, my dear. I don\u2019t want that man to see me.\u2019 I looked round to find who it was that she was so terribly afraid of, and there seemed to be the most harmless lot of people about. When I turned, Mrs. Jones was running up the steps. I didn\u2019t wish to call her back, I felt so ridiculous. And then a man came up to me, a middle-aged man with the saddest face you could imagine. I told you that, daddy?\u201d He nodded. \u201cHe took his hat off&#8211;his hair was almost white&#8211;and asked me if my name was Kane. I didn\u2019t tell him the other name,\u201d she said with a shiver. \u201c\u2018May I take you to a place of safety, Miss Kane?\u2019 he said. \u2018I don\u2019t think you ought to be seen with that raw-boned female.\u2019 I didn\u2019t know what to do, I was so frightened, and I was glad of the company and protection of any man, and, when he called a cab, I got in without the slightest hesitation. He was such a gentle soul, Mr. Craig. He talked of nothing but the weather and chickens! I think we talked about chickens all the way to Lewisham.\u201d \u201cAre you sure it was Lewisham?\u201d \u201cIt was somewhere in that neighbourhood. What other places are there there?\u201d \u201cNew Cross, Brockley&#8212;-\u201d began Craig. \u201cThat\u2019s the place&#8211;Brockley. It was the Brockley Road. I saw it printed on the corner of the street. He took me into his house. There was a nice, motherly old woman whom he introduced to me as his housekeeper.\u201d \u201cAnd what did he talk about?\u201d asked the fascinated Craig. \u201cChickens,\u201d she said solemnly. \u201cDo you know what chickens lay the best eggs? I\u2019m sure you don\u2019t. Do you know the best breed for England and the best for America? Do you know the most economical chickens to keep? I do! I wondered what he was going to do with me. I tried to ask him, but he invariably turned me back to the question of incubators and patent feeds, and the cubic space that a sitting hen requires as compared with an ordinary hen. It was the quaintest, most fantastic experience. It seems now almost like one of Alice\u2019s dreams! Then, at ten o\u2019clock, I found a motor-car had come for me. \u2018I\u2019m sending you home, young lady,\u2019 he said.\u201d \u201cWere you with him all the time, by the way?\u201d asked Craig. She shook her head. \u201cNo, some part of the time I was with his housekeeper, who didn\u2019t even talk about chickens, but knitted large and shapeless jumpers, and sniffed. That was when he was telephoning; I knew he was telephoning because I could hear the drone of his voice.\u201d \u201cHe didn\u2019t bring you back?\u201d \u201cNo, he just put me into the car and told me that I should be perfectly safe. I arrived just a few minutes ahead of daddy.\u201d The detective scratched his chin, irritated and baffled. \u201cThat\u2019s certainly got me,\u201d he said. \u201cThe raw-boned lady I know, but the chicken gentleman is mysterious. You didn\u2019t hear his name, by any chance?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cDo you know the number of the house?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d she said frankly, \u201cbut he particularly asked me to forget it, and I\u2019ve forgotten it.\u201d Then, in a more serious tone: \u201cIs my&#8211;my&#8212;-\u201d \u201cYour nothing,\u201d interrupted Peter. \u201cThe blackguard was married&#8211;married to Lila. I think I must have gone daft, but I didn\u2019t realise this woman was planted in my house for a purpose. That type of girl wouldn\u2019t come at the wages if she had been genuine. Barney was always suspicious of her, by the way.\u201d \u201cHave you seen Johnny?\u201d the girl asked Craig. \u201cNo, I haven\u2019t seen him,\u201d said Craig carefully. \u201cI thought of calling on him pretty soon.\u201d Then it came to her in a flash, and she gasped. \u201cYou don\u2019t think Johnny shot this man? You can\u2019t think that?\u201d \u201cOf course he didn\u2019t shoot him,\u201d said Peter loudly. \u201cIt is a ridiculous idea. But you\u2019ll understand that Mr. Craig has to make inquiries in all sorts of unlikely quarters. You haven\u2019t been able to get hold of Johnny to-night?\u201d A glance passed between them, and Peter groaned. \u201cWhat a fool! What a fool!\u201d he said. \u201cOh, my God, what a fool!\u201d \u201cFather, Johnny hasn\u2019t done this? It isn\u2019t true, Mr. Craig. Johnny wouldn\u2019t shoot a man. Did anybody see him? How was he shot?\u201d \u201cHe was shot in the back.\u201d \u201cThen it wasn\u2019t Johnny,\u201d she said. \u201cHe couldn\u2019t shoot a man in the back!\u201d \u201cI think, young lady,\u201d said Craig with a little smile, \u201cthat you\u2019d better go to bed and dream about butterflies. You\u2019ve had a perfect hell of a day, if you\u2019ll excuse my language. Say the firm word to her, Peter. Who\u2019s that?\u201d He turned his head, listening. \u201cBarney,\u201d said Peter. \u201cHe has a distressing habit of wearing slippers. You can hear him miles away. He\u2019s opening the door to somebody&#8211;one of your people, perhaps. Or he\u2019s taking your chauffeur a drink. Barney has an enormous admiration for chauffeurs. They represent mechanical genius to him.\u201d The girl was calmer now. \u201cI have too much to thank God for to-day, for this terrible thing to be true,\u201d she said in a low voice. \u201cMr. Craig, there is a mistake, I\u2019m sure. Johnny couldn\u2019t have committed such a crime. It was somebody else&#8211;one of Jeffrey Legge\u2019s associates, somebody who hated him. He told me once that lots of people hated him, and I thought he was joking; he seemed so nice, so considerate. Daddy, I was mad to go through that, even to make you happy.\u201d Peter Kane nodded. \u201cIf you were mad, I was criminal, girlie,\u201d he said. \u201cThere was only one man in the world for you&#8212;-\u201d The door opened slowly, and Barney sidled in. \u201cJohnny to see you folks,\u201d he said, and pulled the door wider. John Gray was standing in the passage, and his eyes fell upon Craig with a look of quiet amusement. Chapter 17. In another second the girl was in his arms, clinging to him, weeping convulsively on his shoulder, her face against his, her clasped hands about his neck. Craig could only look, wondering and fearing. Johnny would not have walked into the net unwarned. Barney would have told him that he was there. What amazed Craig, as the fact slowly dawned upon him, was that Johnny was still in evening dress. He took a step toward him, and gently Johnny disengaged the girl from his arms. \u201cI\u2019d like to see the right cuff of your shirt, Johnny,\u201d said Craig. Without a word, Gray held up his arm, and the inspector scrutinised the spotless linen, for spotless it was. No sign of a stain was visible. \u201cEither somebody\u2019s doing some tall lying, or you\u2019re being extraordinarily clever, Johnny. I\u2019ll see that other cuff if I may. \u201d The second scrutiny produced no tangible result. \u201cDidn\u2019t you go home and change to-night?\u201d \u201cNo, I haven\u2019t been near my flat,\u201d he said. Craig was staggered. \u201cBut your man said that you came in, changed, took a suit-case and went away.\u201d \u201cThen Parker has been drinking,\u201d was the calm reply. \u201cI have been enjoying the unusual experience of dining with the detective officer who was responsible for my holiday in Devonshire.\u201d Craig took a step back. \u201cWith Inspector Flaherty?\u201d he asked. Johnny nodded. \u201cWith the good Inspector Flaherty. We have been exchanging confidences about our mutual acquaintances.\u201d \u201cBut who was it went to your flat?\u201d asked the bewildered Craig. \u201cMy double. I\u2019ve always contended that I have a double,\u201d said Johnny serenely. He stood in the centre of the astounded group. Into Marney\u2019s heart had crept a wild hope. \u201cJohnny,\u201d she said, \u201cwas it this man who committed the crime for which you were punished?\u201d To her disappointment he shook his head. \u201cNo, I am the gentleman who was arrested and sent to Dartmoor&#8211;my double stops short of these unpleasant experiences, and I can\u2019t say that I blame him.\u201d \u201cBut do you mean to say that he deceived your servant?\u201d \u201cApparently,\u201d said Johnny, turning again to the detective who had asked the question. \u201cI take your word, of course, Johnny, as an individual.\u201d Johnny chuckled. \u201cI like the pretty distinction. As an official, you want corroboration. Very well, that is not hard to get. If you take me back to Flaherty, he will support all I have told you.\u201d Peter and the detective had the good taste to allow him to take leave of the girl without the embarrassment of their presence. \u201cIt beats me&#8211;utterly beats me. Have you ever heard of this before, Peter?\u201d \u201cThat Johnny had a double? No, I can\u2019t say that I have. \u201cHe may have invented the story for the sake of the girl. But there is the fact: he\u2019s in evening dress, whilst his servant distinctly described him as wearing a grey tweed suit. There is no mark of blood on his cuff, and I\u2019m perfectly certain that Stevens wouldn\u2019t have tried to get Johnny in bad. He is very fond of the boy. Of course, he may be spinning this yarn for the sake of Marney, but it\u2019ll be easy enough to corroborate. I\u2019ll use your phone, Peter,\u201d he said suddenly. \u201cI\u2019ve got Flaherty\u2019s number in my book.\u201d The biggest surprise of the evening came when a sleepy voice, undeniably Flaherty\u2019s, answered him. \u201cCraig\u2019s speaking. Who have you been dining with to-night, Flaherty?\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t mean to tell me that you\u2019ve called me up in the middle of the night,\u201d began the annoyed Irishman, \u201cto ask me who I\u2019ve been dining with?\u201d \u201cThis is serious, Flaherty. I want to know.\u201d \u201cWhy, with Johnny, of course&#8211;Johnny Gray. I asked him to come to dinner.\u201d \u201cWhat time did he leave you?\u201d \u201cNearer eleven than ten,\u201d was the reply. \u201cNo, it was after eleven.\u201d \u201cAnd he was with you all that time? He didn\u2019t leave for a quarter of an hour?\u201d \u201cNot for a quarter of a minute. We just talked and talked.\u2026\u201d Craig hung up the receiver and turned away from the instrument, shaking his head. \u201cAny other alibi would have hanged you, Johnny. But Flaherty\u2019s the straightest man in the C.I.D.\u201d In view of what followed when Johnny reached his flat in the early hours of the morning, this testimony to the integrity of Inspector Flaherty seemed a little misguided. \u201cNobody else been here?\u201d \u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Parker. \u201cWhat did you do with the shirt I took off?\u201d \u201cI cut off the cuffs and burnt them, sir. I did it with a greater pleasure, because the rounded corner cuff is just a little _d\u00e9mod\u00e9_, if you do not mind my saying so, just a little&#8211;how shall I call it?&#8211;theatrical.\u201d \u201cThe rest of the shirt&#8212;-?\u201d \u201cThe rest of the shirt, sir,\u201d said Parker deferentially, \u201cI am wearing. It is rather warm to wear two shirts, but I could think of no other way of disposing of it, sir. Shall I put your bath ready?\u201d Johnny nodded. \u201cIf you will forgive the impertinence, did you succeed in persuading the gentleman you were going to see, to support your statement?\u201d \u201cFlaherty? Oh, yes. Flaherty owes me a lot. Good night, Parker.\u201d \u201cGood night, sir. I hope you sleep well. Er&#8211;may I take that pistol out of your pocket, sir? It is spoiling the set of your trousers. Thank you very much.\u201d He took the Browning gingerly between his finger and thumb and laid it on Johnny\u2019s writing-table. \u201cYou don\u2019t mind my being up a little late, sir?\u201d he said. \u201cI think I would like to clean this weapon before I retire.\u201d Chapter 18. Jeff Legge reclined in a long cane chair on a lawn which stretched to the edge of a cliff. Before him were the blue waters of the Channel, and the more gorgeous blue of an unflecked sky. He reached out his hand and took a glass that stood on the table by his side, sipped it with a wry face and called a name pettishly. It was Lila who came running to his side. \u201cTake this stuff away, and bring me a whisky-and-soda,\u201d he said. \u201cThe doctor said you weren\u2019t to have anything but lime juice. Oh, Jeff, you must do as he tells you,\u201d she pleaded. \u201cI\u2019ll break your head for you when I get up,\u201d he snarled. \u201cDo as you\u2019re told. Where\u2019s the governor?\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s gone into the village to post some letters.\u201d He ruminated on this, and then: \u201cIf that busy comes, you can tell him I\u2019m too ill to be seen. \u201cWho&#8211;Craig?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d he growled, \u201cthe dirty, twisting thief! Johnny would have been in boob for this if he hadn\u2019t straightened Craig. If he didn\u2019t drop a thousand to keep off the moor, I\u2019m a dead man!\u201d She pulled up a low chair to his side. \u201cI don\u2019t think Johnny did it,\u201d she said. \u201cThe old man thinks it was Peter. The window was found open after. He could have come in by the fire-escape&#8211;he knows the way.\u201d He grumbled something under his breath, and very discreetly she did not press home her view. \u201cWhere\u2019s Marney&#8211;back with her father?\u201d She nodded. \u201cWho told him I was married to you?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know, Jeff,\u201d she said. \u201cYou liar! You told him; nobody else could have known. If I get \u2018bird\u2019 for this marriage, I\u2019ll kill you, Lila. That\u2019s twice you\u2019ve squeaked on me.\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t know what I was saying. I was half mad with worry.\u201d \u201cI wish you\u2019d gone the whole journey,\u201d he said bitterly. \u201cIt isn\u2019t the woman&#8211;I don\u2019t care a darn about that. It\u2019s the old man\u2019s quarrel, and he\u2019s got to get through with it. It\u2019s the other business being disorganised that\u2019s worrying me. Unless it\u2019s running like clockwork, you\u2019ll get a jam; and when you\u2019ve got a jam, you collect a bigger crowd than I want to see looking at my operations. You didn\u2019t squeak about that, I suppose?\u201d \u201cNo, Jeff, I didn\u2019t know.\u201d \u201cAnd that\u2019s the reason you didn\u2019t squeak, eh?\u201d He regarded her unfavourably. And now she turned on him. \u201cListen, Jeff Legge. I\u2019m a patient woman, up to a point, and I\u2019ll stand for all your bad temper whilst you\u2019re ill. But you\u2019re living in a new age, Jeff, and you\u2019d better wake up to the fact. All that Bill Sikes and Nancy stuff never did impress me. I\u2019m no clinger. If you got really rough with me, I\u2019d bat you, and that\u2019s a fact. It may not be womanly, but it\u2019s wise. I never did believe in the equality of the sexes, but no girl is the weaker vessel if she gets first grip of the kitchen poker.\u201d Very wisely he changed the subject. \u201cI suppose they searched the club from top to bottom?\u201d he said. \u201cThey did.\u201d \u201cDid they look in the loft?\u201d \u201cI believe they did. Stevens told me that they turned everything inside out.\u201d He grunted. \u201cThey\u2019re clever,\u201d he said. \u201cIt must be wonderful to be clever. Who\u2019s this?\u201d He scowled across the lawn at a strange figure that had appeared, apparently by way of the cliff gate. She rose and walked to meet the stooping stranger, who stood, hat in hand, waiting for her and smiling awkwardly. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry to intrude,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is a beautiful place, is it not? If I remember rightly, this is the Dellsea Vicarage? I used to know the vicar&#8211;a very charming man. I suppose you have taken the house from him?\u201d She was half amused, half annoyed. \u201cThis is Dellsea Vicarage,\u201d she said curtly. \u201cDo you want to see anybody?\u201d \u201cI wanted to see Mr. Jeffrey\u201d&#8211;he screwed up his eyes and stared at the sky, as though trying to withdraw from some obscure cell of memory a name that would not come without special effort&#8211;\u201cMr. Jeffrey Legge&#8211;that is the name&#8211;Mr. Jeffrey Legge.\u201d \u201cHe is very ill and can\u2019t be seen.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that,\u201d said the stranger, his mild face expressing the intensest sympathy. \u201cVery sorry indeed.\u201d He fixed his big, round glasses on the tip of his nose, for effect apparently, because he looked over them at her. \u201cI wonder if he would see me for just a few minutes. I\u2019ve called to inquire about his health.\u201d \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d she asked. \u201cReeder&#8211;J.G. Reeder.\u201d The girl felt her colour go, and turned quickly. \u201cI will ask him,\u201d she said. Jeff heard the name and pursed his lips. \u201cThat\u2019s the man the bank are running&#8211;or maybe it\u2019s the Government&#8211;to trail me,\u201d he said in a low tone. \u201cSlip him along, Lila.\u201d Mr. Reeder was beckoned across the lawn, and came with quick, mincing steps. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry to see that you\u2019re in such a deplorable condition, Mr. Legge,\u201d he said. \u201cI hope your father is well?\u201d \u201cOh, you\u2019ve met the old man, have you?\u201d said Jeffrey in surprise. Mr. Reeder nodded. \u201cYes; I have met your father,\u201d he said. \u201cA very entertaining and a very ingenious man. Very!\u201d The last word was spoken with emphasis. Jeff was silent at this tribute to his parent\u2019s amiability. \u201cThere has been a lot of talk in town lately about a certain nefarious business that is being carried on&#8211;surreptitiously, of course,\u201d said Mr. Reeder, choosing his words with care. \u201cI, who live out of the world, and in the backwater of life, hear strange rumours about the distribution of illicit money&#8211;I think the cant term is \u2018slush\u2019 or \u2018slosh\u2019&#8211;probably it is \u2018slush.\u2019\u201d \u201cIt is \u2018slush,\u2019\u201d agreed Jeff, not knowing whether to be amused or alarmed, and watching the man all the time. \u201cNow I feel sure that the persons who are engaged in this practice cannot be aware of the enormously serious nature of their offence,\u201d said Mr. Reeder confidentially. He broke off his lecture to look around the lawn and well-stocked garden that flanked it on either side. \u201cHow beautiful is the world, Mr. Jeff&#8211;I beg your pardon, Mr. Legge,\u201d he said. \u201cHow lovely those flowers are! I confess that the sight of bluebells always brings a lump to my throat. I don\u2019t suppose they are bluebells,\u201d he added, \u201cfor it is rather late in the year. But that peculiar shade of blue. And those wonderful roses&#8211;I can smell them from here.\u201d He closed his eyes, raised his nose and sniffed loudly&#8211;a ludicrous figure; but Jeff Legge did not laugh. \u201cI know very little, but I understand that in Dartmoor Prison there are only a few potted flowers, and that those are never seen by the prisoners, except by one privileged man whose task it is to tend them. A lifer, generally. Life without flowers must be very drab, Mr. Legge.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not especially fond of flowers,\u201d said Jeffrey. \u201cWhat a pity!\u201d said the other regretfully. \u201cWhat a thousand pities! But there is no sea view from that establishment, no painted ships upon a painted ocean&#8211;which is a quotation from a well-known poem; no delightful sense of freedom; nothing really that makes life durable for a man under sentence, let us say, of fifteen or twenty years.\u201d Jeff did not reply. \u201cDo you love rabbits?\u201d was the surprising question that was put to him. \u201cNo, I can\u2019t say that I do.\u201d Lila sat erect, motionless, all her senses trained to hear and understand. Mr. Reeder sighed. \u201cI am very fond of rabbits. Whenever I see a rabbit in a cage or in a hutch, I buy it, take it to the nearest wood and release it. It may be a foolish kindness, because, born and reared in captivity, it may not have the necessary qualities to support itself amongst its wilder fellows. But I like letting rabbits loose; other people like putting rabbits in cages.\u201d He shook his finger in Jeffrey\u2019s face. \u201cNever be a rabbit in a cage, Mr. Jeffrey&#8211;or is it Mr. Legge? Yes, Mr. Legge.\u201d \u201cI am neither a rabbit, nor a chicken, nor a fox, nor a skylark,\u201d said Jeffrey. \u201cThe cage hasn\u2019t been built that could hold me.\u201d Again Mr. Reeder sighed. \u201cI remember another gentleman saying that some years ago. I forget in what prison he was hanged. Possibly it was Wandsworth&#8211;yes, I am sure it was Wandsworth. I saw his grave the other day. Just his initials. What a pity! What a sad end to a promising career! He is better off, I think, for twenty long years in a prison cell, that is a dreadful fate, Mr. Legge! And it is a fate that would never overtake a man who decided to reform. Suppose, let us say, he was forging Bank of England notes, and decided that he would burn his paper and his water-markers, dismiss all his agents\u2026 I don\u2019t think we should worry very much about that type of person. We should meet him generously and liberally, especially if his notes were of such excellent quality that they were difficult for the uninitiated to detect.\u201d \u201cWhat has happened to Golden?\u201d asked Jeffrey boldly. The eyes of the elderly man twinkled. \u201cGolden was my predecessor,\u201d he said. \u201cA very charming fellow, by some accounts&#8212;-\u201d Again Jeffrey cut him short. \u201cHe used to be the man who was looking after the \u2018slush\u2019 for the police. Is he dead?\u201d \u201cHe has gone abroad,\u201d said Mr. Reeder gravely. \u201cYes, Mr. Golden could not stand this climate. He suffered terribly from asthma, or it may have been sciatica. I know there was an \u2018a\u2019 at the end of it. Did you ever meet him? Ah! You missed a very great opportunity,\u201d said Mr. Reeder. \u201cGolden was a nice fellow&#8211;not as smart, perhaps, as he might have been, or as he should have been, but a very nice fellow. He did not work, perhaps, so much in the open as I do; and there I think he was mistaken. It is always an error to shut yourself up in an office and envelop yourself in an atmosphere of mystery. I myself am prone to the same fault. Now, my dear Mr. Legge, I am sure you will take my parable kindly, and will give it every thought and consideration.\u201d \u201cI would, if I were a printer of \u2018slush,\u2019 but, unfortunately, I\u2019m not,\u201d said Jeffrey Legge with a smile. \u201cYou\u2019re not, of course,\u201d the other hastened to say. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t dream of suggesting you were. But with your vast circle of acquaintances&#8211;and, I\u2019m sure, admirers&#8211;you may perhaps be able to convey my simple little illustration. I don\u2019t like to see rabbits in cages, or birds in cages, or anything else behind bars. And I think that Dartmoor is so&#8211;what shall I say?&#8211;un\u00e6sthetic. And it seems _such_ a pity to spend all the years in Devonshire. In the spring, of course, it is delightful; in the summer it is hot; in the winter, unless you\u2019re at Torquay, it is deplorable. Good morning, Mr. Legge.\u201d He bowed low to the girl, and, bowing, his spectacles fell off. Stooping, he picked them up with an apology and backed away, and they watched him in silence till he had disappeared from view. Chapter 19. \u201cWhat do you think of him for a busy?\u201d asked Jeffrey contemptuously. She did not answer. Contact with the man had frightened her. It was not like Lila to shiver in the presence of detectives. \u201cI don\u2019t know what he is,\u201d she said a little breathlessly. \u201cHe\u2019s something like a\u2026 good-natured snake. Didn\u2019t you feel that, Jeffrey?\u201d \u201cGood-natured nothing,\u201d said the other with a curl of his lip. \u201cHe\u2019s worse than Golden. These big corporations fall for that kind of man. They never give a chance to a real clever busy.\u201d \u201cWho was Golden?\u201d she asked. \u201cHe was an old fellow too. They fired him.\u201d He chuckled to himself. \u201cAnd I was responsible for firing him. Then they brought in Mr. J.G. Reeder with a flourish of trumpets. He\u2019s been on the game three years, and he\u2019s just about as near to making a pull as he ever was.\u201d \u201cJeff, isn\u2019t there danger?\u201d Her voice was very serious. \u201cIsn\u2019t there always danger? No more danger than usual,\u201d he said. \u201cThey can\u2019t touch me. Don\u2019t worry! I\u2019ve covered myself so that they can\u2019t see me for overcoats! Once the stuff\u2019s printed, they can never put it back on me.\u201d \u201cOnce it\u2019s printed.\u201d She nodded slowly. \u201cThen you _are_ the Big Printer, Jeff?\u201d \u201cTalk about something else,\u201d he said. When Emanuel returned, as he did soon after, Lila met him at the gate and told him of Reeder\u2019s visit. To her surprise, he took almost the same view as Jeff had taken. \u201cHe\u2019s a fool, but straight&#8211;up to five thousand, anyway. No man is straight when you reach his figure.\u201d \u201cBut why did he come to Jeff?\u201d she asked. \u201cDoesn\u2019t everybody in the business know that Jeff\u2019s the Big Printer? Haven\u2019t they been trying to put it on him for years? Of course he came. It was his last, despairing stroke. How\u2019s the boy?\u201d he asked. \u201cHe\u2019s all right, but a little touchy.\u201d \u201cOf course he\u2019s a little touchy,\u201d said Emanuel indignantly. \u201cYou don\u2019t suppose he\u2019s going to get better in a day, do you? The club\u2019s running again.\u201d \u201cHas it been closed?\u201d \u201cIt hasn\u2019t exactly been closed, but it has been unpopular,\u201d he said, showing his teeth in that smile of his. \u201cListen.\u201d He caught her arm on the edge of the lawn. \u201cGet your mind off that shooting, will you? I\u2019ll fix the man responsible for that.\u201d \u201cDo you know?\u201d she asked. It was the first time he had ever discussed the matter calmly, for the very mention of the attack upon Jeff had hitherto been sufficient to drive him to an incoherent frenzy. \u201cYes, I know,\u201d he said gratingly. \u201cIt was Peter Kane, but you needn\u2019t say anything about that&#8211;I\u2019ll fix him, I tell you.\u201d \u201cJeff thinks it was&#8212;-\u201d \u201cNever mind what Jeff thinks,\u201d he said impatiently. \u201cDo as I tell you.\u201d He sent her into the house to brew him a cup of tea&#8211;Emanuel was a great drinker of tea&#8211;and in her absence he had something to say to his son. \u201cJeff, there\u2019s a big call for your stuff,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve had a letter from Harvey. He says there\u2019s another man started in the north of England, and he\u2019s turning out pretty good material. But they want yours&#8211;they can place half a million on the Continent right away. Jeff, what Harvey says is right. If there\u2019s a slackening of supply while you\u2019re ill, the busy fellows are going to tumble to you.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve thought of that,\u201d said Jeffrey. \u201cYou can tell anybody who\u2019s interested that there\u2019ll be a printing next week.\u201d \u201cAre you well enough to go up?\u201d asked his father anxiously. Jeffrey nodded, and shifted himself more erect, but winced in the process. \u201cReeder\u2019s been here: did she tell you?\u201d Emanuel nodded. \u201cI\u2019m not worried much about Reeder. Down in Dartmoor he\u2019s a bogey, but then, they bogey any man they don\u2019t know. And they\u2019ve got all sorts of stories about him. It\u2019s very encouraging to get near to the real thing.\u201d They laughed together, and for the rest of the day discussed ways and means. Jeffrey had said no more than was true when he had told the girl he was well covered. In various parts of the country he had twelve banking accounts, each in a different name, and at one of the safe deposits, an enormous sum in currency, ready for emergency. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to stop some time, I suppose,\u201d said his father, \u201cbut it is mighty tempting to carry on with those profits. It\u2019s a bigger graft than I ever attempted, Jeff.\u201d And his son accepted this respectful tribute with a smirk. The old man sat, his clasped hands between his knees, staring out over the sea. \u201cIt has got to end some day, and that would be a fine end, but I can\u2019t quite see how it could be done.\u201d \u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d asked the other curiously. \u201cI\u2019m thinking about Peter&#8211;the respectable Mr. Peter Kane. Not quite so respectable in that girl\u2019s eyes as he used to be, but respectable enough to have busies to dinner, and that crook, Johnny Gray&#8211;Johnny will marry the girl, Jeff.\u201d Jeffrey Legge winced. \u201cShe can marry the devil so far as I\u2019m concerned,\u201d he said. \u201cBut she can\u2019t marry without divorcing you. Do you realise that, my son? That\u2019s the law. And she can\u2019t divorce you without shopping you for bigamy. That\u2019s the law too. And the question is, will she delay her action until Johnny\u2019s made a bit, or will she start right in? If she gives me just the time I want, Jeff, you\u2019ll have your girl and I\u2019ll have Peter Kane. She\u2019s your wife in the eyes of the law.\u201d There was a significance in his words that made the other man look at him quickly. \u201cWhat\u2019s the great idea?\u201d he asked. \u201cSuppose Peter was the Big Printer?\u201d said Emanuel, speaking in a tone that was little above a whisper. \u201cSuppose he was caught with the goods? It could be done. I don\u2019t mean by planting the stuff in his house&#8211;nobody would accept that; but getting him right on the spot, so that his best friend at Scotland Yard couldn\u2019t save him? How\u2019s that for an idea?\u201d \u201cIt couldn\u2019t be done,\u201d said the other immediately. \u201cOh, couldn\u2019t it?\u201d sneered Emanuel. \u201cYou can do any old thing you want, if you make up your mind to do it. Or if you\u2019re game to do it.\u201d \u201cThat wouldn\u2019t get me the girl.\u201d Emanuel turned his head slowly toward his heir. \u201cIf they found the Big Printer, they\u2019ll have to find the big printing,\u201d he said deliberately. \u201cThat means we should all have to skip, and skip lively. We might have a few hours\u2019 start, and in these days of aeroplanes, three hours is four hundred miles. Jeff, if we are caught, and they guess I\u2019ve been in this printing all the time, I shall never see outside again. And you\u2019ll go down for life. They can\u2019t give you any worse than that&#8211;not if you took the girl away with you.\u201d \u201cBy force?\u201d asked the other in surprise. The idea had not occurred to him. The father nodded. \u201c_If_ we have to skip, that\u2019s the only thing for you to do, son. It\u2019s no offence&#8211;remember that. She\u2019s your wife.\u201d He looked to left and right, to see if there was the faintest shadow of a chance that he would be overheard, and then: \u201cSuppose we ask Peter and his girl _and_ Johnny Gray to dinner? A nice little dinner party, eh?\u201d \u201cWhere?\u201d asked the other suspiciously. \u201cIn Room 13,\u201d said Emanuel Legge. \u201cIn Room 13, Jeff, boy! A nice little dinner. What do you think? And then two whiffs of sleep stuff&#8212;-\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re mad,\u201d said the other angrily. \u201cWhat\u2019s the good of talking that way? Do you think he\u2019s going to come to dinner and bring his girl? Oh, you\u2019re nutty to think it!\u201d \u201cTrust me,\u201d said Emanuel Legge. Chapter 20. Walking down Regent Street one morning, Johnny Gray saw a familiar face&#8211;a man standing on the kerb selling penny trinkets. The face was oddly familiar, but he had gone on a dozen paces before he could recall where he had seen him before, and turned back. The man knew him; at any rate, his uncouth features twisted in a smile. \u201cGood morning, my lord,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat about a toy balloon for the baby?\u201d \u201cYour name is Fenner, isn\u2019t it?\u201d said Johnny with a good-humoured gesture of refusal. \u201cThat\u2019s me, Captain. I didn\u2019t think you\u2019d recognised me. How\u2019s business?\u201d \u201cQuiet,\u201d said Johnny conventionally. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d The man shrugged his enormous shoulders. \u201cSelling these, and filling in the time with a little sluicing.\u201d Johnny shook his head reprovingly. \u201cSluicing\u201d in the argot indicates a curious method of livelihood. In public wash-places, where men strip off their coats to wash their hands for luncheon, there are fine pickings to be had by a man with quick fingers and a knowledge of human nature. \u201cDid you ever get your towelling[*_flogging_]?\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d said the other contemptuously and with a deep growl. \u201cI knew they couldn\u2019t, that\u2019s why I coshed the screw. I was too near my time. If I ever see old man Legge, by God I\u2019ll&#8212;-\u201d Jimmy raised his finger. A policeman was strolling past, and was eyeing the two suspiciously. Apparently, if he regarded Fenner with disfavour, Johnny\u2019s respectability redeemed the association. \u201cPoor old \u2018flattie\u2019!\u201d said Fenner as the officer passed. \u201cWhat a life!\u201d The man looked him up and down amusedly. \u201cYou seem to have struck it, Gray,\u201d he said, with no touch of envy. \u201cWhat\u2019s your graft?\u201d Johnny smiled faintly. \u201cIt is one you\u2019ll find difficult to understand, Fenner. I am being honest!\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s certainly a new one on me,\u201d said the other frankly. \u201cHave you seen old Emanuel?\u201d His voice was now quite calm. \u201cGreat fellow, Emanuel! And young Emanuel&#8211;Jeffrey&#8211;what a lad!\u201d There was a glint in his eyes as he scrutinised Johnny that told that young man he knew much more of recent happenings than he was prepared to state. And his next words supported that view. \u201cYou keep away from the Legge lot, Captain,\u201d he said earnestly. \u201cThey are no good to anybody, and least of all to a man who\u2019s had an education like yours. I owe Legge one, and I\u2019ll get him, but I\u2019m not thinking about that so much as young Jeff. You\u2019re the fellow he would go after, because you dress like a swell and you look like a swell&#8211;the very man to put \u2018slush\u2019 about without anybody tumbling.\u201d \u201cThe Big Printer, eh?\u201d said Johnny, with that quizzical smile of his. \u201cThe Big Printer,\u201d repeated the other gravely. \u201cAnd he _is_ a big printer. You hear all sorts of lies down on the moor, but that\u2019s true. Jeff\u2019s got the biggest graft that\u2019s ever been worked in this country. They\u2019ll get him sooner or later, because there never was a crook game yet that hadn\u2019t got a squeak about it somewhere. And the squeak has started, judging by what I can read in the papers. Who shot him?\u201d he asked bluntly. Johnny shook his head. \u201cThat is what is known as a mystery,\u201d he said, and, seeing the man\u2019s eyes keenly searching his face, he laughed aloud. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t me, Fenner. I\u2019ll assure you on that point. And as to me being a friend of Jeff\u201d&#8211;he made a wry little face&#8211;\u201cthat isn\u2019t like me either. How are you off for money?\u201d \u201cRotten,\u201d said the other laconically, and Johnny slipped a couple of Treasury notes on to the tray. He was turning away when the man called him back. \u201cKeep out of boob,\u201d he said significantly. \u201cAnd don\u2019t think I\u2019m handing round good advice. I\u2019m not thinking of Dartmoor. There are other boobs that are worse&#8211;I can tell you that, because I\u2019ve seen most of them.\u201d He gathered up the money on the tray without so much as a word of thanks, and put it in his waistcoat pocket. \u201cKeytown Jail is the worst prison in England,\u201d he said, not looking at his benefactor but staring straight ahead. \u201cThe very worst&#8211;don\u2019t forget that, Gray. Keytown Prison is the worst boob in England; and if you ever find yourself there, do something to get out. So-long!\u201d The mentality of the criminal had been a subject for vicarious study during Johnny\u2019s stay in Dartmoor, and he mused on the man\u2019s words as he continued his walk along Regent Street. Here was a man offering advice which he himself had never taken. The moral detachment of old lags was no new phenomenon to Johnny. He had listened for hours to the wise admonitions and warnings of convicts, who would hardly be free from the fusty cell of the prison before they would be planning new villainies, new qualifications for their return. He had never heard of Keytown Jail before, but it was not remarkable that Fenner should have some special grudge against a particular jail. The criminal classes have their likes and their dislikes; they loathed Wandsworth and preferred Pentonville, or vice versa, for no especial reason. There were those who swore by Parkhurst; others regarded Dartmoor as home, and bitterly resented any suggestion that they should be transferred to the island prison. So musing, he bumped into Craig. The collision was not accidental, for Craig had put himself in the way of the abstracted young man. \u201cWhat are you planning, Johnny&#8211;a jewel robbery, or just ringing the changes on the Derby favourite?\u201d Johnny chuckled. \u201cNeither. I was at that moment wondering what there was particularly bad about Keytown Jail. Where is Keytown Jail, by the way?\u201d \u201cKeytown? I don\u2019t remember&#8211;oh, yes, I do. Just outside Oxford. Why?\u201d \u201cSomebody was telling me it was the worst prison in England.\u201d \u201cThey are all the worst, Johnny,\u201d said Craig. \u201cAnd if you\u2019re thinking out a summer holiday, I can\u2019t recommend either. Keytown was pretty bad,\u201d he admitted. \u201cIt is a little country jail, but it is no longer in the Prison Commissioners\u2019 hands. They sold it after the war, when they closed down so many of these little prisons. The policy now is to enlarge the bigger places and cut out these expensive little boobs that cost money to staff. They closed Hereford Jail in the same way, and half a dozen others, I should think. So you needn\u2019t bother about Keytown,\u201d he smiled bleakly. \u201cOne of your criminal acquaintances has been warning you, I guess?\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ve guessed right,\u201d said Johnny, and advanced no information, knowing that, if Craig continued his walk, he would sooner or later see the toy pedlar. \u201cMr. Jeffrey Legge is making a good recovery,\u201d said the detective, changing the subject; \u201cand there are great rejoicings at Scotland Yard. If there is one man we want to keep alive until he is hanged in a scientific and lawful manner, it is Mr. Jeffrey Legge. I know what you\u2019re going to say&#8211;we\u2019ve got nothing on him. That is true. Jeffrey has been too clever for us. He has got his father skinned to death in that respect. He makes no mistakes&#8211;a rare quality in a forger; he carries no \u2018slush,\u2019 keeps none in his lodgings. I can tell you that, because we\u2019ve pulled him in twice on suspicion, and searched him from occiput to _tendo achilles_. Forgive the anatomical terms, but anatomy is my hobby. Hallo!\u201d He was looking across the street at a figure which was not unfamiliar to Johnny. Mr. Reeder wore a shabby frock-coat and a somewhat untidy silk hat on the back of his head. Beneath his arm he carried a partially furled umbrella. His hands, covered in grey cotton gloves (at a distance Johnny thought they were _su\u00e8de_) were clasped behind him. His spectacles were, as usual, so far down his nose that they seemed in danger of slipping over. \u201cDo you know that gentleman?\u201d \u201cMan named Reeder, isn\u2019t it? He\u2019s a \u2018busy.\u2019\u201d Craig\u2019s lips twitched. \u201cHe\u2019s certainly a \u2018busy\u2019 of sorts,\u201d he said dryly, \u201cbut not of our sort.\u201d \u201cHe is a bank-man, isn\u2019t he?\u201d asked Johnny, watching Mr. Reeder\u2019s slow and awkward progress. \u201cHe is in the employ of the bank,\u201d said the detective, \u201cand he\u2019s not such a fool as he looks. I happen to know. He was down seeing young Legge yesterday. I was curious enough to put a man on to trail him. And he knows more about young Legge than I gave him credit for.\u201d When Johnny parted from the detective, Mr. Reeder had passed out of sight. Crossing Piccadilly Circus, however, he saw the elderly man waiting in a bus queue, and interestedly stood and watched him until the bus arrived and Mr. Reeder boarded the machine and disappeared into its interior. As the bus drew away, Johnny raised his eyes to the destination board and saw that it was Victoria. \u201cI wonder,\u201d said Johnny, speaking his thought aloud. For Victoria is the railway station for Horsham. Chapter 21. Mr. Reeder descended from the bus at Victoria Station, bought a third-class return ticket to Horsham, and, going on to the bookstall, purchased a copy of the _Economist_ and the _Poultry World_, and, thus fortified for the journey, passed through the barrier, and, finding an empty carriage, ensconced himself in one corner. From thence onward, until the train drew into Horsham Station, he was apparently alternately absorbed in the eccentricities of Wyandottes and the fluctuations of the mark. There were many cabs at the station, willing and anxious to convey him to his destination for a trifling sum; but apparently Mr. Reeder was deaf to all the urgent offers which were made to him, for he looked through the taxi-men, or over their heads, as though there were no such things as grimy mechanicians or drivers of emaciated horses; and, using his umbrella as a walking-stick, he set out to walk the distance intervening between the station and Peter Kane\u2019s residence. Peter was in his snuggery, smoking a meditative cigar, when Barney came in with the news. \u201cThere\u2019s an old guy wants to see you, Peter. I don\u2019t know who he is, but he says his name\u2019s Reeder.\u201d Peter\u2019s brows met. \u201cReeder?\u201d he said sharply. \u201cWhat sort of man is he?\u201d \u201cAn old fellow,\u201d said Barney. \u201cToo shaky for a \u2018busy.\u2019 He looks as if he\u2019s trying to raise subscriptions for the old chapel organ. \u201d It was not an unfair description, as Peter knew. \u201cBring him here, Barney, and keep your mouth shut. And bear in mind that this is the busiest \u2018busy\u2019 you are ever likely to meet.\u201d \u201cA copper?\u201d said Barney incredulously. Peter nodded. \u201cWhere\u2019s Marney?\u201d he asked quickly. \u201cUp in her boojar,\u201d said Barney with relish. \u201cShe\u2019s writing letters. She wrote one to Johnny. It started \u2018Dear old boy.\u2019\u201d \u201cHow do you know?\u201d asked Peter sharply. \u201cBecause I read it,\u201d said Barney without shame. \u201cI\u2019m a pretty good reader: I can read things upside down, owing to me having been in the printing business when I was a kid.\u201d \u201cBring in Mr. Reeder,\u201d interrupted Peter ominously. \u201cAnd remember, Barney, that if ever I catch you reading anything of mine upside down, you _will_ be upside down! And don\u2019t argue.\u201d Barney left the room, uttering a mechanical defiance which such threats invariably provoked. Mr. Reeder came in, his shabby hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, and a look of profound unhappiness on his face. \u201c_Good_ morning, Mr. Kane,\u201d he said, laying down his impedimenta. \u201cWhat a beautiful morning it is for a walk! It is a sin and a shame to be indoors on a day like this. Give me a garden, with roses, if I may express a preference, and just a faint whiff of heliotrope\u2026\u201d \u201cYou\u2019d like to see me in the garden, eh?\u201d said Peter. \u201cPerhaps you\u2019re wise.\u201d Barney, his inquisitive ears glued to the keyhole, cursed softly. \u201cI was in a garden yesterday,\u201d murmured Mr. Reeder, as they walked across the lawn toward the sunken terraces. \u201cSuch a lovely garden! One bed was filled with blue flowers. There is something about a blue flower that brings a lump into my throat. Rhododendrons infuriate me: I have never understood why. There is that about a clump of rhododendrons which rouses all that is evil in my nature. Daffodils, on the other hand, and especially daffodils intermingled with hyacinths, have a most soothing effect upon me. The garden to which I refer had the added attraction of being on the edge of the sea&#8211;a veritable Garden of Eden, Mr. Kane, although\u201d&#8211;he wagged his head from side to side disparagingly&#8211;\u201cthere were more snakes than is customary. There was a snake in a chair, and a snake who was posting letters in the village, and another official snake who was hiding behind a clump of bushes and had followed me all the way from London&#8211;sent, I think, by that misguided gentleman, Mr. Craig.\u201d \u201cWhere were you, Mr. Reeder?\u201d \u201cAt a seaside villa, a beautiful spot. A truly earthly paradise,\u201d sighed Mr. Reeder. \u201cThe very place an intelligent man would go to if he were convalescent, and the gentleman on the chair was certainly convalescent.\u201d \u201cYou saw Jeff Legge, eh? Sit down.\u201d He pointed to the marble bench where Johnny had sat and brooded unhappily on a certain wedding day. \u201cI think not,\u201d said Mr. Reeder, shaking his head as he stared at the marble seat. \u201cI suffer from rheumatism, with occasional twinges of sciatica. I think I would rather walk with you, Mr. Kane.\u201d He glanced at the hedge. \u201cI do not like people who listen. Sometimes one listens and hears too much. I heard the other day of a very charming man who happened to be standing behind a bush, and heard the direful character of his son-in-law revealed. It was not good for him to hear so much.\u201d Peter knew that the man was speaking about him, but gave no sign. \u201cI owe you something, Mr. Reeder, for the splendid way you treated my daughter&#8212;-\u201d Mr. Reeder stopped him with a gesture. \u201cA very charming girl. A very lovely girl,\u201d he said with mild enthusiasm. \u201cAnd so interested in chickens! One so seldom meets with women who take a purely sincere interest in chickens.\u201d They had reached a place where it was impossible they could be overheard. Peter, who realised that the visitor would not have called unless he had something important to say, waited for the next move. Mr. Reeder returned to the subject of eavesdropping. \u201cMy friend&#8211;if I may call him my friend&#8211;who learnt by accident that his son-in-law was an infernal rascal&#8211;if you will excuse that violent expression&#8211;might have got himself into serious trouble, very serious trouble.\u201d He shook his head solemnly. \u201cFor you see,\u201d he went on, \u201cmy friend&#8211;I do hope he will allow me to call him my friend?&#8211;has something of a criminal past, and all his success has been achieved by clever strategy. Now, was it clever strategy\u201d&#8211;he did not look at Peter, and his faded eyes surveyed the landscape gloomily&#8211;\u201cwas it clever of my friend to convey to Mr. Emanuel Legge the astounding information that at a certain hour, in a certain room&#8211;I think its number was thirteen, but I am not sure&#8211;Mr. John Gray was meeting Mr. J.G. Reeder to convey information which would result in Emanuel Legge\u2019s son going to prison for a long period of penal servitude? Was it wise to forge the handwriting of one of Emanuel Legge\u2019s disreputable associates, and induce the aforesaid Emanuel to mount the fire-escape at the Highlow Club and shoot, as he thought, Mr. John Gray, who wasn\u2019t Mr. Gray at all, but his own son? I ask you, was it wise?\u201d Peter did not answer. \u201cWas it discreet, when my friend went to the hotel where his daughter was staying, and found her gone, to leave a scribbled note on the floor, which conveyed to Mr. Jeffrey Legge the erroneous information that the young lady was meeting Johnny Gray in Room 13 at nine-thirty? I admit,\u201d said Mr. Reeder handsomely, \u201cthat by these clever man\u0153uvres, my friend succeeded in getting Jeffrey Legge just where he wanted him at the proper time; for Jeffrey naturally went to the Highlow Club in order to confront and intimidate his wife. You\u2019re a man of the world, Mr. Kane, and I am sure you will see how terribly indiscreet my friend was. For Jeffrey might have been killed.\u201d He sighed heavily. \u201cHis precious life might have been lost; and if the letters were produced at the trial, my friend himself might have been tried for murder.\u201d He dusted the arm of his frock-coat tenderly. \u201cThe event had the elements of tragedy,\u201d he said, \u201cand it was only by accident that Jeff\u2019s face was turned away from the door; and it was only by accident that Emanuel was not seen going out. And it was only by the sheerest and cleverest perjury that Johnny Gray was not arrested.\u201d \u201cJohnny was not there,\u201d said Peter sharply. \u201cOn the contrary, Johnny was there&#8211;please admit that he was there?\u201d pleaded Mr. Reeder. \u201cOtherwise, all my theories are valueless. And a gentleman in my profession hates to see his theories suffer extinction.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll not admit anything of the sort,\u201d said Peter sharply. \u201cJohnny spent that evening with a police officer. It must have been his double.\u201d \u201cHis treble perhaps,\u201d murmured the other. \u201cWho knows? Humanity resembles, to a very great extent, the domestic fowl, _gallus domesticus_. One man resembles another&#8211;it is largely a matter of plumage.\u201d He looked up to the sky as though he were seeking inspiration from heaven itself. \u201cMr. Jeffrey Legge has not served you very well, Mr. Kane,\u201d he said. \u201cIn fact, I think he has served you very badly. He is obviously a person without principle or honour, and deserves anything that may come to him.\u201d Peter waited, and suddenly the man brought his eyes to the level of his. \u201cYou must have heard, in the course of your travels, a great deal about Mr. Legge?\u201d he suggested. \u201cPossibly more has come to you since this unfortunate&#8211;indeed, dastardly&#8211;happening, of which I cannot remind you without inflicting unnecessary pain. Now, Mr. Kane, don\u2019t you think that you would be rendering a service to human society if&#8212;-\u201d \u201cIf I squeaked,\u201d said Peter Kane quietly. \u201cI\u2019ll put your mind at rest on that subject immediately. I know nothing of Jeffrey Legge except that he\u2019s a blackguard. But if I did, if I had the key to his printing works, if I had evidence in my pocket of his guilt&#8212;-\u201d he paused. \u201cAnd if you had all these?\u201d asked Mr. Reeder gently. \u201cI should not squeak,\u201d said Peter with emphasis, \u201cbecause that is not the way. A squeak is a squeak, whether you do it in cold blood or in the heat of temper.\u201d Again Mr. Reeder sighed heavily, took off his glasses, breathed on them and polished them with gentle vigour, and did not speak until he had replaced them. \u201cIt is all very honourable,\u201d he said sadly. \u201cThis&#8211;er&#8211;faith and&#8211;er&#8211;integrity.\u2026 Again the poultry parallel comes to my mind. Certain breeds of chickens hold together and have nothing whatever to do with other breeds, and, though they may quarrel amongst themselves, will fight to the death for one another. Your daughter is well, I trust?\u201d \u201cShe is very well,\u201d said Peter emphatically, \u201csurprisingly so. I thought she would have a bad time&#8211;here she is.\u201d He turned at that moment and waved his hand to the girl, who was coming down the steps of the terrace. \u201cYou know Mr. Reeder?\u201d said Peter as the girl came smiling toward the chicken expert with outstretched hand. \u201cWhy, of course I know him,\u201d she said warmly. \u201cAlmost you have persuaded me to run a poultry farm!\u201d \u201cYou might do worse,\u201d said Mr. Reeder gravely. \u201cThere are very few women who take an intelligent interest in such matters. Men are ever so much more interested in chickens.\u201d Peter looked at him sharply. There was something in his tone, a glint of unsuspected humour in his eyes, that lit and died in a second, and Peter Kane was nearer to understanding the man at that moment than he had ever been before. And here Peter took a bold step. \u201cMr. Reeder is a detective,\u201d he said, \u201cemployed by the banks to try and track down the people who have been putting so many forged notes on the market.\u201d \u201cA detective!\u201d Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and Mr. Reeder hastened to disclaim the appellation. \u201cNot a detective. I beg of you not to misunderstand, Miss Kane. I am merely an investigator, an inquiry agent, not a detective. \u2018Detective\u2019 is a term which is wholly repugnant to me. I have never arrested a man in my life, nor have I authority to do so.\u201d \u201cAt any rate, you do not look like a detective, Mr. Reeder,\u201d smiled the girl. \u201cI thank you,\u201d said Mr. Reeder gratefully. \u201cI should not wish to be mistaken for a detective. It is a profession which I admire, but do not envy.\u201d He took from his pocket a large note-case and opened it. Inside, fastened by a rubber band in the centre, was a thick wad of bank-notes. Seeing them, Peter\u2019s eyebrows rose. \u201cYou\u2019re a bold man to carry all that money about with you, Mr. Reeder,\u201d he said. \u201cNot bold,\u201d disclaimed the investigator. \u201cI am indeed a very timid man.\u201d He slipped a note from under the elastic band and handed it to his wondering host. Peter took it. \u201cA fiver,\u201d he said. Mr. Reeder took another. Peter saw it was a hundred before he held it in his hand. \u201cWould you cash that for me?\u201d Peter Kane frowned. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d \u201cWould you cash it for me?\u201d asked Mr. Reeder. \u201cOr perhaps you have no change? People do not keep such large sums in their houses.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll change it for you with pleasure,\u201d said Peter, and was taking out his own note-case when Mr. Reeder stopped him with a gesture. \u201cForged,\u201d he said briefly. Peter looked at the note in his hand. \u201cForged? Impossible! That\u2019s a good note.\u201d He rustled it scientifically and held it up to the light. The watermark was perfect. The secret marks on the face of the note which he knew very well were there. He moistened the corner of the note with his thumb. \u201cYou needn\u2019t trouble,\u201d said Reeder. \u201cIt answers all the tests.\u201d \u201cDo you mean to tell me this is \u2018slush\u2019&#8211;I mean a forgery?\u201d The other nodded, and Peter examined the note again with a new interest. He who had seen so much bad money had to admit that it was the most perfect forgery he had ever handled. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have hesitated to change that for you. Is all the other money the same?\u201d Again the man nodded. \u201cBut is that really bad money?\u201d asked Marney, taking the note from her father. \u201cHow is it made?\u201d Before the evasive answer came she guessed. In a flash she pieced together the hints, the vague scraps of gossip she had heard about the Big Printer. \u201cJeffrey Legge!\u201d she gasped, going white. \u201cOh!\u201d \u201cMr. Jeffrey Legge,\u201d nodded Reeder. \u201cOf course we can prove nothing. Now perhaps we can sit down.\u201d It was he who suggested that they should go back to the garden seat. Not until, in his furtive way, he had circumnavigated the clump of bushes that hid the lawn from view did he open his heart. \u201cI am going to tell you a lot, Mr. Kane,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause I feel you may be able to help me, in spite of your principles. There are two men who could have engraved this note, one man who could manufacture the paper. Anybody could print it&#8211;anybody, that is to say, with a knowledge of printing. The two men are Lacey and Burns. They have both been in prison for forgery; they were both released ten years ago, and since then have not been seen. The third man is a paper maker, who was engaged in the bank-note works at Wellington. He went to penal servitude for seven years for stealing bank-note paper. He also has been released a very considerable time, and he also has vanished.\u201d \u201cLacey and Burns? I have heard of them. What is the other man\u2019s name?\u201d asked Peter. Mr. Reeder told him. \u201cJennings? I never heard of him.\u201d \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t, because he is the most difficult type of criminal to track. In other words, he is not a criminal in the ordinary sense of the word. I am satisfied that he is on the Continent because, to be making paper, it is necessary that one should have the most up-to-date machinery. The printing is done here.\u201d \u201cWhere?\u201d asked the girl innocently, and for the first time she saw Mr. Reeder smile. \u201cI want this man very badly, and it is a matter of interest for you, young lady, because I could get him to-morrow&#8211;for bigamy.\u201d He saw the girl flush. \u201cWhich I shall not do. I want Jeff the Big Printer, not Jeff the bigamist. And oh, I want him badly!\u201d A sound of loud coughing came from the lawn, and Barney appeared at the head of the steps. \u201cAnybody want to see Emanuel Legge?\u201d They looked at one another. \u201cI don\u2019t want to see him,\u201d said Mr. Reeder decidedly. He nodded at the girl. \u201cAnd you don\u2019t want to see him. I fear that leaves only you, Mr. Kane.\u201d Chapter 22. Peter was as cool as ice when he came into the drawing-room and found Emanuel examining the pictures on the wall with the air of a connoisseur. He turned, and beamed a benevolent smile upon the man he hated. \u201cI didn\u2019t think you\u2019d come here again, Legge,\u201d said Peter with dangerous calm. \u201cDidn\u2019t you, now?\u201d Emanuel seemed surprised. \u201cWell, why not? And me wanting to fix things up, too! I\u2019m surprised at you, Peter.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ll put nothing right,\u201d said the other. \u201cThe sooner you recognise that fact and clear, the better it will be for everybody.\u201d \u201cIf I\u2019d known,\u201d Emanuel went on, unabashed, \u201cif I\u2019d only dreamt that the young woman Jeffrey had taken up with was your daughter, I would have stopped it at once, Peter. The boy had been brought up straight and never had met you. It is funny the number of straight people that never met Peter Kane. Of course, if he\u2019d been on the crook, he\u2019d have known at once. Do you think my boy would have married the daughter of a man who twisted his father? Is it likely, Peter? However, it\u2019s done now, and what\u2019s done can\u2019t be undone. The girl\u2019s fond of him, and he\u2019s fond of the girl&#8212;-\u201d \u201cWhen you\u2019ve finished being comic, you can go,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI never laugh before lunch.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t you, Peter? And not after? I\u2019ve come at a very bad time, it seems to me. Now listen, Peter. Let\u2019s talk business.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve no business with you.\u201d Peter opened the door. \u201cHaste was always your weakness, Peter,\u201d said Emanuel, not budging from where he stood. \u201cNever lose your temper. I lost my temper once and shot a copper, and did fifteen years for it. Fifteen years, whilst you were sitting here in luxury, entertaining the lords and ladies of the neighbourhood, and kidding &#8217;em you were straight. I\u2019m going to ask you a favour, Peter.\u201d \u201cIt is granted before you ask,\u201d said the other sardonically. \u201cI\u2019m going to ask you and Johnny boy to come and have a bit of dinner with me and Jeffrey, and let us fix this thing up. You\u2019re not going to have this girl brought into the divorce court, are you? And you\u2019ve got to get divorced, whether he\u2019s married or whether he isn\u2019t. As a matter of fact, he isn\u2019t married at all. I never dreamt you\u2019d be such a mug as to fall for the story that Lila was properly married to Jeff. All these girls tell you the same thing. It\u2019s vanity, Peter, a human weakness, if I may so describe it.\u201d \u201cPerhaps it was the vanity of the registrar who signed their marriage certificate, and the vanity of the people who witnessed the marriage,\u201d said Peter. \u201cYour son was married to this girl at the Greenwich Registry Office; I\u2019ve got a copy of the certificate&#8211;you can see it if you like.\u201d Still the smile on Emanuel\u2019s face did not fade. \u201cAin\u2019t you smart?\u201d he said admiringly. \u201cAin\u2019t you the quickest grafter that ever grafted? Married or not, Peter, the girl\u2019s got to go into the court for the marriage to be&#8211;what do you call it?&#8211;annulled, that\u2019s the word. And she can\u2019t marry till she does. And they\u2019ll never annul the marriage until you get my boy caught for bigamy, and that you won\u2019t do, Peter, because you don\u2019t want to advertise what a damned fool you are. Take my advice, come and talk it over. Bring Johnny with you&#8212;-\u201d \u201cWhy should I bring Johnny? I can look after myself.\u201d \u201cJohnny\u2019s an interested party,\u201d said the other. \u201cHe\u2019s interested in anything to do with Marney, eh?\u201d He chuckled, and for a second Peter Kane had all his work to maintain his calm. \u201cI\u2019m not going to discuss Marney with you. I\u2019ll meet you and the Printer, and I don\u2019t suppose Johnny will mind either. Though what you can do that the law can\u2019t do, I don\u2019t know.\u201d \u201cI can give you evidence that you can\u2019t get any other way,\u201d said the other. \u201cThe fact is, Peter, my poor boy has realised he\u2019s made a mistake. He married a girl who was the daughter of a respectable gentleman, and when I broke it to him, Peter, that he\u2019d married into a crook family, he was upset! He said I ought to have told him. \u201cI don\u2019t know what funny business you\u2019re going to try,\u201d said Peter Kane, \u201cbut I\u2019m not going to run away from it. You want me to meet you and your son&#8211;where?\u201d \u201cWhat about the old Highlow?\u201d suggested Emanuel. \u201cWhat about Room 13, where a sad accident nearly occurred?\u201d \u201cWhere you shot your son?\u201d asked Peter coolly, and only for a second did the man\u2019s self-possession leave him. His face turned a dusky red and then a pale yellow. \u201cI shot my son there, did I? Peter, you\u2019re getting old and dopy! You\u2019ve been dreaming again, Peter. Shot my son!\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll come to this fool dinner of yours.\u201d \u201cAnd Marney?\u201d suggested the other. \u201cMarney doesn\u2019t put her foot inside the doors of the Highlow,\u201d said Peter calmly. \u201cYou\u2019re mad to imagine I would allow that. I can\u2019t answer for Johnny, but I\u2019ll be there.\u201d \u201cWhat about Thursday?\u201d suggested the old man. \u201cAny day will suit me,\u201d said Peter impatiently. \u201cWhat time do you want us?\u201d \u201cHalf-past eight. Just a snack and a talk. We may as well have a bit of food to make it cheerful, eh, Peter? Remember that dinner we had a few days before we smashed the Southern Bank? That must be twenty years ago. You split fair on that, didn\u2019t you? I\u2019ll bet you did&#8211;I had the money! No taking a million dollars and calling it a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, eh, Peter?\u201d This time Peter stood by the door, and the jerk of his head told Emanuel Legge that the moment for persiflage had passed. \u201cI want to settle this matter.\u201d The earnestness of his manner did not deceive Peter. \u201cYou see, Peter, I\u2019m getting old, and I want to go abroad and take the boy with me. And I want to give him a chance too&#8211;a good-looking lad like that ought to have a chance. For I\u2019ll tell you the truth&#8211;he\u2019s a single man.\u201d Peter smiled. \u201cYou can laugh! He married Lila&#8211;you\u2019ve got a record of that, but have you taken a screw at the divorce list? That takes the grin off your face. They were divorced a year after they were married. Lila got tired of the other man and came back to Jeff. You\u2019re a looker-up; go and look up that! Ask old Reeder&#8212;-\u201d \u201cAsk him yourself,\u201d said Peter. \u201cHe\u2019s in the garden.\u201d He had no sooner said the words than he regretted them. Emanuel was silent for a while. \u201cSo Reeder\u2019s here, in the garden, is he? He\u2019s come for a squeak. But you can\u2019t, because you\u2019ve nothing to squeak about. What does he want?\u201d \u201cWhy don\u2019t you ask him?\u201d \u201cThat fellow spends his life wandering about other people\u2019s gardens,\u201d grumbled Emanuel. A disinterested observer might have imagined that Mr. Reeder\u2019s passion for horticulture was the only grievance against him. \u201cHe was round my garden yesterday. I dare say he told you? Came worrying poor Jeff to death. But you always were fond of busies, weren\u2019t you, Peter? How\u2019s your old friend Craig? I can\u2019t stand them myself, but then I am a crook. Thursday will suit you, Peter? That gives you six days.\u201d \u201cThursday will suit me,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI hope it will suit you.\u201d As he came back on to the lawn Reeder and the girl were coming into view up the steps, and without preliminary he told them what had passed. \u201cI fear,\u201d said Mr. Reeder, shaking his head sadly, \u201cthat Emanuel is not as truthful a man as he might be. There was no divorce. I was sufficiently interested in the case to look up the divorce court records.\u201d He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. \u201cI think your dinner party at the Highlow&#8211;is that the name?&#8211;will be an interesting one,\u201d he said. \u201cAre you sure he did not invite me?\u201d And again Peter saw that glint of humour in his eyes. Chapter 23. Mr. Emanuel Legge had a great deal of business to do in London. The closing of the club had sadly interfered with the amenities of the Highlow, for many of its patrons and members were, not unnaturally, reluctant to be found on premises subject, at any moment, to the visitation of inquisitive police officers. Stevens, the porter, had been reinstated, though his conduct, in Emanuel\u2019s opinion, had been open to the gravest suspicion. In other ways he was a reliable man, and one whose services were not lightly to be dispensed with. To his surprise, when he had come to admonish the porter, that individual had taken the wind out of his sails by announcing his intention of retiring unless the staff was changed. And he had his way, the staff in question being the elevator boy Benny. \u201cBenny squeaked on me,\u201d said Stevens briefly, \u201cand I\u2019m not going to have a squeaker round.\u201d \u201cHe squeaked to me, my friend,\u201d said Emanuel, showing his teeth unpleasantly. \u201cHe told me you tried to shield Johnny Gray.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s a member, ain\u2019t he?\u201d asked the porter truculently. \u201cHow do I know what members you want put away, and what members you want hidden? Of course, I helped the Captain&#8211;or thought I was trying to help him. That\u2019s my job.\u201d There was a great deal of logic in this. Benny, the elevator boy, was replaced. Stepping out of the lift, Emanuel saw the prints of muddy boots in the hall, and they were wet. \u201cWho is here?\u201d he asked. \u201cNobody in particular.\u201d Legge pointed to the footprints. \u201cSomebody has been here recently,\u201d he said. \u201cThey\u2019re mine,\u201d said Stevens without hesitation. \u201cI went out to get a cab for Monty Ford.\u201d \u201cAre there any mats?\u201d snapped Emanuel. Stevens did not answer. There was a great deal of work for Emanuel to do. For example, there was the matter of a certain house in Berkeley Square to be cleared off. Though he was no longer in active work, he did a lot of crooked financing, and the house had been taken with his money. It was hired furnished for a year, and it was the intention of his associates to run an exclusive gambling club. Unfortunately, the owner, who had a very valuable collection of paintings and old jewellery, discovered the character of the new tenant (a dummy of Legge\u2019s) and had promptly cancelled the agreement. Roughly, the venture had cost Emanuel a thousand, and he hated losing good money. It was late that night when he left the club. He was sleeping in town, intending to travel down to his convalescent son by an early train in the morning. It had been raining heavily, and the street was empty when he went out of the club, pulling the collar of his macintosh about his neck. He had taken two strides when a man stepped out of the shadow of a doorway and planted himself squarely in his path. Emanuel\u2019s hand dropped to his pocket, for he was that rarest variety of criminal, an English gunman. \u201cKeep your artillery out of action, Legge,\u201d said a voice that was strangely familiar. He peered forward, but in the shadow he could not distinguish the stranger\u2019s face. \u201cWho are you?\u201d \u201cAn old friend of yours,\u201d was the reply. \u201cDon\u2019t tell me you\u2019ve forgotten all your pals! Why, you\u2019ll be passing a screw in the street one of these days without touching your hat to him.\u201d And then it dawned upon Emanuel. \u201cOh\u2026 you\u2019re Fenner, aren\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m Fenner,\u201d admitted the man. \u201cWho else could I be? I\u2019ve been waiting to see you, Mr. Emanuel Legge. I wondered if you would remember a fellow you sent to the triangle\u2026 fifteen lashes I had. You\u2019ve never had a \u2018bashing,\u2019 have you, Legge? It\u2019s not so nice as you\u2019d think. When they\u2019d took me back to my cell and put that big bit of lint on my shoulder, I laid on my face for a week. Naturally, that interfered with my sleeping, though it helped me a whole lot to think. And what I thought was this, Emanuel, that a thousand a stroke wouldn\u2019t be too much to ask from the man who got it for me.\u201d Legge\u2019s lip twisted in a sneer. \u201cOh, it\u2019s \u2018the black\u2019 you\u2019re after, is it? Fifteen thousand pounds&#8211;is that your price?\u201d \u201cI could do a lot with fifteen thousand, Legge. I can go abroad and have a good time&#8211;maybe, take a house in the country.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with Dartmoor?\u201d snarled Emanuel. \u201cYou\u2019ll get no fifteen thousand from me&#8211;not fifteen thousand cents, not fifteen thousand grains of sand. Get out of my way!\u201d He lurched forward, and the man slipped aside. He had seen what was in the old man\u2019s hand. Legge turned as he passed, facing him and walking sideways, alert to meet any attempt which was launched. \u201cThat\u2019s a pretty gun of yours, Legge,\u201d drawled the convict. \u201cMaybe I shall meet you one of these days when you won\u2019t be in a position to pull it.\u201d A thought struck Emanuel Legge, and he walked slowly back to the man, and his tone was mild, even conciliatory. \u201cWhat\u2019s the good of making a fuss, Fenner? I didn\u2019t give you away. Half a dozen people saw you cosh that screw.\u201d \u201cBut half a dozen didn\u2019t come forward, did they?\u201d asked Fenner wrathfully. \u201cYou were the only prisoner; there was not a screw in sight.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s a long time ago,\u201d said Emanuel after a pause. \u201cYou\u2019re not going to make any trouble now, are you? Fifteen thousand pounds is out of the question. It is ridiculous to ask me for that. But if a couple of hundred will do you any good, why, I\u2019ll send it to you.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll have it now,\u201d said Fenner. \u201cYou won\u2019t have it now, because I haven\u2019t got it,\u201d replied Emanuel. \u201cTell me where you\u2019re to be found, and I\u2019ll send a boy along with it in the morning.\u201d Fenner hesitated. He was surprised even to touch for a couple of hundred. \u201cI\u2019m staying at Rowton House, Wimborne Street, Pimlico.\u201d \u201cIn your own name?\u201d \u201cIn the name of Fenner,\u201d the other evaded, \u201cand that\u2019s good enough for you.\u201d Emanuel memorised the address. \u201cIt will be there at ten o\u2019clock,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019re a mug to quarrel with me. I could put you on to a job where you could have made not fifteen, but twenty thousand.\u201d All the anger had died out of the burglar\u2019s tone when he asked: \u201cWhere?\u201d \u201cThere\u2019s a house in Berkeley Square,\u201d said Emanuel quickly, and gave the number. It was providential that he had remembered that white elephant of his. And he knew, too, that at that moment the house was empty but for a caretaker. \u201cJust wait here,\u201d he said, and went back into the club and to his little office on the third floor. Opening a drawer of his desk, he took out a small bunch of keys, the duplicates that had been made during the brief period that the original keys had been in his possession. He found Fenner waiting where he had left him. \u201cHere are the keys. The house is empty. One of our people borrowed the keys and got cold feet at the last minute. There\u2019s about eight thousand pounds\u2019 worth of jewellery in a safe&#8211;you can\u2019t miss it. It is in the principal drawing-room&#8211;in show cases&#8211;go and take a look at it. And there\u2019s plate worth a fortune.\u201d The man jingled the keys in his hand. \u201cWhy haven\u2019t you gone after it, Emanuel?\u201d \u201cBecause it\u2019s not my graft,\u201d said Emanuel. \u201cI\u2019m running straight now. But I want my cut, Fenner. Don\u2019t run away with any idea that you\u2019re getting this for nothing. You\u2019ve got a couple of nights to do the job; after that, you haven\u2019t the ghost of a chance, because the family will be coming back.\u201d \u201cBut why do you give it to me?\u201d asked Fenner, still suspicious. \u201cBecause there\u2019s nobody else,\u201d was the almost convincing reply. \u201cIt may be that the jewellery is not there at all,\u201d went on Emanuel frankly. \u201cIt may have been taken away. But there is plenty of plate. I wouldn\u2019t have given it to you if I\u2019d got the right man&#8211;I doubt whether I\u2019m going to get my cut from you.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ll get your cut,\u201d said the other roughly. \u201cI\u2019m a fool to go after this, knowing what a squeaker you are, but I\u2019ll take the risk. If you put a point on me over this, Emanuel, I\u2019ll kill you. And I mean it.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sick of getting news about my murder,\u201d said Emanuel calmly. \u201cIf you don\u2019t want to do it, leave it. I\u2019ll send you up a couple of hundred in the morning, and that\u2019s all I\u2019ll do for you. Give me back those keys.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll think about it,\u201d said the man, and turned away without another word. It was one o\u2019clock, and Emanuel went back to the club, working the automatic lift himself to the second floor. \u201cEverybody gone, Stevens?\u201d he asked. The porter stifled a yawn and shook his head. \u201cThere\u2019s a lady and a gentleman\u201d&#8211;he emphasised the word&#8211;\u201cin No. 8. They\u2019ve been quarrelling since nine o\u2019clock. They ought to be finished by now.\u201d \u201cPut my office through to the exchange,\u201d said Emanuel. Behind the porter\u2019s desk was a small switchboard, and he thrust in the two plugs. Presently the disc showed him that Emanuel was through. Mr. Legge had many friends amongst the minor members of the Criminal Investigation Department. They were not inexpensive acquaintances, but they could on occasion be extremely useful. That night, in some respects, Emanuel\u2019s luck was in, when he found Sergeant Shilto in his office. There had been a jewel theft at one of the theatres, which had kept the sergeant busy. \u201cIs that you, Shilto?\u201d asked Legge in a low voice. \u201cIt\u2019s Manileg. \u201d He gave his telegraphic address, which also served as a _nom de plume_ when such delicate negotiations as these were going through. \u201cYes, Mr. Manileg?\u201d said the officer, alert, for Emanuel did not call up police head-quarters unless there was something unusual afoot. \u201cDo you want a cop&#8211;a real one?\u201d asked Legge in a voice little above a whisper. \u201cThere\u2019s a man named Fenner&#8212;-\u201d \u201cThe old lag?\u201d asked Shilto. \u201cYes, I saw him to-day. What\u2019s he doing?\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s knocking off a little silver, from 973, Berkeley Square. Be at the front door: you\u2019ll probably see him go in. You want to be careful, because he\u2019s got a gun. If you hurry, you\u2019ll get there in front of him. Good night.\u201d He hung up the receiver and smiled. The simplicity of the average criminal always amused Emanuel Legge. Chapter 24. Peter wrote to tell of the invitation which Legge had extended to him. Johnny Gray had the letter by the first post. He sat in his big arm-chair, his silk dressing-gown wrapped around him, his chin on his fists; and seeing him thus, the discreet Parker did not obtrude upon his thoughts until Johnny, reading the letter again, tore it in pieces and threw it into the wastepaper-basket. He had a whimsical practice of submitting most of his problems, either in parable form or more directly, to his imperturbable manservant. \u201cParker, if you were asked to take dinner in a lion\u2019s den, what dress would you wear?\u201d Parker looked down at him thoughtfully, biting his lip. \u201cIt would largely depend, sir, on whether there were ladies to be present,\u201d he said. \u201cUnder those extraordinary circumstances, one should wear full dress and a white tie.\u201d Johnny groaned. \u201cThere have been such dinners, sir,\u201d Parker hastened to assure him in all seriousness. \u201cI recall that, when I was a boy, a visiting menagerie came to our town, and one of the novelties was a dinner which was served in a den of ferocious lions; and I distinctly remember that the lion-tamer wore a white dress bow and a long tail coat. He also wore top boots,\u201d he said after a moment\u2019s consideration, \u201cwhich, of course, no gentleman could possibly wear in evening dress. But then, he was an actor.\u201d \u201cBut supposing the lion-tamer had a working arrangement with the lions? Wouldn\u2019t you suggest a suit of armour?\u201d asked Johnny without smiling. Parker considered the problem for a moment. \u201cThat would rather turn it into a fancy-dress affair, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cwhere, of course, any costume is permissible. Personally,\u201d he added, \u201cI should never dream of dining in a den of lions under any circumstances.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s the answer I\u2019ve been waiting for; it is the most intelligent thing you\u2019ve said this morning,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cNevertheless, I shall not follow your excellent advice. I will be dining at the Highlow Club on Thursday. Get me the morning newspaper: I haven\u2019t seen it.\u201d He turned the pages apathetically, for the events which were at the moment agitating political London meant nothing in his life. On an inner page he found a brief paragraph which, however, did interest him. It was in the latest news column, and related to the arrest of a burglar, who had been caught red-handed breaking into a house in Berkeley Square. The man had given his name as Fenner. Johnny shook his head sadly. He had no doubt as to the identity of the thief, for burglary was Fenner\u2019s graft. Since the news had come in the early hours of the morning, there were no details, and he put the paper aside and fell into a train of thought. Poor Fenner! He must go back to that hell, which was only better than Keytown Jail. He would be spared the ordeal of Keytown, at any rate, if what Craig had said was true. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearly eleven and jumped up. He was taking Marney to lunch and a _matin\u00e9e_ that day. Peter was bringing her up, and he was to meet them at Victoria. Since his release from Dartmoor, Johnny had had no opportunity of a quiet talk with the girl, and this promised to be a red-letter day in his life. He had to wait some time, for the train was late; and as he stood in the broad hall, watching with abstracted interest the never-ceasing rush and movement and life about him, he observed, out of the corner of his eye, a man sidling toward him. Johnny had that sixth sense which is alike the property of the scientist, the detective and the thief. He was immediately sensitive to what he called the approaching spirit, and long before the shabby stranger had spoken to him, he knew that he was the objective. Nearer at hand, he recognised the stranger as a man he had seen in Dartmoor, and remembered that he had come to prison at the same time as Fenner and for the same offence, though he had been released soon after Johnny had passed through that grim gateway. \u201cI followed you down here, Mr. Gray, but I didn\u2019t like to talk to you in the street,\u201d said the stranger, apparently immersed in an evening newspaper, and talking, as such men talk, without moving his lips. Johnny waited, wondering what was the communication, and not doubting that it had to do with Fenner. \u201cOld Fenner\u2019s been \u2018shopped\u2019 by Legge,\u201d said the man. \u201cHe went to \u2018knock off\u2019 some silver from a house in Berkeley Square, and Shilto was waiting in the hall for him.\u201d \u201cHow do you know Legge \u2018shopped\u2019 him?\u201d asked Johnny, interested. \u201cIt was a \u2018shop\u2019 all right,\u201d said the other without troubling to explain. \u201cIf you can put in a good word for Fenner, he\u2019d be much obliged.\u201d \u201cBut, my dear fellow,\u201d said John with a little smile, \u201cto whom can I put in a good word? In the present circumstances I couldn\u2019t put a word in for my own maiden aunt. I\u2019ll see what I can do.\u201d There was no need to tell the furtive man to go. With all a thief\u2019s keen perceptions he had seen the eyes of Johnny Gray light up, and with a sidelong glance assured himself as to the cause. Johnny went toward the girl with long strides, and, oblivious to curious spectators and Peter Kane alike, took both her hands in his. Her loveliness always came to him in the nature of a glorious surprise. The grace and poise of her were indefinite quantities that he could not keep exactly in his mind, and inevitably she surpassed his impressions of her. After he had handed the girl into a taxi, the older man beckoned him aside. \u201cI\u2019m not any too sure about this Highlow dinner,\u201d he said. \u201cLove feasts are not Emanuel\u2019s specialities, and there\u2019s a kick coming somewhere, Johnny. I hope you\u2019re prepared for it?\u201d Johnny nodded. \u201cEmanuel isn\u2019t usually so obvious,\u201d he said. \u201cIn fact, the whole thing is so patent and so crude that I can\u2019t suspect anything more than an attempt to straighten matters as far as Marney is concerned.\u201d Peter\u2019s face clouded. \u201cThere will be no straightening there,\u201d he said shortly. \u201cIf he has committed bigamy, he goes down for it. Understand that, Johnny. It will be very unpleasant because of Marney\u2019s name being dragged into the light, but I\u2019m going through with it.\u201d He turned away with a wave of his hand, and Johnny returned to the girl. \u201cWhat is the matter with father?\u201d she asked as the taxi drew out of the station. \u201cHe is so quiet and thoughtful these days. I suppose the poor dear\u2019s worrying about me, though he needn\u2019t, for I never felt happier. \u201cWhy?\u201d asked Johnny, indiscreetly. \u201cBecause&#8211;oh, well, because,\u201d she said, her face flushing the faintest shade of pink. \u201cBecause I\u2019m unmarried, for one thing. I hated the idea, Johnny. You don\u2019t know how I hated it. I understand now poor daddy\u2019s anxiety to get me married into respectable society.\u201d Her sense of humour, always irrepressible, overcame her anxiety. \u201cI wonder if you understand my immoral sense of importance at the discovery that poor father has done so many illegal things! I suppose it is the kink that he has transmitted to me.\u201d \u201cWas it a great shock to you, Marney?\u201d interrupted the young man quietly. She nodded. \u201cYes, but shocks are like blows&#8211;they hurt and they fade. It isn\u2019t pleasant to be twisted violently to another angle of view. It pains horribly, Johnny. But I think when I found&#8212;-\u201d She hesitated. \u201cWhen you found that I was a thief.\u201d \u201cWhen I found that you were&#8211;oh, Johnny, why did you? You had so many advantages; you were a University man, a gentleman&#8211;Johnny, it wasn\u2019t big of you. There\u2019s an excuse for daddy; he told me about his youth and his struggles and the fearful hardness of living. But you had opportunities that he never had. Easy money isn\u2019t good money, is it, Johnny?\u201d He was silent, and then, with a quick, breath-catching sigh, she smiled again. \u201cI haven\u2019t come out to lecture you, and I shall not even ask you if, for my sake, you will go straight in the future. Because, Johnny\u201d&#8211;she dropped a cool palm on the back of his hand&#8211;\u201cI\u2019m not going to do anything like the good fairy in the storybooks and try to save you from yourself.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m saved,\u201d said Johnny with a quizzical smile. \u201cYou\u2019re perfectly right: there was no reason why I should be a thief. I was the victim of circumstances. It was possibly the fascination of the game&#8211;no, no, it wasn\u2019t that. One of these days I will tell you why I left the straight path of virtue. It is a long and curious story.\u201d She made no further reference to his fall, and throughout the lunch was her own gay self. Looking down at her hand, Johnny saw, with satisfaction, that the platinum wedding-ring she had worn had been replaced by a small, plain gold ring, ornamented with a single turquoise, and his breath came faster. He had first met her at a gymkhana, a country fair which had been organised for charity, and the ring had been the prize he had won at a shooting match, one of the gymkhana features&#8211;though it was stretching terminology to absurd lengths so to describe the hotch-potch of contests which went to the making of the programme&#8211;and had offered it to her as whimsically as it had been accepted. Its value was something under a pound; to Johnny, all the millions in the world would not have given him the joy that its appearance upon her finger gave him now. After luncheon she returned to the unpleasant side of things. \u201cJohnny, you\u2019re going to be very careful, aren\u2019t you? Daddy says that Jeff Legge hates you, and he is quite serious about it. He says that there are no lengths to which Jeffrey and his father will not go to hurt you&#8211;and me,\u201d she added. Johnny bent over the table, lowering his voice. \u201cMarney, when this matter is settled&#8211;I mean, the release from your marriage&#8211;will you take me&#8211;whatever I am?\u201d She met his eyes steadily and nodded. It was the strangest of all proposals, and Jeffrey Legge, who had watched the meeting at the station, had followed her, and now was overlooking them from one of the balconies of the restaurant, flushed a deeper red, guessing all that that scene meant. Chapter 25. On Thursday afternoon, Emanuel Legge came out of the elevator at the Highlow Club, and, with a curt nod to Stevens, walked up the heavily carpeted corridor, unlocked the door of his tiny office and went in. For half an hour he sat before his desk, his hands clasped on the blotting-pad before him, motionless, his mind completely occupied by his thoughts. At last he opened his desk, pressed a bell by his side, and he had hardly taken his fingers from the push when the head waiter of the establishment, a tall, unpleasant-looking Italian, came in. \u201cFernando, you have made all the arrangements about the dinner to-night?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d said the man. \u201cAll the finest wines, eh? The best in the house?\u201d He peered at the waiter, his teeth showing in a smile. \u201cThe very best,\u201d said Fernando briskly. \u201cThere will be four: myself and Major Floyd, Mr. Johnny Gray and Peter Kane.\u201d \u201cThe lady is not coming?\u201d asked Fernando. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t think she\u2019ll be dining with us to-night,\u201d said Emanuel carefully. When the waiter had gone, he rose and bolted the door and returned to an idle examination of the desk. He found extraordinary pleasure in opening the drawers and looking through the little works of reference which filled a niche beneath the pigeon-holes. This was Jeffrey\u2019s desk, and Jeff was the apple of his eye. Presently he rose and walked to a nest of pigeon-holes which stood against the wall, and, putting his hand into one, he turned a knob and pulled. The nest opened like a door, exposing a narrow, spiral staircase which led upward and downward. He left the secret door open and pulled down a switch, which gave him light above and below. For a second he hesitated whether he should go up or down, and decided upon the latter course. At the foot of the stairs was another door, which he opened, passing into the cellar basement of the house. As the door moved, there came to him a wave of air so super-heated that for a moment he found difficulty in breathing. The cellar in which he found himself was innocent of furnishing, except for a table placed under a strong light, and a great, enclosed furnace which was responsible for the atmosphere of the room. It was like a Turkish bath, and he had not gone two or three paces before the perspiration was rolling down his cheeks. A broad-shouldered, undersized man was sitting at the table, a big book open before him. He had turned at the sound of the key in the door, and now he came toward the intruder. He was a half-caste, and, beyond the pair of blue dungaree trousers, he wore no clothing. His yellow skin and his curiously animal face gave him a particularly repulsive appearance. \u201cGot the furnace going, eh, Pietro?\u201d said Emanuel mildly, taking off his spectacles to wipe the moisture which had condensed upon the lenses. Pietro grunted something and, picking up an iron bar, lifted open the big door of the furnace. Emanuel put up his hands to guard his face from the blast of heat that came forth. \u201cShut it, shut it!\u201d he said testily, and when this was done, he went nearer to the furnace. Two feet away there ran a box-like projection, extending from two feet above the floor to the ceiling. A stranger might have imagined that this was an air shaft, introduced to regulate the ventilation. Emanuel was not a stranger. He knew that the shaft ran to the roof, and that it had a very simple explanation. \u201cThat\u2019s a good fire you\u2019ve got, eh, Pietro? You could burn up a man there?\u201d \u201cBurn anything,\u201d growled the other, \u201cbut not man.\u201d Emanuel chuckled. \u201cScared I\u2019m going to put a murder point on you, are you? Well, you needn\u2019t be,\u201d he said. \u201cBut it\u2019s hot enough to melt copper, eh, Pietro?\u201d \u201cMelt it down to nothing.\u201d \u201cBurnt any lately?\u201d The man nodded, rubbing his enormous arms caressingly. \u201cThey came last Monday week, after the boss had been shot,\u201d said the other. He had a curious impediment in his speech which made his tone harsh and guttural. \u201cThe fellows upstairs knew they were coming, so there was nothing to see. The furnace was nearly out.\u201d Emanuel nodded. \u201cThe boss said the furnace was to be kept going for a week,\u201d said Pietro complainingly. \u201cThat\u2019s pretty tough on me, Mr. Legge. I feel sometimes I\u2019d nearly die, the heat\u2019s so terrible.\u201d \u201cYou get the nights off,\u201d said Emanuel, \u201cand there are weeks when you do no work. To-night I shall want you.\u2026 Mr. Jeff has told you?\u201d The dwarf nodded. Emanuel passed through the door, closing it behind him; and, contrasted with the heat of the room, it seemed that he had walked into an ice wall. His collar was limp, his clothes were sticking to him, as he made his way up the stairs, and, passing the open door of his office, continued until he reached the tiny landing which scarcely gave him foothold. He knocked twice on the door, for of this he had no key. After a pause came an answering knock, a small spy-hole opened and an inquiring and suspicious eye examined him. When at last the door was opened, he found he was in a small room with a large skylight, heavily barred. At one end of the skylight was a rolled blind, which could be drawn across at night and effectively veil the glare of light which on occasions rose from this room. The man who grinned a welcome was little and bald. His age was in the region of sixty, and the grotesqueness of his appearance was due less to his shabby attire and diminutive stature than to the gold-rimmed monocle fixed in his right eye. In the centre of the room was a big table, littered with paraphernalia, ranging from a small microscope to a case filled with little black bottles. Under the brilliant overhead light which hung above the table, and clamped to the wood by glass-headed pins, was an oblong copper plate, on which the engraver had been working&#8211;the engraving tool was in his hand as he opened the door. \u201cGood morning, Lacey. What are you working at now?\u201d asked Emanuel with a benevolent air of patronage appropriate to the proprietor in addressing a favourite workman. \u201cThe new fives,\u201d said the other. \u201cJeff wants a big printing. Jeff\u2019s got brains. Anybody else would have said, \u2018Work from a photographic plate\u2019&#8211;you know what that means. After a run of a hundred, the impression goes wrong, and before you know where you are, there\u2019s a squeak. But engraving is engraving,\u201d he said with pride. \u201cYou can get all the new changes without photography. I never did hold with this new method&#8211;\u2018boobs\u2019 are full of fellows who think they can make slush with a camera and a zinc plate!\u201d It was good to hear praise of Jeffrey, and Emanuel Legge purred. He examined the half-finished plate through his powerful glasses, and though the art of the engraver was one with which he was not well acquainted, he could admire the fine work which this expert forger was doing. To the left of the table was an aperture like the opening of a service lift. It was a continuation of the shaft which led from the basement, and it had this value, that, however clever the police might be, long before they could break into the engraver\u2019s room all evidence of his guilt would have been flung into the opening and consumed in the furnace fire. \u201cJeffrey\u2019s idea. What a mind!\u201d said the admiring Lacey. \u201cIt reduces risk to what I might term a minimum. It is a pleasure working for Jeff, Mr. Legge. He takes no chances.\u201d \u201cI suppose Pietro is always on the spot?\u201d Mr. Lacey smiled. He took up a plate from the table and examined it back and front. \u201cThat is one I spoilt this morning,\u201d he said. \u201cSpilt some acid on it. Look!\u201d He went to the opening, put in his hand, and evidently pressed a bell, for a faint tinkle came from the mouth of the shaft. When he withdrew his hand, the plate that it held had disappeared. There came the buzz of a bell from beneath the table. \u201cThat plate\u2019s running like water by now,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s no chance of a squeak if Pietro\u2019s all right. Wide! That\u2019s Jeffrey! As wide as Broad Street! Why, Mr. Legge, would you believe that I don\u2019t know to this day where the stuff\u2019s printed? And I\u2019ll bet the printer hasn\u2019t got the slightest idea where the plates are made. There isn\u2019t a man in this building who has got so much as a smell of it.\u201d Emanuel passed down to his own office, a gratified father, and, securely closing the pigeon-hole door, he went out into the club premises to look at Room 13. The table was already laid; a big rose-bowl, overflowing with the choicest blooms, filled the centre; an array of rare glass, the like of which the habitu\u00e9s of the club had never seen on their tables, stood before each plate. His brief inspection of the room satisfied him, and he returned, not to his office but to Stevens, the porter. \u201cWhat\u2019s the idea of telling the members that all the rooms are engaged to-night?\u201d asked Stevens. \u201cI\u2019ve had to put off Lew Brady, and he pays.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019re having a party, Stevens,\u201d said Emanuel, \u201cand we don\u2019t want any interruption. Johnny Gray is coming. And you can take that look off your face; if I thought he was a pal of yours, you wouldn\u2019t be in this club two minutes. Peter Kane\u2019s coming too.\u201d \u201cLooks to me like a rough house,\u201d said Stevens. \u201cWhat am I to do?\u201d he asked sarcastically. \u201cBring in the police at the first squeal?\u201d \u201cBring in your friend from Toronto,\u201d snapped Emanuel, and went home to change. Chapter 26. Johnny was the first of the guests to arrive, and Stevens helped him to take off his raincoat. As he did so, he asked in a low voice: \u201cGot a gun, Captain?\u201d \u201cNever carry one, Stevens. It is a bad habit to get into.\u201d \u201cI never thought you were a mug,\u201d said Stevens in the same voice. \u201cAny man who has been in prison is, _ex officio_, one of the Ancient Order of Muggery,\u201d said Johnny, adjusting his bow in the mirror by the porter\u2019s desk. \u201cWhat\u2019s going?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the other, bending down to wipe the mud from Johnny\u2019s boots. \u201cBut curious things have happened in No. 13; and don\u2019t sit with your back to the buffet. Do you get that?\u201d Johnny nodded. He had reached the end of the corridor when he heard the whine of the ascending lift, and stopped. It was Peter Kane, and to him, in a low voice, Johnny passed on the porter\u2019s advice. \u201cI don\u2019t think they\u2019ll start anything,\u201d said Peter under his breath. \u201cBut if they do, there\u2019s a nurse at Charing Cross Hospital who\u2019s going to say: \u2018What, you here again!\u2019\u201d As Johnny had expected, his two hosts were waiting in Room 13. The silence which followed their arrival was, for one member of the party, an awkward one. \u201cGlad to see you, Peter,\u201d said Emanuel at last, though he made no pretence of shaking hands. \u201cOld friends ought to keep up acquaintances. There\u2019s my boy, Jeffrey. I think you\u2019ve met him,\u201d he said with a grin. \u201cI\u2019ve met him,\u201d said Peter, his face a mask. Jeffrey Legge had apparently recovered fully from his unpleasant experience. \u201cNow sit down, everybody,\u201d said Emanuel, bustling around, pulling out the chairs. \u201cYou sit here, Johnny.\u201d \u201cI\u2019d rather face the buffet; I like to see myself eat,\u201d said Johnny, and, without invitation, sat down in the position he had selected. Not waiting, Peter seated himself on Johnny\u2019s left, and it was Emanuel himself, a little ruffled by this preliminary upset to his plans, who sat with his back to the buffet. Johnny noticed the quick exchange of glances between father and son; he noticed, too, that the buffet carried none of the side dishes for which it was designed, and wondered what particular danger threatened from that end of the room. By the side of the sideboard, in one corner, hung a long, blue curtain, which, he guessed, hid a door leading to No. 12. Peter, who was better acquainted with the club, knew that No. 12 was the sitting-room, and that the two made one of those suites which were very much in request when a lamb was brought to the killing. \u201cNow, boys,\u201d said Emanuel with spurious joviality, \u201cthere is to be no bickering and quarrelling. We\u2019re all met round the festive board, and we\u2019ve nothing to do but find a way out that leaves my boy\u2019s good name unsullied, if I may use that word.\u201d \u201cYou can use any word you like,\u201d said Peter. \u201cIt\u2019ll take more than a dinner party to restore his tarnished reputation.\u201d \u201cWhat long words you use, Peter!\u201d said Emanuel admiringly. \u201cIt\u2019s my own fault that I don\u2019t know them, because I had plenty of time to study when I was away \u2018over the Alps. \u2019 Never been over the Alps, have you, Peter? Well, when they call it \u2018time,\u2019 they use the right word. The one thing you\u2019ve got there is time!\u201d Peter did not answer, and it was Jeffrey who took up the conversation. \u201cSee here, Peter,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m not going to make a song about this business of mine. I\u2019m going to put all my cards on the table. I want my wife.\u201d \u201cYou know where Lila is better than I,\u201d said Peter. \u201cShe\u2019s not in my employment now.\u201d \u201cLila nothing!\u201d retorted Jeffrey. \u201cIf you fall for that stuff, you\u2019re getting soft. I certainly married Lila, but she was married already, and I can give you proof of it.\u201d The conversation flagged here, for the waiter came in to serve the soup. \u201cWhat wine will you have, sir?\u201d \u201cThe same as Mr. Emanuel,\u201d said Peter. Emanuel Legge chuckled softly. \u201cThink I\u2019m going to \u2018knock you out,\u2019 eh, Peter? What a suspicious old man you are!\u201d \u201cWater,\u201d said Johnny softly when the waiter came to him. \u201cOn the water-wagon, Johnny? That\u2019s good. A young man in your business has got to keep his wits about him. I\u2019ll have champagne, Fernando, and so will Major Floyd. Nothing like champagne to keep your heart up,\u201d he said. Peter watched, all his senses alert, as the wine came, bubbling and frothing, into the long glasses. \u201cThat will do, Fernando,\u201d said Emanuel, watching the proceedings closely. As the door closed, Johnny could have sworn he heard an extra click. \u201cLocking us in?\u201d he asked pleasantly, and Emanuel\u2019s eyebrows rose. \u201cLocking you in, Johnny? Why, do you think I\u2019m afraid of losing you, like you\u2019re afraid of losing Marney?\u201d Johnny sipped the glass of water, his eyes fixed on the old man\u2019s face. What was behind that buffet? That was the thought which puzzled him. It was a very ordinary piece of furniture, of heavy mahogany, a little shallow, but this was accounted for by the fact that the room was not large, and, in furnishing, the proprietors of the club had of necessity to economise space. There were two cupboard doors beneath the ledge on which the side dishes should have been standing. Was it his imagination that he thought he saw one move the fraction of an inch? \u201cEver been in \u2018bird\u2019 before, Johnny?\u201d It was Emanuel who did most of the talking. \u201cI know they gave you three years, but was that your first conviction?\u201d \u201cThat was my first conviction,\u201d said Johnny. The old man looked up at the ceiling, pulling at his chin. \u201cEver been in Keytown?\u201d he demanded. \u201cNo good asking you, Peter, I know. You\u2019ve never been in Keytown or any bad boob, have you? Clever old Peter!\u201d \u201cLet us talk about something else,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI don\u2019t believe for one moment the story you told me about Lila having been married before. You\u2019ve told me a fresh lie every time the matter has been discussed. I\u2019m going to give you a show, Emanuel, for old times\u2019 sake. You\u2019ve been a swine, and you\u2019ve been nearer to death than you know, for, if your plan had come off as you expected it would, I\u2019d have killed you.\u201d Emanuel chuckled derisively. \u201cOld Peter\u2019s going to be a gunman,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd after all the lectures you\u2019ve given me! I\u2019m surprised at you, Peter. Now I\u2019ll tell you what I\u2019m going to do.\u201d He rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands, his keen eyes, all the keener for the magnification of his spectacles, fixed hardly upon his sometime friend. \u201cBy my reckoning, you owe me forty thousand pounds, and I know I\u2019m not going to get it without a struggle. Weigh in with that money, and I\u2019ll make things easy for my son\u2019s wife.\u201d He emphasised the last word. \u201cYou can cut that out!\u201d It was Jeffrey whose rough interruption checked his father\u2019s words. \u201cThere\u2019s no money in the world that\u2019s going to get Marney from me. Understand that.\u201d He brought his hand down with a crash upon the table. \u201cShe belongs to me, and I want her, Peter. Do you get it? And what is more, I\u2019m going to take her.\u201d Johnny edged a little farther from the table, and folding his arms across his chest, his lips parted in a smile. His right hand reached for the gun that he carried under his armpit: a little Browning, but a favourite one of Johnny\u2019s in such crises as these. For the cupboard door had moved again, and the door of the room was locked: of that he was certain. All this talk of Marney was sheer blind to keep them occupied. It had long passed the time when the plates should have been cleared and the second course make its appearance. But there was to be no second course at that dinner. Emanuel was speaking chidingly, reproachfully. \u201cJeffrey, my boy, you mustn\u2019t spoil a good deal,\u201d he said. \u201cThe truth is&#8212;-\u201d And then all the lights of the room went out. Instantly Johnny was on his feet, his back to the wall, his gun fanning the dark. \u201cWhat\u2019s the game?\u201d asked Peter\u2019s voice sharply. \u201cThere\u2019ll be a real dead man here if you start fooling.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Emanuel, speaking from the place where he had been. \u201cRing the bell, Jeff. I expect the switch has gone.\u201d There was somebody else in the room: Johnny felt the presence instinctively&#8211;a stealthy somebody who was moving toward him. Holding out one hand, ready to pounce the moment it touched, he waited. A second passed&#8211;five seconds&#8211;ten seconds&#8211;and then the lights went on again. Peter was also standing with his back to the wall, and in his hand a murderous looking Webley. Jeffrey and his father were side by side in the places they had been when the lights went out. There was no fifth man in the room. \u201cWhat\u2019s the game?\u201d asked Peter suspiciously. \u201cThe game, my dear Peter? What a question to ask! You don\u2019t make me responsible for the fuses, do you? I\u2019m not an electrician. I\u2019m a poor old crook who has done time that other people should have done&#8211;that\u2019s all,\u201d said Emanuel pleasantly. \u201cAnd look at the hardware! Bad idea, carrying guns. Let an old crook give you a word of advice, Peter,\u201d he bantered. \u201cI\u2019m not surprised at Johnny, because he might be anything. Sit down, you damned fools,\u201d he said jocularly. \u201cLet\u2019s talk.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll talk when you open that door,\u201d said Johnny quietly. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll put away my gun on the same condition.\u201d In three strides, Emanuel was at the door. There was a jerk of his wrist, and it flew open. \u201cHave the door open if you\u2019re frightened,\u201d he said contemptuously. \u201cI guess it\u2019s being in boob that makes you scared of the dark. I got that way myself.\u201d As he had turned the handle, Johnny had heard a second click. He was confident that somebody stood outside the door, and that the words Legge had uttered were intended for the unknown sentry. What was the idea? Peter Kane was sipping his champagne with an eye on his host. Had he heard the noise, too? Johnny judged that he had. The extinguishing of the lights had not been an accident. Some secret signal had been given, and the lights cut off from the controlling switchboard. The doors of the buffet cupboard were still. Turning his head, Johnny saw that Jeffrey\u2019s eyes were fixed on his with a hard concentration which was significant. What was he expecting? The climax, whatever it might be, was at hand. \u201cIt\u2019s a wonder to me, Gray, that you\u2019ve never gone in for slush.\u201d Jeffrey was speaking slowly and deliberately. \u201cIt\u2019s a good profession, and you can make money that you couldn\u2019t dream of getting by faking racehorses.\u201d \u201cPerhaps you will tell me how to start in that interesting profession,\u201d said Johnny coolly. \u201cI\u2019ll put it on paper for you, if you like. It\u2019ll be easier to make a squeak about. Or, better still, I\u2019ll show you how it\u2019s done. You\u2019d like that?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know that I\u2019m particularly interested, but I\u2019m sure my friend Mr. Reeder&#8212;-\u201d \u201cYour friend Mr. Reeder!\u201d sneered the other. \u201cHe\u2019s a pal of yours too, is he?\u201d \u201cAll law-abiding citizens are pals of mine,\u201d said Johnny gravely. He had put his pistol back in his jacket pocket, and his hand was on it. \u201cWell, how\u2019s this for a start?\u201d Jeffrey rose from the table and went to the buffet. He bent down and must have touched some piece of mechanism; for, without any visible assistance, the lid of the buffet turned over on some invisible axis, revealing a small but highly complicated piece of machinery, which Johnny recognised instantly as one of those little presses employed by banknote printers when a limited series of notes, generally of a high denomination, were being made. The audacity of this revelation momentarily took his breath away. \u201cYou could pull that buffet to pieces,\u201d continued Jeffrey, \u201cand then not find it.\u201d He pressed a switch, and the largest of the wheels began to spin, and with it a dozen tiny platens and cylinders. Only for a few minutes, and then he cut off the current, pressed the hidden mechanism again, and the machine turned over out of sight, and the two astonished men stared at the very ordinary looking surface of a very ordinary buffet. \u201cEasy money, eh, Gray?\u201d said Emanuel, with an admiring smirk at his son. \u201cNow listen, boys.\u201d His tone grew suddenly practical and businesslike as he came back to his chair. \u201cI want to tell you something that\u2019s going to be a lot of good to both of you, and we\u2019ll leave Marney out of it for the time being.\u201d Johnny raised his glass of water, still watchful and suspicious. \u201cThe point is&#8212;-\u201d said Emanuel, and at that moment Johnny took a long sip from the glass. The liquid had hardly reached his throat when he strove vainly to reject it. The harsh tang of it he recognised, and, flinging the glass to the floor, jerked out his gun. And then some tremendous force within him jerked at his brain, and the pistol dropped from his paralysed hand. Peter was on his feet, staring from one to the other. \u201cWhat have you done?\u201d He leapt forward, but before he could make a move, Emanuel sprang at him like a cat. He tried to fight clear, but he was curiously lethargic and weak. A vicious fist struck him on the jaw, and he went down like a log. \u201cGot you!\u201d hissed Emanuel, glaring down at his enemy. \u201cGot you, Peter, my boy! Never been in boob, have you? I\u2019ll give you a taste of it!\u201d Jeffrey Legge stooped and jerked open the door of the cupboard, and a man came stooping into the light. It was a catlike Pietro, grinning from ear to ear in sheer enjoyment of the part he had played. Emanuel dropped his hand on his shoulder. \u201cGood boy,\u201d he said. \u201cThe right stuff for the right man, eh? To every man his dope, Jeff. I knew that this Johnny Gray was going to be the hardest, and if I\u2019d taken your advice and given them both a knock-out, we\u2019d have only knocked out one. Now they know why the lights went out. Pick &#8217;em up.\u201d The little half-caste must have been enormously strong, for he lifted Peter without an effort and propped him into an arm-chair. This done, he picked up the younger man and laid him on the sofa, took a little tin box from his pocket, and, filling a hypodermic syringe from a tiny phial, looked round for instructions. Jeffrey nodded, and the needle was driven into the unfeeling flesh. This done, he lifted the eyelid of the drugged man and grinned again. \u201cHe\u2019ll be ready to move in half an hour,\u201d he said. \u201cMy knock-out doesn\u2019t last longer.\u201d \u201cCould you get him down the fire-escape into the yard?\u201d asked Emanuel anxiously. \u201cHe\u2019s a pretty heavy fellow, that Peter. You\u2019ll have to help him, Jeff boy. The car\u2019s in the yard. And, Jeff, don\u2019t forget you\u2019ve an engagement at two o\u2019clock.\u201d His son nodded. Again the half-caste swung up Peter Kane, and Jeffrey, holding the door wide, helped him to carry the unconscious man through the open window and down the steel stairway, though he needed very little help, for the strength of the man was enormous. He came back, apparently unmoved by his effort, and hoisted Johnny on to his back. Again unassisted, he carried the young man to the waiting car below, and flung him into the car. He was followed this time by Jeffrey, wrapped from head to foot in a long waterproof, a chauffeur\u2019s cap pulled down over his eyes. They locked both doors of the machine, and Pietro opened the gate and glanced out. There were few people about, and the car swung out and sped at full speed toward Oxford Street. Closing and locking the gate, the half-caste went up the stairs of the fire-escape two at a time and reported to his gratified master. Emanuel was gathering the coats and hats of his two guests into a bundle. This done, he opened a cupboard and flung them in, and they immediately disappeared. \u201cGo down and burn them,\u201d he said laconically. \u201cYou\u2019ve done well, Pietro. There\u2019s fifty for you to-night. \u201cGood?\u201d asked the other laconically. Emanuel favoured him with his benevolent smile. He took the two glasses from which the men had drunk, and these followed the clothes. A careful search of the room brought to light no further evidence of their presence. Satisfied, Emanuel sat down and lit a long, thin cigar. His night\u2019s work was not finished. Jeff had left to him what might prove the hardest of all the tasks. From a small cupboard he took a telephone, and pushed in the plug at the end of a long flex. He had some time to wait for the number, but presently he heard a voice which he knew was Marney\u2019s. \u201cIs that you, Marney?\u201d he asked softly, disguising his voice so cleverly that the girl was deceived. \u201cYes, daddy. Are you all right? I\u2019ve been so worried about you.\u201d \u201cQuite all right, darling. Johnny and I have made a very interesting discovery. Will you tell Barney to go to bed, and will you wait up for me&#8211;open the door yourself?\u201d \u201cIs Johnny coming back with you?\u201d \u201cNo, no, darling; I\u2019m coming alone.\u201d \u201cAre you sure everything is all right?\u201d asked the anxious voice. \u201cNow, don\u2019t worry, my pet. I shall be with you at two o\u2019clock. When you hear the car stop at the gate, come out. I don\u2019t want to come into the house. I\u2019ll explain everything to you.\u201d \u201cBut&#8212;-\u201d \u201cDo as I ask you, darling,\u201d he said, and before she could reply had rung off. But could Jeff make it? He would like to go himself, but that would mean the employment of a chauffeur, and he did not know one he could trust. He himself was not strong enough to deal with the girl, and, crowning impossibility, motor-car driving was a mystery&#8211;that was one of the accomplishments which a long stay in Dartmoor had denied to him. But could Jeff make it? He took a pencil from his pocket and worked out the times on the white tablecloth. Satisfied, he put away his pencil, and was pouring out a glass of champagne when there was a gentle tap-tap-tap at the door. He looked up in surprise. The man had orders not under any circumstances to come near Room 13, and it was his duty to keep the whole passage clear until he received orders to the contrary. _Tap-tap-tap._ \u201cCome in,\u201d he said. The door opened. A man stood in the doorway. He was dressed in shabby evening clothes; his bow was clumsily tied; one stud was missing from his white shirt-front. \u201cAm I intruding upon your little party?\u201d he asked timidly. Emanuel said nothing. For a long time he sat staring at this strange apparition. As if unconscious of the amazement and terror he had caused, the visitor sought to readjust his frayed shirt-cuffs, which hung almost to the knuckles of his hands. And then: \u201cCome in, Mr. Reeder,\u201d said Emanuel Legge a little breathlessly. Chapter 27. Mr. Reeder sidled into the room apologetically, closing the door behind him. \u201cAll alone, Mr. Legge?\u201d he asked. \u201cI thought you had company?\u201d \u201cI had some friends, but they\u2019ve gone.\u201d \u201cYour son gone, too?\u201d Reeder stared helplessly from one corner of the room to the other. \u201cDear me, this is a disappointment, a great disappointment.\u201d Emanuel was thinking quickly. In all probability the shabby detective had been watching the front of the house, and would know that they had not left that way. He took a bold step. \u201cThey left a quarter of an hour ago. Peter and Johnny went down the fire-escape&#8211;my boy\u2019s car was in the yard. We never like to have a car in front of the club premises; people talk so much. And after the publicity we\u2019ve had&#8212;-\u201d Mr. Reeder checked him with a mild murmur of agreement. \u201cThat was the car, was it? I saw it go and wondered what it was all about&#8211;Number XC. 9712, blue painted limousine&#8211;Daimler&#8211;I may be wrong, but it seemed like a Daimler to me; I know so little about motor-cars that I could be very easily mistaken, and my eyesight is not as good as it used to be.\u201d Emanuel cursed him under his breath. \u201cYes, it was a Daimler,\u201d he said, \u201cone we bought cheap at the sales.\u201d The absent-minded visitor\u2019s eyes were fixed on the table. \u201cTook their wine-glasses with them?\u201d he asked gently. \u201cI think it is a pretty custom, taking souvenirs of a great occasion. I\u2019m sure they were very happy.\u201d How had he got in, wondered Emanuel? Stevens had strict orders to stop him, and Fernando was at the end of the L-shaped passage. As if he divined the thought that was passing through Legge\u2019s mind, Mr. Reeder answered the unspoken question. \u201cI took the liberty of coming up the fire-escape, too,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was an interesting experience. One is a little old to begin experiments, and I am not the sort of man that cares very much for climbing, particularly at night.\u201d Following the direction of his eyes, Emanuel saw that a small square of the rusty trousers had been worn, and through the opening a bony white knee. \u201cYes, I came up the fire-escape, and fortunately the window was open. I thought I would give you a pleasant surprise. By the way, the escape doesn\u2019t go any higher than this floor? That is curious, because, you know, my dear Mr. Legge, it might well happen, in the event of fire, that people would be driven to the roof. If I remember rightly, there is nothing on the roof but a square superstructure&#8211;store-room, isn\u2019t it? Let me think. Yes, it\u2019s a store-room, I\u2019m sure.\u201d \u201cThe truth is,\u201d interrupted Emanuel, \u201cI had two old acquaintances here, Johnny Gray and Peter Kane. I think you know Peter?\u201d The other inclined his head gently. \u201cAnd they got just a little too merry. I suppose Johnny\u2019s not used to wine, and Peter\u2019s been a teetotaller for years.\u201d He paused. \u201cIn fact, they were rather the worse for drink.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s very sad.\u201d Mr. Reeder shook his head. \u201cPersonally, I am a great believer in prohibition. I would prohibit wine and beer, and crooks and forgers, tale-tellers, poisoners\u201d&#8211;he paused at the word&#8211;\u201cdruggers would be a better word,\u201d he said. \u201cThey took their glasses with them, did they? I hope they will return them. I should not like to think that people I&#8211;er&#8211;like would be guilty of so despicable a practice as&#8211;er&#8211;the petty theft of&#8211;er&#8211;wine-glasses.\u201d Again his melancholy eyes fell on the table. \u201cAnd they only had soup! It is very unusual to get bottled before you\u2019ve finished the soup, isn\u2019t it? I mean, in respectable circles,\u201d he added apologetically. He looked back at the open door over his spectacles. \u201cI wonder,\u201d he mused, \u201chow they got down that fire-escape in the dark in such a sad condition?\u201d Again his expressionless eyes returned to Emanuel. \u201cIf you see them again, will you tell them that I expect both Mr. Kane and Mr. Johnny&#8211;what is his name?&#8211;Gray, that is it! to keep an appointment they made with me for to-morrow morning? And that if they do not turn up at my house at ten o\u2019clock\u2026\u201d He stopped, pursing up his lips as though he were going to whistle. Emanuel wondered what was coming next, and was not left long in doubt. \u201cDid you feel the cold very much in Dartmoor? They tell me that the winters are very trying, particularly for people of an advanced age. Of course,\u201d Mr. Reeder went on, \u201cone can have friends there; one can even have relations there. I suppose it makes things much easier if you know your son or some other close relative is living on the same landing&#8211;there are three landings, are there not? But it is much nicer to live in comfort in London, Mr. Legge&#8211;to have a cosy little suite in Bloomsbury, such as you have got; to go where you like without a screw following you&#8211;I think \u2018screw\u2019 is a very vulgar word, but it means \u2018warder,\u2019 does it not?\u201d He walked to the door and turned slowly. \u201cYou won\u2019t forget that I expect to meet Mr. Peter Kane and Mr. John Gray to-morrow at my house at half-past ten&#8211;you won\u2019t forget, will you?\u201d He closed the door carefully behind him, and, with his great umbrella hooked on to his arm, passed along the corridor into the purview of the astounded Fernando, astounding the jailers on guard at the end. \u201cGood evening,\u201d murmured Mr. Reeder as he passed. Fernando was too overcome to make a courteous reply. Stevens saw him as he came into the main corridor, and gasped. \u201cWhen did you come in, Mr. Reeder?\u201d \u201cNobody has ever seen you come in, but lots of people see you go out,\u201d said Reeder good-humouredly. \u201cOn the other hand, there are people who are seen coming into this club whom nobody sees go out. Mr. Gray didn\u2019t pass this way, or Mr. Kane?\u201d \u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Stevens in surprise. \u201cHave they gone?\u201d Reeder sighed heavily. \u201cYes, they\u2019ve gone,\u201d he said. \u201cI hope not for long, but they\u2019ve certainly gone. Good night, Stevens. By the way, your name isn\u2019t Stevens, is it? I seem to remember you\u201d&#8211;he screwed up his eyes as though he had difficulty in recalling the memory&#8211;\u201cI seem to remember your name wasn\u2019t Stevens, let us say, eight years ago.\u201d Stevens flushed. \u201cIt is the name I\u2019m known as now, sir.\u201d \u201cA very good name, too, an excellent name,\u201d murmured Mr. Reeder as he stepped into the elevator. \u201cAnd after all, we must try to live down the past. And I\u2019d be the last to remind you of your&#8211;er&#8211;misfortune.\u201d When he reached the street, two men who had been standing on the opposite sidewalk crossed to him. \u201cThey\u2019ve gone,\u201d said Mr. Reeder. \u201cThey were in that car, as I feared. All stations must be warned, and particularly the town stations just outside of London, to hold up the car. You have its number. You had better watch this place till the morning,\u201d he said to one of them. \u201cVery good, sir.\u201d \u201cI want you especially to follow Emanuel, and keep him under observation until to-morrow morning.\u201d The detective left on duty waited with that philosophical patience which is the greater part of the average detective\u2019s equipment, until three o\u2019clock in the morning; and at that hour, when daylight was coming into the sky, Emanuel had not put in an appearance. Stevens went off duty half an hour after Mr. Reeder\u2019s departure. At two o\u2019clock the head waiter and three others left, Fernando locking the door. Then, a few minutes before three, the squat figure of Pietro, muffled up in a heavy overcoat, and he too locked the door behind him, disappearing in the direction of Shaftesbury Avenue. At half-past three the detective left a policeman to watch the house, and got on the \u2019phone to Mr. Reeder, who was staying in town. \u201cDear me!\u201d said Mr. Reeder, an even more incongruous sight in pyjamas which were a little too small for him, though happily there were no spectators of his agitation. \u201cNot gone, you say? I will come round.\u201d It was daylight when he arrived. The gate in the yard was opened with a skeleton key (the climb so graphically described by Mr. Reeder was entirely fictitious, and the cut in his trousers was due to catching a jagged nail in one of the packing-cases with which the yard was littered), and he mounted the iron stairway to the third floor. The window through which he had made his ingress on the previous evening was closed and fastened, but, with the skill of a professional burglar, Mr. Reeder forced back the catch and, opening the window, stepped in. There was enough daylight to see his whereabouts. Unerringly he made for Emanuel\u2019s office. The door had been forced, and there was no need to use the skeleton key. There was no sign of Emanuel, and Reeder came out to hear the report of the detective, who had made a rapid search of the club. \u201cAll the doors are open except No. 13, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s bolted on the inside. I\u2019ve got the lock open.\u201d \u201cTry No. 12,\u201d said Reeder. \u201cThere are two ways in&#8211;one by way of a door, which you\u2019ll find behind a curtain in the corner of the room, and the other way through the buffet, which communicates with the buffet in No. 13. Break nothing if you can help it, because I don\u2019t want my visit here advertised.\u201d He followed the detective into No. 12, and found that there was no necessity to use the buffet entrance, for the communicating door was unlocked. He stepped into No. 13; it was in complete darkness. \u201cHumph!\u201d said Mr. Reeder, and sniffed. \u201cOne of you go along this wall and find the switch. Be careful you don\u2019t step on something.\u201d \u201cWhat is there?\u201d \u201cI think you\u2019ll find\u2026 however, turn on the light.\u201d The detective felt his way along the wall, and presently his finger touched a switch and he turned it down. And then they saw all that Mr. Reeder suspected. Sprawled across the table was a still figure&#8211;a horrible sight, for the man who had killed Emanuel Legge had used the poker which, twisted and bloodstained, lay amidst the wreckage of rare glass and once snowy napery. Chapter 28. It was unnecessary to call a doctor to satisfy the police. Emanuel Legge had passed beyond the sphere of his evil activities. \u201cThe poker came from&#8211;where?\u201d mused Mr. Reeder, examining the weapon thoughtfully. He glanced down at the little fire-place. The poker and tongs and shovel were intact, and this was of a heavier type than was used in the sitting-rooms. Deftly he searched the dead man\u2019s pockets, and in the waistcoat he found a little card inscribed with a telephone number, \u201cHorsham 98753.\u201d Peter\u2019s. That had no special significance at the moment, and Reeder put it with the other documents that he had extracted from the dead man\u2019s pockets. Later came an inspector to take charge of the case. \u201cThere was some sort of struggle, I imagine,\u201d said Mr. Reeder. \u201cThe right wrist, I think you\u2019ll find, is broken. Legge\u2019s revolver was underneath the table. He probably pulled it, and it was struck from his hand. I don\u2019t think you\u2019ll want me any more, inspector.\u201d He was examining the main corridor when the telephone switchboard at the back of Stevens\u2019s little desk gave him an idea. He put through a call to Horsham, and, in spite of the earliness of the hour, was almost immediately answered. \u201cWho is that?\u201d he asked. \u201cI\u2019m Mr. Kane\u2019s servant,\u201d said a husky voice. \u201cOh, is it Barney? Is your master at home yet?\u201d \u201cNo, sir. Who is it speaking?\u201d \u201cIt is Mr. Reeder.\u2026 Will you tell Miss Kane to come to the telephone?\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s not here either. I\u2019ve been trying to get on to Johnny Gray all night, but his servant says he\u2019s out.\u201d \u201cWhere is Miss Kane?\u201d asked Reeder quickly. \u201cI don\u2019t know, sir. Somebody came for her in the night in a car, and she went away, leaving the door open. It was the wind slamming it that woke me up.\u201d It was so long before Mr. Reeder answered that Barney thought he had gone away. \u201cDid nobody call for her during the evening? Did she have any telephone messages?\u201d \u201cOne, sir, about ten o\u2019clock. I think it was her father, from the way she was speaking.\u201d Again a long interval of silence, and then: \u201cI will come straight down to Horsham,\u201d said Mr. Reeder, and from the pleasant and conversational quality of his voice, Barney took comfort; though, if he had known the man better, he would have realised that Mr. Reeder was most ordinary when he was most perturbed. Mr. Reeder pushed the telephone away from him and stood up. So they had got Marney. There was no other explanation. The dinner party had been arranged to dispose of the men who could protect her. Where had they been taken? He went back to the old man\u2019s office, which was undergoing a search at the hands of a police officer. \u201cI particularly want to see immediately any document referring to Mr. Peter Kane,\u201d he said, \u201cany road maps which you may find here, and especially letters addressed to Emanuel Legge by his son. You know, of course, that this office was broken into? There should be something in the shape of clues.\u201d The officer shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m afraid, Mr. Reeder, we won\u2019t find much here,\u201d he said. \u201cSo far, I\u2019ve only come across old bills and business letters which you might find in any office.\u201d The detective looked round. \u201cThere is no safe?\u201d he asked. All the timidity and deference in his manner had gone. He was patently a man of affairs. \u201cYes, sir, the safe\u2019s behind that panelling. I\u2019ll get it open this morning. But I shouldn\u2019t imagine that Legge would leave anything compromising on the premises. Besides, his son has had charge of the Highlow for years. Previous to that, they had a manager who is now doing time. Before him, if I remember right, that fellow Fenner, who has been in boob for burglary.\u201d \u201cFenner?\u201d said the other sharply. \u201cI didn\u2019t know he ever managed this club.\u201d \u201cHe used to, but he had a quarrel with the old man. I\u2019ve got an idea they were in jug together.\u201d Fenner\u2019s was not the type of mentality one would expect to find among the officers of a club, even a club of the standing of the Highlow; but there was this about the Highlow, that it required less intelligence than sympathy with a certain type of client. Reeder was assisting the officer by taking out the contents of the pigeon-holes, when his hand touched a knob. \u201cHallo, what is this?\u201d he said, and turned it. The whole desk shifted slightly, and, pulling, he revealed the door to the spiral staircase. \u201cThis is very interesting,\u201d he said. He ascended as far as the top landing. There was evidently a door here, but every effort he made to force it ended in failure. He came down again, continuing to the basement, and this time he was joined by the inspector in charge of the case. \u201cRather hot,\u201d said Mr. Reeder as he opened the door. \u201cI should say there is a fire burning here.\u201d It took him some time to discover the light connections, and when he did, he whistled. For, lying by the side of the red-hot stove, he saw a piece of shining metal and recognised it. It was an engraver\u2019s plate, and one glance told him that it was the finished plate from which \u00a35 notes could be printed. The basement was empty, and for a second the mystery of the copper plate baffled him. \u201cWe may not have found the Big Printer, but we\u2019ve certainly found the Big Engraver,\u201d he said. \u201cThis plate was engraved somewhere upstairs.\u201d He pointed to the shaft. \u201cWhat is it doing down here? Of course!\u201d He slapped his thigh exultantly. \u201cI never dreamt he was right&#8211;but he always is right!\u201d \u201cWho?\u201d asked the officer. \u201cAn old friend of mine, whose theory was that the plates from which the slush was printed were engraved within easy reach of a furnace, into which, in case of a police visitation, they could be pushed and destroyed. And, of course, the engraving plant is somewhere upstairs. But why they should throw down a perfectly new piece of work, and at a time when the attendant was absent, is beyond me. Unless\u2026 Get me an axe; I want to see the room on the roof.\u201d The space was too limited for the full swing of an axe, and it was nearly an hour before at last the door leading to the engraver\u2019s room was smashed in. The room was flooded with sunshine, for the skylight had not been covered. Reeder\u2019s sharp eyes took in the table with a glance, and then he looked beyond, and took a step backward. Lying by the wall, dishevelled, mud-stained, his white dress-shirt crumpled to a pulp, was Peter Kane, and he was asleep! They dragged him to a chair, bathed his face with cold water, but even then he took a long time to recover. \u201cHe has been drugged: that\u2019s obvious,\u201d said Mr. Reeder, and scrutinised the hands of the unconscious man for a sign of blood. But though they were covered with rust and grime, Reeder found not so much as one spot of blood; and the first words that Peter uttered, on recovering consciousness, confirmed the view that he was ignorant of the murder. \u201cWhere is Emanuel?\u201d he asked drowsily. \u201cHave you got him?\u201d \u201cNo; but somebody has got him,\u201d said Reeder gently, and the shock of the news brought Peter Kane wide awake. \u201cMurdered!\u201d he said unbelievingly. \u201cAre you sure? Of course, I\u2019m mad to ask you that.\u201d He passed his hand wearily across his forehead. \u201cNo, I know nothing about it. I suppose you suspect me, and I don\u2019t mind telling you that I was willing to murder him if I could have found him.\u201d Briefly he related what had happened at the dinner. \u201cI knew that I was doped, but dope works slowly on me, and the only chance I had was to sham dead. Emanuel gave me a thump in the jaw, and that was my excuse for going out. They got me downstairs into the yard and put me into the car first. I slipped out the other side as soon as the man went up to get Johnny. There were a lot of old cement sacks lying about, and I threw a couple on to the floor, hoping that in the darkness they would mistake the bundle for me. Then I lay down amongst the packing-cases and waited. I guessed they\u2019d brought down Johnny, but I was powerless to help him. When the car had gone, and Pietro had gone up again, I followed. I suppose the dope was getting busy, and if I\u2019d had any sense, I should have got over the gate. My first thought was that they might have taken my gun away and left it in the room. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.\u201d \u201cAre you sure of that, Peter?\u201d \u201cAbsolutely sure.\u201d \u201cHow long after was this?\u201d \u201cAbout half an hour. It took me all that time to get up the stairs, because I had to fight the dope all the way. I heard somebody moving about, and slipped into one of the other rooms, and then I heard the window pulled down and locked. I didn\u2019t want to go to sleep, for fear they discovered me; but I must have dozed, for when I woke up, it was dark and cold, and I heard no sound at all. I tried the door of thirteen again, but could make no impression on it. So I went to Emanuel\u2019s office. I know the place very well: I used to go in there in the old days, before Emanuel went to jail, and I knew all about the spiral staircase to the roof. All along I suspected that the hut they\u2019d put on the roof was the place where the slush was printed. But here I was mistaken, for I had no sooner got into the room than I saw that it was where the engraver worked. There was a plate on the edge of a shaft. I suppose I was still dizzy, because I fumbled at it. It slipped through my hand, and I heard a clang come up from somewhere below.\u201d \u201cHow did you get into this room?\u201d \u201cThe door was open,\u201d was the surprising reply. \u201cI have an idea that it is one of those doors that can only be opened and closed from the inside. The real door of the room is in the room in Emanuel\u2019s office. It is the only way in, and the only way out, both from the basement and the room on the roof. I don\u2019t know what happened after that. I must have laid down, for by now the dope was working powerfully. I ought to let Marney know I\u2019m all right. She\u2019ll be worried.\u2026\u201d He saw something in the detective\u2019s face, something that made his heart sink. \u201cMarney! Is anything wrong with Marney?\u201d he asked quickly. \u201cI don\u2019t know. She went out last night&#8211;or rather, early this morning&#8211;and has not been seen since.\u201d Peter listened, stricken dumb by the news. It seemed to Mr. Reeder that he aged ten years in as few minutes. \u201cNow, Kane, you\u2019ve got to tell me all you know about Legge,\u201d said Reeder kindly. \u201cI haven\u2019t any doubt that Jeffrey\u2019s taken her to the big printing place. Where is it?\u201d Peter shook his head. \u201cI haven\u2019t the least idea,\u201d he said. \u201cThe earlier slush was printed in this building; in fact, it was printed in Room 13. I\u2019ve known that for a long time. But as the business grew, young Legge had to find another works. Where he has found it is a mystery to me, and to most other people.\u201d \u201cBut you must have heard rumours?\u201d persisted Reeder. Again Peter shook his head. \u201cRemember that I mix very little with people of my own profession, or my late profession,\u201d he said. \u201cJohnny and old Barney are about the only crooks I know, outside of the Legge family. And Stevens, of course&#8211;he was in jail ten years ago. I\u2019ve lost touch with all the others, and my news has come through Barney, though most of Barney\u2019s gossip is unreliable.\u201d They reached Barney by telephone, but he was unable to give any information that was of the slightest use. All that he knew was that the printing works were supposed to be somewhere in the west. \u201cJohnny knows more about it than I do, or than anybody. All the boys agree as to that,\u201d said Barney. \u201cThey told him a lot in \u2018boob.\u2019\u201d Leaving Peter to return home, Mr. Reeder made a call at Johnny\u2019s flat. Parker was up. He had been notified earlier in the morning of his master\u2019s disappearance, but he had no explanation to offer. He was preparing to give a list of the clothes that Johnny had been wearing, but Reeder cut him short impatiently. \u201cTry to think of Mr. Gray as a human being, and not as a tailor\u2019s dummy,\u201d he said wrathfully. \u201cYou realise that he is in very grave danger?\u201d \u201cI am not at all worried, sir,\u201d said the precise Parker. \u201cMr. Gray was wearing his new sock suspenders&#8212;-\u201d For once Mr. Reeder forgot himself. \u201cYou\u2019re a damned fool, Parker,\u201d he said. \u201cI hope not, sir,\u201d said Parker as he bowed him out. Chapter 29. It was five minutes past two in the morning when Marney, sitting in the drawing-room at the front of the house, heard the sound of an auto stop before the house. Going into the hall, she opened the door, and, standing on the step, peered into the darkness. \u201cIs that you, father?\u201d she asked. There was no reply, and she walked quickly up the garden path to the gate. The car was a closed coup\u00e9, and as she looked over the gate, she saw a hand come out and beckon her, and heard a voice whisper: \u201cDon\u2019t make a noise. Come in here; I want to talk to you. I don\u2019t want Barney to see me.\u201d Bewildered, she obeyed. Jerking open the door, she jumped into the dark interior, by the side of the man at the wheel. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d she asked. Then, to her amazement, the car began to move toward the main road. It had evidently circled before it had stopped. \u201cWhat is the matter, father?\u201d she asked. And then she heard a low chuckle that made her blood run cold. \u201cGo into the back and stay there. If you make a row, I\u2019ll spoil that complexion of yours, Marney Legge!\u201d \u201cJeffrey!\u201d she gasped. She gripped the inside handle of the door and had half turned it when he caught her with his disengaged hand and flung her into the back of the car. \u201cI\u2019ll kill you if you make me do that again.\u201d There was a queer little sob of pain in his voice, and she remembered his wound. \u201cWhere are you taking me?\u201d she asked. \u201cI\u2019m taking you to your father,\u201d was the unexpected reply. \u201cWill you sit quiet? If you try to get away, or attempt to call assistance, I\u2019ll drive you at full speed into the first tree I see, and we\u2019ll finish the thing together.\u201d From the ferocity of his tone she did not doubt that he would carry his threat into execution. Mile after mile the car sped on, flashing through villages, slowing through the sparsely peopled streets of small towns. It was nearing three o\u2019clock when they came into the street of a town and, looking through the window, she saw a grey fa\u00e7ade and knew she was in Oxford. In ten minutes they were through the city and traversing the main western road. And now, for the first time, Jeffrey Legge became communicative. \u201cYou\u2019ve never been in \u2018boob,\u2019 have you, angel?\u201d he asked. She did not answer. \u201cNever been inside the little bird-house with the other canaries, eh? Well, that\u2019s an experience ahead of you. I am going to put you in jail, kid. Peter\u2019s never been in jail either, but he nearly had the experience to-night.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t believe you,\u201d she said. \u201cMy father has not broken the law.\u201d \u201cNot for a long time, at any rate,\u201d agreed Jeffrey, dexterously lighting a cigarette with one hand. \u201cBut there\u2019s a little \u2018boob\u2019 waiting for him all right now.\u201d \u201cA prison?\u201d she said incredulously. \u201cI don\u2019t believe you.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ve said that twice, and you\u2019re the only person living that\u2019s called me a liar that number of times.\u201d He turned off into a side road, and for a quarter of an hour gave her opportunity for thought. \u201cIt might interest you to know that Johnny is there,\u201d he said. \u201cDear little Johnny! The easiest crook that ever fell&#8211;and this time he\u2019s got a lifer.\u201d The car began to move down a sharp declivity, and, looking through the rain-spattered wind-screen, she saw a squat, dark building ahead. \u201cHere we are,\u201d he said, as the car stopped. Looking through the window she saw, with a gasp of astonishment, that he had spoken the truth. They were at the door of a prison. The great, black, iron-studded gates were opening as she looked, and the car passed through under the deep archway and stopped. \u201cGet down,\u201d said Jeff, and she obeyed. A narrow black door led from the archway, and, following her, he caught her by the arm and pushed her through. She was in a narrow room, the walls of which were covered with stained and discoloured whitewash. A large fire-place, overflowing with ashes, a rickety chair and a faded board screwed to the wall were the only furniture. In the dim light of a carbon lamp she saw the almost indistinguishable words: \u201cHis Majesty\u2019s Prison, Keytown,\u201d and beneath, row after row of closely set regulations. A rough-looking, powerfully-built man had followed her into the room, which was obviously the gate-keeper\u2019s lodge. \u201cHave you got the cell ready?\u201d \u201cYes, I have,\u201d said the man. \u201cDoes she want anything to eat?\u201d \u201cIf she does, she\u2019ll want,\u201d said Jeff curtly. He took off his greatcoat and hung it on a nail, and then, with Jeffrey\u2019s hand gripping her arm, she was led again into the archway and across a small courtyard, through an iron grille gate and a further door. A solitary light that burnt in a bracket near the door, showed her that she was in a small hall. Around this, at the height of about nine feet from the ground, ran a gallery, which was reached by a flight of iron stairs. There was no need to ask what was the meaning of those two rows of black doors that punctured the wall. They were cells. She was in a prison! While she was wondering what it all meant, a door near at hand was unlocked, and she was pushed in. The cell was a small one, the floor of worn stone, but a new bedstead had been fitted up in one corner. There was a washstand; and, as she was to discover, the cell communicated with another containing a stone bath and wash-place. \u201cThe condemned cell,\u201d explained Jeffrey Legge with relish. \u201cYou\u2019ll have plenty of ghosts to keep you company to-night, Marney.\u201d In her heart she was panic-stricken, but she showed none of her fear as she faced him. \u201cA ghost would be much less repulsive to me than you, Jeffrey Legge,\u201d she said, and he seemed taken aback by the spirit she displayed. \u201cYou will have both,\u201d he said, as he slammed the door on her and locked it. The cell was illuminated by a feeble light that came through an opaque pane of glass by the side of the door. Presently, when her eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, she was able to take stock of her surroundings. The prison must have been a very old one, for the walls were at one place worn smooth, probably by the back of some condemned unfortunate who had waited day after day for the hour of doom. She shuddered, as her imagination called to her the agony of soul which these four walls had held. By standing on the bed she could reach a window. That also was of toughened glass, set in small, rusty frames. Some of the panes were missing, but she guessed that the outlook from the window would not be particularly promising, even supposing she could force the window. The night had been unusually cold and raw for the time of year, and, pulling a blanket from the bed, she wrapped it about her and sat down on the stool, waiting for the light to grow. And so sitting, her weary eyes closing involuntarily, she heard a stealthy tapping. It came from above, and her heart fluttered at the thought that possibly, in the cell above her, her father was held\u2026 or Johnny. Climbing on to the bed, she rapped with her knuckles on the stone ceiling. Somebody answered. They were tapping a message in Morse, which she could not understand. Presently the tapping ceased. She heard footsteps above. And then, looking by chance at the broken pane of the window, she saw something come slowly downward and out of view. She leapt up, gripping the window pane, and saw a piece of black silk. With difficulty two fingers touched it at last and drew it gently in through the window pane. She pulled it up, and, as she suspected, found a piece of paper tied to the end. It was a bank-note. Bewildered, she gazed at it until it occurred to her that there might be a message written on the other side. The pencil marks were faint, and she carried the note as near to the light as she could get. \u201c_Who is there? Is it you, Peter? I am up above. Johnny._\u201d She suppressed the cry that rose to her lips. Both Johnny and her father were there. Then Jeffrey had not lied. How could she answer? She had no pencil. Then she saw that the end of the cotton was weighted by a small piece of pencil, the kind that is found attached to a dance programme. With this unsatisfactory medium she wrote a reply and pushed it through the window, and after a while she saw it drawn up. Johnny was there&#8211;and Johnny knew. She felt strangely comforted by his presence, impotent though he was. For half an hour she waited at the window, but now the daylight had come, and evidently Johnny thought it was too dangerous to make any further communications. Exhausted, she lay down on the bed, intending to remain awake, but within five minutes she was sleeping heavily. The sound of a key in the lock made her spring to her feet. It was the man she had seen in the early morning; he was carrying a big tray, set with a clumsy cup and saucer, six slices of bread and butter, and an enormous teapot. He put it down on the bed, for want of a table, and without a word went out. She looked at the little platinum watch on her wrist: it was ten o\u2019clock. Half an hour later the man came and took away the tray. \u201cWhere am I?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou\u2019re in \u2018boob,\u2019\u201d he said with quiet amusement. \u201cBut it is better than any other \u2018boob\u2019 you\u2019ve ever been in, young lady. And don\u2019t try to ask me questions, because you\u2019ll not get a civil answer if you do.\u201d At two o\u2019clock came another meal, a little more tastily served this time. It seemed, from the appearance of the plate, that Jeffrey had sent into Oxford for a new service specially for her benefit. Again she attempted to discover what had happened to her father, but with no more satisfactory result. The weary day dragged through; every minute seemed an hour, every hour interminable. Darkness had fallen again when the last of the visits was made, and this time it was Jeffrey Legge. At the sight of his face, all her terror turned to wonder. He was ghastly pale, his eyes burnt strangely, and the hand that came up to his lips was trembling as though he were suffering from a fever. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d she asked. \u201cI want you,\u201d he said brokenly. \u201cI want you for the life of my father!\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d she gasped. \u201cPeter Kane killed my father last night,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019re mad,\u201d she gasped. \u201cMy father is here&#8211;you told me.\u201d \u201cI told you a lie. What does it matter what I told you anyway? Peter Kane escaped on the way to Keytown, and he went back to the club and killed my father!\u201d Chapter 30. The girl looked at him, speechless. \u201cIt isn\u2019t true!\u201d she cried. \u201cIt\u2019s not true, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Jeffrey almost howled the words. He was mad with hate, with grief, with desire for cruel vengeance. \u201cI\u2019ll show you whether it\u2019s not true, my lady. You\u2019re my wife&#8211;do you understand that? If you don\u2019t, you\u2019re going to.\u201d He flung out of the cell, turning to voice his foul mind, and then the door clanged on her, and he strode out of the hall into the little house that was once the Governor\u2019s residence, and which was now the general head-quarters of the Big Printer. He poured himself out a stiff dose of whisky and drank it undiluted, and the man who had accompanied him watched him curiously. \u201cJeff, it looks to me as if it\u2019s time to make a get-away. We can\u2019t keep these people here very long. The men are scared, too.\u201d \u201cScared, are they?\u201d sneered Jeffrey Legge. \u201cI guess they\u2019d be more scared if they were in front of a judge and jury.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s the kind of scare they\u2019re anxious to avoid,\u201d said his lieutenant calmly. \u201cAnyway, Jeff, we\u2019re getting near the end, and it seems to me that it\u2019s the time for all sensible men to find a little home on the other side of the water.\u201d Legge thought for a long time, and when he spoke his voice was more calm. \u201cPerhaps you\u2019re right,\u201d he said. \u201cTell them they can clear to-night.\u201d The other man was taken aback by the answer. \u201cTo-night?\u201d he said. \u201cWell, I don\u2019t know that there\u2019s that hurry.\u201d \u201cTell &#8217;em to clear to-night. They\u2019ve got all the money they want. I\u2019m shutting this down.\u201d \u201cWho killed your father?\u201d \u201cPeter Kane,\u201d snarled Legge. \u201cI\u2019ve got the full strength of it. The police are hiding him up, but he did the killing all right. They found him on the premises in the morning.\u201d He sat awhile, staring moodily at the glass in his hand. \u201cLet them go to-night,\u201d he said, \u201cevery one of them. I\u2019ll tell them myself.\u201d \u201cDo you want me to go?\u201d asked the other. Legge nodded. \u201cYes; I want to be alone. I\u2019m going to fix two people to-night,\u201d he said, between his teeth, \u201cand I\u2019m fixing them good.\u201d \u201cSome of the men like Johnny Gray; they were in boob with him,\u201d suggested his assistant, but Jeffrey stopped him with an oath. \u201cThat\u2019s another reason they can get out,\u201d he said, \u201cand they can\u2019t know too soon.\u201d He jumped to his feet and strode out of the room, the man following at a distance. There were two halls to the prison, and it was into the second that he turned. This was brilliantly illuminated. The doors had been removed from most of the cells, and several of them were obviously sleeping-rooms for the half a dozen men who sat about a table playing cards. At only four places were the cell doors intact, for behind these were the delicate printing presses which from morning till night were turning out and numbering French, American and English paper currency. There was not one of the men at the table, or who came to the doors of their cubicles, attracted by the unusual appearance of Legge, who had not served long terms of imprisonment on forgery charges. Jeffrey had recruited them as carefully as a theatrical producer recruits his beauty chorus. They were men without homes, without people, mainly without hope; men inured to the prison system, and who found, in this novel method of living, a delightful variation of the life to which they were most accustomed. It was believed by the authorities that Keytown Jail was in the hands of a syndicate engaged in experimental work of a highly complicated character, and no obstacle had been placed in the way of laying power cables to the \u201claboratories.\u201d Jeff had found the safest asylum in the land, and one which was more strongly guarded than any he could have built. His speech was short and to the point. \u201cBoys, I guess that the time has come when we\u2019ve got to make the best of our way home. You\u2019ve all enough money to live comfortably on for the rest of your lives, and I advise you to get out of the country as soon as you can. You have your passports; you know the way; and there\u2019s no time like the present.\u201d \u201cDo you mean that we\u2019ve got to go to-night, Jeff?\u201d asked a voice. \u201cI mean to-night. I\u2019ll have a car run you into London; but you\u2019ll have to leave your kit behind, but you can afford that.\u201d \u201cWhat are you going to do with the factory?\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s my business,\u201d said Jeff. The proposal did not find universal favour, but they stood in such awe of the Big Printer that, though they demurred, they obeyed. By ten o\u2019clock that night the prison was empty, except for Jeffrey and his assistant. \u201cI didn\u2019t see Bill Holliss go,\u201d said the latter; but Jeffrey Legge was too intent upon his plans to give the matter a moment\u2019s thought. \u201cMaybe you\u2019ll see yourself go now, Jenkins,\u201d he said. \u201cYou can take your two-seater and run anywhere you like.\u201d \u201cLet me stay till the morning,\u201d asked the man. \u201cYou\u2019ll go to-night. Otherwise, what\u2019s the use of sending the other fellows away?\u201d He closed the big gate upon the car. He was alone with his wife and with the man he hated. He could think calmly now. The madness of rage had passed. He made a search of a little store-room and found what he was looking for. It was a stout rope. With this over his arm, and a storm-lamp in his hand, he went out into the yard and came to a little shed built against the wall. Unlocking the rusty padlock, he pulled the doors apart. The shed was empty; the floor was inches thick with litter, and, going back, he found a broom and swept it clean. With the aid of a ladder he mounted to a beam that ran transversely across the roof, and fastened one end of the rope securely. Coming down, he spent half an hour in making a noose. He was in the death house. Under his feet was the fatal trap that a pull of the rusty lever would spring. He wanted to make the experiment, but the trap would take a lot of time to pull up. His face was pouring with perspiration when he had finished. The night was close, and a flicker of lightning illuminated for a second the gloomy recesses of the prison yard. As he entered the hall a low growl of thunder came to him, but the storm in his heart was more violent than any nature could provide. He tiptoed up the iron stairs to the landing, and came at last to No. 4 and hesitated. His enemy could wait. Creeping down the stairs again, his heart beating thunderously, he stood outside the door of the condemned cell. The key trembled as he inserted it in the lock. No sound broke the stillness as the door opened stealthily, and he slipped into the room. He waited, holding his breath, not knowing whether she were awake or asleep, and then crept forward to the bed. He saw the outline of a figure. \u201cMarney,\u201d he said huskily, groping for her face. And then two hands like steel clamps caught him by the throat and flung him backward. \u201cI want you, Jeffrey Legge,\u201d said a voice&#8211;the voice of Johnny Gray. Chapter 31. Johnny Gray came to consciousness with a violent headache and a sense of suffocating restriction, which he discovered was due to his wing collar holding tightly in spite of the rough usage that had been his. This fact would have been pleasing to Parker, but was intensely discomforting to the wearer, and in a minute he had stripped the offending collar from his throat and had risen unsteadily to his feet. The room in which he was had a familiar appearance. It was a cell, and&#8212;- Keytown Jail! He remembered Fenner\u2019s warning. So Fenner knew! Keytown Jail, sold by the Government to&#8211;Jeffrey Legge! The idea was preposterous; but why not? A timber merchant had bought a jail at Hereford; a firm of caterers had purchased an old prison in the North of England, and were serving afternoon teas in the cells. Now he understood. Keytown Prison was the head-quarters of the Big Printer. The one place in the world that the police would never dream of searching, particularly if, as he guessed, Jeffrey Legge had offered some specious excuse for his presence and the presence of his company in this isolated part of the world. The sound of voices came faintly up to him, and he heard a door bang and the clicking of locks; and with that sound he recalled the happenings of the evening. It must be Peter: they had got him too. In spite of his discomfiture, in spite of the awful danger in which he knew he was, he laughed softly to himself. Above his bed was a window with scarcely a whole pane. But there was no escape that way. A thought struck him, and, leaning down, he tapped a Morse message on the floor. If it was Peter, he could understand. He heard the answering tap which came feebly, and when he signalled again he knew that whoever was in the cell below had no knowledge of the Morse code. He searched his pockets and found a tiny scrap of pencil, but could find no paper, except a bundle of five-pound notes, which his captors had not troubled to remove. Here was both stationery and the means of writing, but how could he communicate with the occupant of the cell below? Presently a plan suggested itself, and he tore off the lapel of his dinner-jacket and unravelled the silk. Tying the pencil to the end to give it weight, he slowly lowered his message, hoping, though it seemed unlikely, that his fellow prisoner would be able to see the paper. To his joy he felt a tug, and when, a few minutes later, he carefully drew up the message, it was to find, written underneath his own, one which left him white and shaking. Marney here! He groaned aloud at the thought. It was too light now to risk any further communication. There was a ewer of water and a basin in the cell, and with this he relieved the aching in his head; and when breakfast came, he was ready. The man who brought in the tray was a stranger to him, as also was the man who stood on guard at the door, revolver in hand. \u201cWhat\u2019s the great idea?\u201d asked Johnny coolly, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs. \u201cHas Jeff bought a jail to practise in? Wouldn\u2019t it have been cheaper to have gone over the Alps?\u201d \u201cYou shut up, Johnny Gray,\u201d growled the man. \u201cYou\u2019ll be sorry for yourself before you\u2019re out of here.\u201d \u201cWho isn\u2019t?\u201d asked Johnny. \u201cHow is Peter?\u201d \u201cYou know damned well Peter has escaped,\u201d said the other before he could check himself. \u201cEscaped!\u201d said the delighted Johnny. \u201cYou don\u2019t mean that?\u201d \u201cNever mind what I mean,\u201d growled the man, realising he had said too much. \u201cYou keep a civil tongue in your head, Gray, and you\u2019ll be treated square. If you don\u2019t, there are plenty of men on the spot to make Dartmoor a paradise compared with Keytown.\u201d The door slammed in Johnny Gray\u2019s face, but he was so absorbed in the news which the man had unwillingly given to him that he had to force himself to eat. Soon after the man came to take away the tray. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name, bo\u2019, anyway?\u201d said Johnny carelessly. \u201cI hate calling you \u2018face\u2019&#8211;it\u2019s low.\u201d \u201cBill\u2019s my name,\u201d said the man, \u201cand you needn\u2019t call me Bill either. You say \u2018sir\u2019 to me.\u201d \u201cWoof!\u201d said Johnny admiringly. \u201cYou\u2019re talking like a real screw!\u201d The door slammed in his face. He had further time to consider his plans. They had taken away his watch and chain, his gold cigarette-case and the small pen-knife he carried, but these losses did not worry him in the slightest. His chief anxiety was to know the exact character of Keytown Prison. And that he determined to learn at the earliest opportunity. It was late in the afternoon; he guessed it was somewhere in the neighbourhood of four when his lunch came, and he was quite ready to eat it, though a little suspicious of its possible accessories. \u201cNo poison in this, Bill?\u201d he asked pleasantly as he took the bread and cheese from the man\u2019s hand. \u201cThere\u2019s no need to poison you; we could starve you, couldn\u2019t we?\u201d said the other. \u201cIf Jeff was here, maybe I\u2019d get a rapping for giving you anything.\u201d \u201cGone away, has he? Well, prisons are more pleasant when the governor\u2019s away. Am I right, Bill? Now what do you say to a couple of hundred of real money?\u201d \u201cFor what?\u201d asked the man, stopping at the door. \u201cIf you mean it\u2019s for letting you make a get-away, why, you\u2019re silly! You\u2019re going to stay here till Jeff fixes you.\u201d All the day Johnny had heard, or rather felt, a peculiar whirr of sound coming from some remote quarter of the prison. \u201cGot electric light here, Bill?\u201d he said conversationally. \u201cYes, we have,\u201d said the other. \u201cThis is a model boob, this is.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll bet it is,\u201d said Johnny grimly. \u201cAre you running any electric radiators in my cell to-night, or do you want all the power for the press?\u201d He saw the man\u2019s face twitch. \u201cOf course, you\u2019re running the slush factory here&#8211;everybody knows that. Take my advice, Bill&#8211;go whilst the going\u2019s good. Or the bulls will have you inside the realest boob you\u2019ve seen.\u201d He had made the guard more than a little uncomfortable, as he saw, and sought to press home the impression he had created. \u201cJeffrey\u2019s going to shop you sooner or later, because he\u2019s a natural born shopper. And he\u2019s got the money, Bill, to get away with, and the motor-cars and aeroplanes. You haven\u2019t got that. You\u2019ll have to walk on your own pads. And the bulls will get you half-way over the field.\u201d \u201cOh, shut up!\u201d said the man uncomfortably, and the conversation ended, as in the morning, with the slamming of the door. Presently a little spy-hole in the cell door opened. \u201cWhat made you think this is a print-shop?\u201d asked Bill\u2019s voice. \u201cI don\u2019t think anything about it; I know,\u201d said Johnny decisively. \u201cIf you like to come to me this evening I\u2019ll tell you the name of every worker here, the position of every press, and the length of the lagging you\u2019ll get.\u201d The cover of the spy-hole dropped. Jeffrey was away; that was all to the good. If he remained away for the whole of the night.\u2026 He was worried about Marney, and it required all his strength of will not to fret himself into a state of nerves. In an hour Bill returned, and this time he brought no guard but himself, but, for safety\u2019s sake, carried on his conversation through a little grille in the door. \u201cYou\u2019re bluffing, Johnny Gray. We\u2019ve got a fellow here who was in boob with you, and he says you\u2019re the biggest bluffer that ever lived. You don\u2019t know anything.\u201d \u201cI know almost everything,\u201d said Johnny immodestly. \u201cFor instance, I know you\u2019ve got a young lady in the cell below. How\u2019s she doing?\u201d The man was taken aback for a moment. \u201cWho told you?\u201d he asked suspiciously. \u201cNobody else has been here, have they?\u201d \u201cNobody at all. It is part of my general knowledge. Now listen, Bill. How are you treating that lady? And your life hangs on your answer&#8211;don\u2019t forget it.\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s all right,\u201d said Bill casually. \u201cThey\u2019ve given her the condemned cell, with a bathroom and all, and a proper bed&#8211;not like yours. And you can\u2019t scare me, Gray.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll bet I can\u2019t,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cBring me some water.\u201d But the water was not forthcoming, and it was dark before the man made his reappearance. Johnny listened at the door; he was coming alone. Johnny pulled up the leg of his trousers and showed those suspenders which were Parker\u2019s pride. But they were not ordinary suspenders. Strapped to the inside of the calf was a small holster. The automatic it carried was less than four inches in length, but its little blunt-nosed bullets were man-stoppers of a peculiarly deadly kind. The door swung open, and Bill stepped in. \u201cJeff\u2019s back&#8212;-\u201d he began, and then: \u201cStep in, and step lively,\u201d said Johnny. His arm had shot out, and the pistol hand of the jailer was pinned to his side. \u201cThis gun may look pretty paltry, but it would blow a square inch out of your heart, and that\u2019s enough to seriously inconvenience you for the remainder of your short life.\u201d With a turn of his wrist he wrenched the revolver from the man\u2019s grasp. \u201cSit over there,\u201d he said. \u201cIs anybody in the hall?\u201d \u201cFor God\u2019s sake don\u2019t let Jeff see you. He\u2019ll kill me,\u201d pleaded the agitated prisoner. \u201cI\u2019d hate for him to do that,\u201d said Johnny. He peeped out into the hall: it was empty, and he went back to his prisoner. \u201cStand against the wall. I\u2019m going to give you the twice-over.\u201d His hands searched quickly but effectively. The key he was putting in his pocket when he noticed the design of the ward. \u201cPass-key, I fancy. Now, don\u2019t make a fuss, Bill, because you\u2019ll be let out first thing in the morning, and maybe I\u2019ll have a good word to say for you at the Oxford Assizes. There\u2019s something about you that I like. Give me the simple criminal, and the Lord knows you\u2019re simple enough!\u201d He stepped out of the cell, snapped the lock of the door, and, keeping in the shadow, walked swiftly along the gallery until he came to the open stairway on to the floor below. The hall was untenanted. Apparently Bill was the only jailer. He had reached the floor when the door at the end of the hall opened and somebody came in. He flattened himself in one of the recessed cell doorways. Two men entered, and one, he guessed, was Jeff. One, two, three, four&#8211;the fourth door from the end. That was Marney\u2019s door, immediately under his own. He saw Jeffrey stop, heard the too-familiar grind of the lock, and his enemy disappeared, leaving the second man on guard outside. If Jeffrey had made an attempt to close the door behind him, Johnny would have shot down the guard and taken the consequences. But the man was absent for only a few minutes. When he came out, he was shouting incoherently threats that made the hair rise on Johnny Gray\u2019s neck. But they were only threats. The hall door closed on Jeffrey Legge and Johnny moved swiftly to No. 4. As the door opened, the girl shrank back against the wall. \u201cDon\u2019t touch me!\u201d she cried. \u201cMarney!\u201d At the sound of his voice she stood, rooted to the spot. The next second she was laughing and weeping in his arms. \u201cBut, Johnny, how did you get here?\u2026 where were you?\u2026 you won\u2019t leave me?\u201d He soothed her and quietened her as only Johnny Gray could. \u201cI\u2019ll stay\u2026 I think this fellow will come back. If he does, he will wish he hadn\u2019t!\u201d And Jeffrey came. As the grip of strong hands closed on his throat, and the hateful voice of his enemy came to his ears, Johnny\u2019s prophecy was justified. Chapter 32. For a second Legge was paralysed with rage and fear. Then, in the wildness of his despair, he kicked at the man, who had slipped from the bed and was holding him. He heard an exclamation, felt for a second the fingers relax; and, slipping like an eel from the grasp, flew to the door and closed it. He stood, breathless and panting, by the doorway, until he heard the sound of steel against the inner keyhole, and in a flash realised that Johnny had secured the pass-key. Quick as lightning, he slipped his own key back into the lock and turned it slightly, so that it could not be pushed out from the other side. Johnny Gray! How had he got there? He fled up the stairs and hammered on the door of the cell where he thought his prisoner was held safe. A surly voice replied to him. \u201cYou swine!\u201d he howled. \u201cYou let him go! You twister! You can stay there and starve, damn you!\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t let him go. He held me up. Look out, Jeff, he\u2019s got a gun.\u201d The news staggered the man. The search of Johnny\u2019s clothing had been of a perfunctory nature, but he had thought that it was impossible that any kind of weapon could have been concealed. \u201cLet me out, guv\u2019nor,\u201d pleaded the prisoner. \u201cYou\u2019ve got a key.\u201d There was a third key in his house, Jeffrey remembered. Perhaps this man might be of use to him. He was still weak from his wound, and would need assistance. \u201cAll right, I\u2019ll get the key. But if you shopped me&#8212;-\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t shop you, I tell you. He held me up&#8212;-\u201d Legge went back to his room, found the key, and, taking another stiff dose of whisky, returned and released his man. \u201cHe\u2019s got my gun, too,\u201d explained Bill. \u201cWhere are all the fellows? We\u2019ll soon settle with him.\u201d \u201cThey\u2019ve gone,\u201d said Jeffrey. What a fool he had been! If he had had the sense to keep the gang together only for a few hours&#8212;- But he was safe, unless Johnny found a means of getting through the window. \u201cIn my room you\u2019ll find a pistol; it is in the top right-hand corner of my desk,\u201d he said quickly. \u201cTake it and get outside Johnny\u2019s cell&#8211;on the yard side. If he tries to escape that way, shoot. Because, if he escapes, you\u2019re going a long journey, my friend.\u201d Inside the cell, a chagrined Johnny Gray sat down on the girl\u2019s bed to consider the possibilities of the position. \u201cMy dear, there\u2019s going to be serious trouble here, and I don\u2019t want you to think otherwise,\u201d he said. \u201cI should imagine there were quite a number of men in this prison, in which case, though I shall probably get two or three of them, they\u2019ll certainly get me in the end.\u201d She sat by his side, holding his hand, and the pressure of her fingers was eloquent of the faith she had in him. \u201cJohnny, dear, does it matter very much what happens now? They can\u2019t come in, and we can\u2019t get out. How long will it take to starve us to death?\u201d Johnny had already considered that problem. \u201cAbout three days,\u201d he said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that she laughed. \u201cMy only hope, Marney, is that your father, who, as I told you, has escaped, may know more about this place than he has admitted.\u201d \u201cDid you know anything about it?\u201d she asked. He hesitated. \u201cYes, I think I did. I wasn\u2019t sure, though I was a fool not to locate it just as soon as Fenner warned me against Keytown Jail. These chaps like to speak in parables, and mystery is as the breath of their nostrils. Besides, I should have been certain that Fenner knew the jail had been taken over from the Government.\u201d He made a careful examination of the bars about the window, but without instruments or tools to force them, he knew that escape that way was impossible. When, in the early hours of the morning, he saw the patient figure of Bill, he realised the extent of the impossibility. \u201cGood morning, William. I see you\u2019re out,\u201d he greeted the scowling sentry, who immediately jumped to cover, flourishing his long-barrelled weapon. \u201cDon\u2019t you show your nose, or I\u2019ll blow it off,\u201d he threatened. \u201cWe\u2019ve got you, Mr. Gray.\u201d \u201cThey\u2019ve got you, alas, my poor William,\u201d said Johnny sadly. \u201cThe busies will be here at nine o\u2019clock&#8211;you don\u2019t suppose that I should have let myself come into a trap like this? Of course, I didn\u2019t. I squeaked! It was my only chance, William. And _your_ only chance is to sneak away at the earliest opportunity, and turn State\u2019s evidence. I\u2019m addressing you as a friend.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ll never get away from here alive,\u201d said the man. \u201cJeff\u2019s going to fix you.\u201d \u201cIndeed?\u201d the prisoner began politely, when a scream made him turn. \u201cJohnny!\u201d The shutter which hid the grille in the door was swung back, and the muzzle of Jeffrey\u2019s Browning had been pushed through one of the openings. As Johnny dropped flat on the bed, he was stunned by the deafening sound of an explosion. Something hit the wall, ricochetted to the roof, and fell almost at the girl\u2019s feet. Before the pistol could be withdrawn, Johnny Gray had fired. A jagged end of iron showed where his bullet struck. \u201cThe time for persiflage,\u201d said Johnny cheerfully, \u201cis past. Now you will sit in that corner, young lady, and will not budge without permission.\u201d He pointed to the wall nearest the door, which afforded perfect cover, and, dragging up a stool, he seated himself by her side. \u201cJeffrey\u2019s got quite a tough proposition,\u201d he said in his conversational tone. \u201cHe can\u2019t burn the prison, because there\u2019s nothing to burn. He can\u2019t come in, and he mustn\u2019t go out. If he would only for one moment take away that infernal key&#8212;-\u201d \u201cThere is another door going out from the bath-room,\u201d she said suddenly. \u201cI think it leads to an exercise ground. You can just see a little railed-off space through the window.\u201d Johnny went into the bath-room and examined the door. Screwing his head, he could see, through a broken pane, ten square yards of space, where in olden times a condemned prisoner took his exercise, removed from the gaze of his fellows. He tried the key, and, to his delight, it turned. Another minute and he was in the little, paved yard. Looking round, he saw a high and narrow gateway, which seemed to be the only exit from the courtyard. And on the other side of that gateway was William, the sentry, well-armed and sufficiently terrified to be dangerous. Slipping off his boots, Johnny crept to the gate and listened. The sound of the man\u2019s footsteps pacing the flagged walk came to him. Stooping, he squinted through the keyhole, and saw Bill standing, his back toward him, some six yards away. There was no time to be lost. He inserted the key, and the gate was opened before the man could turn to face the levelled revolver. \u201cDon\u2019t shout,\u201d whispered Johnny. \u201cYou\u2019re either discreet or dead. Hand over that gun, you unfortunate man.\u201d He moved swiftly toward the terrified criminal, and relieved him of his weapon. With a gesture, Johnny directed him to the exercise yard. \u201cGet in and stay,\u201d he said, and locked the door, and for the second time, Bill (his other name, Johnny never discovered, was Holliss) was a prisoner. Skirting the building, he came to the entrance of the hall. The door was open, and with his hand on the uplifted hammer of the gun, and his finger pressing the trigger, Johnny leapt into the building. \u201cHands up!\u201d he shouted. At the words, Jeffrey Legge spun round. There was a boom of sound, something whistled past Gray\u2019s face, and he fired twice. But now the man was running, zigzagging to left and right, and Johnny hesitated to fire. He disappeared through the door at the farther end of the hall, shutting it behind him, and Johnny raced after him. He was in the courtyard now, facing the grille-covered archway. As he came into view, Jeffrey disappeared through the lodge-keeper\u2019s door. Johnny tried the grille, but in vain, for a pass-key operates on all locks save the lock of the entrance gate of a prison. That alone is distinct, and may not be opened save by the key that was cut for it. Covering the lodge-keeper\u2019s door with his gun, Johnny waited, and, waiting, heard a rumbling sound. Something was coming down the centre of the archway. The straight line of it came lower and lower. A hanging gate! He had forgotten that most old country prisons were so equipped. Under the cover of this ancient portcullis, Legge could escape, for it masked the entrance of the lodge. He turned back to the girl. \u201cKeep out of sight. He\u2019s got away,\u201d he warned her. \u201cThis fellow isn\u2019t finished yet.\u201d The gate was down. Jeffrey put on the overcoat he had left in the lodge, slipped his pistol into his pocket and opened the great gates. He had at least a dozen hours\u2019 start, he thought, as he stepped into the open.\u2026 \u201cPlease do not put your hand in your pocket, Mr. Jeffrey,\u201d said a plaintive voice. \u201cI should _so_ hate to shoot a fellow creature. It would be a deed utterly repugnant to my finest feelings.\u201d Jeffrey raised his hands to their fullest extent, for Mr. Reeder was not alone. Behind him were four armed policemen, a cordon of mounted constabulary, spread in a semicircle, cutting off all avenues of escape. And, most ominous of all, was the deadly scrutiny of Peter Kane, who stood at Reeder\u2019s right hand. Chapter 33. For the first time Jeffrey Legge felt the cold contact of handcuffs. He was led back to the porter\u2019s lodge, whilst two of the policemen worked at the windlass that raised the hanging gate. \u201cIt\u2019s a cop, Craig,\u201d he said, for the inspector in charge was that redoubtable thief-catcher. \u201cBut I\u2019m going to squeak all I know. Johnny Gray is in this. He\u2019s been working my slush for years. You\u2019ll find the presses in the second hall, but the other birds have done some quick flying. \u201cThey\u2019ve all flown into the police station at Oxford,\u201d said Craig, \u201cand they\u2019re singing their pretty little songs merrily. The Oxford police took a whole carload of them about eleven o\u2019clock last night. Unfortunately, they weren\u2019t so ready to squeak as you.\u201d \u201cJohnny Gray\u2019s in it, I tell you.\u201d \u201cOh, how can you say such a thing?\u201d said the shocked Mr. Reeder. \u201cI\u2019m perfectly sure Mr. Gray is quite innocent.\u201d Jeffrey regarded him with a sneer of contempt. \u201cYou\u2019re a pretty funny \u2018busy.\u2019 I suppose Craig brought you here?\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d murmured Mr. Reeder, \u201cI brought myself here.\u201d \u201cThe only thing I can say about you,\u201d said Jeffrey Legge, \u201cis that you\u2019re smarter than old Golden&#8211;and that\u2019s not saying much.\u201d \u201cNot very much,\u201d murmured Mr. Reeder. \u201cBut you\u2019re not smart enough to know that Johnny Gray has been in this business for years.\u201d \u201cEven while he was in prison?\u201d suggested Mr. Reeder innocently. \u201cThe opportunities are rather restricted, don\u2019t you think? But don\u2019t let us quarrel, Mr. Jeffrey.\u201d The portcullis was raised now, and in a few minutes the girl was in her father\u2019s arms. \u201cJohnny, you\u2019ve had a narrow squeak,\u201d said Craig, as he shook the man\u2019s hand, \u201cand there\u2019s some talk about you being in this slush business, but I\u2019ll not believe it till I get proof.\u201d \u201cWho killed old Legge?\u201d asked Johnny. The detective shook his head. \u201cWe don\u2019t know. But Stevens has disappeared, and Stevens was Fenner\u2019s brother. I got it from Mr. Reeder, who seems to have remarkable sources of information.\u201d \u201cNot at all,\u201d disclaimed the apologetic Reeder. \u201cI certainly have a remarkable source of information, and to that all credit must go. But I think you will confirm my statement, John, that Stevens is Fenner\u2019s brother?\u201d To Peter\u2019s surprise, Johnny nodded. \u201cYes, I knew they were brothers; and it is unnecessary to say that their name was neither Stevens nor Fenner. It is pretty well established that the old man gave away Fenner&#8211;shopped him for the Berkeley Square job&#8211;and possibly Stevens got to know of this, and had been waiting his opportunity to settle accounts with Emanuel. Have you caught him?\u201d \u201cNot yet,\u201d said Craig. \u201cI hope you won\u2019t,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cWhat are you going to do about me, Peter?\u201d He put his arm round the girl\u2019s shoulder, and Peter smiled. \u201cI suppose I\u2019ll have to let her marry you, Johnny, whether you\u2019re a crook or honest. I want you to go straight, and I\u2019ll make it worth while&#8212;-\u201d \u201cThat I can promise you.\u201d It was Mr. Reeder who spoke. \u201cAnd may I offer an apology. I\u2019m rather a wolf in sheep\u2019s clothing, or a sheep in wolf\u2019s clothing. The truth is, my name is Golden.\u201d \u201cGolden!\u201d gasped Craig. \u201cBut I thought Golden was out of this business?\u201d \u201cHe is out of it, and yet he is in it,\u201d explained Mr. Reeder carefully. \u201cI am an excellent office man,\u201d he confessed, in that mincing manner of his, staring owlishly over his glasses, \u201cbut a very indifferent seeker of information, and although, when Mr. John Gray Reeder was appointed over me as chief inspector of my department&#8212;-\u201d \u201cHere, stop!\u201d said the dazed Craig. \u201cJohn Gray Reeder? Who is Inspector John Gray Reeder?\u201d Mr. Golden\u2019s hand went out in the direction of the smiling Johnny. \u201cJohnny! You a \u2018busy\u2019!\u201d said the bewildered Peter. \u201cBut you went to jail sure enough?\u201d \u201cI certainly went to jail,\u201d said Johnny. \u201cIt was the only place I could get any news about the Big Printer, and I found out all I wanted to know. It was a trying two years, but well worth it, though I nearly lost the only thing in the world that made life worth living,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to forgive me, Peter, because I spied on you&#8211;a good spy doesn\u2019t play favourites. I\u2019ve been watching you and every one of your pals, and I watched Marney most of all. And now I\u2019m going to watch her for years and years!\u201d \u201cYou see,\u201d said Mr. Golden, who seemed most anxious to exculpate himself from any accusation of cleverness, \u201cI was merely the listener-in, if I may use a new-fangled expression, to the information which John broadcasted. I knew all about this marriage, and I was the person who appointed a woman detective to look after her at the Charlton Hotel&#8211;but on Johnny\u2019s instructions. That is why he was able to prove his alibi, because naturally, that section of the police which knows him, is always ready to prove alibis for other officers of the police who are mistakenly charged with being criminals.\u201d \u201cHow did you guess about the prison?\u201d \u201cFenner squeaked,\u201d said Mr. Golden with a gesture of deprecation. \u201c\u2018Squeak\u2019 is not a word I like, but it is rather expressive. Yes, Fenner squeaked.\u201d Two happy people drove home together in the car which had brought Marney to Keytown. The country between Oxford and Horsham is the most beautiful in the land. The road passes through great aisles of tall trees, into which a car may be turned and be hidden from the view of those who pass along the road. Johnny slowed the machine at an appropriate spot, and put it toward the thickest part of the wood. And Marney, who sat with folded hands by his side, did not seek any explanation for his eccentricity. Thank you for joining us on this suspenseful journey through Room 13 by Edgar Wallace. From cryptic clues to chilling confrontations, this story has taken us deep into the heart of mystery and danger. Wallace\u2019s mastery of the detective genre shines through, delivering a tale where every detail matters and justice comes at a cost. We hope you enjoyed the twists and revelations as much as we did. If you loved this classic mystery, be sure to like, comment, and subscribe to Storytime Haven for more timeless tales. Until next time, keep your curiosity sharp and your doors locked.<br \/>\n<br \/>\nStep into the shadowy corridors of suspense with *Room 13* by Edgar Wallace \u2014 a gripping mystery where every clue deepens the enigma! \ud83d\udd6f\ufe0f\ud83d\udd10<\/p>\n<p>When secrets lurk behind closed doors, and the number 13 casts an ominous shadow, you know you&#8217;re about to enter a world where logic fails and danger thrives. This classic detective thriller brings together sharp wit, unexpected twists, and a plot that keeps unraveling until the very last page. \ud83d\udcbc\ud83d\udd70\ufe0f<\/p>\n<p>\ud83c\udfa7 What to expect:<br \/>\n&#8211; A curious murder at a hotel that conceals more than guests \ud83c\udfe8<br \/>\n&#8211; A daring investigator who must solve the crime before it&#8217;s too late \ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2640\ufe0f<br \/>\n&#8211; A trail of evidence that points toward a sinister truth \ud83d\udd26<\/p>\n<p>Written by the legendary Edgar Wallace, *Room 13* is a tale that blends crime fiction with atmospheric suspense, perfect for fans of Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, and vintage noir. Whether you&#8217;re a mystery lover or just discovering classic detective fiction, this story will keep you on edge.<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\udca1 Dive into the mystery now and discover what secrets lie behind the door of Room 13\u2026 if you dare.<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\udc49 Subscribe for more classic mysteries and thrilling audiobooks:<br \/>\nhttps:\/\/bit.ly\/StorytimeHavenOfficial<br \/>\n-\ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2642\ufe0f Room 13 by Edgar Wallace \ud83d\udd0d A Mystery That Defies Logic! (https:\/\/youtu.be\/6Ke40FuHGyY)<br \/>\n(https:\/\/bit.ly\/StorytimeHavenOfficial) \ud83d\udd14<br \/>\n-The Four-Fingered Glove; Or, The Cost of a Lie \ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2642\ufe0f\ud83d\udcbc Mystery &#038; Deception! (https:\/\/youtu.be\/xd4cmygl4j8)<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\udccc Don&#8217;t forget to like, comment, and share if you love vintage detective stories!<\/p>\n<p>#EdgarWallace #Room13 #MysteryStory #ClassicMystery #AudiobookLovers #DetectiveFiction #CrimeThriller #VintageMystery #MurderMystery #SuspenseStory #StorytimeHaven #AudiobookCommunity #ClassicCrime #Whodunit #DetectiveStory #BritishMystery #TimelessThriller #ClassicAudiobook #Room13Mystery #MysteryNarration<\/p>\n<p>**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**<br \/>\n00:00:40 Chapter 1.<br \/>\n00:13:23 Chapter 2.<br \/>\n00:27:43 Chapter 3.<br \/>\n00:39:13 Chapter 4.<br \/>\n00:46:01 Chapter 5.<br \/>\n00:54:01 Chapter 6.<br \/>\n01:05:19 Chapter 7.<br \/>\n01:16:42 Chapter 8.<br \/>\n01:22:30 Chapter 9.<br \/>\n01:30:28 Chapter 10.<br \/>\n01:42:03 Chapter 11.<br \/>\n01:54:11 Chapter 12.<br \/>\n02:08:16 Chapter 13.<br \/>\n02:16:38 Chapter 14.<br \/>\n02:19:56 Chapter 15.<br \/>\n02:30:35 Chapter 16.<br \/>\n02:42:45 Chapter 17.<br \/>\n02:48:04 Chapter 18.<br \/>\n02:58:47 Chapter 19.<br \/>\n03:06:04 Chapter 20.<br \/>\n03:14:50 Chapter 21.<br \/>\n03:30:44 Chapter 22.<br \/>\n03:38:09 Chapter 23.<br \/>\n03:47:58 Chapter 24.<br \/>\n03:57:58 Chapter 25.<br \/>\n04:07:27 Chapter 26.<br \/>\n04:25:46 Chapter 27.<br \/>\n04:35:46 Chapter 28.<br \/>\n04:48:01 Chapter 29.<br \/>\n04:58:20 Chapter 30.<br \/>\n05:05:08 Chapter 31.<br \/>\n05:16:19 Chapter 32.<br \/>\n05:25:34 Chapter 33.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\ud83d\udd75\ufe0f\u200d\u2642\ufe0f Room 13 by Edgar Wallace \ud83d\udd0d A Mystery That Defies Logic! Step into the shadowy corridors of intrigue and <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":1852918,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[593415],"tags":[948239,948240,948241,135,955848,216781,954625,955846,615635,931378,935226,504817,674646,948267,954616,245393,931443,931371,955849,955845,888626,913061,955850,955847,678687,574,9,30213],"class_list":{"0":"post-1852917","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-2025-summer","8":"tag-2025-summer","9":"tag-2025-summer-anime","10":"tag-948241","11":"tag-anime","12":"tag-audio-mystery","13":"tag-audiobook","14":"tag-british-mystery","15":"tag-classic-audiobook","16":"tag-classic-literature","17":"tag-classic-mystery","18":"tag-crime-investigation","19":"tag-crime-thriller","20":"tag-detective-fiction","21":"tag-dr-stone-science-future-2","22":"tag-edgar-wallace","23":"tag-murder-mystery","24":"tag-mystery-audiobook","25":"tag-mystery-story","26":"tag-narrated-book","27":"tag-room-13","28":"tag-storytime-haven","29":"tag-suspense-story","30":"tag-thrilling-mystery","31":"tag-vintage-fiction","32":"tag-whodunit","33":"tag-ytccon","34":"tag-9","35":"tag-30213"},"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1852917","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1852917"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1852917\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1852918"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1852917"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1852917"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wacoca.com\/anime\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1852917"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}