THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson
"He slipped me, you mean," retorted the other querulously. "That's how it was that the whole thing started. There was a girl with Ling. Hallett knew her and carted her away through a side-door just before you came in. I thought it was part of the programme."
Menzies lifted his hat and scratched his hair with the brim the while he regarded Cincinnati with a steady stare. Jimmie Hallett had spoilt things again. There was some excuse for the bitterness with which his thoughts dwelt on that young man, who seemed to have the faculty of making himself a continual stumbling block to the investigation. Menzies had something of a taste for romance in fiction. He even had no objection to it in real life as a general rule. But he hated it when it became entangled in his business, as it often did. One can as little be certain of what a woman will do as of what a man infatuated with a woman will do.
The expression of chagrin on the chief inspector's face faded as quickly as it had arisen. "Well, not exactly," he said with nonchalance. "He didn't do quite what I wanted him to. Still, never mind. Here's something else I wanted to ask you." He pulled a photograph from his pocket the inevitable official full and side face. "Do you recognize this man?"
Cincinnati surveyed the photograph. "Sure," he answered. "That's ' Dago Sam ' that I told you about he's in Ling's lot."
"Thanks." The detective put the photograph back in his pocket. "I won't worry you any more now. I'll leave you to look after things here a bit, Royal. I've got several things I want to do and I mean to have a night's rest for once."
Yet, in spite of his intentions it was well after midnight before he sought the repose afforded by Magersfontein Road, Upper Tooting. His way lay first to the residence of a well-known coroner who lived in so inaccessible a portion of North London that even a taxi driver had difficulty in locating his residence. Mr. Fynne-Racton was a white haired, ruddy cheeked, little man whose calling in no way corresponded with his appearance. Although his name was well known to the general public his chief capacities were known most fully in a more select circle the Microscopical Society.
He peered over his spectacles at the tiny fragment of cloth and the single thread which Weir Menzies took from an envelope. "Certainly, certainly, Mr. Menzies," he said. "I'll do my best and let you know. I wish you'd have come to me earlier. Of course I can guess that these things are concerned in the case we're all talking about. I won't ask questions, though eh?"
"I might want you as an expert witness," explained the detective.
"And I might be asked if you gave me any suggestion," said Fynne-Racton. "Yes, yes, I understand. I'll do my best, Mr. Menzies. I hope it will be satisfactory. Good-night, good-night."
Menzies spent half an hour and a little longer at Scotland Yard and so home to bed and slumbers that did credit to his nerves. At breakfast the next morning one result of his labours stared him in the face as he opened his favourite morning paper. A double column portrait of "William Smith "appeared on the splash page and big letters in the heading propounded the query:
"DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? IF SO, TELL THE POLICE.
"The above is a photograph of the mysterious prisoner now under arrest for a murderous attempt on the life of Mr. James Hallett, who, it will be remembered, is one of the chief witnesses in the case of the murder of Mr. Greye-Stratton. He refuses to give any account of himself and the police are anxious to trace his antecedents so that the full facts, whether for or against him, may be brought out when he is tried."
Menzies could be disingenuous when he liked. Though even the omniscient reporter did not know it, he had no longer much doubt on the subject of William Smith, or "Dago Sam," as he preferred to think of him. The hint given by the "con "man, even if later questions failed to amplify it, would probably prove sufficient to dig out all the personal history that was wanted. Nevertheless there was no reason for allowing either Gwennie Lyne or Ling to know how much he knew of their confederate. The apparently earnest search by newspaper might help to blind them as to how far the investigation had progressed.
He threw the paper aside and accompanied by Bruin walked reflectively round the garden with a sharp eye for caterpillars. Ten minutes before his usual time, he put on his hat and coat, flicked away an imaginary spot of dust from his boots, kissed his wife, and caught the city-bound car.
Chapter XVIII
Hallett had not stopped to consider any complications that might arise when he had rushed Peggy Greye-Stratton from the restaurant. Even had he done so, his action would have been the same. In a flash he had realised how the black cloud of suspicion already formed against her by Menzies would be increased should she be found in amicable association with Ling. Even he himself held doubts, doubts which no reasoning could have stifled but which he ignored until there should be more time to resolve them.
She obeyed him without question. He hustled her into a taxi-cab and gave an order to the driver. He sat by her side, his heart pumping hard. Outwardly, though, he showed little indication of emotion. "A close thing that," he commented coolly.
She was trembling violently. Her face was half turned towards him. "You said the police the detectives were there; why? What are they going to do? How do they know?" A soft gloved hand lay on his knee where she had placed it unconsciously in her eagerness. He noticed that it was trembling. "I am quite calm," she insisted, although her bearing gave the lie to her words. "You must tell me."
"I am afraid," he spoke gently, though his heart was aflame, "that your friend will be arrested."
"Oh!" She dropped back against the soft cushions, her fists clenched, her face as hard as stone. Then suddenly she awoke to fierce life. "They mustn't. I must go back, Mr. Hallett. Stop the cab. Why didn't I think at first. I must warn him. Let me alone. If you are a gentleman you will do as I say."
She was striving to open the door and he had to use force to pull her back to her seat. "Sit still," he said. "You can do no good now. It is too late. You have got to think of yourself. If you go back you will be arrested. Will that improve matters?"
A fit of shivering shook her and she covered her face with her hands. Jimmie watched her sombrely. To him there was only one explanation of her agitation fear for the man who was her husband. In a little while the fit passed.
"I suppose you are right," she said colourlessly. "But "her voice grew tense again "you don't know what it means to me. You can't know."
"That's all right," he said soothingly. "I can guess. We will talk over all that later. Nothing can be done until you are more yourself. If if "he suddenly became diffident "if money can do anything to save him you must call on me. A loan, you know," he ended tamely.
He saw the blue eyes fixed keenly on him with a curious expression that was hard to analyse. "You think that that man Ling is a murderer that I want to save him," she said breathlessly. And then, without warning, she broke into laughter laughter that was akin to hysterics.
It was then that Jimmie Hallett did a thing which in the ordinary way he would have deemed impossible. He stood up, took her by the shoulders, and shook her roughly.
"Stop that. Stop it at once," he commanded harshly.
He had never had occasion to deal with a woman in hysterics before and the treatment was instinctive. He was relieved to find it effective. The girl quieted after one or two convulsive sobs. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I am better now. Where are we going?"
"I told the man to drive to the Monument. I didn't know where you might like to go and the important thing was to get away. One moment." He pushed his head out of the window. "Which is the nearest mainline depot to the Monument?" he asked.
The man slowed up to answer the question. "Depot, sir?" he repeated, puzzled. "Oh, you mean station. You'll want London Bridge."
"That will do." He dropped back to his seat. "It will be safer if we go a little way up the line and then return,"