Malcolm Sage, Detective. Jenkins Herbert George
did not do a barn-dance. He contented himself for the timebeing with ruffling William Johnson's dark, knut-like hair, a thingto which he was much addicted. Returning home on the evening of hisengagement he had bewildered Mrs. Tims by seizing her as she stoodin front of the kitchen-stove, a frying-pan full of sausages in herhand, and waltzing her round the kitchen, frying-pan and all.
Subsequently five of the six sausages had been recovered; but thesixth was not retrieved until the next morning when, in dusting, Mrs.Tims discovered it on the mantelpiece.
CHAPTER II THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. CHALLONER
I
"Please, sir, Miss Norman's fainted." William Johnson, known to hiscolleagues as the innocent, stood at Malcolm Sage's door, withwidened eyes and a general air that bespoke helplessness.
Without a word Malcolm Sage rose from his table, as if accustomedall his life to the fainting of secretaries. William Johnson stoodaside, with the air of one who has rung a fire-alarm and now feelshe is at liberty to enjoy the fire itself.
Entering her room, Malcolm Sage found Gladys Norman lying in a heapbeside her typewriter. Picking her up he carried her into his ownroom, placed her in an arm-chair, fetched some brandy from a smallcupboard and, still watched by the wide-eyed William Johnson, proceeded to force a little between her teeth.
Presently her lids flickered and, a moment later, she opened hereyes. For a second there was in them a look of uncertainty, thensuddenly they opened to their fullest extent and became fixed uponthe door beyond. Malcolm Sage glanced over his shoulder and sawframed in the doorway Sir James Walton.
"Sit down, Chief," he said quietly, his gaze returning to the girlsitting limply in the large leather-covered arm-chair. "I shall befree in a moment."
It was characteristic of him to attempt no explanation. To his mindthe situation explained itself.
As Miss Norman made an effort to rise, he placed a detaining handupon her arm.
"Send Mr. Thompson."
With a motion of his hand Malcolm Sage indicated to William Johnsonthat the dramatic possibilities of the situation were exhausted, atleast as far as he was concerned. With reluctant steps the lad leftthe room and, having told Thompson he was wanted, returned to hisseat in the outer office, where it was his mission to sit inpreliminary judgment upon callers.
When Thompson entered, Malcolm Sage instructed him to move theleather-covered chair into Miss Norman's room and, when she wasrested, to take her home in the car.
Thompson's face beamed. His devotion to Gladys Norman was notorious.
The girl rose and raised to Malcolm Sage a pair of dark eyes fromwhich tears were not far distant.
"I'm so ashamed, Mr. Sage," she began, her lower lip tremblingominously. "I've never done such a thing before."
"I've been working you too hard," he said, as he held back the door.
"You must go home and rest."
She shook her head and passed out, whilst Malcolm Sage returned tohis seat at the table.
"Working till two o'clock this morning," he remarked as he resumedhis seat. "She won't have assistance. Strange creatures, women," headded musingly, "but beautifully loyal."
Sir James had dropped into a chair on the opposite side of MalcolmSage's table. Having selected a cigar from the box his latechief-of-staff pushed across to him, he cut off the end andproceeded to light it.
"Good cigars these," he remarked, as he critically examined thelighted end.
"They're your own brand, Chief," was the reply.
Malcolm Sage always used the old name of "Chief" when addressing SirJames Walton. It seemed to constitute a link with the old days whenthey had worked together with a harmony that had bewildered thoseheads of departments who had regarded Malcolm Sage as somethingbetween a punishment and a misfortune.
"Busy?"
"Very."
For some seconds they were silent. It was like old times to beseated one on each side of a table, and both seemed to realise thefact.
"I've just motored up from Hurstchurch," began Sir James at length, having assured himself that his cigar was drawing as a good cigarshould draw. "Been staying with an old friend of mine, GeoffreyChalloner."
Malcolm Sage nodded.
"He was shot last night. That's why I'm here." He paused; butMalcolm Sage made no comment. His whole attention was absorbed in anivory paper-knife, which he was endeavouring to balance upon thehandle of the silver inkstand. More than one client had beendisconcerted by Malcolm Sage's restless hands, which theyinterpreted as a lack of interest in their affairs.
"At half-past seven this morning," continued Sir James, "Peters, thebutler, knocked at Challoner's door with his shaving-water. As therewas no reply he entered and found, not only that Challoner was notthere, but that the bed had not been slept in over night."
Malcolm lifted his hands from the paper-knife. It balanced.
"He thought Challoner had fallen asleep in the library," continuedSir James, "which he sometimes did, he is rather a night-owl. Petersthen went downstairs, but found the library door locked on theinside. As there was no response to his knocking, he went round tothe French-windows that open from the library on to the lawn at theback of the house. The curtains were drawn, however, and he couldsee nothing."
"Is it usual to draw the curtains?" enquired Malcolm Sage, regardingwith satisfaction the paper-knife as it gently swayed up and downupon the inkstand.
"Yes, except in the summer, when the windows are generally keptopen."
Malcolm Sage nodded, and Sir James resumed his story.
"Peters then went upstairs to young Dane's room; Dane is Challoner'snephew, who lives with him. While he dressed he sent Peters to tellme.
"A few minutes later we all went down to the library and tried toattract Challoner's attention; but without result. I then suggestedforcing an entry from the garden, which was done by breaking theglass of one of the French-windows.
"We found Challoner seated at his table dead, shot through the head.He had an automatic pistol in his hand." Sir James paused; his voicehad become husky with emotion. Presently he resumed.
"We telephoned for the police and a doctor, and I spent the timeuntil they came in a thorough examination of the room. TheFrench-windows had been securely bolted top and bottom from within,by means of a central handle. All the panes of glass were intact, with the exception of that we had broken. The door had been locked onthe inside, and the key was in position. It was unlocked by Peterswhen he went into the hall to telephone. It has a strong mortice-lockand the key did not protrude through to the outer side, so thatthere was no chance of manipulating the lock from without. In thefireplace there was an electric stove, and from the shower of sootthat fell when I raised the trap, it was clear that this had notbeen touched for some weeks at least.
"The doctor was the first to arrive. At my urgent request herefrained from touching the body. He said death had taken place fromseven to ten hours previously as the result of the bullet wound inthe temple. He had scarcely finished his examination when aninspector of police, who had motored over from Lewes, joined us.
"It took him very few minutes to decide that poor Challoner had shothimself. In this he was confirmed by the doctor. Still, I insistedthat the body should not be removed."
"Why did you do that, Chief?" enquired Malcolm Sage, who haddiscarded the paper-knife and was now busy drawing geometricalfigures with the thumb-nail of his right hand upon the blotting padbefore him.
"Because I was not satisfied," was the reply. "There was absolutelyno motive for suicide. Challoner was in good health and, if I knowanything about men, determined to live as long as the gods give."
Again Malcolm Sage nodded his head meditatively.
"The jumping to hasty conclusions," he remarked, "has saved many aman his neck. Whom did you leave in charge?" he queried.
"The