The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories. Sapper
had happened? He must either tell her the whole thing, or keep it entirely dark.
For the moment he dismissed that side of the problem, and concentrated on the other. A kind of map. It was clear that there was something in this yarn about the treasure, or at any rate that her brother had thought there was. Had the boy then had some premonition of danger which had impelled him to send it to her bank? And why did she say like half a map?
There came back to him suddenly the big man's words the night before—"You damned fool—you've wrecked the whole thing." What whole thing? It was a queer remark to make over the murder of a man after a gambling quarrel. It might, of course, allude to the fact that it would be necessary to shut down the house: on the other hand it might not. And the more he thought of it, the more probably did it seem to him that there was something bigger in the whole affair than met the eye at first sight. Or, as he had qualified it before, that there was something which certain people thought was bigger. Which came to the same thing at the present moment.
He pressed out his cigarette and rose: there was one thing he could do at once which would not commit him to any particular course of action in the future. He went to the telephone and rang up Grosvenor A123. A man's voice answered and he asked to speak to Miss Draycott. She came almost at once, and her first words were—"Is that you, Arthur?"
"I'm afraid not, Miss Draycott," he said gently. "It's Maitland speaking."
He heard the little sigh of disappointment, and felt horribly guilty. Poor girl! if she only knew the truth.
"I got your note," he went on, "and I'll come round to-morrow about noon. And in the meantime I want you to be sure that that piece of paper is not lost. Is there a safe in the house?"
"No: there isn't," came her voice. "Mr. Maitland, it's most extraordinary that you should have rung up about that. Do you think it's really valuable?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm certain that while we were at dinner to-night somebody tried to burgle my room."
"Hold hard," said Jim. "Where are you speaking from? Where's the telephone? Wait a minute—don't answer. Only say yes or no to my questions. Is it in the hall?"
"Yes."
"Can you be overheard?"
"Yes."
"Then be careful. Now one more question—are you prepared to trust me implicitly?"
Came a soft laugh. "What can I say but—yes?"
"You haven't known me very long, have you?" he answered. "And what I'm going to ask you to do will entail a lot of faith in a comparative stranger. Now is there a letter-box anywhere near your house? Just say yes or no."
"Yes."
"Could you slip out and post a letter there now at once?"
"Yes: quite easily."
"Then would you put that paper in an envelope, address it to me here at the club, and post it?"
"Well, if you think..."
There was the faintest perceptible pause and her voice sounded a little doubtful.
"I do think," said Jim quietly. "His Majesty's post is the safest thing in the world, Miss Draycott. But put it in the box yourself. I will bring it round with me to-morrow, and we'll discuss the whole thing."
"All right," she said with sudden determination. "I'll do it now."
"Good!" he cried. "And one word more. Do not, if you'll take my advice, talk about it to anyone."
"I see that you do think there is something in it." There was a note of excitement in her voice.
"There may or may not be," he answered guardedly. "If there isn't it doesn't matter: if there is that paper is safer in the post than in your house. Good night, Miss Draycott: I'll be round about twelve to-morrow."
He rang off and left the box thoughtfully. So she seemed to think that someone had tried to burgle her room. Was that another coincidence? Surely it could not be. And as Jim Maitland reentered the smoking-room he proposed a silent but hearty vote of thanks to his cousin for having taken him to the Bright Young Thing's entertainment.
CHAPTER IV
"DO you think we'll have any luck, Jim?"
"I haven't a notion, my dear fellow. I'll answer your question in half an hour."
The two men had just turned into Oakleigh Avenue. The car had been left in a garage in Hampstead, as Jim Maitland feared it might prove conspicuous if left standing in the road. Moreover he had no idea how long his visit would take. The road was as deserted as the previous night: save for an occasional taxi homeward bound with a theatre party they saw no one for the first quarter of a mile.
"I think I'll recognise the house," he said at length. "If not we'll go to where you had your party and cast back. I'll get it then for a certainty. Hullo! what's the excitement in front?"
He paused, pulling his cousin into the shadow. A car was drawn up about a hundred yards ahead and some men were standing by it. An altercation of sorts was in progress: their voices—though not the actual words—could be clearly heard. And one, at any rate, seemed very angry.
"We'll saunter on slowly, Percy. For it seems to me they must be fairly adjacent to the house we want."
"I tell you it's a damned scandal." Suddenly the sentence came distinctly. "We'll break the blasted place open. It's a club, isn't it? They've got no right to shut."
They were close now, and by the light of a street lamp, they could see what was happening. There were four men in evening clothes, and three of them were trying to pacify the fourth, and get him back into the car.
"Shut up, you fool," cried one of them, glancing over his shoulder. "The place is closed." And then in a hoarse mutter as he saw Jim and his cousin—"Police."
Still protesting angrily the fourth man allowed himself to be pushed into the car, which drove rapidly away.
"Took us for plain-clothes men," said Jim with a laugh. "And that answers one of our questions. Evidently no gambling to-night. And it also marks down the house."
He inspected it carefully and after a while he nodded.
"Yes: this is the spot. There's the tree I stood behind last night. But they're all so confoundedly alike, these houses up here. Now, Percy, my boy, the fun begins—or let's hope so."
"I suppose you're right, laddie," said his cousin gloomily. "Personally it's not my idea of laughter and games. The bally place gives me the willies."
Jim laughed.
"Cheer up," he cried. "It's much livelier inside."
He took a swift glance up and down the road: then he opened the gate and stepped into the drive. And then for a moment he paused with his eyes fixed on a patch of ground on which the street lamp shone.
"See that," he said quietly. "That deepish track. There has been a heavy vehicle in here to-day. Probably a pantechnicon. The birds have flown all right, or I'm a Dutchman."
"You're quick, Jim," said his cousin. "I'd never have noticed that."
"Because your eyes aren't trained," answered the other. "You see, but you don't observe. Come on—there's no good standing here. Though I'm afraid we're going to have our trouble for nothing."
He led the way swiftly to the back of the house. The window was open, just as he had left it, and without further ado he swung himself into the room.
"Not a sound," he whispered, as his cousin joined him. "Keep your torch handy."
Carefully screening his own from the window behind him, he switched it on. And for the