Inside front cover
The Bell Street Murders by SYDNEY FOWLER
Author of The King Against Anne Bickerton
A MARVELLOUS invention that is to revolutionize the film industry is offered to the firm of Vantons by Wilfrid Ralston for the sum of a million pounds. It is soon clear that strange complications are involved. Dudley, Wilfrid's brother, is found murdered in a derelict building in Bell Street, Hoxton, which he has occupied for some unknown purpose, and in which Wilfrid's laboratory is situated. Police investigations bring to light some queer facts about Dudley's bank balance, and Sir Reginald Crowe, Chairman of a large bank, takes a hand. Wilfrid, moreover, is known to have been his laboratory on the same night accompanied by his friend Evelyn Merivale. Then comes the second murder. Wilfrid experimenting with a screen which will retain a record of everything that happens in the room, is shot, and an unfinished message - "Watch the m . . ." - is found traced in milk on the floor beside his body. It is Evelyn who discovers the key which enables the screen's secret to be revealed, with consequences that almost prove fatal to her.
THE BELL STREET MURDERS
CHAPTER I
You mean," Mr Levinstein said, with no indication of his thoughts in a voice that came wheezily from his ample waistcoat, "that you eliminate the film entirely?"
The man to whom he spoke was seated at the far end of the board-room table. He was shabby, and had the look of those whose hours of work are too long, and whose meals and sleep are too short. But he answered confidently, against the two rows of cold or sceptical eyes that were turned upon him.
"Yes, there's no need for a film. The surface takes it direct."
As he spoke the door opened. The last of the nine directors of Vantons, Ltd., a spare and active man with an air of cynical efficiency, entered the room, and took the chair which had been vacant at Mr. Levinstein's right.
That gentleman turned to him with a brief explanation of the business on which they were occupied.
"There's something here, Britleigh, on which we should like your opinion. It's one of those things that we get about twice a week that are going to revolutionize the motion-picture industry, and never do. But Groves thought it was worth having an option on it for three months.
"If it's a dud there's only a hundred gone, and if we take it there'll be a million to put up. . . . That's for a start, to buy the rights."
Lord Britleigh glanced down the table at the shabby applicant for a million pounds, sitting where so many had sat before with similar if somewhat more modest propositions, and from which so few had risen with satisfaction to themselves. If he knew him he gave no sign. He said carelessly, "We shall need half an hour before lunch on the Cunliffe contract. I've just seen Ward and Tucker. . . . But we'd better get this out of the way first. What's the idea?"
"Mr Ralston had only partly explained it when you came in. It's an idea for eliminating the film, and using the screen direct."
I don't see any practical use in that, even possible. You'd need to make too many screens for each picture, and they'd be awkward things to send round. Worse than films, anyway. . . . Celluloid isn't that dear. . . . Besides. . . ."
Groves thought that it might be worth while to hear what he's got to say."
Lord Britleigh signified an indifferent assent, and the Chairman wheezed again, in a somewhat higher key, to reach the lower end of the board.
"Lord Britleigh would like to know first what are the commercial advantages that you claim for this invention. If you can't show a big saving in costs, it's no use bringing it here - not at that figure, anyway."
Mr Ralston did not answer. He did not appear to hear. He was gazing at Lord Britleigh with expression of bewilderment, and with - was it hatred? - and appeared oblivious of surrounding circumstance.
"Mr Ralston!" said the Chairman, in a more imperious wheeze. He was not used to being disregarded in this manner.
The inventor withdrew his eyes from the newcomer. He must have heard the Chairman's question, for he answered it without repetition, though in some confusion of words.
"If Mr Warden. . . . if Lord. . . . I'm afraid I can't answer that. I'm not a manufacturer. But if you don't take it up, I've no doubt someone else will. . . . It's too big a thing to go begging far. . . . If you don't take it, you'll have no costs at all."
"I don't think, Mr Ralston," the Chairman answered, in his most important voice, "that I should rely too much upon it being a big thing. The big things are usually the most difficult to place. When you talk in millions there aren't more than three offices in London you can go into, if you go out of that door. Not that would listen to you, as we're listening now. . . . Of course, we know that we should have no costs if we don't take it up. We don't need to be told that. . . . We want to know just what you claim to do, and if it sounds worth our while we'll go into the question of whether you could hand over the goods."
"I didn't make myself quite clear," Mr Ralston answered confidently. "I meant that if you don't take it up you'll have no costs at all. Not in the film industry, anyway."
"We've heard that kind of talk before, Mr Ralston. It cuts no ice with us. We've just listened, and sat tight, and we're still here. . . . You'd better come to the facts."
Mr Ralston had a strongly made leather attaché-case before him. It was fastened with three locks. He drew three keys, one by one, from different pockets, and opened the case. He lifted from it a flat, heavy-seeming parcel wrapped in white paper.
"If I told you," he said, "you wouldn't believe. Nobody would. It'll save a lot of time if I show you this. I'm willing to pass it round the table, so that you can all see it in turn, but I want it quite dear that it will be returned to me before I leave the room. You'd better put that into writing, so that there'll be no mistake."
There was some delay over this, Mr Levinstein considering that his word should be sufficient on such a point, and that, in any case, the terms of the option protected the inventor from any abuse of confidence. He said that they could not hope to do business if Mr Ralston would not take his word "as among gentlemen" on such a matter.
But Mr Ralston was firm. In the end, after some whispering at the upper end of the table, he had his way.
Mr Ralston was told to write out the undertaking himself in any form he wished. The Chairmans manner indicated that the wording of such a document could be of no importance to the Board. They were simply humouring a man of a lower code than their own.
Showing no sign either of conceding the condition or resenting the manner in which it had been received, Mr Ralston wrote out the required undertaking. The Chairman gave it an indifferent glance, and scrawled an illegible line beneath it which would have been good for half a million in the eyes of any banker in Europe. Ralston cut the string.
Mr Sinfield, the secretary, seated at the Chairman's left, a man of a very orderly mind, seeing the careless use of the penknife, was led to wonder how the parcel would be reconstructed when the demonstration should be over.
Removing the paper, Mr Ralston exposed an oblong slab of a smooth hard substance, opaque and pearl-white on its upper surface, and showing a dull slate-grey beneath as he lifted it clear.
He passed it to Mr Nichols, the nearest of the directors, a man small and old, whose over-careful grooming could not disguise the aspect of one who had fought his way to affluence from the squalor of Limehouse. He looked at it with narrow, suspicious eyes as he turned it over, and would have passed it to his neighbour. His look was that of a man who cleared his hands of a clumsy attempt to defraud him.
"Wait a moment," interposed Mr Ralston; "you haven't seen it yet." He reached forward to delay the passage of the stone.
He drew a small collapsible stereoscope from his pocket. Opening it, he inserted a duplicate view of such a scene as might be the commencement of any of a hundred of the masterpieces of Hollywood. It was a picture of sand and palms, with one of the principal kissers sitting half naked on a moonlit beach. "Please look through this," he said, "and fix your mind on the scene."
While Mr Nichols did this, Mr Ralston placed the stone uprightly behind the stereoscope. After a moment's pause he added, "Now please withdraw it, and look into the stone."
Mr Nichols did so, but the scene at which he had been looking did not leave his eyes. He could see it now upon, or rather beneath, the surface of the stone. Only it had come to life. The palms moved in the wind. The tide rippled along the beach. The heroine began to skip about, as screen-heroines do skip before kissing-time has arrived.
Mr Nichols was interested in what he saw. He was aroused by the voice of his left-hand neighbour. "After you, Nichols." He surrendered the stone with some reluctance. "It's a clever trick," he said sceptically. He looked at Mr Ralston with more interest than before, wondering how it was done. He had no doubt that he was witnessing an attempt to "take in" the Board of Vantons, Ltd., which was naturally bound to fail; but he had more respect for Mr Ralston as one of nerve and audacity to attempt it than he had had for him previously as a mere inventor.
But Mr Ralston had at least succeeded to the point of having engaged the attention of the Board. The demonstration went on for nearly an hour before the last of the directors had had his turn. As one by one was added to the number of those who discussed what they had seen for themselves the animation grew. It became increasingly improbable that the Cunliffe contract would receive the half-hour of consideration which its importance required.
During this time Mr Ralston sat silent. He said he would rather wait to answer questions till the demonstration had been concluded. With this the Chairman concurred. They could all give their attention then, and they would all know what they had to discuss.
Mr Levinstein was silent also, except for an occasional word to deprecate discussion from others and a whispered query to Britleigh. "Who is the man? . . . Groves hadn't heard of him before. . . . I saw that you knew him when you came in." But Lord Britleigh denied this. "He's a good deal like a man I once knew. A man who came to no good. A down-and-out now. But it isn't the same." He lied with a careless ease and a circumstanced invention which did not deceive Mr Levinstein for a moment. Mr Levinstein was not easily deceived, or he would not have been sitting where he was. He was quite sure of one thing, Mr Ralston knew Lord Britleigh. He knew him under another name. He had called him Warden. Probably it was of no importance. But Mr Levinstein did not forget.
"We, gentlemen," he said, when the last of the directors had surrendered the stone and it was again in its owner's hands, "what do you make of it now?"
Mr Nichols spoke first, repeating what he had said more than once previously. "It's no more than a clever trick."
"That's right enough, Nichols," said Mr Ramsbottom, a man on the opposite side of the table, with a keen, lean face, who took pride in a reputation for being without imagination or sentiment, and being merciless in a business deal, "but it's the kind of trick that might pay. It's a clever trick, and we've paid a hundred quid to know how it's done, so we'd better hear."
Mr. Levinstein spoke again. "Gentlemen, the time's getting on. With your concurrence, I propose that Mr Ralston should tell us briefly by what methods he produces this curious illusion in that stone, and what are the commercial possibilities which he claims for it. After that it may be most convenient for him to retire, and we will discuss whether it is a matter which we can entertain further."
Mr Ralston replied that he could answer the first question very simply, the secret being entirely in the composition of the receiving surface, which could be easily and very cheaply made, and in any quantity. His difficulty was that he had not had the means to patent it throughout the world, which was an essential preliminary to its distribution. It seemed to him to be important, also, that it should be in the hands of those who would be financially strong enough to fight for the protection of their rights if it should be necessary to do so, for, he frankly admitted, if once the secret were known, its manufacture would be a very simple thing.
"It looks to me, gentlemen," said the Chairman, "as though it might be one of those things that are better handled as a secret process than as one that can be protected by the patent laws."
But Mr Ralston was frank again in his assurance that that course would not be possible. "With this specimen in his laboratory, any chemist would give you its composition in a week - probably less than that. And so, gentlemen, with your permission. . . ." he concluded, and, rising with the word, he walked over to the gate, in which a large fire burned - for it was the middle of January and the snow was three inches deep in the London streets - and dropped the slab into the glowing centre of the heat.
The dignity of the Board of Vantons, Ltd., did not prevent the common impulse that caused each director to twist round in his chair, or rise sufficiently to watch this unexpected conflagration. They saw that the slab burned quietly and easily, with a flame of cobalt blue, at which Professor Blinkwell, the technical adviser of the Board, looked with a particular interest. His eyes turned to Mr Ralston. He seemed about to speak, and then checked himself, but the inventor answered the unspoken word. "Yes. That's it, of course. But it isn't all. That alone wouldn't take you far."
"No," said the Professor, with a friendly smile, "I don't suppose it would."
Mr Nichols had been using a very quick brain at its top speed during the last few minutes. He had made a very difficult adjustment of his opinion of Mr Ralston, or, at least, of the invention he offered. His mind was not impressed by the theatrical burning of the slab. It was too much like a conjurer's trick. Very clever some of those conjurers were. It would be a joke if it could be said that one of them had hoaxed the directors of Vantons. But in certain directions he had a respect for Professor Blinkwell's judgment. Not that the Professor was any good at business. Not the least. But he was firm on his own ground. He rarely made mistakes in the technical advice that he gave. The tone in which he had answered Mr Ralston had not been such as he would have used to any conjuring clown.
"I hope," he said, "you've got that formula in a safe place."
"Yes, I think I have. Quite," Mr Ralston smiled quietly, in an amused way.
"There aren't many safe places when a thing like that is concerned," Mr Levinstein wheezed. "It ought to be in the strongest safe in the Chancery Lane vaults."
"It's better than that," the inventor answered. "It's in my own head."
"You mean," said Mr Nichols, "it's a matter of memory? It's not written down at all? . . . But suppose you were to die?"
Mr Ralston was amused. "I'm afraid I couldn't carry on the negotiations if I did that."
"But our deposit. . . . It's not fair to us."
"I'm a fairly healthy man, but if you don't like the risk, it's a case for a quick deal."
"Gentlemen," the Chairman interposed, "we're not getting on as we should. We're a bit off the rails. We can take this point later, if we decide to go on with the thing at all. . . . At present our second question has not been answered. . . . We want to know what are the commercial advantages that Mr Ralston claims for this. . . . this method of preparation. It doesn't go beyond that, as far as I can see."
"I think," the inventor answered quietly, "I'd rather leave you to judge of that for yourselves. You'll find it's got a good many points, if you think it out. But you'll judge what they're worth better than I. . . . There's one thing I ought to tell you, though it's rather against myself. It requires a certain amount of concentration - not overmuch, but if the mind wanders it isn't always easy to pick up the picture. You might have to begin again.
The directors digested this information in a moment's silence, which Mr Ramsbottom was the first to break. "Do you mean to tell us that this - whatever it is - could be used for a kinema? (He said "sinema," which is as usual in the film industry as in the East End of London.) The question was natural enough, but the tone and manner were those of a man who propounds that which his antagonist can only answer to his own confusion.
"Yes," said the inventor confidently. "Why not? Even at the stage to which I've developed it now - and it isn't likely to stop there - you'd only have to supply a stereoscope to each seat, with pictures of the opening scenes."
"And the first time a man turns his attention away he can't see any more?"
"I don't go that far. It's possible that the continuity would be broken."
"And then you think he'd sit there for a couple of hours, waiting for it to begin again? Well, he wouldn't. You can take that from me. . . . It would be doomed at the start. They might come once, just to see a new thing. After that they'd keep away. If we'd wanted something to clear the kinemas right out you'd have brought us the goods."
There was a general murmur of assent at this verdict. The Chairman summed it up when he said, "We come back to this, Mr Ralston. There'd be nothing in it when once the novelty had worn off. There's nothing from our point of view unless it shows a big saving in production costs, and even then it's no use if it wouldn't take on."
Mr Ralston did not seem perturbed. He waited his time, and then said, "But there'd be no need for delay. If anyone wanted to start the picture again, he could do so at once."
Mr Ramsbottom gave a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction. "I thought you'd say that. That's what shows the whole thing's a fake from end to end. You've forgotten that two men couldn't see different things on the same screen at the same time. How you do it I don't know; but anyone could see that. If you could start this at all, it would mean that everyone would have to think alike at the word 'Go,' and if they fell out of line because someone else came in late and trod on their toes, there'd be an end of the show for them. . . . Not that anyone would come in late, because it wouldn't be any use if they did. The thing'd be no better than a wash-out, if it did all that you say. . . . Mr Chairman, I vote that we call it off, without wasting any more time."
"You may be right, Mr Ramsbottom," the Chairman answered judicially, "but we'll hear what Mr Ralston has to say."
That gentleman still seemed undisturbed as he answered, "But that is just what would happen. There is no reason why two people should not see different things on the screen at the same time. It's quite natural that they should. A mirror does just the same thing."
There was a confused murmur of protest at this statement. "A mirror only reflects what's there at the time." . . . "It only shows what's in front of it." "It doesn't show two things at once."
Mr Nichols, who had kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Blinkwell, was aware that the Professor looked interested. He didn't think he looked as though he thought the inventor were talking nonsense. Mr Nichols didn't understand the illustration, but he saw that it was unlikely that Mr Ralston would have made a statement which had no reason behind it. He didn't like Ramsbottom, and would be pleased to see him sat on by the rest of the Board. He asked at the first moment in which his voice could be heard, "What do you say to that, Professor?"
The question silenced the meeting to a recognition that the one of their number who was most competent to criticize had not yet been heard. He had the general attention when he answered. "There isn't an exact analogy, but Mr Ralston's illustration is fair enough. If two men look at a mirror from different angles they will see different parts of the same scene depicted on the same surface of glass. The same part of the same surface will give different reflections at the same time to the two who look at it. . . . I take it that Mr Ralston means that there is nothing to prevent different members of an audience (though that is hardly the right word) from seeing different scenes on the same screen. . . . It opens many possibilities."
Mr Ramsbottom said he'd like Mr Ralston to tell them how it was done.
"I can't tell you that, gentlemen. It's more than I know myself. I daresay it'll be simple enough when it's found out. But it's like electricity or ether - you can make use of them, and you know a lot about them, except only that you've no idea what they are! I've found out that a surface of this kind retains anything that is reflected upon it, though only in such a way that it can be seen by those whose eyes or minds are looking for what is there, but I can't go beyond that. It's no more than a photography in another form."
Professor Blinkwell asked, "What happens if you print a second picture on the same surface?"
"Yes," said the Chairman, "that's the real point. Apart from that. . . ."
"As far as I know," Mr Ralston answered, you can print any number. The slab that I've just burnt had seventeen. I've made three before that, but I don't keep them longer than I need. That was the best of the lot. The difficulty's been to get the means of testing. The prints have not been easy to get."
"It's a great pity you burnt it as you did," the Chairman said seriously. "I don't see how we can settle anything till you replace it. We shall want to experiment a good deal beyond anything that we've done today."
But Mr Ralston said that he would make no more, except on his own terms. He must have a contract to purchase. A definite binding agreement that the whole sum would be paid in a month, providing only that his invention fulfilled such tests as should be set out therein. When they had signed that he would make another of the mysterious slabs. He would give them the formula. It would be their risk if it were to become known before their patents were taken. He was not afraid that he could not fulfil the tests. If they signed such an agreement he knew that they would have to complete. But till then he would take no risks. It would remain concealed in his own mind. Anyway, he was sorry, but he must go now. He had an appointment for lunch. They could think it over, and write. Mr Groves had his address. He got up to go.
Lord Britleigh spoke to the Chairman in a low voice. "We can't let him go like that. Do you think it would be any use if I had a word with him alone?"
The Chairman thought it would be a good thing to try.
Lord Britleigh followed Mr Ralston out through the door. Mr Ramsbottom remarked audibly as he saw him disappear that he shouldn't wonder if Britleigh meant to find out a bit for himself. Mr Levinstein wheezed importantly that "Lord Britleigh has gone at my own request." He did not intend that Ramsbottom should think that he could rule that Board, be his place in the paper trade what it might.
Meanwhile Lord Britleigh had cornered Ralston in the waiting-room below. He was saying, "Never mind about that. It's a good enough chance, and it wouldn't break us if it didn't prove all that you claim. Let me have her address, and you shall have the money within a week."
"I'll see you damned first," said Mr Ralston, with the uncompromising directness of those who do not understand business.
"Oh. I wouldn't say that," Lord Britleigh answered lightly. "You might be damned yourself a bit sooner, if you don't alter your tone."
Mr Ralston went without the courtesy of a parting word.
CHAPTER II
RALSTON paused on the kerb. He had an appointment to meet Evelyn Merivale at one o'clock to lunch at Fletcher's restaurant, which is nearly opposite the offices of Vantons, Ltd. It was five minutes past now, and he knew that her time would be limited.
But he thought that he might be followed. He had not foreseen the possibility of meeting "Mr Warden" in that board-room, or he would have made a different appointment. He had no intention of being overreached in so absurdly simple a manner. After a moment's thought he lifted his hand to a passing taxi. He gave the man half a crown. "Drive along Oxford Street," he said, "toward the City. The first time you can turn round quickly into the opposite stream of traffic do so, and drop me at the kerb. You needn't go far."
It was an idea that had only occurred to him as he stood there, but he could see no flaw in it. It might be difficult for any following vehicle to imitate the unexpected turn in the crowded traffic. It would be impossible without making itself known. If it were not done immediately, the interval would be sufficient to enable him to disappear in the crowd. The last thing that would be expected would be his return to the street he had just left. We observe that Mr Ralston had an alert and inventive mind.
Five minutes later he entered the first-floor dining-room at Fletcher's, and made his way to a table in one of the windows at which a girl was already seated.
"Evelyn," he said, in a low voice, without any precedent formality, "I've told the waiter we'll have another table."
The girl to whom he spoke gave him a smile of friendly recognition, showing neither resentment nor surprise at the abruptness of his address, but making no motion to comply.
"I don't think I'll move from here, Wilfrid. I like looking down into the street, and we're getting the sun, too."
"I've just seen Warden. He may be in the street now."
She looked down on a street from which there had not yet been time to clear the morning's snow-fall, but which was now bright with winter sunshine, and assured herself that the gentleman in question was not in sight. Then she rose without haste or loss of time, and moved over to the table that Mr. Ralston had chosen for her. She was almost of his own height, and of a figure which complied with the moment's demand for a universal slimness, though it may have done it with less than the average complacency. Simply dressed, she had the type of beauty which suggested the assurance of a gentle nurture. She had the air of one who would be self-possessed under any circumstances. She had a clearness of complexion and of grey eyes which appeared native to country lanes rather than to the dull pall of the London skies. She was not one who would pass unnoticed in any crowd. . . . Her occupation was that of chaf-feuse-secretary to Lady Barbara Dillington.
"Tell me," she said, when the meal was ordered and the waiter had retired to serve it, "how you have got on."
"Oh, they'll buy," he said. "They're a lousy lot, but they'll buy." He spoke without any tone of satisfaction at the fortune which was so near his hand. His mind was less upon that (which, after all, was no more than an expected thing since he had stumbled upon this discovery three months ago) than upon the meeting with the man whom he most wished to avoid.
But Evelyn Merivale appeared to be more interested in his financial negotiation. She said, "How much did you ask?"
"I put it at a million pounds; and I told Groves that I wouldn't come down sixpence, so they needn't waste time trying."
"Do you really think they'll pay that? It's a lot to ask."
"They can't help themselves. It's the biggest thing since the invention of wireless. . . . They'll see that when they think it out. . . . It means so many things. . . . It means that people can go to a theatre and have the choice of a hundred films - or a thousand for that matter, as far as I can tell yet. Just as many as the opening pictures that are available for their inspection when they get to their seats. Probably there'll be a cabinet before each, with a proper index. If the theatres have records of the ones that are picked, they'll find out what people really like for the first time. . . . And it's a curious thought that if the key-pictures should be lost there might be a hundred films buried in the screen that no one could ever see. . . . There might be uncensored pictures that were only privately known. . . . seditious pictures, or libellous. . . . daring pictures of any kind that no one could prove to be there without the key-scenes to start them. . . . There might be secret societies held together by such a link. . . ."
"It's a large sum, all the same."
"It won't be too much for you."
"It won't be mine at all, thank you. I'm quite content as I am."
"You promised you wouldn't. . . ."
"Very well. We'll talk about something else."
Wilfrid Ralston looked at the girl with an anxious hunger, as a dog might look who is told to keep back from the plate of bones which has been put down for his expected meal. He could control his words more easily than he could keep this look from his eyes.
They were good friends, and she owed him something that she made no effort to forget, but she had held him off, all the same. . . . while he had been poor. But a million pounds! He did not think that there could be many women in the world who would refuse that. Yet he aimed to win rather than to buy, bending all the subtlety of his mind to increase the intimacy of their relations and to win her regard.
He had a new thought. He would show his confidence, and establish another bond between them. He told her of the request that had been made for the formula, and of his reply that he trusted it to his memory only.
"It doesn't sound a very safe way," she said doubtfully. "Suppose you forgot."
"I shouldn't do that."
"Suppose something happened to you."
"You mean if I had an accident, or were taken ill? Well, I don't suppose I should be struck dumb, or have my right hand paralysed. Not both, anyway. If I did, I don't suppose the loss of the money would worry me afterwards. . . . As a fact, I suppose I'm safer this way than any other. A man may be murdered who's known to carry a secret in his pocket worth a million pounds, but not if it's in his head. . . . No, I wouldn't trust this to paper. . . . I don't even trust Dudley with this."
"No," she said with decision, "I shouldn't trust Dudley."
"Still," he said, "I know that there's a risk that I ought not to take. I shouldn't like to think, if I did get knocked out, that you couldn't pick up the pile. . . . There's no one looking at us behind, is there? I don't want to turn round."
"There's no one within hearing. There are two old ladies who have a good view of the back of your head, but they don't seem as interested as you might expect. There's a young girl facing us by herself not far away. She doesn't seem thrilled either. Still, she's doing her lips. She may hope that you'll look round. There's a man with his back to us three tables away."
Wilfrid Ralston did not respond to the lightness of her tone. He said seriously, "It sounds as though the ground's clear enough." He pulled out a small pocket-book and tore out a page, on which he wrote a few lines before passing it over to her. She looked at a column of five words and another of figures beside it.
She hesitated a moment, and then handed it back. "I'd really rather not have it," she said. "It's nice of you to trust mc, but it's too great a responsibility. It might get lost."
"It wouldn't matter if it did. The two first lines mean nothing. They're put there to confuse. The other three have to be rearranged so that their initials will spell the word 'cub.' The figures must be left in the order they are, but with a one added to the left of each. Can you remember that?"
"Yes. That isn't hard. But I'd rather not. I'd much rather not have it at all."
"Well, I'd much rather you did. I should feel safer than I do now. I don't expect anything to happen, but I should like to know that it can still be pulled off if it does."
"But I shouldn't know what to do with the money. Wilfrid, have you any relatives besides Dudley?"
"My mother's living at Todmorden."
"Then give me her address, if you really want me to keep this. . . . There's a man just come in who knows you. He's sitting down in the far corner on the left."
"What kind of man is he?"
"Small. Elderly. Well dressed. I don't want to be seen to look."
"Never mind. I shall know when I go out. Here's the address."
"You're giving me two."
"Yes, but don't notice that now. Can you drop one as you go out, so that this man will see it? It'll give him something to puzzle over, if he's up to no good."
"Very well, if you really wish. But it's rather silly, isn't it?"
"I can't tell, till I've seen who it is. There shouldn't be anyone who knows me coming in here. . . . But never mind him. I want to talk to you about Warden. The question is, can he find you through the address I've given Groves?"
"I don't see why he should. They think it's yours, and you've told them only to write. But you haven't told me yet where you saw him, or how."
"He's one of Vantons' directors. He followed me out, and offered to get the deal through in a week if I'd give him your address."
Evelyn received this information, as her way was, without giving any sign of her thought to the jealous watchfulness of his eyes. She said:
"That does make it rather a risk, but I don't see what I can do. I can't tell all the servants that they're to say I don't exist if Lord Britleigh calls."
"Lord Britleigh? I didn't mention that name. Then you knew. . . ."
If she had made a slip, she allowed no confusion to appear as she answered: "Yes, I knew that."
He was suddenly aware of the lack of any real intimacy between them: of the extent of ground which he had to gain before he could hope to succeed in the purpose that was always in his mind. But he was too adroit to force a discordant issue.
He said, "Well, I suppose we'll have to go now. It might be best to keep together till we know we're not followed. But I don't mean to go back to Hoxton tonight. If anyone's following me they'll cover some ground in the next two days. You can readdress any letters to Twickenham as usual. . . . Don't look at the man as you go out, but drop it where he'll be sure to see it after you've passed."
CHAPTER III
It was a mere chance that had brought Mr Nichols to that corner table. Fletcher's restaurant, though comfortable enough, is not usually patronized by the magnates of Vantons, Ltd. But the board-meeting had been prolonged, and Mr Nichols was short of time for a private interview which he had arranged for the afternoon. The varied experiences of his sixty-one years had left him about equally at home in a palace or a fried-fish shop. He came to the nearest place that could give him the food he needed. He was not concerned, nor greatly interested, when he observed that Mr Ralston was also patronizing the establishment with a lady friend. Yet the bodily presence of the inventor may have contributed to hold his mind to the subject of the morning's interview. He had already decided that if it were not nothing at all (as most new things turned out to be) it was a very big thing indeed. It did not follow that they should pay the price which was asked. A million is a large sum. He always thought that Mr Levinstein was too easy in those ways, as were most of his co-directors. They either refused a thing entirely, or they looked for their profit by making a big deal, rather than by haggling with the vendor. Keen though they were, they thought of large sums in an easy way. But he had been brought up in a penurious school. For many years the only money he made had been that which he didn't spend. He had often interposed successfully to reduce the amount at which they would purchase an idea or an interest. "Now it's your turn, Nichols," his co-directors would say when they had passed a resolution to purchase. He was accustomed to study those with whom they had dealings, to judge how best they could be handled at the moment when the principle is agreed and amounts and details have to be settled.
He met Mr Ralston's eyes as the two passed his table, and gave him a friendly nod of recognition, which Ralston, in his own way as keen and subtle as himself, rightly judged to indicate that the Board had passed a favourable resolution after he left it. He looked at Evelyn with appraising and approving eyes. He saw the paper on the floor after she had passed. He did not see it fall, for it had been dropped from her farther side. But he knew it had not been there a moment before. As they went out of sight, down the turn of the stairs, he reached to retrieve it.
It had not occurred to him to call Evelyn's attention to it. Unless he had aimed to make her acquaintance, what object could there have been? He looked at it carelessly, not expecting anything of importance or interest.
He read an address - 37 Willow Rd., East Ham. That was all. It was a man's handwriting. Probably Ralston's. He could easily verify that. Presumably one that he had just given her. Why should he give her an address of such a character? In the East End of London. As to that he could only speculate. But when a man is in control of an invention which he values at a million pounds everything he does is of interest. This might be the secret factory where the material was made. Even the formula might be there. He had said that he carried it only in his own mind, but that might not be true. He had admitted that anyone who had a piece of the material had the secret in his own hand. A million pounds is a large sum to save. As he considered that point the probability that he held the address of the secret factory asserted itself more plausibly. Might not the woman be one whom Ralston had just engaged, perhaps as secretary, and so he had given her his address? It would be like his caution to interview her first at such a place. Well, if that were so, it seemed unlikely that she would keep her next morning's appointment.
When he got back he looked in at the General Manager's office. "By the way, Groves," he said, "what address did Ralston give you?"
"We write to him at 13 Belleville Gardens, S.W.3. He asked us to communicate only by letter."
"Accommodation address? It hardly sounds like it."
"No. I had it looked up, of course. Lady Barbara Dillington lives there."
"What sort's she?"
"Oh, excellent reputation. Wealthy. Dull. Sixty-eight. Cousin to Lord Chislehurst."
"Queer," said Mr Nichols thoughtfully. "He wouldn't have his workshop there. . . . I suppose he isn't one of the servants. He hardly looks the part. I wonder whether we've got his right name. . . . By the way, Groves, I suppose you've had the resolution down from the boardroom? Well, don't send the letter for a couple of days. We might do better. Anyway, it'll do no harm to keep him in suspense for a day or two. . . . And find out for me who lives at 37 Willow Road, East Ham. Let me have a private report about that. Put someone on it at once."
This was ten days before the London evening papers were able to sell an extra fifty thousand copies by the announcement of the Hoxton murder.
CHAPTER IV
HOXTON, which was once a rural hamlet - a few miles from London, is now one of its foulest and most congested areas. In summer it has sunless heat and dust, and its babies die; in winter it has sunless cold and rain, and its older people perish. Seldom does the heavy gloom of its dirt-encumbered air lift sufficiently to expose it to a ghostly mockery of sunshine. Never, for a generation, has it known a summer sky of clean white cloud and bare unblinded blue.
Yet here, where it might seem that mankind had sought to create a forecast of their waiting hell, where it might be thought that life would dwindle, shrinking from reluctant birth, it rises fecund and defiant. It holds its own in hell, and goes forth. After counting its tale of death, disease, and deformity, it has still a surplus of gallant youth, hardened by privation, that will carry their Cockney courage and their Cockney humour into many cities and seas. It is amid the luxury of London's western side that life dwindles and shrinks, proving the hardest lesson of life - that even disastrous battle is better than enduring peace. It is there that we must look for the futile childless women, the timid men who hesitate and hoard and fear.
The pavements of River Street are never quiet, being littered with children, and loud with the voices of women who nurse their babies on the steps of their open doors; but it has little of pedestrian traffic, though there is a constant rattle of heavy lorries that turn aside from the narrow congestion of St John's Road, preferring a somewhat longer way by which they can make better speed, with no risk of anything more important than the lives of the children who dodge and sometimes die beneath their indifferent wheels. Most of its length River Street shows no variation in the rows of its smoke-blackened houses, the doors of which open on to the pavement, less than twelve feet apart. But at the farther end on the south side (before you reach the canal) there is the blank wall of an old factory, which has been unoccupied since the end of the post-War boom, and which Messrs Shard and Nesbitt offer vainly either to lease or sell. Between this derelict building and the nearest house there is a narrow unlighted entry which bends slightly after the first three or four yards, so that its upper end is out of sight of the street. Sometimes at night there may be shadows that slip into it for some murky purpose, but in the daytime it has the isolation that is possible in congested areas to unregarded familiar things. Only some occasional stranger may enter it in the mistaken hope that it will provide him with a short cut to Bell Street, and will turn back from a final obstacle of unwindowed wall, and with little interest in the dirty door that is closed at his left-hand side.
This door is of no great strength, and anyone examining it on January 13, 1930, would have observed nothing unusual except that it had a large and recent keyhole in addition to the higher one which was of the ordinary latch-key size. But it may be doubted whether anyone had seen this keyhole since it had been made, about two months earlier, or had come so far up the passage in daylight hours, unless it were those who made use of the door, and they themselves might have been observed to be of somewhat nocturnal habits, had it been anyone's business to regard their movements.
It was about three hours after sunset when Mr Dudley Ralston came up the entry. He showed his familiarity by the pace at which he moved in the narrow darkness, and by the ease with which he inserted the heavy key which he had already drawn from his hip-pocket. The latch-key followed. The door opened into an unlighted interior, and was quickly closed. There was the sound of the turning of the lock, another sound as of the dropping of a heavy bar; and then silence, until a man moved from the blackness of the passage-end, not two yards away.
He cast a torch-light casually over the closed door, and with more deliberation over the space of the wall which had divided him from the man whose key had been in the lock. He bent as though he were himself turning such a key. He stood at the wall again, and reached out with his arm toward the door, keeping the light upon it. When he had satisfied himself in these particulars he extinguished the torch and went away.
Meanwhile Mr Dudley Ralston had switched on a light which revealed a narrow length of hall, with uncarpeted wooden stairs at its farther end. Passing up these stairs, he came to a bare landing from which he entered a living-room that was plainly though untidily furnished, and of sufficient comfort for one who was satisfied with the essentials of warmth and food. He lit a gas-fire in the grate, and drew closer the heavy curtains, though it was improbable that there could be any to observe him, for the window opened to an interior yard of the abandoned factory. He spread an old newspaper on the table, and fetched some crockery and tinned food - biscuits and pilchards - from a cupboard. It might be judged that he did not live regularly in this cheerless house, but that the food was there against a casual emergency.
Having commenced the meal, he looked at his watch, as though expecting an interruption that did not come.
Finishing it, he went out on the landing, crossing it by the light of the door that he had left open behind him. He paused at the opposite door, striking a match, and observing that a narrow thread which he had stretched across it was still unbroken. Judging thereby that his brother had not been there in his absence, he turned away without troubling to use the illicit key which his pocket held. He had searched the secrets of that room so thoroughly before he had stretched that thread. . . . If there had been a line of writing which could have given him the guarded secret, a piece of the strange substance, though it were but of a crumb's size. . . . But it was useless to search again till Wilfrid had been.
As he came back to the lighted room a telephone-bell rang. He went quickly to an instrument on the wall, and took off the receiver. "That you, Myra? Yes, I got your message. I've been here half an hour, came straight without waiting to get any dinner, and had to pig it as best I could. . . . No, I can't say I have. . . . It's easy to say that, but it isn't easy to do. . . . Anyway, I'm through now. . . . Yes, through. . . . Well, that s plain enough, isn't it? . . . Yes, you can tell the Chief. . . . I don't care either way, but it's safer than for us to meet again. . . . Tell him. . . . Well, I'm not, anyway. Tell him to go to hell. . . . Of course not, why should I?
He rang off, hearing his brother's step on the stairs.
CHAPTER V
THE TWO brothers met civilly, but without cordiality. Seen together, they were of an obvious similarity, but Dudley, about three years the younger, had a more self-indulgent aspect. He was better dressed; he looked better fed. His face had signs of dissipation from which his brother's was free. The inventive subtleties of Wilfrid's mind appeared in Dudley to be duplicated by cunnings of a more animal and, perhaps, of a more predatory kind.
"Any letters for me?" Wilfrid asked.
"I haven't looked. I asked you not to have any sent here. It isn't safe."
"Well, you know I never have. I've only given the address in one direction, as a last resort. But I've been two days at Twickenham, expecting a very important one that hasn't come."
"Then you haven't sold?"
"Wait a moment. I'll just see if there is."
He went down and struck a match in the darkness of the front hall. Its door opened to Bell Street, or would have done so had it ever been opened at all. It was a door of no great strength, and so ill-fitting that there was a visible space between it and the step which descended to the street level, and its rusty lock and two bolts would have given way quickly enough to an active assault, but what was there to tempt it in the dust of the empty hall, as it could be seen through the slit which had been cut for a letter-box which was no longer there? The postman, if he thought of it at all, must have regarded it as having been unoccupied for the last two years, but that would not alter his duty to deliver any letter which might be clearly addressed to No. 30.
But there was no letter in the hall.
"Something gone wrong?" Dudley inquired, observing his brother's empty hands and irritated expression as he re-entered the room.
"No. I don't suppose so. Only an annoying delay."
"You should have let me handle it for you. I bet you'll make a mess of it somehow. I'd have got double your price, anyway."
"How much would you have asked?"
"You can't expect me to say that, offhand. You have to feel your way in such deals. If you'd shared with me, or even given me a decent commission, I daresay I'd have got fifty thousand, if it does all that you say."
"You've seen that for yourself."
"Yes, I know. But it doesn't seem a possible thing. It seems as though it might be a trick, somehow."
"Well, it's a trick that works. . . . What commission should you have thought fair?"
"Well, anyone gets ten per cent., and there's you having had the room - - "
"I've paid you for that."
" - and all the test, and we being brothers. You couldn't have made it less than twenty."
"Twenty per cent., and you'd have tried for fifty thousand? You'd have made ten thousand out of that."
"Yes, and not a penny too much."
"I didn't say that it was. I've always told you that I'd give you a share if I pulled it off. . . . If I do, I'll give you the ten thousand."
"You must be asking a lot."
"I'm asking a million pounds."
Dudley stared at his brother. Even his audacity wouldn't have tried anything like that. He made a rapid calculation. Ten thousand was one per cent. . . . a miserable return for the accommodation he had given. . . . And he had already said that he would throw up his present occupation in the assurance of this. He did not reflect that ten thousand pounds was the utmost hope that he had had previously on the result of his brother's promise. It was the difference in the percentage that made the sum contemptible which had seemed so large a few minutes earlier. His brother a millionaire, and him with - ten thousand pounds! He said, "You can't really mean that you think one per cent.'s a fair deal. I shouldn't treat you like that."
"No," his brother answered drily, "I didn't say that you would. . . . It isn't a fair deal at all. It's a free gift."
"I don't see that, even if we weren't what we are. You've had the use of this place, and there isn't anywhere where you'd have been quieter, or less likely to get overlooked. It's been a godsend to you, and I told you from the first that it's doing a lot to let you come here. I don't want anything to draw attention to this address."
"Well, nor do I; and so far nothing has. We both wanted the same thing; and every week I've paid you the rent you asked, whether it's been easy or not, and I haven't wanted to know what you are doing here. I don't see what it matters to you what I've done either."
"That's how you talk now you think you've pulled it off. When you said I should have a share if it came out right I didn't think you meant a miserable one per cent., and I don't think you did either. And I'm not even sure of that. I've got nothing in black and white. If you'll just give me a line that you'll pay me the ten thousand, I'll take it for what it's worth, and hope you won't really be so mean when you've picked up the cash."
"I shan't give you a line, and I'll take back what I said if you haven't got the sense to shut up. It's a mere gift; and, anyway, I haven't got the cash yet, and we don't know that I ever shall. There ought to have been a letter for me before this. . . . Well, it's no use staying now."
Wilfrid went at this, his brother following him to the stairhead to call, "I suppose you'll be coming back, but I mayn't be here much after today. You'll always be able to get me at East Grinstead. You'll let me know how you get on?"
He had an uneasy feeling that he hadn't managed the conversation very successfully. Thinking it over, he decided that he would be there a good deal, if not for his old purpose. Wilfrid would be back to continue his experiments, to manufacture more of the secret material, he had no doubt of that. And he would be there also, at other times, and with the bolt on the back door, so that Wilfrid could not disturb him at the wrong moment. If the secret were once in his hands. . . .
CHAPTER VI
LADY BARBARA DILLINGTON had been accustomed to rule her household with a firm though kindly discipline. For many years she had exercised a supervision over its correspondence which would be resented by a modern servant. She had held the sole key of the letterbox, and its contents had been distributed by her own hands, and not always without some inquiries as to the nature of the letters which she handed to those for whom they were addressed. With advancing years and consciousness of other changes, she had abandoned this habit, or rather modified it to the extent of providing her secretary with a duplicate key, and leaving the routine distribution of the contents of the box in her capable hands.
It followed that when Mr Ralston had confided to that young lady that he wished for an address from which he could correspond securely, she had told him that any communication addressed to 13 Belleville Gardens would come first under her own eyes, and could be forwarded to him. At the worst (and very remote) possibility of Lady Barbara opening the box, such a letter could only be returned to the post-office as one that had been addressed in error - and, almost certainly, this duty would be allotted to her, and she would be able to deal with it at her own discretion.
So far this method had worked with its expected smoothness. The preliminary correspondence with Vantons, Ltd., had been so conducted that they wouh have found it very difficult to spy upon Mr Ralston's activities had they attempted to do so, and that gentleman had achieved a further and equally important object in establishing a reason for communicating with Miss Merivale, and securing her interest in the negotiation in which he was occupied.
It was on the third morning after the directors' meeting which he had attended that Mr Groves approached Mr Nichols with a query as to whether he should further delay the letter which the Board had instructed him to issue.
"Mr Levinstein's been asking me whether I'd got a reply, and he seemed rather annoyed when I said you'd asked me to hold it back."
"That's all right, Groves. That's not your funeral. What have you found out about that address at East Ham?"
"I've got this report, sir. It seems to cover the ground." He handed Mr Nichols a typewritten document.
The address given has been occupied for over ten years by Mr. Jacob Withers, an antique-dealer. He is a man of about sixty-five, living with an unmarried daughter, Miss Josephine Withers. They live very quietly, having no servants, and very-few callers. Mr Withers has a shop at 217 Gray's Inn Road, which he attends daily. The rent of 37 Willows Road is 14s. weekly. It is always regularly paid. The local tradespeople give Mr Withers a good character. He spends little, but runs up no accounts. There appears to be no gossip about either himself or his daughter. Most of the adjacent houses are occupied by dock labourers or artisans, and it does not appear that Mr or Miss Withers are on familiar terms with any of them.
Mr Nichols considered this information. It was evident that his first surmise had been inaccurate. He now concluded that this was an address which Mr Ralston had recommended to a new employee as a suitable place at which she might lodge. Having lost the address, she had probably not availed herself of the recommendation. Therefore, it could give no due either to his address or hers, beyond the probability that it was near the site of Mr Ralston's mysterious experiments. . . . Still, he was presumably known to the antique-dealer. . . . That might be worth following up. For the moment his mind returned to the address which they had received in a more legitimate way - that of Lady Barbara Dillington - the address which he had given as his, and which almost certainly wasn't.
"Groves," he said, "you can send the letter. Send it registered, and ask the post-office to supply a certificate of delivery."
CHAPTER VII
MR NICHOLS was annoyed. He had called upon Miss Josephine Withers, as a single gentleman seeking rooms, and had been sourly received. Miss Withers had informed him in the course of a doorstep interview that she did not let rooms, never had let rooms, never meant to let rooms, and did not believe that anyone had ever said that she did. She did not know anyone of the name of Wilfrid Ralston, nor of William Sykes, nor of Charles Peace, but she knew Bill Picktub next door, who would come at once if she knocked twice on the wall, and could choke Mr Nichols with the thumb and finger of one hand. If he waited till she called the police he would be a sillier man than she thought he was. Mr Nichols went.
It was on the following morning that he recounted his experience to Professor Blinkwell. He did not hesitate to narrate the way in which the address had come into his hands. Everyone recognized that though the Professor was not a business man, and did not appreciate the ethical standards which prevail in the circles of successful commerce, yet he was tolerant in judgment upon the acts of his friends.
"There's something very queer," Mr Nichols concluded, "about that Ralston, whether his invention's a fake or a fortune, and I'm not over-sure about that. . . . I saw him write that address and give it to the young woman who dropped it as she went out, and why on earth should he have done that if he didn't know the people who lived in the house? It isn't sense. And if she knew him, why did she give me her tongue as she did?"
The Professor was mildly sympathetic, perhaps mildly amused. He said casually, when Mr Nichols was about to pass on to his own office, "I can give you his address, if you really want it. I don't mean Belleville Gardens. I mean where he works."
Mr Nichols looked his surprise. "How on earth - - " he began.
"Quite simply," said the Professor. "I didn't pick anything up. I just wrote and asked."
So in fact it had been. The device of the registered-letter certificate which had occurred to the ingenuity of Mr Nichols having somewhat overreached itself, as such cleverness is apt to do, had some indirect bearing upon this development.
Had the postman asked for no more than the signature which is required on delivery of every registered packet, it is probable that the butler would have given it without a too-curious examination of the letter to which it related, but being asked to put his name to a less familiar document, he was led to a more critical consideration, and while he was debating with the postman his ignorance of Mr Ralston's name, it chanced that Lady Barbara descended the stairs. Two minutes later the postman went down the steps with the registered letter in his bag.
The next morning Miss Merivale, opening the letter-box as usual, found an unregistered envelope for Mr Ralston, and readdressed it to Twickenham. Mr Ralston received it at a time when he was becoming anxious at the continued silence of the Board. It read thus:
DEAR MR RALSTON,
I have been thinking over your invention with much interest. If you would grant me the privilege of meeting you in your own laboratory, as a brother scientist, I should account it an honour, and should be glad to talk over some of the possibilities which your invention appears to offer.
Yours sincerely,
ELIHU BLINKWELL
Mr Ralston sat for half an hour in Richmond Park, in the faint warmth of a wintry sunshine, reflecting upon this letter. He did not intend to incur any risk of communicating his secret to the Professor, or anyone else, till he had got his agreement signed in the form in which he had asked for it to be. But he was confident that he could avoid any such risk. The formula was buried in his own brain, from which it would be difficult for anyone to abstract it without his consent. He misread the delay which had occurred in the receipt of any communication from the Board. He concluded that they had probably failed to arrive at a united decision. This overture from the Professor might be of a decisive importance. If he could satisfy him - which was sufficiently probable - it might be that it would be the means of turning the scale in his favour. He went back, and wrote:
13 BELLEVILLE GARDENS, S.W.3
January 16th, 1930
DEAR PROFESSOR BLINKWELL,
For reasons which you will readily understand, I have not previously invited anyone to my laboratory, the address of which I have kept strictly private during the progress of my experiments.
Your position is, however, exceptional, both in respect of your personal attainments, and as a director of the firm with whom I am negotiating.
If you can come tomorrow (Friday) evening conveniently, arriving at Old Street Station at about 8.30 P.M., I will meet you there, as our destination - which would not be very easy to find by written directions - is quite near. In that event there will be no necessity to answer this letter.
Yours sincerely,
WILFRID RALSTON
The Professor had kept the appointment, and had accompanied Mr Ralston along the narrow streets, and followed him up the unlighted passage, and through the silence of the half-furnished house, without hesitation or undue curiosity. On being seated in the laboratory, he had relieved Mr Ralston's mind at once by handing him the returned registered packet, and, with an habitual courtesy which might not have occurred to his more commercial-minded colleagues, he had relieved him of any necessity for explanation by suggesting that their manager had made an error of judgment in requiring the post-office to obtain a certificate of delivery, "which would naturally be unobtainable if you should have been absent when it was tendered."
Opening it, Mr Ralston read that the Board had decided to accept his offer. They had given instructions for a draft agreement to be prepared, by which he would undertake to supply them forthwith with the secret formula, for which they would pay him the sum of one million pounds within one calendar month of that date, provided only that he had demonstrated during that time that his invention fulfilled the conditions set out in the original option. They invited him to meet the Board at 11 A.M. on Friday, the 24th instant, when the agreement would be in readiness, and could be signed immediately if it should have his approval. Mr Ralston's solicitor would be present, should he desire to be legally advised on that occasion.
Mr Ralston had been naturally pleased. He may have been more than usually expansive under the influence of this communication, and with the stimulus of the Professor's conversation, but he lost neither his head nor his formula, nor, to be just to the Professor, did he attempt to take any unfair advantage of him. . . .
"He'll be here," the Professor now continued to Mr Nichols, "for the board-meeting next Friday, but if you like to see him beforehand, you can write and ask. . . . Say I suggested it, if you like. It might help a bit. I think we got on fairly well."
"Coming Friday, is he? Then he's had the letter. I don't see that I can do much after that. I daresay I could have saved about £900,000 if they'd left it to me. Perhaps more. But I'll try to see him, all the same. There's something damned queer about that man, and it mayn't be any loss to us to find out what it is."
"I can't say I saw anything queer," the Professor answered. "I thought him a very intelligent man."
Mr Nichols agreed to his intelligence. He added, "I don't think I shall write. I shall just pay him an unexpected call. There'll be no gain for him to think things over before we meet."
The Professor looked doubtful about that. The address had been given to him in a somewhat confidential way. Still, if Mr Nichols felt sure. . . . He went on to give such directions for the finding of the River Street entry as appeared to show that if he were deficient in commercial acumen he had other mental powers which were by no means contemptible.
CHAPTER VIII
IT was on Monday afternoon, the 20th, that Mr Nichols obtained Mr Ralston's address from the Professor. The following morning he took a taxi to River Street. He paid off the driver with his accustomed parsimony, but told him that he should probably not be many minutes and he could wait if he liked, and drive him back. But it was his risk; it might be longer. He went up the entry to a locked door, knocked and knocked again without response, and concluded reasonably that Mr Ralston was not there.
He was about to turn away when Mr Dudley came up the passage. He looked at his unexpected caller with a curiosity which was without friendliness. It was clear that their destination was the same door. There was no choice. Mr Dudley made no assault upon the door. It might be assumed that he had his own means of access. Mr Nichols stood his ground. Mr Dudley made no motion to knock while he was there. He was the first to speak. "Are you looking for anyone?"
"I want to see Mr Wilfrid Ralston.
Mr Dudley looked annoyed, and felt more so. He did not welcome visitors of any kind. Particularly such as he did not know. Particularly such as left taxis standing in the street. The man might be any kind of spy. But it might be an error of tactics to make mystery of a simple thing. He said, "I don't suppose he's about here. Could I tell him who is inquiring, if I happen to run across him?" That was vague enough. It gave nothing away, unless he should have denied that he knew who his brother was.
Mr Nichols drew out a card. Mr Dudley read it, and his manner changed. On his side he drew out a key. He said, "Perhaps you'd like to wait inside. He might be here any time. I couldn't ask you in till I knew who you were. He's very particular about keeping his experiments quiet." He thought it a neat touch to attribute his previous attitude to his brother's scruple. Mr Nichols followed him into the house.
It was an hour later when he came out, and there was no lack of geniality on the part of the man who parted with him at the door. They had understood each other very quickly, and very well. If Mr Dudley could steal the secret of his brother's invention before Friday next, it would be worth not £10,000, but £50,000 - a much more considerable and satisfactory figure. Mr Nichols would come again on Wednesday night - late. Mr Dudley did not mind how late. It would be the more certain that Mr Wilfrid Ralston would not be there. Very well. Twelve o'clock. Midnight. That would do.
CHAPTER IX
MISS EVELYN MERIVALE was in excellent spirits. She had had an exceptionally good lunch at the Savoy. She had refused a proposal of marriage, which is an enjoyable experience when you are sufficiently sure that it will be repeated, and although (she told herself) she had not the slightest intention of marrying Wilfrid Ralston, though he should become a millionaire a dozen times, yet she was conscious of a pleasant excitement at the magnitude of the approaching transaction, and in the assurance of triumph which had induced the midday expenditure of three pounds seven shillings upon a quantity of food which could have been procured for six-and-threepence without any great difficulty, and at a time when he had mentioned that his bank account contained a credit of seven pounds.
She had taken Lady Barbara out during the afternoon for some shopping in Oxford Street (Lady Barbara, with Victorian frugality, though unable to spend more than about a tenth of her income, always took full advantage of the reductions of the January sales), and was walking back through the wet street from the Calthorpe Garage, when she became aware that another forward step would bring her into collision with Lord Britleigh, whose position was supported on the one side by a rather fat woman, and on the other by the area railings. Declining the vulgar expedient of a collision which might not have removed the obstacle, or the ignominious one of a strategic movement to the rear, she stood still before a man who neither raised his hat nor offered his hand, and who lacked the excuse of surprise for these familiar discourtesies.
"Well, Evelyn," he said, "so here we are."
Miss Merivale was a young lady of self-possession and self-control, and though the meeting was abrupt, she had foreseen its possibility. The fat woman had passed on, and Evelyn continued in the same orbit. "Still making piles, I suppose," she remarked pleasantly to the man, who had turned, and was now walking beside her. Lord Britleigh did not respond to this gambit. He noticed her quickened step, and said querulously, "Look here, Evelyn, I want a talk. I haven't seen you for nearly a year, and there are things that you ought to know. I haven't even been able to send you the parrot that old Mrs Quinney left you when she died, and I hate the sight of the bird. I always hated it when we used to go there when we were kids."
We may observe the adroitness of Lord Britleigh, who certainly had not sought Miss Merivale to discuss parrots, but who knew the importance at certain stages of conversation of introducing matter of interest to the other side.
"Is the old dame dead? . . . I'm sorry about that. Not that you care a straw. Or about the parrot either. You know, Cyril, you're very like Wilfrid in some ways."
"Wilfrid? . . . Oh, you mean that. . . ."
"Yes, of course. You don't suppose I call him Mr Ralston, do you? Cyril, you're showing your age more than you need. You're Pre-war."
"You've not gone and engaged yourself to that. . . ."
"Inventor. You don't love him, do you? He doesn't love you overmuch. Not any more since he learnt your real name, either."
"I suppose you think he'll be a millionaire in a month. Well, I came to give you a straight tip not to be too sure. You couldn't want to marry a bounder like that, and I don't want you to give your word, and then not know how to back out. . . . I'll tell you this straight, the deal wouldn't go through, even now, if I drew out. They couldn't do without my share of the cash. Not easily, anyway. And Ramsbottom'd follow me, and one or two others besides. Well, I want your word that you're not engaged to him, and don't mean to be, or. . . ."
"You needn't go on saying all the dirty things that you're ready to do, because I told him about an hour ago that I'm no more likely to marry him than to marry you. Cyril, suppose you tell me who could marry - with one exception, of course - without you trying to make mischief about it. . . . So if you don't let the deal go through, you'll only damage yourself and your friends, and for no purpose at all. . . . I'm going to walk once round the square with you before I go in, and if you've any news to give me of how things are at Saxton, I shall be glad to hear, so long as you keep off one subject which we both know, and if you start on that I shall walk straight in. And after that I want you to promise not to come here again. Lady Barbara'd want to know more about you than I could easily tell."
"I don't know what there is to tell you particularly, if you won't be sensible and come home. . . . Of course, I take your word. But I shouldn't be too sure of him pulling it off, all the same. There's something queer about the whole matter, and we're not the board to leave anything to chance in a deal of this size. Levinstein's got Blinkwell and Nichols working on it now. . . ." He stopped, as though conscious of a possible indiscretion, and Miss Merivale became aware at the same moment that they were at the gate of No. 13, but she did not call attention to that circumstance. Rather, her attitude thawed to an increased friendliness as she commenced a second perambulation. She began to talk about the invention, its nature and prospects, as she had gathered from Mr Ralston's explanations. She was too adroit to give a direct opening for Lord Britleigh to guess her purpose, and between her own caution of approach and his natural reticence on such a position she learnt little beyond one specific fact, the significance of which she could appreciate in the light of what she had learnt at her lunch-time conversation. Mr Nichols was going to - Lord Britleigh did not say, perhaps did not know, where - but somewhere that night, from which something - he did not say, perhaps did not know, what - inimical to Wilfrid Ralston's interests was likely to follow. Possibly Lord Britleigh was as alert as Miss Merivale to the purpose with which she developed the conversation. He made it clear that she could have his help very fully to any purpose she would if she would return to her own home with the implications that such an action would bear. He may have aimed to say no more than would vaguely alarm her as to the plots which were proceeding. They were both of the conversational habit which uses understatement rather than emphasis. If a vague hint of danger to Mr Ralston's fortunes left her unmoved, it would indicate that her interest in him was really of a moderate kind, which was what Lord Britleigh was most anxious to know. Considered as a contest of wits, it may have been no more than a drawn battle. But its after-consequences were of a different pattern. It left certain facts and one inference clear in Miss Merivale's mind. Mr Nichols was going somewhere tonight. Mr Nichols and Professor Blinkwell had been mentioned as working together in hostility to Mr Ralston. Professor Blinkwell had already penetrated to the River Street laboratory. Doubtless Mr Nichols would be proceeding in the same direction. She knew that Wilfrid was intending to spend the night there upon some final preparations for his next demonstration. She was certain that he was not expecting such a visitor. She knew that he was suspicious of Dudley, of whom she knew enough to distrust him thoroughly. She felt vaguely that there was a danger of which Wilfrid should be warned. Because she did not contemplate marriage, it did not follow that the claims of friendship were silent. She had been in Wilfrid's confidence from the first. She had helped him by receiving and redirecting the correspondence. She had a natural interest in the spectacular success of that with which she had been associated. Besides, she was of a natural loyalty in her friendships. And his frequent proposals of marriage must not be overlooked. At least they showed his discrimination. His judgment of female excellence appeared to be as sound as his scientific attainments were brilliant.
Leading through strength to weakness, she directed the conversation back to the news of Saxton doings, and of her own home, careless of the openings it gave for the pleas or allusions which she had prohibited. She appeared to be too interested in the resulting conversation to notice their approach to No. 13 till they were directly before it. "I mustn't be seen standing here," she said hurriedly. She was gone up the steps.
Lord Britleigh looked round for a taxi, feeling that he had done rather well. A good deal better than he had feared. Such delusions are common enough among those who have just engaged in single combat with a woman's tongue. After a few hours doubts may grow. . . .
Miss Merivale went to her room. It is sometimes necessary to chronicle that of which we cannot approve. She lit a cigarette (Lady Barbara prohibited smoking, except by men, and in the basement only. A low place for a low thing); she lay back in a very comfortable chair; she put slim grey heels on the dressing-table. Her delusion was that she could think specially well in that attitude. It is less a question for us than for the medical profession. It may have sent blood to the brain.
She reflected that the Calthorpe Garage is open all night. She could get either of Lady Barbara's cars out when she would. The Morris-Oxford would do. The only problem would be to leave the house and get back unobserved. The front door would be useless. It had two locks, two bolts, and a chain. Heavyweights all. It would have been difficult to open it in the night-silence without being heard at the other side of the square. Nobody ever inquired why it was secured in this manner. No one having any secret or hostile purpose was likely to approach the house by its central publicity. But Lady Barbara might have had a stroke had she learnt that the butler had retired without securing it in this fivefold way. It was ceremonial. An atavistic instinct.
But it is not necessary to leave a house by the front door, even in Belleville Gardens. There was a door in the basement of a more reticent kind, and of a superior modesty. A door that was content with a single bolt of a lighter pattern, and a lock in which the key was always left, and in which it turned very easily. It was a fact though Miss Merivale was not aware of this circumstance - again I chronicle that of which it is impossible to approve - that on many nights it was not fastened at all.
She decided that she could leave the house and return without difficulty. It would be rather a game.
CHAPTER X
IT was early on the Thursday morning following the events already recorded that Percy Timmins, a boy employed by the Neverfail Dairy Co., of St John's Road, was pushing his delivery barrow along the edge of the Bell Street pavement when he noticed something which caused him to stop whistling, let down the handles of the barrow, and approach the door of No. 30 with a pleasant consciousness of excitement and mouth and eyes open to about an equal width.
The street was not then fully light, though the lamps had been extinguished. The morning was damp and misty, the pavement slippery, with a hint of freezing. What the boy saw was the dark line of a stream of blood which had flowed under the ill-fitting door, formed a little pool in a hollow of the step, and then poured over to spread widely upon the blue-brick pavement beneath it.
The boy said "Golly!" as to the exact meaning of which I am not as clear as I should like to be,*
* I am aware that "goll" indicates a hand or claw, but cannot translate the second syllable unless followed by "wog."
and after a moment's pause mounted the step, and made a successful attempt to look through the letter-box without treading in the blood. He looked upon the drab walls of an empty interior, and upon a portion of thin banisters, once painted green, and some uncarpeted stairs. He could not look down low enough to observe the source of the stream which had excited his attention. He gave up the attempt quite as soon as could reasonably be expected. But he stood for some time after that in uncertainty as to what his next action ought to be. At that early hour the street was empty, and he could not regard his responsibility for his employer's milk as less than that for a stranger's blood, which was already spilt. He looked round for a policeman who was not there. He hesitated as to whether he ought to knock upon the house door to inform the occupants of the unusual nature of its output. The glance he had had at the interior did not encourage him to expect any reply. If (as he may have been disposed to hope) it was a case of murder, he might not be well received should he knock up the murderer to inform him of the untidiness of his operations. He considered knocking up the next-door neighbour, and the thought reminded him that he had to make a delivery only four doors farther on, to one of those cautious customers who are not content for the bottle to be put outside the door to demonstrate the general honesty of the race. There he could both continue to perform his duty and find the relief of confiding his discovery to others. He picked up the handles of his barrow and pushed on.
But he paused before the door of No. 38; he was aware of the approach of the heavy and deliberate steps of Police Constable Robbins, for whom he waited, and for whose benefit he pointed an eager finger along the pavement, as he said in a voice that trembled with a natural excitement, "Please, sir, there's someone a-bleeding out of that door."
Police Constable Robbins, somewhat quickening his step, but without abandoning his dignity, approached the door which was indicated, and made an exclamation very similar to that which Percy had already contributed, but of a less certain articulation. After this preliminary he acted with a prompt decision, rapping sharply with imperious knuckles upon a door that shook beneath the impact, and producing a hollow echo from the empty interior. There was no other answer, and his next exercise of authority was a stern "Stand back there" to a crowd of seven persons who had already collected, and who would be ten times that number in the next three minutes.
The constable, a young officer of only six months' experience, and with a hitherto unblemished record, may be excused if he gave a moment's thought to his next proceeding. The London constabulary receive very detailed instructions concerning the bewildering number of restrictions which are placed upon its citizens, of innumerable national laws and local regulations, and the correspondingly numerous occasions on which there may be legitimate interference with the freedom of their activities. They are also instructed with an even greater emphasis upon the few remaining rights and liberties which these citizens retain, probably because an overworked Parliament has not yet found time to deprive them of them. Among the last (which are too few to be easily forgotten) Constable Robbins knew that he must be cautious in entering any residential tenement without the permission of its lawful owner. Of course, in a case of murder, or even of suicide either achieved or attempted, his duty was clear, but there was not evidence here that there had even been an effusion of human blood. The rights (if any) or a London citizen to distribute the blood of one of the larger quadrupeds, either by negligence or design, under an ill-fitting front door in the early hours of a winter morning was a subject on which he had received no specific guidance, and he may have acted wisely, in addition to demonstrating the probability that we are evolved from a common ancestor, when he repeated the action of Percy Timmins, and applied his eyes to the letter-box. Sixteen inches of superior height enabling him to observe the interior from a different angle, exposed a fact which had been hidden from Percy's investigation. The lower part of the banister had been broken apart, and now leaned crazily across the hall.
He saw nothing to indicate that this was the result of any recent violence, and in strict logic it revealed nothing concerning anyone but the landlord and tenant (even eliminating the possibility of the occupation by a man of his own freehold), and I chronicle rather than explain that the sight aroused him to instant and decisive action. His whistle sounded along the street. He knocked again with additional vigour. He put a shoulder to the door, which caused its top bolt to give way. He would have burst it very easily but that the step gave him no means of using his weight to advantage, and he imitated Percy again in avoiding the central puddle. He was considering the probable effect of a good kick when the six-foot-four of Sergeant Middleditch came rapidly down the street.
As waves before the bark divide,
The crowd gave way before his stride,
as the poet expressed it very appositely about a century earlier. He took in the position with one Napoleonic glance. The crowd drew back at his curt order at least six inches further than they had done for Constable Robbins.
"You don't know what is behind that door, Robbins, that it might drop back on to. The window's the way." The window looked flimsy enough, though there were wooden shutters within it which might offer a more formidable resistance. But they collapsed very quickly before the resolute and well-directed staves of two policemen.
"You'd better come with me, Robbins," said the sergeant. There were two other constables on the scene now, to provide the necessary official atmosphere to the street scene, though they were not sufficient to check the operations of Sneaky Sanders, who took his harvest unseen from the pockets of the outer fringe of the gathering crowd.
There were two long minutes of waiting silence, and then the door did not open, but the sergeant appeared at the broken window. "Atkins," he called out, "you'd better 'phone the station. Tell the Inspector there's murder here, and I'll wait till he arrives."
CHAPTER XI
T was during the afternoon of the same day that Chief Detective-Inspector Combridge entered a quiet restaurant in the neighbourhood of Moorgate Street Station and took a seat in its dustiest corner, where he remained for over an hour with no more excuse than the pot of tea and plate of half-eaten bread-and-butter before him.
Not to excite anticipations that will not be realized, it is necessary to say at once that he was not watching for anyone. He had no subtle purpose in mind beyond the desire to think quietly over the facts regarding the Bell Street murder which he had ascertained already, and experience had taught him that there was no place where this could be done with greater security against interruption than in any one of London's innumerable tea-shops.
He had no reason to complain of the conditions under which the problem had been presented to him. He had been summoned promptly from Scotland Yard by the inspector at the local station, who had acted in such a way that no clues had been lost, no traces blurred. He had the services of one of the most intelligent police forces in the world, a dozen of whom had already been detailed to obtain information he had required. His only handicap was the absence of the gifted amateur who usually appears on these occasions to assist the dullness of the official mind.
He already knew a good deal. The murdered man was almost certainly either Wilfrid or Dudley Ralston - probably the latter. The house had been occupied, or used, by these brothers in a very singular way. There were evidences that the front door had not been open for a long period. They had preferred to approach it from a back entry in River Street, through a door which had quite recently been strengthened by a heavy lock. The house (or at least parts of it) had been equipped with heat and light from the public supplies, but no inspector had entered it to take the states of meters which were not there. Gas and electric currents had been illicitly tapped, probably to prevent such intrusions upon a degree of privacy which could hardly have been desired for any lawful purpose. There was a telephone instrument, but the number had been kept out of the directory, and the account had been covered by a needlessly large deposit, paid under the pretext that the tenant might be away for uncertain periods and did not wish to risk disconnexion. Inquiry showed that it had been used quite recently, but very little, unless for incoming calls, of which there would be no record. The rent was paid by the year in advance. All these transactions were in the name of, and had presumably been carried out by, Mr Dudley Ralston, who now (if it were he) lay in the public mortuary with his head nearly separated from his body, and other injuries.
He had already ascertained that Mr Dudley Ralston had had a banking account at the East Grinstead branch of the London and Northern, at which there was a credit balance of £437 3s. 5d. Very large sums had been passed through this account, mostly by cash credits and cheques drawn to self, so that it might be difficult to follow these transactions. Still, there might be something to be learnt there. In a couple of hours a clerk would arrive from that bank who would be able to say definitely if the corpse had been rightly identified as Dudley Ralston.
There were some singular internal features about the way in which the house had been occupied. There was very meagre sleeping accommodation. There were absolutely no evidences of female occupation, nor of any suitable provision for such a contingency. The furnished rooms were so selected that their occupation was unlikely to be observed. There was one of the largest that had been fitted up as a workshop or laboratory, but for a purpose which the Inspector had been unable to determine, and which he felt might supply the key to many of these sinister circumstances, though he recognized that it might fall short of the evidence which would be necessary to identify and convict the murderer. There was a very curious fact which (he thought) could hardly fail to be helpful in the final elucidation of the crime. It was due to the keen eyes of Sergeant Middleditch that it had been observed that a dark thread had been stretched across this door, which had been locked, and which had been opened by a key from the dead man's pocket.
Upon the facts as he had them - and it must be evident that he had not been idle to have learnt so much in the few hours which had elapsed since he had been called to the scene - suspicion centred upon the brother who had been, as far as was known, the only other occupant of the house. To find and interview him was, in any case, the first and obvious necessity. If he were innocent and unaware of the crime, it was not probable that they would have long to wait before he should return to the house. For this contingency the back door had been left locked in the usual way, and (apparently) unwatched and unguarded. If Wilfrid Ralston should enter by that way, he would find that his exit might be a more difficult matter. If he did not return, he would go very near to pleading guilty by the mere fact of his continued absence. At least, so it would have been had it been possible to keep such a crime from the publicity of the daily Press. As it was - well, there were two sides even to that. An appeal to the brother could be made through those channels which could hardly fail to reach him, or an appeal to others to come forward with information concerning him.
For that was the Inspector's real difficulty. All that he knew of the second brother was from such documentary evidence as the house and the dead man's pockets had held. Of where he lived, of his appearance, of his occupation, he had no information whatever. His knowledge of the laws of evidence told him that the question of identification might be a very difficult one, unless the scales of chance should incline in the direction of justice, as they often will.
CHAPTER XII
IT was after eight that evening, and Inspector Combridge was about to leave his office at Scotland Yard. He had just telephoned to Bell Street and ascertained that there had been no visitors to the scene of the murder; and given instructions that he should be rung up at his private number at any hour during the night should there be any development, when his desk instrument rang, and he turned back to receive the information that Mr Wilfrid Ralston had called in reference to the "murder in River Street."
"River Street?" he said to himself. "Yes, of course. That's how he thinks of the place. He used to get in by the back entry. . . . Yes, send him up, and let Fordyce know that I want him here to take down."
Two minutes later Mr Ralston was shown into the room. He held an Evening News in his hand, and was plainly agitated. The keen and experienced eye of Inspector Combridge judged that the agitation was genuine. He inclined to the opinion that it was the result of a recent shock as he had come upon the newspaper report. If so, Mr Wilfrid Ralston was innocent of the crime, or of any participation in it, and he must look farther afield. Perhaps the agitation were even a little excessive, unless for a brother who was very dearly loved It may be difficult to judge fairly of the previous attractions of a man who is first observed when his head is hanging from his body at an acute angle, but, after allowing for this circumstance, Inspector Combridge still thought Mr Dudley to have been unlikely to inspire any overwhelming affection.
The Inspector did not introduce himself, nor offer his hand, as he indicated a chair at the farther side of his rather wide table, and said courteously, "Mr Wilfrid Ralston? I take it that you are the brother of the unfortunate man who was murdered in Bell Street this morning? It is good of you to come to see us so promptly." He spoke slowly and quietly, giving his visitor time to get his breath, and to regain the self-control which appeared to have faltered as he entered the room, but Mr Ralston was quick in his reply. "I've only read it during the last ten minutes. I picked it up in a tea-shop in the Strand." He looked down the paper he held. "I suppose you're quite sure? It really is Dudley?"
"He was identified by a cashier from his bankers about an hour ago."
"Can you tell me anything more than there is here? - I know that everything doesn't always get to the Press. Is it a case of burglary? Did the rooms seem upset?"
"There was some confusion in the upstairs room - the one that appeared to be in most general use."
"There was a locked room on the other side of the landing. I hope it has not been interfered with in any way?"
"We naturally searched the premises. We should not have stopped for a locked door under such circumstances. The room you mention had no indication of having been entered previously, if you mean that. In fact, the thread was still there."
Mr Ralston looked relieved at this information. He also looked puzzled. "The thread?" he said vaguely.
The Inspector had a moment of silence. Up to this point he had answered his visitor's questions, knowing that he was learning at least as much by this means as he would have been likely to do by reversing the process, but he had no intention of letting the control of the interview pass out of his hands. Beside that, there was an etiquette to be observed in these matters, and as is often the case with those who are entirely merciless, he was scrupulous to observe the rules of the game.
"Mr Ralston," he said, "I appreciate your action in calling upon us, and it is only fair that I should put the case from the official standpoint before we go further. A murder has been committed - there is no possible doubt of that - in a house to which you and the murdered man appear to have been the only ones who had legitimate access. It is, as I am sure you will appreciate, a somewhat singular establishment. It has some features which would excite the curiosity of those who might observe them under any circumstances - features which we are now bound to investigate. Primarily, we have to look for the murderer. Till we can place him with certainty we are bound to exercise a general suspicion. I am not suggesting that you are in any way responsible for your brother's death when I warn you that anything you say is at your own risk, and might be used against you in evidence. You are under no obligation to incriminate yourself in any way. But, having said that, I assume that you have come to us as one who wishes to probe the cause of his brother's murder, and who recognizes the public duty of every citizen to assist such an inquiry. I am sure that you can give us very valuable assistance, and we shall be grateful for it. . . . If there are any circumstances of an unfortunate or illegal character in connexion with the uses to which the house has been put, for which you or your brother, or both of you, may have been responsible - circumstances which may or may not be directly connected with the crime - the same warning applies, but I would suggest to you that it may still be the wisest as well as the most proper course to take us into confidence fully, rather than that we should be left to make discoveries in other ways."
Mr Ralston listened attentively to these observations, which did not appear to perturb him. Rather his original agitation appeared to have subsided, and it was with a return to his more natural manner that he answered, "As to what's happened to Dudley, I'll tell you at once that I know no more than you do. Probably less. I don't mind giving you all the information I can, and I haven't got anything to incriminate myself about. If I ask for any favours from you it will be in a different way. . . . What I'm most concerned about is to know that my room has not been disturbed. . . . I don't mean that I'm not concerned that my brother's dead, but when you understand more. . . . well, you'll understand how I feel. . . . What's this about a thread?"
Inspector Combridge noticed a change in his visitor's manner, and was aware that, with the assurance of innocence that he received, his own suspicions were inclined to rise. Mr Ralston's mere self-possessed manner did not inspire confidence in a mind that was accustomed to opposing itself to others that were adroit and cunning in many dangerous and criminal ways. He still did not think that he had the murderer before him, but he was less than sure of his innocence, much less than sure of his freedom from other forms of illegality in connexion with the Bell Street premises, and glad to think of the caution that had restrained his hand when Mr Ralston had entered. Twenty years ago he would always have shaken hands under such circumstances, thinking that visitors to a police office should be put at their ease, and that everyone should be regarded as innocent till there was evidence against them. He could remember instances when he had found it quite awkward, even for him, to withdraw from an established friendliness of manner when it had become necessary. But in these days he had learnt a different habit. There were many with whom he shook hands at a final interview - few or none on a first introduction in connexion with any criminal investigation who experienced that familiarity. Now he observed that he was being interrogated again, and though he did not object to answer he framed his reply so that he should establish what he regarded as a more satisfactory procedure.
"There was a black thread stretched across the outside of the door in which you appear to be particularly interested, such as was not easy to see in the half-darkness of the landing, and was so fine that it would snap at a touch.
"It had obviously been placed in that position so that no one could enter or leave the room without breaking it. If you were unaware of it being there, and the house was used only by your brother and yourself, can you suggest why he should have put it there without your knowledge?"
Mr Ralston thought for a moment before answering. "I was liable to use the room when he was absent. It was a method by which he would know whether I had been there. But I don't know why he should go to that trouble, nor of any other reason, legitimate or otherwise, that he could have had."
"Did he usually keep that door locked?"
"The room was let to me. I always kept it locked when I was away."
"The key was in your brother's pocket."
Mr Ralston looked incredulous. He felt in his own, and drew it out. "You're wrong about that, anyway. I've got it here now."
"Then there are two."
Mr Ralston was silent again. The key was not one which could be casually duplicated. Dudley had been explicit in his statement that he had only one. There were obvious inferences.
The Inspector was speaking again. He left the subject of the two keys. "Do you mind telling me for what purpose you and your brother used the house?"
"I didn't use it. I rented the one room upstairs from him for some scientific experiments which I wished to carry out privately."
Were they of such a nature as to render it desirable that you should get the gas and electricity that you needed by illicit means? . . . Your brother was not so short of money that he could not have paid the bills in the ordinary way."
Mr Ralston showed a surprise which the Inspector was again inclined to consider genuine, though again he was not quite sure. "I didn't want any. . . . At least, of course, there was a light in the room. I didn't use any power. . . . I never gave it a thought."
"Can you tell me for what purpose your brother used the house in this singular way?"
"No. I can't. He didn't seem to use it much at all, as far as I observed. He gave me a key of the back door, and I went in and out as I liked. He wasn't often there."
"Did he have any caller that you could identify?"
"I never knew him to have any."
"There is a telephone. Was it for your use or his?"
"Not for mine. It was there when I first rented the room. I have never used it at all. I tried to ring him up once, and couldn't find the number in the directory."
"No, you wouldn't do that, because it's not there. Did you never hear him use the 'phone either?"
"I never heard him ring anyone up. He was rung up by someone once when I was there."
"Man or woman?"
"A woman, I think. I remember hearing a woman's name. A Jewish sort of name. Miriam. No - Myra."
"Can you recollect anything of the conversation? Did it sound like a personal or merely a business one?"
"I couldn't say definitely. My impression was of a business conversation with someone with whom a considerable intimacy existed. But it was of too general a character for me to say more than that. . . . I remember an impression at the time that he did not wish me to hear. . . . that he was trying to close the conversation all the time, and yet did not want to give the impression that anyone was with him."
The Inspector realized that his questions were being answered readily, and with some degree of freedom. His tone was nearer to geniality when he spoke again.
"Do you mind telling me the nature of the experiments on which you were occupied?"
"They were in connexion with kinema apparatus."
The tone had become curter, and the Inspector put the thought that was in his mind in a more explicit and yet in a more general way.
"You see, Mr Ralston, what we're up against in this. When a man is found murdered there's usually one or two things behind it - money or women. When a house is used in the rather queer way in which this one seems to have been, the explanation's usually to be found in one or other of the same directions. When you get the two things together - such a murder in such a house - it's most likely that if you get to the bottom of one, you're at the bottom of both. Now, we haven't been long on this case, but we've found out a good deal since this morning, and by this time tomorrow I expect we shall know some more. We know that your brother had very comfortable rooms in East Grinstead and a comfortable banking account in the same place. We've got to find out why he was in 30 Bell Street last night, and who murdered him there. If we find out why he paid the rent of that house, and what use it could be to anyone, shut up as it was, we mayn't be exactly home, but we're probably a long way on the right road.
"Now, you say that you used part of it for some private experiments of your own, but on your own account it wasn't taken for them. Very well. If we credit that, we've got to look elsewhere, and the sooner we start the better.
"But we have to check everything in these investigations - everything in its turn - and if you're sure that what you've been doing in that room had nothing to do with your brother's death, well, I want you to make me equally certain. . . . You've told me as plainly as though you'd spoken aloud that he had a key of your room that you don't reckon he'd got any right to have, and there may have been other things going on that you didn't guess. . . . but don't you think you might guess a bit now? . . . I should like to know first whether he was in your confidence, and how far. Could he have given you away, or rather have sold you, if he had been willing to do so? Are these experiments of any commercial value? Or ever likely to be so? . . . I'm sure you'll see how you can help me, if you like. I don't want to waste time on a false scent."
"There are some of those questions," Mr Ralston replied, "that I can't answer, and some that I can; but I'll tell you one thing in a word that you couldn't have learnt elsewhere, and you'll understand more or less how I feel. I've developed a secret process in that room that I'm to sell at eleven o'clock tomorrow for a million pounds. That is, if the report of this murder doesn't queer the pitch."
The Inspector was not easily startled, nor of a very credulous disposition. His face gave no sign of how he regarded this information as he asked laconically, "Cash down?"
"No, not for a month. But I know just where I am, and if the agreement's signed the cash follows. I've only got to hand over the formula, and give a demonstration that's quite easy to do."
"Why should this murder queer your pitch?"
"I don't say that it will, but I'm dealing with a queer crowd, and suppose they thought that the formula might have gone into other hands. . . . I haven't had time to think it out myself yet. . . . it might mean delay at the best. . . ."
"Can it have been stolen?"
"No. I don't see how. I'm not really afraid of that. . . . I only want the deal to go through."
"Did your brother know of the value which - which you put upon this invention?"
"Yes. But I don't see how he could have sold me all the same. . . . He might have thought that he could, though I don't see how. . . . I'll tell you what I'll do. I want this business of tomorrow morning off my mind, and I'll come back at midday, when I've thought things over more than I can all at once, and give you all the help that I can."
"Where is this appointment tomorrow?"
"At the offices of Vantons, Ltd."
"Very well. You had better leave me your address."
"I think I'll keep that to myself. I don't give it to anyone just at present."
"I'm afraid you must make an exception."
"And I'm afraid I must decline."
"We can find it easily enough. You simply prejudice yourself if you refuse."
"I don't think you could. Not tonight, anyway. I'll go to an hotel, if you like. Which do you recommend?"
"That's fox you to choose."
"Very well. We'll say the Gardiner."
Mr Ralston, an observant man, rose without offering his hand, said good-night to the Inspector, nodded casually to the officer who had been quietly recording the conversation at an adjoining table, and went his way.
The Inspector showed the soundness of his judgment in not troubling to have him followed. He had no doubt that he would spend the night at the Gardiner, if a room were available there, and that he would be punctual at his appointment at Vantons. What he said was, "You'd better have your notes transcribed for nine in the morning, Fordyce. I shall want to go over them first thing when I come in. And I want the records of Vantons' directors looked up. They're a queer bunch, if I'm not mistaken. There's not much that one or two of them wouldn't do for a good deal less than a million pounds."
CHAPTER XIII
MR WILFRID RALSTON attended punctually at eleven the next morning at the offices of Vantons, Ltd., accompanied by his solicitor, Mr Jellipot, a very capable man who specialized in certain departments of commercial and patent law. There is no reason to doubt the soundness of his advice or the value of his assistance at both this and other stages of the negotiation, but a detailed consideration of these issues is outside the scope of the present narrative.
They were kept waiting, with a visit of apology from Mr Sinfield, for nearly half an hour, during which time Mr Ralston might have been excused had some symptoms of nervousness developed. But he took it coolly enough, only asking permission, toward the end of the time, to telephone to Inspector Combridge to inform him of the delay he was experiencing. Having made a definite appointment to be at Scotland Yard at 3.15 P.M., he showed no further sign of impatience till Mr Sinfield came with renewed apologies to say that the Board was now ready to receive them.
Being seated at the foot of the table, round which were now gathered the whole of Vantons' directors, together with the two eminent lawyers who were retained to deal with such matters as were now before them, Mr Ralston had a short moment in which to observe or imagine an atmosphere of restrained excitement or curiosity, before he must concentrate his attention upon the fact that the Chairman, with not more than the customary circumlocution, was informing him of the decision of the Board, in view of the "tragic and most inopportune occurrence, of which it would be foolish of any of us to profess that we are not cognizant."
"A fortnight ago," he went on, in the voice of important wheeziness with which we are already familiar, "we met here to consider one of the most amazing claims which has been made in the course of the scientific developments of the last fifty years. It was a claim that might have been dismissed as an absurdity without any serious examination, but the course of the developments to which I have alluded has been such as to demonstrate that nothing should be dismissed on such grounds, or in such a way, and it has been the boast of this firm that it examines everything that is brought before it with patient and impartial care.
"The result of this attitude was that you, Mr Ralston, were able to give us a demonstration of a most interesting character - a demonstration that went far to support the claim which you had made. We subsequently considered the matter, and we came to the conclusion that, if you can do what you say, it must prove to be an invention of enormous value. We say frankly that we are of that opinion; and thinking as we do, we did not haggle over the price. We accepted your own figure, and we appointed this morning to agree - and perhaps to sign - an agreement embodying the sale and purchase of the formula you have discovered.
"It is only this morning that we have officially learned - it was known to some of us yesterday - that an incident has taken place - if I may call it an incident - that a crime has been committed on the very premises where your experiments have been conducted - that your own brother has lost his life - and while we recognize every possibility - while we appreciate that there may be nothing here but a tragic coincidence - you will admit, as a business man, that there is a probability that this occurrence may have a connexion with the guarding or betrayal of the very valuable secret which we must suppose that that room contained.
"Now, Mr Ralston, it is not our habit - it is not consistent with our reputation - to draw back from a bargain which we have made even though the legal formalities may be incomplete - without strong and certain reason for the adoption of such a course, and after full consideration our decision is this."
Mr Levinstein's speech, which had been of a somewhat jerky construction as he had prepared the ground with these preliminary observations, became firm and lucid as he entered upon the decision to which it led.
"We have decided to offer you the agreement in the form in which it had been already drafted, without modification. This agreement contains certain clauses which had been considered necessary by our legal advisers, dealing with the alternate possibilities of patent rights or secret process, on which we cannot arrive at a final decision until the full facts are in our possession, but they are such as, I feel sure, your own solicitor will accept as reasonable. They have no relation to the events of yesterday.
"In coming to this decision we have been influenced by the assurance you gave us that the secret formula had not been committed to writing, nor communicated to others. You will appreciate that this is, at present, no more than a verbal statement. We shall require an endorsement of the agreement, stating this fact explicitly, and in such a way that our obligations are conditional thereto.
"You also told us very frankly that the secret substance of which your invention consists could be analysed and reproduced, if it should pass out of your control, and we had a demonstration of the precaution which you have observed to avert such a possibility. We shall require a formal declaration, on the same terms, that none of this substance can have passed, and as a substantive fact that it has not passed, at any time into the possession or control of others.
"We shall also require an undertaking that the payment of the purchase money will not be required in less than three weeks from the successful demonstration on which the purchase depends, but whether this, which may be considered a minor point, involves any modification of the agreement you will know better than I. . . . How soon could such a demonstration be given?"
Mr Ralston had listened to these conditions with an impassive face, having good reason for reluctance to accept, and seeing how prejudicial it would be to show hesitation concerning them. But the final question was one he could easily answer.
"I could manage a satisfactory demonstration within two days in my own laboratory, or within a week in any premises you may prefer."
"We propose to leave the conditions under which the demonstration will be made entirely in the hands of Professor Blinkwell. If he is satisfied that there is no objection to it taking place in your own laboratory - - "
The Professor said he thought that there would be no objection which could not be overcome. The saving of time was an important consideration. "I am sure," he added courteously, with a smile to Mr Ralston, "that we shall be able to fix these matters up without difficulty."
It was at this point that Mr Jellipot interposed. He had considered the new conditions put forward, and he could not see any valid objection to them. That is, providing that Mr Ralston's previous statements had not overrun the facts of the case, in which event the objection to signing them might be very strong indeed. He saw also that it might be very difficult for his client to state his objection in that event without prejudicing his position very seriously. He said quietly, "I think, Mr Chairman, with your consent, it might be well if I have a few words with Mr Ralston privately. I should like him to be quite clear as to the effect of the new proposals which you have made, and to take my instructions from him. I don't suppose we shall delay you more than two or three minutes."
"Certainly, Mr Jellipot," the Chairman answered. "Sinfield, you had better show them into your room."
"Jellipot, I'm not going to sign that," Mr Ralston said definitely, as soon as they were alone.
"Then I'm afraid you'll find the deal's off - for the moment, anyway. What is the real objection? Could anyone have the formula? Particularly anyone who might give you away?"
"Suppose someone has it written down wrong, but so that they'd know how to put it right in their own minds?"
Mr Jellipot looked doubtful. He did not waste words in asking whether such were the case. He said, "It would be a question of construction - of the exact wording of the clause. It's the sort of point that goes to the House of Lords when such a sum is at issue. If there's a serious risk, I can't advise you to take it. But you know best about that. Of course, I'll bear it in mind when we're wording the clause. . . . Is it a man or a woman? . . . Anyone you can really trust?"
"It's a woman. . . . I - hardly know that."
Mr Ralston looked what he was - a very troubled man.
"You don't think they've got it now?" It occurred to Mr Jellipot's active mind that the agreement might be no more than an elaborate trap. That Vantons, Ltd., might have already possessed itself of the formula by illicit means, and that this endorsement of the agreement was only intended to draw his client into a false declaration which would make it more difficult for him to proceed against them when he discovered the truth.
He put this possibility in discreet words.
Mr Ralston shook his head. No, it wasn't that.
Mr Jellipot was puzzled. If Mr Ralston, he thought, had let the formula pass, in whatever form, into the hands of a woman of whom he was less than sure. . . .
Mr Ralston would have liked to say that it was one of whom he had been sure - absolutely - till yesterday, and that he was still sure of her up to that date. But it came so near to the explanation of other things which he must forget. His mind was fixed on one thing. He had not been to River Street on Wednesday night. Had not been there at all. He would remember nothing contrary to that.
Mr Jellipot said at last, "Well, I can't advise in the dark. I don't ask you to say more. It's up to you to decide. There's one stipulation we might make. We might delay the actual handing over of the formula till they've satisfied themselves with the demonstration, or even till they're prepared to complete. It saves any possibility that they might put up some dummy to say he had the formula from you - and that's a real risk. It gives us something to show, too, for the time we've been talking here."
"Very well," Mr Ralston answered, "we'll go ahead on those lines." Even if there were any risk - and he didn't think there was much - it wouldn't get less by delay. And there looked like being trouble enough, without this falling through now. They went back to the board-room.
There were two or three voices talking together that fell to silence as Mr Jellipot opened the door. Mr Ramsbottom's, continuing a second longer that the others, could be heard distinctly, ". . .if they haven't run him in before then, and that's a. . . ." Mr Jellipot had no difficulty in understanding. He had the same thought at the back of his own mind, but he had to keep it in that retirement. He could not say to his client, "Of course, I'm calculating all the time, in your interests, how these matters will stand if you should be arrested tomorrow for murdering your brother."
What he did say was, "I have advised my client, Mr Chairman, that there can be no reasonable able objection to the conditions you have proposed, providing that you agree to a modification which almost logically follows, and to which I feel sure there can be no objection, and that is that the formula shall not be disclosed until you have expressed yourselves satisfied with the demonstration and are prepared to purchase. The purchase money will then be deposited in exchange for the formula, on such terms as will enable you to prove that it is that which it purports to be before it is actually paid over."
"I fail to see - - " Mr Levinstein began.
"Well, I will put it plainly, and I feel sure you will excuse my bluntness. I am bound to protect my client against every eventuality in a deal of this magnitude. If the formula were h