Room 13 Read online

  At the first cab-rank they struck – it was in Sutton – Johnny insisted upon alighting.

  “I’ll take you home if you like,” said his gloomy benefactor.

  Gently the other declined.

  “My name is Lawford,” said the motorist in a sudden outburst of confidence. “I’ve got an idea I know your face. Haven’t I seen you on the track?”

  “Not for some time,” said Johnny.

  “Rather like a fellow I once met…well, introduced to…fellow named Gay or Gray…regular rascal. He got time.”

  “Thanks,” said Johnny, “that was I!” and the hitherto reticent Mr Lawford became almost conversational in his apologies.

  The young man finished the journey in a Sutton taxi and reached Queen’s Gate late in the afternoon.

  Parker, who opened the door to him, asked no questions.

  “I have laid out another suit for you, sir,” he returned to the study to say – the only oblique reference he made to his employer’s disorder.

  As he lay in a hot bath, soaking the stiffness out of his limbs, Johnny examined his injuries. They were more or less superficial, but he had had a terribly narrow escape from death, and he was not wholly recovered from the violence of it. Emanuel had intended his destruction. The attempt did not surprise him. Men of Legge’s type worked that way. He met them in Dartmoor. They would go to a killing without fire or rage or frenzy of despair.

  Once he had seen a convict select with deliberation and care a large jagged stone and drop it upon the head of a man working in the quarry below. Fortunately, a warder had seen the act, and his shout saved the intended victim from mutilation. The assailant had only one excuse. The man he had attacked had slighted him in some way.

  In the hearts of these men lived a cold beast. Johnny often pictured it, an obscene shape with pale, lidless eyes and a straight slit of a mouth. He had seen the beast staring at him from a hundred distorted faces, had heard its voice, had seen its hatefulness expressed in actions that he shivered to recall. Something of the beast had saturated into his own soul.

  When he came from his bath, the masseur whom Parker had summoned was waiting, and for half an hour he groaned under the kneading hands.

  The evening newspaper that Parker procured contained no news of the ‘accident’ – Emanuel was hardly likely to report the matter, even for his own protection. There were explanations he could offer – Johnny thought of several.

  Free from the hands of the masseur, he rested in his dressing-gown.

  “Has anybody called?” he asked.

  “A Mr Reeder, sir.”

  Johnny frowned.

  “Mr Reeder?” he repeated. “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He merely asked for you. A middle-aged man, with rather a sad face,” said Parker. “I told him you were not at home, and that I would take any message for you, but he gave none.”

  His employer made no reply. For some reason, the call of the mysterious Mr Reeder worried him more than the memory of the tragic happening of that afternoon, more, for the moment, than the marriage of Marney Kane.

  9

  Marney made her journey to London that afternoon in almost complete silence. She sat in a corner of the limousine, and felt herself separated from the man she had married by a distance which was becoming immeasurable. Once or twice she stole a timid glance at him, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not even notice. They were not pleasant thoughts, to judge by his unchanging scowl. All the way up he nibbled at his nails; a wrinkle between his eyes.

  It was not until the big car was bowling across one of the river bridges that the strain was relieved, and he turned his head, regarding her coldly.

  “We’re going abroad tomorrow,” he said, and her heart sank.

  “I thought you were staying in town for a week, Jeff,” she asked, trouble in her eyes. “I told father–”

  “Does it matter?” he said roughly, and then she found courage to ask him a question that had been in her mind during that dreary ride.

  “Jeff, what did you mean this morning, on the way back from the church…? You frightened me.”

  Jeff Legge chuckled softly.

  “I frightened you, did I?” he sneered. “Well, if that’s all that’s going to happen to you, you’re a lucky girl!”

  “But you’re so changed…” she was bewildered. “I – I didn’t want to marry you… I thought you wanted…and father was so very anxious…”

  “Your father was very anxious that you should marry a man in good society with plenty of money,” he said, emphasising every word. “Well, you’ve married him, haven’t you? When I told you this morning that I’d got your father like that” – he put out his thumb suggestively – “I meant it. I suppose you know your father’s a crook?”

  The beautiful face flushed and went pale again.

  “How dare you say that?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger. “You know it isn’t true. You know!”

  Jeffrey Legge closed his eyes wearily.

  “There’s a whole lot of revelations coming to you, my good girl,” he said, “but I guess we’d better wait till we reach the hotel.”

  Silence followed, until the car drew up before the awning of the Charlton, and then Jeff became his smiling, courteous self, and so remained until the door of their sitting-room closed upon them.

  “Now, you’ve got to know something, and you can’t know it too soon,” he said, throwing his hat upon a settee. “My name isn’t Floyd at all. I’m Jeffrey Legge. My father was a convict until six months ago. He was put in prison by Peter Kane.”

  She listened, open-mouthed, stricken dumb with amazement and fear.

  “Peter Kane is a bank robber – or he was till fifteen years ago, when he did a job with my father, got away with a million dollars, and squeaked on his pal.”

  “Squeaked?” she said, bewildered.

  “Your father betrayed him,” said Jeffrey patiently. “I’m surprised that Peter hasn’t made you acquainted with the technical terms of the business. He squeaked on his pal, and my father went down for twenty years.”

  “It is not true,” she said indignantly. “You are inventing this story. My father was a broker. He never did a dishonest thing in his life. And if he had, he would never have betrayed his friend!”

  The answer seemed to amuse Legge.

  “Broker, was he? I suppose that means he’s a man who’s broken into strong-rooms? That’s the best joke I’ve heard for a long time! Your father’s crook! Johnny knows he’s crook. Craig knows he’s crook. Why in hell do you think a broker should be a pal of a ‘busy’. And take that look off your face – a ‘busy’ is a detective. Peter has certainly neglected your education!”

  “Johnny knows?” she said, horror-stricken. “Johnny knows father is – I don’t believe it! All you have told me is lies. If it were so, why should you want to marry me?”

  Suddenly she realised the truth, and stood, frozen with horror, staring back at the smiling man.

  “You’ve guessed, eh? We’ve been waiting to get under Peter’s skin for years. And I guess we’ve got there. And now, if you like, you can tell him. There’s a telephone; call him up. Tell him I’m Jeff Legge, and that all the wonderful dreams he has had of seeing you happy and comfortable are gone! Phone him! Tell him you never wanted to marry me, and it was only to make him happy that you did – you’ve got to break his heart, anyway. You might as well start now.”

  “He’d kill you,” she breathed.

  “Maybe he would. And that’d be a fine idea too. We’d have Peter on the trap. It would be worth dying for. But I guess he wouldn’t kill me. At the sight of a gun in his hands, I’d shoot him like a dog. But don’t let that stop you telling him, Marney darling.”

  He stretched out his hand, but sh
e recoiled from him in horror and loathing.

  “You planned it all…this was your revenge?”

  He nodded.

  “But Johnny… Johnny doesn’t know.”

  She saw the change in the man’s face, that suave assurance of his vanish.

  “He does know.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “He knows!”

  “He knows, but he let you go, honey,” said Jeff. “He’s one of us, and we never squeak. One of us!” he repeated the words mechanically.

  She sat down and covered her face with her hands, and Jeffrey, watching her, thought at first that she was crying. When she raised her face, her eyes were dry. And, more extraordinary to him, the fear that he had seen was no longer there.

  “Johnny will kill you,” she said simply. “He wouldn’t let me go…like that…if he knew. It isn’t reasonable to suppose that he would, is it?”

  It was Jeff Legge’s turn to be uncomfortable. Not at the menace of Johnny’s vengeance, but at her utter calmness. She might have been discussing the matter impartially with a third person. For a moment he lost his grip of the situation. All that she said was so obviously, so patently logical, and instinctively he looked round as though he expected to find Johnny Gray at his elbow. The absurdity of the situation struck him, and he chuckled nervously.

  “Johnny!” he sneered. “What do you expect Johnny to do, eh? He’s just out of ‘bird’ – that’s jail; it is sometimes called ‘boob’ – I see there’s a whole lot of stuff you’ve got to learn before you get right into the family ways.”

  He lunged toward her and dropped his hands on her shoulders.

  “Now, old girl,” he said, “there are two things you can do. You can call up Peter and put him wise, or you can make the best of a bad job.”

  “I’ll call father,” she said, springing up. Before she could reach the telephone, his arm was round her, and he had swung her back.

  “You’ll call nothing,” he said. “There’s no alternative, my little girl. You’re Mrs Legge, and I lowered myself to marry the daughter of such a squealing old hound! Marney, give me a kiss. You’ve not been very free with your tokens of affection, and I haven’t pressed you, for fear of scaring you off. Always the considerate gentleman – that’s Jeff Legge.”

  Suddenly she was in his arms, struggling desperately. He tried to reach her lips, but she buried her face in his coat, until, with a savage jerk that almost dislocated her shoulder, he had flung her at arm’s distance. She looked up at the inflamed face and shuddered.

  “I’ve got you, Marney.” His voice was hoarse with triumph. “I’ve got you properly…legally. You’re my wife! You realise that? No man can come between you and me.”

  He pulled her toward him, caught her pale face between his hands, and turned it up to his. With all the strength of utter horror and loathing, she tore herself free, fled to the door, flung it open, and stood back, wide-eyed with amazement.

  In the doorway stood a tall, broad woman, with vividly red hair and a broad, good-humoured face. From her costume she was evidently one of the chambermaids of the hotel. From her voice she was most obviously Welsh.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Jeff. “Get out, damn you!”

  “Why do you talk so at me now, look you? I will not have this bad language. The maid of this suite I am!”

  Marney saw her chance of escaping, and, running into the room, slammed the door and locked it.

  10

  For a moment Jeff Legge stood, helpless with rage. Then he flung all his weight against the door, but it did not yield. He took up the telephone, but changed his mind. He did not want a scandal. Least of all did he wish to be advertised as Jeffrey Legge. Compromise was a blessed word – he knocked at the door.

  “Marney, come out and be sensible,” he said. “I was only joking. The whole thing was just to try you–”

  She offered no reply. There was probably a telephone in the bedroom, he thought. Would she dare call her father? He heard another door unlocked. The bedroom gave on to the corridor, and he went out, to see the big chambermaid emerging. She was alone, and no sooner was she outside the door than it was locked upon her.

  “I’ll report you to the management,” he said furiously. He could have murdered her without compunction. But his rage made no impression upon the phlegmatic Welsh woman.

  “A good character I have, look you, from all my employers. To be in the bedroom, it was my business. You shall not use bad language to me, look you, or I will have the law on you!”

  Jeffrey thought quickly. He waited in the corridor until the woman had disappeared, then he beckoned from the far end a man who was evidently the floor waiter.

  “Go down to the office and ask the manager, with my compliments, if I can have a second set of keys to my rooms,” he said suavely. “My wife wishes to have her own.”

  He slipped a bill into the man’s hand, of such magnitude that the waiter was overwhelmed.

  “Certainly, sir. I think I can arrange it,” he said.

  “And perhaps you would lend me your pass key,” said Jeff carelessly.

  “I haven’t a pass key, sir. Only the management have that,” replied the man; “but I believe I can get you what you want.”

  He came back in a few minutes to the sitting-room with many apologies. There were no duplicate sets of keys.

  Jeff closed the sitting-room door on the man and locked it. Then he went over to the bedroom door.

  “Marney!” he called, and this time she answered him. “Are you going to be sensible?”

  “I think I’m being very sensible,” was her reply.

  “Come out and talk to me.”

  “Thank you, I would rather remain here.”

  There was a pause.

  “If you go to your father, I will follow and kill him. I’ve got to shoot first, you know, Marney, after what you’ve told me.”

  There was a silence, and he knew that his words had impressed her.

  “Think it over,” he suggested. “Take your time about it.”

  “Will you promise to leave me alone?” she asked.

  “Why, sure, I’ll promise anything,” he said, and meant it. “Come out, Marney,” he wheedled. “You can’t stay there all day. You’ve got to eat.”

  “The woman will bring me my dinner,” was the instant reply, and Jeffrey cursed her softly.

  “All right, have it your own way,” he said. “But I tell you this, that if you don’t come out tonight, there will be trouble in your happy family.”

  He was satisfied, even though she did not answer him, that Marney would make no attempt to communicate with her father – that night, at least. After that night, nothing mattered.

  He got on to the telephone, but the man he sought had not arrived. A quarter of an hour later, as he was opening his second bottle of champagne, the telephone bell tinkled and Emanuel Legge’s voice answered him.

  “She’s giving me trouble,” he said in a low voice, relating what had happened.

  He heard his father’s click of annoyance and hastened to excuse his own precipitancy.

  “She had to know sooner or later.”

  “You’re a fool,” snarled the old man. “Why couldn’t you leave it?”

  “You’ve got to cover me here,” said Jeff urgently. “If she ’phones to Peter, there is going to be trouble. And Johnny–”

  “Don’t worry about Johnny,” said Emanuel Legge unpleasantly. “There will be no kick coming from him.”

  He did not offer any explanation, and Jeff was too relieved by the assurance in his father’s voice to question him on the subject.

  “Take a look at the keyhole,” said Emanuel, “and tell me if the key’s in the lock. Anyway, I’ll send you a couple of tools, and you’ll open that door in two jiffs – but you�
��ve got to wait until the middle of the night, when she’s asleep.”

  Half an hour later a small package arrived by district messenger, and Jeffrey, cutting the sealed cord, opened the little box and picked out two curiously wrought instruments. For an hour he practised on the door of the second bedroom leading from the saloon, and succeeded in turning the key from the reverse side. Toward dinner-time he heard voices in Marney’s bedroom, and, creeping to the door, listened. It was the Welsh woman, and there came to his ears the clatter of plates and cutlery, and he smiled.

  He had hardly got back to his chair and his newspaper when the telephone bell rang. It was the reception clerk.

  “There’s a lady to see you. She asked if you’d come down. She says it is very important.”

  “Who is it?” asked Jeffrey, frowning.

  “Miss Lila.”

  “Lila!” He hesitated. “Send her up, please,” he said, and drew a heavy velvet curtain across the door of Marney’s room.

  At the first sight of Peter Kane’s maid he knew that she had left Horsham in a hurry. Under the light coat she wore he saw the white collar of her uniform.

  “What’s the trouble with you, Lila?” he asked.

  “Where is Marney?” she asked.

  He nodded to the curtained room.

  “Have you locked her in?”

  “To be exact, she locked herself in,” said Jeff with a twisted smile.

  The eyes of the woman narrowed.

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” she asked harshly. “You haven’t lost much time, Jeff.”

  “Don’t get silly ideas in your nut,” he said coolly. “I told her who I was, and there was a row – that’s all there is to it. Now, what’s the trouble?”

  “Peter Kane’s left Horsham with a gun in his pocket – that’s all,” she said, and Jeffrey paled.

  “Sit down and tell me just what you mean.”

  “After you’d gone I went up to my room because I was feeling mighty bad,” she said. “I’ve got my feelings, and there isn’t a woman breathing that can see a man go away with another girl–”