The Casefiles of Mr J. G. Reeder Read online

  ‘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,’ 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 –’

  ‘Cut out all the sentiment and let’s get right down to the facts,’ commanded Jeff.

  ‘I’ll tell it in my own way if you don’t mind, Jeffrey Legge,’ said Lila.

  ‘Well, get on with it,’ he said impatiently.

  ‘I wasn’t there long before I heard Peter in his room – it is under­neath mine – and he was talking to himself. I guess curiosity got the better of my worry, and I went down and listened. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and so I opened the door of his room a little bit. He had just changed. The moment I went in he was slipping the magazine in the butt of a Browning – I saw him put it in his coat pocket, and then I went downstairs. After a while he came down too, and, Jeff, I didn’t like the look of his face. It was all grey and pinched, and if ever I saw a devil in a man’s eyes I saw it in Peter Kane’s. I heard him order the car, and then I went down into the kitchen, thinking he was going at once. But he didn’t leave for about half an hour.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘He was in his own room, writing. I don’t know what he was writing, because he always uses a black blotting-pad. He must have written a lot, because I know there were half a dozen sheets of stationery in the rack, and when I went in after he’d left they had all gone. There was nothing torn up in the waste-paper basket, and he’d burnt nothing, so he must have taken all the stuff with him. I tried to get you on the phone, but you hadn’t arrived, and I decided to come up.’

  ‘How did you come up – by train or car?’

  ‘By taxi. There wasn’t a train for nearly two hours.’

  ‘You didn’t overtake Peter by any chance?’ She shook her head.

 
‘I wouldn’t. He was driving himself; his machine is a Spanz, and it moves!’

  Jeff bit his nails. ‘That gun of Peter’s worries me a little,’ he said after a while, ‘because he isn’t a gunman. Wait.’

  He took up the telephone and again called his father, and in a few words conveyed the story which Lila had brought.

  ‘You’ll have to cover me now,’ he said anxiously. ‘Peter knows.’

  A long pause. ‘Johnny must have told him. I didn’t dream he would,’ said Emanuel. ‘Keep to the hotel, and don’t go out. I’ll have a couple of boys watching both entrances, and if Peter shows his nose in Pall Mall he’s going to be hurt.’

  Jeff hung up the receiver slowly and turned to the girl. ‘Thank you, Lila. That’s all you can do for me.’

  ‘It is not all you can do for me,’ said Lila. ‘Jeff, what is going to happen now? I’ve tried to pin you down, but you’re a little too shifty for me. You told me that this was going to be one of those high-class platonic marriages which figure in the divorce courts, and, Jeff, I’m beginning to doubt.’

  ‘Then you’re a wise woman,’ said Jeffrey calmly. For a moment she did not understand the significance of the words.

  ‘I’m a wise woman?’ she repeated. ‘Jeff, you don’t mean –’

  ‘I’m entitled to my adventures,’ said Jeffrey, settling himself com­fortably in the big armchair and crossing his legs. ‘I have a dear little wife, and for the moment, Lila, our little romance is finished.’

  ‘You don’t mean that?’ she asked unsteadily. ‘Jeff, you’re kidding. You told me that all you wanted was to get a share of Peter’s money, and Emanuel told me the same. He said he was going to put the “black” on Peter and get away with forty thousand.’

  ‘In the meantime I’ve got away with the girl,’ said Jeffrey com­fortably, ‘and there’s no sense in kicking up a fuss, Lila. We’ve had a good time, and change is everything in life.’

  She was on her feet now, glaring down at him.

  ‘And have I been six months doing slavey work, nosing for you, Jeffrey Legge, to be told that our little romance is finished?’ she asked shrilly. ‘You’ve double-crossed me, you dirty thief! And if I don’t fix you, my name’s not Lila.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Jeffrey. He reached for a cigar and lit it. ‘And never was. Your name’s Jane – that is, if you haven’t been telling me lies. Now, Lila, be an intelligent human being. I’ve put aside five hundred for you –’

  ‘Real money, I hope,’ she sneered. ‘No, you’re not going to get away with it so easy, Mr Jeffrey Legge. You’ve fooled me from beginning to end, and you either carry out your promise or I’ll –’

  ‘Don’t say you’ll squeak,’ said Jeffrey, closing his eyes in mock resignation. ‘You’re all squeakers. I’m tired of you! You don’t think I’d give you anything to squeak about, do you? That I’d trust you farther than I could fling you? No, my girl, I’m four kinds of a fool, but not that kind. You know just as much about me as the police know, or as Johnny Gray knows. You can’t tell my new wife, because she knows too. And Peter knows – in fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if somebody didn’t write a story about it in the news­papers tomorrow!’

  He took out his pocket-case, opened it, and from a thick wad of notes peeled five, which he flung on to the table. ‘There’s your “monkey”, and au revoir, beauteous maiden,’ he said.

  She took up the notes slowly, folded them, and slipped them into her bag. Her eyes were burning fires, her face colourless. If she had flown at him in a fury he would have understood, and was, in fact, prepared. But she said nothing until she stood, the knob of the door in her hand.

  ‘There are three men after you, Jeffrey Legge,’ she said, ‘and one will get you. Reeder, or Johnny, or Peter – and if they fail, you look out for me!’

  And on this threat she took her departure, slamming the door behind her, and Jeffrey settled down again to his newspaper, with the feeling of satisfaction which comes to a man who has got through a very unpleasant task.

  Chapter 11

  In a long sedate road in suburban Brockley lived a man who had apparently no fixed occupation. He was tall, thin, somewhat cadav­er­ous, and he was known locally as a furtive night-bird. Few had seen him in the daytime, and the inquisitive who, by skilful cross-examination, endeavoured to discover his business from a reticent housekeeper learnt comparatively little, and that little inaccurate. Policemen on night duty, morning wayfarers, had seen him walking up Brockley Road in the early hours, coming apparently from the direction of London. He was known as Mr J. G. Reeder. Letters in that name came addressed to him – large blue letters, officially stamped and sealed, and in consequence it was understood in postal circles that he held a Government position.

  The local police force never troubled him. He was one of the subjects which it was not permissible to discuss. Until the advent of Emanuel Legge that afternoon, nobody ever remembered Mr Reeder having a caller.

  Emanuel had come from prison to the affairs of the everyday world with a clearer perception of values than his son. He was too old a criminal to be under any illusions. Sooner or later, the net of the law would close upon Jeffrey, and the immunity which he at present enjoyed would be at an end. To every graft came its inevitable lagging. Emanuel, wise in his generation, had decided upon taking the boldest step of his career. And that he did so was not flattering to the administration of justice; nor could it be regarded as a tribute to the integrity of the police.

  Emanuel had straightened many a young detective, and not a few advanced in years. He knew the art of dropping to perfection. In all his life he had only met three or four men who were superior to the well-camouflaged bribe. A hundred here and there makes things easier for the big crook; a thousand will keep him out of the lime­light; but, once the light is on him, not a million can disturb the inevitable march of justice. Emanuel was working in the pre-limelight stage, and hoped for success.

  If his many enquiries were truthfully answered, the police had not greatly changed since his young days. Secret service men were new to him. He had thought, in spite of the enormous sums allocated to that purpose in every year’s budget, that secret service was an invention of the sensational novelist and even now, he imagined Mr Reeder to be one who was subsidised from the com­paratively private resources of the banks rather than from the Treasury.

  It was Emanuel’s action to grasp the nettle firmly. ‘Infighting is not much worse than hugging,’ was a favourite saying of his, and once he had located Mr J. G. Reeder, the night-hawk – and that had been the labour of months – the rest was easy. Always providing that Mr Reeder was amenable to argument.

  The middle-aged woman who opened the door to him gave him an unpromising reception.

  ‘Mr Reeder is engaged,’ she said, ‘and he doesn’t want to see any visitors.’

  ‘Will you kindly tell him,’ said Emanuel with his most winning smile and a beam of benevolence behind his thick glasses, ‘that Mr Legge from Devonshire would like to see him on a very particular matter of business?’

  She closed the door in his face, and kept him so long waiting that he decided that even the magic of his name and its familiar assoc­iation (he guessed) had not procured him an entry. But here he was mistaken. The door was opened for him, closed and bolted behind him, and he was led up a flight of stairs to the first floor.

  The house was, to all appearance, well and comfortably furn­ished. The room into which he was ushered, if somewhat bare and official-looking, had an austerity of its own. Sitting behind a large writing-table, his back to the fireplace, was a man whom he judged to be between fifty and sixty. His face was thin, his expression sad. Almost on the end of his nose was clipped a pair of large, circular pince-nez. His hair was of that peculiar tint, red turning to grey, and his ears were large and prominent, seeming to go away from his head at right angles. All th
is Emanuel noted in a glance.

  ‘Good morning, or good afternoon, Mr Legge,’ said the man at the desk. He half rose and offered a cold and lifeless hand. ‘Sit down, will you?’ he said wearily. ‘I don’t as a rule receive visitors, but I seem to remember your name. Now where have I heard it?’

  He dropped his chin to his breast and looked over his spectacles dolefully. Emanuel’s expansive smile struck against the polished sur­face of his indifference and rebounded. He felt for the first time the waste of expansiveness.

  ‘I had a little piece of information I thought I’d bring to you, Mr Reeder,’ he said. ‘I suppose you know that I’m one of those unfort­unate people who, through the treachery of others, have suffered imprisonment?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Mr Reeder in his weak voice, his chin still bent, his pale blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other. ‘Of course, I remember. You were the man who robbed the strong-room. Of course you were. Legge, Legge? I seem to remember the name too. Haven’t you a son?’

  ‘I have a son, the best boy in the world,’ said Emanuel fervently.

  There was a telephone receiver at Mr Reeder’s right hand and throughout the interview he was polishing the black stem with the cuff of his alpaca coat, a nervous little trick which first amused and then irritated the caller.

  ‘He has never been in trouble, Mr Legge? Ah, that’s a blessing,’ he sighed. ‘So many young people get into trouble nowadays.’

  If there was one person whom Legge did not want to discuss it was his son. He got off the subject as well as he could.

  ‘I understand, Mr Reeder, that you’re doing special work for the Government – in the police department?’

  ‘Not in the police department,’ murmured the other. ‘No, no, certainly not – not in the police department. I scarcely know a policeman. I see them often in the streets, and very picturesque figures they are. Mostly young men in the vigour and prime of youth. What a wonderful thing is youth, Mr Legge! I suppose you’re very proud of your son?’