‘You mean he handles the loot from the Lord John robberies?’ exclaimed Alan.
‘In view of what you’ve just told me,’ nodded Tripp, ‘I think that’s his exact position.’
Alan gave a low whistle. ‘Then if you raid his place, you’ve got him stone cold!’
‘If we raided “The Green Lantern” to-night,’ said Tripp confidently, ‘we’d find nothing. Tom Young’s no fool. Lord John doesn’t work with fools.’
‘But can’t you go for him?’ said Alan eagerly. ‘Lewin too for that matter?’
Inspector Tripp shook his head. ‘Where’s the evidence? It’s only your testimony against theirs. They’d laugh in my face. From what you say, they’ve got the documentary evidence that was in Templeton’s safe, and that little rat Lewin is going to sell it to Lord John. To me this information is worth all the rest! Do you know, Gilmour,’ he went on with a laugh, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the best stroke of luck we’ve had up to date? For several months we’ve been trying to discover the identity of Lord John. We’ve nearly done it more than once, but the man was too clever for us. Where we have failed’—his voice dropped—‘Carlo Lewin may succeed!’
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, and took up a telephone from his desk.
‘If the Superintendent’s still in, I’ll talk this over with him now. . . . Hullo. This is Tripp,’ he announced after some delay; ‘I’ve got Mr. Alan Gilmour here. . . . Gilmour. He’s been doing his best to knock the stuffing out of us over this Lord John case. . . . Yes, I’ve taken notes of his statement.’
After a brief conversation, Tripp replaced the instrument. ‘I hope you’ll excuse me, Gilmour. The Super. wants to go into this at once. He asks me to thank you for your valuable help, also to beg you to take care of yourself. Won’t you accept good advice? There’s still time to clear out of the Marquise Hotel. Think it over!’
Alan walked across the gloomy asphalt of Scotland Yard and emerged into Whitehall. The night was pleasant, and while he strolled towards Trafalgar Square he turned over Tripp’s words. He was thankful the detective had not pressed him too closely for the reason of his first visit to ‘The Green Lantern,’ though he couldn’t help wondering how much knowledge about Elizabeth Marlowe lay behind those quiet grey eyes that had looked at him through the curling clouds of tobacco smoke.
What was Elizabeth’s true position? The letter Alan had delivered the previous night had been addressed to a man who was obviously an associate of Tom Young’s. It was incredible that she could have been in communication with the Lord John crowd; yet what other conclusion could one come to? The facts were almost brutally stark. Mental pictures of Elizabeth kept flickering before him. Hers was a Madonna-like beauty that was more than physical; it was almost impossible to believe that these white hands of hers were sullied. There must be some mistake—there must! A wave of profound misery swept over him. He was in love with her: nothing could alter that now. Had she been deceiving him, making use of him, from the start? . . . No—a thousand times no! Yet Tripp suspected her. And perhaps Tripp, after all, knew more than he did. But did Tripp know everything? The girl was desperately unhappy. That was evident. More, she was terrified. Was this the attitude of one who is deliberately scheming with others to outwit the law? Her distress was clear proof of the contrary. But from whatever angle he looked at the affair, the accusing facts were staring him in the face. When he reached the hotel he settled down dismally for a final drink before going upstairs to bed.
He realized of a sudden that he felt worn out. During the last two days all his waking thoughts had been concentrated on the Lord John problem, and his ripening friendship with Elizabeth Marlowe had scarcely simplified matters. His thoughts went back to the first evening they had spent together, and he recalled her agitation at the news of Lord John’s arrest. Was it possible that in her inmost heart Elizabeth knew the identity of the man? That evening it was almost as if she had been praying for his safety! And yet—how absurd! . . . Alan shook himself into sanity, and was finishing his drink when a figure beyond the glass doors of the foyer caught his eye. In an instant, he was on his feet.
With a manner that was deliberately careless he sauntered out of the lounge, and stepped into one of the lifts. Emerging on the second floor, he went to the corner and looked along the passage. He was in time to see a man enter one of the doors at the far end.
Downstairs he made a casual inquiry at the bureau; and two minutes later was on the telephone with Chief Inspector Tripp.
‘Gilmour speaking,’ he said quietly. ‘I just want to tell you that Mr. Carlo Lewin is in the hotel. He has gone upstairs, and is now with Sir Richard Templeton!’
CHAPTER XX
SIR RICHARD TEMPLETON’S REPLY
There were others besides Alan Gilmour who might have been interested to hear the conversation that took place in Templeton’s room.
‘Perhaps you are familiar with my name, Sir Richard,’ said Mr. Carlo Lewin as the door closed behind him.
Sir Richard Templeton looked at the card on his blotting-pad, and his eyes strayed to the clock on his desk. The hour was five minutes past ten.
Mr. Lewin noticed the direction of his glance. ‘Please forgive me,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m afraid I’m encroaching on the leisure of a very busy man.’
‘Pray be seated,’ returned the barrister. ‘From the lateness of the hour I assume your business is urgent?
‘Urgent,’ agreed Lewin—‘and confidential.’ He edged his chair a trifle nearer to the barrister’s desk. ‘And, indeed, personal!’
‘Personal?’ Sir Richard Templeton waited for his visitor to explain.
‘As you may possibly know, Sir Richard, my practice in South London often brings me into contact with rather unusual people. My police-court work is sometimes of a sordid kind, though I confess I find even petty crime fascinating. Human nature in the raw can never be entirely without interest.’ He paused for a moment and stared thoughtfully at the carpet. ‘The reason of my call is this, Sir Richard. A rather strange letter has just come into my possession, and your name is mentioned in connexion with certain documents—documents, I gather, that were recently in your possession.’
Templeton glanced quickly at his visitor, then turned away with an air of indifference.
‘However, if the matter is of no importance,’ added Lewin, ‘I apologize for troubling you.’
‘I’m afraid I must ask you to explain a little more fully, Mr. Templeton looked at the solicitor’s card—‘Mr. Lewin.’
‘There is very little to explain,’ replied the other. ‘If some documents were recently stolen from you, these are possibly the ones I refer to.’
‘Stolen?’ Templeton frowned. ‘What makes you think that any documents have been stolen from me, Mr. Lewin?’
‘The wording of the letter.’ Lewin hesitated. ‘I thought it would be a friendly act towards a member of my own profession if I put the matter before you. But perhaps I needn’t have troubled? The whole thing may be an absurd mistake.’
For the space of nearly a minute Sir Richard Templeton sat with averted eyes.
‘There is no mistake,’ he said at length. ‘Certain papers were stolen from this room a few days ago.’