The silence in the room was broken only by the gentle crackling of the fire.
Templeton took a step nearer to the slight figure in front of him. ‘Do you deny that you knew this before, Mr. Lewin?’
‘I do.’ Carlo Lewin was unabashed. ‘Towards members of the same profession I should have thought that good faith was taken for granted. If you distrust me, Sir Richard, I suggest that I retire. I shall instruct my client to let the whole matter drop.’ He turned towards the door.
‘One moment!’ The barrister put out a restraining hand, and, gripping Lewin by the shoulder, swung him round. ‘Do you imagine I intend to let it drop now? Look here, Mr. Lewin, I’m prepared to talk business. How soon can you recover these documents? How soon can you hand them over to me?’
‘That entirely depends upon you, Sir Richard.’
‘I have told you the sum is preposterous.’
Mr. Lewin shook his head. ‘I’m confident that nothing less will be accepted.’
‘Seven thousand pounds!’ Templeton repeated the words quietly. ‘I suggest you offer three. I am prepared to go to five, but that is my highest bid.’
‘I’m afraid it’s little good,’ demurred Lewin. ‘However, I’ll have the figure put up to him to-night. I’ll ring you in the morning and let you know the result. Shall I telephone you here?’
‘Yes. I return to town to-morrow evening at the earliest.’
There was a smile of satisfaction on Carlo Lewin’s face as he stepped into the waiting car and drove towards London. But if he had carefully watched the road behind him he might have seen that which would have caused him some surprise and possibly consternation. Following at a safe distance in the rear, a low powerful car was keeping his red tail-lamp within view.
At length Carlo Lewin’s limousine left the country roads and entered the lighted streets of South London. At a certain corner he descended and dismissed the car. As he made his way down a side-turning and climbed the stairs to his office, he was unaware that a figure in a dark overcoat had followed him and had taken up a position at the opposite side of the street.
Ten minutes later, seizing the moment when the road was deserted, the man crossed quickly and entered by the street-door, which was wedged in between two dismal-looking shops with drawn blinds. Carlo Lewin occupied the top floor of the building; and switching on a small pocket torch, the man who had followed him went quickly up the stairs past the doors of half a dozen other offices. Mr. Lewin’s name was on a brass plate, and the stranger knocked quietly. Nobody had seen him enter—he was confident of that; for this was Sunday night, and the offices on the other floors had been dark and deserted since noon on Saturday.
Again the stranger knocked, and at length Carlo Lewin’s door was timidly opened.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE FIGURE AT THE DESK
Before breakfast next morning Alan Gilmour was called to the telephone, and it was Inspector Tripp’s voice that greeted him.
‘Sorry to disturb you at this ungodly hour,’ said the detective. ‘I’m speaking from my office at the Yard. Can you possibly come along?’
During the last two days Alan had been back in London at the Marquise Hotel, and he could not remember having passed a more miserable week-end in his existence. It was plain to him at last that Elizabeth Marlowe desired neither his friendship nor his love. At least, there seemed to be powerful reasons why their acquaintance must terminate; and he had left Holmdean with the aimless feeling of one whose entire interest in life has been removed.
‘Come along to the Yard?’ he asked Inspector Tripp. ‘You mean right away?’
‘Can you manage it?’
Alan glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’
He drank a cup of coffee, and entering a taxi-cab, was shown up to Inspector Tripp’s room with several minutes to spare.
A short, stout man seemed to fill to overflowing the armchair beside Tripp’s desk. They were introduced; his hand-shake was like the grasp of a steel grapnel; but Alan did not catch his name.
‘So you’re back at the “Marquise,” Gilmour, in spite of my warning,’ said Tripp.
Alan laughed. ‘I’m still alive and kicking, Inspector. Have you brought me all the way from the hotel simply to make quite certain of the fact?’
Tripp motioned Alan to a chair at the other side of his desk. ‘Hardly. But our friend Lord John might not confine himself to a broad hint next time. He tried to get you out of that hotel for some reason best known to himself, and I think I’m now in a position to tell you what that reason is——’ He stopped and looked at the officer who was lolling back in his chair. ‘There’s no harm in letting him into this, Holtby? We can trust Mr. Gilmour completely.’ Chief Inspector Holtby nodded, and Tripp went on. ‘The fact is, Gilmour, our information suggests that Lord John may be rather busy at the “Marquise” within the next few days. If you remain on at this hotel it must be at your own risk. There’s no good blinking the fact that you’re a marked man. Your help in this case has been invaluable to Scotland Yard, and you can wager that nobody knows it better than Lord John himself. I’ve already begged of you to pack up and go, and I haven’t dragged you out of your morning bath simply to repeat the request. I’ve got some news for you.’ He opened a box of cigarettes and pushed it across the desk. ‘You’ve seen the Sunday newspapers—and this morning’s?’
Alan nodded. ‘Scotland Yard is getting it rather badly in the neck over the Holmdean business.’
‘You’ve seen the letter in the Tribune?’ asked Tripp. ‘It suggests that the Yard is staffed exclusively by doddering old women. The man who says he doesn’t care a damn for the Press is a fool,’ he continued. ‘The newspapers have often been our best friends. If we ask them to keep any particular thing dark they do so, and I’ve never known them break faith. But now it looks as if they were going to run “Inefficiency at the Yard” as a stunt. The trouble is we can’t reply. Our mouths are shut. We can’t tell them the facts: we can’t tell them that we’re within an ace—yes, within an ace,’ repeated Tripp quietly, ‘of arresting Lord John.’
Alan half rose from his chair in surprise, but the detective raised his hand.
‘Hold on, Gilmour! Let me explain. That dance at Holmdean on Friday night was our Black Friday in the Lord John case. He had us beaten hands down. Talk about genius! That ambulance trick was nothing else. But wait!’
Inspector Tripp pulled from a drawer several typewritten sheets of foolscap.
‘Here is a list of Mrs. Prideaux’s guests that evening. I made it out myself, and I’ve checked it up. There’s only one omission—the name of the man who got away with the loot. But undoubtedly Lord John himself was one of the invited guests, and his name is on this list.’
‘May I make a suggestion?’ asked Alan. ‘Why not get a list of previous affairs where Lord John pulled off the same kind of thing, and——’
‘And trace up the name that appears on every list?’ asked Inspector Holtby, with a smile on his ruddy face. ‘An admirable notion. Unfortunately, there are no previous affairs of this kind. And there will never be another. His serene lordship is too smart for that. But we’ve narrowed down the list about——’ He looked towards Tripp.
‘To exactly two dozen names. And that is where we come to a halt. But not for long, Gilmour. If we can lay hands on the documents that were stolen from Sir Richard Templeton I’m confident that Lord John will be in the cells within twenty-four hours. Now listen!’
Tripp pulled some typewritten sheets out of a drawer. ‘You remember that statement about ‘The Green Lantern’ you made to me here late on Wednesday night? This is a transcript of my notes. Now, Gilmour, I want you to go over the story again for Holtby’s benefit. We’re in no hurry, if you aren’t. I don’t want you to leave out a single detail. Presently, I’ll tell you the reason why.’