Читать книгу When the Gangs Came to London - Edgar Wallace - Страница 4

Table of Contents

The girl who walked up the two steps of 147 Berkeley Square and rang the bell with such assurance and decision was difficult to place. She was straight of back, so well proportioned that one did not notice how much taller she was than the average. She was at that stage of development when, if you looked to find a woman, you discovered a child or, if prepared for a child, found a woman.

You saw and admired her shape, yet were conscious of no part of it: there was a harmony here not usually found in the attractive. Her feet were small, her hands delicately made, her head finely poised. Her face had an arresting quality which was not beauty in its hackneyed sense. Grey eyes, rather tired- looking; red mouth, larger than perfect. Behind the eyes, a hint of a mind outside the ordinary.

The door opened and a footman looked at her inquiringly, yet his manner was faintly deferential, for she might just as easily have been a duchess as one of the many girls who had called that day in answer to Mr. Decadon's advertisement.

'Is it about the position, miss?' he dared to ask.

'About the advertisement, yes.'

The footman looked dubious. 'There have been a lot of young ladies here today.'

'The situation is filled, then?'

'Oh no, miss,' he said hastily. It was a dreadful thought that he should take such a responsibility. 'Will you come in?'

She was ushered into a large, cold room, rather like the waiting-room of a Harley Street doctor. The footman came back after five minutes and opened the door.

'Will you come this way, miss?'

She was shown into a library which was something more than an honorary title for a smoke-room, for the walls were lined with books, and one table was completely covered by new volumes still in their dust jackets. The gaunt old man behind the big writing-table looked up over his glasses.

'Sit down,' he said. 'What's your name?'

'Leslie Ranger.'

'The daughter of a retired Indian colonel or something equally aristocratic?' He snapped the inquiry.

'The daughter of a clerk who worked himself to death to support his wife and child decently,' she answered, and saw a gleam in the old man's eye.

'You left your last employment because the hours were too long?' He scowled at her.

'I left my last employment because the manager made love to me, and he was the last man in the world I wanted to be made love to by.'

'Splendid,' he said sarcastically. 'You write shorthand at an incredible speed, and your typing has been approved by Chambers of Commerce. There's a typewriter.' He pointed a skinny forefinger. 'Sit down there and type at my dictation. You'll find paper on the table. You needn't be frightened of me.'

'I'm not frightened of you.'

'And you needn't be nervous,' he boomed angrily.

'I'm not even nervous,' she smiled.

She fitted the paper into the machine, turned the platen and waited. He began to dictate with extraordinary rapidity, and the keys rattled under her fingers.

'You're going too fast for me,' she said at last.

'Of course I am. All right; come back here.' He pointed dictatorially to the chair on the other side of the desk, 'What salary do you require?'

'Five pounds a week,' she said.

'I've never paid anybody more than three: I'll pay you four,'

She got up and gathered her bag. 'I'm sorry--'

'Four ten,' he said. 'All right, five. How many modern languages do you speak?'

'I speak French and I can read German she said, 'but I'm not a linguist.'

He pouted his long lips, and looked even more repulsive than ever.

'Five pounds is a lot of money,' he said.

'French and German are a lot of languages,' said Leslie.

'Is there anything you want to know?' She shook her head. 'Nothing about the conditions of service?'

'No. I take it that I'm not resident?'

'You don't want to know what the hours are--no? You disappoint me. If you had asked me what the hours were I should have told you to go to the devil! As it is, you're engaged. Here's your office.'

He got up, walked to the end of the big room and opened a recessed door. There was a small apartment here, very comfortably furnished, with a large walnut writing-desk and, by its side, a typing desk. In the angle of two walls was a big safe.

'You'll start tomorrow morning at ten. Your job is not to allow any person to get through to me on the telephone, not to bother me with silly questions, to post letters promptly, and to tell my nephew none of my business.'

He waved his hand to the door.

She went, walking on air, had turned the handle and was half-way into the hall when he shouted for her to come back. 'Have you got a young man--engaged, or anything?'

She shook her head. 'Is it necessary?'

'Most unnecessary,' he said emphatically.

In this way Fate brought Leslie Ranger into a circle which was to have vast influence on her own life, bring her to the very verge of hideous death, and satisfy all the unformed desires of her heart.

The next morning she was to meet Edwin Tanner, the nephew against whom Mr. Decadon had warned her. He was a singularly inoffensive, indeed very pleasant person. He was thirty-five, with a broad forehead, pleasant, clean- shaven face and very easily smiling eyes that were usually hidden by his glasses.

He came into her room with a broad beam soon after her arrival.

'I've got to introduce myself, Miss Ranger. I'm Mr. Decadon's nephew.'

She was a little surprised that he spoke with an American accent, and apparently he was prepared for this.

'I'm an American. My mother was Mr. Decadon's sister. I suppose he's warned you not to give me any information about his affairs? He always does that, but as there's no information which isn't everybody's property, you needn't take that very seriously. I don't suppose you'll want me, but if you do my house phone number is six. I have a little suite on the top floor, and it will be part of your duty to collect every Saturday morning the rent my uncle charges for the use of his beautiful home--he's no philanthropist, but there's a lot about him that's very likeable.'

So Leslie was to discover in the course of the next few months.

Decadon very rarely mentioned his nephew. Only once had she seen them together. She often wondered why Tanner lived in the house at all. He was obviously a man with some private income of his own, and could have afforded a suite in a good London hotel.

Decadon expressed the wonder himself, but his innate frugality prevented his getting rid of a man for whom he had no very deep affection. He was suspicious of Edwin Tanner, who apparently visited England once every year and invariably lived with his uncle.

'Only relation I've got in the world,' growled old Decadon one day. 'If he had any sense he'd keep away from me!'

'He seems very inoffensive,' said the girl.

'How can he be inoffensive when he offends me?' snapped the old man.

He liked her, had liked her from the first. Edwin Tanner neither liked nor disliked her: he gave her the impression of a picture painted by a man who had no imagination. His personality did not live. He was invariably pleasant, but there was something about him that she could not reduce to a formula. Old Decadon once referred to him as a gambler, but explained the term at no length. It was strange that he should employ that term, for he himself was a gambler, had built his fortune on speculations which had, when they were made, the appearance of being hazardous.

It was a strange household, unreal, a little inhuman. Leslie never ceased to be thankful that she lived away from the house, and in comfort, as it happened, for most unexpectedly Mr. Decadon doubled her salary the second week of her service. She had some odd experiences. Decadon had a trick of losing things--valuable books, important leases. And when he lost things he sent for the police; and invariably before the police arrived they were found. This alarming eccentricity of his was unknown to the girl. The first time it happened she was genuinely terrified. A rare manuscript was missing. It was worth £2,000. Mr. Decadon rang up Scotland Yard while the girl searched frantically. There arrived a very young and good-looking chief inspector whose name was Terry Weston--the manuscript was found in the big safe in Leslie's room before he arrived.

'Really, Mr. Decadon,' said Terry gently, 'this little habit of yours is costing the public quite a lot of money.'

'What are the police for?' demanded the old man.

'Not,' said Terry, 'to run around looking for things you've left in your other suit.'

Decadon snorted and went up to his room, where he sulked for the rest of the day. 'You're new to this, aren't you?'

'Yes, Mr...'

'Chief Inspector Weston--Terry Weston, I won't ask you to call me Terry.'

She did not smile readily, but she smiled now. There was an air of gaiety about him which she had never associated with the police.

For his part he found a quality in her which was very rare in women. If she had told him that she was Mr. Decadon's granddaughter he would not have been surprised. Curiously enough, her undoubted loveliness did not strike him at first. It was later that this haunting characteristic brought him unease.

He met her again. She lunched at a restaurant off Bond Street, He came there one day and sat with her. It was not an accidental meeting as far as he was concerned. No accident was more laboriously designed. Once he met her when she was on her way home. But he never asked her to go out with him, or gave her the impression that he wished to know more of her. If he had, he might not have seen her at all, and he knew this.

'Why do you work for that old grump?' he asked her once.

'He's not really a grump,' she defended her employer a little half- heartedly--it was the end of a trying day.

'Is Eddie Tanner a grump?'

She shot a swift look at him. 'You mustn't cross-examine me.'

'Was I? I'm sorry. You get that way in my job. I'm not really interested.' Nor was he--then.

Leslie had little to do: a few letters to write, a few books to read and references to examine. The old man was a great lover of books and spent most of his time reading.

The second unusual incident that occurred in that household took place when she had been there about four months. She had been out to register some letters, and was going up the steps to the house, when a man she had noticed as she passed called her. He was a little man with a large, grotesque bowler hat. His collar was turned up to his chin--it was raining, so there was an excuse for that--and when he spoke it was with a distinctly American accent.

'Say, missie, will you give this to Ed?'

He jerked a letter out of his pocket.

'To Mr. Tanner?'

'Ed Tanner,' nodded the man. 'Tell him it's from the Big Boy.'

She smiled at this odd description, but when she went up in the little elevator to the top floor where Edwin Tanner had his suite, and gave it to him, he neither smiled nor displayed any emotion.

'The Big Boy, eh?' he said thoughtfully. 'Who gave it to you--a little man, about so high?'

He seemed particularly anxious to have a description of the messenger. Then she remembered the extraordinary hat he wore, and described it.

'Is that so?' said Mr. Tanner thoughtfully. 'Thank you very much, Miss Ranger.'

He was always polite to her; never invited her into his suite, was scrupulously careful never to earn the least rebuff.

Events were moving rather rapidly to a climax, but there was no indication of this. When it came with dramatic suddenness, Leslie was to think that the world had gone mad, and she was not to be alone in that view.

* * * * *

'There are two supreme and dominating factors in life: the first is the love of women, and the second the fear of death--get that?'

Captain Jiggs Allerman, of the Chicago Detective Bureau, sat back in his chair and sent a ring of cigarette smoke whirling upward to the ceiling. He was tall and spare. His face was almost as brown as an Indian's from his native Nevada.

Terry Western grinned: Jiggs was a joy to him.

'You're a chief inspector or sump'n',' Jiggs went on. 'Maybe they're takin' children for chief inspectors nowadays. First time I saw you I said to meself, "Gee, that's a kid for a detective," and when they told me you were chief inspector I just thought Scotland Yard had gone plumb crazy. How old are you now, Terry?'

'Thirty-five.'

Jiggs' nose concertina'd. 'That's a lie! If you're more'n twenty-three I don't know anything.'

Terry chuckled. 'Every year you come to Scotland Yard you pull that crack and it isn't even getting stale. You were telling me about the dominating factors of life.'

'Sure--women and death.' Jiggs nodded violently. The first have been a racket for years, but up to now only doctors an' funeral parlours have exploited the second. But that racket's on the jig, Terry--I'm tellin' you!'

'I'd hate to believe it,' said Terry Weston, 'and I'll be interested to know just why you say that.'

Jiggs shifted his lank form into a more comfortable position.

'I've got nothing to go on: it's just instinct,' he said. The only thing I can tell you is that rackets are profitable. They're easy money. In the United States of America, my dear native land, umpteen billions a year are spent by the citizens for protection. What's a good racket in the United States must be a good racket in England, or in France. Germany--anywhere you like.'

Terry Weston shook his head. 'I don't know how to put it to you...' he began.

'Fire away, if you have anything to say about law enforcement.'

'I was thinking of prohibition for the moment,' said Terry.

Jiggs sniffed. 'Bit tough that we can't enforce prohibition, ain't it? I suppose it couldn't happen in this country--that there'd be a law that the police couldn't enforce?'

'I don't think it's possible,' said Terry, and Jiggs Allerman laughed silently. 'Ever heard of the Street Betting Act?' Terry winced. 'There's a law, isn't there? Maybe it's not called that, but it's against the law to bet on the streets, and if a fellow's pinched he's fined and maybe goes to prison. And a thousand million dollars changes hands every year--on the streets. And when you're talking about prohibition, turn your brilliant intellect in that direction, will you? No, Terry, where human nature is human nature, the thing that goes for one goes for all. I can tell you, they've been prospecting in England, some of the big boys in Chicago and New York, and when those guys get busy they go in with both feet. Your little crooks think in tenners, your big men think in thousands and don't often get at 'em. But the crowd I've been dealing with work to eight figures in dollars. Last year they opened a new territory and spent two million dollars seeding it down. No crops came up, so they sold the farm--I'm speaking metaphorically. I mean they cut their losses. That makes you stare. And here's London, England. They could take out a hundred million dollars every year and you'd hardly know they were gone.'

It was Jiggs Allerman's favourite argument. He had used it before, and Terry had combated it glibly.

He went out to lunch with his visitor, and a lunch with Jiggs Allerman was an additional stripe to his education.

It was in the Ritz Grill that he saw Elijah Decadon and pointed him out.

'That's the meanest millionaire in the world.'

'I could match him,' said Jiggs. 'Who's the dark fellow with him? He seems kind of familiar to me--'

'That's his nephew. You might know him; he lived in Chicago. Not on the records by any chance?' he asked sarcastically.

Jiggs shook his head. 'No, sir. None of the best crooks are. That surprises you, that the big fellers behind the rackets have never seen the inside of a police station? I've got him! Tanner--that's his name, Ed Tanner, playboy, and a regular fellow.'

'Does that mean he's good or bad?'

'It means he's just what he is,' said Jiggs. 'I often wondered where he got his money. His uncle's a millionaire, eh?'

'He didn't get it from him,' said Terry grimly. Jiggs shook his head. 'You never know.'

Mr. Decadon, that severe old man, sat bolt upright in his chair, his frugal lunch before him, his eyes fixed malignantly upon his sister's son. Elijah Decadon was an unusually tall man, powerfully built and, for his age, remarkably well preserved. His straight, ugly mouth, his big, powerful nose, his shaggy grey eyebrows, were familiar to every London restaurateur. The sixpence he left behind for the waiter was as much a part of him as his inevitable dispute over the bill. The bill was not bothering him now.

'You understand, Mr. Edwin Tanner, that the money I have I keep. I want none of your wildcat American schemes for making quick money.'

'There's no reason why you should go in for it. Uncle Elijah,' said the other good-humouredly, 'but I had private advice about this oil-field, and it looks to be good to me. It doesn't benefit me a penny whether you go in or whether you stay out. I thought you were a gambler.'

'I'm not your kind of gambler,' growled Elijah Decadon. The two men sitting at the other side of the room saw him leave, and thought there had been a quarrel.

'I wonder what those two guys had to talk about. No, I don't know Decadon- -I know Ed. He's the biggest psychologist in the United States, believe me, and...Suffering snakes! Here's the Big Boy himself!'

A man had come into the dining-room. He was very thin, of middle height, and perfectly tailored in a large-pattern grey check. His hair was close- cropped; his long, emaciated face, seamed and lined from eye to jaw, was not pleasant to look upon, and the two scars that ran diagonally down the left side of his face did not add to his attractiveness.

Jiggs whistled. He was sitting bolt upright, his eyes bright and eager. 'The Big Boy himself! Now what in hell...'

'Who is he?' asked Terry.

'You ought to know him. He'll be over here in a minute.'

'He didn't see you...' began Terry.

'I was the first man in the room he saw, believe me! That guy sees all the pins on the floor. Never heard of him? Kerky Smith--or Albuquerque Smith-- or Alfred J. Smith, just according to whether you know him or read about him.'

Kerky Smith strolled aimlessly along the room and suddenly, with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows, caught Tanner's eye. Ed Tanner was smiling.'

'Lo, Kerky,' he said. 'When did you get in? Well, who'd have expected to see you?' He held out his hand. Kerky shook it limply, 'Will you sit down?'

'Staying long?' asked Kerky, ignoring the invitation.

'I come over here every two years. My uncle lives here.'

'Is that so?' Kerky Smith's voice was almost sympathetic. 'Left Chicago in a hurry, didn't you, Ed?'

'Not so,' said the other coolly.

Kerky was leaning on the table, looking down at Tanner. On his thin lips was a peculiarly knowing smile. 'Heard you were in the bread line. Caught in the market for two million, someone told me. Staying long?'

Ed leaned back in his chair. He was chewing a toothpick. 'Just about as long as I darn well please,' he said pleasantly. 'Jiggs is having an eyeful.'

Kerky Smith nodded. 'Yeah. I seen him--damn rat! Who's he talking to?'

'A Scotland Yard man.'

Kerky Smith drew himself up and laid his long, slim paw on Ed's shoulder. 'You're going to be a good boy, ain't you--stand in or get out. You'll want a lot of money for this racket, Ed--more money than you've got, boy.' A friendly pat, and he was strolling over to where Allerman sat. 'Why, Jiggs!'

He hastened forward, his face beaming. Jiggs Allerman kicked out a chair.

'Sit down, you yellow thief,' he said calmly. 'What are you doing in London? The British Government issue visas pretty carelessly, I guess.'

Kerky smiled. He had a beautiful set of teeth, many of which were gold- plated. 'Wouldn't you say a thing like that! You might introduce me to your friend.'

'He knows all about you. Meet Chief Inspector Terry Weston. If you stay long enough he'll know you by your; finger-prints. What's the racket, Kerky?'

Kerky shrugged his thin shoulders. 'Listen, chief, would I be here on a racket? This is my vacation, and I'm just over looking around for likely propositions. I've been bearing the market, and how! I make my money that way. I'm not like you Chicago coppers--taking a cut from the racketeer and pretending you're chasing him.'

Into Jiggs Allerman's eye came a look that was half stone and half fire. 'Some day I'll be grilling you, big boy, up at police headquarters, and I'll remember what you say.'

Kerky Smith flashed a golden smile. 'Listen, chief, you take me all wrong. Can't you stand a joke! I'm all for law and order. Why, I saved your life once. Some of them North Side hoodlums was going to give you the works, and I got in touch with a pal who stopped it.'

He had a trick of dropping his hand casually on shoulders, He did so now as he rose. 'You don't know your best friend, kid.'

'My best friend is a forty-five,' said Jiggs with suppressed malignity, 'and the day he puts you on the slab I'm going to put diamonds all round his muzzle.'

Kerky laughed. 'Ain't you the boy!' he said, and strolled off with a cheerful wave of his hand.

Jiggs watched him sit down at a table, where he was joined by a very pretty blonde girl.

'That's the kind you don't know in England--killers without mercy, without pity, without anything human to 'em! And never had a conviction, Terry. He's always been in Michigan when something happened in Illinois, or floatin' around Indiana when there was a killing in Brooklyn. You don't know the cold- bloodedness of 'em--I hope you never will. Hear him talking about saving my life? I'll tell you sump'n'. Four of his guns have made four different attempts to get me. One of his aides, Dago Pete, followed me two thousand miles and missed me by that.' He snapped his fingers. 'Got him? Of course I got him! He was eight days dying, and every day was a Fourth of July to me.'

Terry was hardened, but he shivered at the brutality of it; and yet he realised that only Jiggs and his kind knew just what they were up against. 'Thank the Lord we haven't got that type here...' he began.

'Wait,' said Jiggs ominously.

Terry had hardly got to his office the next morning, when the Assistant Commissioner phoned through to him. 'Go down to Berkeley Square and see old Decadon,' he said.

'What's he lost, sir?' asked Terry, almost offensively

'It isn't a loss, it's a much bigger thing...the girl phoned through, and she asked whether you would go.'

Terry drove to Berkeley Square; Leslie must have been watching for him, for she opened the door herself. 'Lost something?' he asked.

'No, it's something rather serious, or else it's a very bad joke. It's a letter he received this morning. He's upstairs in his room, and he asked me to tell you all about it. As a matter of fact I can tell you as much as he can.'

She led the way into her own little office, unlocked a drawer, and took out a printed blank on which certain words had been inserted in handwriting. Terry took it and read.

'MUTUAL PROTECTION

'These are dangerous days for folks with property and money, and they need protection. The Citizens' Welfare Society offers this to Mr....'

Here the name of Elijah Decadon was filled in in ink.

'They undertake to protect his life and his property, to prevent any illegal interference with his liberty, and they demand in return the sum of £50,000. If Mr....'

Again the name of Elijah Decadon was filled in in ink.

'Will agree, he will put an announcement in The Times of Wednesday the letters 'WJS.' and the word 'Agree.' followed by the initials of the person advertising.'

Here followed in heavy black type this announcement

'If you do not comply with our request within thirty days, or if you call in the police, or consult them, directly or indirectly, you will be killed.'

There was no signature printed or otherwise.

Terry read it again until he had memorised it, then he folded it and put it in his pocket.

'Have you the envelope in which this came?'

She had this. The address was typewritten; the type was new; the postmark was E.C.1; the envelope itself was of an ordinary commercial type. Leslie was looking at him anxiously.

'Is it a joke?' she asked.

'I don't know.' Terry was doubtful. 'It came by the early morning post. Does anybody else know about this being received? Mr. Eddie Tanner, for example- -does he know anything about it?'

'Nobody except Mr. Decadon and myself,' said the girl. 'Mr. Decadon is terribly upset. What had we better do, Mr. Weston?'

'You can call me Terry, unless you feel very bad about it. Of course, no money will be sent, and you did the right thing when you sent for the police.'

She shook her head. 'I'm not so sure about that,' she said, to his surprise. 'I'm willing to confess that I tried to persuade Mr. Decadon not to phone you.'

'That's not like a law-abiding citizen,' he smiled. 'No, you did the right thing. It's probably a bluff, and anyway we'll see that no harm comes to Elijah Decadon. I'd better have a talk with him.'

He went upstairs, and after considerable delay Decadon unlocked the door of his bedroom and admitted him. The old man was more than perturbed, he was in a state of panic. Terry telephoned to Scotland Yard, and three officers were detailed to guard the premises.

'I've asked Mr. Decadon not to go out, but if he does, the two men on duty in the front of the house are not to let him out of their sight.'

He put through a second call to Jiggs Allerman's hotel, asking the American to meet him at Scotland Yard. When he got to headquarters Jiggs had already found the most comfortable chair in the room.

'Here's something for your big brain to work on,' said Terry.

He handed the printed letter to the visitor. Jiggs read it, his brows knit. 'When did this come?'

'This morning,' said Terry. 'Now what is it? Something serious or a little joke?'

Jiggs shook his head. 'No, sir, that's no joke. That's the pay-and-live racket. It's' been worked before, and it's been pretty successful. So that's the game!'

'Do you think there's any real danger to Decadon?'

'Yes, sir.' Jiggs Allerman was emphatic. 'And I'll tell you why. This racket doesn't really start working till somebody's killed. You've got to have a couple of dead people to prove you mean business. Maybe a lot of others have had this notification, and they'll be coming in all day, but it's just as likely that only one has been sent out and Decadon is the bad example.' He took the paper again, held it up to the light, but found no watermark. 'I've never seen it done this way before--a printed blank--but it's got its reason. Anyway, it's an intimation to everybody that these birds mean business.'

Terry got an interview with the Commissioner and took Jiggs along with him. The Chief was interested but rather sceptical. 'We don't expect this sort of thing to happen in our country, Captain Allerman,' he said.

'Why shouldn't it?' demanded Jiggs. 'Say, Commissioner, get this idea out of your head about England being a little country surrounded by water, and that it's difficult for people to leave once they're known. This isn't an ordinary felony. When the shooting starts it'll start good and plenty, and all the theories about this sort of thing not being done in England--will go sky- ways!'

Usually Leslie left about five o'clock in the afternoon. Decadon had been very nervous and morose all the afternoon, and she was so sorry for him that, when he suggested she might stay late, she readily agreed. She had plenty of work to do. Ed Tanner saw her coming back from her tea and was surprised.

'Why, what's keeping you so late tonight. Miss Ranger? Is the old gentleman busy?'

She made some explanation, which did not seem convincing even to herself.

Tanner had not been told; the old man had been very insistent about this.

At about seven o'clock that evening she heard Tanner's voice in the library, and she wondered whether Mr. Decadon had told him. They were talking for quite a long time. After a while she heard the squeak of the elevator as it went up to Eddie Tanner's suite. A little later the bell rang, and she went into the library.

The old man was writing rapidly. He always used sheets of foolscap, and wrote in a very neat and legible hand for one so old. He had half covered the sheet when she came in.

'Get Danes,' he said, naming one of his footmen. 'Ring for him, my girl,' he went on impatiently. 'Ring for him!' She pressed the bell and Danes came in. 'Put your name, your occupation, and your address here, Danes.'

He pointed to the bottom of the paper, and Danes signed. 'You know what you're signing, you fool, don't you? You're witnessing my signature, and you haven't seen my signature,' stormed the irritable old gentleman. 'Watch this. Miss What's-your-name.'

He invariably addressed Leslie by this strange title, for he could not remember names.

He took up a pen and signed it with a flourish, and Danes obediently put his name, address and occupation by the side of the signature. 'That will do, Danes.'

The man was going, when Leslie said quietly: 'If this is a will I think you will find that both signatures must be attested together and in the presence of one another.'

He glared at her. 'How do you know it's a will?' he demanded, He had covered the writing over with one big hand.

'I'm guessing it's a will,' she smiled. 'I can't imagine any other kind of document...'

'That will do--don't talk about it,' he grumbled. 'Sign here.' He watched her as she wrote. '"Ranger"--that's it,' he muttered. 'Never can remember it. Thank you.'

He blotted the sheet, dismissed the footman with a wave of his hand and thrust the document into a drawer of his desk.

Presently he frowned at her. 'I've left you a thousand pounds,' he said, and she laughed. 'What the devil are you laughing at?'

'I'm laughing because I shan't get the thousand pounds. The fact that I've witnessed your will invalidates the bequest.'

He blinked at her, 'I hate people who know so much about the law,' he complained.

After Leslie was dismissed he rang the bell himself, had Danes up again and the cook, and procured a new witness. She did not know this till afterwards. At half-past eight she was tidying up her desk when she heard a faint click, and looked up. It seemed to be in the room. She heard the click again, and this time she heard the sound of the old man's voice, raised in anger. He was expostulating with somebody. She could not hear who it was.

And then she heard a piercing cry of fear, and two shots fired in rapid succession. For a moment she stood paralysed, then she ran to the door which led to the library and tried to open it. It was locked. She ran to the passage door; that was locked too. She flew to the wall, pressed the bell, heard a running of feet, and Danes hammered on the door. 'What is it, miss?'

'The door's locked. The key's on the outside,' she cried. In another second it turned.

'Go into the library and see what's happened.' Danes and the second footman ran along, and returned with the report that the library door was locked and that the key was missing.

It was an eccentricity of Mr. Decadon that he kept keys in all locks, usually on the outside of doors. With trembling hands she took that which had opened her own door and, kneeling down, looked through the keyhole into the library. Carefully she thrust in her own key and pushed. That which was on the inside of the door had by chance been left so that the thrust pushed it out. As it dropped on the floor she unlocked the door with a heart that was quaking and ran into the room. She took three paces and stopped. Old Elijah Decadon lay across the desk in a pool of blood, and she knew before she touched him that he was dead.