Red Shadow (20 page)

There was a connecting door between these two rooms. He passed through it and stood looking about him. Here everything was neat except the bed, which was half stripped, with a crimson eider-down trailing down on to the carpet. He opened all the drawers, and found them empty. Then he stood at the window and looked out. What he saw was what Laura had seen only yesterday.

As he stood there, the most curious impression came to him—the impression that somewhere in the room behind him Laura was waiting. That this had been her room, he was sure; and he found the thought a moving one. But beyond his certainty that she had been here, and the emotion that this caused him, there was a very strange and definite sense of her presence. She was there behind him, just behind him. And there was something that he must do. Laura wanted him to do something, and he hadn't the very slightest idea what it was. The pressure became like the pressure upon a bruise. He swung round, and there was nothing but the empty room, the trailing bed-clothes, the crimson eider-down.

He went out of the room and up to the attic floor, where he found a box-room, a cistern-room, and two small bedrooms, one of which had been recently occupied. He came down again, and stood for a moment in the doorway of Laura's room.

It was while he was standing there that the telephone bell rang. It rang from somewhere on the ground floor, and as it rang continuously, he had no difficulty in tracing the sound to the study. He clapped the receiver to his ear, the ringing stopped, and a voice said, “Hullo!”

Jim said, “Hullo!” in a guarded muffled voice.

Something in the tone of that “Hullo!” seemed familiar. The voice repeated it, and suspicion became certainty. It was Stark who was ringing up, and the question now arose—to whom did Stark suppose himself to be speaking? The question answered itself immediately.

“Is that you, Mr Stevens?” said the voice of Stark.

Jim tried to remember what Stevens's voice was like. Higher pitched than his own, he thought. Anyhow he must chance it.

“What do you want?” he said.

“You know who it is, Mr Stevens?” Stark was all of a twitter.

“Yes. What is it?”

“I was to let you know if the guvnor thought of coming down again.”

“Yes.”

“Well, he's thinking about it.”

So he had put the wind up old Rimington. That was something. He said,

“When?”

There was a somewhat prolonged pause. Then Stark, all hurried and nervous.

“It's a thing I might lose my job over.”

“Well?”

“I can't afford to do that, as you know, Mr Stevens.”

So Stark was in the habit of selling information to Basil Stevens. He recognized the formula. He said,

“That will be all right.”

“Same as usual, Mr Stevens?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well then, he's coming down to-morrow—putting off an appointment to do it. That's all, Mr Stevens—and I'd like notes, not a cheque if it's all the same to you.”

Jim hung up the receiver. Master Stark wouldn't get either notes or a cheque this time, the crooked little viper.

He stood for a moment thinking about Stark. He'd have him over the coals for this. Do him good to be caught out on one of his dirty games. Pity old Stark hadn't broken a stick or two over him when he had the chance. Proud of the little worm's brains, and ambitious. Good Lord! For what? To have a son who would be ashamed because his father was a gardener! Poor old Stark!

He broke off to search the study, and found nothing. The drawers of the writing-table had been emptied. He shoved the last one in, and suddenly, standing there with one hand on the table, it came over him that this was where Laura had stood only last night. She had come in through that door and passed round this table. She had stood where he was standing now. Perhaps she had bent to the telephone, leaning upon her hand. Perhaps she had pulled the chair a little nearer and drawn the telephone close. The room all at once was full of Laura. She had a way of pushing back her hair before she picked up the receiver. He could see her leaning forward, pushing back her hair, and watching the door whilst she spoke his name and warned him—warned him.

He shook off the dream, and presently climbed out of the scullery window and over the wall. And so back to town.

CHAPTER XXV

Jim was within a hundred yards of his own entrance, when he ran into Kennedy Jackson, who was about the last person on earth he wanted to see. Kennedy Jackson immediately took hold of him, by the arm and began a long apology for his own tactlessness of the night before. His idea of making amends was to go over the whole ground again with the easy grace of a herd of hippopotamuses.

“I hadn't the slightest idea, my dear fellow—not the very slightest idea. But after leaving you I fell in with Brown, and he told me the whole thing from start to finish. I had no idea of course—positively no idea—absolutely not the slightest.” And so forth and so on, with a great deal of what Brown had said to him, and still more of what he had said to Brown. A really intolerable performance, with Jackson holding him firmly by the arm and pushing a face like a crumpet to within six inches of his.

“Look here, Jackson, I'm sorry, but I'm in a hurry.”

“I know, I know—but I really had to explain. I said to Brown, ‘Why, I wouldn't have done it for the world.' And all he'd got to say was, ‘Well, it's not the sort of thing you can explain away.' And I said, ‘Explain be damned! Of course I'm going to explain! I don't want Mackenzie to go about thinking I'm the sort of fellow who comes crashing into your private affairs without so much as a by your leave.' Well, that shook him, and I came charging round here after you, and up all those damned stairs because the lift was out of action, only to find that you weren't there. I wasn't the only fellow to draw a blank either.”

“What d'you mean?” said Jim sharply.

He stepped back a pace, and Jackson followed him up.

“Oh, that fellow Stevens,” he said with casual indifference.

Jim twisted himself free.

“What d'you mean?”

“Stevens—that fellow Stevens, you know. Met him coming down as I went up. Nasty stand-offish sort of manner he's got too—thought he was going to cut me till I got in front of him and asked him what he was playing at.”

Jim did some rapid thinking.

“When was this?”

“Oh, last night. And as I was telling you——”

“What time?”

“Well, let me see..… It would have been about ten o'clock when I met you—and then I went along and ran into Brown, and we forgathered a bit, and had some stout and oysters, and passed the time of day, and so on—and then he had to meet a party at a night club—can't remember the name; it wasn't going a year ago—so I said I'd go with him——”

“Look here, Jackson—do you know what time it was, or don't you?”

“Well, I do, because I know I couldn't get another drink at the club, and it was after that I thought I'd come along and look you up. And I walked, so it must have taken me the best part of half an hour, and what with one thing and another I should think it must have been getting on for one o'clock.”

“You came up to my flat at one in the morning—and you met Stevens? What was he doing?”

“Well, he came out of your flat.”

“
What?
”

“He came out of your flat and said you weren't there, so we walked down the street together, and then I buzzed along home.”

“
Basil Stevens came out of my flat?
”

Jackson's round light eyes became rounder.

“The fellow's name isn't Basil.”

“What is it?”

“Alec,” said Jackson. “Basil's another sort of bird altogether. Basil's an engineer—and—oh, Lord—yes, of course—it was Basil Stevens who butted in and did the dirty on you with Miss Cameron! Sorry, old fellow—I wasn't going to mention it, but it just cropped up! The fellow who came out of your flat wasn't Basil—it was Alec.”

“And who is Alec?” said Jim rather grimly.

“Well, I believe he's some sort of cousin of Basil's.”

“And he was coming out of my flat at one in the morning?”

“Well, I won't swear to the time, because now I come to think of it, I went home with Brown, or Brown came home with me. Funny thing, you know, but I can't remember which of us went home with the other—but as a matter of fact we did ourselves pretty well, and then I went home with Brown, or Brown went home with me, and we had one or two more—and after that it seemed quite a good idea to blow in on you, so I did—but it may have been later than one—in fact, now I come to think of it, I should say it might have been as much as two, or even three.”

“Look here, Jackson—will you swear you saw Stevens?”

“Of course I saw Stevens! I may have been doing myself a bit well, but I wasn't blind. And I didn't see Basil Stevens—I saw Alec.”

“And he let himself out of my flat?”

“And put the key in his pocket and came to the end of the street with me.”

When he had got rid of Kennedy Jackson, Jim walked upstairs to his flat, the lift being still out of action.

Alec Stevens, who was a cousin of Basil Stevens, had come into his flat last night and lifted the torn piece of Bertram Hallingdon's bank-note. He had probably used the key which Mrs Mabb had lost a couple of days before. Well, what did one do? Send for the police? He didn't think so—no, he didn't think so. Laura had told him to put the note in a safe place, and he hadn't taken her warning. How did Laura come to know anything about the torn note? It looked to him as if she might have another of the pieces, in which case the Stevens family were obviously out for a full hand.

The piece that had come to him from Bertram Hallingdon was an irregular bit torn from the left-hand corner diagonally downwards across the note. It was about three inches wide at the lower edge. From the general size and shape of his bit he thought it likely that the note had been torn into three pieces. Of course there might be more pieces. He could only guess, but he guessed that there were three.

Well, what to do next? Find Stevens—this new Stevens—Alec. Find Laura. To find Stevens was probably the best way to find Laura. Rimington had said they were going abroad—taking Laura abroad. That made the whole thing much more difficult—and of course it was just what the Stevenses would do if they were on the doubtful side of the English law. You've got to have a damned good case for extradition—everything cut and dried. Well, at any rate he could find out whether Laura had been taken abroad. The passport nuisance had its points after all.

He rang up Peter Severn. Then he looked at his watch. Master Stark would be coming out of office in about half an hour, and he thought of having a word with him. Peter would deliver the goods all right, but it would take a little time. Meanwhile, Jim had an idea that a straight talk with Stark was what the situation called for.

Stark was anything but pleased to see him. He was smiling as he came round the corner, and the smile came off when he saw Jim Mackenzie waiting for him. He had the sensation, the very unpleasant sensation, of having missed a rather deep step. The soles of his feet tingled, and his eyelids twitched.

“Glad to see me, Stark?”

“Oh, Mr Mackenzie!”

“Of course you are—damned glad—you look it.”

“Oh, Mr Mackenzie!”

“I want to talk to you.” Jim's voice was rough. “Don't say ‘Oh, Mr Mackenzie!' again, because I'm on the edge of losing my temper now, and if I go over the edge you won't like it. I'd better come along to your rooms—we can't talk in the street.”

Stark turned a sort of yellowish pink. He stood still and fidgeted with his umbrella.

“I don't think that would be at all suitable, Mr Mackenzie.”

Whatever it was that he kept in the place of a conscience had run up a danger signal.

“Oh, you don't? And why not?”

“It wouldn't be at all suitable, Mr Mackenzie.”

After all, whatever he had found out, Mr Jim couldn't very well assault him in the street. He looked up and met an intimidating frown.

“You can come to my flat if you like,” said Jim.

Stark didn't like at all, and opened his mouth to say so, but before he could get an objection into words Mr Jim was speaking again.

“That's not suitable either, I suppose! Now look here, Stark—you're for it, and you'd better get it over. If you don't talk to me to-night, you'll find yourself talking to Mr Rimington to-morrow. I suppose with twelve hours notice you'll be able to think up some sort of reason for giving office secrets away to Mr Stevens, but I very much doubt whether it will be satisfying to Mr Rimington. So I think on the whole you'd better have a talk with me.”

Stark felt himself going at the knees.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mr Mackenzie,” he said. But he got into the taxi which Jim hailed, and sat biting his lips and looking nervously at his own feet until they arrived at the flat.

Jim left a heavy silence to do its work. Not one word did he say until his sitting-room door had shut upon them. Then he leaned against it with his hands in his pockets and looked Stark up and down.

“Well, you crooked little cur?” he said.

Stark had backed against the table. He held his umbrella as if he might have to use it to defend himself. Jim caught his nervous glance at the telephone.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mr Mackenzie.”

“No—of course you don't! Look here, Stark, you can cut all that out! I'm not guessing this time—I've got you cold. You can either come across and make a clean breast of the whole thing, or I'll thrash you first and smash you afterwards.”

The umbrella fell with a clatter.

“Mr Mackenzie——”