Till the Clock Stops

by J. J. Bell

  CHAPTER XIV

  The unspeakable Marvel reached London shortly after seven p.m.,--nearlyan hour late. A sleet storm had descended on the Metropolis. He took afour-wheeler to the City. It crawled, but he was glad of the time torehearse once more the part he had decided to play, during the latterhours of the railway journey. Here was a desperate idea inspired by adesperate situation. A hundred other ideas had offered themselves only tobe rejected. He shivered with more than cold, fingered the flask in hispocket, but refrained from seeking its perfidious comfort. There must beno slackening wits in view of what was coming.

  At last the cab stopped at his destination. With stiffened limbs heascended the weary flights of stairs, paused on the fourth landing toblow into his hands and flap his arms. Then, after a glance round, heturned into the corridor on the left. The door of the Aasvogel Syndicateoffices was still unlocked, by arrangement. He opened it quietly, steppedin, and as quietly closed it, turning the key. With a fairly firm andconfident step he advanced to the lighted room at the end of the passage.His old foolish, ingratiating smile was on his face when he entered.

  Bullard swung round from his desk.

  "Hullo!" he cried genially. "Got back! Beastly weather, isn't it? Justreturned from Paris an hour ago. Sit down and warm yourself."

  "Thanks, Mr. Bullard." Marvel took a chair at the fire and proceeded tochafe his hands. "Paris, did you say? Coldish there, I suppose?"

  "Felt like snow this morning. By the way, I didn't get your note till myarrival here to-night."

  Marvel began to feel that things were shaping nicely. "I sent it as soonas I could, Mr. Bullard. Awful weather up there last night--somethingghastly. Wouldn't take on the job again for ten, times the money."

  "Well, it's over, and I take it that you were quite successful."

  "Oh, that part of it was easy, Mr. Bullard."

  "Good!" With that Mr. Bullard's geniality vanished. "I say, where's theGreen Box?"

  Mr. Marvel grinned pleasantly. "Always in such a hurry, Mr. Bullard! Butdon't be alarmed; the Green Box is all right--very much all right."

  "Look here, Marvel. I'm not in the humour for any humbug. I want thatbox--now!"

  "And I want that four hundred pounds before I produce the box--"

  "Well, the money's ready."

  "--and another five hundred when you touch the box--"

  "You impudent swine!" cried Bullard viciously. "So that's your game!"

  "Well, Mr. Bullard, when I came to think it over in that ghastlyblizzard, I saw you had inadvertently underestimated the value of myservices, and considering that I had already parted with those valuablepapers of mine for one--"

  "Oh, shut it, man! Do you take me for a fool?"

  "On the contrary, Mr. Bullard! You want that box badly, and an extra fivehundred is neither here nor there to you."

  Bullard's expression was so ugly then that the pretender wavered. "Whereis the Green Box? Answer!"

  "Give me the four hundred, and I'll take you to it."

  "Take me to it? I think not!"

  "Oh, Mr. Bullard, surely you don't distrust me."

  Bullard appeared to reflect, and said harshly: "One more chance. Bringthe box here at ten to-morrow morning, and I'll give you two hundredextra, you dirty little thief!"

  "Five hundred, Mr. Bullard," said Marvel gently. He could havehugged himself.

  Again Bullard appeared to be lost in thought, his fingers toyed with thenugget on his chain. At last he said sullenly: "I might have known youwould try it on, you scoundrel. But I must have the box first thing inthe morning. It's awkward enough not to have it tonight." He turned tohis desk and picked up an envelope with a typewritten address. He satstaring at it as though he had forgotten Marvel's presence.

  Suddenly he wheeled and spoke. "You shall have five hundred in themorning--"

  "And four hundred to-night, Mr. Bullard."

  "Yes--an hour hence. Do you know the Victoria Docks?--Of course you do.Well, the street named here"--he tapped the envelope--"is close to them.Deliver this letter and bring me back an answer--and the four hundred areyours. Hold your tongue! The thing is too private for an ordinarymessenger. It's entirely owing to your vile behaviour that this lettermust be delivered to-night. Will you take it, or must I take it myself?Mind, if I do, you can go to the devil for your four hundred, ay, and thefive hundred to boot. I've stood the limit from you, Marvel, and I'mquite equal to locking you up in our strong-room here till you're readyand eager to give up the box for nothing!"

  "Come, come, Mr. Bullard," said Marvel, rising, "there's no need for allthis--this roughness. I'll take the letter with pleasure if you'll giveme a couple of hundred to go on with."

  Bullard tossed the letter back on the desk, and proceeded to light acigar.

  Marvel took a step forward. "I was only joking, Mr. Bullard. I'll takeyour message, and trust you."

  "Very well," growled the other, handing it over. "Take care of it. Youought to be back in an hour. You'll find me here."

  "Right you are!" said Marvel, and went jauntily from the room.

  Bullard sank back in his chair. "The blind fool!" he murmured, andgrinned.

  An hour later he was dining in the Savoy restaurant.

  About ten o'clock he was shown into Lancaster's library. He was inevening dress. He carried a suit case bearing, in the midst of many oldlabels, his own initials. The moment the door was shut he said--

  "Where's Mrs. Lancaster? Didn't she get my note?"

  Lancaster, his weary eyes blinking in the sudden rousing from a troublednap, replied: "Yes, it caught her as she was about to leave the housewith Doris. Is anything the matter?"

  "Did Doris go alone?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "I wish you would tell Mrs. Lancaster--"

  At that moment the lady entered, gloriously attired, her eyessmouldering.

  "What's the matter, Mr. Bullard?"

  "Thanks for staying at home in response to my request," he said suavely."I have hopes that you won't find it a wasted evening. By the way, canyou get rid of the attentions of your servants at so early an hour?"

  Her sullen eyes brightened with curiosity. "I daresay I can, Mr. Bullard,but may I ask--"

  "Please add the favour to the one already granted, and rejoin us here assoon as possible."

  When she had gone, Bullard laid the suitcase on a chair, opened it, andtook out the Green Box which he placed on the table. Then deliberately,and with a steady hand, he helped himself to a cigarette from his host'ssilver box, and lit it carefully.

  "Well, Lancaster," he said, after exhaling a long whiff, "how's that?"

  "Great Heavens!" Lancaster stopped staring and sat down feebly. "How didyou get it? Where? Surely not in the same place as before!"

  "That I can't tell you. The point that interests me is that it is herenow. My story will keep--it's quite good enough for that. By the bye,where are your congratulations?"

  Lancaster stretched out a shaking hand. "Take it away, for God's sake,"he said. "Don't--don't let my wife see those stones. I tell you again,Bullard--I swear it--I don't want one more than will clear me of thatone debt."

  "Don't talk rot," was the light retort. "Mrs. Lancaster is going tochoose one or two for luck. Between ourselves, as her prospectiveson-in-law I naturally desire to win her favour, as well as her entireconfidence in my ability to provide suitably for her daughter. Besides,you must see that for your own sake it is better that she should beinvol--pardon--interested. Why groan, my friend? Your troubles are over."

  Mrs. Lancaster came in, gazed, and pounced. "What is it? What's wrongwith Robert? What is all the mystery about?"

  "This little box," said Bullard, patting it, "contains what I may callthe Christopher Collection. No more questions now, if you please. Pray beseated. Are the servants--?"

  "Yes, yes! Open it! I must see--"

  "Unfortunately we lack the key. However, my expert tin-opener oughtnow to be waiting outside. I'll fetch him in, apologising for hisuncouthness, wh
ich he can't help. He might like a little whisky,Lancaster. Ah, I see it is already provided. Better have someyourself, old man."

  With these words, Bullard left the room to return a minute later with arough-looking man in garb that might have been termed semi-sea-faring.There was nothing particularly sinister about his reddish-bearded face,but his eyes were full of fears and suspicions, and the ordinary personwould have shrunk from his contact. His conductor having locked thedoor, said--

  "This is Mr. Flitch, who--"

  "Damn ye!" muttered the man with a start and a scowl.

  "Or, rather, Mr. Dunning, who is going to open the box for us. But youwill please excuse me while I first ask him one or two personalquestions. Well, Dunning, you got my note?"

  "Ain't I here?"

  "You attended to the messenger?"

  A mere grunt of assent.

  "Under lock and key?"

  A nod.

  "Any papers?"

  "Not a scrap."

  "Money?"

  "Never you mind about that. I done what ye wanted. He's safe enough. Cometo business!"

  For an instant Bullard looked like striking the fellow, but he laughed,saying: "Well, it wasn't my money. Now you can go ahead. That's your jobon the table. Want a refreshment first?"

  "No," growled Flitch, alias Dunning, with a suspicious look at Mrs.Lancaster. He slouched over to the table and seated himself. From a bigpocket he brought a cloth bundle, unrolled it on the table, and disclosedan array of steel implements of curious and varied shapes. His fingerswere coarse and filthy, but his touch was exquisite; it was somethingworth seeing, the way he manipulated his tools in the lock of the GreenBox. In a little while he seemed to forget the existence of thespectators. He even smiled in the absorption of his work. There was noforcing or wrenching: all was done in coaxing, persuasive fashion. But itwas no simple task, and thirty minutes went past.

  Bullard, seated by the table, rarely shifted his gaze from the busyfingers. Mrs. Lancaster, on the couch, a little way off, devoured thecasket with brilliant, greedy stare. As for Lancaster, in his chair bythe hearth, he had turned his face from the scene of operations, and satmotionless, one hand gripping the chair-arm, the other shading his eyes.

  At last the worker paused, drew a long breath, and made to raise the lid.But Bullard's hand shot out and held it.

  "That will do, my man."

  The worker let go with a shrug of his shoulders, and proceeded to bundleup his tools.

  "I could do wi' a drink now," he grumbled. "Neat."

  Bullard turned to the small table at his elbow, and poured out half atumbler of whisky. The other, having stuffed the bundle into his pocket,rose, seized the glass, and gulped the contents. He set the glass on thetable and held out his hand. Bullard laid a heap of sovereigns in it, andit closed as if automatically.

  "Report when he's really hungry," said Bullard in an undertone, and theman nodded. "Mr. Lancaster," he said aloud, "would you mind showing thisman to the door? I'll do nothing till you come back."

  "Eh--what's that?" quavered Lancaster, exposing a dazed-lookingcountenance.

  "Oh, I'll do it," said his wife, rising impatiently. "This way, my man."

  He slouched out after her. There was silence in the room till shereturned.

  "What a loathsome creature," she remarked. "Flitch, you called him. Isnot that the name of the man who went out hunting with Alan Craig, Mr.Bullard? No wonder--"

  "Look here!" said Bullard, and lifted the lid.

  The woman's breath went in with a hiss. Unable to resist, her husbandcrept from his place and stood peering over her shoulder.

  Bullard lifted out the shallow trays and laid them side by side. The roomseemed to be filled with a new light.

  "Six hundred thousand pounds," Bullard murmured.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Lancaster in a reverential whisper. Then she startedviolently. "Nothing--nothing," she added quickly, and went on gazing. Shehad remembered that she had not re-locked the door, though she had drawnthe heavy curtain. But she could not tear herself yet awhile from thatdelicious spectacle of wealth.

  They were all three fascinated.

  After a while Bullard moved slightly. "May I choose a lucky one for you,Mrs. Lancaster?" he asked, and picked out a fairly large stone.

  He dropped it as though it had stung.

  "What's this?"

  He took up another and paused--paused while his face grew old.... A thirdhe took from another tray and touched it to his tongue.... A fourth fromthe third tray.... A fifth....

  Then his fist flew up and fell on the edges of two trays so that thecontents shot up like a spray in sunshine and scattered over the room. Ina strangled voice he yelled--

  "Paste, by God! We're tricked!"

  The door opened; the curtain was drawn aside.

  "Father! Who was that dreadful man who--"

  In the stifling silence, Doris, home hours before her time, stood therein dance gown and white cloak, a latch-key in her hand, her eyes widewith wonder--wonder that gave place to horror.