Till the Clock Stops

by J. J. Bell

  CHAPTER XIX

  Bullard was still in Glasgow. The return of Alan Craig--for he had sooncome to laugh at Marvel's story--had been a staggering blow. The will, bywhich he had reckoned to win, should all other means fail, was become asheet of waste paper. Moreover, the "other means" were almost certainlyrendered impracticable by the presence of Alan at Grey House. Those,however, were only his first thoughts.

  The car bearing him and the shivering Flitch from the scene of theirsuccess and consternation was not ten miles on its way when his nervesand mind began to regain their normal steadiness and order. Another fivemiles, and the germ of a fresh plot began to swell in his brain--perhapsthe ugliest, grimmest plot yet conceived and developed in that defiledtemple. It was a crude plot, too, and quite unworthy of Francis Bullard,as he would have realised for himself had he not been obsessed by the newconviction that the real diamonds, now virtually Alan's, were hidden inthe clock in that upper room. Further, it contained a serious flaw, inthat it allowed nothing for the possibility of Alan's making a freshwill. And finally, if one may be permitted to put the primary objectionlast, it depended on the possession of the Green Box which had justpassed from his keeping.

  Nevertheless, commonsense like conscience failed to condemn the scheme,and Bullard drove into Glasgow with his mind made up.

  An awkward situation was now created by the presence of Flitch. Bullarddared not, for more reasons than one, let the creature go his own ways,and eventually, swallowing his disgust, he took a double-room in athird-rate temperance hotel, giving the landlord a hint to the effectthat he was shepherding a semi-reformed dipsomaniac. It was a long nightfor Bullard, and probably the same for Flitch who between dozes eitherprayed for Heaven's mercy, or groaned for anybody's whisky.

  On the morrow, fortunately for Bullard's plans, the wretch had apparentlygot over his penitence and was certainly none the worse of his shortspell of compulsory abstinence. All the same, Bullard on going out, afterFlitch's breakfast, to enjoy his own elsewhere, locked the latter intothe bedroom, which was on the third floor. First of all he despatched toLancaster a telegram brutal in its curtness: "Alan Craig is at GreyHouse." Later he made a number of purchases in places not much patronisedby the general public, then took a room at the North British Hotelwherein he shut himself until lunch time. Having enjoyed a carefullychosen meal, he returned to his inferior lodging and permitted thecaptive to feed. Thereafter a hushed and lengthy conversation took placein the frowsy bedroom. At times Flitch objected, at times he pleaded, andin the end was bullied into sullen acquiescence.

  "And I've got to stick in this hole till it suits ye, have I?" hegrumbled.

  "Just so. Pity you're not fond of reading. I see there's a Bible on thedressing-table," Bullard said airily. "But it won't be for more than aday or two--three at the outside. I must be back in London on Mondaymorning whether we pull it off or not."

  "Monday! But look here, mister, what about that chap we left chained upin the cellar?"

  Bullard had forgotten, for the time being, about the ill-starred Marvel,but the reminder did not trouble him. Marvel out of the way for goodwould not be a happening to regret. "I daresay our friend will have anappetite by Monday," he remarked, playing with the nugget.

  "He'll be dead! I'd bet anything he's eaten his bit by now, and yon's ahellish cold place in this weather. If I'd known murder was yer game, Mr.Bullard--"

  "That'll do. You can leave the matter to me. Do you want to get out ofthis country or not, Flitch?"

  "God knows I do!"

  "Then you know who is the only person who can help you to go. Don't be afool. Good afternoon!"

  He took a cab to the North British Hotel. On alighting, a newsboy offeredhim a paper. He was passing on when his eye was caught by thebill--"Serious Rioting on the Rand." He bought a paper and with setcountenance made his way to the writing-room off the lounge. At that hourthe place was deserted, and in the furthest corner he seated himself andopened the paper. Trouble had been threatening on the Rand for some time,but Bullard was quite unprepared for a catastrophe such as he was nowcalled upon to face. The details were few but fateful. Thus:--

  "The group of mines controlled by the Aasvogel Syndicate are the chiefsufferers so far. Dynamite was freely used, and power-houses, batteriesand cyanide-houses present scenes of hopeless ruin. The shafts, it isstated, are destroyed. Several persons on the staff of the Lucifer Mineare unaccounted for. At the moment of cabling fires are raging in severalquarters."

  For several minutes after he had mastered the significance of it all,Bullard sat perfectly still. There was a curious pallor about his mouthand he had a shaken, shrunken look generally. Letting the paper slip tothe floor he rang the bell, and, when the waiter arrived, ordered tea."But first fetch me some telegraph forms," he said.

  A busy hour followed. Keenly considered and reconsidered messages had tobe written for despatch to his private brokers as well as to those whoacted for the Syndicate, and to the Syndicate's secretary. By promptaction something--a good deal perhaps--might be saved from thewreckage--for himself. For others he had no thought. "This finishesLancaster," he said to himself; "he'll have to face the music, afterall." He sighed. "Means losing Doris, perhaps...."

  The fates, it seemed, were conspiring to force his hand. It was nowimperative that he should be in London by the following night, at latest.He foresaw a journey to South Africa, a long stay there. Was he going tobe compelled to abandon his greatly daring new scheme? Why, the newscheme was a hundred times more urgent, more vital than it had been acouple of hours ago! And yet it would be sheer madness to attempt tocarry it out to-night--unless the unlikely happened. He looked up at theclock--five-twenty already!--and murmured "impossible."

  His reflections were disturbed by the sing-song voice of a page-boycoming through the lounge.

  "Number one hundred and seventy-four," it droned, "number onehundred and--"

  Bullard darted to the door. "Here, boy," he called a trifle hoarsely,holding out his hand.

  A moment later he was opening an envelope. There was nothing in it. Hedropped it upon the fire, took his coat and hat, and left the hotel bythe station door.

  At a corner of the bookstall, at which hurried suburban passengers weregrabbing evening papers, a youngish man in a bowler hat, of whollyundistinguished appearance, was apparently engrossed in the study ofpicture postcards, but he turned as Bullard approached, and presently thetwo were strolling up No. 3 platform.

  "Well, sir, I've hardly had time to do much, but I thought I had betterreport what little I've gathered," said the youngish man. "It doesn'tseem very important--"

  "Go ahead," said Bullard impatiently.

  "Right, Mr. Warren. Mr. Craig and his friend--"

  "His friend?"

  "Sorry I didn't get the name to-day--but--"

  "Never mind! Go on!"

  "Mr. Craig and his friend are dining to-night at the house next door--Dr.Handyside's--"

  "Ah! How did you learn that?"

  "The doctor's housekeeper. She wouldn't have her photo taken, but shedidn't object to a chat." The youngish man smiled to himself. Evidentlyhis news was worth more than he had anticipated.

  "Sure it's to-night?"

  "Absolutely, Mr. Warren."

  "Anything further?"

  "I'm afraid not, sir. You must understand--"

  "Thanks. Well, Mr. Barry, I've decided to let the matter drop forthe present."

  The private detective's face fell. He had been congratulating himselfon having secured a "good thing." But he brightened at his patron'snext words.

  "Will ten pounds satisfy you?"

  "Why, sir, it's very good of you!"

  Bullard passed him a couple of notes. "I may want your services later.Good-bye."

  Re-entering the hotel he passed through to the door opening on theSquare, had a cab summoned, and drove to his lodging of theprevious night.

  "Wake up, Dunning! I've remembered your name this time, you see! We'll bein London to-morrow! Mean
while, to business! If you're hungry, you canhave something to eat in the car."

  * * * * *

  Alan and Teddy took the long way to the doctor's; a breath of fresh airwas desirable after so many hours indoors. Though dark the night wasfine, with a suspicion of frost in the air. Having seen them depart, Cawturned the key in the glass door. He went upstairs and methodicallyswitched off all unnecessary lights and supplied the study fire withfuel. He was meditating on the return of the Green Box and the no lessstartling revelation concerning its contents, and just to reassurehimself he opened the deep drawer. There it lay, the familiar, maddeningthing! "I guess they won't bother their heads about _you_ again," hereflected, "but I wonder what they'll go for next?" He paused before theclock and wagged his head. "We'll have to keep an eye on you, myfriend," he muttered, then switched off the last light, and went down tohis supper.

  He was enjoying his first pipe when the bell rang.

  "Another wire, I should say," he sighed, getting up reluctantly. "Wonderwhether I should ring or take it along. They can hardly have finisheddinner yet," He put his hand in his pocket and felt his revolver. "Shan'tbe caught napping, anyway."

  He went briskly down the hall and opened the door. He had a bare glimpseof a big, burly figure--and then a dense fine spray of intense odourcaught him full in the face. Blindly he sought to bang the door, butstaggered sideways in an agony of gasping and weeping. He fell, clawingat the wall, and lay stupefied, at the mercy of the unknown, whopromptly proceeded with whipcord to truss him up both neatly andsecurely. Then he was gagged, drawn into the room on the right, thedining-room, and locked in.

  Flitch went back to the front door and waved his hand, and Bullard,carrying a small black bag, appeared out of the darkness.

  "Get back to the car," he said. "I shan't be long." He closed and lockedthe door on his assistant and went swiftly upstairs. He was not thirtyseconds gone, when Flitch followed stealthily in his wake. It was nothingto Flitch to turn an ordinary key from the other side.

  In the study Bullard switched on the light over the writing-table.Opening his bag he took out the contents--an oblong package in waterproofpaper sealed with wax in several places, with the short ends of threebroad tapes protruding from the top, and a tube of liquid glue. He openedthe deep drawer, and after noting the precise position of the Green Box,drew it forth and set it on the table. He wrought rapidly but withoutflurry. Opening the box with the key he had procured in Glasgow theprevious day, he transferred its contents, trays and all, to his bag."Looks as if they hadn't discovered it yet," he thought. Then over thebottom of the box he squeezed a goodly quantity of glue. He placed thepackage in the box, cautiously pressing it down. He lowered the lid andfound that a slight pressure was required for its complete closing. Thisseemed to please him. Raising the lid again, he placed a sheet ofnotepaper between the tapes and the waterproof paper and smeared thetapes thickly with glue. For a brief space he regarded his handiwork,then put down the lid, forcing it gently until the key turned.Withdrawing the key, he replaced the box exactly as he had found it, andfinally, after consideration, dropped the key in beside it.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead. He felt faintish, and perhapsconscience was whispering for the last time. But without lingering,taking his bag, he turned away from the table and stood gazing at theclock. The flashing pendulum exasperated him with its suggestion. He wastempted to smash the thick glass there and then. Only that mysterious,sluggish, iridescent fluid deterred him. The cruel man is usuallyexceedingly sensitive about his own skin. But with an inspiration he madea note of the words minutely engraved on the rim surrounding thedial--"A. Guidet, Glasgow." Then with a curse he departed.

  On reaching the car he found Flitch in a dismal state.

  "Mr. Bullard," moaned the creature, "will ye tell me what was in the bagthat ye carried it so careful? Will ye swear this is the last job ye'llever make me do?"

  "Oh, shut up!" was the answer, followed by the unspoken words; "I mustget rid of this swine, somehow."

  They made good time to Glasgow and caught the late express for London.Before the train started Bullard posted a note to Barry, the detective:"Find out and wire me the address of A. Guidet, a clockmaker, inGlasgow.--Warren."