CHAPTER XXV
Joe Leaver, worn out after nearly a week's work of watching the movementsof Mr. Holymead, had fallen asleep in an empty loft above a garage whichoverlooked Verney's Hotel in Mayfair. He had seen Mr. Holymead disappearinto the hotel, and he knew from the experience gained in his watch thatthe K.C. would spend the next couple of hours in dressing for dinner,sitting down to that meal, and smoking a cigar in the lounge. So Joe hadrelaxed, for the time being, the new task which his master had set him,and had flung himself on some straw in the loft to rest. He did notintend to go to sleep, but he was very tired, and in a few minutes he wasin a profound slumber.
In his sleep Joe dreamed that he had attained the summit of his ambition,and was being paid a huge salary by an American film company to displayhimself in emotional dramas for the educational improvement of theBritish working classes. In his dream he had to rescue the heroine fromthe clutches of the villains who had carried her off. They had imprisonedher at the top of a "skyscraper" building and locked the lift, but Joeclimbed the fire escape and caught the beautiful girl in his arms. Thevillains, who were on the watch, set fire to the building, and when Joeattempted to climb out of the window with the heroine clinging round hisneck, the flames drove him back. As he stood there the wind swept a sheetof flame towards Joe until it scorched his face. The pain was so realthat Joe opened his eyes and sprang up with a cry.
A man was standing over him, a man past middle age, short and broad infigure, whose clean-shaven face directed attention to his protrudingjaw. He was wearing a blue serge suit which had seen much use.
"You are a sound sleeper, sonny," said the man, grinning at Joe's alarm."But when you wake--why you wake up properly; I'll say that for you. Younearly broke my pipe, you woke up that sudden."
He made this remark with such a malicious grin that Joe, whose face wasstill smarting, had no hesitation in connecting his sudden awakening withthe hot bowl of the man's pipe. It was a joke Joe had often seen playedon drunken men in Islington public-houses in his young days.
"You just leave me alone, will you?" he said, rubbing his cheek ruefully."It's nothing to do with you whether I'm a sound sleeper or not."
"That's just where you're wrong, young fellow," was the reply. "It's alot to do with me. Ain't your name Joe Leaver?"
Joe nodded his head.
"How did you find out?" he asked.
"Perhaps a friend of mine pointed you out to me."
"Perhaps he did, and perhaps he didn't," said Joe. "Anyway, what isyour name?"
"Mr. Kemp is my name, my boy. And unless you're pretty civil I'll giveyou cause to remember it."
"What have you got to do with me?" asked the boy in an injured tone."I've never done nothing to you."
"You mind your P's and Q's and me and you'll get along all right," saidMr. Kemp, in a somewhat softer tone. "When you ask me what I've got to dowith you, my answer is I've got a lot to do with you, for I'm yourguardian, so to speak."
Joe looked at Mr. Kemp with a gleam of comprehension in his amazement. Hehad had some experience in his Islington days of the strange phenomenaproduced by drink.
"Rats!" he retorted rudely. "I've never had a guardian and I don't wantnone. What made you a guardian, I'd like to know?"
"Your father did," was the reply.
"Oh, him!" said Joe, in a tone which indicated pronounced antipathy tohis parent. "Do you know him? Are you one of his sort?"
"Now don't try to be insulting, my boy, or I'll take you across my knee.We won't say nothing about where your father is, because in high societyWormwood Scrubbs isn't mentioned. All we'll say is that he has beenunfortunate like many another man before him, and that for the present hecan't come and go as he likes. But he has still got a father's heart,Joe, and there are times when he worries about his family and about therebeing no one with them to keep an eye on them and see they grow up acredit to him. He has been particularly worried about you, Joe. So when Iwas coming away he asked me to look you up if I had time, and let himknow how you was getting on, seeing that none of his family has gone nearhim for a matter of three years or so, though there is one regularvisiting day each week."
"I don't want to see him no more," said Joe. "He's no good."
"That's a nice way for a boy to talk about his own father," said Mr.Kemp, in a reproving tone. "I don't know what the young generation iscoming to."
"If you want to send him word about me, you can tell him that I'm notgoing to be a thief," said Joe defiantly.
"No," said Mr. Kemp tauntingly, "you'd sooner be a nark."
"Yes, I would," said the boy.
"And that's what you are now," declared the man wrathfully. "You're anark for that fellow Crewe. I know all about you."
"I'm earning an honest living," said Joe.
"As a nark," said Mr. Kemp, with a sneer.
"I'm earning an honest living," said the boy doggedly. So much of hisyouth had been spent among the criminal classes that he still retainedthe feeling that there was an indelible stigma attached to thoseindividuals described as narks.
"How can any one earn a respectable honest living by being a nark?" askedMr. Kemp contemptuously. "And more than that, it's one of the best menthat ever breathed that you are a-spying on. I'll have you know that he'sa friend of mine. That is to say he's done things for me that I ain'tlikely to forget. There's nothing I won't do for him, if the chance comesmy way. I'll see that no harm happens to him through you and your Mr.Crewe. You've got to stop this here spying. Stop it at once, do youunderstand? For if you don't, by God, I'll deal with you so that you'lldo no more spying in this world! And I'd have you and your master knowthat I'm a man what means what he says." Mr. Kemp shook his fist angrilyat Joe as he moved away to the door of the loft after having deliveredhis menacing warning. "My last words to you is, Stop it!" he said, as heturned to go down the stairs.
Half an hour later Mr. Kemp entered the lounge of Verney's Hotel asthough in quest of some one. Most of the hotel guests had finished theirafter-dinner coffee and liqueurs, and the hall was comparatively empty,but a few who remained raised their eyes in well-bred protest at theintrusion of a member of the lower orders into the corridor of anexclusive hotel. Mr. Kemp felt somewhat out of place, and he stared aboutthe luxuriously furnished lounge with a look in which awe mingled withadmiration. Before he could advance further, a liveried porter of massiveproportions came up to him and barred the way.
"Now, now, my man," said the porter haughtily, "what do you think youare doing here? This ain't your place, you know. You've made a mistake.Out you go."
"I want to see Mr. Holymead," said Mr. Kemp in a gruff voice.
Verney's was such a high-class hotel that seedy-looking persons seldomdared to put a foot within the palatial entrance. The porter, unused todealing with the obtrusive impecunious type to which he believed Mr. Kempto belong, made the mistake of trying to argue with him.
"Want to see Mr. Holymead?" he repeated. "How do you know he's here? Whotold you? What do you want to see him for?"
"What's that got to do with you?" retorted Mr. Kemp. "You don't think Mr.Holymead would like me to discuss his business with the likes of you?That ain't what you're here for. You go and tell Mr. Holymead that someone wants to see him. Tell him Mr. Kemp wants to see him." Mr. Kemp drewhimself up and buttoned the coat of his faded serge suit.
The porter, uncertain how to deal with the situation, looked around forhelp. The manager of the hotel emerged from the booking office at thatmoment, and the porter's appealing look was seen by him. The managerapproached. He was faultlessly attired, suave in demeanour, and walkedwith a noiseless step, despite his tendency to corpulence. It was hisdaily task to wrestle with some of the manifold difficulties arising outof the eccentricities of human nature as exhibited by a constant streamof arriving and departing guests. But though he approached the distressedporter with full confidence in his ability to deal with any situation,his eyebrows arched in astonishment as he took in the full details of theintruder's attire.
"What does this mean, Hawkins?" he exclaimed, in a tone of disapproval.
The porter trembled at the implication that he had grievously failed inhis duty by allowing such an individual as Mr. Kemp to get so far withinthe exclusive portals of Verney's, and in his nervousness he relaxed fromthe polish of the hotel porter to his native cockney.
"This 'ere party says 'e wants to see Mr. Holymead, Sir."
The manager went through the motion of washing a spotlessly clean pair ofhands, and then brought the palms together in a gentle clap. He smiledpityingly at Hawkins and then looked condescendingly at Mr. Kemp.
"Wants to see Mr. Holymead, does he?" he said, transferring his glance tothe worried porter. "And didn't you tell him that Mr. Holymead has goneto the theatre and won't be back for some considerable time?"
"That's a lie!" said Mr. Kemp, who had acquired none of the art ofdealing with his fellow men, and was too uneducated to appreciate art inany form. "I've been watching over the other side of the street, and Isaw him passing a window not ten minutes ago. I'm going to see him if Iwait here all night. I'll soon make meself comfortable on one of them bigchairs." He pointed to an empty chair beside a man in evening dress, whowas holding a conversation with a haughty looking matron. "You tell Mr.Holymead Mr. Kemp wants to see him," he said to the manager.
"What name did you say?" asked the manager in a tone which seemed toexpress astonishment that the lower orders had names.
"Mr. Kemp. You tell him Mr. Kemp wants to see him on important business."He walked towards the vacant chair and seated himself on it. He dug histoes into the velvet pile carpet with the air of a man who was trying totake anchor. Fortunately the man on the adjoining chair, and the haughtymatron, were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not noticethat the air in their immediate vicinity was being polluted by thepresence of a man in shabby clothes and heavy boots.
The manager despatched the porter in search of Mr. Holymead and then wentin pursuit of Mr. Kemp.
"Will you come this way, if you please, Mr. Kemp?" he said, with a lowbow.
He saw that Mr. Kemp was following him and led the way into anunfrequented corner of the smoking room, where, with the informationthat Mr. Holymead would come to him in a few moments, he asked Mr. Kempto be seated.
The manager withdrew a few yards, and then took up a position whichenabled him to guard the hotel guests from having their digestionsinterfered with by the contaminating spectacle of a seedy man. To themanager's great relief, Mr. Holymead appeared, having been informed bythe hall porter that a party who said his name was Kemp had asked to seehim. The manager hurried towards Mr. Holymead and endeavoured to explainand apologise, but the K.C. assured him that there was nothing toapologise for. He went over to the corner of the smoking room, where thevisitor who had caused so much perturbation was waiting for him.
"Well, Kemp, what do you want?" There was nothing in his manner toindicate that he was put out by Mr. Kemp's appearance. He spoke in quieteven tones such as would seem to suggest that he was well acquainted withhis visitor.
"Can I speak to you on the quiet for a moment, sir?" whisperedKemp hoarsely.
Holymead looked round the room. The manager had gone back to the bookingoffice and Hawkins had vanished. The few people who were in the roomseemed occupied with their own affairs.
"No one will overhear us if we speak quietly," he said as he took a seatclose to Kemp. "What is it?"
"You're watched and followed, sir," said Kemp in a whisper. "Somebody hasbeen watching this place for days past and whenever you go out you'refollowed."
"By whom?" asked Holymead.
"By a varmint of a boy--a slippery young imp whose father's in gaol fora long stretch. I got hold of him this afternoon and told him what I'ddo to him if he kept on with his game. He's living in an old loft atthe back of the hotel garage, and he keeps a watch on you day andnight. I thought I'd better come here and tell you, as you mightn'tknow about him."
"You did quite right, Kemp. What's this boy like?"
"An undersized putty-faced brat with a big head. He's about fourteen orfifteen, I should say."
"Who is he? Do you know him?"
"Leaver is the name, sir. To tell you the truth, I don't know him as wellas I know his father. His father is a 'lifer' for manslaughter. I'veknown him both in and out of gaol. And when I was coming out four monthsago Bob Leaver, this here boy's father, asked me to look up his familyand send him word about them. I went to the address Bob told me, inIslington, but I found they had all gone. The mother was dead and thekids--a girl and this here boy--had cleared out. The old Jew who had thesecond-hand clothes shop Mrs. Leaver used to keep told me that the boyhad gone off with that private detective, Crewe, more than two years ago.So it looks to me as if he has turned nark and Crewe has put him on towatch you."
"Can you describe this boy more closely?"
"Well, sir, I don't know if I can say anything more about him except thathe has red hair and big bright eyes that are too large for his face."
"I thought so," said Holymead as if speaking to himself. "It's thesame boy."
"What did you say, sir?" asked Kemp.
"Nothing, Kemp, except that I think I've seen a boy of this descriptionhanging about the street near the hotel."
Holymead rose to his feet as he spoke, as an indication that theinterview was at an end. Kemp got up and looked at him anxiously.
"I beg your pardon, sir, for coming here," he said, fumbling with the rimof his hat as he spoke. "I didn't know how you'd take it, but I hope I'vedone right. They didn't want to let me see you."
"You did quite right, Kemp. I am very much obliged to you." He wasfeeling in his pocket for silver, but Kemp stopped him.
"No, no, sir. I don't want to be paid anything. I wanted to oblige youlike; I wanted to do you a good turn. I'd do anything for you, sir--youknow I would."
"I believe you would, Kemp. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
As Kemp passed down the hall he met the manager, who was obviouslypleased to see such an unwelcome visitor making his departure. Kempscowled at the manager as if he were a valued patron of the hotel andsaid, "It seems to me that you don't know how to treat people properlywhen they come here."
The Hampstead Mystery Page 25
