Beware of Johnny Washington

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘I had the devil’s own job talking the old man into this little stunt of yours,’ Eric confided, as they sat down. ‘At first I thought I wouldn’t say anything to him, but I knew it would come round to him in the end; then there’d be a real balloon ascent!’

  Verity rather liked the look of Eric. He was a sturdy young man with friendly eyes and a forthright manner and when he smiled he displayed a perfect set of teeth which were white enough for a toothpaste advertisement.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset the old man,’ said Johnny.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right, old boy. He hasn’t forgotten the good turn you did me last year, and as soon as I mentioned your name, he gave us his blessing!’ Eric laughed again and buried his nose in his tankard. Presently, he set it down and delicately mopped his mouth with a large silk handkerchief.

  ‘Well, we’ve certainly had some inquiries about the Brailsham Diamond,’ he announced. ‘I had them all referred to me personally, as you suggested, and it’s kept me pretty busy, I can tell you. Most of the inquiries came from people in the trade; in fact, so far there have been only three outside people. One of them was Lady Tollitt, an old client, who makes it her business to nose into everything, though she hardly ever buys anything. Then there was a man we didn’t know, who said he was a jeweller in Salisbury, and thought he might have a client for the stone. We checked up on him, and he’s genuine.’

  ‘And the third?’ queried Johnny softly.

  ‘The third was a girl …’

  ‘Ah—’ murmured Johnny, his eyes alight with interest.

  ‘She came in this morning and asked to see some filigree silver brooches, and she actually bought one. Then, just before she left, she asked me if it was true we had the Brailsham Diamond, and could she possibly take a peep at it?’

  ‘Go on,’ said Johnny.

  ‘I tipped off the commissionaire and gave the nod to a couple of the men behind the counter; then I fetched it for her from the safe. I felt a bit jittery at first, but I didn’t see how a girl on her own like that could possibly hope to get away with anything.’

  ‘And did she?’ demanded Verity eagerly.

  ‘No, of course not. She just took a pretty close look at the stone and admired it. Then she wished me good morning.’

  Johnny broke open a package of Chesterfields and passed them round.

  ‘What was she like?’ he asked.

  Eric’s eyes glittered for a fleeting moment.

  ‘Distinctly voluptuous type,’ he declared appreciatively. ‘Dazzling blonde—all the dangerous curves in exactly the right places—in fact, a real humdinger!’

  ‘Yes, but don’t you remember anything more definite? That description might fit any showgirl from the Palladium,’ Johnny protested.

  ‘Was she wearing anything special?’ prompted Verity.

  ‘Let’s see now … she had a mink cape … and—and by jove, yes! I remember now. She wore one of those diamond-shape watches set in a ring. They’re a French line—I begged the old man to handle them, but he looked right down his nose.’

  ‘You’re quite sure about that watch?’ persisted Johnny.

  ‘Quite sure because we once considered …’ He suddenly stopped short and looked across at Johnny.

  ‘I say, old man, d’you think you know this girl?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘I guess so,’ replied Johnny casually. ‘The point is, Eric, would you recognize her again if I asked you to identify her some time?’

  ‘You can bet your last dollar on that, Johnny,’ grinned Eric Trevelyan. ‘I’d know her in a million. She’s got style … she’s got that little bit extra … she’s got …’

  ‘Have a drink, Eric,’ smiled Johnny, signalling to the barman.

  ‘You really knew that girl?’ asked Verity ten minutes later, as they walked towards Johnny’s favourite restaurant.

  ‘Didn’t you?’ he temporized.

  ‘Well, yes, it sounded rather like that girl we saw at the night-club—your neighbour …’

  ‘Shelagh Hamilton. I noticed that ring with a watch in it when she and her uncle dined with me a fortnight ago. It is rather unusual—even that officer at Brighton remembered it.’

  He did not say any more until they were seated in the restaurant and had given their order. Then he said slowly:

  ‘I guess it’s high time we dropped in on Doctor Randall and his charming niece. There’s one or two things they might help us to sort out.’

  ‘No time like the present,’ nodded Verity.

  He regarded her with a slight frown.

  ‘I guess you shouldn’t get mixed up in this—just in case.’

  ‘We’ll go down immediately after dinner,’ she announced.

  ‘Yes, but Verity, I’m not too sure about this guy Randall …’

  ‘All the more reason you should have a witness,’ said Verity.

  ‘I dare say, but I’ve a hunch this might be dangerous …’

  ‘Are you trying to stand me up, Johnny?’

  They looked at each other for a moment and laughed.

  CHAPTER XVI

  BEHIND THE PANEL

  LEW PASKIN was not his real name, but he used it more than any of his other aliases, and was widely known by it from Hoxton to Wapping Stairs. At the moment, Lew was on to one of the cushiest berths he had come across for many a day. Nominally, he was in charge of the household at White Lodge, Caldicott Green, but he was not really expected to concern himself with domestic chores, unless he felt like polishing a few spoons to pass the time.

  Two women came in every day from the village, and Lew’s main job was to keep an eye on them to see they didn’t come across or overhear anything that did not concern them. He also had to keep a sharp look-out for strangers. This was the pleasantest occupation Lew had struck since, by some fluke, he had found himself working in the prison library at Wandsworth. But this job at White Lodge was much better paid; he was getting a tenner a week with a promise of more to come if he was cut in on any of the jobs planned for the future.

  Lew was a gaunt specimen, who looked like a seedy manservant who had seen better days. Now that his hair had grown again he no longer conformed to the popular conception of the appearance of a hardened criminal.

  Johnny and Verity had rung the front door bell of White Lodge twice before they heard Lew slowly and ponderously drawing back the top and bottom bolts.

  ‘It’s a bit early in the evening for all this barricading,’ Verity whispered, and he pressed her arm reassuringly. Presently, the door opened about a foot and the gaunt features of Lew Paskin surveyed them suspiciously.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Oh, good evening,’ smiled Johnny. ‘You remember me—er—’

  ‘Paskin’s the name, sir.’

  ‘I rather wanted to see Doctor Randall,’ continued Johnny pleasantly.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s out, sir. He went into Sevenoaks an hour ago.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Johnny considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Well, perhaps Miss Hamilton—’

  ‘She’s with the doctor, sir,’ interposed Paskin. He spoke in a non-committal tone, but something told Johnny that he was not speaking the truth.

  ‘Was the doctor expecting you, sir?’ continued Paskin.

  Johnny shook his head.

  ‘Not to my knowledge. But if he’s only gone into Sevenoaks, maybe we could wait for him.’

  Paskin did not seem to welcome this proposal, and made no attempt to open the door any wider.

  ‘I’m not expecting the doctor back for some time,’ he announced.

  ‘That’s too bad,’ murmured Johnny. ‘All the same, this matter’s rather important—I think we’ll wait if you don’t mind.’

  Lew Paskin hesitated. He knew Johnny was a near neighbour, and might be calling upon some purely local matter, and the doctor had been very emphatic that the suspicions of the village folk must not be in any way aroused. After an appreciable pause, Paskin slowly opened the front d
oor to admit the visitors.

  He led the way through the parquet-covered hall into the drawing-room, which was expensively furnished and seemed to be in frequent use. There was a small stack of magazines, including one or two of a highly technical scientific nature and of American origin. There were also several small-sized reproductions of classical statues.

  Paskin waited for them to sit down, then lingered for quite an appreciable time before he moved to the door, as if he could not be certain as to whether he should leave them alone in the room. However at last the door closed quietly behind him, and Verity heaved a tiny sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank goodness he’s gone,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He certainly gives me the creeps—I don’t know what you think of him.’

  ‘I guess there are plenty worse types in Hollywood,’ grinned Johnny.

  ‘Strangely enough, that doesn’t reassure me very much,’ replied Verity. ‘Anyhow, this is quite a swell place—just look at that lovely Persian rug. It must have cost a small fortune.’

  Johnny who knew little about such things, nodded absently, for his thoughts were busy elsewhere. His roving eye took in the solid oak panels around the wall, the ornately figured ceiling, the wide bay window overlooking a similar view to that at the back of his own house. He got up and began to walk round slowly, eventually paused in front of the impressive Adam fireplace and looked into the empty grate.

  Suddenly he stooped and picked up a cigarette-end which was still smouldering and regarded it thoughtfully.

  ‘It doesn’t look as if the guy who let us in was on the level when he said Miss Hamilton had gone with the doctor,’ he mused.

  Verity came over and looked at the cigarette-end.

  ‘Of course it could have been the butler enjoying a quiet little smoke in the best room while the boss is away,’ she hazarded. But Johnny waved aside the suggestion.

  ‘I didn’t notice he used orange lipstick, did you?’ he murmured.

  Verity had to agree that the owner of the cigarette had almost certainly been a woman. He flung the stub back into the grate and stood there for some minutes with his head leaning against the wide mantelpiece.

  Meanwhile Verity was examining a statue of Apollo about eighteen inches high. She had exceptionally keen eye-sight and was intrigued by an almost invisible crack that seemed to divide the upper part of the torso from the lower.

  ‘Johnny, come and look at this,’ she exclaimed suddenly. He went over to the corner of the room in the same wall as the fireplace where she was standing. The statue was in a special alcove in the wall which might have been made specially for it. With her right hand, Verity gently twisted the top half of the statue and found it moved fairly easily.

  ‘This top half is quite loose,’ she told him and turned it through an angle of ninety degrees. As she did so, an adjacent section of the oak panelling of the wall nearby began to slide back with a soft grating noise. Johnny swung round and peered into the aperture. Then he glanced quickly towards the door and window to make sure they were not overlooked. Then he returned to the opening in the wall and tried to see what was on the other side.

  ‘Shall I close it again?’ whispered Verity, fearful that someone would come in.

  ‘Not on your life,’ he replied, feeling in his pocket and producing a pencil torch.

  The narrow beam pierced the gloom beyond the opening but all he could see when he thrust his head through the narrow aperture was four bare walls, comprising a small room about six feet square.

  Verity waited impatiently for him to withdraw his head and shoulders, meanwhile watching the door apprehensively.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ she whispered urgently.

  Johnny turned and put out his torch.

  ‘It’s just a small empty room,’ he told her. ‘Rather like one of those old-fashioned clothes cupboards, only larger. All the same, there must be more to it than that, or there wouldn’t be all this mysterious business with the statue. I’m going inside to look at it more closely.’

  He managed to pull back the panel another inch or two and began to wriggle his way through it.

  ‘I’m coming, too!’ decided Verity who was still fearful that the gaunt manservant might return at any moment.

  When he was inside, he held out his hand, and she put one foot cautiously through the aperture which was about eighteen inches above the floor level. She had to stoop a little, but she was through the panel much more quickly than her companion. He switched the torch on again, and they stood looking round somewhat uncertainly.

  ‘Not very startling, eh?’ he whispered.

  She noticed that the walls were panelled with the same oak as the drawing-room, and there was a rubberoid linoleum on the floor. Set in the middle of the ceiling was a thick glass panel which betokened an electric light, but there was no switch visible. He guessed what she was thinking and said:

  ‘Maybe if we close the door, that will operate the switch.’

  Placing her palm against the sliding panel, she found that it closed quite easily, and almost at once a soft glow illuminated the little room. Even so, it seemed just as bare as ever, without any furniture or ornament.

  Suddenly, they became conscious of a slight vibration and the distant hum of a dynamo. Feeling that something was amiss, Verity tried to force back the panel, only to discover that it would not budge.

  ‘Here, let me try,’ he said, moving over to her. But the panel would not yield, and it was not easy to get any sort of powerful grip upon the smooth woodwork.

  ‘Johnny!’ gasped Verity. ‘This room is moving.’

  He looked round anxiously trying to discover exactly what was happening. A few seconds later, it dawned on him.

  ‘It’s a lift of some sort!’ he told her. ‘For God’s sake keep still …’

  It was moving so slowly that it took a little time to make certain in which direction they were going. He knelt on the floor and placed his ear against the wall. The vibration seemed more intense than ever.

  ‘We’re going down … I’m sure we’re going down!’ cried Verity.

  He gripped her arm.

  ‘It’s all right; we’re only moving very slowly,’ he assured her. They could distinctly feel a very slight sinking movement now. It went on for about a minute, but they would both have sworn it was at least half an hour, then there was a barely noticeable jerk and the vibration ceased.

  ‘Here we are then, sound in wind and limb,’ said Johnny, trying to sound as light-hearted as possible. Verity looked over his shoulder and clutched his arm. He turned his head sharply to see what had caught her eye.

  ‘Johnny—look!’

  Released by some hidden spring, the panel was slowly sliding open.

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE SECRET TUNNEL

  JOHNNY WASHINGTON’s fingers closed over the automatic in his coat pocket that he had been carrying around for the past week. But there was no sign or sound of any other person outside the lift. When the panel opened, the light had automatically switched off, so he produced his torch, and, holding it at arm’s length, he shone it through the aperture.

  They seemed to be in a passage which disappeared into the darkness ahead. The chalky walls reflected the light of his torch, and there was a dank, clammy smell that was chilling and depressing. Verity shivered as she followed him out of the lift.

  The tunnel was about three feet wide and there was a single line of crude flagstones on the floor. Moisture ran down the shiny walls and dripped from the low roof.

  ‘I’ve got to find out where it leads,’ he told her in a subdued voice. ‘Are you coming with me?’

  ‘I’m certainly not staying here!’ she replied emphatically, and motioned to him to lead the way. There was no room for them to walk abreast, even if they had wished to do so, and Johnny went on ahead, clicking down the safety catch of his automatic as he moved off.

  The stone floor stretched ahead of them as far as he could see; at times they were a little uneven and a trifle sl
ippery, but they moved along at a reasonable pace, though Johnny hesitated cautiously from time to time and flashed his torch a little farther ahead. But there was still no sign of any other person in the passage.

  ‘This tunnel seems to be pretty old,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve often heard rumours of such things—though they’re usually between the monastery and convent!’

  ‘You’ve been reading too many guide books,’ she smiled.

  ‘Anyhow, this would delight Mr Quince’s heart if he knew about it. Excavations are right up his street.’

  ‘Perhaps he does know,’ she suggested lightly. The idea struck Johnny with some force.

  ‘Yeah … that little guy’s always nosing around … maybe he knows more than we think.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll find him down here, looking for fossils or something,’ she could not resist adding.

  When they had gone another twenty yards or so, Johnny suddenly stopped and began to fumble in his waistcoat pocket. He often carried a miniature compass around, and hoped it was in this particular suit. His luck was in. He produced the compass and showed it to Verity, then stood frowning for three or four minutes while he tried to get their bearings. At last he said:

  ‘I make it that we’re heading in a dead straight line towards the Kingfisher.’

  ‘Then at least we’ll get a drink at the end of our journey,’ she laughed.

  After a few more yards, he got the impression that the tunnel was rising slightly, and a little farther on this became even more pronounced. Looking ahead over his shoulders, Verity suddenly caught sight of a faint glimmer of light.

  ‘Put the torch out!’ she snapped, in a tense whisper, and he obeyed immediately.

  ‘Can you see that light?’

  He looked ahead and could just discern the dim glow of what seemed to be a small oil lamp.

  ‘We must be getting near,’ he whispered. ‘The Kingfisher is just about a hundred yards from White Lodge in a direct line, and we’ve come about that far. I’m going to keep the torch switched off, just in case there’s anyone about near that lamp.’