The Casefiles of Mr J. G. Reeder

by Edgar Wallace

  The chatter and buzz of conversation, the little ripples of laughter that ran up and down the table, did something to make the privacy of their talk assured.

  As Old Barney bent over to serve a dish, Craig gave a sidelong glance at his companion.

  ‘Peter’s got old Barney still – keeping honest, Barney?’

  ‘I’m naturally that way,’ said Barney sotto voce. ‘It’s not meeting policemen that keeps me straight.’

  The hard features of the detective relaxed.

  ‘There are lots of other people who could say that, Barney,’ he said, and when the man had passed to the next guest: ‘He’s all right. Barney never was a bad man. I think he only did one stretch – he wouldn’t have done that if he’d had Peter’s imagination, Johnny.’

  ‘Peter’s imagination?’

  ‘I’m not referring to his present imagination, but the gift he had fourteen – fifteen years ago. Peter was the cleverest of them all. The brilliant way his attack was planned, the masterly line of retreat, the wonderful alibis, so beautifully dovetailed into one another that, if we had pinched him, he’d not only have been discharged, but he would have got something from the poor box! It used to be the life ambition of every young officer to catch him, to find some error of judgment, some flaw in his plan. But it was police-proof and foolproof.’

  ‘He’d blush to hear you,’ said the other dryly.

  ‘But it’s true, Johnny! The clever letters he used to write, all to fool us. He did a lot of work with letters – getting people together, luring ’em to the place he wanted ’em and where their presence served him best. I remember how he got my chief to be at Charing Cross under the clock at ten-past nine, and showed up himself and made him prove his alibi!’ He laughed gently.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Gray, ‘people would think it remarkable that you and he are such good friends?’

  ‘They wouldn’t say it was remarkable; they’d say it was damned suspicious!’ growled the other. ‘Having a drink?’ he said suddenly, and pulled a wine bottle across the table.

  ‘No, thanks – I seldom drink. We have to keep a very clear head in our business. We can’t afford to dream.’

  ‘We can’t afford anything else,’ said Craig. ‘Why “our business”, old man? You’re out of that?’

  Johnny saw the girl look toward him. It was only a glance – but in that brief flash he saw all that he feared to see – the terror, the bewilderment, the helplessness. He set his teeth and turned abruptly to the detective.

  ‘How is your business?’ he asked.

  ‘Quiet.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said John Gray with mock concern, ‘But trade’s bad everywhere, isn’t it?’

  ‘What sort of time did you have – in the country?’ asked Craig, and his companion grinned.

  ‘Wonderful! My bedroom wanted papering, but the service was quite good.’

  Craig sighed.

  ‘Ah well, we live and learn,’ he said heavily. ‘I was sorry about it, Johnny, very sorry. It’s a misfortune, but there’s no use grieving about it. You were one of the unlucky ones. If all the people who deserved prison were in prison – why, there wouldn’t be any housing problems. I hear there were quite a lot of stars there,’ Craig went on. ‘Harry Becker, and young Lew Storing – why, old Legge must have been there in your time. And another fellow – now, what’s his name? The slush man – ah. Carper, that’s it. Ever see him?’

  ‘Yes; he and I were once harnessed to the same cart.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Craig encouragingly. ‘I’ll bet you heard a few things. He’d talk to you.’

  ‘He did.’

  Craig bent toward him, lowering his voice.

  ‘Suppose I told you a certain party coppered you, and suppose I said I’ve reason to believe that your copper is the man I want. Now couldn’t we exchange confidences?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, we might squeak together, and it would sound like one of those syncopated orchestras. But we won’t. Honestly, Craig, I can’t tell you about the Big Printer. Reeder ought to know all about him!’

  ‘Reeder!’ said the other scornfully. ‘An amateur! All this fal-de-lal about secret service men gets my goat! If they’d left the matter to the police, we’d have had the Big Printer – ever seen him, Johnny?’

  ‘No,’ said Johnny untruthfully.

  ‘Reeder, eh?’ said the thoughtful detective. ‘They used to have an office man named Golden once, an old fellow that thought he could catch slushers by sitting in an office and thinking hard. Reeder isn’t much better by all accounts. I saw him once, a soft fellow on the edge of senile decay!’

  Craig sighed deeply, looked up and down the happy board with a bleak and grudging glance, and then: ‘Just for a little heart-to-heart talk, I know where you could get an easy “monkey”, Johnny,’ he said softly.

  Johnny did not smile.

  ‘It would have to be a monkey on a stick, Craig –’

  ‘We’re both men of the world,’ interrupted the detective im­ploringly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Johnny Gray, ‘but not the same world, Craig.’

  One last despairing effort the detective made, though he knew that, in angling for a squeak, he might as well have tried Peter himself.

  ‘The Bank of England will pay a thousand pounds for the inform­ation I want.’

  ‘And who can afford it better?’ said Johnny heartily. ‘Now, shut up, Craig; somebody’s going to make a speech.’

  It was a mild and beatific oration delivered by the officiating clergyman. When it came to its machine-made peroration Craig, who was intensely interested in the sonorous platitudes, looked round and saw that his companion had gone from his side – later he saw him leaning over Peter’s chair, and Peter was nodding vigorously. Then Johnny passed through the door.

  Somebody else was watching him. The bridegroom, twiddling the stem of his wineglass between his fingers, saw him go, and was more than ordinarily interested. He was sufficiently curious, at any rate, to catch the eye of the pretty maid and look significantly at the door. At that signal Lila followed Johnny Gray. He was not in the hall, and she went out into the road, but here saw no sign of the man she sought. There was, however, somebody else, and she obeyed his call to her.

  ‘Tell Jeff I want him before he starts on that honeymoon of his,’ snarled Emanuel Legge, glaring at her through the glasses. ‘He’s been talking to that girl – I saw her face. What did he say?’

  ‘How do I know?’ she snapped back. ‘You and your Jeff! I wish to the Lord I’d never come into this job. What’s the graft, anyway? That flash crook knows all about it, Legge.’

  ‘Wh – Johnny Gray? Is he here? He did come, then?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What do you mean – “he knows”?’

  ‘He knows Jeff – recognised him first pop,’ said the girl inelegantly, and Emanuel Legge whistled.

  ‘Have you told Jeff that he has been recognised?’

  The harsh features of Emanuel Legge were drawn and tense.

  ‘What is the use of asking me? I haven’t had a word with him. He’s so taken up with this girl –’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Legge with a gesture. ‘Tell me what this Johnny Gray says.’

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing that amused me,’ said the girl grimly. ‘He said he’d throttle me if I squeaked! And he’s got a fascinating pair of hands. I shouldn’t like to play rough with that fellow – there’s no use in tut-tutting me, Emanuel. I’ve told you all he said. He knows Jeff; he must have seen him before he went “over the Alps”.’

  The old man was thinking, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed.

  ‘It’s pretty bad if he guesses, because he’s sweet on the girl, and there’s going to be trouble. Get Jeff out quick!’

  ‘If you stay here, Peter
will see you,’ she warned him. ‘Go down the lane and turn into the private path. I’ll send Jeff to you in the lower garden.’

  Nodding, he hurried away. It took her some time to find an opport­unity, but presently she signalled the man with her eyes, and he followed her to the lawn.

  ‘The old man’s waiting down in the lower garden,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Hurry.’

  ‘What is wrong?’ he asked quickly, sensing trouble.

  ‘He’ll tell you.’

  With a glance round Jeff hurried on to the terrace just as his father reached the rendezvous.

  ‘Jeff, Gray knows.’

  The man drew a quick breath. ‘Me?’ he said incredulously. ‘He didn’t so much as bat a lid when I met him.’

  Emanuel nodded.

  ‘That fellow’s hell cool – the most dangerous crook in the world. I was in the Awful Place with him, and I know his reputation. There’s nothing he’s afraid of. If he tells Peter . . . shoot first! Peter won’t be carrying a gun, but he’s sure to have one within travelling distance – and Peter is a quick mover. I’ll cover you; I’ve got two boys handy that mind me, and Johnny . . . well, he’ll get what’s coming.’

  ‘What am I to do?’

  Jeff Legge was biting his nails thoughtfully.

  ‘Get the girl away – you’re due to leave by car, ain’t you? Get her to the Charlton Hotel. You’re supposed to stay there a week – make it a day. Clear to Switzerland tomorrow and stop her writing. I’ll fix Peter. He’ll pay.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To get his girl back; forty thousand – maybe more.’

  Jeff Legge whistled.

  ‘I didn’t see that side of the graft before. It’s a new variety of “black”.’

  ‘It’s what I choose to call it!’ hissed his father. ‘You’re in fifty-fifty. You can have the lot so far as I care. You make that girl eat dirt, d’ye hear? Put her right down to earth, Jeff . . . Peter will pay.’

  ‘I promised Lila . . .’ began the other, hesitant.

  ‘Promise your Aunt Rebecca Jane!’ Emanuel almost screamed. ‘Lila! That trash, and you the big man, too – what are ye running? A girls’ refuge society? Get!’

  ‘What about Gray?’

  ‘I’ll fix Gray!’

  Chapter 7

  The old man made his way back to the road and passed quickly along until he came to the main highway. Two men were seated in the shade of a bush, eating bread and cheese. They came quickly enough when he whistled them, tall, broad-shouldered men whose heavy jowls had not felt a lather-brush for days.

  ‘Either of you boys know Johnny Gray?’ he asked.

  ‘I was on the “moor” with him,’ said one gruffly, ‘if he’s the fellow that went down for ringing in horses?’

  Emanuel nodded.

  ‘He’s in the house, and it’s likely he’ll walk to the station, and likely enough take the short cut across the fields. That’ll be easy for you. He’s got to be coshed – you understand? Get him good, even if you have to do it in the open. If there’s anybody with him, get him in London. But get him.’

  Emanuel came back to his observation post as the first of the cars went into the drive. Jeff was moving quickly – and there was need.

  Presently the car came out. Emanuel caught a glimpse of Jeff and the frightened face of the girl, and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of satisfaction. Peter was standing in the middle of the road, watching the car. If he knew! The smile vanished from the old man’s face. Peter did not know; he had not been told. Why? Johnny would not let her go, knowing. Perhaps Lila was lying. You can never trust women of that kind; they love sensation. Johnny . . . dangerous. The two words left one impression. And there was Johnny, standing, one hand in pocket, the other waving at the car as it came into brief view on the Shoreham road, as unconcerned as though he were the least interested.

  A second car went in and came out. Some guests were leaving. Now, if Johnny had sense, he would be driven to London with a party. But Johnny hadn’t sense. He was just a poor sucker, like all cheap crooks are. He came out alone, crossed the road and went down the narrow passage that led to the field path.

  Emanuel looked backward. His bulldogs had seen and were moving parallel to the unconscious Gray.

  From the road two paths led to the field, forming a Y where they met. Johnny had passed the fork when he heard the footsteps behind him. Glancing back, he saw a familiar face and did some shrewd guessing. He could run and easily outdistance these clumsy men. He preferred to face them, and turned, holding his malacca cane in both hands.

  ‘ ’Lo, Gray,’ said the bigger of the men. ‘Where’n thunder are you going in such a hurry? I want to talk with you, you dirty squeaker! You’re the fellow that told the deputy I was getting tobacco in through a screw!’

  It was a crude invention, but good enough to justify the rough house that was booked to follow. They carried sticks in their hands, pliable canes, shotted at the end.

  The blow missed Johnny as he stepped back, and then something long and bright glittered in the afternoon sun. The scabbard of the sword cane he held defensively before him, the sword, thin and deadly, was pointed to the nearer of his enemies. They stopped, Saxon-like, appalled by the sight of steel.

  ‘Bad boy!’ said Johnny reproachfully.

  The razor-pointed rapier flickered from face to face, and the men stumbled back, getting into one another’s way. One of the men felt something wet on his cheek, and put up his hand. When it came down it was wet and red.

  ‘Beast, you have my brand!’ said Johnny with deadly pleasantry. ‘Come when I call you.’

  He clicked the sword back in its wooden sheath and strode away. His indifference, his immense superiority, was almost as tremend­ously impressive as his cold toleration.

  ‘He’s ice, that fellow,’ said the man with the cut cheek. A sob of rage softened the rasp of his voice. ‘By . . . I’ll kill him for that!’

  But he made no attempt to follow, and his companion was glad.

  John Gray increased his pace, and after a while emerged into the outskirts of the town. Here he found a Ford cab and reached the station in time to see the train pull out. He had made a mistake; the time-table had been changed that day, but in half an hour there was a fast train from Brighton that stopped only at Horsham.

  He crossed the station yard to an hotel and was in the telephone booth for a quarter of an hour before he emerged, his collar limp, perspiration streaming down his face.

  There was no sign of a familiar face when he came back to the platform. He expected to see Emanuel eventually, and here he was not disappointed, for Emanuel arrived a few minutes before the Brighton train came in.

  Officially, it was their first meeting since they had been members of the same farm gang at Dartmoor, and Legge’s expression of sur-prise was therefore appropriate.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t Gray! Well, fancy meeting you, old man! Well, this is a surprise! When did you come out?’

  ‘Cease your friendly badinage,’ said Johnny shortly. ‘If we can get an empty compartment, I’ve got a few words to say to you, Emanuel.’

  ‘Been down to the wedding?’ asked the old man slyly. ‘Nice girl, eh? Done well for herself? They tell me he’s a Canadian millionaire. Ain’t that Peter’s luck! That fellow would fall off rock and drop in feathers, he’s that lucky.’

  Johnny made no answer. When the train stopped and he found him-self opposite a first-class carriage, he opened the door and Emanuel hopped in.

  ‘If you’re short of money –’ began Legge.

  ‘I’m not,’ said the other curtly. ‘I’m short of nothing except bad company. Now listen, Emanuel,’ – the train was puffing slowly from the station when he spoke again – ‘I’m going to give you a chance.’

  The wide-eyed astonishment of Em
anuel Legge was very con­vincing, but Johnny was not open to conviction at the moment.

  ‘I don’t get you, Johnny,’ he said. ‘What’s all this talk about giving me a chance? Have you been drinking?’

  Johnny had seated himself opposite the man, and now he leant forward and placed his hand upon the other’s knee.

  ‘Emanuel,’ he said gently, ‘call off that boy, and there’ll be no squeak. Take that wounded fawn look from your face, because I haven’t any time for fooling. You call off Jeff and send the girl back home tonight, or I squeak. Do you understand that?’

  ‘I understand your words, Johnny Gray, but what they mean is a mystery to me.’ Emanuel Legge shook his head. ‘What boy are you talking about? I’ve only got one boy, and he’s at college –’

  ‘You’re a paltry old liar. I’m talking about Jeff Legge, who married Peter’s daughter today. I’ve tumbled to your scheme, Emanuel. You’re getting even with Peter. Well, get even with him, but try some other way.’

  ‘She’s married him of her own free will,’ began the man. ‘There’s no law against that, is there, Johnny? Fell in love with him right on the spot! That’s what I like to see, Johnny – young people in love.’

  If he hoped to rattle his companion he was disappointed.

  ‘Now he can unmarry of his own free will,’ said Johnny calmly. ‘Listen to me, Emanuel Legge. When you arrive in London, you’ll go straight away to the Charlton Hotel and talk very plainly to your son. He, being a sensible man, will carry out your in­structions –’

  ‘Your instructions,’ corrected Emanuel, his mouth twisted in a permanent smile. ‘And what happens if I don’t, Johnny?’

  ‘I squeak,’ said Johnny, and the smile broadened.

  ‘They are married, old man. You can’t divorce ’em. You can turn a brown horse into a black ’un, but you can’t turn Mrs Jeffrey Legge into Miss Marney Kane, clever as you are.’

  Johnny leant forward.

  ‘I can turn Mr Jeffrey Legge into Dartmoor Jail,’ he said unpleas­antly, ‘and that’s what I propose to do.’