by Sax Rohmer
But the man, whom he now concluded to be stone deaf, paid not the slightest attention, merely driving on. Wake was too angry and too disturbed to be quite sure of their direction, but an impression that they had crossed Piccadilly and were proceeding down St. James’s Street was presently confirmed when the cab swung left into Pall Mall.
“Stop!” shouted Wake at the top of his voice, “stop!” And although this deep chested butler had a voice like that of a sergeant-major, it produced no effect whatever upon the driver.
Thereupon, Wake determined to open the door and to grab the man by his coat collar. But the near side door would not open. Evidently it was jammed. He tried the other with no greater success. He had heard that London was infested with footpads during the black-out, but a pirate cab was something which he had not anticipated. They were proceeding, too, at a dangerously fast speed. At the bottom of Cockspur Street, Wake in despair began to flash rays from his pocket torch, right and left, through the windows, with some faint hope of attracting the attention of passers-by.
He was determined, now, that he had been kidnapped. He was being hurried over to some thieves’ den on the Surrey bank. Desperation possessed him, and taking up the attaché case, he dashed it against a window; but again, without result. The window was fitted with unbreakable glass. A few moments later, the real explanation dawned upon James Wake. That unpleasant sense of rising temperature which always disturbed him in emergencies, assailed him now.
Wake knew that he was being taken to Scotland Yard ...
Before a door from which a cavernesque blue light shone out, feebly but threateningly, the taxi pulled up. Two tall figures, those of constables in uniform, came forward, accompanied by a smaller, stoutish man in plain clothes. Again the taxi driver descended from his seat and coming around unlocked the door, which, as Wake realised, he must have locked upon him in Grosvenor Square. James Wake summoned all his fortitude.
“May I inquire the meaning of this?” he demanded, stepping out.
“You are Mr. James Wake, I believe,” said the short man.
Wake peered into darkness in an endeavor to discern the speaker’s features, and presently succeeded. He recognised the Detective-sergeant who had come to Lord Marcus’s house on the night of the tragedy.
“I am James Wake.” He spoke hoarsely.
“Just give your case to this constable, Mr. Wake, and we will go upstairs.” Then, over his shoulder to the taxi driver: “Go round and get your fare, now, Finch.”
“Right-o, guv’nor.”
Peter Finch jumped back to his place, and Wake heard the cab being driven away as he turned and entered a small ante-room: Bluett led, and the constables brought up the rear, one of them carrying the attaché case. Bluett picked up a telephone, and made a call.
“James Wake is here, Inspector. Shall I bring him up?”
Evidently the reply was “Yes,” for the fresh colored man with upstanding hair turned to him again. “Be good enough to come this way, Mr. Wake.”
“One moment, sergeant: I remember you now.” He tried to speak firmly. “I am entirely within my rights in asking why I have been brought here.”
“That’s right,” Bluett agreed, picking up a newspaper which lay on a desk.
“Excuse me, sergeant,” said one of the constables; “but that’s my paper.”
“Sorry,” Bluett put it down again. “Quite correct, what you say. Well, the Chief Inspector, who is waiting for a chat with you, will give you all the information you want.”
A few moments later, Bluett ushered Wake into the severe office of Chief Detective-Inspector Firth to find the Chief Detective-Inspector seated at his desk, chin in hand, eyes narrowed.
“Good evening, Inspector,” said Wake.
“Good evening, Mr. Wake; won’t you sit down?”
Wake, removing his light gloves, put them beside his black hat on the floor, and sat down, with a side glance at an attaché case which Sergeant Bluett had placed upon the mantelpiece, the constable having retired. Firth regarded him in silence; his pointed collar, his black tie, his neat hair, and seemed to be satisfied with this inspection, for he nodded.
“I have been promised an explanation, Inspector.”
“Ye shall have it. It’s this way, Mr. Wake: I ha’ had two officers employed — two men wi’ whom you are not acquainted — checking up for some time past. Now, it seems to me, fro’ reports, that expenditure has exceeded income, a subject upon which, if I mind me correctly, Mr. Micawber had something to say. Ye’re losses at the dog races ha’ been heavy o’ late, and ye spend quite a lot o’ money on football pools foreby. Ye see, I ha’ been studying your mail, Mr. Wake. There ha’ been other extravagances which I need no’ mention, for indeed they don’t concern me. But when I first saw ye, your appearance suggested something to my mind that I just couldn’a pin down at the time. Later, I placed it. Some whiles back a case took me to Monte Carlo.”
Wake started quite visibly, and began to adjust his stiff collar. Bluett, leaning on the mantelpiece beside the attaché case, appeared to be no more than mildly interested.
“Weel, the impression to which I refer was this: ye reminded me of a croupier. And before we go any further, in your own interest, Mr. Wake, I am going to ask a question: Have ye ever been a croupier?”
Wake hesitated for seven dreadful seconds, then nodded his head. “Yes.”
“I am glad o’ that answer, Mr. Wake, because one o’ my officers has twice seen ye in conversation wi’ a man called Francis, in a certain bar. We know this man Francis to be associated wi’ roulette in the West End of London, and it was this report which freshened my memory. On the night o’ Sir Giles Loeder’s death, he had been playing roulette at the flat of a woman called Mrs. Sankey. I don’t want ye to answer my next question, until I ha’ warned ye that anything you say may be used in evidence. But you are not compelled to say anything. You can take legal advice if you want it. But here is the question: Were ye acting as croupier at Mrs. Sankey’s flat on the night o’ Sir Giles Loeder’s death?”
Sergeant Bluett sighed and took out a notebook, at which he stared in a puzzled way for a moment, so that one might have supposed that he expected to find a newspaper there. James Wake moistened his lips, staring down at the floor. His hands were moist with perspiration and he raised them protectively from the knees of his perfectly creased trousers.
“Do ye wish to answer?” Firth asked.
“Yes.” Wake cleared his throat. “I was playing that night and I saw Sir Giles at the table.”
“Good. Did he win?”
“No more than he lost. He was a heavy player.”
“But we have evidence that he had money in his possession at the time of his death.”
“That may be true, sir,” Wake replied, and his use of the word “sir” was an indication, not missed by Firth, of the depths to which he conceived himself to be falling. “But it may not have been winnings.”
“Possibly I don’t know what ye mean, Mr. Wake.”
“Well, I have reason to believe, I don’t know how else to express myself, that the late Sir Giles had a financial interest in Mayfair roulette, at least for a time.”
“Is tha’ so? Did he foresee a crash and take his money out?”
“That I couldn’t say. It is mere conjecture on my part.”
Chief Inspector Firth narrowed his eyes still more, so that in upcast light from the desk lamp they glittered like amber beads. “It might ha’ been of some small assistance to the police, Mr. Wake, if you had divulged these facts at the time. Also, it might ha’ been better for yoursel’. Illicit roulette is not a hanging offence, and Lord Marcus is a singularly broad-minded man.”
“I entirely agree, Inspector.”
“It has been pointed out to me by those who have reason to know that when visiting the dogs, or other expensive forms of amusement, ye always went first to the house in Grosvenor Square. Correct me if I am wrong.”
“You may possibly be right, Inspec
tor.”
“Ye agree on that point?”
Wake, speaking like a man whose mind is so closely concentrated on a problem that his utterances are automatic, went on: “It was my custom to keep my savings at that address. I distrust banks, and indeed, governments, in times of stress such as these; and so, I had a certain amount of ready cash available there.”
“I see,” said Firth. “A private bank of your own? Weel, while you were in the roulette racket, I ha’ no doubt ye made quite a lot of money. But it has been noted, Mr. Wake, that you seem to ha’ given it up of late.”
“Yes, I thought it was hardly fair to my employer; that if I should be caught in a raid and his name brought into the matter—”
“Quite! quite. But although your income decreased, your expenditure didn’t. A lot may depend upon what I am going to ask ye now. What have ye in yon bag?”
Wake clenched his hands, his high color deserted him, a drop of perspiration trembled on the end of his nose. “Things I kept at my wife’s place, where I sometimes spent the night.”
“In that case, let’s have a look. Open it, Bluett.”
Sergeant Bluett, uttering a blowing sound, placed his notebook on the mantelpiece and opened the attaché case. If Chief Inspector Firth experienced any disappointment, he showed none. But the case contained a shaving set, comb and brushes, pyjamas, soft slippers, a tin of tobacco, two smoking pipes, a towel, a box of soap, and other odds and ends such as a man might deposit at an address where he spent an occasional night. Bluett, kneeling on the floor and exhibiting article after article, looked up when the case was empty, his ingenuous eyes widely opened.
“I see,” murmured the Chief Inspector. “Am I to take it ye were moving?”
“Yes, Inspector.” Wake dried his forehead with a white handkerchief. “I heard that the authorities were about to requisition the house.”
“Is tha’ so? Surely your wife could ha’ left these bits and pieces at Lord Marcus’s to-morrow. Why the hurry?”
“Possibly that had not occurred to me.”
“Evidently it had not, Mr. Wake.”
There was nothing in the Chief Inspector’s tone to betray the fact that he had staked everything upon Wake’s acting in just the way that Wake had acted. Using the card of an acquaintance from the Ministry of Supply, he had himself called at the house in Grosvenor Square and had informed Mrs. Wake that the premises were to be requisitioned immediately. His knowledge of human nature told him that if his theory concerning Wake had any concrete foundation, the outcome would settle the matter.
“Perhaps I acted hurriedly.”
“Like enough. However, I am sure you would be wishful to remove any doubts that may remain, and so would ye be good enough to empty ye’re pockets, and place their contents here on my desk.”
Wake stood up, displaying every appearance of disability. His expressive changes of complexion may have indicated a faulty heart, but he advanced to the desk, and complied with the Chief Inspector’s order. There was nothing in his possession one might not have anticipated finding there, with the possible exception of an elastic band which seemed to perform no duties. At this Firth gazed with a puzzled expression, and then, raising his head: “Sergeant Bluett,” he said crisply, “feel the witness’s person, wi’ particular attention to his legs.”
At that, suddenly, without warning, James Wake collapsed, morally and physically. He stood up, swayed, and saved himself from falling only by clutching the chair.
“Listen!” he whispered, “I’ll tell you everything — the whole story from beginning to end. But before I say another word, one thing I swear: I didn’t kill him.”
Four thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds in ten and five pound notes were strapped in rolls to James Wake’s legs by means of strong elastic bands. Fortified by a brandy and soda which the compassionate Chief Inspector ordered and the ruffled Sergeant Bluett fetched, Wake had slightly recovered himself. But he sat there before them, a stricken man, watching the Chief Inspector checking the numbers of notes against a list which he had on his desk. Presently, Firth looked up.
“A fair number o’ these notes,” he said, “were drawn out of his bank by Sir Giles two weeks or so before the tragedy. So we have to suppose that this was his own money. I’m making no charge and I won’t even make any suggestion. I shall merely ask ye, James Wake, to tell me your story in your own words.”
And this is the story which James Wake told.
He had been introduced to the roulette group by Mr. Francis, who seemed to recall that he, Wake, had some experience of Monte Carlo. The terms were attractive: ten guineas a night. After a little practice he became quite proficient. He knew that he was placing himself outside the law, but he did not consider the offence to be a serious one. He admitted that, although a careful man in other respects, he had been addicted to gambling since his youth.
On the night of the tragedy he believed, but could not be sure, that an altercation had arisen between Sir Giles Loeder, Mr. Michaelis and Mrs. Destrée. His duties at the table did not enable him to pay much attention to what was going on elsewhere. But at a later stage in the evening, Mr. Francis, who, he said, looked white and angry, came to one of the cashiers and withdrew a sum which he, Wake, estimated to have represented the greater part of the roulette bank. With this he walked out of the gaming room.
A run of luck on the part of certain players followed, and nearly closed the table. Mr. Michaelis, who had gone out, returned, and announced the end of play on behalf of Mrs. Sankey, who was not present. Otherwise, the bank would have been broken.
Wake, having balanced accounts with the other croupiers, set out for South Audley Street. The night was uncomfortably dark in patches, but he was familiar with the route, and within twelve or fifteen paces of that masonry bay which embraced the house with the scarlet door, he became aware of a fierce altercation in progress somewhere just ahead. He pulled up, and in his own words, heard a sound like that of a wolf or an alsatian attacking. Then, he heard a strangled voice which he thought he recognized as that of Sir Giles Loeder. This voice cried out: “You swine! — you are strangling me!...”
“Then there was a sort of sobbing sound, a crashing thud. This all happened in a matter of seconds, and I dashed forward to see what I could do — to find out whatever was happening. As I ran up I could hear someone else running away. I flashed my torch and called out, but I could see nothing and no one replied. Then, right on the step of Lord Marcus’s house, I saw him.”
Wake was so overcome by his recollections, that Firth began to believe he might be telling the truth. He exchanged a significant nod with Bluett, who was writing busily.
“Sir Giles Loeder lay there, all in a heap. I couldn’t try to describe his position. He was just crumpled up. And I could see that he was unconscious. I slipped my key in the lock, put my torch in my pocket, stooped and lifted him. I am, for my age, a fairly strong man.”
“So I ha’ noted,” said Firth dourly.
“There was no one in the lobby, but I could smell the incense, and I knew that his lordship and Mrs. Vane were in what he calls The Shrine. There wasn’t much light, and I laid Sir Giles on the couch. He looked gray; his face was bruised and twisted; but I want to make it quite clear that the fact never crossed my mind that he was dead. I thought he was just unconscious. As I carried him in, my foot had kicked a case which lay half under him, so I went back and picked it up, closing the door.” He paused, licking his dry lips. “There was five thousand pounds in five and ten pound notes in it.
“I can only say that temptation was too strong for me. What else can I say? I thought quickly, and it seemed to me that he had been attacked by a thief for his money, that hearing me come up the thief had bolted before he could drag the case from under Sir Giles. I worked out that if I stayed to revive him, as at first I had meant to do, that would be the end of the matter for me. I dare not carry him out again; someone might come along at any moment. That was when the idea came to me upon wh
ich I acted. I stuffed the money into my pockets, stood and listened awhile, but could hear nothing from The Shrine. Then, I looked out into the street. There was no one there. So, carrying the empty case, I closed the front door, and rang the bell.”
“Why?” asked Sergeant Bluett, with an air of childish curiosity.
“I think it was an impulse. I didn’t want to leave him there unconscious, and I hoped that his lordship hearing the bell, would come out and attend to him.”
“Ye were wearing gloves?” asked Firth.
“I was. I knew there would be no fingerprints. I had a plan in my mind by now, which as far as I could see would work very well. I was afraid, though, that the thief might have seen me carry Sir Giles into the house. But the chances were against it. At that moment the night was pitch black, and I had heard the man running around the corner before I opened the door; so that if he came back to recover his haul, he wouldn’t have any idea what had happened. I was afraid, though, that he might be hanging about. I ran round quickly into Mount Street, and threw Sir Giles’s case down the kitchen steps of an empty house which I knew of there. Then I walked on to Grosvenor Square and knocked my wife up.”
He paused again, inserting two forefingers between his neck and his linen collar, which now was limp and clinging clammily.
“I knew I should have to make sure of her evidence, so I took a chance. She had never approved of my racing, the dogs, and other amusements that I went in for, but, now, I thought it best to tell her that I worked for a roulette syndicate. I did this — and she took it very badly. I told her I believed the place was going to be raided a few minutes after I had left, and that the police might make inquiries. If they went to South Audley Street it would mean the sack.
“She understood that well enough, and so she agreed to do what I asked. This was to say, if she should be questioned, that I had spent the evening with her, going through Lord Marcus’s accounts, which, in fact, it was my custom to do. That’s all my wife knows about the matter; and the only thing she has done in any way wrong, is to do what I asked her to do.
