“I’m sorry, sir, but I was very frightened.”
“I’m sorry for you,” answered Harrison. “You must have had a shocking time.”
“Yes, sir, I did,” said the woman. “But I seemed to get used to it when all of a sudden you came this morning, that made things much worse. Directly you had gone, the Baron came down frightfully angry. He said I had given you the address. As if I had ever seen you before. And Ernst started twisting my arms in the most terrible way. I can hardly move one of them now.”
“I am so sorry.”
“It was not your fault, sir, and seeing how things have turned out, I must be very thankful. But you seemed to upset them terribly. The Baron didn’t do any good shouting at me so Ernst pushed me in a corner and they had a talk together in whispers. Then they both smiled and Ernst went off.”
“I saw him myself this morning,” said Harrison.
“He came back with the young lady,” said the concierge. “She didn’t look as pretty to-day or I didn’t like the look of her and that was the reason. Ernst and she and I went up to the flat and the Baron told her to hurry. She took a case into M. Brown’s bedroom and the Baron told me I was going on a journey. I said I was going to do no such thing. Then he made one of his nasty remarks about my having a nice young man to go with. I thought it was Ernst and said I would rather die first. Then a voice said: ‘But you won’t mind coming with me?’ and there, standing at the bedroom door, was the young lady dressed as a man and looking for all the world like one, too. That’s so, isn’t it?”
“Perfectly right.”
“Then I thought in a flash that this might be my chance. I might be able to appeal to another woman it once I could get away from those terrible men. So I said I was quite willing and the Baron rubbed his hands.”
“And we know the rest?” said Harrison.
“Well, nearly, sir,” was the reply. “I got my hat and coat and went off in the motor-car with the young lady. Then I discovered she was as bad, or even worse than the others. When I started to talk to her, she laughed at me. And in such a terrible, cruel way that I knew I could expect less help from her even than from Ernst. I shall dream of her horrible face until I die, I’m sure.”
At that moment Dawnay suddenly crumpled up on his chair and slid to the floor.
“Quick, Miss Warley, get some water,” cried Harrison, jumping up and lifting Dawnay’s head.
Mona dashed to find water and was soon sponging Dawnay’s forehead with the greatest solicitude. Dawnay opened his eyes and quickly revived but got back to his chair as if he were just beginning to recover from a long illness.
“Thank heaven he’s all right,” said the concierge. “I thought something more was going to happen.”
“I’m all right,” said Dawnay feebly.
“I think you have told us everything we want to know,” said Harrison to the concierge. “I’m very grateful to you. I’ll fix things up with the police all right. If I were you, I wouldn’t go back to your old quarters for a day or two. Stay here and look after Mr. Dawnay. He’ll need it. Don’t you think that’s best, Dawnay?”
“We’ll have to square my other help but that’ll be all right,” answered Dawnay.
Harrison escorted the concierge to the kitchen and shut the door on her. Coming back to the sitting-room, he found Dawnay sitting trembling and tightly holding Mona Warley’s hand.
“It’s terrible,” said Dawnay with a choke.
“I understand,” answered Harrison.
“Poor old Gilbert,” said Dawnay.
“Poor Twining,” said Harrison.
“The lonely grave,” said Dawnay.
There was a pause.
“Thank God for Mrs. Blacklock,” murmured Dawnay. And both men sat silent as they thought of the truly Christian act of a truly Christian woman.
Chapter XXI
The Telephone Call
“Sorry to make such a fool of myself, Harrison,” said Dawnay, gradually pulling himself together. “But it was a terrible shock.”
“Don’t talk about it, Dawnay, if you would rather not,” said Harrison gently.
“I’m all right now,” said Dawnay, with a weak smile.
“You’ll be all right soon,” said Mona Warley, giving him an encouraging smile.
“So poor Gilbert was—”
“Met his death,” said Harrison. “We know that, Dawnay, and I’m afraid nothing can alter it.”
“In those rooms where he had hidden himself.”
“That is so.”
“Well, Harrison,” said Dawnay, “you have done what you came out here to do. You have discovered all about poor Gilbert. You’re wonderful. Even now I can’t see how you got to this point. There are any number of things I don’t understand although I realised, as that woman went on with her story, it must be Gilbert.”
“I have a little more work to do before I start explaining,” said Harrison.
“But you have finished, surely?” asked Mona Warley.
“One part of the work, certainly,” replied Harrison.
“The other man, of course,” said Dawnay. “I wasn’t thinking about him.”
“Oh, we’re mainly clear about him now,” answered Harrison.
“Clear?” queried Dawnay.
“Of course,” said Harrison. “But I’ve told you that this isn’t the time for explanations.”
“Then I don’t see—” said Dawnay.
“I have rather a personal matter to settle now.”
“Personal?”
“Yes,” answered Harrison. “I’m going to deal with the Baron.”
“Why not leave that to the police?”
“Impossible. If my luck holds I am going to deal with him myself.”
“Why?”
“There are many reasons against leaving it to the police,” said Harrison. “And there are a number of important ones why I should consider it a personal matter. I know the Baron has regarded this as a kind of duel. He was right from the start and I greatly appreciate it. I won’t say his methods have been too clean but he stands to lose very much more than I do. Still you must agree that one doesn’t walk off the field in the middle of a duel and say you’ve had enough.”
“But the other man might finish you off if you stayed,” said Mona Warley. “I don’t want to be rude, Mr. Harrison, I have as much belief in you as Mr. Dawnay, but the Baron is a mightily slippery person and you are rather assuming your victory, aren’t you?”
“I should feel a coward if I gave it up,” said Harrison.
“I didn’t mean that,” she replied. “We know you’re brave enough but why go looking for unnecessary danger? You’ve found out enough, in all conscience.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Warley,” said Harrison, with a smile. “I really do appreciate your thought for me but I can’t leave things where they are. I couldn’t get the whole thing straight without knowing a little more about the Baron. And besides, I must have myself arrested.”
“Arrested?” asked Mona Warley, with alarm.
“Yes, Dawnay knows all about that,” Harrison replied. “The police chief arranged it for me this morning and I couldn’t disappoint him. It would hardly be fair.”
“I don’t see how being arrested, even by arrangement, is going to help you find the Baron,” said Dawnay.
“Possibly not,” answered Harrison. “But I have my own way of doing things, Dawnay.”
“Sorry,” said Dawnay.
“No need for that,” replied Harrison. “But it’s part of my plan and I’m going to follow it out. I really think I had better get on with it, too. There’s one thing more for you to do, Dawnay, and then you will have finished helping me. Do you feel strong enough?”
“Good lord, yes,” said Dawnay. “Besides, I want to see the Baron properly disposed of, too.”
“As soon as you feel all right, then,” said Harrison, “I want you to pick up Crill and wait for me outside police head-quarters. You know where they are?”
&
nbsp; “I’ve a rough idea. At any rate, I’ll soon find out.”
“So shall I,” said Harrison, with a smile. “A policeman is going to take me there.”
“Is that all you want?” asked Dawnay.
“I think so,” said Harrison. “Better have a comfortable-sized walking stick with you—both of you. And, by the way, don’t bring Miss Warley.”
“Oh, Mr. Harrison, why not?” came a very disappointed voice.
“You might catch cold waiting outside,” was the reply.
“Nonsense,” said Mona Warley, vigorously.
“Quite true,” said Harrison. “But you wanted a reason and I gave you the easiest one I could think of. I’m sorry, but you can’t be in it to-night.”
“Sending the little girl home to bed,” said Mona Warley scornfully, with a look of appeal to Dawnay.
“I say, Harrison—” started Dawnay.
“And the best place for you to-night,” said Harrison. “I wish I could have you, Miss Warley, you’ve been a trump in helping me, but really it’s impossible.”
“Oh, very well,” said Mona Warley. “I’ve had more excitement than I expected so I can’t grumble. Anyhow,” she added defiantly, “I won’t let Mr. Dawnay go unless he’s quite fit to do so.”
“I’m relying on you for that,” answered Harrison, with a twinkling eye. “He needs a bit of looking after.”
Mona Warley, for no reason she felt she could explain, blushed a little at this and grew even more red when Dawnay gave her a reassuring smile.
“Then that’s all settled,” said Harrison, picking up his gloves and going out of the room. Leaving the flat, he immediately made for the Quai du Mont Blanc, walking in full view so that, had any watcher been on the alert for him, he could not have been missed. After stopping to look in a shop-window or two so that anyone following him could make certain of keeping up with him, Harrison made for the Hotel des Montagnes and saw, with great satisfaction, that there was a policeman standing very near the front entrance. “How very thoughtful of M. Ringel,” mused Harrison. “I am getting to appreciate that man more and more.”
Right in the doorway Harrison stopped and looked across at the lakeside. A figure was leaning nonchalantly on the rail, seemingly oblivious of the world and its happenings but so placed that he could see everything that went on at the hotel entrance. “One can’t be certain,” thought Harrison. “One may be too suspicious but if he’s there to see what happens to me he’s going to be very lucky.” Thereupon Harrison took a good look at the policeman and dropped his gloves.
As he stooped to pick them up he saw the policeman come towards him.
“M. Clay Harrison?” said the policeman.
“That’s my name,” was the reply.
“I have orders to arrest you,” continued the policeman. “You will come with me at once.”
“But—” started Harrison.
“You will not resist, I trust,” said the policeman.
“Certainly not,” answered Harrison. “I will come with you. May we have a taxi?”
“As you wish,” replied the policeman.
A taxi-cab was hailed and the two got in, the policeman directing the driver to headquarters.
“May I ask you a question?” said Harrison.
“I am not allowed to answer any questions,” replied the policeman.
“But it does not affect your duty,” said Harrison.
“I will decide whether I can answer it,” said the policeman solemnly.
“What has happened to my friend who was in the hotel with me?”
“Your singing compatriot has been arrested also,” replied the policeman. “I cannot tell you more than that.”
“My singing compatriot?”
“I have answered you,” said the policeman, and looked as if no torture would extract any further information from him.
Harrison puzzled his brain to discover the meaning of the policeman’s remark. “His singing compatriot.” A phrase which conveyed nothing. Harrison had never gathered that Henry prided himself on his voice. As they drew near police headquarters, Harrison gave it up and decided that the remark must have something to do with Henry’s use of the gramophone.
At headquarters Harrison got out of the taxi-cab and was immediately met by two other policemen who stood, one at each side of him, and he realised that with the one who had made the arrest at the back of him, any attempt at escape would have been worse than useless.
He was taken at once to M. Ringel’s room. Directly they were alone, M. Ringel shook hands cordially with him and placed him in a comfortable chair.
“As time went on,” said the police chief, “I was afraid we should not have the pleasure of arresting you, after all, Mr. Harrison.”
“I would not have missed it for worlds, M. Ringel,” said Harrison.
“Quite efficient, I hope?” asked M. Ringel, anxiously.
“Admirable,” answered Harrison. “Almost too effective. Had I been a criminal, my confidence would have been considerably shaken by the time I arrived here.”
“My man was not rough, I hope?”
“Oh no; it was his gentleness which frightened me.”
“That’s good,” said M. Ringel, smiling broadly and rubbing his hands. “And now what have you to report to me, Mr. Harrison?”
“A great deal,” said Harrison. “But there is one thing I want to be reassured about before I do anything else. I am very worried about my friend Henry.”
“Henry is all right,” answered M. Ringel, smiling still more broadly.
“You know, M. Ringel, I’ve been rather conscience-stricken about Henry,” said Harrison. “I knew you’d treat him all right, of course, but I feel somehow that I left him in the lurch.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Harrison,” said the police chief, getting up and opening the door, “come here and listen.”
Harrison got up out of his chair and went to the door. As he listened he seemed to hear a muffled chorus coming from the end of the corridor. Growing more accustomed to it, he seemed to hear continental voices repeating, “Ding dong, ding dong.”
“What on earth—” asked Harrison.
“That’s your Henry,” answered M. Ringel. “He has introduced song into the Geneva police department.”
“Good heavens,” said Harrison.
“I myself am pleased, in a way,” said the police chief. “But singing in this office is not usual.”
“I should think not,” answered Harrison. “But I don’t understand yet, M. Ringel.”
“Well, you see, M. Harrison, I thought it would be easier, after I had talked with you, if I brought Mr. Henry here. So I gave instructions, and when he came I spoke to him myself, but I didn’t dare let him know he wasn’t really under arrest any more. He was angry with me, and he talked about the British flag—”
“A splendid fellow, Henry.”
“Splendid indeed, for we gave him a good lunch and he seemed to forget his anger. But my men do not know much English and he does not know much French. Very unfortunate, and I told them they must do their best to keep him amused, so that time should not hang too heavily on his hands. But the language problem is still a great difficulty, Mr. Harrison.”
“It is,” agreed Harrison.
“Conversation was not easy,” continued M. Ringel. “Although I must say Mr. Henry did his best. It was when he asked them if they rode horses—for there were eight or nine of them keeping him company—that this singing began.”
“Singing compatriot,” thought Harrison.
“I was sitting working here when in comes one of my men, with a look of horror on his face. ‘The Englishman wishes to teach us a song to sing when riding horses,’ he cried, as if many murders were being reported. ‘Why not?’ I said. ‘But we cannot sing here,’ was the answer. ‘Why not?’ I said again. ‘Are those your orders, sir?’ said the man in blank amazement. ‘Precisely,’ I answered, and he went back with the news.”
“Wonderful,” said Harr
ison.
“And it’s been going on ever since with slight intervals for refreshment,” said M. Ringel, with a laugh. “When one goes on duty and another comes in, he has to learn the song. Your Mr. Henry seems to be enjoying it greatly.”
“I should like to hear it,” said Harrison.
“Why not?” said the police chief. “We will go quietly along the corridor and if we open the door ever so slightly you will be able to.”
They went along the corridor and the police chief very quietly opened the door from which the musical sounds were issuing. Harrison heard a masculine chorus singing something like “Ding dong, ding dong, vegalloperlon” with a gusto which suggested that, although the first suggestion of English community singing among Genevese policemen had been met with diffidence, the results were now producing a great deal of pleasure.
“That’s good, boys,” came Henry’s voice. “The best we’ve had yet. Now then, once more.”
And again came the refrain, “Ding dong, ding dong, vegalloperlon.”
“Better and better,” said Henry. “You’ll be singing on the halls in London yet. Henry’s band of harmony, all the way from Geneva. Now we’ll go a bit farther. What about ‘It is my wedding morning’?” Henry raised his voice in illustration. There was silence, and Henry repeated the phrase. Then a hesitant voice tried to follow him.
“Wedding morning,” said Henry. “When you get married. Wife and children and all that, don’t you see?” There was silence and then a roar of laughter. Henry had obviously demonstrated by dumb show what his words had been unable to convey.
“I take my hat off to Henry,” said Harrison, as they moved back to the police chief’s room.
“I have always admired the English,” said M. Ringel, settling himself in his chair again, “but I never thought any of them could make my men do that.”
Harrison found himself humming the song and turned to the police chief with a smile. “It’s a good tune,” he said.
“Assuredly,” answered the police chief. “And now you are satisfied about your friend, what have you to tell me?”
On his way to police headquarters, Harrison had thought over exactly what he should tell M. Ringel and, having decided that this gentleman possessed a shrewdness that would certainly guess the truth, even if only a part of it was disclosed to him, determined to lay his cards on the table and trust to M. Ringel’s co-operation to carry out the last part of his plan.
Dusty Death Page 26
