He came back to London alone and found himself most inconveniently dogged by the one woman in the world who was entitled to bear his name, which was Jackson – a pertinacious if handsome woman who had no particular affection for him, but was anxious to recover for the benefit of his two neglected children a little of the fortune he had dissipated.
And most pertinacious at a moment when, but for his inherent meanness, he would have gladly paid good money to be rid of her.
It was a week after he had had the shocking experience of finding himself hurled across fairly high railings into a providentially shallow area, and he was still inclined to limp, when Leon Gonsalez, who was investigating his case, came with the full story of the man’s misdeeds.
‘I would have dropped him a little more heavily if I had known,’ said Manfred regretfully. ‘The strange thing is that the moment I lifted him – it’s a trick you have never quite succeeded in acquiring, Leon – I knew he was something pestilential. We shall have to keep an unfriendly eye on Mr Garry Lexfield. Where does he stay?’
‘He has a sumptuous flat in Jermyn Street,’ said Leon. ‘Before you tell me that there are no sumptuous flats in Jermyn Street, I would like to say that it has the appearance of sumptuousness. I was so interested in this gentleman that I went round to the Yard and had a chat with Meadows. Meadows knows all about him, but he has no evidence to convict. The man’s got plenty of money – has an account at the London and Southern, and bought a car this afternoon.’
Manfred nodded thoughtfully.
‘A pretty bad man,’ he said. ‘Is there any chance of finding his wife? I suppose the unfortunate lady who was with him – ’
‘She lives in Little Titchfield Street – calls herself Mrs Jackson, which is probably our friend’s name. Meadows is certain that it is.’
Mr Garry Lexfield was too wise a man not to be aware of the fact that he was under observation; but his was the type of crime which almost defies detection. His pleasant manner and his car, plus a well-organized accident to his punt on one of the upper reaches of the Thames, secured him introductions and honorary membership of a very exclusive river club; and from there was but a step to homes which ordinarily would have been barred to him.
He spent a profitable month initiating two wealthy stockbrokers into the mysteries of bushman poker, at which he was consistently unlucky for five successive nights, losing some £600 to his apologetic hosts. There was no necessity for their apologies as it turned out: on the sixth and seventh days, incredible as it may seem, he cleared the greater part of £5,000 and left his hosts with the impression of his regret that he had been the medium of their loss.
‘Very interesting,’ said Manfred when this was reported to him.
Then, one night when he was dining at the Ritz-Carlton with a young man to whom he had gained one of his quick introductions, he saw his supreme fortune.
‘Do you know her?’ he asked in an undertone of his companion.
‘That lady? Oh, Lord, yes! I’ve known her for years. She used to stay with my people in Somerset – Madame Velasquez. She’s the widow of a terribly rich chap, a Brazilian.’
Mr Lexfield looked again at the dark, beautiful woman at the next table. She was perhaps a little over-jewelled to please the fastidious. Swathes of diamond bracelets encircled her arm from the wrist up; an immense emerald glittered in a diamond setting on her breast. She was exquisitely dressed and her poise was regal.
‘She’s terribly rich,’ prattled on his informant. ‘My colonel, who knows her much better than I, told me her husband had left her six million pounds – it’s wicked that people should have so much money.’
It was wicked, thought Garry Lexfield, that anybody should have so much money if he could not ‘cut’ his share.
‘I’d like to meet her,’ he said, and a minute later the introduction was made and Garry forgot his arrangement to trim the young guardsman that night in the thrill of confronting a bigger quarry.
He found her a remarkably attractive woman. Her English, though slightly broken, was good. She was obviously pleased to meet him. He danced with her a dozen times and asked to be allowed to call in the morning. But she was leaving for her country place in Seaton Deverel.
‘That’s rather strange,’ he said, with his most dazzling smile. ‘I’m driving through Seaton Deverel next Saturday.’
To his joy she bit the bait. At noon on the Saturday his car shot up the long drive to Hanford House.
A week later came Leon with startling news.
‘This fellow’s got himself engaged to a rich South American widow, George. We can’t allow that to go any further. Let us have an orgy of lawlessness – kidnap the brigand and put him on a cattle boat. There’s a man in the East India Dock Road who would do it for fifty pounds.’
Manfred shook his head.
‘I’ll see Meadows,’ he said. ‘I have an idea that we may catch this fellow.’
Mr Garry Lexfield was not in that seventh heaven of delight to which accepted lovers are supposed to ascend; but he was eminently satisfied with himself as he watched the final touches being made to the dinner table in his flat.
Madame Velasquez had taken a great deal of persuading, had shown an extraordinary suspicion, and asked him to introduce her to those parents of his who were at the moment conveniently attending to their large estates in Canada.
‘It is a very serious step I take, Garry dear,’ she said, shaking her pretty head dubiously. ‘I love you very dearly, of course, but I am so fearful of men who desire only money and not love.’
‘Darling, I don’t want money,’ he said vehemently. ‘I have shown you my passbook: I have nine thousand pounds in the bank, apart from my estates.’
She shrugged this off. Madame was a lady of peculiar temperament, never in the same mood for longer than an hour.
She came to dinner and, to his annoyance, brought a chaperon – a girl who spoke no word of English. Mr Lexfield was a very patient man and concealed his anger.
She brought news that made him forget the inconvenience of a chaperon. It was while they were sipping coffee in his over-decorated little drawing-room that she told him:
‘Such a nice man I meet today. He came to my house in the country.’
‘He was not only nice, but lucky,’ smiled Garry, who was really not feeling terribly happy.
‘And he spoke about you,’ she smiled.
Garry Lexfield became instantly attentive. Nobody in England knew him well enough to make him the subject of conversation. If they did, then the discussion had not been greatly to his advantage.
‘Who was this?’ he asked.
‘He spoke such perfect Spanish, and he has a smile the most delightful! And he said so many funny things that I laughed.’
‘A Brazilian?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘In Brazil we speak Portuguese,’ she said. ‘No, Señor Gonsalez – ’
‘Gonsalez?’ he said quickly. ‘Not Leon Gonsalez? One of those swi – men . . . the Three Just Men?’
She raised her eyebrows.
‘Do you know them?’
He laughed.
I have heard about them. Blackguards that should have been hanged years ago. They are murderers and thieves. They’ve got a nerve to come and see you. I suppose he said something pretty bad about me? The truth is, I’ve been an enemy of theirs for years . . . ’
He went on to tell an imaginary story of an earlier encounter he had had with the Three, and she listened intently.
‘How interesting!’ she said at last. ‘No, they simply said of you that you were a bad man, and that you wanted my money; that you had a bad – what is the word? – record. I was very angry really, especially when they told me that you had a wife, which I know is not true, because you would not deceive me. Tomorrow he com
es again, this Señor Gonsalez – he really did amuse me when I was not angry. Shall I lunch with you and tell you what he said?’
Garry was annoyed: he was thoroughly alarmed. It had not been difficult to locate and identify the man who had taken such summary action with him; and, once located, he had decided to give a wide berth to the men who lived behind the Silver Triangle. He had sense enough to know they were not to be antagonized, and he had hoped most sincerely that they had been less acute in tracing him than he had been in identifying them.
He changed the conversation and became, in spite of the witness, the most ardent and tender of lovers. All his art and experience was called into play; for here was a prize which had been beyond his dreams.
His immediate objective was some £20,000 which had come to the lady in the shape of dividends. She had displayed a pretty helplessness in the matter of money, though he suspected her of being shrewd enough. Garry Lexfield could talk very glibly and fluently on the subject of the market. It was his pet study; it was likewise his continuous undoing. There never was a thief who did not pride himself on his shrewdness in money matters, and Garry had come in and out of the market from time to time in his short and discreditable life with disastrous results to himself.
He saw her and her silent companion to the car and went back, and in the solitude of his flat turned over the new and alarming threat represented by the interest which the Three Just Men were showing in his activities.
He rose late, as was his practice, and was in his pyjamas when the telephone-bell rang. The voice of the porter informed him that there was a trunk call for him and trunk calls these days meant the lovely Velasquez.
‘I have seen Gonsalez,’ said her urgent voice. ‘He came when I was at breakfast. Tomorrow, he says, they will arrest you because of something you did in Australia. Also today he applies to stop your money coming from the bank.’
‘Holding up my account?’ said Garry quickly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Certain I am sure! They will go to a judge in his rooms and get a paper. Shall I come to lunch?’
‘Of course – one o’clock,’ he said quickly. He glanced at the little clock on the mantelshelf: it was half-past eleven.
‘And about your investments: I think I can fix everything today. Bring your cheque-book.’
He was impatient for her to finish the conversation, and at last rather abruptly he brought it to a termination, dashed down the receiver, and, flying into his bedroom, began to dress.
His bank was in Fleet Street, and the journey seemed interminable. Fleet Street was much too close to the Law Courts for his liking. The judge’s order might already be effective.
He pushed his cheque under the brass grille of the tellers’ counter and held his breath while the slip of paper was handed to the accountant for verification. And then, to his overwhelming relief, the teller opened his drawer, took out a pad of notes and counted out the amount written on the cheque.
‘This leaves only a few pounds to your credit, Mr Lexfield,’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Garry. ‘I’m bringing in rather a big cheque after lunch, and I want you to get a special clearance.’
It was then he realized that by that time the judge’s order would be in operation. He must find another way of dealing with Madame Velasquez’s cheque.
The relief was so great that he could hardly speak calmly. With something short of £9,000 he hurried back to Jermyn Street and arrived simultaneously with Madame Velasquez.
‘How funny that caballero was, to be sure!’ she said in her staccato way. ‘I thought I should have laughed in his face. He told me you would not be here tomorrow, which is so absurd!’
‘It’s blackmail,’ said Garry easily. ‘Don’t you worry about Gonsalez. I have just been to Scotland Yard to report him. Now about these shares – ’
They had ten minutes to wait before lunch was ready, and those ten minutes were occupied with many arguments. She had brought her cheque-book, but she was a little fearful. Perhaps, he thought, the visit of Gonsalez had really aroused her suspicions. She was not prepared to invest the whole of her £20,000. He produced the papers and balance sheets that he had intended showing her on the previous night and explained, as he could very readily explain, the sound financial position of the company – one of the most solid on the Rand – in which he wished her to invest.
These shares,’ he said impressively, ‘will rise in the next twenty-four hours by at least ten per cent. in value. I’ve got a block held for you, but I must get them this afternoon. My idea is that immediately after lunch you should bring me an open cheque; I’ll buy the shares and bring them back to you.’
‘But why could not I go?’ she asked innocently.
‘This is a personal matter,’ said Garry with great gravity. ‘Sir John is allowing me to buy this stock as a great personal favour.’
To his joy she accepted this assurance – she actually wrote a cheque for £12,500 at the luncheon table, and he could scarcely summon patience to sit through the meal.
The proprietors of the flats in which he had his brief habitation did not cater on a generous scale, but the short time which elapsed before the dessert stage of the lunch arrived was a period of agony. She returned once to the question of her investment, seemed in doubt, referred again to Gonsalez and his warning.
‘Perhaps I had better wait for a day – yes?’
‘My dear girl, how absurd!’ said Garry. ‘I really believe you are being frightened by this fellow who called on you this morning! I’ll make him sorry!’
He half rose from the table, but she put her hand on his arm.
‘Please don’t hurry,’ she begged, and reluctantly he agreed. The bank did not close until three; there would be time to reach Dover by car and catch the five o’clock boat.
But the bank was situated in the City, and he must not cut his time too fine. He excused himself for a moment, went out in search of the valet he had acquired and gave him a few simple but urgent instructions. When he returned she was reading the balance sheet.
‘I am so foolish about these matters,’ she said, and suddenly lifted her head. ‘What was that?’ she asked, as the door slammed.
‘My valet – I have sent him out on a little errand.
She laughed nervously.
‘I am what you call on the jump,’ she said, as she pushed his coffee towards him. ‘Now tell me again, Garry, dear, what does ex-dividend mean?’
He explained at length, and she listened attentively. She was still listening when, with a sudden little choke of alarm, he half rose from his feet, only to fall back on the chair and thence to roll helplessly to the floor. Madame Velasquez took his half-empty cup of coffee, carried it at her leisure into the kitchen and emptied the contents into the sink. When he sent his valet out, Mr Garry Lexfield had saved her a great deal of trouble.
She rolled the unconscious man on to his back, and searched quickly and with a dexterous hand pocket after pocket until she found the fat envelope wherein Garry had placed his banknotes.
There was a knock at the outer door. Without hesitation she went out and opened it to the young guardsman who had so kindly introduced Mr Lexfield to her.
‘It’s all right, the servant’s gone,’ she said. ‘Here’s your two hundred, Tony, and thank you very much.’
Tony grinned.
‘The grudge I’ve got against him is that he took me for a sucker. These Australian crooks – ’
‘Don’t talk – get,’ she said tersely.
She went back to the dining-room, removed Garry’s collar and tie and, putting a pillow under his head, opened the window. In twenty minutes he would be more or less conscious, by which time his valet would have returned.
She found the cheque she had given to him, burnt it in the empty grate, and with a last look round took her depart
ure.
Outside the airport a tall man was waiting. She saw him signal to the driver of the car to pull up.
‘I got your message,’ said Manfred sardonically. ‘I trust you’ve had a good killing? I owe you five hundred pounds.’
She shook her head with a laugh. She was still the brown, beautiful Brazilian – it would take weeks before the stain would be removed.
‘No, thank you, Mr Manfred. It was a labour of love, and I have been pretty well paid. And the furnished house I took in the country was really not a very expensive proposition – oh, very well, then.’
She took the notes he handed to her and put them in her bag, one eye on the waiting plane. ‘You see, Mr Manfred, Garry is an old acquaintance of mine – by hearsay. I sent my sister down to Monte Carlo for her health. She also found Garry.’
Manfred understood. He waited till the plane had passed through the haze out of sight, and then he went back to Curzon Street, well satisfied.
The evening newspapers had no account of the Jermyn Street robbery, which was easily understood. Mr Garry Lexfield had a sense of pride.
The Typist Who Saw Things
About every six months Raymond Poiccart grew restless, and began prodding about in strange corners, opening deed boxes and trunks, and sorting over old documents. It was a few days before the incident of the Curzon Street ‘murder’ that he appeared in the dining room with an armful of old papers, and placed them on that portion of the table which had not been laid for dinner.
Leon Gonsalez looked and groaned.
George Manfred did not even smile, though he was laughing internally.
‘I am indeed sorry to distress you, my dear friends,’ said Poiccart apologetically; ‘but these papers must be put in order. I have found a bundle of letters that go back five years, to the time when the agency was a child.’
‘Burn ’em,’ suggested Leon, returning to his book. ‘You never do anything with them, anyway!’
The Complete Four Just Men Page 108
