Warrant for X

by Philip MacDonald

  “Why don’t you sit down, Mrs Bellingham? And make yourself at home. But you mustn’t let him talk too much or I shall be getting into trouble with Doctor Holmes.” She had set down a chair behind Avis and was patting its back invitingly.

  Avis sat. She did not take her eyes off the drawn face on the pillow.

  Another rustling and the nurse stood beside her and herself bent over the pillow. She put her hand again upon the patient’s head and held it there a moment. She said, drawing it away:

  “Well, the excitement of a visitor doesn’t seem to have done you any harm. But you must be good!” She wagged a distressingly roguish forefinger. “You mustn’t be a bad boy and spoil this nice surprise I got for you!”

  Garrett’s lips moved, shaping themselves into a soundless and deplorable word. Avis choked. She took out a handkerchief and pressed it to her lips. She felt a strange desire to giggle and weep at the same time.

  “And now,” said the fat voice, “I’ll leave you to yourselves.” Once more the forefinger was raised in coy admonition. “But very little talking, mind!”

  The starched linen creaked again and she was gone, to settle herself once more, with a determinedly tactful back towards the bed, in her chair by the fire.

  Garrett’s sluggish eyes moved themselves in her direction. Once more his lips soundlessly formed a fearful word.

  “Don’t!” said Avis Bellingham in a choked voice. “Please don’t, Tom!”

  And then, suddenly, all desire for laughter left both their minds and again they stared at each other. There was much for each pair of eyes to read in their counterpart.

  Garrett spoke first. From between his barely moving lips came thick words which said:

  “Crack on the head. . . . Don’t know how long here. . . . I wanted to say sorry for lunch the other day. . . .” A groping look came into his heavy eyes. “When was it? . . . Seems . . .”

  She leaned nearer to him. She said:

  “It was on Monday, Tom. Yesterday. And there’s absolutely nothing——”

  The thick, guttural voice interrupted her. “There is! . . . Behaved badly. . . . Too many drinks. . . .” His voice was laboured and each successive word came with more difficulty. She interrupted him, leaning forward and putting a hand upon the clothes which covered his shoulder. She said:

  “Don’t, Tom! It’s all right; it’s perfectly all right!”

  His lips moved again. “ ’Tisn’t all right. . . . Very bad! . . . Fooled about things I—I—really meant . . The voice died away and his tongue came out in effort to moisten the lips which seemed so unmanageable.

  “Oh!” said Avis Bellingham softly. “I——” She seemed to check herself, closing her mouth tightly so that further words should not escape.

  There was a silence.

  “I don’t know . . .” began Garrett slowly and painfully—and then was interrupted.

  A voice came to their ears from across the room. It was fat and efficient and obviously gloving iron in velvet. It said:

  “Not too much talking for the patient, please!”

  Garrett moved heavy eyes slightly in the direction of the voice. But this time his lips did not move; they were too tired to waste effort.

  Avis leant closer to him. She smiled at him and it was as if an Olympian balm had been poured over his hurts. She said through the smile:

  “I’ll do it for you.’’ And her lips moved soundlessly to form a word.

  Garrett started to grin, checking the wideness of the smile only just in time to stop another stab of that agonizing pain. And then his smile went and he said with a curious sharpening of tone and words:

  “How’s the—what did you call it?—the riddle? Been having . . .’’ His brows creased themselves into a slow and painful frown and a cloud came over his eyes. “Been having . . . sort of dreams. . . . Barry and Edna and—and ”

  Mrs Bellingham stopped him. She said in an imperious whisper:

  “You mustn’t talk! And don’t think about that sort of thing! It’s not going to happen! . . . I’ve just been with Anthony. This is his house, you know. He’s very busy. Very. I’ll tell you tomorrow, or he will. But lots of things have happened.”

  A light came into the languid eyes of the head upon the pillow and from the heavy lips came an eager croaking. It said:

  “Found Murch?”

  Avis said: “Sssh! I’m not going to tell you any details but you’ve got to believe me. All sorts of things are happening!”

  Garrett said in a voice suddenly louder: “Please tell me ” And then with a determined crackling the nurse was at the bedside once more. She said in a voice from which everything save authority had gone:

  “That’ll do! No more now!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  THERE WAS AMAZEMENT in the Gethryn household: its master not only appeared at the breakfast table but appeared bathed and shaven and clothed for the day. His son’s joy and surprise were eagerly voiced; his wife’s greetings satiric. He did not bow before the storm; he helped himself to food and sat down and began placidly to eat. He said:

  “I’m a busy man. Great matters hang upon my every word and action.” He drank coffee. “I might justly be likened to the spider.”

  His wife looked at him with interest. “You’ve got that secret look on, Anthony! And you’re excited about something.”

  He put down his knife and fork. “I say nothing, though I could say much. I will only say that in future I should be known as Semlok, the Upside-Down Detective.” He reached for the paper and opened it and from behind it said: “When you come to think of it I am a spider—a subtle spider who doth sit in middle of his web which spreadeth wide.”

  “I don’t like spiders,” said his son. “But their webs are pretty.”

  Anthony lowered the paper. He made the face which never failed to draw a crescendo peal of laughter from his son. He said, looking at his wife:

  “No brighter nor skilful thread than mine, my cabbage. If aught do touch the utmost thread of it I feel it instantly on every side.”

  He finished his breakfast to ribald chaff from his family. He left them and went into his study and busied himself in thought.

  At ten o’clock his expected visitor arrived. It was Pike, lantern faced and smiling and alert. He refused refreshment, took tobacco and sat in the big armchair close to Anthony’s desk. He produced from his pocket a large and official-seeming envelope, and from the envelope a heterogeneous collection of paper bound with elastic. He said: “Well, sir?” and grinned.

  “Well to you!” said Anthony and blew smoke rings.

  Pike said: “I’ll start, then. We did have the divisional plain-clothes inspector on the Ballister business, sir, but as soon as Mr Lucas got your letter yesterday lunchtime he took him off. He asked me whether I’d go and I jumped at the chance, as you might say.” He put his hand again to his breast pocket and brought it away bearing this time some folded sheets of typescript. He unfolded them and pressed out the creases upon his knee. He looked up at Anthony. “A copy of your letter, sir. How’d it be if I was to answer all the points right now?”

  Anthony ceased to blow smoke rings. “All?” he said. “It would be magnificent. Can do?”

  Pike smiled, not without pleasant traces of self-satisfaction. “Yes sir. Ready? . . . Taking the first paragraph of your letter, Mr Lucas told me first of all to say that he hadn’t taken any offence when you were there. Second, I was to say that of course we were going into it. Third, I was to say that he quite saw your point about not warning this KJB lot. . . . And now I can get down to your numbered points. Under the heading ‘General’, and taking them in order, I can tell you that nobody is going to get any idea that we’re a bit interested in KJB. Second, we’ve sent Mr Sparkes—you know him, sir!—to talk to the coroner—and that’s all right: he won’t show any interest in KJB. Third—well, I hope that’s answered by my having charge of the inquiries personally. Fourth, I’ve taken good care that nobody in any way connected with the poli
ce is going anywhere near the KJB office, ”

  He turned over a page of manuscript, sat back more comfortably, cleared his throat and began again. He said:

  “Now, sir, for your heading ‘Particular.’ . . . One: I’ve put a very good man—you remember Howells?—onto the nursing home in Welbeck Street. He’s an extra porter there now, in uniform and all. There’s another man outside and if anybody comes to ask for Mr Garrett, Howells will tell him and he’ll do the necessary following. . . . Two: I’ve been onto Doctor Hoylake personally and told him his operator must call extension 232 at the Yard when she receives any telephonic inquiry for Mr Garrett. I’m afraid, though, that we can’t arrange with the Exchange for a record of numbers calling. This automatic business has beaten us in that way.

  “Progress!” said Anthony. “Ourobboros!”

  Pike stared politely. “Sir?”

  “Swalloweth itself,” said Anthony. “Go on.”

  Pike said: “I’ve put Dixon—I don’t think you know him, but he’s a good man—onto this young woman, Lamb. He’s got some more work to do but I saw him this morning before I came here and I should say that from what he’s got already there’s no possibility of her being mixed up in this business at all. We’ve looked for her in Records and she doesn’t appear there—nor anyone of the name. He’s been into antecedents, as you might say, and everything’s well aboveboard.

  . . . Now for Four: Last night, not having much to do, I went after Mrs Claude Kenealy myself. You can take it from me, sir, that she’s all right. After I’d made some other inquiries I went and saw the lady myself. I’ve got no doubt that she’s perfectly O.K., as they say in the States.”

  He looked at Anthony with one eyebrow cocked.

  “If you say so, Pike,” said Anthony and meant it.

  Pike beamed. “Thank you, sir. Number Five: Mrs Bellows—I’ve got nothing to report on yet. We sent a man from Hammersmith Division down to Iron Court and he reports that she was very well liked in the neighbourhood. Very respectable body. All bills paid and that sort of thing. Lived there for quite a while. She told the neighbours she was going to visit relatives in Scotland. No address given. We may have some more on this later when we’ve been properly round King’s Cross and St Pancras. But at present I’ve got to confess we’re nowhere.”

  He paused for a moment and tapped the bundle of papers on his knee. “In Number Six you asked for all the concrete evidence in the Ballister business. Here it is, sir, and we’ll come to it in a minute. . . . In Number Seven you asked us to search Records for Janet Murch. We’ve done so and haven’t got anything—as you expected. In Number Eight you asked for a similar search about Evans.” He laughed. “You were right about there being thousands of them, sir; but we haven’t got any one of ’em who we can in any way hitch up with domestic service. . . . And it’s the same for Number Nine—the KJB Agency. No record at all, and a very high-class character in the trade, as you might say. Number Ten was a request for the reports of Mr Garrett’s interviews at the Yard.” He tapped the breast pocket again. “I’ve got those here. . . .”

  He cleared his throat and shifted his position. Over the sheets of paper which he held he glanced at Anthony, noting, with a little smile, that Anthony’s eyes were half closed. He said:

  “With Number Eleven, sir, I can give you something definite. This man you saw leaving the house when you called on Lady Ballister on that Friday: I’ve found out about him. The butler knew about it. The man was a representative for some firm of central heating engineers. Lady Ballister had some idea of having central heating installed in the general’s country residence—that’s in Bucks, near Aylesbury—and this man was trying to interest her in his firm’s system. I put a casual question to the old general about this, sir, and he confirmed it. They don’t remember the name of the firm but if you want particularly to know I dare say we can find out. The man’s been to the house on several other occasions: the butler thinks four. His name was Mr Smithers. . . .”

  For the first time during the recital Anthony interrupted. He said:

  “Good name. Not so obvious as Smith.”

  Pike looked at him, frowning. “Beg pardon, sir.”

  Anthony said: “It doesn’t matter. What about Twelve?” Pike smiled. He said: “Maybe I’ve been too egoistic, as you might say, about this, sir. What you said was if we had a good man on the job he was to make inquiry about how many of the servants in the Ballister house, within the last twelve months, were from KJB. I took the liberty of assuming that I’d fill your bill and put out some discreet feelers—very discreet! I’m sure I didn’t arouse any suspicion and anyway, sir, in a manner of speaking, there weren’t any to arouse. Because why? Because none of the present servants in the house come from the KJB Agency! I checked on them. There are five all told, including the new nursemaid who took Murch’s place. Four of them come from another agency and the fifth privately. But, sir, not only Janet Murch came from KJB within the year, but one other—a housemaid by the name of Dillson—Doris Dillson. She came in February last. She left at the beginning of May, discharged for impertinence. . . . And that, sir, I think covers, as far as we can at the moment, all the matters in your report.”

  Pike sighed and sat back, relaxed. His small bright brown eyes searched Anthony’s face.

  Anthony came to life. He said:

  “Sometimes I agree with American novelists when they ascribe superhuman powers to Scotland Yard.”

  Pike smiled widely. He picked from his knee the elastic- bound bundle of papers. He leant forward in his chair and proffered them to Anthony. He said:

  “Here’s what you asked for, sir, in your Number Six: the Stuff from the Lady Ballister effects.”

  Anthony took the bundle and put it down upon the table and turned his chair and undid the elastic band. He found the stubs of five chequebooks; a passbook; an envelope, opened, addressed in a sprawling hand to “Charles”; a little red morocco-bound book marked “Diary.”

  He spread these out upon the table and looked round at Pike.

  “That all?” he said.

  Pike nodded. “Yes sir, except for something else which I couldn’t bring and which I’ll tell you about when you’re ready.”

  “Hmmh!” grunted Anthony and bent over the collection.

  Pike lit a cigarette and looked at his watch. The hands stood at eleven o’clock. . . .

  2

  The clock over the Naval Museum was sounding the last stroke of eleven when there came out of Number 14 Brabazon Road a young woman in the blue cloak and blue-streamered bonnet of a nursemaid. Drawn up to the wall almost underneath the KJB signboard was a perambulator. The nursemaid bent over the perambulator and peered at its occupant, who, securely tucked beneath his covers, slept, red faced and peaceful. With care not to make the process jerky the nursemaid eased the pram away from the wall, cautiously turned it and set off briskly towards the end of Brabazon Road and the main thoroughfare of Emperor’s Gate. She was a slender-ankled, brisk young woman carrying her becoming uniform with an air and wearing upon her lavishly powdered and nicely formed face a look of supreme if unsympathetic competence.

  She had not gone more than halfway between the door of Number 14 and the end of Brabazon Road when there emerged from Number 11, upon the other side of the street, a brisk young man in the dark cap and blue overalls of a mechanic. His overalls were fairly clean but his hands bore the black marks of his calling and in the right was a small leather tool bag. He turned sharply to his left as he reached the pavement and strode, whistling shrilly, towards Emperor’s Gate. The pretty nursemaid and her perambulator were moving fast but the mechanic was moving faster. As the nursemaid reached Emperor’s Gate and turned to her right she was barely ten yards ahead.

  The mechanic ceased to whistle. Having reached Emperor’s Gate, he turned to the right, too, crossed the mouth of Brabazon Road and went on his way, more slowly. It was a way which seemed to coincide with that of the nurse and the perambulator. . . .

&n
bsp; She reached the top of Emperor’s Gate and turned left along the broad road which divides Kensington Gardens from the brown masses of the houses which front it. Sometimes twenty, sometimes only ten, yards behind her came the mechanic. The maid and the perambulator took the third turning on their left. So, a few seconds afterwards, did the mechanic. As he turned the corner he looked upwards, as if in doubt of his whereabouts, at the street plate. He read the words, “Pierpont Gardens” and strode on.

  At Number 17 the nurse halted. The mechanic was then opposite Number 11. He dropped his bag and the catch sprang open and his tools spilled themselves about the pavement. He swore roundly and stooped to collect them. He seemed in no hurry about the work.

  Outside Number 17 the nurse busied herself. She took a strap from the foot of the perambulator and hitched its wheel to the area railings. She removed the covers from the still-sleeping occupant, gathered him into her arms and mounted the steps to the front door.

  The mechanic collected the last of his tools from the gutter. He fastened the catch of his bag and continued upon his path. He was now merely strolling. He arrived opposite Number 17 just as the door shut behind a flutter of blue. He looked up at the number above the door. He put his bag between his feet and made great play of consulting a card which he drew from the pocket of his overalls. Then, whistling, he marched to the area gate of Number 17, pushed it open and ran, still whistling, down the steps and pounded upon the tradesmen’s door. . . .

  3

  Anthony pushed away the last of the little books of cheque stubs. He opened an envelope marked, “Letter Written by Lady Ballister (Deceased) to Husband.” He read:

  MY DEAR CHARLES,

  You must not think too harshly of me for what I am going to do and what I shall have done by the time you read this. I have told you, I think, of my headaches. But I have never told you how frightful they were. They have been periodic and getting steadily worse. And they have done things to my brain. I have kept myself under iron control, thinking that perhaps they would pass; but they never have! And now I know what is the matter: I am going insane!