Murder in the Bookshop

by Carolyn Wells

  After writing some letters he called Potter and told him to ask Mr Ramsay to come to see him.

  When Keith appeared, Stone said quietly, ‘Any news?’

  ‘No;’ and Ramsay frowned and sighed. ‘How can there be any news when everything is at the ultimate degree of dreadfulness?’

  ‘Oh, now, don’t be too discouraged. I have a ray of hope.’

  ‘A real ray of honest-to-goodness hope?’

  ‘Well, no, not quite that. But a vague dream of a shadow of a vision of hope.’

  ‘That sounds cheering. May I know about it?’

  ‘There’s little to know. I’m starting off early tomorrow morning on what is certainly a wild goose chase, and may prove a disastrous one. I may be successful in finding Mrs Balfour and rescuing her from the people who took her away. Or I may be forcibly detained myself and unable to escape or to help her. In such case, you will be notified and can take action. The police will also be notified. But I have learned enough to feel fairly sure of the murderer’s identity, yet I cannot prove it without the personal interview I hope to have tomorrow.’

  ‘I think you ought to take me with you. You know my attitude toward Alli Balfour, you know how I adore her, and I feel it is my right to be in on any undertaking that concerns her safety.’

  ‘You may feel so, but I don’t. Realize, Keith, I am risking not only danger but death. Do you want to get yourself killed unnecessarily? Do you think Mrs Balfour would rather see you dead or me?’

  ‘If it’s as dangerous as all that, I shan’t let you go.’

  ‘Don’t be silly! I may get off scot-free. But to keep away might give the criminal a way to escape scot-free and that we can’t allow. I am not absolutely sure of my man, but if he is the one I think him, he must be put out of commission entirely as soon as possible. I don’t want to kill him, but if it is a question of his life or mine, I shall certainly try to remain in the telephone book.’

  ‘I suppose you’re after Preston Gill, and if he’s the criminal I hope you catch him. I can’t help a feeling that he’s the man, because no one else knew all about the Button book. Does your dangerous plan include the recovery of the book?’

  ‘If it goes through it means the recovery of the book, the conviction of the murderer and the restoration of Mrs Balfour.’

  ‘Pray Heaven you come through safely yourself. If you can achieve all that, you are indeed a conquering hero. But—it sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘It may not come true, Ramsay. You must hope, but you can’t expect. You’re a bridge player. Well, you know you may be an expert, you may hold splendid hands, but if the breaks go against you—you can’t win. I’m afraid the breaks will go against me. That isn’t pessimism, it’s only looking things squarely in the face. Now, I’m not telling the police just yet. If I’m home in a day or two, it will be because my plan succeeded. If I’m not, rest assured that you will all know the reason why and can then take action.’

  ‘And Mrs Balfour?’

  ‘Will be far safer because of my carrying out this plan than if I didn’t do it.’

  ‘All right, Mr Stone. You know my first anxiety is for Alli, but do believe that I am alarmed about you and only respect for your own judgment keeps me from urging you to drop your plan.’

  ‘No, I shall not drop it. And listen to this: if things go wrong with me, you will get word at once. There is a chap helping me, a young vagabond, who is devoted to me and my interests. His name is Benson. Whatever he tells you, you may believe. Trust him entirely. If there is bad news he will bring it to you or to Manton. I’ll ask you to clear out now, I’ve a bit to do. Send Potter to me, will you?’

  Ramsay went and Potter came, and the latter had difficulty in keeping his poise when Stone gave certain orders.

  ‘You know, Potter,’ he said, ‘we must use every effort to learn where Mrs Balfour is. She may be safely with friends, or—she may not. Tomorrow morning I’m going in search of her. I may be gone overnight and I’m taking this small suitcase. I’m leaving at seven. Come up here a bit before that and bring with you two good big hunks of meat—’

  ‘Meat, sir?’

  ‘Yes, solid raw meat, fresh and good. Don’t advertise this, but just bring them. And bring me, too, some good piece of Mrs Balfour’s jewellery—a diamond bracelet or an emerald brooch. Something worthwhile, but just one piece. Not in a box, twist it in a bit of tissue paper. No, Potter, you needn’t look at me like that, I’m not crazy nor do I mean to steal the diamonds. But, if you obey me exactly, you may play a large part in the saving of Mrs Balfour’s life.’

  Potter resumed his usual air of a respectful numskull and Stone added, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing—get me a small atomizer, you know, the kind used for perfumery. But I want it dry and clean. Can you find one?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ll ask Myra.’

  ‘No, I’d rather keep everybody out of this except you. Find one, or if you can’t, then go out to some drug store and buy a new one.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Stone.’

  ‘And—er—Potter, if—if I shouldn’t come back at all—you know, you go down to my place and see my man there and he’ll give you something in the way of a—er—souvenir for all the staff here. You attend to that, won’t you?’

  ‘Certainly, sir, but don’t talk like that.’

  ‘All right, I won’t. But just remember.’

  Potter disappeared and Fleming Stone set to work at his packing. A strange assortment of articles went into the overnight bag, yet it held nothing personal except pyjamas and a few brushes.

  There were pencils and paper, postage stamps, a book or two, several old newspapers, some small bottles and boxes, and a little bag of loose silver coins.

  When Potter brought the diamond and sapphire bracelet, the new atomizer and a half-used bottle of French perfume from Alli’s dressing table, he put those things in too, and again dismissed the man.

  Then he took the atomizer out again, filled it very carefully with something he took from a chemist’s package, and dropped it in a pocket of the overcoat he proposed to wear the next day.

  A few more such odd jobs and, leaving word to be wakened at six, he called a halt on his rushing thoughts and calmly fell asleep.

  And when Potter himself came to waken the detective in the morning he found him up and dressed and ready for his breakfast.

  ‘Bring me some food, Potter,’ he said, ‘but first, have you the meat I asked for?’

  ‘Right here, Mr Stone,’ and Potter set down a small tray bearing two large chunks of fine-looking beef.

  ‘Grand, Potter, truly grand. Now, hold it while I add the seasoning.’

  Potter obediently held the tray, and Stone sprinkled the meat lavishly with a greyish powder.

  ‘I don’t want you to think my brain is entirely shattered,’ he said, ‘so I’ll tell you what I intend doing with this tasty food. Or can you guess?’

  ‘Is the powder poisonous, sir?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Then, sir, I take it you expect to present the lunch to a large and enthusiastic bloodhound.’

  ‘Good for you, Potter, you have imagination. You are exactly right. Let us hope he will like it better than he does me.’

  ‘You are going into danger, sir? Is there no other way out?’

  Stone suddenly realized that Potter was not a wooden automaton, after all.

  ‘No,’ he said, soberly. ‘No, Potter, I can think of no other way out. Keep all this under your hat.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course. Will you have your breakfast now?’

  ‘Yes, and a brave one. I don’t know when I shall eat again.’

  Potter went off, to return shortly with a noble breakfast and the second man, who remained to serve. Potter was not one to take advantage of a little informality.

  It was part of Stone’s routine to lay aside all troubling thoughts in order to enjoy a perfect meal such as he saw before him now.

  By quarter to seven he was all ready, and Pot
ter returned with the poisoned meat done in two trim packages as Stone had directed.

  ‘You can put ’em right in your two topcoat pockets, sir; they’ve waxed paper on, and then thick, strong butcher’s paper, so they won’t soil your linings.’

  ‘I hope they’ll soil the dog’s linings, if I have to use them. I don’t like to kill a dog, Potter, but if it’s a toss-up between the two of us, his pedigree won’t save him.’

  And then, with his parcels in his pockets and his little suitcase in his hand, Stone went calmly out to the elevator feeling reminded of Charles the First stepping out to the scaffold.

  Another moment or two and he was out in the street and getting into a taxicab which drew up to the kerb.

  He sat down beside Benson, who said, ‘Go ahead,’ to the driver, and Stone looked at the man in the front seat.

  He saw that Benson’s description had been true, for the man was exceedingly long as to back, and if his legs were long in proportion, he must be a giant.

  ‘Good morning, Tiny,’ he said, pleasantly, but received in return only a gruff grunt.

  ‘He wants you to pay him something on account like,’ Benson translated the grunt.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Stone, ‘he’s quite right. Here’s twenty dollars, Tiny, as a retainer, you know.’

  The change in the man’s expression was a shock, even to the experienced detective. Tiny turned round with such a beaming smile that his repellent face seemed almost attractive.

  ‘Yer a court-card,’ he said. ‘Not many sits as high as you do. A retainer, is it? Yer can retain me till kingdom come, at that rate. Thanky, sir, thanky a whole lot!’

  ‘He’s all right now,’ said Benson, nodding his wise head in satisfaction.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE AWFUL BIG MAN

  ONCE in New Jersey they turned north and went along the route Benson had followed the day before. The boy’s eager eyes sought the torn papers he had thrown out to mark the way, but few of them were visible.

  However, the taximan knew the way and repeated his trip of yesterday.

  ‘That’s the house,’ he said, pointing to a roof that showed through the trees.

  ‘All right,’ Stone said, ‘go to it. I say, Benson, did you find that derby hat when you got home last night?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Stone and I’ll track it down as soon as I get a chance.’

  ‘When you go back to New, York, you can have a try at it.’

  ‘When am I going back?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, now. I shall leave you and Tiny in the woods while I go to the house. You’re sure you heard dogs—’

  ‘I heard the dogs,’ Tiny put in. ‘The kid didn’t. But I’m a bit of a dog fancier and I reckernized a bloodhound’s low growl. You better be careful, sir.’

  ‘I’m prepared for them. Now, I don’t apprehend trouble, Tiny, but it may come. If it does, you look after young Benson, I’m leaving him in your care.’

  ‘Yessir, I’ll see to him. You gimme my orders—’

  ‘Only to wait here for a time. If you hear a shot, don’t be alarmed. It will be a signal from me to scoot for the nearest telephone you can find and call the police to come here right away. Then you and Benson go back to the city and keep out of all this business until you hear from me again. I am not afraid for myself, but I’ve no right to drag you two chaps into what may be a bad quarter of an hour. If you hear nothing at all of me by noon, go along home and forget it for today. You’ll get your pay all right, both of you, but it may be delayed a day or two.’

  ‘I’m not worryin’ about that, Mr Stone,’ and the uncouth man turned round to look at him. ‘But I’m fearing for yourself.’

  ‘Do you pack a gun, Tiny?’

  ‘Well, not as a rule, sir, but today—yes. You see, I’m not altogether what you’d call a law-abidin’ citizen.’

  ‘You ought to be but since you’re not, I must make the best of it. As I say, probably there’ll be no trouble at all, but if you think it necessary, shoot one of your bloodhounds, or two, if you like.’

  ‘If necessary, I will,’ and Tiny looked so responsible that Stone felt real confidence in him.

  ‘Stop here,’ the detective said, after another few feet. They were near the house, but in a spot where the trees were close together and hid the car entirely. He got out taking the little suitcase with him. This he proceeded to hide among the underbrush and then, bidding the two remain in the car, he started up the path leading to the front door.

  He saw no dogs but his sharp ears caught a sound of distant growling and he concluded they were confined in some barn or shed, of which several could be seen.

  Save for some traces of neglect, the house was habitable-looking, and Stone rang the doorbell. It was an old-fashioned type with a knob to pull out, and this act was followed by a sharp jangle.

  No one answered the bell and he rang again. Then the door was opened and a matronly looking woman appeared, wearing a grey dress and a large white apron.

  ‘Well,’ she said, but not sharply, ‘who may you be and what do you want?’

  ‘First of all, I want to come in,’ and Stone looked determined to carry out his wish.

  She stood looking at him a trifle doubtfully and Stone scrutinized her face. A first impression was that of a gentle, benign old lady, but a second glance showed she was not as old as he had thought and she was far, far less gentle than his hasty supposition.

  ‘Is the man of the house at home?’ he asked, speaking courteously.

  ‘No, he isn’t, but he’ll be here pretty soon. Don’t you know him by name?’

  ‘I don’t choose to use it, if I do.’

  ‘Don’t you know your own name? I believe I asked you for it.’

  ‘So you did. I am Fleming Stone.’

  ‘Well, well, why didn’t you say so? Come right in, Mr Stone, come right in.’

  A little taken aback at her sudden change of manner, Stone went in.

  The house was of an ordinary type. There was a hall straight through from front to back, with what was apparently an outside door at the other end.

  All room doors opening on the hall were closed and a staircase clung to the wall at one side. This was on the right side as Stone entered, and his’ hostess with a not ungraceful gesture indicated he was to go up.

  ‘Step right along up, Mr Stone,’ she said, ‘up to the sitting room. I am Mrs Bindle—I live here with my son—’

  ‘It is your guest I want to see,’ and Stone looked her squarely in the eye. ‘The lady who has been here since last evening.’

  ‘Go along up, then, if that’s what you want. Step lively, please.’

  Her sudden changes from grave politeness to slangy informality made Stone think that the former was a pose and the latter her natural self.

  He didn’t want to go upstairs. It somehow seemed that he lost a certain advantage by doing so. He had yet to meet the awful big man who lived in the house, the head criminal himself, and perchance one or two large and healthy bloodhounds.

  To be sure, the dogs were not likely to be upstairs, but he liked it better on the ground floor.

  However, he had long ago learned ‘needs must when the devil drives,’ so he started up the wide staircase. Near the top there was a landing and three more steps at right angles to the long stair.

  Here Mrs Bindle passed him and led the way to one of the front rooms, the one on the right as one looked at the house from outside.

  A pleasant-looking sitting room with old-fashioned but not antique furniture.

  It took Fleming Stone’s quick eyes exactly two seconds to see that all the windows, two in front and two at the side, were barred and that in a most workmanlike manner. His leaping mind told him that he was already a prisoner, that he had walked into the trap, and that no doubt Alli Balfour was in similar case.

  Annoyance was his uppermost feeling. He was not, as yet, afraid, but if he had to be incarcerated in this silly old house, he felt he should lose his temper.

>   And his foreboding came true very quickly.

  ‘I hope you will be comfortable here, Mr Stone,’ his cicerone said; ‘this suite is at your disposal. That door opens into your bedroom, with bath. I regret to tell you it will not be possible for you to leave these rooms until Mr Powers arrives. He will give you the interview you came for and then you and he can agree on future arrangements.’

  ‘I see,’ said Stone, politely. ‘May I smoke in here?’

  ‘Yes, if you like. Mr Powers may be here today and he may not. If you want any night things or toilet articles my son will get them for you when he goes to the store. You might make a list.’

  ‘I may make a small one. I do not propose to be your guest very long. Which rooms did you give your other visitor?’

  By a bit of commonplace psychology, Stone hoped he might lead the woman along in casual talk, and spring this question so simply that she would answer it without thinking.

  She did. ‘Across the hall,’ she said, unheeding her speech. And then, quickly, to distract her attention, Stone said:

  ‘And, by the way, Mrs Bindle, could I have a small table, perhaps a bridge table, to write on. I am writing my memoirs and if I am idle for a few hours I could get some odd pages blocked out.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll ask Sam to bring you one.’

  ‘Do you play bridge? Perhaps if Mr Powers is not here this evening we could have a rubber.’

  ‘I don’t know—I’ll see about it.’

  Mrs Bindle was clearly flustered at the way Stone was taking things. Not a word of complaint or even surprise at the situation, no attempt at bribery or at wheedling. The man seemed satisfied to stay and only asked to write his memoirs!

  ‘I must tell you, Mr Stone, that it is useless for you to try to get away. My son is a large and strong man and he is very watchful. The locks and bars are most secure, and should you reach the ground there are two ferocious dogs who will immediately interview you. So don’t try to escape.’