Yet he was a little surprised at what followed.
Powers suddenly lost his belligerent air, suddenly changed his raucous tone, and in a hard, cold voice said:
‘Very well, Mr Stone, you have signed your own death warrant. Tomorrow morning you shall be shot at sunrise.’
‘Melodramatics, eh?’ and Stone smiled annoyingly.
‘If you like to call it that, yes. I shall conduct the act myself and appear in the principal role. As to Mrs Balfour, I have no desire for her death. She is too pretty and alluring to be put out of the world. And in her future, I shall also assume the principal role.’
‘Then, if that’s all, may I be excused?’ Stone said in a casual tone. ‘I am told a condemned man always sleeps soundly the night before his execution.’
‘You may go, yes, Mr Stone. Pleasant dreams.’
The detective rose to leave the room. Mrs Bindle went out the door with him.
‘I want to be sure things are all right in your rooms, Mr Stone,’ she said, as they went in, ‘and I want a word with you,’ she added, as she closed the door.
‘Please,’ she said, coming nearer to him, ‘please don’t take that superior attitude with Mr Powers. That sort of thing makes him furious.’
‘And why should you care about that, Mrs Bindle?’ Stone said, gently.
‘Oh, when he gets mad he is something terrible. If he says he’ll kill you at sunrise, he will. He is a monster, Mr Stone, and—and I don’t want you sacrificed—’
‘Now, now, Mrs Bindle, don’t be alarmed for me. I can look after myself. It is Mrs Balfour I am bothered about.’
‘I can’t help you any there.’ Mrs Bindle looked stubborn now.
‘Oh, yes, you can. Listen a minute.’ Stone drew a small parcel from his pocket.
He opened it and revealed a sparkling bracelet of diamonds and sapphires that fairly dazed Mrs Bindle.
‘Oh—oh, oh—’ she gasped. ‘I adore jewels! Oh—let me see it!’
For Stone had gathered the tissue paper about it and stood holding it as he looked at her.
‘Mrs Bindle,’ he said in a low voice, ‘that bracelet is yours if you will manage to let me see Mrs Balfour alone for five minutes. No discussion, now—just say you will or you won’t.’
Mrs Bindle seemed not to hear him. She murmured to herself—‘What a chance! What a godsend—’
Then, louder:
‘Yes, Mr Stone, and I trust you that it’s all right. I couldn’t wear a piece like that, but Sam, he’s getting married, and what a gift for his bride! Yes, I can do what you ask, but I must choose the time.’
‘No, that won’t do. It must come off right away. Go downstairs and bring the lady up. If you arrange for us a safe five-minute interview, the bracelet is yours. It’s genuine, of course. It belongs to Mrs Balfour. But she will be glad for you to have it, if you do your part.’
‘Never fear, Mr Stone. Leave it to me.’
He left it to her and the result was that for five blessed minutes, perhaps a trifle longer, Alli Balfour was in his sitting room and he was telling her of his plans and her part in them.
She listened intently, understood thoroughly and willingly agreed to the gift of the bracelet to Mrs Bindle who had made the interview possible.
Stone hurried her away, lest Benson should come and, handing the jewel to Mrs Bindle, dismissed the two women, and heard his keeper lock his door from the hall side.
Then, carefully raising the side window, he dropped out a note.
He was taking no chances with whistling, bird calls, or any sound of communication, and as it was midnight, he knew Benson would be there.
After an interval, he discerned two figures, and then began to let down his two sheets, which he had tied together at the corners, and which he fastened securely to the lowest bar of the window.
Then he pulled up his suitcase, which Benson had attached to the sheets and which was small enough to slide between the bars.
This in his possession, he was all right, and he dropped another note to Benson—a long one this time—which he had written during the day. This gave Benson and Tiny full instructions as to their part in the performance which was to take place ‘at sunrise’.
It told them, also, to spend the rest of the night, until dawn, in Tiny’s car, and be ready for action in the morning.
The two men obeyed to the letter and curled up in the taxicab, with no fear that they would oversleep.
Fleming Stone fairly gloated over the contents of his suitcase, feeling that now he could face any real or apparent danger.
First of all he tried his staunch little means of escape. This was the oustiti, a clever gadget whereby one can turn a key in a locked door. It is a sort of special pliers that works perfectly on an ordinary lock and key. It is of no use in case of a Yale lock.
But the doors in this old house were fitted with plain old-fashioned hardware, and after a touch of an oiled feather, he cautiously unlocked his door easily enough. Crossing the hall without a sound, he slipped a paper under Alli’s door. She pulled it in, and in a moment scribbled an answer, which the waiting Stone saw come slowly out from under the door.
Whereupon, still preserving the utmost silence, he unlocked her door and went in.
Not venturing to stay long, he told her some more details of the assassination scheduled for the next morning. Told her about Benson and Tiny, bade her be of good cheer and went back the way he came.
And then he went to bed and slept soundly until five o’clock in the morning.
At that hour Sam unlocked the door and came into his rooms.
‘Time to get up, Mr Stone,’ he said; ‘sorry to wake you, but orders is orders.’
‘Yes—of course. That’s all right, Sam. Didn’t you bring me any breakfast?’
Sam looked astonished.
‘I didn’t think you’d want any, Mr Stone.’
‘I’d like a cup of coffee. No matter about anything else.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll make it. Mother isn’t up yet.’
‘And Mr Powers? Is he on deck?’
‘Yes, sir. I say—I mean—I’m awful sorry about this, you know.’
‘All right, Sam. You come near being a good chap. After this is all over, I’d like to think you’re parting company with Mr Powers.’
‘Oh, I am, sir!’
‘Get along, then. Just a cup of hot coffee for me.’
Sam went off and Fleming Stone rose and made a careful but quick dressing and by the time his coffee was brought him, he had dropped a note down to Benson, had seen him pick it up and was calmly waiting for Sam in his sitting room.
When the big man came he looked sorrowfully at Stone, but the detective said, cheerfully:
‘Well, old man, I’m glad I’m leaving this place, if I do go out feet first.’
‘It’s a shame, Mr Stone—’
‘Never mind, you can’t do anything to help. You make good coffee, Sam—thank you.’
No further word was said and the two men went downstairs.
There was no sign of Alli or of Mrs Bindle, but the so-called Powers was there, wearing his long robe and black mask.
‘This is all outside the law, Mr Stone,’ the cold voice said, ‘but I take the responsibility of that. You are in my way, you hamper my projects, therefore I dismiss you from life on this planet. We will have no talk about it, you are at my mercy, but as you will learn, I have no mercy. I shall shoot you at sunrise, because this is a time when no chance passer-by will come along. I don’t care about waiting for the exact moment, let the sun rise when it will, we will start proceedings now. Will you step outside, quietly, or shall Sam assist you?’
‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ and Stone made a mocking bow to his tormentor and took a step toward the door.
‘Lead the way, Sam,’ said Powers, and as Stone followed, Powers followed him.
Sam led them round to the back and Stone was directed to stand against the house.
He did so, and loo
ked so carelessly unconcerned that Powers exclaimed, ‘For heaven’s sake, man! Don’t you know what’s happening to you?’
‘Nothing has happened, as yet,’ was the reply.
‘Well, it will now!’ and the black-robed figure lifted an automatic and aimed it at Fleming Stone’s heart.
There was a report, a splotch of red appeared where the bullet struck the condemned man, and Stone fell limply to the ground.
Two figures rushed from the concealing bushes and Benson leaned down over the silent form of the man he worshiped, while Tiny ran toward the man who had fired the shot.
Powers drew back and laughed at him, saying, ‘Do him up, Sam!’
Sam made for Tiny, and laughed in his face. Tiny was very tall, but lank and without great physical strength.
But Sam had little more than touched him, than by a dexterous bit of jiujitsu, Tiny turned Sam’s great weight and strength against himself, and by his skill broke the big man’s leg.
The snap of the knee joint could be plainly heard, and for the first time the black-robed figure showed signs of weakening.
‘Who are you?’ he cried, staring through the eyeholes of his mask.
‘I’m just a passer-by,’ Tiny returned, blustering, ‘and unless you want a broken bone, too, you’d better—run!’
On the last word Tiny started toward him, and with a sort of frightened yelp, Powers ran!
He fairly flew and was met at the door by Mrs Bindle, who said, ‘Scoot up to the barred rooms and lock yourself in! That fellow’s a holy terror! What did he do to my Sam?’
Without waiting for an answer, she ran past him, through the door and out to see her son on the ground, groaning with pain.
‘Oh, Sam, Sam—what is it, dear? Who hurt you?’
‘That great long one! Where’s Mr Powers? Tell him to kill that chap!’
‘Yes, tell him!’ and Tiny glared at the distracted mother. ‘Mrs Bindle, you’re in a mess here. Now, listen! Your Mr Powers is hiding because if he doesn’t, he’ll get what I gave Sam. And you’ll be in some trouble yourself, unless you do what I tell you. Sam has a broken leg, but a doctor can set it, if he gets at it fairly soon. If you wait too long, it will be too late. So here’s your chance.’
For the first time Mrs Bindle noted the fallen figure over which Benson was still stooping.
‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘is Mr Stone dead?’
‘Yes,’ Benson said, rising. ‘And what this man here just told you is straight goods. You have just one chance to get a doctor here in time to fix up your boy. If he waits too long, gangrene will set in and he will probably die. Now, we are going to take Mr Stone’s body right back to his home in New York. We are two friends of his, we came here to rescue him. If we’d been two minutes sooner, we could have saved his life. As it is, we shall start off at once, and take his body with us. Now, then, if you will let Mrs Balfour out and let us take her along with us, we will guarantee to send a doctor back here to look after Sam. If not, you can take your chances with your son.’
‘Oh, yes, yes—I’ll let Mrs Balfour out. I’ll do anything you tell me if you’ll help Sam. Won’t you take him to New York—to a hospital—?’
‘No, we can’t do that. We shall be busy with Mr Stone’s affairs—you go at once and send Mrs Balfour right down here. Tell her she is going home and to bring whatever things she has here. Hurry, now, or I may change my mind.’
Mrs Bindle hastened to obey the very letter of her orders. She went softly to Alli Balfour’s room and hurried her to get ready and get downstairs quickly.
Alli was dressed and she hurried on her wraps, asking what had happened.
‘Everything,’ said Mrs Bindle, bursting into tears—they nearly killed Sam, they did kill Mr Stone, they scared Mr Powers all to pieces, and now they’re going to take you away. Come along.’
‘Who are they?’ Alli asked, as they went downstairs.
‘I don’t know. Some friends of Mr Stone’s.’
The two women reached the scene of action to find that the body of Fleming Stone had been placed in the big car belonging to Powers, and another car that looked like a taxicab and that had mysteriously appeared from the bushes, was waiting for Mrs Balfour.
Urged by Benson, Alli got in, seemingly quite content to go without further words.
‘We’re off!’ cried Tiny, who was driving the taxi-cab, and he started his car while Benson, getting into the other car which held the body of Fleming Stone, followed.
‘Well, he’s dead, anyhow,’ the crestfallen Mr Powers said to himself, as he watched proceedings from a back window. ‘Now all I have to do is to get back to the city as soon as possible. Mrs Bindle can telephone for a car, I’ll take Sam to a hospital and then we’ll be all right again. With Stone out of the way, I can get Alli again, they’ll never find the book, and having ended well—all’s well.’
A sound of someone trying to open his door was followed by a banging on its panels and the tearful voice of Mrs Bindle crying, ‘Let me in! Let me in!’
He opened the door and in his usual calm, cold tones said, ‘Don’t make such a hullabaloo. Come in.’
‘Oh, yes, all very well for you to be quiet and serene. You have nothing to worry about. Although you will have if I turn against you. And I’ll do just that, unless you help me to get a doctor for Sam. Those men said they would do it, but I know they won’t. Anyway, I want you to see to it. There’s danger of gangrene.’
‘What! Who told you that?’
‘One of those men. Never mind that, you call a doctor!’
‘Don’t get so excited; it doesn’t do any good. Now, you call a car from New York—those wretches made off with mine. And—oh, good Lord!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘What’s the matter enough! But never mind, I can fix it. You call a car from this garage, here’s the number—tell them to come over here at once—emergency case—then you get Sam ready to go to the hospital and we’ll all three go over together, then I’ll go home and you take Sam to any hospital you choose. I’ll pay the bills, of course. He’ll soon be all right again.’
‘All right. I’ll make them come quickly. Shall I shut up the house?’
‘Yes, it has served its purpose—and nobly. You and Sam will be well paid, with a bonus for Sam’s broken leg. Who’d thought that rough-looking fellow had such knowledge? But he’ll get his. I’ll track him down and see to him.’
‘You’d better be careful. They’re a smart lot. That young chap is nobody’s fool.’
‘I’ll make him my fool. Now my only enemy is out of the running, I’ll win the race myself.’
‘What race?’
‘Never you mind, Mrs Bindle. You’d better give me that diamond bracelet to take care of for you. You oughtn’t to carry it around in your bag.’
‘What diamond bracelet are you talking about?’
‘Mighty innocent, aren’t you? The one Mr Stone gave you.’
‘I don’t know how you come to know about that, but no, thank you, I’ll not trust it to you; I’ll take care of it myself.’
CHAPTER XVIII
AFTER ALL
IT was Benson’s boast that he could drive anything with an engine in it, and he easily manipulated the big car he had collected from the Powers’ garage, with the result that he soon left Tiny and his taxicab far behind.
He drove straight to Fleming Stone’s home and interviewed his man, an intelligent person, with whose assistance the victim of Powers’ venomous rage was taken into the house.
There, Benson turned the whole matter over to Plum, who was Fleming Stone’s secretary. It was decided that Plum should telephone to the mortician, and advise also, with a cousin of Stone’s, who lived in the city.
Benson went away, wondering if he had done all he could for his employer and feeling grave misgivings about the future.
Tiny, meanwhile, had taken Mrs Balfour to her home, arriving there nearly an hour later than Benson had ended his journey.
She
gave him a present of money, and took his address for future reference, then, at last in her own home, she controlled her excitement, greeted Potter kindly, and going straight to the safe room, she asked that Mr Ramsay be sent to her there.
Keith came at once and, closing the door, took Alli in his arms.
‘Tell me all about it,’ he said, after he had persuaded himself that she was really there, safe and sound.
So she gave him a recital of everything that had occurred, and while they were talking, Sewell called.
‘Show him right in here, Potter,’ Alli said, eagerly. ‘I want to see him.’
Then she told Sewell her story, and the three went into conference as to what should be done.
But very soon, Sewell said he would go to Fleming Stone’s house and discuss things with his cousin, who would doubtless be there by this time. A telephone message confirmed this, and, as a near friend of Stone’s, John Sewell went down there.
‘You tell Potter of Mr Stone’s death, won’t you?’ Alli asked him, as he was leaving. ‘I don’t like to.’
‘Of course, my dear, leave it to me. You’ve been through quite enough mental strain and physical discomfort. I’ll see what I can do for poor Stone, and then we must see the police and tell them they’ll have to hunt down the murderer. And what about the book?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure Mr Powers has it—’
‘Did you take with you the money for it?’
‘I took part of it. I thought I could persuade him to take less. But of course, we didn’t talk about the book. Had I stayed longer,’ she shuddered at the thought, ‘I should have taken up the subject and—oh, I don’t know what the result would have been! It’s all like a horrible nightmare. I think I won’t talk any more about it now. You take Mr Stone’s place, won’t you, Mr Sewell? I’ll rest a little and by this afternoon I’ll be perfectly fit.’
‘Yes,’ Ramsay said, ‘that’s what you need, rest. Go ahead on your own, Sewell, and I’ll stand by here and Mrs Balfour will soon be herself again.’
Sewell paused on his way out to speak to Potter.
Murder in the Bookshop Page 21
