The Ringer/Chapter 20

OLICE-CONSTABLE HARRAP, a large and unimaginative man, watched with good-natured contempt the Application of Science to the Detection of Crime. He and Doctor Lomond were alone in Meister's room, and the doctor, with a long builder's tape, was taking careful measurements, sometimes requisitioning the police officer to hold the brass-looped end, sometimes dispensing with his services. On the blotting pad there was a sprinkle of red blots, as though somebody had been using ink of that colour and had shaken his pen over the table. This was the only evidence that remained of the tragedy which had been enacted less than an hour before. The ambulance had come and gone, and there remained only Constable Harrap in charge of the house, and this energetic amateur.

"A man's normal stride covers twenty-seven inches. A woman's covers twenty-two," said Doctor Lomond impressively.

"That's right, sir," said the constable, whose tone conveyed both agreement and a subtle admiration.

Not that Police-Constable Harrap had the slightest idea what was the normal stride of a man or woman. He thought little on the matter, and cared less. But he had learnt, through many years of service, never to disagree with his superiors.

Doctor Lomond took out his watch, clicked down the control of the chronograph, and stepped cautiously from the door to the desk, aimed an imaginary blow at an imaginary enemy in the chair, and looked at his watch again.

"Three seconds and two-fifths," he said, and jotted down his discovery.

Police-Constable Harrap, who hadn't the foggiest notion what it was all about, raised his eyebrows and looked impressed.

"On a job like this, sir," he said, "it's usual for the officer in charge to say to the constable: 'If you can find a bottle of beer about, help yourself, my lad, and don't be shy.' I'll bet old Meister—poor Mr. Meister," he corrected himself, "has got lashings of beer in the house. I've seen it come in by the case," he added mendaciously. And when the doctor, intent upon his calculations, took no notice: "Of course it's not usual to drink on duty, but a pint of beer never killed any man," said Constable Harrap. "And though I admit Mr. Wembury never mentioned anything about it, I shouldn't be surprised if he didn't say to himself, 'Well, if the constable wants a drink, then he'll mention it to the doctor, and maybe the doctor will prescribe—to use a medical term—a pint or two pints, as the case may be.'"

Doctor Lomond was scratching his chin.

"If we could only measure the distance between the door into the garden and the stable door"

"I'm not supposed to leave the house," said Harrap quickly. It was raining outside, and the wind was freshening again. "If I was allowed out in the street I could get a pint from the 'Pretty Maid.' The landlord suffers from insom—insumnia, and he's up day and night. We're not supposed to drink when we're on duty, but the Commissioners, being human men, wink at it, if you understand, Doctor?"

"Yes, yes," said Doctor Lomond impatiently.

Suddenly he started and looked up at the ceiling. Was it his imagination, or did he hear in the room above the sound of a stealthy footstep?

"Did you hear anything, Constable?"

Harrap looked up at the ceiling.

"I thought I heard something," he said cautiously. "Sounded like somebody dropping a bottle of beer"

"Don't be a fool!"

In three strides the doctor was across the floor. He ran up the stairs leading to Meister's bedroom, switched on the lights and went in. The window was wide open and the wind was blowing in the curtains. He took a look round the apartment, put out the lights and came thoughtfully down the stairs. The sound for the moment had distracted his attention from the serious business of criminal investigation. He wound up his tape, dropped it in his bag and closed the bag with a snap.

He was the reverse of nervous. And yet twice in the last half hour he had heard a queer sound, that he could not but associate with human movements.

"I'm going to see Mr. Wembury," he said shortly. "I'll leave my bag here."

"Mr. Wembury said he was coming back, sir, if you care to wait," Harrap told him. "The sergeant's going to make a search of the house. There ought to be some queer things found here. Personally," he added, "I'd like to have the job of searching the pantry or the wine cellar, or wherever he keeps the beer."

But Lomond had something else to think about. The police car had gone when the doctor reached Flanders Lane. He had to walk through the storm to the station house. Fortunately he was dressed for rough weather; he pulled up the collar of his mackintosh and strode up the narrow thoroughfare, swinging his umbrella. He wore shoes with thick rubber heels which deadened the noise of his walking, and this enabled him to hear another sound—a sound that brought him round in a flash. It was a little cough, and it came from immediately behind him. As he turned, he saw a vague figure melt into the shadow of a house. He could have sworn he was not mistaken.

A moment's hesitation, and then he walked back slowly and came abreast of one of the houses. There was no door; that had been removed years ago. The passage was a place of Stygian blackness. Further investigation would mean the disturbance of the many families that were crowded together in this human pigsty. He waited a second, and then continued his journey.

The High Street was better lighted. Late as was the hour, there was quite a large number of people abroad; a knot of them were grouped by a red-painted coffee stall at the corner of the street. He saw a constable standing in a doorway, and the policeman touched his hat as he passed. Doctor Lomond felt suddenly important.

Yet he looked back, not once but many times, expecting to find the shadow on his heels; but it was not until he was crossing the Broadway that, looking over his shoulder, he saw a slinking figure hugging the shop fronts on his left, and apparently making for Church Street. He dropped to a slower walk, as he crossed the Broadway, and presently the man came parallel with him thirty or forty yards distant. At the corner of Church Street Doctor Lomond turned abruptly to the left, quickening his pace. The stranger slipped into the dark of Church Street.

Lomond broke into a run. Quick as he went, his quarry was fleeter of foot. Suddenly he disappeared from view; he had dived into one of the little alleys, and the doctor heard the barking of dogs and turned back on his tracks, a very thoughtful man, for he was passionately anxious to meet this gaunt stranger—the man he had seen watching the station before Peter's death.

At the station he found that Alan had been in and gone out again.

"I think he may have gone to Malpas Mansions, Doctor," said the sergeant.

"Who lives at Malpas Mansions? Oh, yes, I remember— Miss Lenley. Has her brother been arrested?"

At that moment the sergeant was unaware of Johnny's dramatic arrest, and shook his head.

The doctor retrieved his car from the station yard, and pulled up before Malpas Mansions in time to see Johnny walking away between two men. He was smoking a cigarette, whose glow was reflected in the polished irons about his wrists.

"Wembury is with Miss Lenley, sir," said Atkins. "I'll tell him you're here. Perhaps you'll come up?"

The doctor followed the sergeant into the Lenley household. Presently Mary came out and invited him in.

He had only seen her near at hand once before, at the station, and he was impressed by her pale beauty.

"I've been followed since I left the house," he said, telling of his unpleasant experience; "and if this is going to keep you awake, Miss Lenley, I'll defer telling my dramatic story until I get the inspector by himself."

Mary shook her head.

"I don't think I shall sleep a great deal to-night," she said with a sad little smile.

"Who was the chaser?" asked Alan, interested.

"Our sick-looking friend—I would swear to it. I sprinted after him, but he knows the land better than I, and he got away."

Alan looked thoughtful.

"Did you see his face!"

"No; it's rather guesswork on my part. I never forget the shape of a man. But guesswork or not, I am prepared to go to the witness stand and testify on oath that the gentleman who has been shadowing me since I left Meister's is the same man I saw hanging about opposite the station house last night. And if this is police work," he added vehemently, "I'm through with it! I would give three provinces for one hot and comfortable cup of coffee!"

Mary smiled again.

"I won't ask you for your three provinces, doctor," she said. "We always keep coffee made; if you wish, I will heat some up."

He was all apologies, but she was out of the room before his half-hearted protest could be heeded.

"I don't like it, Wembury." The doctor seated himself in the armchair and pulled it up nearer to the fire, rubbing his cold hands one over the other. "Those two murders—uncanny! And who is this horrible bird who's on my track?"

Wembury shook his head.

"I've got so that I think someone is walking behind me all the time," said Lomond, and shivered. "And that laugh—that terrible laugh! I shall never forget it as long as I live!"

"You mean the laugh we heard after Meister was killed? It was a man in the street—Atkins overtook him. A perfectly innocent and perfectly intoxicated citizen. I was rattled a little myself."

"It sounded in the room," said Lomond with a shudder.

"The end window of the room overlooks the street. Harrap, the man on duty, heard the laugh and saw the man—a Flanders Laner—and cautioned him to be quiet."

The doctor was silent; his mind had switched back to the gaunt shadow, and he glanced uneasily at the long red curtains which hid the window.

Man has gone far from his animal ancestors, but the atavistic premonitions of danger have not been wholly blunted by the refinements of civilization and the development of reason. Down below, in the dark desert of the street, the gaunt man was crossing the road. Atkins had gone; the watchers had been withdrawn. The stout outer door of the Mansions stood ajar.

The gaunt man scarcely moved the hinges as he wriggled through, and went noiselessly and quickly up the stone steps, stopping at each landing to listen. Even as Lomond spoke, the ear of the shadow was at the door, listening—listening. Presently he fitted the key that he held into the slot of the lock, with the care and steadiness of one threading a needle. Not a sound reached the two men, though the door which gave into the hall was half open.

"I'll feel safer when that bird is under lock and key," were the words he heard, as he came, like a ghost, into the tiny lobby, and with infinite caution closed the door behind him.

He heard Wembury laugh.

"His furtiveness is his chief offence, I think," said the detective. "There are men like that. Don't you remember Dickens described such a man in 'Martin Chuzzlewit'?"

The doctor was examining his stained cuff pensively. He was a neat man, and any form of disorder or untidiness worried him.

"Two murders in one night!" he said awfully, and in spite of his anxiety Wembury laughed.

"Are your nerves strong enough to let you come back to Meister's place with me? I've told Atkins to meet me there; we're going to make a search of the house. I've seen sufficient already to know the extent of Meister's fencing. There's enough silver plate in that house to stock an hotel!"

Lomond uttered an exclamation of disgust.

"Again to-night? No, thank you! I've only just come from there. I've been taking measurements, with the aid of an unintelligent policeman who thinks in terms of liquid refreshment. I couldn't stick it any longer. The house is full of queer noises."

The whistle of the wind came within that cosy room and suggested an explanation.

"It's the sort of night you hear queer noises," said Alan. "The Ringer couldn't have chosen one more likely to set nerves on edge."

The doctor looked up.

"You still think it was the Ringer? A man and not a woman?"

Wembury nodded.

"To my mind," said the doctor emphatically, "there is no question whatever that a woman struck the blow."

"I repeat," said Alan wearily, "that the person who came into the room never left my hands until she escaped."

"How did she escape?" asked the other. "And even if that is so, after she had freed herself from your hands and got to the door, there was plenty of time to use a knife. I've timed it as closely as I can."

"How did she get through the door?" countered Alan.

The doctor shook his head.

"That puzzled me, I admit. But don't you think as I do, Wembury?"

"No, I don't," said Alan promptly, and the doctor shrugged.

"Oh, well, if I were a police officer I shouldn't look elsewhere. What has happened to Mrs. K., the housekeeper?"

"We have already traced her to a house in Flanders Lane—the court missionary saw her there—her alibi is complete," said Alan.

Through the lobby door the gaunt man saw the long curtains at the window. It had been a prophetic glance that Doctor Lomond had so apprehensively cast in that direction. Here was the only hiding-place in the room. He peeped through a crack in the door; the men's backs were turned to him. The kitchen door was closed. In a second he had reached the curtained recess.

"Frankly, I'm sceptical about the Ringer." Doctor Lomond made the outrageous statement with the greatest calm.

"I hope you'll never have reason to change your mind," said Alan dryly, and the doctor looked at him sharply. "The Ringer is a very thorough person; he hasn't finished by killing Meister and Peter. Everybody connected with the case is in danger—everybody!"

"I?" gasped Lomond.

"You—I—the woman who was in the room, if he suspects she saw anything. Probably he does. My opinion is he hasn't reckoned on her. She was a complication that intruded at the worst possible moment for him."

Mary came in at that moment with the coffee and set it on the table, handing a cup first to Alan and then to the doctor. Doctor Lomond rose to his feet.

"It is very good of you, Miss Lenley. I am extraordinarily sorry about your brother to-night."

He carried his coffee to the table, helped himself to an abnormal quantity of sugar, and, waiting till Mary was seated, surrendered himself to the luxury of the deep armchair.

"You're very tired, Alan?" There was pity in her tone. He nodded.

"Have you finished your work for the night?"

"Not he!" scoffed Lomond. "He's going back to that wretched house, and wants me to go with him. I'd go like a shot if I thought I could help you."

"You can," said Alan. "Your measurements may be very useful."

"Of what use are they, if you reject the theory that the woman did it?"

He did not see the sudden pain in the girl's face, and would have gone on, but Wembury tactfully switched his thoughts to another channel.

"Miss Lenley is quite as tired as we are," he said. "I think we'll go along, doctor, and leave this lady to sleep. You won't mind being left alone!"

She shook her head.

"I've been alone for a long time," she said quickly; "and I haven't any cause to fear the Ringer."

Alan thought at that moment that she of all persons had most reason to be afraid of that ruthless man, and he was determined not to sleep that night, or what remained of the night, until he had posted a guard outside the house.

The doctor had gone, and Alan was following him when she called him back.

"You haven't kissed me," she said, and raised her quivering lips to his....

Long after the sound of his footsteps had died away she stood in the hall listening, then slowly came back to the table and sat down, trying to rescue, from the confusion of her mind, some logical sequence of events on which she could build the foundation of reason.

The curtains behind her moved slowly, and the colourless face of the intruder loomed out of the darkness. The silence was complete, unbroken.... She remembered her coffee, reached out her hand mechanically, and her fingers slipped into the china handle. At that moment the hidden man moved from his place of concealment with long, noiseless steps, and his hand closed over hers.

With a scream she rose, stared for a second into the deep eyes, saw the white teeth set in a grin.... Suddenly she went limp; the coffee cup dropped to the floor with a crash; and she lay helpless in his sinewy arms.