Complete works of peter.., p.526
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 526
They sat in silence, the woman puffing vigorously at her cigarette, and Alonzo gazing quietly into the fire, a suspicion of a smile on his face. Suddenly the sound of a squeaky violin came from the street outside, playing an old waltz. Street sounds are common in London, and the woman took no notice, but underneath his calm exterior Alonzo had stiffened from excitement. He recognised the tune, and he realised who was playing the violin. Monkey Green, the beggar, who made a vicarious living by playing outside public houses in Limehouse, was the street musician. But why was he here, in Earl's Court? For some reason the scrapy music sounded like a warning to Alonzo. He strolled to the door.
"I'll go and give that street musician a shilling. Jenny." he said, "It's impossible to think while that noise is going on outside. I'll be back in a moment."
Alonzo hastened downstairs and, standing in the shadows of the main entrance, saw, on the opposite side of the street, the figure of Monkey Green, standing beneath a street lamp, his eyes on the windows of MacTavish's flat.
Crossing the road, MacTavish handed a coin to the violinist.
"What is it, Monkey?" he asked.
Monkey Green put the fiddle beneath his arm and the coin in his pocket. "Be careful, Mr. MacTavish," he said in his whiney voice "Read this 'ere note, an' be careful."
He grinned at Alonzo and shuffled off down the street. Alonzo nodded, and, returning to the main entrance, slowly made his way up the stairs, tearing open the envelope as he did so.
On the first landing he paused and hurriedly scanned the note which Monkey Green had given him. A smile crossed his face as he read the badly scrawled words. So that was the explanation of Jenny Marchant's visit.
He put the note into his pocket and let himself into his flat. The woman was sitting gazing into the fire. She looked up as Alonzo approached.
"Well, Mac," she said. "You haven't much time to decide. What are you going to do?"
He looked down at her and smiled. "I'm going to do the job right away, Jenny," he said. "If you'll hand over those keys I'll get busy. It's twelve thirty now. I've got an hour and a half before Ram Singh gets home."
Jenny Marchant smiled.
"Good for you, Mac," she said. She laid the two keys and a piece of paper on the table. "Don't worry to show me out, Mac," she said, with a smile. "Don't lose that paper, it's the combination of the safe. Good-night, and good luck."
Alonzo heard the door of the flat close behind her. He stood for a few minutes smiling into the fire. The situation was really very amusing. Presently he crossed to the telephone and rang up Lon Ferrers, who, according to plan, had been the occupant of the flat above Ram Singh's at Knightsbridge Mansions for some three weeks. This done, Alonzo slipped on an overcoat and, picking up the keys and paper, left the flat and was soon on his way to Knightsbridge.
Arrived at the Mansions, a glance through the glass entrance showed him that the night porter was asleep in his box. Alonzo casually pushed open the door and stealing past the sleeper, made his way up the second floor. Here he found Lon Ferrers awaiting him.
"Keep a watch from your front window, Lon," he said, "and let me know what happens."
He then descended the stairs and listened for a moment outside the flat occupied by Ram Singh. All was quiet within, and, opening the door with the key supplied by Jenny Merchant, he entered silently.
Fifteen minutes later he left the flat, and, closing the door silently behind him, whistled Lon Ferrers, who joined him on the landing. After ascertaining that the coast was clear they crept past the still sleeping night porter, and walked quickly back to Alonzo's flat.
"What's, the joke, Mac?" asked Lon Ferrers as they strode along. "I saw a couple of fellows who looked suspiciously like C.I.D. men on the other side of the road whilst you were in Singh's flat, and I believe that they are following us now!" Alonzo laughed, and signalled a passing taxi-cab. Ten minutes afterwards they were seated in his flat at Earl's Court.
MacTavish passed the cigarette box to Ferrers, and seated himself by the dying fire. "I had a visit from Jenny Marchant tonight, Lon," he said. "She came to me with a story that Sharpy Alec had turned her down, and that to get back on him she was handing over the keys of Ram Singh's flat, so that I could get away with the Tendore Dagger before Sharpy removed it himself tomorrow night. I smelt a rat, because Jenny is quite smart enough to have removed the dagger herself. Whilst she was here I heard old Monkey Green outside. I went down ostensibly to give him a shilling, and he handed me a note and told me to be careful.
"Apparently there was a meeting between Sharpy Alec, Ram Singh, and Jenny down at the Apple Blossom Café in Limehouse two nights ago, and Monkey got an idea into his head that they were laying for me. Jenny Marchant is certain that I went to get that sword tonight, and probably Gretton of the Yard had been tipped the wink, and the men you saw watching were his men. If I'm not very much mistaken, we shall have a visit from the police before long.
"You see, they'd be fairly certain that I'd bring the sword back here with me, and the fact that it was here would be sufficient evidence for the police to get a conviction."
"But where is the dagger? Did you bring it back?" asked Lon, anxiously. Alonzo smiled.
"Not on your life," he said. "There's a drain pipe outside Ram Singh's flat window, which runs down to the street level, and a good push sent the dagger down the pipe to the bottom, where it is waiting for us when we want it. What I can't understand is how Ram Singh comes in on the job, however—"
He stopped suddenly as the door bell rang violently. Alonzo winked at Lon, and, going to the front door of the flat, flung it open. Outside stood Inspector Gretton and four plainclothesmen.
"Good evening, Inspector," said Alonzo; "and what can I do for you?"
"Oh, cut that stuff out, MacTavish," replied Gretton. "A jewelled dagger was stolen tonight from Mr. Ram Singh's flat in Knightsbridge. It's on these premises. It looks as if we've got you this time, MacTavish, and I want you to tell us straight away where the dagger is."
Alonzo smiled.
"Really I don't know what you are talking about. But if, of course, you are certain that there is a dagger here, why you'd better look for it." He seated himself down once more, and smilingly watched the five C.I.D. men turning the place upside down in their endeavours to find the dagger. Every room in the place was ransacked thoroughly, and it was only after two hours hard work that, finding their endeavours of no avail, five perspiring C.I.D. men mopped their brows and looked at each other.
"Well, Inspector," said Alonzo. "Are you satisfied that that dagger isn't here? I could have told you that two hours ago, only you wouldn't have believed me. Of course, if you really want to know where the dagger is, and you like to ask me really nicely, I might tell you."
Inspector Gretton grinned wearily. "I must say you've got a nerve, MacTavish," he said. "We had absolute information that the dagger was here, and that you had taken it within the last three hours from Ram Singh's flat in Knightsbridge."
Alonzo laughed. "Listen to me, Gretton," he said. "You've been trying to get me for years, and you haven't succeeded yet. Take a tip from me and give up trying! You've been double-crossed, and in your very praiseworthy endeavour to get a conviction against me you've played right into the hands of a bunch of clever crooks. Mr. Ram Singh has reported to you that the Tendore Dagger was stolen within the last three hours, and I'll bet that Sharpy Alec gave you the unasked-for information that I had done the job. Now I suggest that you go home to bed, and if you will be at your office at the Yard at ten o'clock tomorrow morning I'll tell you just when and where you can lay your hands on that sword!"
The Inspector picked up his hat. "You're a clever devil. MacTavish," he said ruefully. "I ought to have known that you wouldn't be fool enough to have the goods on you. However, I shall be at my office at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. Good-night."
"Good-night, Inspector," said Alonzo, "and better luck next time!"
THE next morning, at ten o'clock, Mr. Alonzo MacTavish, having hurried from Scotland Yard, walked into the office of an insurance company in Cornhill and asked to see the general manager. Two minutes afterwards he was seated in the private office of that individual. Alonzo stated his business quickly.
"I have reason to believe," he said, "that you have this morning received a claim for payment of a large sum of money on the policy on the Tendore Dagger, which was insured in your office by Mr. Ram Singh. The dagger was stolen last night, and Mr. Ram Singh informed Scotland Yard early this morning."
Alonzo leaned over the manager's desk. "Do you know," he said, "I rather think I know where that dagger is!"
The general manager looked surprised.
"Well, Mr. MacTavish," he said, with a glance at Alonzo's card, which lay on the table before him, "it would be well worth your while to place your information in the hands of the police. This notice is just going out to the papers—"
He handed a type-written slip to Alonzo, which stated that the insurance company would pay a reward of £1,000 to any one who supplied information leading to the recovery of the Tendore Dagger.
Alonzo put the slip in his pockets and, leaving the office, returned to his flat to await developments.
About the same time, a page boy at the Hotel Splendide, at which hotel Miss Jenny Marchant was staying, handed in at her apartment a large bunch of red roses, which had been left a few minutes previously by a gentleman, who had left no name or message. As she held the bouquet to her nose the telephone bell rang. Miss Marchant went to the instrument.
"Hallo, Jenny," said Alonzo's voice, "I hope you like your flowers. Better luck next time!"
She heard the click as the receiver was hung up. Miss Marchant, with an expression which belied the prettiness of her mouth, flung the bunch of roses against the wall. As the flowers struck the wall the wire which bound them burst, and something fell to the floor. A gasp of amazement broke from her. There, gleaming on the floor, in the bright sunlight, lay the Dagger of Tendore! She picked it up and stood, wondering. Before she had recovered from her surprise, the door burst open, and Inspector Gretton and two plainclothesmen entered. His eyes fell on the dagger in her hand.
"Well, Jenny," he said. "We've been waiting in the lounge for an hour to get you with the goods on you. MacTavish told us you had the dagger, and that you and Sharpy Alec tried to lay for him. It looks to me like he returned the compliment."
"It's not true!" she gasped. "I know nothing of this dagger. It's just arrived in that bunch of roses. MacTavish has planted it on me!"
"You tell that to the marines," said the Inspector. "MacTavish told me two hours ago that you had the sword, and what your little game was. It's no good trying to bluff, Jenny. Sharpy Alec has confessed that you tried to switch it on to MacTavish. Get your things on, my girl, you're for it this time!"
One hour afterwards Mr. Alonzo MacTavish strolled out of the general manager's office in the City. In his pocket was a cheque for £1,000 "for information received." and his face was wreathed in an extremely self-satisfied smile.
10. — THE BLACK MANTILLA
As published in The Queenslander , Australia, 31 July 1926
MR. CYRUS K. LEGITT took not the slightest notice of Alonzo's remark, but continued gazing with steadfast eyes in the direction of Cranford Towers, chewing the end of his long black cigar in a ruminative manner. Alonzo, looking in the opposite direction, regarded the sunset with equanimity. As he had previously remarked, the sunset was beautiful, as indeed was the whole scene which lay below them. To their left in the valley was the beautiful park surrounding Cranford Towers, whilst below the little hill on which they were seated, the white country road ran from the distant village of Cranford, and wound like a white ribbon on its way to Kellthorpe.
Mr. Leggit removed his cigar, and spat reflectively. "Say, MacTavish," he drawled, "I guess I'm not entering into any argument with you about the sunset or any other fixin's of your durned English climate. If you think I've come all the way across the Atlantic to this one-eyed spot, miles an' miles from Nu York, or any other civilised city, for the purpose of admirin' your weather, you're wrong!"
"What's worrying you, Cyrus?" asked Alonzo.
Mr. Leggit expectorated once more with great precision. "Just this," he said, "how are we goin' to get that durned picture away from the house?" He pointed in the direction of Cranford Towers. "It's one thing to cut a Velasquez out of its frame, an' another to hike it across the countryside."
He turned to Alonzo with a grin. "Say, even your nippy rural police would ask questions if they saw us carrying an eighty thousand dollar picture along a country road, wouldn't they?"
"Don't worry," replied Alonzo. "I've fixed all that. The Count, Blooey Stevens, Mousey and Carey, are living in that farmhouse away to the right of the Towers. They're supposed to be students taking a vacation, and if Blooey doesn't talk too much the farm house people might believe them. They've got a car over in the garage in Kellthorpe, and when we've cut the picture all we have to do is to get it to the park gates, where they will meet us. We'll have that Velasquez in London ready for shipment in no time. The whole things easy," concluded Alonzo, screwing his green eyeglass into his eye with a nonchalant air.
"Sure thing." agreed Mr. Leggit, throwing the cigar stump away and substituting a piece of chewing gum. "You're a clever crook, MacTavish, an' if you ever come over my side of the Atlantic I'll be tickled to death to work with you." He rose to his feet and brushed his immaculate flannel trousers.
"We'd better be moving, MacTavish," he said, "if we're going to make Cranford in time for dinner."
They descended the hill slowly and, to the casual observer, the two slim, well-dressed figures might have been those of a country gentleman and an American friend instead of two of the cleverest swell cracksmen in Europe. They stepped out along the road in silence, each busy with thoughts of the job in hand. So engrossed were they that they hardly noticed the big touring car which sped along towards them, and it was only when Leggit shouted that Alonzo jumped for the side of the road, narrowly escaping the car which tore past them.
"Darned impertinence!" said Leggit, but Alonzo did not reply, for he was gazing at something which he had caught, something flung from the window of the car as he had jumped aside—a black lace mantilla.
The mantilla had been rolled into a ball, and as Alonzo shook out its folds a crumpled piece of paper fell on to the road at his feet. He stooped and picked it up, and an exclamation escaped him as he read the one word scrawled on it in pencil—"Help!"
"Say now," drawled Cyrus Leggit, looking over Alonzo's shoulder. "What's all that about?"
Alonzo gazed after the automobile, which was by now a mere speck in the distance. As the car had sped past him he had caught a momentary glimpse of the white face of the girl seated in the corner—the girl who had flung the mantilla.
"Look here, Leggit," he said quietly. "We've got to stop that car—"
Leggit grinned. "Waal, I don't know how you're going to do it," he said, but Alonzo was already running down the road towards Cranford, and with a sigh, the American started off in pursuit.
After running a hundred yards Alonzo's scheme became apparent to the panting Leggit. On the Cranford Road was a small branch turning, and at the apex stood the telephone box of an A.A. Scout. The man was standing by the box and touched his hat as Alonzo appeared.
"Look here," said MacTavish, "I believe this is the only road to Kellthorpe. Isn't that so?"
"That's right, sir," said the man. "It's a straight run of about 12 miles, with no side roads."
"Good," said Alonzo. "Is there a constable in Kellthorpe?"
The A.A. man grinned. "There is, sir," he said. "I know him well. I've got his telephone number if you want it."
A moment later Alonzo was speaking to the village constable in Kellthorpe. "See here, officer," said Alonzo. "My car's been stolen and the people who went off with it should be passing through your village in a few minutes. Just stop the car and hold 'em up till I get there, will you?"
"That I will, sir," came the voice of the constable from the other end. "I'll hold 'em up all right, an' you get along as soon as you can."
A few minutes later, MacTavish, with Leggit seated on the carrier, drove the A.A. Scout's motor bicycle rapidly in the direction of Kellthorpe. As they bumped down the country road Leggit, who was particular as to his mode of travelling, sighed heavily.
"Say," he drawled, endeavouring to insert a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. "Say, MacTavish, you've got a nerve, I'll tell the world!"
When MacTavish and Leggit entered the single street which constituted Kellthorpe they saw that the village constable had been as good as his word, and the touring car was drawn up on the left of the road outside his cottage. The three men stood arguing with the constable a little further away, and the girl appeared to be taking little interest in the conversation.
MacTavish stopped the motor bicycle and, as arranged, Cyrus Leggit, chewing busily, swaggered jauntily down the street until he reached the waiting group, and in two minutes was immersed in a wonderful argument with the village constable and the three men, and so successfully did the enterprising Leggit conduct his side of the business that Alonzo, standing at the top of a side turning, was able to signal to the girl, who, after a momentary pause, and with a disinterested glance at the group, walked slowly up the road and joined Alonzo.
He raised his cap and produced the black mantilla from his pocket. "This is yours, I believe," he said. "I found this piece of paper inside it. Did you write it?" The girl looked him steadily in the eyes.
"Yes, I did." she said softly, and a smile brought two dimples to her cheeks. "You didn't lose much time in answering my appeal," she said, with a whimsical glance at the still arguing group in the village street.
Alonzo smiled. "Adventure is always acceptable," he said. "What's wrong?"
A frown chased the smile from the girl's face. "Just this," she said. "In a month's time I inherit Cranford Towers—I am Marion Cranford. Mr. Steen, my guardian—the stout man—" she pointed to the group by the ear, "has not been very careful in the management of the estate, I am afraid"—she smiled ruefully—"and I believe is in difficulties with regard to the account which he has to render me next month when I come of age. Two days ago he informed me that it was necessary to sell the Velasquez picture, for which the Towers is famous, and which has been in my family for many years. He told me that the sale had been arranged and that the picture was practically sold. The other two men are the dealers who have come down to see the picture. They are Americans, and I dislike them both intensely. I've tried to get away from the Towers, and see if the solicitors can do something to stop the deal going through, but I'm afraid there isn't time, and I'd hate any sort of publicity, besides which I'm practically a prisoner in the house at the moment. I just didn't know what to do, and when I saw you walking along the road you looked like the sort of man who would help."
