Complete works of peter.., p.534
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 534
The door of the café opened, and Blooey entered. He had been hurrying for his face was red, and his usual cheerful smile was conspicuous by its absence. He sat down in the seat opposite MacTavish and lit the cigarette which was offered him.
"Well Blooey," said Alonzo. "Is everything O.K.?"
"Yes and no, Mac," replied Blooey. "Everything's all right as far as we're concerned. Lon will have the car waiting at twelve o'clock, just by the Marble Arch. You ought to arrive at Ramsden House by about one o'clock. Everything, should be easy then. The French windows looking out on to the lawn at the back of the house can be opened with a penknife, and the electric alarm connected with all the window and door fastenings will be cut at twelve thirty tonight by Inky. Everything's just as you arranged, but there's one thing wrong...."
"What, Blooey?" asked Alonzo quickly.
Blooey leaned across the table. "Skarvass is in London, Mac," he said. "He was seen last night in Wu Li's, in Limehouse. He's been hanging about for the last three or four days, and you know, Mac, that he's sworn to get you. Dead or alive! He's never forgiven you for that business you caught him over, in Paris."
Alonzo laughed. "I don't see that he matters very much, Blooey," he said. "I expect that, like most others of his sort, his bark is worse than his bite."
"So it may be," said Blooey, "but here's the point. Lon telephoned me not half an hour ago from a public call office in Essex, near the Ramsden House, that he had seen Skarvass hanging about down there. There's only one reason for his presence there, Mac. He's after the Stuart chest. He's going to try and do you out of it!"
Alonzo smiled. "Well, there's no harm in his trying. Blooey," he said. "Although just how he intends to do it, I don't know."
"Look here, Mac," said Blooey earnestly. "Why don't you take either Lon or me along with you tonight? It's all very well you doing this job on your own, but forewarned is forearmed. Supposing Skarvass is down there waiting for you?"
"Well, supposing he is," replied MacTavish. "Don't worry, Blooey. I've been a match for Skarvass before, and I expect that I'll be able to deal with him should he turn up. Now, have some coffee and don't be nervous. Skarvass or no Skarvass, I shall get the Stuart chest tonight."
IT was nearly one o'clock in the morning when Alonzo slowed down the car on the narrow cart track which led to the rear of Ramsden House. He switched off the lights and, leaving the car standing by a gate which when opened would enable him to turn the automobile round, he walked down the track for another fifty yards. When he reached the selected spot he scaled the wall easily by means of the small steel points which he had inserted earlier that night, and dropped into the grounds.
There was not a sound to be heard except the soft swish of the wind as it blew through the trees which surrounded the well-kept lawns at the back of the house.
Keeping in the shadow of these trees, Alonzo made his way carefully round to the side of the house. Moving quickly, his eyes were alert constantly looking for some moving shadow which might betoken the presence of Skarvass.
That Skarvass was somewhere in the vicinity, Alonzo was certain. There was no doubt that somehow, possibly through some rumour which had circulated round the London underworld, he had known that Alonzo was attempting the theft of the Stuart chest and had made up his mind that he would take a hand in the game, too.
And Skarvass would stop at nothing. Alonzo, during his adventurous career as a swell cracksman had made many enemies, spoiled many opponents' games, but he had made no more bitter enemy than Enrico Skarvass, to whom no less than three undiscovered murders were attributed.
Alonso wondered what his enemy's game would be. Was it simply to beat him in obtaining the Stuart chest or was it something more ominous? Alonzo realised with a grin that the police would not be amazingly disturbed if his body should be found in a ditch, for MacTavish had caused more trouble to Scotland Yard than a dozen other criminals put together, and he had never been caught. Although the police were certain that his master brain was behind practically every big coup, yet there had never been evidence which would definitely connect him with the thefts.
Having reached the spot where the trees were closest to the house, and keeping well in the shadow, Alonzo crept slowly to the French windows which looked out on to the lawn at the back of the house. As Blooey had said, they required only a penknife to open them, and in two minutes Alonso stood silently within the room. Opposite him, he knew, was a passage, and the library door was the second door on the right.
Carefully pulling the curtains to, behind him, he crossed the room and, opening the door leading into the passage, switched on his electric torch and listened intently.
There was not a sound. After a second's pause, he made his way noiselessly down the passage and tried the handle of the library door. It turned easily. The library door was unlocked!
Alonzo stood wondering. Surely the door had not been deliberately left unclosed by the inmates of the house. Had Skarvass been there first?
He opened the door and stepped into the library. The room was in the centre of the house and possessed no windows. Alonzo, switching on the light, glanced instinctively at the spot, where according to his information, the Stuart chest should stand on its' pedestal—and, sure enough, there it stood.
So Skarvass had not been first? Alonzo now imagined that the library door was left unlocked owing to the carelessness of some servant. He crossed the room quickly, and took the Stuart chest from its stand. Then, quickly and quietly he made his way out of the house by the same way as he had entered, the chest under his arm.
As he walked through the trees, Alonzo came to the conclusion that the Skarvass business had been a scare, and nothing more. Lon Ferrers, his assistant who had telephoned Blooey that Skarvass had been in the neighbourhood, had probably been mistaken.
He scaled the wall, dropped down on the other side and, placing the chest in the back of his two-seater car, opened the gate which led into a field and turned the car round. Then, driving slowly, for the track was narrow, he moved away from the house.
Suddenly there was a heavy bump and the car stopped. Alonzo, switching on the headlights for one quick moment, saw what had happened. Across the narrow path lay a tree stump. He got out of the car quickly, and his hand was already moving in the direction of his hip pocket, when a shadow moved and he heard a voice—Skarvass' voice!
"Don't move, MacTaveesh," said the soft voice of the Italian. "I gotta you covered, I 'ave. You move a 'alf a inch an' I feel you full of lead. I fink I 'ave a leetle talk wit' you, MacTaveesh!"
Alonzo's brain worked quickly. So Lon Ferrers had been right after all! Alonzo, standing quite still, smiled at Skarvass.
"Glad to meet you again, Skarvass," he said quietly. "What's the game?"
Skarvass grinned evilly. "Ze game?" he repeated. "I tell you, MacTaveesh. I wan' the chest that you 'ave stole. I let you steal it—I watch while you creep roun' the trees. Now I 'ave it. Zat is part of my revenge on you, my friend! An' then, the other part of my revenge—I keel you—see! Getta back into the car quick!"
Alonzo obeyed. Presently another man joined Skarvass, appearing from further down the track, and on Skarvass' instructions, Alonzo drove the car slowly in the direction of the main road, Skarvass' automatic pistol sticking into his back.
That something had to be done quickly was obvious. MacTavish did not doubt for one moment that Skarvass meant what he said. He had been out for two things: the Stuart chest and Alonzo MacTavish. He would allow MacTavish to drive him to his destination, and then a bullet would do the rest. Alonzo realised that the Italian had very effectively killed two birds with one stone.
Alonzo looked around him. He could see no way out of his dilemma.
"'Ave a good look; my friend," said Skarvass, with a laugh. "For soon you will see nothing any more. In an hour you will be as dead as a doornail, an' you will also know that I, Skarvass, shall be rich, made rich by your own trouble and planning. I shall often think of you my friend...very often!"
Alonzo said nothing. A few yards away the track ran directly into the main road and there, a few inches from the road, lying by the side of the track, Alonzo saw something which gave him a gleam of hope. A large stone lay by the side of the track.
Suddenly, and without warning, Alonzo accelerated and deliberately drove over the stone. The car lurched sideways and, as for the moment, Skarvass was thrown off his balance, Alonzo leapt out of the car, across the hedge which bounded the side of the track and, twisting from side to side, dashed madly across the field on the other side of the hedge.
Skarvass, standing up in the car fired savagely, but the night was so dark that in a minute Alonzo had disappeared into the darkness. Then, with a curse, the Italian drove rapidly away.
NEXT morning, Alonzo, having finished breakfast, lit a cigarette and gazed ruefully at Lon Ferrers, who sat opposite reading the newspaper.
"Well, Lon," said MacTavish, "Skarvass scored off me all right last night. He's got away with the Stuart chest, and he very nearly finished me. I'm annoyed because it's the first time that I've ever failed in any job I've planned. I had a feeling last night that something might easily go wrong, and I should have been guided by it. As it is, I simply played into Skarvass' hands. All my planning, in order to get the chest, was simply for his benefit, and with Skarvass at large I have an enemy who will spare no pains to get me yet."
Lon Ferrers looked up with a grin.
"So you think your luck's out, Mac, do you?" he said. "I'll tell you what I think. I think that you're the luckiest man in the world. We wondered why it was that old Colonel Ramsden always refused to insure that Stuart chest, and why it was that he didn't keep it in a safe deposit or, at least, a safe, instead of just letting it stand about in that library of his. You remember also that legend he told the Press people about, the one which said something would happen to anyone who stole the Stuart chest. Well read that!"
He threw the newspaper across the table to the astonished Alonzo, who read:
ATTEMPT ON THE STUART CHEST
THIEF DEAD
An attempt was made last night to steal the famous Stuart chest, the property of Colonel Ramsden. An Italian named Skarvass, known to the police as an expert burglar, evidently succeeded in getting the chest away from Ramsden House in a car. He must have stopped the car in order to examine the inside of the chest, which is studded with valuable jewels, for his body was found lying across the bottom of the car, whilst beside him, curled up, lay a moccasin snake, the property of Colonel Ramsden. Colonel Ramsden has for the last two years kept the snake inside the chest as a guard against robbery and, as a bite of a moccasin means death within fifteen minutes, we imagine that no further attempt will be made on the Stuart chest.
Alonzo whistled. "Poor old Skarvass," he said. "Instead of murdering me, he was the direct cause of my life being saved. If he hadn't appeared, I should have opened the box myself. You are quite right, Lon, the luck of Alonzo MacTavish is still going strong."
19. — SOLD!
As published in The Sunday Times, Perth, Australia , 12 May 1929
CHIEF INSPECTOR MCCARTHY, busy at his desk in his private office in Scotland Yard, looked up as his subordinate entered.
"What is it, Glass?" he asked. "You look excited."
"So I am, Chief," replied Glass. "Look here, you remember Striker, the man who used to do all sorts of odd jobs for MacTavish? Well, he's downstairs—says that he has something of importance to tell you."
McCarthy chewed the end of his cigar.
"So he's going to give Alonzo MacTavish away, is he," he ruminated. "I've heard that there's been some sort of bad blood between them lately. Still, I'm surprised. MacTavish is usually pretty careful in the selection of the men with whom he works. There are only two men that he really trusts—Lon Ferrers and Striker. Well, I'll see Striker. If he's going to give me some information that will enable me to get my hands on MacTavish, I'll be obliged to him. I've had enough of that gentleman. Show Striker in, Glass."
Two minutes later Inspector Glass re-entered the room and motioned the man who followed him to a chair in front of McCarthy's desk. Striker, a fine, upstanding man of over six feet in height, certainly did not look the type of individual who would give a confederate away to the police. He sat quite still, looking at the floor, until the Chief Inspector spoke to him.
"Well, Striker," said McCarthy taking a box of cigars from his bureau drawer, and offering it to the man who sat opposite, "what is it? Have you come to put us wise to a new move of MacTavish's?"
Striker lit his cigar. His hand was quite steady.
"I suppose I have," he said eventually. "I've been good pals with Alonzo MacTavish for years. I've worked with him and for him faithfully, but he's done something I don't allow any man to do and he's got to pay for it."
McCarthy grinned. "There's a girl in this, I suppose," he said.
Striker looked up. "Perhaps there is," he said. "But that's neither here nor there. Anyhow, it's all to your advantage. You'd never get Alonzo MacTavish without my help and you know it. He's given you the slip time and time again. He's done jobs under your very noses and you've never been able to hang anything on to him. He's laughed at you for years. Now, if you've got any brains at all, you'll get him easy!"
McCarthy leaned across the table. "That's the talk I like to hear, Striker," he said. "It would be worth something to me to get MacTavish—a hundred pounds I should say."
"Would it?" said Striker. "Well, let's see the hundred."
McCarthy smiled. "When we've heard the story," he said.
Striker grinned. "I'll have the hundred now," he said, "or there won't be any story."
McCarthy thought for a moment. Then he got up and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a packet of five pound notes. He threw them across the table to Striker.
"There you are," he said. "There's your blood money. Now, what's the story?"
Striker put the notes in his pocket. "There's an old fellow called Grant," he said. "He lives in Berkeley Street quite close to the park, and he's got a collection of antique Roman jewels in a case. He keeps them in a special sort of safe, I believe, just as if there was any safe that Alonzo MacTavish couldn't open if he wanted to, providing he'd had a good look at it first. Well, MacTavish is going to have that collection."
Striker drew at his cigar and regarded the ceiling.
"Is he?" said McCarthy. "When?"
"Tomorrow night," answered Striker. "He's got everything ready. There are three of us in it, MacTavish, Lon Ferrers, and myself. MacTavish is getting into the house by the first floor window which is at the side of the house, in the entrance to a garage. He reckons that it will take him twenty minutes to get the safe open. My job is to watch the Piccadilly end of Berkeley Street."
McCarthy looked across at Glass with a smile.
"Looks like the end of Alonzo MacTavish," he said. "Five years, at least. MacTavish, the swell cracksman who has never been caught! Jove! It'll be a haul for us, Glass!" He picked up a pencil from the desk. "What time is he doing this job, Striker?" he asked.
"I don't know for certain," the man replied. "You know what MacTavish is. He never lets his right hand know what his left hand's doing, but it'll be somewhere round about twelve o'clock at night.
"That need not worry you, though. Directly MacTavish enters the house, I'll cut into the telephone box near the Berkeley and ring you up. You can be there in ten minutes, and it'll take him at least twenty minutes to half an hour to get that safe open."
McCarthy considered for a moment. "I think you're right. Striker," he said. "It wouldn't do for us to be hanging about there too early. That neighbourhood is usually deserted at midnight, and he might smell at rat. You telephone to me directly he enters the house, and we'll be along inside five minutes. And don't let me down, Striker; otherwise it will go hard with you!"
"You need not worry about that, Chief," Striker grinned. "There's just one thing. Directly you've got MacTavish, I'd like to make a quick getaway. I don't want him to suspect that I've shopped him."
"That's all right," said McCarthy. "You can clear off directly we get our hands on him. I shan't need to call you as evidence. He'll have the goods on him—caught in the act. That's good enough for me. All right Striker, you can go now—everything is arranged."
"Right, Chief," said Striker, "You can rely on me."
After Glass and the traitor had gone, McCarthy rose and stretched himself. A pleased smile played about his mouth.
"Got you MacTavish," he murmured. "Got you—at last!"
ON the following night, as eleven thirty struck, Mr. Alonzo MacTavish, immaculately garbed in evening clothes with his silk hat at its usual rakish angle, and his eyeglass screwed firmly into his left eye, walked slowly up Berkeley Street, and with a quick glance round, turned sharply into the garage entrance which ran by the side of Grant house. Then, secure in the thought that Lon Ferrers was keeping watch on one end of the street and Striker at the other, he climbed quickly up the side of the house, the grooved architecture affording ample foothold, and climbed over the balcony. He forced the window with quick precision, and got through into the room beyond.
He stood in the darkness for a minute, listening intently. Then switching on an electric torch, he crossed the room and stood before the iron safe which was let into the wall. It was a very modern safe, guaranteed burglar proof and fireproof, but Alonzo's month curved into a smile as he examined it.
He took from his pocket a box, which appeared to be made of steel, and which was about the size of an ordinary cigar box. Alonzo inserted a key into an aperture at the end of the box and wound up some mechanism within. The box immediately began to tick loudly—after the manner of an alarm clock. MacTavish placed the box immediately beneath the bottom of the safe, switched off his electric torch, made his way out of the window, over the balcony, and climbed down the wall in a trice.
At the bottom Lon Ferrers met him, and handed him a leather case, about the size of a small attaché case.
