Delphi collected works o.., p.702
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 702
Alonzo removed his hat and stepped forward. The slightest suggestion of a subtle perfume greeted his nostrils as he approached the lady and he sniffed appreciatively.
“You will excuse me, I know,” said Alonzo, in the gentle manner especially reserved for beauty in distress, “but I heard you crying. Can I help?”
The lady looked up. “N-no, you can’t, th-thank you v-very much,” she murmured, endeavouring to stifle the sobs which persisted in spite of her efforts.
“I hate everybody, and I’m frantically unhappy, and life is awful, b-b-but, n-nobody cares!”
Alonzo dusted the other end of the stone step with a handkerchief, and sat down.
“May I point out to you,” he said, “that your last remark is absolutely untrue. I care. How can I possibly go to bed on a beautiful night like this, knowing that you are still seated on a cold stone step in Park Lane, crying? It couldn’t be done! Would you like me to get you a cab and take you home.”
“N-no, I wouldn’t,” said the lady with a fresh outburst of sobs. “I haven’t got a home, anyway. I only want to die!”
Experience having taught Mr. MacTavish that when a lady wants to die there is usually some extremely strong reason why she should wish to continue living, he said nothing, but lit a cigarette and regarded the features of an interested cat who sat on the wall opposite. This procedure was entirely successful, inasmuch as within two minutes the lady’s tears abated somewhat and Alonzo could see that he was being regarded with great curiosity out of the corner of her eye.
“Now, what’s it all about?” he asked, handing the girl his cigarette case. They sat and smoked in silence for a few minutes, then, with sudden movement, she turned to him.
“If you’ve ever heard of Sloan Duquesne you can probably guess the rest of the story,” she said. “Have you heard of him?”
Alonzo smiled. “Who hasn’t?” he said. “The newspapers have been full of him for days. Apparently he is a young gentleman who, at the age of 25, inherited much too much money, and appears to be addicted to drugs, drink, and every other form of nonsensical amusement. The last news of him says that his latest escapade has been to turn his sister into the streets for some entirely silly and trivial reason. Pretty hard luck on the girl,” he concluded.
“It is,” said the girl bitterly. “You see, I happen to be his sister!”
Alonzo whistled quietly. “I say, that’s pretty bad, isn’t it? And is this stone step your only abode at the present?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the girl. “You see, things came to a climax today, and I really couldn’t stand it any longer. I’ve no money, but that doesn’t trouble me. I daresay I can get a job of some sort in time. But he’s got my mother’s diamond tiara which she gave to me. He refuses to give this up. You see, it’s quite valuable, and I intended selling it, and starting some sort of business with the proceeds.”
“Why did you let him have it?” asked Alonzo.
“I only got it from the bank the day before yesterday,” she answered. “I took it down to a jeweller who knew my mother, and he arranged to give me five thousand pounds for it. The deal was to be completed tomorrow morning, but in the meantime he did not want the responsibility of keeping the necklace, so I asked my brother to put it in his safe. He was quite pleasant about it at the time, but in the meantime he’d had another of his attacks, and absolutely refuses to part with it. I really don’t know what I shall do.”
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Alonzo considered for a moment.
“Where does your brother live?” he asked.
“He lives in Brook Street, No. 340, but it isn’t any use. No one can move him when once he has made up his mind. I do wish I hadn’t put it in the safe.”
“Couldn’t you go there and open the safe?” Alonzo asked.
She shook her head.
“No. He’s there all the time, and the safe is in his study on the first floor. He keeps the key in his pocket. It’s a wonderful safe too — a Brigg’s burglar-proof — and I never could get it open without having both the key and the code word which works the lock. I haven’t got either,” she added dismally.
Alonzo smiled to himself. “Brigg’s burglar proof safes,” whilst being excellent safes, had hitherto presented no difficulty to him. As a matter of fact he had “negotiated” five such safes during the last two years. He turned to the girl.
“Look here, Miss Duquesne,” he said. “I know your brother — I did him a good turn once — and I think he might listen to me. I’ll go and see him in the morning. In the meantime I’m going to drive you to an hotel, if you’ll let me, where they’ll give you credit until such time an you can square up. They know me awfully well, you see,” he explained. “What do you say?”
She considered for a moment, then she smiled. Alonzo thought it was the most wonderful smile he had ever seen in his life.
“Thanks awfully,” she said. “I’ll do it. If you are a friend of my brother’s he might listen to you. Thank you so much Mr...?” She looked questioningly at Alonzo.
“My name is Umfreville O’Halloran,” replied Alonzo with great promptitude, “and if you’ll wait one moment I’ll get a cab.”
HALF an hour later, Miss Duquesne was comfortably installed in the Langley Hotel, Piccadilly, and Alonzo, his mind busy, hurried to the Tube Station, which was on the point of closing.
He entered a telephone box and rang a Museum number.
“Is that you, Lon?” he asked. “Good. Meet me at the corner of Bond Street and Brook Street in an hour’s time — two o’clock precisely. Wear evening clothes and bring the kit with you. It’s a job in Brook Street — a Brigg’s — should take about an hour. Got that?”
“Right, Mac,” replied Lon Ferrers casually. “I’ll be there, and I hope it keeps fine for us!”
At two o’clock precisely Alonzo met Lon Ferrers as arranged, and relieved him of the wide belt, worn round the body under the coat, containing the tools and apparatus specially designed by MacTavish for the opening of Brigg’s Safes. He had already inspected the premises at 340 Brook Street, which, standing on a corner formed by a narrow turning leading to a garage, presented no difficulty as to effecting an entrance. All was quiet and, with Lon keeping a lookout below, Alonzo climbed to a window on the first floor and entered the house. As he closed the window behind him it seemed that a noise came from the direction of the hall downstairs. He listened attentively for a minute, but heard no further sound, and switching on his electric torch discovered that he was in a bathroom.
He opened the door and, stepping into the passage beyond, quickly found the library, the door of which was open. In the corner was the safe. He examined the massive door. Then, taking off his coat, he commenced operations, and an hour afterwards the heavy door swung open.
The safe was empty except for a few books, and papers, and a black Morocco leather case which rested on the second shelf. He broke the slight lock with a penknife and, opening the case, gazed at the diamond pendant which lay within. Then, with a glance at his watch he switched off his electric torch and, slipping the case into his pocket, he donned his overcoat and turned to the door.
Suddenly there was a click and the room was flooded with electric light. Alonzo smiled grimly as he found himself looking down into the barrel of a heavy service revolver held by the tired looking young gentleman in evening clothes who stood by the door. The young gentleman yawned, and sat down in an armchair, keeping MacTavish covered with the revolver.
“Well, Mr. Raffles,” he said. “I suppose I must apologise for spoiling your evening. It was unlucky for you that I should return and hear you just at the moment that you were bringing your efforts to a successful conclusion. By the way, how did you know that the pendant was in the safe?” he asked.
“Does that matter?” replied Alonso, putting on his hat. “Would it not be more expedient to proceed to the next stage of the game, say telephoning for the police — I suppose that’s rather indicated, isn’t it?”
The young man grinned.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “You see, I happened to be walking down Park Lane just after midnight” — his grin broadened— “and taking a look into Farrow’s Mews I saw my delightful sister and yourself engaged in deep conversation. The rest of the story is easy. Simply putting two and two together, I conclude that my adventurous sister has engaged, or persuaded, you to remove the necklace and hand it over to her. Incidentally, I must congratulate you on the efficient way in which you have dealt with that safe. Personally, I think it was very sporting of you. When you see my sister again you might say that I sympathise with the failure of your little plot. In the meantime would you mind handing over the pendant? Thanks very much.”
The young gentleman replaced the pendant in the safe and shut the iron door. With his left hand he took a cigarette case from his pocket and turned to Alonzo with a smile.
“Have a cigarette?” he said. “And I’d be awfully glad if you’d close the front door, behind you as you go. Thanks very much. Good-night!”
ALONZO, and Lon Ferrers walked slowly in the direction of the Criterion Restaurant. Eventually, when they arrived and were seated at a table in the almost deserted “all night restaurant,” MacTavish consumed cup after cup of coffee and consigned all women in distress to the nether regions. He hated to admit defeat, but, at the same time he could think of no possible way to obtain possession of the pendant.
Suddenly he put down his cup and, summoning a waiter, paid the bill.
Outside the restaurant, he turned to Lon.
“Look here, Lon,” he said. “I’ve made up my mind to get that pendant. I’ve an idea. It’s risky, but I’m going to chance it. I’m going back to 340 Brook Street, and I’m going to ring the bell like an honest citizen. When somebody opens the door I’m going to stick an automatic into their ribs and walk up to the library and take that pendant. The safe isn’t shut because all the lock tumblers are broken. If it comes off I’ll see you at my flat at four o’clock. Good-night!”
Alonzo walked quickly in the direction of Brook Street. As he approached No. 340 he could not fail to be aware of the commotion which was afoot inside and outside the house. Lights showed in every window, and the wide open front door was guarded by the portly figure of a policeman. On the pavement outside the house stood a police sergeant and two more constables.
Alonzo pushed his silk hat further back on his head, and rumpling his shirt front after the manner of an all night roisterer, addressed the sergeant.
“What’s the excitement, officer?” he asked. “Want any help?”
The sergeant grinned.
“Too late, I’m afraid, sir,” he said. “It’s all over bar the shouting. This place has been burgled tonight, and they’ve got away with the Duquesne pendant. Pretty slick work, whoever they are!”
Alonzo said good-night, and walked down Brook Street, his brain whirling. He stood for a moment on the corner of Grosvenor Square, utterly amazed. Then a suspicion of a smile broke over his face and, walking quickly to Oxford Street, he hailed a cab, and drove off rapidly to the Langley Hotel.
“No, sir, Miss Duquesne isn’t here,” said the night clerk in answer to his question. “She left suddenly, about an hour and a half after she arrived here with you. She said you might be calling, and she asked me to give you this note.”
He handed a sealed envelope to Alonzo. MacTavish walked out into Piccadilly, the note in his pocket. At the first street lamp he tore open the envelope and read:
Dear Mac,
A pretty good bluff, wasn’t it? Don’t you think I acted the part of the sorrowful Miss Duquesne awfully well? I thought you’d recognise me any moment, in spite of my dyed hair. You see, we had got the key to the front door of the Duquesne house, but there’s only one man in Europe can open a Briggs burglar proof safe, and that’s yourself! I knew you’d go off and crack the crib immediately. The young man who held you up was not Sloan Duquesne, but my brother, Fred. He was rather good, wasn’t he? You’re rather a dear, aren’t you, Mac? And if you’d like to join us at Monte, I’ll thank you personally. Please find enclosed banknote for £500. Buy yourself a cigarette case, or something in memory of
Yours,
Nita Duquesne,
Alias Kitty Marshall.
Alonzo leaned up against the lamp post and gasped. Then he roared with laughter. For the first time in his life he had been double-crossed — and by a woman! A passing policeman regarded him with amusement. “It’s a fine night, sir,” said the policeman.
Alonzo felt in his pocket for a pound note.
“Officer 434K,” he said, handing the note to the astonished police officer, “It’s the finest night I’ve seen for a long time.”
So saying, Mr. MacTavish adjusted his monocle in his eye and went home to bed.
THE HOUSE WITH THE GLASS ROOF
THE WIND SHRIEKED and whistled across the house tops, and the pattering of the rain formed a melancholy accompaniment. Alonzo, wet to the skin, and huddled against the lee side of a chimney stack, made rude remarks about the English climate, and cursed his selection of such an inclement night.
He knew that Lon Ferrers, engaged on the same business as himself, was taking shelter somewhere in the vicinity, but where, he had not the slightest idea. To move was dangerous, for it was impossible to distinguish where one parapet ended and another began, and one false step meant a drop of sixty or seventy feet.
Alonzo wondered whether Lon had been more lucky in the business on hand, and had succeeded in finding the roof of the house, through which, three nights later, they had planned to effect their entrance. Alonzo had not the faintest idea where the roof of No. 16 was, for they had twisted and turned so many times in the darkness that, besides getting separated, he had lost all sense of direction.
He sat down behind the chimney stack and lit a cigarette. The only thing to do was to wait for the rain to stop and the passing of the black cloud which obscured the moon. He felt in his pocket and produced Blooey Stevens’ note. Blooey Stevens — a friend and colleague — had unfortunately fallen into the hands of the guardians of law and order whilst essaying the very business which Alonzo and Lon Ferrers were now attempting, but had managed to get the note conveyed to Alonso.
MacTavish opened his raincoat and, holding the note within the shelter of the coat, switched on his electric torch and read: —
Dear Mac,
No. 16 Felsham Gardens. Get through the roof. This is easy. Through studio and passage. Right hand room. Cedar wood box in bottom drawer of escritoire. Be careful of the brothers. They’ll stick at nothing. You can recognise roof by three grey chimney stacks.
Blooey.
Alonzo put the note back in his pocket. It was now possible to see a little way and, stepping gingerly, he commenced his search for the three grey chimney stacks. He had been progressing slowly along the roof for some twenty minutes when he first noticed the light. The light was diffused as if behind a frosted glass, and it seemed to shine from several different places, within a square of about 40 feet, on a nearby roof.
Alonzo, his hand on the butt of his automatic, approached carefully. A quick examination showed him that the light came from a square roof which was enclosed by a low wall about four feet high. Peering over the wall he saw that the light came through the roof in patches, and a further examination showed him the reason.
The roof was made of frosted glass, and beneath this glass was stretched a cover intended to prevent the light from showing through the roof. The cover, however, was torn in places, and patches of light showed through the frosted glass.
Alonzo looked up and saw, almost in front of him on the other side of the parapet which surrounded the roof, the three grey chimney stacks! He had found No. 16!
He made his way round the roof with the intention of examining the three grey chimney stacks. He had hardly reached the end of the wall when he heard a scraping sound, and dropped to his knees behind the cover of the wall. Sliding down the sloping roof of the next house was the figure of a man. For one moment, Alonzo thought it was Lon Ferrers, but as the figure entered a patch of moonlight he saw that he was mistaken.
The man approaching was tall and thin. He was wearing a black sombrero hat, which, with a black beard, added to his mysterious appearance. He slid carefully down the side of the roof and disappeared from view, reappearing a second later on the other side of the glass roof.
Alonzo, bent double, and keeping under cover of the wall hurried round the glass roof in the direction of the mysterious stranger. The bearded man in the black hat seemed familiar with the geography of the neighbouring roofs, and an idea came to Alonzo that this same individual might know the secret of the glass roof.
He reached the end of the wall and, peering cautiously round, saw the figure of the man by the side of the three chimney stacks. He was looking over the edge of the wall, and appeared to be searching for something. After a moment he vaulted on to the wall and Alonso, quietly approaching, saw that the man was lying full length on the wall with his left hand stretched down over the edge of the parapet.
Alonzo rose to his full height and, stepping quietly forward, pushed the barrel of his automatic against the back of the man’s neck.
“Don’t move, please!” said Alonzo, “Otherwise you might become a casualty. Just get off that wall quietly and come and hold a conversation with me beneath the shade of the chimney stack?”
The man scrambled off the wall. For a moment Alonzo thought that he was going to show fight, but, after a glance at MacTavish’s automatic, he seemed to think better of it, and seated himself sulkily by the side of the chimney stacks.
Alonzo leaned up against the wall. “Well, my friend what is the secret of the glass roof?” he asked.
The man regarded him in silence for a moment, and then shook his head.
“Ah,” said Alonzo, “I see. You don’t speak English. Well, that saves a lot of argument. Just hold out your hand, will you? Like that. That’s right!”
