THE ODD MAN
Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill House
finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee which old
Martha had prepared for them.
Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill’s greasy jacket and moleskins,
but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable wig, consisting
of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had gone far to restore
him to the semblance of his former self.
Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the full
force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with the butt of
his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to defend his face and
the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward’s jacket had broken the force of
the blow. Desmond had avoided a fractured skull at the price of an
appalling bruise on the right forearm and a nasty laceration of the
scalp.
Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events of
the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the corporal of
military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the breakfast, Francis
had taken his brother straight to the dining-room, refusing to let him
ask the questions which thronged his brain until they had eaten and
drunk. Only when all the ham and eggs had disappeared, did Francis,
lighting one of Mr. Bellward’s cigars, consent to satisfy his brother’s
curiosity.
“It was only yesterday morning,” he said, “that I landed at Folkstone
from the Continent. How I got the Chief’s message recalling me and how
I made my escape through the Turkish lines to Allenby’s headquarters is
a long story which will keep. The Chief had a car waiting for me at
Folkstone and I reached London in time to lunch with him. We had a long
talk and he gave me carte blanche to jump into this business now, when
and where I thought I could best help you.”
Desmond smiled bitterly.
“The Chief couldn’t trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,” he
said.
“The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people you had
to deal with, Des.,” retorted Francis, “and he was a trifle
apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
impersonation. He’s a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
right—as he always is.”
“But how?” asked Desmond. “Did the crowd spot me?”
“No,” answered the other; “but it was your disguise which was
responsible for the escape of Strangwise—”
“What?” cried Desmond. “He’s escaped after all!”
Francis nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute and
you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell yours and
between us, we’ll piece things together!
“Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my fancy. I
wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it seemed to me that if
I could borrow Mr. Hill’s appearance for a few hours now and then I
might gain access to you without rousing any suspicion. You see, I knew
that old Hill left here about dusk every afternoon, so I guessed the
coast would be clear.
“Clarkson’s fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got down
to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally thick that it
took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It must have been close
on eight o’clock when I pushed open your front gate. I thought of going
boldly into the kitchen and asking for you, but, fortunately, I decided
to have a preliminary prowl round the place. Through a chink in the
curtains of the library I saw you and a stranger talking together. The
stranger was quite unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted
right off. I saw that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a
bit and await developments.
“I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard a car
coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush opposite the
front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They hurried into the
house, so that I didn’t have a chance of seeing their faces. But I got
a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he bent down to turn out the
headlights. And, yes, I knew him!”
“Max, they called him,” said Desmond.
“His name was Mirsky when last I saw him,” answered Francis, “and mine
was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in Russia and
as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you’ll find anywhere in the
German service. I must say I never thought he’d have the nerve to show
his face in this country, though I believe he’s a Whitechapel Jew born
and bred. However, there he was and the sight of his ugly mug told me
that something was doing. But like a fool I decided to hang on a bit
and watch, instead of going right off in that car and fetching help
from Stanning.”
“It was just as well you waited,” said Desmond, “for if you’d gone off
at once they must have heard the car and the fat would have been in the
fire straight away!”
And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in the
library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound of the
departing ear.
Francis laughed.
“From my observation post outside,” he said, “I could only see you,
Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting opposite the
window. I couldn’t see more than the feet of the others. But your face
told me the loud voices which reached me even outside meant that a
crisis of some sort was approaching, so I thought it was time to be up
and doing. So I sneaked round to the front of the house, got the engine
of the car going and started off down the drive.
“I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since you’ve
been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day and night at
the police-station there. I didn’t dare stop to light the head-lamps
and as a result the first thing I did was to charge the front gate and
get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed that it took me the best part
of twenty minutes to get the blooming car clear. When at last I got to
the station, I found that Matthews, the Chief’s man, you know, had just
arrived by car from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some
military police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the night and
ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on his own to prevent
the gaff being blown on you and also to recapture Mr. Bellward if he
should be mad enough to make for his old quarters.
“I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither of us
was able to understand why you had not telephoned for assistance—we
only discovered later that the telephone had been disconnected—but I
went bail that you were up against a very stiff proposition. I told
Matthews that, by surrounding the house, we might capture the whole
gang.
“Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of persuading,
so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn’t take my advice to
rush every available man to the scene, but only consented to take two
plainclothes men and two military police. He was so precious afraid of
upsetting your arrangements. The Chief, it appears, had warned
everybody against doing that. So we all piled into the car and I drove
them back to the Mill House.
“This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the house
on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the military police,
both armed, should stay and guard the car, while the two plainclothes
men and the other military policeman, the corporal here, should
accompany me to the house. Matthews believed my yarn that we were only
going to ‘investigate.’ What I intended to do in reality was to round
up the whole blessed lot.
“I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the other
round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop anybody who
came out and at the same time to whistle for assistance. The corporal
and I went to our old observation post outside the library window.
“The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had reached a
climax. I saw you—looking pretty blue, old man—facing that woman who
seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you with a pistol, and
beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a regular whopper of an
automatic. Before I had time to move, the plain-clothes man at the back
of the house whistled. He had found the secret door with Bellward and
the woman coming out of it.
“Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in a
second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you as you
went for the other man.
“But the corporal at my side wasn’t worrying much about you. Just as
you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a sense of
discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed Mortimer, but
plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old friend dropped in his
tracks right between you and the other fellow. On that we hacked our
way through the French window. The corporal found time to have another
shot and laid out a tall, odd-looking man...”
“No. 13,” elucidated Desmond.
“... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of the
door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a brush
cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others—”
“Gone?” queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
Francis nodded.
“We didn’t waste any time getting through that window,” he said, “but
the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced unpleasant. Still,
we were too late. You were laid out on the floor; Mortimer, Bellward
and the lady had made their lucky escape. And the secret door showed us
how they had gone...”
“But I thought you had a man posted at the back?”
“Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal idiot must
rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer and Co., nipping
out by the secret door, got clear away down the drive. But that is not
the worst. Matthews gave them the car!”
“No!” said Desmond incredulously.
“He did, though,” answered Francis. “Mind you, Mortimer had had the
presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented himself to
Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise quite well: he has
often seen him with the Chief.
“‘My God, Captain Strangwise,’ says Matthews, as the trio appeared,
‘What’s happened?’
“‘You’re wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,’ says Strangwise
quite excitedly. ‘We’re to take the car and go for assistance.’
“Matthews had a look at Strangwise’s companions, and seeing Bellward,
of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had a black lace
muffler wound about her face.
“‘Miss Mackwayte’s coming with us, Matthews,’ Strangwise says, seeing
Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any lurking
suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the military
policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive while
Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away before you
could say ‘knife.’ The military policeman actually cranked up the car
for them!
“When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our only car,
I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of time on the
floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that the man with
Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently deduced that
Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very man we had to catch.
“We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think things
out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have gone after
the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid. I tried to
telephone without success and then we found the wire cut outside. Then
I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him quite chatty and furious
against Mortimer, whom he accused of having sold them. He told us that
the party would be sure to make for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was
there.
“By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour clear
start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in the
meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning to fetch
one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and despatched one of the
military policemen on it to Stanning.
“In about half an hour’s time he was back with a car in which were
Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put Matthews in
charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke Inn, though I felt
pretty sure we were too late to catch the trio. That was really the
reason I stayed behind; besides, I wanted to look after you. I got a
turn when I saw you spread out all over the carpet, old man, I can tell
you.”
Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not speak
for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How he had
bungled it all!
“Look here,” he said presently in a dazed voice, “you said just now
that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why should
Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she come down
with you?”
Francis looked at him quickly.
“That crack on the head makes you forget things,” he said. “Don’t you
remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
afternoon? Matthews thought she had stayed on...”
Desmond shook his head.
“She’s not been here,” he replied. “I’m quite positive about that!”
Francis sprang to his feet.
“Surely you must be mistaken,” he said in tones of concern. “The Chief
sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you. She reached
Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told Matthews that she
asked him the way to the Mill House.”
An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond’s heart. He held his
throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara that night
in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. “So that’s what she wanted with
Nur-el-Din!” he had said.
Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told Francis of
his absence from the Mill House in response to the summons from
Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her story of the Star
of Poland, of his hurried return just in time to meet Mortimer, and of
Mortimer’s enigmatical reference to the dancer in the library that
night.
Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond noted
it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial failure to
inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and Mortimer to the Mill
House. When he had finished speaking, he did not look at Francis, but
gazed mournfully out of the window into the chilly drizzle of a sad
winter’s day.
“I don’t like the look of it at all, Des,” said his brother shaking his
head, “but first we must make sure that there has been no
misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your housekeeper was
already here when you came back from the Dyke Inn. She may have seen
her. Let’s have old Martha in!”
Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of the
house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid than usual.
After much interrogation they had to be satisfied with her repeated
assertion that “she ’adn’t seen no young lady” and allowed her to
hobble back to her kitchen.
The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the first
to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather tense.
“Des,” he asked; “what do you make of it? From what Strangwise let fall
in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss Mackwayte,
instead of coming here to see you as she was told—or she may have
called during your absence—went to the Dyke Inn and saw Nur-el-Din. The
muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul play to me and that
suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact that Matthews found
Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to me by telephone just now;
but he says nothing about Miss Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for
that poor girl if she has fallen into the hands of that gang!”
Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece things
together as best as his aching head would allow. Both Nur-el-Din and
Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din believed that afternoon
that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise, on discovering his loss, had
seemed to suggest that Barbara Mackwayte had recovered it.
“Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them,” said Desmond,
“must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte.”
And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded quickly.
“Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us,” he answered sternly.
“They’ve arrested her?” asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
“Yes,” said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found Nur-el-Din
in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying dead
on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet through the temple. That
looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din had recovered the jewel!”
“But Rass is a compatriot of hers,” Desmond objected.
“But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
Strangwise,” retorted Francis. “If either Nur-el-Din or Strangwise have
regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I fear the worst for
Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!”
The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
“Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!”
Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were not
of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking Nur-el-Din a
victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous fool who had been
hoodwinked by a pretty woman’s play-acting? And had he sacrificed
Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his credulousness?
Francis burst suddenly into the room.
“Des,” he cried, “they’ve found Miss Mackwayte’s hat on the floor of
the tap-room... it is stained with blood...”
Desmond felt himself growing pale:
“And the girl herself,” he asked thickly, “what of her?”
Francis shook his head.
“Vanished,” he replied gravely. “Vanished utterly. Desmond,” he added,
“we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!”