FLASH FRED SEES A CLIENT
Flash Fred had seen Larry Holt off the premises of the railway
terminus; for, though he had left the station building first, he had
waited until Larry’s taxi had gone.
He had a particular desire that he should not be shadowed that
evening, and to this was engrafted a wholesome respect for the
perspicacity and genius of Larry Holt. On the Continent of Europe,
whereever crook met crook, it was generally and unanimously agreed
that the first person they wished to meet on the other side of the
Styx was Larry Holt. Only they did not say “on the other side of the
Styx”; they said, simply and crudely, “in hell.” The ruthlessness of
this man, once he got his nose on to the trail, was a tradition and a
legend; and Fred, more than any other man, had reason to fear him.
He gave Holt ten minutes’ start and then doubled back to the station,
left his suitcase at the cloak room and came out at one of the side
entrances where the cabs were ranked, and, choosing the first of
these, he gave an address. Ten minutes later he was set down in a
quiet Bloomsbury square, devoted in the main to lawyers’ offices.
There was an exception to these. The building at which he alighted was
a narrow and tall erection of red brick, and though no light showed in
the lower office, there was a subdued gleam in the windows of the
upper floor. A commissionaire on duty in the hall looked at Fred
askance.
“The office has been closed for hours, sir,” he said, shaking his
head. “We open at nine in the morning.”
“Is Dr. Judd on the premises?” asked Flash Fred, shifting his cigar
from one corner of his mouth to the other.
The commissionaire hesitated.
“Mr. Judd is still busy, sir, and I don’t think he wants to see
anybody.”
“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” sneered Fred. “Now, you go upstairs to the
governor and tell him that Mr. Walter Smith wants to see him. Don’t
forget the name--it’s an unusual one,” he added humorously.
The commissionaire looked dubiously at the visitor.
“I shall only get into trouble,” he grumbled, as he stepped into one
of the two small elevators and, pressing the automatic knob, he went
quickly up out of view.
Apparently Mr. Judd’s office was situated on the top floor, for it was
some time before the whine of the motor ceased. After a while it began
again, and the commissionaire descended.
“He’ll see you, sir,” he said. “Will you step this way?”
“You ought to know me by now, sergeant,” said Fred as he walked into
the lift. “I’ve been here pretty regularly the past few years.”
“Maybe I wasn’t on duty,” said the commissionaire as the lift slowly
ascended. “There are two of us here, you know. Were you a friend of
Mr. David’s, sir?”
Fred did not chuckle, he did not even smile.
“No, no,” he said airily, “I don’t know Mr. David.”
“Ah, very sad, very sad!” said the commissionaire. “He died suddenly
four years ago, you know, sir.”
Fred did know, but he did not confess the fact. The death of Mr. David
had robbed him of a possible source of income by right, whereas now he
only had that income by favour, and might at any time lose that and
gain a term of imprisonment if the jovial Dr. Judd grew tired of
paying blackmail.
The lift stopped and he stepped out and followed the commissionaire to
a door, at which the uniformed man knocked. A loud voice bade them
come in, and Flash Fred swaggered into the handsome apartment with a
cool nod to its occupant.
Dr. Judd had risen to meet him.
“All right, sergeant,” he said to the commissionaire, and flicked a
silver coin across the room, which the man caught deftly.
“Get me some cigarettes,” he said. And when the door had closed: “Sit
down, you rascal,” said Dr. Judd good-humouredly. “I suppose you’ve
come to get your pound of flesh.”
He was a tall, stout man, florid of face and heavy of build. His
forehead was bald, his eyes were deep-set and wide apart; he had about
him an air of comfort and boisterous good humour. Fred, in no wise
abashed, sat down on the edge of a chair.
“Well, doctor,” he said, “I’m back.”
Dr. Judd shook his head and searched his pockets for a cigarette.
“What do you want--a cigarette?” said Fred, reaching for his case, but
the doctor shook his head and his smile was broad, good-humoured, but
significant.
“No, thank you, Mr. Grogan,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t smoke
cigarettes that are presented to me by gentlemen of your profession.”
“What is my profession?” growled Flash Fred. “You don’t think I was
trying to dope you, do you?”
“I was expecting you,” said the other, without answering the question,
and seated himself. “If I remember rightly, you have a strong
objection to taking cheques.”
Flash Fred grinned.
“Quite right, governor,” he said. “That is still my weakness.”
The doctor took a bunch of keys from his pocket, walked to the safe,
snapped back the lock, and then, looking over his shoulder:
“You needn’t watch this too closely, my friend; except when I have to
pay blackmailers, I never keep money in this safe.”
Fred made a little grimace.
“Hard words never killed anybody,” he said sententiously.
The doctor took out a packet, slammed the door and turned the key,
came slowly back to the desk and threw down a fat envelope. Then he
consulted a little book which he took from a drawer.
“You’re three days ahead of your time,” he said, and Fred nodded
admiringly.
“What a brain you’ve got for figures, doctor!” he said. “Yes, I’m
three days ahead of my time, but it’s because I’ve got to get out of
England pretty quick to meet a friend of mine in Nice.”
The doctor threw the packet across to him, and he caught it clumsily.
“There are twelve hundred pounds in that envelope. You needn’t count
them, because they’re all there,” said Dr. Judd, and leaning back in
his chair, he took out a golden toothpick, eyeing the other straightly
and thoughtfully. “Of course I am the biggest fool in the world,” he
said, “or I would never submit to this iniquitous blackmail. It is
only because I want to keep the memory of my dead brother free from
calumny that I do this.”
“If your brother goes shooting up people in Montpellier and I happen
to be on the spot,” said Flash Fred unctuously, “and help him to
escape--as I did, and I can prove it--I think I’m entitled to a little
compensation.”
“You’re an unutterable scoundrel,” said the other in his pleasant way,
and smiled. “And you amuse me. Suppose, instead of being what I am, I
were a bad-minded man. Suppose that I was desperate and couldn’t find
the money? Why, I might--do anything!”
He guffawed at the thought of doing anything very terrible.
“It wouldn’t make any difference to me,” said Fred. “But it wouldn’t
make any difference to you, either. I’ve got all the facts written
down about that shooting--how I helped the man escape and recognized
him in London as Mr. David Judd when I came back--and my mouthpiece
has got it.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Sure, my lawyer,” said Fred, nodding. He leaned forward. “You know, I
didn’t believe your brother had died. I thought it was a fake to get
me out of the way, and I shouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen
it in the papers and been to the funeral.”
Dr. Judd rose and replaced his toothpick.
“That a man like you could besmirch a name like his!” he said. All the
good humour had gone out of his voice, and he trembled with
indignation and passion.
He had passed to the other side of the table and stood glowering down
at Flash Fred, and Fred, who was used to such scenes--for this was not
his first blackmailing case--merely smiled.
“He was the best man that ever lived, the cleverest, the most
wonderful,” said Dr. Judd, and his face was white. “The greatest man
perhaps that this world has seen.” His voice shook with the intensity
of his emotion. “And for you----” He reached down, and before Fred
knew what had happened the big hand had gripped him by the collar and
jerked him to his feet.
“Here, none of that!” cried Fred, and strove to break loose.
“The money I do not mind paying,” Judd went on. “It is not that which
maddens me. It is the knowledge that you have it in your power to
throw mud at a man----” Here his voice broke, and the other hand came
up.
With a cry like a wild beast, Fred flung himself back with all his
might and broke the grip of his adversary. Suddenly, as if by magic,
there appeared in his hand a revolver.
“Put ’em up and keep ’em up, damn you!”
And then a voice, the gentlest voice in the world, asked:
“Can I be of any assistance?”
Fred turned with a start. Larry Holt was standing in the doorway, an
engaging smile upon his face.