IN FLASH FRED’S FLAT
After the discovery in the pawnbroker’s shop Larry went back to the
police station to make yet another discovery. Flash Fred was not in
his lodgings.
“I wish you would come down and see his flat, sir,” said the officer
who had gone to make the arrest. “I think that something queer has
happened.”
“If there has been anything in this case which has not been queer,”
said Larry with asperity, “I should like to hear about it!”
Flash Fred lived in Modley House, Jermyn Street, a block of service
flats, and the porter had a strange story to tell.
“Mr. Grogan came in at about eleven o’clock to-night,” he said, “and
went up to his flat. I took him a syphon of soda he ordered, and said
good-night to him.
“Afterwards I went round seeing that the service doors were shut and
that the lights had been out in the kitchen, then came to my
cubby-hole to have my supper and read the evening newspaper.”
The “cubby-hole” was a space under the stairway which had been
converted into a little office where the tenants left their keys.
“At about half-past twelve I thought I heard a sound like a shot and a
man’s voice shout something and I came out into the passage and
listened. There was still a sort of disturbance going on, so I went up
to the second floor where the sound came from and listened again.
There was a light in Mr. Grogan’s flat. I could see that through the
transom. It was the only light visible. I knocked at the door and
after a while Mr. Grogan came to the door, and I tell you he was a
most terrifying sight. He had a big knife in his hand and his clothes
were smothered with blood.
“‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ he said. ‘Come in.’
“I went into the sitting room and a pretty sight it was! Chairs thrown
over, the table upside down, and glasses and bottles scattered over
the floor. Outside Mr. Grogan’s window are the stairs of the fire
escape, and the window was open.
“‘What’s wrong, sir?’ I asked.
“‘Nothing particular,’ he said, ‘only a burglar broke in. That’s all.
Give me a whisky-and-soda.’
“He was trembling from head to foot and was very excited. He kept
muttering to himself, but I didn’t hear what he said. When I came back
with the whisky-and-soda he had cleaned the knife and was more calm. I
found him standing at the open window, looking down into the yard,
where the fire escape leads, and then I noticed that one of the
pictures hanging on the wall was smashed by a bullet. I knew it was a
bullet because I was in the Metropolitan Police for some years, and
I’ve seen a similar mark. I told him there would be serious trouble
over this disturbance because the other tenants would complain, but he
asked me not to worry about that, and gave me £50 to pay his rent and
any expenses that we had been put to, and asked me to keep the flat
until he returned. He said he was going abroad.”
“What happened then?” asked Larry when the man paused.
“Well, sir, he came out with a bag, got into a cab and drove off, and
that’s the last I saw of him.”
Larry made an examination of the room and he found that the porter’s
description had been a faithful one. The room was illuminated by a
cluster of three lights hanging from the ceiling and covered by a
shade. One of the globes was smashed, and Larry drew the attention of
the porter to this.
“Yes, sir, these lights work on two circuits: one switch turns on one
and the other switch turns on two. As a rule Mr. Grogan only has the
single light on.”
Larry nodded.
“I pretty well know what happened,” he said.
He could picture the scene in the room: the intruder coming through
the window, Flash Fred covering him with his revolver, and the big man
advancing with upraised hands until he could reach the globe and crush
it in his powerful paw. And then Fred had fired and the man was on
him, but Fred was too slippery. Fred had been cleverer than he. These
continental crooks who take enormous risks do not depend so much upon
their guns as upon their knives, and to Blind Jake’s surprise--for
Blind Jake it must have been--Grogan had met the onrush and the
suffocating hug of this animal-man with a steel blade, and, releasing
his hold, Blind Jake must have made his escape through the open
window. But where was Fred? In that moment Larry felt an unexpected
wave of sympathy for the crook. He, too, then, had stumbled by
accident or design upon the murderer of Gordon Stuart.
What was that clue? He must find Flash Fred, and find him at once, for
this thief might have in his hands a solution to the mystery.
He went home, ’phoned to headquarters, and discovered that Harvey had
made a negative report, took a bath, and went to bed. He slept for
four hours; and then by his instructions Sunny, who seemed equally
able to dispense with the recuperation of sleep, brought him his tea
and toast.
“What time is it?” asked Larry, blinking himself awake.
“Nine o’clock, sir,” said Sunny. “The postman has come and the papers
have been.”
“Bring me my letters,” said Larry, jumping out of bed.
He looked them through as he sipped his tea.
One had come, evidently delivered by hand, for there was no stamp upon
the envelope.
“When did this arrive?” he asked the valet when Sunny returned to the
room.
“It was in the box when I got up, sir,” said Sunny. “I think it must
have come by hand.”
“You’re a fool, Sunny,” snapped Larry. “Of course it came by hand.”
“I’m glad you agree with me, sir,” said the imperturbable Sunny.
Larry ripped open the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. It began
without any polite preliminary:
You had better interest yourself in another case, Mr. Holt. You will
get into serious trouble if you do not heed this warning.
“Oh, yes,” said Larry, and rang the bell.
“Sunny,” he said, “bring me my coat and the papers that are in the
inside pocket.”
Larry searched for and found the letter which Flash Fred had received
inviting him to call at Todd’s Home at six o’clock in the morning and
to avoid attracting attention.
He put the letter of warning by its side and compared them. They were
in the same handwriting!