Inspector Field took up his hat and gloves from the chair where he had
deposited them. He was satisfied, and more than satisfied with the
interview. In a short time he had achieved excellent results.
"We will not trouble Mrs. Richford any more at present," he said. "It
may be some consolation to her to know that I agree with all her
reasonings. But there is plenty of work to do."
Field bowed himself out, followed by Berrington. The latter asked what
the inspector was going to do.
"In the first place I am going down to the Yard," Field explained. "I am
then going to get rid of my correspondence and have my dinner. After
that till it gets dark I propose to pursue what Lord Beaconsfield called
a policy of masterly inactivity for a time. Once it is really dark, I
intend to go as far as Wandsworth Common, and learn something of the
gentleman who is lame and has a private hansom painted black. You see,
sir, the scene of the story is changed. The next act must be played out
at Wandsworth."
"You have some settled plan in your mind?" Berrington asked.
"Indeed I have not, sir. I may make no more than a few simple inquiries
and come home again. On the other hand, before morning I may find myself
inside the house. I may even return with the lame gentleman as my
prisoner. It is all in the air."
"By Jove," Berrington cried. "I should like to go with you. As an old
campaigner, and one with some little knowledge of strategy I may be
useful. Anything is better than sitting here doing nothing. Would you
very much mind, Inspector?"
Field regarded the brown, eager, clever face and steadfast eyes of the
questioner shrewdly.
"I shall be delighted, sir," he said heartily, "with one proviso--that
you regard me as your senior officer and commander in this business.
Military strategy is one thing, the hunting of criminals quite a
different thing. I shall start from the Yard before ten o'clock, and
even then I shall not make my way to Wandsworth direct. We are dealing
with an exceedingly clever lot, and it is just possible that I may be
watched. Therefore I shall disguise myself, and you had better do the
same. Then you can meet me at eleven o'clock where you like."
"That's a bargain," Berrington said eagerly. "I'll go over to Wandsworth
pretty early and try to see my police friend, Macklin. At eleven o'clock
I shall be under the trees opposite Audley Place, waiting for you.
Probably I shall assume the disguise of a sailor."
"Um, not a bad idea," Field remarked. "We will both be sailors just paid
off from a ship and with money in our pockets. Sailors, in that
condition who have assimilated a fair amount of liquid refreshment, do
strange things. Oh, we shall be all right. Merchant seamen let us be,
from the ship _Severn_, just home from South America. Good afternoon,
sir."
[Illustration: "The police officer looked suspiciously at the figure."
_Page 107._]
It was nearly ten before Berrington reached the rendezvous. He was
perfectly disguised as a sailor fresh from a tramp steamer, his clothes
were dirty and grimy, and the cap in his hand had a decided naval
cock. So far as he could judge there were no lights visible at No. 100,
opposite. He waited for Macklin to come along, which presently he did.
The police officer looked suspiciously at the figure in a slumbering
attitude on the seat, and passed before him.
"Now, then," he said sharply. "What are you doing here? Come out of
that."
Berrington came unsteadily to his feet and blinked into the lane of
light made by the policeman's lantern. He was rather proud of his
disguise and the way in which it was passing scrutiny.
"All right, Macklin," he said in his natural voice. "It's Colonel
Berrington. Not quite the same sort of disguise that I tried to pass
into the Madi Halfa camp with when you were on guard that night. Still
it took you in, didn't it?"
"It did indeed, sir," Macklin said, not without admiration. "And might I
beg to ask what manner of game the Colonel of my old regiment is up to
in London at this hour?"
"We need not go into details, Macklin," Berrington said. "Regard me as
your senior officer for a moment, and answer my questions without
comment. As I told you yesterday, I am interested in that house
opposite. Have you found out anything?"
"Nothing worth speaking about, sir," Macklin replied. "They seem to be
just respectable people who have plenty of money and very few visitors.
Last night about half past eleven the old gentleman went out in a cab,
and came back about half past two with a friend who had a big box on the
top of the cab. That's all I can tell you."
"Ah, perhaps that is more important than it seems," Berrington muttered.
"Anything to-day?"
"Nothing to-day, sir. Oh, yes, there is. The parlourmaid reported to the
man who is doing day duty here this week that the house would be closed
till Saturday, and that the police were to keep an eye on the place at
night. Looks as if they've gone, sir."
Berrington swore quietly and under his breath. It seemed to him as if he
and Field were going to have their trouble for their pains. No. 100 was
not the kind of house where people are unduly economical on the score of
lights, and there was not one to be seen.
"I should like to go and have a prowl around," Berrington said, after a
pause. "I suppose if I did, I shouldn't have any officious policeman to
reckon with."
"Well, sir, I'm not quite sure," Macklin said dubiously. "Of course I
know you to be a gentleman as wouldn't do anything in the least wrong,
but there's my sergeant to consider. Still, as this is on my beat, no
other officer is likely to see you."
"Good," Berrington exclaimed. "What time will you be back here again?"
Macklin calculated that he would reach the same spot again an hour or so
later,--about eleven o'clock, to be exact. The hour tallied precisely
with the coming of Field, and in the meantime Berrington was free to
make what he could of the house opposite.
But there was precious little to be gained in that respect. The house
was all fastened up, there were shutters to the windows on the ground
floor; the garden was tried next, but there was no litter anywhere such
as might have been caused by a hasty removal. Clearly if the house was
closed up it was only for a day or two, as the parlourmaid had told the
policeman.
At the end of an hour Berrington was not a whit wiser than before.
He crossed over the road and there on a seat under the trees was a
sailor like himself. Field did not assume to be asleep but was pulling
at a short clay pipe.
"Come and sit down, sir," he said. "I've just come. As I anticipated, I
am being watched. But I managed to give my shadowers quite a wrong
impression and I passed from the house, where I keep a few stock
disguises, under their very noses. They imagine that they are following
me up West by this time."
"I am afraid all the trouble has been wasted," Berrington said
irritably. "The birds have flown."
"Indeed, sir. And who did you get that valuable piece of information
from?"
"From my friend the policeman that I told you about. The house is shut
up for a few days and the authorities have been informed of the fact. I
have been all around the house and it is as silent as the grave."
"Well, that might be merely a blind, after all," Field said cheerfully.
"When did they go?"
"So far as I can gather from Macklin, they departed early this morning."
Field chuckled but said nothing. A little while later there was a thud
of heavy boots on the pavement, and Macklin and his sergeant came,
together. The latter was about to say something but Field produced his
card and the effect was instantaneous.
"No, we don't want any assistance at all," the Scotland Yard official
said. "All you can do is to go about your work as if nothing was taking
place. You may notice something suspicious presently at No. 100, across
the road, but you are to ignore it. You understand?"
The sergeant nodded and touched his helmet; he understood perfectly
well. The two passed on together and the sham sailors crossed the road.
Very quietly Field proceeded to the back of the house. It was a little
dark here, and he guided himself by pressing his fingers to the walls.
Presently he stopped, and a low chuckle came from his lips.
"Discovery the first, sir," he said. "Press your hand on the wall here.
What do you notice?"
But Berrington noticed nothing beyond the fact that the wall was quite
warm. He said so, and the inspector chuckled once more. He seemed to be
pleased about something.
"That should tell you a story, sir," he said. "That house is supposed to
be empty; nobody has been here since early this morning. If you will
look up, you will see that the blank wall terminates in a high
chimney--obviously the kitchen chimney. This wall is quite hot, it is
the back of the kitchen fireplace--so obviously, if those people went
early to-day there would be very little fire, in fact the range would
have been out long ago. And what do we find? A hot wall that tells of a
good fire all day, a good fire at this moment, or these bricks would
have cooled down before now. If you listen you will hear the boiler
gently simmering."
It was all exactly as Field had said. Perhaps the servants had been sent
away for a day or two, indeed, it was very probable that they had. But
there was the big fire testifying to the fact that somebody was in the
house at that very moment.
"We are going to take risks," Field whispered. "If we are discovered we
shall be given into custody as two drunken sailors, given into the
custody of your friend Macklin and his sergeant, from whom we shall
probably escape. You may be very sure that we shall not be charged, for
the simple reason that the people here don't want their names or
anything about them to get into the papers; in fact, the less they see
of the police the better they will be pleased. Come along."
Field strode around to the kitchen window. The shutters were up, but not
so in the larder, which had no bars, and was only protected by a square
of perforated zinc. The inspector took a tool from his pocket and with
great care and dexterity, and without making the least noise, removed
the zinc from its place. Then a lantern flamed out.
"Come along," said Field, "we can easily get through here. We shall be
safe in the kitchen, for we know that the maids are not in the house."
For the present everything was absolutely plain sailing. And as Field
had anticipated there was nobody in the kitchen and nobody in the
corridor leading to the better part of the house. All the same, a big
fire, recently made up, was roaring in the range, showing that the place
was not quite deserted. And yet it was as silent as the grave.
It was the same in the hall, and the same in the living-rooms, where no
lights gleamed. From somewhere upstairs came a sound as if somebody was
gently filing some soft metal. The noise ceased presently to be followed
by the rattle of a typewriter, or so it seemed. The two adventurers
stood in the darkness of the dining-room listening; it seemed to them as
if that rattle was getting closer. Field flashed a light into the room,
but it was quite empty; the polished mahogany of the table reflected the
flowers on it.
Then suddenly the rattle grew louder, and Field hid his light under the
slide. As suddenly as his light had faded out, the dining-room glowed in
a perfect bank of shaded yellow light, as if by magic the table stood
with a perfect meal, a dainty cold supper with glass and silver and
crystal and gold-topped bottles upon it; the whole thing seemed a most
wonderful piece of conjuring. At the same instant there was the rattle
of a latch-key in the front door. Field pulled his companion into the
darkness of the drawing-room doorway. A man came in, peeled off his
coat, and entered the dining-room. Field gasped.
"What is the matter?" Berrington asked. "Do you know who it is?"
"Rather," Field replied, "I should say that I do. Why! that's no other
than the Rajah of Ahbad! Well, if this doesn't beat all!"