It was a long time before Newcombe struggled back to convalescence;
during that period Grewgus had several interviews with the doctor who
was attending him, a young, harassed-looking man who had a large but
not particularly remunerative practice in a poor neighbourhood. The
detective came to the conclusion at their first meeting that he was
not a very brilliant member of his profession. He said there were
symptoms of poisoning, certainly, probably ptomaine poisoning. The
landlady had said the patient told her he was dining at some
restaurant the previous evening. Possibly some cheap one where there
was little care exercised in the selection or cooking of food.
Undoubtedly he had partaken of some dish which had produced this
disastrous result.
Then came the day when Grewgus was permitted to go up to the
ill-furnished room where the Colonial lay, a shadow of his former
robust self. He stretched out a wasted hand. “Very good of you to come
and see me, mate. My landlady told me a gent had been inquiring after
me. For the life of me I couldn’t guess who it was. I’ve no friends in
this infernal country. And what made you look me up?”
Grewgus played a waiting game, till he could see his way more clearly.
“Well, just blind chance, as it were. I was in this district, on a bit
of business one day, and remembering where you lived, I thought I’d
look you up, to see if you had recovered from the effects of that
rather warm evening we spent together. I was shocked to hear you were
so bad.”
“I’ve had a close shave, mister; the doctor told me he thought my
number was up. But he says now, if I keep quiet for a few days, I
shall pull through.”
He paused and added grimly, “If I do, I guess it will be a
disappointment to somebody.”
So the same suspicion had crept into his mind. Grewgus proceeded in
the same quiet way: “You dined out with a friend, your landlady told
me. No doubt you partook of some food that poisoned you?”
The man’s calm manner left him. His eyes blazed out in sudden fury.
“And a dog-goned idiot I was, knowing the character of the man I went
with. At my time of life I ought to have had more sense.”
For a little time he kept silence, but his eyes were blazing, his face
was working all the time. When he spoke again, it seemed as if he had,
for the moment, forgotten the other man’s presence, as if he were
muttering his thoughts aloud.
“The dirty dog, the dirty dog to try and do me in for the sake of
saving a few paltry quid! Me that stood by him when he hadn’t got a
pal in the world, me that nursed him when he was sick to death as well
as his own mother would have done. The treacherous swine.”
Suddenly he seemed to realize the presence of Grewgus, and his mood
underwent a sudden change. The fury in his glance died down, the voice
lost its tone of hatred.
“Don’t take any notice of me, mate. I’m weak after this infernal bout
and perhaps a little bit light-headed. I was just rambling, that was
all.”
Grewgus leaned forward and looked the Colonial straight in the face.
“You are not light-headed, and you are not rambling,” he said in a
firm voice. “You did not partake of any bad food. You have in your
mind the same suspicion which I have, and that is that you were
deliberately poisoned, by some subtle means, by the man, your
pretended friend, who took you out to dinner.”
The man’s jaw dropped. He looked at the detective in a dazed kind of
way. “How did you guess that?” he cried.
It was evident to the keen-witted Grewgus that Newcombe’s feelings
were making deadly war on each other. On the one hand he wanted to
speak, to give full vent to the terrible ideas that were surging in
his mind. On the other hand, he feared the consequence of a too frank
revelation.
He resolved to put his cards on the table. “Now, look here, my friend,
you don’t know me from Adam. I will tell you frankly I am here for a
purpose. I’m not a detective in the usual meaning of the term,
although I was for some years at Scotland Yard. I am no longer a
recognized officer of the law, I am on my own, as a private inquiry
agent. Here is my card. My office is in Craven Street, and my name is
Grewgus.”
The man’s mind took in the situation swiftly. “Ah, I see it now. You
followed me that night from the street where the party was--I forget
the name of it now--you followed me into the pub. You took me home,
not because you were a particularly good sort of a chap as I thought,
but because you wanted to find out where I lived.”
“You’re a smart fellow, Newcombe, I can see that quite plainly,” said
the detective, thinking a little flattery might be judicious. “I think
you and I shall get on quite well together presently, when we know
each other better. Now, first of all, I want you to get this
thoroughly into your head, that I am not acting on behalf of the law.
Unless you recognize that, it is not likely we shall go very far. Do
you believe me?”
Mr. Newcombe hesitated a little before he replied to this straight
question. “Suppose I say I do, just to make things more comfortable
between us,” he said presently. “You are here on behalf of somebody.”
“Quite true,” answered Grewgus promptly. “On behalf of private
parties.”
A cunning smile overspread the Colonial’s features. “What is it you
want to find out?” he asked bluntly.
“I want to find out as much as I can about that man you had the
altercation with the other day, Mr. Howard Stormont, the owner of
Effington Hall, and apparently well off. At any rate, he seems to
spend a pretty good amount of money.”
Mr. Newcombe thought things well over before he spoke again, in a
disjointed sort of way as if he were giving utterance to his own
thoughts. “Private parties you said. Well, I’d wager a bit I can guess
who the private party is--that nice-looking young fellow I met down at
Effington who’s going to marry the pretty niece. He thinks there’s a
bit of mystery about, and he wants to get to the bottom of it.”
It was evidently not much use fencing with this shrewd, hard-headed
Colonial. “I won’t say you’re right, and I won’t say you’re wrong,
Newcombe. Think what you like. Of course, you’ll understand that in my
delicate position I can’t afford to be too frank.”
“Neither can I, in my position,” said the Colonial with a grin.
“Granted. Well, now let me put things as they appear to me. You can
tell me presently whether I am right or wrong. It is evident you know
something about this fellow who appears prosperous enough now. You had
fallen upon bad times, that we know from his own admission.”
“Oh, he has told that, has he?” cried Newcombe, with something of a
snarl in his voice. “He didn’t mind giving me away, did he?”
“In a sense he was forced to; he had to explain your sudden arrival at
Effington. Well, to continue, you had fallen upon bad times. You went
to see your old friend, and no doubt represented to him that it would
be highly inconvenient for him in his present position if you made
certain disclosures about his past. Not being a fool, he saw that.”
Mr. Newcombe listened to this reconstruction of what had taken place
between himself and the owner of Effington Hall without interruption.
Not wishing his countenance to betray him, he kept his gaze steadily
averted.
Grewgus looked round the ill-furnished room in a disparaging fashion.
“He recognized the fact that he could not allow you to talk, and he
agreed to make you some sort of allowance. Judging by the condition of
this apartment, not a very handsome one.”
The Colonial indulged in a derisive grunt at this allusion to his
surroundings, but he did not break his obstinate silence.
“Small as that allowance is, he begrudges it. Or perhaps it is not the
money he minds so much; what weighs upon his mind is that you are a
standing menace to his safety, the fear that one day, when you’ve had
a drop or two too much, you’ll blurt out the very thing he wants to
hide. He feels he’ll have no real security till you are safely out of
the way. Hence that apparently hospitable action the other day.”
Grewgus had the satisfaction of seeing a vindictive scowl steal over
the man’s face at this reference. He hoped to appeal not only to the
Colonial’s cupidity but in an equal degree to his thirst for revenge.
“If you ask me, I don’t think your position is a very safe one, my
friend. From what I do know of Stormont, I have reason to believe him
to be possessed of diabolical cunning, and unscrupulous to a degree.
If he has made up his mind to get you out of the way, it is long odds
that, in the end, he will accomplish his designs, either on his own
initiative or with the help of his numerous friends.”
And then Mr. Newcombe spoke: “He’s a cunning devil enough, you’re
right about that. Well, mister private inquiry agent, let’s come to
the point. What is it you want to propose to me? You’ve been a long
time leading up to it. Let’s have it without any more beating about
the bush.”
“If you’ll tell me the secret of Stormont’s past which he is paying
you some paltry pittance to hush up, I’ll pay you down in hard cash
the sum of five hundred pounds.”
“And supposing you got that information--mind you, I haven’t said that
I can give it you--what use are you going to make of it?”
Grewgus was a bit puzzled what to answer to this plain and very
natural question. Would Lydon take any steps against Stormont if he
found himself in a position to do so? The young man had carefully kept
Gloria’s name out of the matter, but the shrewd detective had
originally guessed there was a woman in the case. Newcombe’s statement
that Lydon was engaged to Stormont’s niece confirmed that suspicion
absolutely.
No, he felt sure that his client would never lift his hand against the
uncle of the girl he loved, however great his guilt might be. He was
quite safe in making the Colonial’s mind easy on that score. Strange
perversity of human nature that this man, presumably a crook himself,
shrank from giving another crook away, even although he had been
treated so vilely. Or was Newcombe’s hesitation due to a sense of
self-preservation? In giving his old pal away, would he be forced to
implicate himself?
“I understand what is in your mind, but I think you may be quite sure
nothing of the kind will happen. Certain suspicions having arisen, it
is necessary to confirm or remove them.”
The Colonial was evidently thinking very deeply, looking at the matter
from every point of view. “And supposing, mind you, I only say
supposing, that the suspicions were confirmed, I presume the young
fellow would chuck this pretty girl.”
“I am sure of the contrary,” answered the detective, speaking quite
warmly; he had taken a great fancy to Lydon and was convinced he would
never act shabbily to a woman. “It is not pleasant to have a criminal
for an uncle, of course, but I understand her father is a man of the
highest probity.”
Again the Colonial put on his thinking cap. “That settles that, then.”
And now he began to relinquish, to some extent, his rather futile
attempts at caution. “And now let’s consider the position as it
affects me. If I give Stormont away, I shall have to make a clean bolt
of it; there’ll be no further help from that quarter. Besides, I
shouldn’t be safe, if he happened to find it out, and it’s a chance
one must reckon with. He wants to get me out of the way as it is.”
“You’re quite right, Newcombe. If he ever got a hint, he would be
doubly, trebly anxious to remove you. If we do come to an arrangement,
you’ll have to quit in double-quick time. Now, let us discuss terms.
If you can tell me something definite about this man, as I have said,
there is five hundred pounds waiting for you. You are a man of brains
and resource; with that sum you can start life again. And, in my
candid opinion, the sooner you get out of Stormont’s reach, the better
for your own peace of mind.”
“Not enough,” cried the Colonial promptly. “One can’t do much in
making a fresh start with five hundred. Besides, it’s worth a
thousand.”
But if Newcombe was hard at a bargain, Grewgus was by no means a bad
man of business. He joined issue at once, and for a long time they
fought each other strenuously. A compromise was finally reached at
seven hundred. Grewgus was sure his client would go to this extent,
from what he had said.
But the victory was not quite won yet. Newcombe wanted further time
for reflection. “It’s a very serious step you are asking me to take.
I’ve got to look at it all round. Don’t think I have any consideration
for that dirty dog, Stormont; you wouldn’t expect it, would you? If we
were out in some parts I could name, I’d plug him without the
slightest compunction; he’d deserve it. But I’ve got to think of
myself, to be sure I’m not making a false step.”
From that position he would not budge. He must have a clear day to
think it over. If Grewgus would call at the same time to-morrow, he
would give him his decision.
Grewgus saw his client later in the day, and got an open cheque from
him for the seven hundred pounds which he would cash on the following
morning. It was no use going to the Colonial without the money in his
pocket. His knowledge of human nature told him that Mr. Newcombe, if
he had made up his mind to betray his old pal, would stipulate that
the money should be handed over before he opened his mouth.
“My own impression is that he will bite,” remarked the detective. “It
is perfectly obvious that he knows something damaging, or he would not
have gone so far in the preliminary negotiations. We are buying a pig
in a poke, and what he has to tell may not be worth so much money.
Still, if Stormont suffers himself to be blackmailed to the extent of
three or four pounds a week, it must be something rather bad, if not
so bad as we think.”
Lydon agreed. Anyway, if Newcombe took the seven hundred pounds, the
suspense would be ended, they would know something definite.
“The thing I want to assure him positively of is that nothing he tells
me will be used against himself or Stormont. I gave him this assurance
off my own bat, as it were,” said the detective as he took his leave.
“I take it that, whatever we find out, you personally have no
intention of setting the police upon Stormont. In other words, this is
strictly a private inquiry, with which the official police will have
nothing to do?”
Lydon assured him that this was so. He could not yet quite bring
himself to disclose his relations to Gloria. He simply said that the
man belonged to a highly-respectable family which he was determined to
spare so far as it lay in his power.
The French police were still probing the mystery of the death of
Calliard, the jeweller. If they were successful, it was more than
probable that Stormont might be implicated. That contingency could not
be averted.
“Of course, I shall mention nothing of that affair to Newcombe,” was
the detective’s reply.