THE DESERTED FLAT
When Triffitt had fairly separated from the detective and had come to
reckon up the events of that morning he became definitely conscious of
one indisputable fact. The police knew more than he did. The police were
in possession of information which had not come his way. The police were
preparing some big _coup_. Therefore--the police would get all the
glory.
This was not what Triffitt had desired. He had wanted to find things out
for himself, to make a grand discovery, to be able to go to Markledew
and prove his case. Markledew could then have done what he pleased; it
had always been in Triffitt's mind that Markledew would in all
probability present the result of his reporter's labours to the people
at Scotland Yard. But Markledew had become somewhat previous--he had
insisted that Triffitt should talk to the Scotland Yard folk at this
early--in Triffitt's view, much too early--stage of the proceedings. And
Triffitt had felt all the time he was talking that he was only telling
the high official and the apathetic Davidge something that they already
knew. He had told them about his memories of Bentham and the Scottish
murder trial--something convinced him that they were already well
acquainted with that story. He had narrated the incident of the taxi-cab
driver: he was sure that they were quite well aware that the man who had
been driven from Orchard Street to St. Mary Abbot church that morning
after the murder was Barthorpe Herapath. Their cold eyes and polite, yet
almost chillingly indifferent manner had convinced Triffitt that they
were just listening to something with which they were absolutely
familiar. Never a gleam of interest had betrayed itself in their stolid
official faces until he had referred to the fact that he himself was
living in a flat next door to Burchill's. Then, indeed, the detective
had roused himself almost to eagerness, and now he was coming to see
him, Triffitt, quietly and unobtrusively. Why?
"All the same," mused Triffitt, "I shall maybe prove a small cog in the
bigger mechanism, and that's something. And Markledew was satisfied,
anyway, so far. And if I don't get something out of that chap Davidge
tonight, write me down an ass!"
From half-past six that evening, Triffitt, who had previously made some
ingenious arrangements with the slit of his letter-box, by which he could
keep an eye on the corridor outside, kept watch on Burchill's door--he
had an instinctive notion that Davidge, when he arrived, would be glad to
know whether the gentleman opposite was in or out. At a quarter to seven
Burchill went out in evening dress, cloak, and opera hat, making a fine
figure as he struck the light of the corridor lamp. And ten minutes later
Triffitt heard steps coming along the corridor and he opened the door
to confront Davidge and another man, a quiet-looking, innocent-visaged
person. Davidge waved a hand towards his companion.
"Evening, Mr. Triffitt," said he. "Friend of mine--Mr. Milsey. You'll
excuse the liberty, I'm sure."
"Glad to see both of you," answered Triffitt, cordially. He led the way
into his sitting-room, drew chairs forward, and produced refreshments
which he had carefully laid in during the afternoon in preparation.
"Drop of whisky and soda, gentlemen?" he said, hospitably. "Let me help
you. Will you try a cigar?"
"Very kind of you," replied Davidge. "A slight amount of the liquid'll
do us no harm, but no cigars, thank you, Mr. Triffitt. Cigars are apt to
leave a scent, an odour, about one's clothes, however careful you may
be, and we don't want to leave any traces of our presence where we're
going, do we, Jim?"
"Not much," assented Mr. Milsey, laconically. "Wouldn't do."
Triffitt handed round the glasses and took a share himself.
"Ah!" he said. "That's interesting! And where are you going, now--if one
may ask?"
Davidge nodded his desires for his host's good health, and then gave him
a wink.
"We propose to go in there," he said with a jerk of his thumb towards
Burchill's flat. "It's what I've been wanting to do for three or four
days, but I didn't see my way clear without resorting to a lot of
things--search-warrant, and what not--and it would have meant collusion
with the landlord here, and the clerk downstairs, and I don't know what
all, so I put it off a bit. But when you told me that you'd got this
flat, why, then, I saw my way! Of course, I've been familiar with the
lie of these flats for a week--I saw the plans of 'em downstairs as soon
as I started on to this job."
"You've been on this job from the beginning, then--in connection with
him?" exclaimed Triffitt, nodding towards the door.
"We've never had him out of our sight since I started," replied Davidge,
coolly, "except when he's been within his own four walls--where we're
presently going. Oh, yes--we've watched him."
"He's out now," remarked Triffitt.
"We know that," said Davidge. "We know where he's gone. There's a first
night, a new play, at the Terpsichoreum--he's gone there. He's safe
enough till midnight, so we've plenty of time. We just want to have a
look around his little nest while he's off it, d'you see?"
"How are you going to get in?" asked Triffitt.
Davidge nodded towards the window of the sitting-room.
"By way of that balcony," he answered. "I told you I knew all about how
these flats are arranged. That balcony's mighty convenient, for the
window'll not be any more difficult than ordinary."
"It'll be locked, you know," observed Triffitt, with a glance at his
own. "Mine is, anyway, and you can bet his will be, too."
"Oh--that doesn't matter," said Davidge, carelessly. "We're prepared.
Show Mr. Triffitt your kit, Jim--all pals here."
The innocent-looking Mr. Milsey, who, during this conversation, had
mechanically sipped at his whisky and soda and reflectively gazed at the
various pictures with which the absent Mr. Stillwater had decorated the
walls of his parlour, plunged a hand into some deep recess in his
overcoat and brought out an oblong case which reminded Triffitt of
nothing so much as those Morocco or Russian-leather affairs in which a
knife, a fork, and a spoon repose on padded blue satin and form an
elegant present to a newly-born infant. Mr. Milsey snapped open the lid
of his case, and revealed, instead of spoon or fork or knife a number of
shining keys, of all sorts and sizes and strange patterns, all of
delicate make and of evidently superior workmanship. He pushed the case
across the table to the corner at which Triffitt was sitting, and
Davidge regarded it fondly in transit.
"Pretty things, ain't they?" he said. "Good workmanship there! There's
not very much that you could lock up--in the ordinary way of drawers,
boxes, desks, and so on--that Milsey there couldn't get into with the
help of one or other of those little friends--what, Jim?"
"Nothing!--always excepting a safe," assented Mr. Milsey.
"Well, we don't suppose our friend next door keeps an article of that
description on his premises," said Davidge cheerfully. "But we expect
he's got a desk, or a private drawer, or something of that nature in
which we may find a few little matters of interest and importance--it's
curious, Mr. Triffitt--we're constantly taking notice of it in the
course of our professional duties--it's curious how men will keep by
them bits of paper that they ought to throw into the fire, and objects
that they'd do well to cast into the Thames! Ah!--I've known one case in
which a mere scrap of a letter hanged a man, and another in which a bit
of string got a chap fifteen years of the very best--fact, sir! You
never know what you may come across during a search."
"You're going to search his rooms?" asked Triffitt.
"Something of that sort," replied Davidge. "Just a look round, you know,
and a bit of a peep into his private receptacles."
"Then--you're suspecting him in connection with this----" began
Triffitt.
Davidge stopped him with a look, and slowly drank off the contents of
his glass. Then he rose.
"We'll talk of those matters later," he said significantly. "Now that my
gentleman's safely away I think we'll set to work. It'll take a bit of
time. And first of all, Mr. Triffitt, we'll examine your balcony door--I
know enough about these modern flats to know that everything's pretty
much alike in them as regards fittings, and if your door's easy to open,
so will the door of the next be. Now we'll just let Jim there go outside
with his apparatus, and we'll lock your balcony door on him, and then
see if he finds any difficulty in getting in. To it, Jim!"
Mr. Milsey, thus adjured, went out on the balcony with his little case
and was duly locked out. Within two minutes he opened the door and
stepped in with a satisfied grin.
"Easy as winking!" said Mr. Milsey. "It's what you might call one of
your penny plain locks, this--and t'other'll be like it. No difficulty
about this job, anyway."
"Then we'll get to work," said Davidge. "Mr. Triffitt, I can't ask you
to come with us, because that wouldn't be according to etiquette. Sit
you down and read your book and smoke your pipe and drink your drop--and
maybe we'll have something to tell you when our job's through."
"You've no fear of interruption?" asked Triffitt, who would vastly have
preferred action to inaction. "Supposing--you know how things do and
will turn out sometimes--supposing he came back?"
Davidge shook his head and smiled grimly and knowingly.
"No," he said. "He'll not come back--at least, if he did, we should be
well warned. I've more than one man at work on this job, Mr. Triffitt,
and if his lordship changed the course of his arrangements and returned
this way, one of my chaps would keep him in conversation while another
hurried up here to give us the office by a few taps on the outer door.
No!--we're safe enough. Sit you down and don't bother about us. Come on,
Jim--we'll get to it."
Triffitt tried to follow the detective's advice--he was just then deep
in a French novel of the high-crime order, and he picked it up when the
two men had gone out on the balcony and endeavoured to get interested in
it. But he speedily discovered that the unravelling of crime on paper
was nothing like so fascinating as the actual participation in detection
of crime in real life, and he threw the book aside and gave himself up
to waiting. What were those two doing in Burchill's rooms? What were
they finding? What would the result be?
Certainly Davidge and his man took their time. Eight o'clock came and
went--nine o'clock, ten o'clock followed and sped into the past, and
they were still there. It was drawing near to eleven, and they had been
in those rooms well over three hours, when a slight sound came at
Triffitt's window and Davidge put his head in, to be presently followed
by Milsey. Milsey looked as innocent as ever, but it seemed to Triffitt
that Davidge looked grave.
"Well?" said Triffitt. "Any luck?"
Davidge drew the curtains over the balcony window before he turned and
answered this question.
"Mr. Triffitt," he said, when at last he faced round, "you'll have to
put us up for the night. After what I've found, I'm not going to lose
sight, or get out of touch with this man. Now listen, and I'll tell you,
at any rate, something. Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock there's to be a
sort of informal inquiry at Mr. Halfpenny's office into the matter of a
will of the date of Jacob Herapath's--all the parties concerned are
going to meet there, and I know that this man Burchill is to be present.
I don't propose to lose sight of him after he returns here tonight
until he goes to that office--what happens after he's once there, you
shall see. So Milsey and I'll just have to trouble you to let me stop
here for the night. You can go to your bed, of course--we'll sit up.
I'll send Milsey out to buy a bit of supper for us--I dare say he'll
find something open close by."
"No need," Triffitt hastened to say. "I've a cold meat pie, uncut, and
plenty of bread, and cheese. And there's bottled ale, and whisky, and
I'll get you some supper ready at once. So"--he went on, as he began to
bustle about--"you did find--something?"
Davidge rubbed his hands and winked first at Milsey and then at
Triffitt.
"Wait till tomorrow!" he said. "There'll be strange news for you
newspaper gentlemen before tomorrow night."