SPECIMENS OF JOURNALESE
Storm trod on the self-starter. The powerful engine woke to life
with no more than a whispering purr. Like a long shadow the Hirondel
slid out of the cart track and down the deserted road between ghostly
files of street lamps.
He switched on his lights as he turned into the Finchley Road.
It had been a merry evening, and not without those thrilling moments
after which his heart yearned; and it had left him with things to
ponder. He wanted to know the reason for Snooper Brome's appearance
in the home of Oscar Raegenssen, and he wanted to know what the
hurriedly lowered blind in an upstairs room had hidden from him, but
it was typical of the man that he accepted Susan's arrival as though
it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Lucky you found me," he remarked. "Now I can take you along to the
Elysion, and we can consume bacon and eggs."
He made no effort to discover the reason for her presence, but she
enlightened him of her own accord.
"It's all Uncle Joe's fault," she explained. "I'd been to dinner
with him, and--you've had some experience of him--you know what a
bloodthirsty little man he is, and this Triangle business is meat and
strong drink to him. He was lecturing me about it for hours after I
ought to have gone home, and he kept dragging Raegenssen into the
discussion and then forgetting what he was going to say about him.
Then he told me Raegenssen lived near by, and promptly added that
women shouldn't get mixed up with crime. So, of course, I had to
butt in. Did you kill Snooper?"
She asked the question so dispassionately that Storm laughed.
"No," he said mildly. "Not to-night. It wasn't--er--expedient. One
of these days I shall probably have to, but that'll keep. How much
did you see?"
"You saw me."
"And," said Storm in pained accents, "you saw the police charging up
the garden, and you didn't rally round to assist the getaway? Susan,
you're going off!"
She smiled, and laid a cool hand on his.
"Old chap," she said, "that would have been unpardonable. You knew
what you were doing, and you don't need lessons in looking after
yourself. If I'd thought you wanted help, I'd have come----"
"Like old times," said Storm, and raised her hand to his lips.
He felt curiously exhilarated that night. It may have been due to
the fresh food for thought which he had gathered from his adventurous
and wholly illegal visit, or to the sudden bracing rush of swift
action he had enjoyed to the full after overmuch peace and quiet.
Or, on the other hand, it may have been due to the presence of the
girl at his side.... Storm felt happily incompetent to judge. He
knew, at least, that the old, gay recklessness had returned to him in
all its reawakened daredevilry. The cool night air was grateful on
his face: he drew deep breaths of it contentedly, and it went to his
head like wine. He moved his arms ecstatically, for the pure
sensuous joy of feeling the rippling suppleness of them. He laughed
softly, irresponsible and proud, throwing back his head--a splendid
animal glorying in its magnificent manhood.
"Oh, Susan, this is the life!" he said. "No dull safety for me! I
only hope it doesn't end too soon."
"You get all the fun," she complained. "All I can do is to mooch
around waiting to be shot up, and fill in the intervals lunching with
Uncle Joe."
"Damn Uncle Joe!" exploded Storm, but this time without jealousy.
"I'm sick of hearing about Uncle Joe! Forget him, kid, and listen to
me. Susan, when this jaunt's over, and the Alpha Triangle's done the
six-foot drop, you're coming away with me--I don't care where, so
long as it's some place where you can still go gunning for people who
annoy you. London's all right when there's a Triangle livening
things up, but one day the Triangle'll toe the T in a whitewashed
shed, and I hate stagnation! We'll start a young war somewhere, if
you like. Any old thing suits me, so long as it's disreputable and
dangerous.... Is that a bet?"
"I don't know," she said demurely. "You're so very
unconventional...." And thereafter he only had one hand for the
steering-wheel.
Storm breakfasted next morning with his usual litter of newspapers
scattered on the floor all around him, but he was chiefly amused by
the alarm of the _Daily Record_. To his mind, the crime reports in
which the _Record_ specialised were far more interesting than
fiction, for that paper had a reputation for chewing more meat from
tropical bones than any of its contemporaries.
WHERE ARE THE POLICE?
LONDON AT MERCY OF GANG OF MURDERERS.
GOVERNMENT MUST NOT SURRENDER.
FURTHER OUTRAGES ANTICIPATED.
LATEST NEWS OF GIGANTIC CONSPIRACY.
--and a lot more. The police, one gathered, were either incapable or
afraid; the Government were meditating incontinent surrender; England
was to be plunged into anarchy; neither life nor property would be
safe.... Only the policy of the _Daily Record_ was stemming the tide
of disaster.
"These people aren't helpful," murmured Storm. "Stampeding sheep!
Bring me some more toast."
"Yessir," said Cork.
Cork, Storm's valet, was a man with aggrieved eyebrows and a
disapproving mouth. He had the expression of one who has looked on
the wine when it was sour, and who has never quite succeeded in
getting rid of the taste. But, at least, he went about his work with
the efficiency of a superman whose head would be bloody but unbowed
despite plague, pestilence, famine, riot, civil commotion, the fall
of the Conservative Party, the dissolution of the British Empire, Act
of God, or the agitation of the _Daily Record_.
"There is a man downstairs who wishes to speak to you, sir," he said,
returning with reinforcements of coffee.
Sorrow was in every line of his pessimistic face, and he laid a faint
emphasis on the word "man." Storm had never quite induced his
servant to accept Inspector Teal as a human being.
"What's the matter with him, Cork?" asked Storm. "Leper?"
"I'm afraid not, sir," replied Cork gloomily. "It's the policeman
who calls sometimes."
"Show him up," said Storm and returned to his newspapers.
Mr. Teal glutinated through the door.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morn'n," said Storm without looking up. "Sit down, Teal. English
or Colonial breakfast?"
Inspector Teal frowned suspiciously.
"What's a Colonial breakfast?" he inquired.
"Oh, a horse's neck, a mutton chop, and a small dog."
"What's the small dog for?" queried Mr. Teal innocently. "And why a
horse's neck?"
"The dog eats the mutton chop, and a horse's neck's a brandy and
ginger ale----"
"Coffee--thank you, sir," said the shocked Mr. Teal. "Fat men didn't
ought----"
Over a steaming cup he surveyed the cheery, comfortable room. There
were well-filled bookcases, a grand piano, and an open secretaire
strewn with scraps of paper and writing materials. On the walls were
fencing foils, boxing gloves, an oar, and over the mantelpiece hung a
couple of sporting rifles.
"Nice little place you've got here," he remarked. "I've always liked
it."
"Not so bad! Listen, Teal. The papers say, _the police are believed
to have a clue_. Why don't we contradict such wicked slanders?"
"It's better than Finchley," pursued Mr. Teal without emotion.
"And this: _A sensational arrest is expected at every moment_.
Je-rusalem. My dear soul, how can even a great man like yourself
make a sensational arrest at every moment? There aren't enough
sensational people in London to maintain the supply. Besides,
blokes'd start getting peeved."
"Raegenssen was peeved," said Mr. Teal sleepily.
Storm slewed his chair round so that he faced the detective, and
searched for a cigarette. His gun-metal grey eyes were alight with
mischief.
"Teal!" he protested. "Why must you be inconsequent?"
"Why must you burgle Raegenssen?" asked Mr. Teal.
That quick, flickering smile played about Storm's lips.
"How do you know?" he asked calmly.
"Your tire tracks were all over that bit of building ground. And I
called at your garage on my way here and found dry mud caked all over
your wheels. You don't collect that sort of mud in the streets."
Mr. Teal blinked twice and yawned. He became almost awake, "Mr.
Arden, why can't you and me work together?"
"That accusative makes me go all goosey!" complained Storm.
"You and I," Mr. Teal corrected himself. "Why not? We'd get on much
better."
Storm exhaled a thin feather of smoke from the corner of his mouth.
"You might," he said. "But then, you're only a detective."
Inspector Teal accepted the proffered cigar. His mouth widened half
an inch momentarily.
"I shouldn't compromise you," he pleaded.
Storm walked over to the window.
"How did you come to visit Raegenssen at all?" he asked.
"I was called early this morning," said Teal. "I haven't been to bed
yet. So I heard all about the masked man and the fancy shooting, and
then I remembered you'd promised to commit a few felonies. Besides,
you can recognise a Hirondel's tracks--they've got a very wide
wheel-base, and you can only fit Veloris tires."
"Bit off your beat, wasn't it?"
"No." The detective rummaged in his pocket and produced something
that was familiar to Storm without a closer inspection. "Anything to
do with Triangles is on my beat."
Storm took the trinket and stared at it. Then he paced quickly up
and down the room, his eyes half-closed and his cigarette tightened
up in his lips. He raised his shoulders and shoved his hands deep
into his pockets, and then he stopped in his stride abruptly and
turned.
"Did you get that from Raegenssen?"
Teal nodded.
"The burglar came back, and the second time he left that. He and
Raegenssen had a fight, but the Swede stopped one in the tummy."
"Do you think I'm the Triangle?" asked Storm directly.
Inspector Teal jerked the ash from his cigar.
"No, I don't. But you know too much about it, and I wish you'd come
across. There's an inquiry about that Moraine's stunt scheduled for
this afternoon, and the Commissioner 'll be curious."
"I want the whole yarn," Storm said after a short pause. "As heard
from Raegenssen."
"I can do better," said Teal. "A reporter who lives out that way was
there even before I was. It was just ten when I came along
Piccadilly, so I brought you in the midday edition of the _Evening
Record_."
Storm took the sheet and grinned.
"You're an old cynic, Teal!" he reproved.
He lounged over to the table and rested on the edge of it while he
read with interest the brief account of the happenings in North
London of the small hours of that morning.
"An air of mystery surrounds the two attempts to burgle the house of
Mr. Oscar Raegenssen, the well-known Swedish merchant, which took
place last night.
"How does a house take place, Teal?
"Mr. Raegenssen had been to a theatre, and had thence proceeded to a
night club--
"How shocking," murmured Storm.
"--from which he returned to his house in Marchmont Avenue at about 1
a.m. He went upstairs immediately and was undressing when he heard a
suspicious sound in his study. A moment later a shot rang out.
Stopping only to pull on a dressing-gown, Mr. Raegenssen hastened
downstairs and found the window wide open and his safe broken open.
Finding that the telephone wires had been cut, Mr. Raegenssen
returned to his bedroom in order to don some clothes before summoning
the police."
"Decency before duty," Storm drawled.
"Two constables who had heard the shot, however, had already arrived,
and had entered the building by way of the window which the burglar
had left open in his flight. Mr. Raegenssen, meanwhile, had heard a
noise in the room adjoining his bedroom which led him to suspect that
the burglar was perhaps still in the house. This, indeed, proved to
be the case, and the two officers, assisted by Mr. Raegenssen,
attempted to apprehend the man. The burglar, however, who was masked
and evidently a dangerous character, drew a pistol and fired several
times at his would-be captors without hitting them, after which he
made a desperate and successful bid for safety.
"About two and a half hours later, when Mr. Raegenssen who had been
too disturbed by the thrilling incident to return immediately to his
bed, was working in his library, he heard a suspicious sound in his
study and attempted to investigate it. He was promptly attacked with
great ferocity by the desperado, who again contrived to make his
escape, but who this time left behind him a silver triangle of a type
which is by now familiar to readers of the _Evening Record_. During
the time it took Mr. Raegenssen to recover sufficiently to rise, the
library was in its turn the subject of the burglar's attentions.
"The extraordinary feature of the affair, however--
"That's three 'howevers.'
"--is the fact that in neither case--
"That's two cases.
"--was any attempt--
"That's four attempts, Teal. Beaver! ... Fifteen love.
"--made to abstract anything of value. The only things interfered
with were the safe and a number of drawers and filing cabinets in
which Mr. Raegenssen kept private papers concerning his business.
"Inspector Teal, who is working on the Triangle Mystery in
conjunction with Captain Arden, has been called in, and he is said to
have made an important discovery, which is at present being kept a
strict secret."
"How much did you lend this reporter, Teal?" asked Storm accusingly.
"It will be remembered that Mr. Raegenssen had already been the
recipient of one of the warnings of the Alpha Triangle.
"Good old Snooper!" said Storm cryptically. "I knew he'd get away
with it somehow!" He pitched the paper into a corner and swung
himself off the table. "And an inquiry. Well, I'll deal with the
inquiry! But I wish I knew who Oscar's second friend was."
"It wasn't you?" Inspector Teal was incredulous.
"It was not. If you're really interested, I can prove an alibi; I
was inhaling bacon and eggs at the Elysion, or beer _chez_
Mannering--where Miss Hawthorne's staying--at the time."
Teal wrinkled his brow.
"Didn't I hear you mention Snooper?" he prompted, and Storm nodded.
"Snooper was at Raegenssen's last night. And I let him go--you can
tell that to your Board of Inquiry! And now, if you don't mind,
we'll leave the subject until this afternoon."
The Board assembled in the Chief Commissioner's room at two o'clock,
and Storm took his place at one end of the table without a trace of
embarrassment. Teal, who sat on his right, was less self-confident,
for Inspector Teal was a conventional detective with a proper awe for
the majesty of Higher Command. Bill Kennedy, the Assistant
Commissioner, shook hands with Storm as he passed, although his usual
cheeriness was singularly half-hearted. The Chief, Sir Brodie
Smethurst, was the last to arrive, and with him came a man whom no
one present with the exception of Storm had expected to see.
"What's the Home Secretary doing in this picnic?" demanded Teal in a
hoarse whisper, and Storm shrugged.
"I asked him to come," he stated shortly.
The preliminary business was soon over, for in theory the Board had
assembled to make an inquiry into Storm's failure to prevent the
robbery at Moraine's; and then Storm rose to give an account of his
progress with the main problem.
"I have no excuses to make for the Moraine's affair," he said. "On
that score you may take what action you like. The second point is
the double burglary at Raegenssen's early this morning. I was the
first burglar, but I don't know who the second was--although I could
name the man, with certainty, in two guesses. And I'll make you a
prophecy: within the next forty-eight hours the man known as
Raegenssen will either have disappeared or been killed! ... I have no
excuses for the burglary either. It merely happened to be necessary.
By swearing information I might conceivably have got a search
warrant, but I decided that that course would be both risky and
futile, because the issue of the warrant would alarm the man I was
anxious to trap; futile, because it might have been necessary to
repeat the search without the man being aware that an official search
had been made. I was both lucky and unlucky. I found what I
expected, to a certain extent, but the arrival of the police gave me
no time to find out all that I wanted to. To this moment Raegenssen
does not know that his visitor was not a common thief, and therefore
he will be killed. If I had revealed my identity to the police, he
would have recognised me, and _I_ should have been killed. It was,
you see, a matter of my life or--his."
They listened without comprehending.
"You suspect Raegenssen of having some connection with the Alpha
Triangle?" suggested Smethurst.
"I _know_," said Storm carefully, "that the evidence I have secured
from Raegenssen, together with what I have obtained from another man,
will kill the Alpha Triangle. I could arrest the Apex to-day--but I
won't!"
He heard the suppressed gasp that went up, and smiled faintly at
Inspector Teal's muffled "Good God!"
"No one but myself," he went on simply, "has anything like the
evidence necessary to secure a conviction--I even doubt very much if
I could get one myself. You can be satisfied that it is a moral
certainty, even if it would fail to convince a Grand Jury. But, at
the instance of the late Lord Hannassay, and with the consent of Sir
John Marker, I was given carte blanche in this case, and you must
continue that support."
"_Must_ is a strong word, Captain Arden," said the Home Secretary
mildly.
"I am a strong man," said Storm.
He spoke quietly, not as a boaster, but as one who states a fact, and
his cool assurance staggered the Board. Whereas before they had been
scowling or incredulous, according to temperament, they were united
in indignation.
"P-please make yourself p-p-plain," stammered Smethurst harshly.
"It's rather obvious already," said Storm calmly. "The Alpha
Triangle is my father. You needn't think I'm giving away my secret,
because I'm not! If you took the trouble to trace my father, you'd
come up against a dead end. You'd laugh at the idea--just as you'd
laugh if I told you openly now. But, anyway, I don't want you to try
and trace him. I don't want this case messed up with a lot of
flat-footed half-wits trying to take my place! You're at my mercy.
Do what you like. Sack me. Keep me on under supervision. It won't
help you, because in a few hours I shall be the only man who can hope
to catch the Alpha Triangle. In time, I mean. Of course, I suppose
there are plenty of other men who could mug along till they got
him--but by that time the Triangle will have cost the country
hundreds of thousands of pounds and many lives. You can take your
choice...."
He had them stymied. Their world was reeling about their ears.
Never within living memory had a man dared to address a Board of
Inquiry in such an arrogant manner. Storm set at naught their
authority, he was coldly indifferent to the fact that he laid himself
open to prosecution, he had given them an ultimatum with all the
casualness of a man to whom acceptance or rejection means nothing to
speak of--and the chilled insolence of it dazed them. And Storm,
while they strove to collect their wits, was leisurely lighting a
cigarette and smiling as affably as if he had merely made some
commonplace remark about the weather, instead of handing out to Their
Augustnesses the starkest slice of sheer frozen case-hardened nerve
in their experience....
The atmosphere was electric. It seemed to have temporarily
hypnotised all but two of them--Bill Kennedy--who was leaning back in
his chair with a grin of pure delight on his ugly face, and Sir John
Marker, who was tapping his teeth reflectively with a pencil and
apparently considering Storm's proposition as seriously as he would
have considered a question in the House.
"It is an extraordinary situation, Captain Arden," he admitted. "I
can see your point--up to a point. But if, as you say, your father
is involved, hadn't you better pass the case over to someone else?"
"No," said Storm steadily.
"Can't you be a little more explicit, then?"
"I can tell you this: I first suspected my man on a day when I had a
slight accident." Storm spoke slowly and evenly, ignoring the
stunned faces of the Board and addressing his remarks to the Home
Secretary. He was standing erect, with the tips of his fingers
resting on the table in front of him, completely at ease. "I was
driving down Cockspur Street, and my car skidded and knocked
Raegenssen down. There were present Mr. Blaythwayt, manager of the
Lombard Street City and Continental; Mattock, a convict on licence
employed by Raegenssen; and Miss Hawthorne, Lord Hannassay's
secretary. Of those people, two were in a position to note the same
thing as I did--the first piece of evidence against my father." He
smiled again at their perplexity. "Acting on this, I burgled
Raegenssen last night, and learnt something of the next coup planned
by the Triangle. I also acquired a fresh suspicion, which I hope to
verify soon. But that's all speculation. The solid fact," he said,
watching them with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, "is that one
is always interested in a saw-mill which has recently received a
consignment of machinery and materials that have nothing whatever to
do with the sawing of wood!"
"Do we have to play at Sexton Blake when there aren't any reporters
with us?" drawled Bill Kennedy.
Storm grinned.
"I must have notice of that question," he murmured, and sat down.
Then the bottled-up feelings of the Police Chiefs had their vent, and
a hum of argument broke out like the snarl of numerous irritated
bees. Marker remained aloof, taking no part in the discussion, but
listening shrewdly to what his neighbours had to say. Bill Kennedy
waved a hand to Storm and lighted a cigar, seemingly bored with the
whole business.
Inspector Teal was shaking his head.
"Never," he muttered breathlessly, "never, never did I hope to see
this day.... Kent Road's nothin'--he's knocked 'em on the old
Embankment and he's got away with it...." His vast form vibrated
with Titanic ecstasy.... "'Flat-footed half-wits ... you can take
your choice!' ... Oh, Boy!... _Oh_, BOY!..."
"Teal!" whispered Storm reprovingly. "This mirth is nearly indecent!"
He himself was sublimely unconcerned, for he knew exactly where he
had the Great Ones of Scotland Yard. He had them right where he
wanted them, gently but firmly held down under his brogues, and he
wasn't of the type to indulge in gloating on that account. It had
simply been, in his opinion, necessary for him to stand on their
necks, and he had done it. That was all. It never occurred to him
to crow about it, any more than he gave a snide halfpenny for the
consequences.
He finished his cigarette and extinguished it, and selected a second.
The drone of dispute died away.
"Will you answer some questions?" asked Sir John Marker.
"Within limits--yes," Storm gave back without hesitation.
"Are you convinced that you know the Triangle?"
"Yes,"
"You based your conclusion entirely on two scraps of evidence?"
"Yes."
"Solely?"
"No. Only a born fool forms a theory on the basis of two scraps of
evidence without applying the known facts to that theory and finding
out how it wears."
"And you think your theory stands the test?"
"Beautifully."
"What chance would you give your theory in a court of law?"
"About as much chance as a very small icicle in a burning fiery
furnace," said Storm carefully--"depending, of course, on the precise
grade of imbeciles you chose your jury from."
The Home Secretary conferred in an undertone with Smethurst.
"Then you think," he said, his lips twitching at the corners, "that
if you are allowed to go on in your own way. without question, you
will be able to raise your theory to the standard of obviousness
demanded by a jury of average imbeciles?"
"It's possible."
"And what about the crimes which may be committed by the Triangle
while you are attempting to do this?"
"They will be fewer than if you took the case out of my hands."
"Then what are your immediate plans?"
"I'm going to confirm my theory to my own satisfaction, and--by way
of an impartial witness--to the satisfaction of Inspector Teal; and
then I shall find the Triangle, and----"
"And?"
"He will die," said Storm simply. "But it will not be on the
gallows."
His even, unemotional tone held them all rapt. In spite of
themselves, his personality had gripped them. His slim straight
figure stood out above them; his level confident voice commanded
their unwilling attention; he dominated the scene as surely as if he
had sat in the Chief Commissioner's chair with all the authority of
Parliament behind him.
"That," he said, "is the only reason why I do not intend to conduct
this case in the normal way." He looked around him searchingly, and
then his eyes returned to the Home Secretary. "I will now make my
demands." They gasped again at that--his unassuming presumption was
a paradox they needed time to digest. "You will permit me to go on
with the case as I wish, with the assistance of Inspector Teal. You
will ask for no information, nor will you follow up the hints I have
given you this afternoon. You will keep secret my real name, which
is now known to you, until I wish the fact to be published. You will
allow me to take what counter-measures I think fit to meet the
offensive of the Triangle. That may seem arrogant," he continued
after a short silence, as though the possibility had just occurred to
him. "As a matter of fact, it's only to emphasise my determination.
Anyway, you wouldn't all mess about with the case, so my reticence
won't hinder you. Mr. Kennedy and Inspector Teal will vouch for my
competence. In a fortnight the Triangle will have ceased to be--I
can guarantee that..."
He paused, while Bill Kennedy and the for-once-completely-awake Mr.
Teal nodded their answers to the unspoken question of the rest of the
Board.
"Finally," said Storm, "if Sir John Marker would like to come into a
private room with me, I will tell him the name of the Apex of the
Triangle."
The Home Secretary deliberated for a moment, and then led the way.
They were absent for fully half an hour, during which time Bill
Kennedy appeared to go to sleep and Inspector Teal stolidly shook his
head and refused to answer the questions that were showered upon him.
When Sir John Marker returned his face was white and he seemed to be
shivering.
"Captain Arden continues with the case, on his own terms," he
instructed curtly. "I may say that I agree with his attitude in
every way. But keep it dark ... I don't want trouble in the House."
The other members of the Board stared at him blankly, for they had
anticipated nothing so decisive. There was an eerie chill in the
air, born of Sir John Marker's ghostly pallor, that would have shaken
less matter-of-fact men. The hint of something vast and menacing and
incomprehensible loomed over them ... something bigger than even the
_Daily Record_ had ever dreamed of....
They broke up into little groups which converged on the placid Storm
and the now weary Teal, while Sir Brodie Smethurst escorted the Home
Secretary from the room.
As the Minister was taking his leave, the Chief Commissioner stopped
him.
"There's been a lot of talk about that man Raegenssen," he said.
"I've heard other things about him which make him interesting in a
general way, apart from the Triangle. Can't I have that one
question?"
The Home Secretary moistened his dry lips as he shook his head, and
smiled crookedly.
"Oscar Raegenssen must have been reincarnated," he said flatly.
"He's been dead two days..."