IN JOSEPH OLDFIELD'S FLAT
The idea was Morgan's.
"We're going to call at Bloomsbury Mansions to begin with; that's to
be the first move in our plan of campaign." Herbert Nash looking a
note of interrogation, Mr. Morgan condescended to explain. "How many
times am I to tell you that Bloomsbury Mansions was where Mr. Joseph
Oldfield lived when he was in town? When he was there he was Peter
Piper's Popular Pills; when he wasn't there if you'd talked to him
about pills I dare say he wouldn't have known what you meant."
"But why should we go to Bloomsbury Mansions?"
"Doesn't your own common-sense tell you, my dear Nash, that the more a
man knows about the game he's going to play the better chance he has
of winning? Certainly it does, because you're one of the cleverest men
I know. Very well then; if you and I can manage to be alone together
in that flat for, say, half-an-hour, there's very little about Joseph
Oldfield which, at the end of that time, we shan't know. Unless I'm
mistaken, that's where the key to the situation is; it must be
somewhere, and I tell you it's there. That's where all his business
papers are, which you and Baynard couldn't find at Cloverlea; his
books, his accounts, the lists of his securities; perhaps some of the
securities themselves; and, what's more, the whole financial history
of those immortal pills. We shall be able to find out what exactly Mr.
Frank Clifford's position is, and how we shall best be able to get at
him. I'm no gamester; I object to gambling on principle; yet I'm
willing to bet a trifle that after I've been there half-an-hour I'll
be in a position--with the aid of what I know already--to squash Mr.
Frank Clifford between my finger and thumb; and between us, my boy,
we'll have Peter Piper's Popular Pills, and the pile they represent,
lying at our feet."
"I tell you again, Morgan, what I've told you before, that I think you
pitch your anticipations too high; there are all sorts of difficulties
in the way which you don't seem to appreciate. Anyhow how do you
intend to get into this flat? do you propose to commit burglary?"
"Am I a criminal? a felon? I've been an honest man all my life, and I
mean to die an honest man. No, my dear Nash, we're going in through
the front door, in broad daylight, before the eyes of the whole staff
of the Mansions, if the whole staff chooses to look on, and, as about
flats they're mostly a prying lot, they may do; we're going to let
ourselves in with Mr. Joseph Oldfield's own private and particular
latch-key, and a very private and particular latch-key it is. I
lay--betting again! you see, Nash, how a bad habit, once indulged in,
grows on one--that, knowing what kind of people they are about flats,
he had both lock and key specially made for him; and here that key
is."
He held out a small and curious-looking key, of the Bramah type. Mr.
Nash eyed it dubiously, as if it were something which he would rather
leave alone.
"How do you know it is the key? and where did you get it from?"
"Question No. 2 first, as to where I got it. When the late Donald
Lindsay was seized with that most unfortunate stroke I assisted in
undressing him; afterwards I folded up his clothes and put them away,
and, in the ordinary course of my duty, I examined the pockets. In a
small and ingeniously placed pocket inside his waistcoat--which the
commonplace searcher would have overlooked--I found this key,
secreted. That set me thinking. You will observe that on the tiny ring
to which it is attached there is a number. When I learnt certain facts
I caused inquiries to be made of a firm which I happen to know
manufactures keys like this, asking how long it would take them to
make Mr. Joseph Oldfield a duplicate key to his fiat in Bloomsbury
Mansions, quoting this number. They replied to the effect that they
could let him have another key in four-and-twenty hours; so that's how
I know that this is the key to the flat in Bloomsbury Mansions."
"You've a roundabout way of your own of finding out things."
"Roundabout ways are sometimes the shortest, and the safest. Now, my
dear Nash, you and I are going together to Bloomsbury Mansions; you
will be the bearer of the key; you will show the key to the porter who
we shall probably find there; you will tell him that you are Mr.
Oldfield's solicitor--which you are; let us keep to the strict and
literal truth; he will say 'Walk in!' and, when we have walked in, I
think that the rest you can leave to me."
Herbert Nash did not like Mr. Morgan's little plan; he disliked it
very much, and said so with considerable force of language, which the
gentleman to whom it was addressed did not at all resent. He simply
smiled, and persuaded Mr. Nash; having means of persuasion at his
command which that person seemed most unwillingly to feel that he was
not in a position to resist; the result being that, as we have heard,
the pair did gain access to the flat in Bloomsbury Mansions; the
porter, as Mr. Morgan had prophesied, looking on as they went in. When
they had entered they found themselves in a fair-sized hall.
"I wonder," said Nash, as if struck by the silence of the place, "how
he managed for servants."
"The flat people provided service, I expect; they cater, and do
everything for tenants if they're wanted to."
"Do you mean to say that he lived here all alone?"
"Generally, I fancy; though when the humour took him he may have kept
up any sort of an establishment for all I know; I'll be able to tell
you more on that head when I've been over the place. Now let me see.
From what I know of the arrangements of flats I should say that that
room over there was his own particular apartment." He moved to the
door to which he referred. "Locked; however, there's the key in the
lock, and it turns quite easily." He threw it open. "Right I am! Nash,
this is Joseph Oldfield's Ali Baba's treasure-cave; perhaps presently
you'll be fingering some of his precious things. But before we start
at that let's see what's behind these other doors; I always like to
know the lay of the land before I commence actual operations." Mr.
Morgan began opening door after door, glancing at what was behind
each, then shutting it again; Herbert Nash stood in the hall and
watched. "Looks like a drawing-room; what did he want with a
drawing-room, a lone-lorn bachelor? Seem to be some nice things in it
too. A bedroom, furnished up to the knocker. My word! that bed cost
money; he lay well. Bathroom; spared nothing even over his bath.
Dining-room; nothing cheap about that either; he spent money upon this
place; I suppose he walked straight out of the bath to his food.
Another bedroom; everything in the palest pink; that's meant for a
woman's occupation I'll swear. I wonder who it was meant for? Looks as
if it had never been lived in. What are those over the way? Domestic
offices, I take it; kitchen; yes, and the rest of it, I know; we'll
pay attention to you perhaps a trifle later. Now we'll return to Ali
Baba's treasure-cave. Come along, Nash."
Mr. Nash followed him into the room; he entered with what seemed
dragging footsteps, glancing round, when he was in, with a shame-faced
air.
"Morgan," he protested, "I don't like this; I don't care what you say,
I don't like it; if we're not committing burglary, we're doing
something which is not far off."
"Don't talk nonsense; you a lawyer! and talking about burglary! stuff!
If you imagine, Mr. Nash, that I'm the sort of person who would commit
burglary you're mistaken. Haven't you got all your explanations pat?
You've as much right to be here as any man on this side the grave.
Very nice room I call this; very nice; well adapted for a gentleman's
occupation. The late Oldfield had a pretty taste in bric-a-brac; like
Mr. Donald Lindsay, he'd a good eye for a promising investment. I'm a
bit of an authority on the subject myself, so I know. There's a pair
of powder blue vases over there--both Oldfield and Lindsay seem to
have had a liking for powder blue--which wouldn't be out of the way at
a thousand. And unless I'm mistaken that cabinet in the corner is a
genuine Boule; Oldfield wasn't likely to have anything imitation about
his place; if it is I should like to have the coin it's worth in my
pocket; perhaps we shall have it in both our pockets before very long,
eh, Nash? What do you think? My dear boy, the contents of this room,
the mere trimmings, so to speak, are worth a small fortune in
themselves, you can take it from me; I was quite right in calling it
Ali Baba's treasure-cave."
"Morgan, look at this!"
"Look at what? Hello! what's that?"
Nash was pointing to a large framed photograph, which stood upon a
centre table.
"It's Miss Lindsay; it's his daughter."
"So it is; and a fine photograph too; and a good likeness."
"She--she was with him even when he was here."
There was an odd catch in his voice; Mr. Morgan was as unmoved as
ever.
"You mean her effigy was."
"And--and look at that portrait over the mantel."
"Rather a fine bit of painting; quite decent; good colour; clever
drawing; face seems alive."
"Can't you see who it is? It's his wife."
"Never saw the lady; but I shouldn't be surprised; there's no
mistaking the likeness to the girl. So while he was living a double
life he was living it with his wife and child; queer thing human
nature."
"Morgan, I feel as if those women were looking at us."
"Looking at us? What do you mean?"
"I--I'm sure they can see us; look how they're staring!"
"Staring! Nash! Stop that! One would think you'd been drinking; or
perhaps it's a nip of something you want; there ought to be a decanter
somewhere about."
"I want nothing; it would make no difference."
"Then let's get to business. I've a theory; you listen, and tell me
what you think of it. From what we know of the late Oldfield I rather
infer that when he left the flat he left the keys of all these
drawers, and cupboards, and things, behind him; that's the kind of
thing he would do; and I know that they weren't at Cloverlea; I'm
guessing that they're somewhere about the place at this moment. Now
what's your idea of the kind of hiding-place he'd choose?"
"I don't know; and I don't care."
"What do you mean by you don't care? You seem to be in a nice mood, my
lad."
"I'll not touch a thing here; nothing!"
"Won't you? Then don't! Who asked you? I'll do all the touching that's
wanted; only--mind! if you shirk now you'll pay for it when the time
for sharing comes."
"I'm not quite the scoundrel you take it for granted that I am."
"No, you're another and a worse kind, you're a white-livered cur. You
do the sneak game, when you think it's safe, for pennies; but when it
comes to the man's game, for something worth having, you whine. I can
see that I shall have to talk to you as I haven't done yet before you
really do begin to find out where you are; but I haven't time to do it
now. Where's he likely to have put those keys? Anyhow we ought to be
able to get at his writing-table drawers without them; I shouldn't say
that there was anything very special about their locks." He took
something out of his pocket which he inserted in the keyhole of the
top drawer. "It only wants a little--a little management. I thought
so; that's done it; drawer No. 1." He drew the top drawer open, and
instantly pushed it back again. "What's that?"
There was the sound of an electric bell.
"It's--it's somebody ringing."
"I know it's somebody ringing; I'm not deaf, am I? I don't need you to
tell me that it's somebody ringing; but who's ringing? Who knows that
we're here?"
"Perhaps it's the porter; or somebody connected with the Mansions."
The two men stood staring at each other; Nash white-faced. The bell
was heard again.
"You go and see who's there; if it's the porter, or any one of that
sort, you bluff him off. And mind, if you make a mess of things
through funk, it'll be you who'll pay."
"I'm not afraid, Mr. Morgan; at least, not in the sense you mean."
Herbert Nash went to the front door; Morgan remained in the room,
listening. Without was a young man; behind him was the porter.
"I beg your pardon," said the young man; "but the porter tells me that
Mr. Oldfield's solicitor, Mr. Nash, is here; are you Mr. Nash?"
"I am."
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Clifford--Frank Clifford; I
am Mr. Oldfield's manager--at Marlborough Buildings; possibly he has
mentioned my name to you."
A voice came from within--Morgan's.
"Certainly he has mentioned your name to us, Mr. Clifford; we know it
very well, and all about you. Step in, you're the very man we want to
see. Nash, let Mr. Clifford in."
After what seemed to be a moment's hesitation Mr. Nash drew the door
wider open, so as to permit of Clifford's entering. When he was in the
door was shut.