The spiritual glow in which Alan left Earl's Gate had cooled considerably
by the time he reached the Midland Hotel. It was not that he actually
regretted his actions of an hour ago; rather was it as though an inward
voice kept repeating, "Why aren't you happier, now that you have lifted a
crushing load from an exhausted fellow-creature? Why aren't you in the
seventh heaven since you are going to marry that most desirable girl?"
There was never yet human exaltation without its reaction, but in Alan's
case the latter had followed cruelly fast.
In the smoke-room, almost empty at so early an hour, he dropped into a
chair and lit a cigarette. "What the deuce is wrong with me?" By the time
the cigarette was finished he could, with a little more courage, have
answered the question. For he could not deny that his thoughts had gone
straying, not back to the brightly lighted drawing-room and the beautiful
hostess, but to a dark garden and a terrified girl with a little revolver
in her hand. Ordering himself not to be a cad as well as a fool, he
removed to one of the writing-tables. There he set himself to compose a
nicely worded note of invitation to Mrs. Lancaster. After that was done
he drew a couple of cheques for the same amount and wrote the following
letter to Mr. Bullard:
"Dear Mr. Bullard:
"You will no doubt be surprised to see my writing again, and I take this
way of announcing my return home lest you should hear of it before I can
find time to call upon you, which, however, I hope to do before long.
To-night, on my arrival here, I called upon Mr. Lancaster, and was sorry
to learn that he was too ill to receive me. But I do not wish to delay an
hour longer than necessary the settlement of my debt to you both, and so
I ask you kindly to receive on his behalf and your own, the enclosed two
cheques in payment of the amounts of, and interests on, the advances
which you and he so generously made to me in April of last year. I
daresay you have almost forgotten the incident which meant so much to me,
and still does. Until we meet,
"Faithfully yours,
"Alan Craig."
"A bit stiff and formal," was his comment after rereading it several
times, "but I don't think it gives much away."
The two hours that followed were perhaps the dreariest he had ever spent
in civilised circumstances. London had given him enough to think about in
all conscience, but his mind would not be controlled; as surely as a
disturbed compass needle it kept moving back to the north.
Teddy's arrival, half an hour after midnight, he hailed as a great
relief. Teddy wore a tired and soiled aspect, but his eyes glinted with
repressed excitement.
"Let's go up to my room, Alan," he said at once; "I've got something to
shew you."
The moment they were there, with the door bolted, Teddy's fingers went to
his waistcoat pocket.
"Recognise it?" he asked, holding up an inch of fine gold chain bearing a
small nugget.
"No I don't. Stay! it's not unfamiliar--but no; I can't place it.
Whose is it?"
"Bullard's."
"Oh! Where did you pick it up, Teddy?"
Teddy sat down on the edge of the bed. In a voice not wholly under
control he replied--
"I took it from the hand of a dead man, a couple of hours ago."
"A dead man! Good--"
"He seemed to fall out of the fog, but it was actually from the window of
Bullard's office, in New Broad Street. I was watching from the other side
of the street when he fell. I--I was the first person to reach him. He
was quite dead--awfully smashed, poor chap. There was a lamp near. One of
his fists was slightly open. I noticed a glitter in it. It was this
thing. I took it.--I must have a smoke."
"Better ring for something to drink."
"No. I want all my wits to make a clear story of it. Look here, Alan! The
long and short of it is: Bullard committed murder to-night--"
"Oh, I say!"
Teddy ignored the interruption. "Of course I went with the crowd to the
police station, and, though not as a witness, managed to get in. Bullard
with an inspector turned up before long, but I kept out of his way. He
had called the police himself. The man, he stated, had been trying the
window of his private room while he was in another part of the premises;
on entering his private room and switching on the lights, he had caught
a glimpse of a face and hands falling backwards. That was all a lie. The
lights had been out for some time when the man fell. The fog was
horribly thick, but I can be sure of that much. And then--this!" he
dangled the nugget.
Alan broke the silence. "It looks bad, certainly, but still, you
know, Bullard might not--and quite naturally, too--have liked to
admit that after a struggle he pushed the man from the window--if
that's what you mean."
"No, that's not what I mean. About twenty minutes earlier, I saw the man
enter Bullard's office by the usual way--"
"Ah!"
"And note this, Alan! At the police station, I saw his fingers go to the
nugget--he has a habit of playing with the thing when he is talking--and
when he realised that it wasn't there, I thought he was going to faint.
He soon pulled himself together, but--"
"The police didn't suspect him, did they?"
"Bless you, no! They were all sympathy! Oh, he's safe enough--for the
present. The poor chap he murdered was certainly rough looking enough to
be a burglar."
"What was he like?"
"A big strong man, with an ugly red-bearded face, and--it's queer how one
notices trifles--his ears were pierced for--"
"Good Heavens, it was Flitch!"
Teddy jumped. "The man who shot you--"
"The same--I'm sure of it, even from your slight description. And--and
Bullard has killed him!"
"Your revenge, Alan."
"No, no, old man, I never wanted his life. It was only his employer I
was after."
"You've got his employer now--if you want him."
Alan stared at his friend. "Why do you say _if I want him_? Don't you
imagine I want him?"--he cried--"not for anything he may have done or
tried to do to me, but for what might have happened had Mar--Miss
Handyside opened that infernal Green Box--"
"The telegram may have been a hoax. The box may or may not contain an
infernal contrivance, but even if it does, you can't convict Bullard any
more than you can arrest the soul of the man who is dead."
"I don't understand you," said Alan. "Tell me why you used those words,
'if I want him,' meaning Bullard."
"Simply because," answered Teddy, "I'm pretty sure you don't want him.
Think a moment!"
The other sprang to his feet. "Come along, Teddy! There's no thought
required. That nugget has got to be handed to the police before we're an
hour older."
Teddy rose slowly and slipped the nugget into his pocket. "Alan, my son,"
he said gently, "that nugget does not leave my possession--no, not for
all your uncle's genuine diamonds. Think again!"
"Oh, rot! If you're afraid of the police, Teddy--"
"Perhaps I am--"
"Well, give the thing to me, and I'll--"
"One moment." Teddy's face went ruddy. "I'd like you to answer a
question, though it may strike you as abominably impertinent. Are
you--are you as fond as ever of Doris Lancaster?"
Alan was also flushed as he replied: "Doris and I settled that to-night,
Teddy. But what has it to do with Bullard's nugget? I'm aware it has
something to do with Bullard--"
"Hold on!" said Teddy, pale again. "I think I can put it so plainly that
you'll wonder why you didn't see it for yourself right away. Listen! Put
this nugget into police hands, and Bullard goes into the dock. If Bullard
goes into the dock, ugly things, not all connected with this murder, will
surely come out. Lancaster will be involved; Doris--"
Alan threw up a hand. "God forgive me, Teddy," he cried, "and thank God
it wasn't I who found the nugget!"
* * * * *
"Besides," said Teddy a good deal later, "your Uncle Christopher was most
desirous that nothing should happen to Bullard before the clock stopped.
And now, old chap, I think we had better turn in."
Left to himself, Teddy sighed. "He's going to marry Doris, and, whether
he knows it or not, he's in love with that Handyside girl. Surely I have
the devil's own luck!"