Margot Lynn had spent a wretched and a weary day. The little city
office which she occupied, and where she had conducted most of her
uncle’s business, had become a place of bad dreams.
She had never been very fond of her tyrannical relative, who, if he
had paid her well, had extracted the last ounce of service from her.
He was an inveterate speculator, and had made considerable monies from
his operations on the Stock Exchange. It was she who had bought and
sold on his telephoned instructions, she who put his money into a
London bank. Over her head all the time he had held one weapon: she
had an invalid mother in Italy dependent on his charity.
All day long, people had been calling at the office. A detective had
been there for two hours, taking a new statement; reporters had called
in battalions, but these she had not seen. Mr. Reeder had supplied her
with an outer guard, a hard-faced woman who held the pressmen at bay.
But the police now knew everything there was to know about
“Wentford’s” private affairs--except one thing. She was keeping faith
with the dead in this respect, though every time she thought of her
reservation her heart sank.
She finished up her work and went home, leaving the building by a back
door to avoid the patient reporters. They were waiting for her at her
flat, but the hard-faced Mrs. Grible swept them away.
Once safely in the flat, a difficulty arose. How could she tactfully
and delicately dismiss the guard which Mr. Reeder had provided? She
offered the woman tea, and Mrs. Grible, who said very little,
embarrassed her by making it.
“I’m greatly obliged to you and Mr. Reeder,” she said after the little
meal. “I don’t think I ought to take up any more of your time----”
“I’m staying until Mr. Reeder comes,” said the lady.
Very meekly the girl accepted the situation.
Mr. Reeder did not come until ten o’clock. Margot was half dead with
weariness, and would have given her legacy to have undressed and gone
to bed.
For his part, he was in the liveliest mood, an astounding circumstance
remembering that he had had practically no sleep for thirty-six hours.
In an indefinable way he communicated to her some of his own vitality.
She found herself suddenly very wide awake.
“You have seen the police, of course?” Mr. Reeder sat on a chair
facing her, leaning on the handle of his umbrella, his hat carefully
deposited on the floor by his side. “And you have told them
everything? It is very wise. The key, now--did you tell them about the
key?”
She went very red. She was (thought Mr. Reeder) almost as pretty when
she was red as when she was white.
“The key?” She could fence, a little desperately, with the question,
although she knew just what he meant.
“At the cottage last night you showed me two keys--one the key of the
house, the other, from its shape and make, the key of a safe deposit.”
Margot nodded.
“Yes. I suppose I should have told them that. But Mr. Wentford----”
“Asked you never to tell. That is why he had two keys, one for you and
one for himself.”
“He hated paying taxes----” she began.
“Did he ever come up to town?”
“Only on very wet days and foggy days. I have never been to the safe
deposit, Mr. Reeder. Anything that is there he placed himself. I only
had the key in case of accidents.”
“What was he afraid of--did he ever tell you?”
She shook her head.
“He was terribly afraid of something. He did all his own housework and
cooking--he would never have anybody in. A gardener used to come every
few days and look after the electric light plant, and Mr. Wentford
used to pay him through the window. He was afraid of bombs--you’ve
seen the cage round the window in his bedroom? He had that put there
for fear somebody should throw in a bomb whilst he was asleep. I can’t
tell you what precautions he took. Except myself and the policeman,
and once Mr. Enward the lawyer, nobody has ever entered that house.
His linen was put outside the door every week and left at the door. He
had an apparatus for testing milk and he analysed every drop that was
left at the house before he drank it--he practically lived on milk. It
wasn’t so bad when I first went to him--I was sixteen then--but it got
worse and worse as the years went on.”
“He had two telephones in the house,” said Mr. Reeder. “That was
rather extravagant.”
“He was afraid of being cut off. The second one was connected by
underground wires--it cost him an awful lot of money.” She heaved a
deep, relieved sigh. “Now I’ve told everything, and my conscience is
clear. Shall I get the keys?”
“They are for Mr. Gaylor,” said Mr. Reeder hastily. “I think you had
better keep them and give them to nobody else. Not even to the person
who calls to-night.”
“Who is calling to-night?” she asked.
Mr. Reeder avoided the question. He looked at Mrs. Grible, grim and
silent.
“Would you mind--er--waiting outside?”
The obedient woman melted from the room.
“There is one point we ought to clear up, my dear young friend,” said
Mr. Reeder in a hushed voice. “How long had you been in your uncle’s
house when Mr. Kenneth McKay appeared?”
If he had struck her she could not have wilted as she did. Her face
went the colour of chalk, and she dropped into a chair.
“He came through the window into the little lobby--I know all about
that--but how long after you arrived?”
She tried to speak twice before she succeeded.
“A few minutes,” she said, not raising her eyes.
Then suddenly she sprang up.
“He knew nothing about the murder--he was stupidly jealous and
followed me… and then I explained to him, and he believed me.… I
looked through the window and saw you and told him to go… that is the
truth, I swear it is!”
He patted her gently on the shoulder.
“I know it is the truth, my dear--be calm, I beg of you. That is all I
wanted to know.”
He called Mrs. Grible by name. As she came in, they heard the bell of
the front door ring. It was followed by a gentle rat-tat.
“Who would that be?” asked Margot. She was still trembling.
“It may be a reporter--it may not be.” Mr. Reeder rose. “If it is some
stranger to see you on urgent business, perhaps you would be kind
enough to mention the fact that you are quite alone.”
He looked helplessly round.
“That----” He pointed to a door.
“Is the drawing-room,” she said, hardly noticing his embarrassment.
“Very excellent.” He was relieved. Opening the door, he waved Mrs.
Grible to precede him. “If it should be reporters we will deal with
them,” he said, and closed the door behind him.
There was a second ring of the bell as Margot hurried to the door.
Standing outside was a girl. She was elegantly dressed, was a little
older than Margot, and unusually pretty.
“Can I see you, Miss Lynn? It is rather important.”
Margot hesitated.
“Come in, please,” she said at last.
The girl followed her into the sitting-room.
“All alone?” she said lightly.
Margot nodded.
“You’re a great pal of Kenneth’s, aren’t you?”
She saw the colour come into Margot’s face, and laughed.
“Of course you are--and you’ve had an awful row?”
“I have had no awful row,” said Margot quietly.
“He’s a jealous boy--they all are, my dear. I always say there is no
better proof that a man is gone on you. He’s a darling boy, and he’s
in terrible trouble.”
“Trouble--what kind of trouble?” asked Margot quickly.
“Police trouble----”
The girl swayed and caught at the back of a chair.
“Don’t get upset.” Ena was enjoying her part. “He’ll be able to
explain everything----”
“But he said he believed me…” She was on the point of betraying the
presence of the hidden Mr. Reeder, but checked herself in time.
“Who said so?” asked Ena curiously. “A copper--policeman, I mean?
Don’t take any notice of that kind of trash. They’d lie to save a car
fare! We know that Kenneth didn’t forge the cheque----”
Margot’s eyes opened wide in amazement.
“Forge a cheque--what do you mean? I don’t understand what you are
talking about.”
For a moment Ena was nonplussed. If this girl did not know about the
forgery, what was agitating her? The solution of this minor mystery
came in a flash. It was the murder! Kenneth was in it! She went cold
at the thought.
“Oh, my God! I didn’t think of that!” she gasped.
“Tell me about this forgery----” began Margot, and then her visitor
remembered her errand.
“I want you to come along and see Kenneth. He’s waiting for you at my
flat--naturally he can’t come here. He’ll tell you everything.”
Margot was bewildered.
“Of course I’ll come, but----”
“Don’t ‘but’, my dear--just slip into your things and come along.
Kenneth told me to ask you to bring all the keys you have--he said
they can prove his innocence----”
“Dear, dear, dear!” said a gentle voice, and Ena flung round, to face
the man who had come into the room.
She was trapped and knew it. That old devil!
“The key of the larder now, would that be of any use to you?” asked
Mr. Reeder in his jocular mood. “Or the key of Wormwood Scrubbs?”
“Hullo, Reeder!” The girl was coolness itself. “I thought you were
alone, young lady. I did not know you were entertaining Mr. and Mrs.
Reeder.”
Such an outrageous statement made Mr. Reeder blush, but it did not
confuse him. Nor did Mrs. Grible seem particularly distressed.
“This lady is Mrs. Grible, of my department,” he said gravely.
“She must have some use,” said Ena. She picked up her coat which she
had taken off. “I’ll ’phone you later, Miss Lynn.”
“The cells at Bow Street police station are hygienically equipped, but
they have no telephones,” said Mr. Reeder, and for the first time in
many years Ena lost her nerve.
“What’s the idea--cells?” she demanded loudly. “You’ve got nothing on
me----”
“We shall see--will you step this way?” He opened the door of the
drawing-room. “I should like to have a few words with you.”
He heard a knock at the outer door and looked at Margot.
“I shall be on hand,” he said.
She went to the door--and fell back at the sight of her visitor. It
was Kenneth McKay. He looked at her gravely, and without a word took
her into his arms and kissed her. He had never kissed her that way
before.
“Can I see you?”
She nodded and took him back to her room. The other three had
disappeared.
“It is only right that you should know, darling, that I’m in terrible
trouble. I’ve just come from home, and I suppose the police are after
me. They may be after my father, too. He knew Wentford--hated him. I
didn’t dream that----”
“Ken--what about you? Why do the police want you?”
He looked at her steadily.
“It is about a forged cheque. Some of the money has been traced to me.
Darling, I’ve come to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the
truth. Kingfether as good as told me I was a liar when I said I’d
cashed it for a veiled woman. I don’t mind really what he says--he’s a
crook, that fellow! Money has been missing from the bank--they sent
old Reeder down weeks ago----”
“How did they trace money to you?” she interrupted. “And what do you
want me to tell you?”
“You knew that I owed money--I told you.” She nodded. “And how worried
I was about it. I can’t remember whether I told you how much I
owed----”
She shook her head.
“You didn’t,” she said, and he drew a long breath.
“Then it wasn’t you,” he said.
He described the arrival of the letter containing the banknotes.
“Two hundred pounds, and of course I wanted the money badly.”
“Who else knew that you were short of money?” she asked.
“Oh, everybody.” He was in despair. “I blabbed about it--Kingfether
said that he never ordered me to cash any cheque that came, and that
the story of a veiled woman who arrived by car from London when he was
out at lunch was all moonshine--hullo!”
He saw the door of the drawing-room opening and gasped at the sight of
Mr. Reeder.
“It wasn’t moonshine, my young friend,” said Mr. Reeder. “In fact,
I--er--have interviewed a garage keeper who filled up the tank of the
lady’s car, and incidentally saw the lady.”
He turned to the room and beckoned Ena. Kenneth stared at her.
“Well?” she said defiantly. “Do you think you’ll know me again?”
“I know you now!” he said huskily. “You’re the woman who cashed the
cheque!”
“That’s a damned lie!” she screamed.
“S-sh!” said Mr. Reeder, shocked.
“I’ve never seen him before!” she added, and Margot gasped.
“But you told me----”
“I’ve never seen him before,” insisted the woman.
“You’ll see him again,” said Mr. Reeder gently. “You on one side--the
wrong side--of the witness box, and he on the other!”
Then she lost her head.
“If there was a swindle, he was in it!” she said, speaking rapidly.
“You don’t suppose any clerk would pay out six hundred pounds to
somebody he had never seen before unless he had his instructions and
got his corner! How did I know the cheque was forged? It seemed all
right to me.”
“May it continue to seem all right,” said Mr. Reeder piously. “May you
be consoled through the long period of your incarceration with
the--er--comfort of a good conscience. I think you will get three
years--but if your previous convictions influence the judge, I fancy
you will get five!”
Ena collapsed.
“You can’t charge me,” she whimpered. “I didn’t forge anything.”
“There is a crime called ‘uttering’,” said Mr. Reeder.
“‘Uttering--knowing to be forged.’ Will you take the young lady’s arm,
Mrs. Grible? I will take the other--probably we shall meet a policeman
_en route_. And did I say anything about ‘conspiracy?’ That is also an
offence. Mind that mat, Mrs. Grible.”