Mr. Bird was discussing in a casual way the gang murder which had
scarcely agitated Scotland Yard.
“I saw the photograph of that other bird in this morning’s paper,” he
said. “Looks like the leadin’ man in _Saved from the Sea_--that’s a
great film, superintendent: you ought to see it. Brought tears to my
eyes, and I’m no light crier.” He knitted his brows. “Maybe it wasn’t
that picture at all. Have you got the feller?”
Superintendent Kalley shook his head.
“No, nor are we likely to. If we roused Lewing from the dead he’d
swear he didn’t recognize the man who knifed him. This other fellow
will be the same.”
The Sparrow pursed his lips.
“I’d like to go over and take a look at this invalid--is he going to
die?”
Kalley spread out his hands, thereby expressing his complete
indifference.
“God knows! But I wouldn’t advise you to break in on Gennett’s
‘manor’--he’s rather touchy, and he’s got charge of the case.”
Professional etiquette therefore kept Mr. Bird from the casualty ward
of St. Thomas’s Hospital. He found, however, a copy of the statement
that the dying man had made. It was brief and unilluminative.
I do not know who killed Lewing. I was with him when he was stabbed,
but I only know him slightly. I should not recognize any of the men;
they were strangers to me and I did not see their faces.
Beneath this was a note in brackets:
“This man refuses to give his name.”
The Sparrow read and was slightly amused. He did not like the
inspector in charge of the case.
“Gennett’s going to tie himself into knots over this--good luck to
him!”
Later that afternoon he met Miss Mary Bolford by arrangement, and they
had tea together. For the Sparrow was of an age when he could with
impunity meet the prettiest and the youngest of girls without exciting
any other comment than the one he employed himself.
“We’re a regular Beauty and the Beast show, me and you, Miss Bolford.
How did you get on?”
“With Mrs. Maddison?” Mary sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know.
It made me feel quite unpleasant. They quarrelled on the day of their
marriage. Of course I don’t know why.”
“Maybe the brother,” said the inspector. “You know what relations
are----”
“But he’s dead.”
The Sparrow nodded solemnly.
They were in one of the busiest teashops in the Charing Cross area,
and all the time customers were coming and going. Mr. Bird had secured
for himself a small table in an alcove, and from here he commanded a
view of the shop door. There was no especial reason why he should take
this trouble, for he neither expected friends nor enemies. He was,
however, intensely interested in his fellow humans, and, moreover, he
cherished a dream that some day a man badly wanted by the police--any
man would do--and for whom they had searched in vain, would walk into
his view. He was something of an optimist.
“Quarrelled, eh? That’s a warning to you, young Mary Bolford--never
get married. I was only saying to-day----”
She saw his mouth and eyes open in astonishment. He was staring at the
door, and, turning her head, she looked.
A man had strolled into the café, his felt hat at the back of his
head, his hands in his pockets. He was rather dour-looking, and yet
his face was strikingly attractive.
“Well, well, well!” muttered Mr. Bird. “This is where Justice falls
off the top of the Old Bailey and hits the man they couldn’t hang.”
“Who is he?” she whispered.
“A bad lad,” replied the Sparrow under his breath. “Want to meet him?”
She nodded, and at that moment the eyes of the stranger and the
detective met. A slow smile dawned in the saturnine face, and at the
request of Mr. Bird’s beckoning finger he came slowly across, took off
his hat when he saw the girl, and, after a moment’s hesitation, sat
down.
“Hullo, Gunner!” said the Sparrow, mildly reproachful. “Have you broke
jail?”
“I certainly have,” smiled Gunner Haynes, and calling a waitress to
him ordered coffee.
“A friend of mine--a newspaper lady,” introduced the Sparrow. “Being a
member of that unlawful profession, she can meet the best jewel thief
in England without blushing!”
She met the Gunner’s amused eyes and smiled.
“In case you don’t know who I am,” said Haynes ironically.
“They quashed that conviction?” And, when the Gunner nodded, Mr. Bird
emitted a long and extravagant groan. “I’ve lost my faith in the court
of appeal,” he said despairingly. “I know exactly why you were in the
hotel, whose sparklers you were after--there’s no justice in the
world, Gunner.”
The Gunner stirred the coffee that the waitress had brought, and
laughed. It was a soft, musical laugh, altogether out of character
with the man she saw.
“You had a poor case, Mr. Bird, and you’ll be the first to admit it.
I’d like to meet that man that tried to--do me a turn.”
“You were going to say ‘warn you.’” The Sparrow looked at him keenly.
“Well, you can’t, because he’s on his honeymoon.”
“Maddison, wasn’t it? I remember the name. Is he the banker? You can
answer freely, Mr. Bird: I’m not going to touch him. He’s got a good
mark in my book.”
“That’ll get him to heaven,” said Bird sardonically, and then became
his businesslike self. “What’s the game now, Gunner? Are you a
reforming character? If you are, I’ll give you a ticket for the
Prisoners’ Home of Rest.”
But Gunner Haynes was not listening.
“Who did he marry--that pretty girl that was at the dinner that night,
sitting at the head of the table? Gosh! she was lovely! Reminded me
of----”
He stopped dead and Mary Bolford saw his face twitch.
“--somebody I knew. Good luck to them!”
“Wish them good luck separately,” said Mary Bolford; “they parted on
their wedding day.”
He looked at her quickly.
“What did she do to him?” he asked, and in spite of herself Mary
Bolford laughed.
“You’re assuming a lot, aren’t you? Doesn’t it strike you that he may
have done something pretty awful?”
He shook his head.
“That kind of man couldn’t do anything pretty awful--I’m telling you,
young lady! I know men; I understand the good in them and the bad in
them--I’ve lived on men all my life; my knowledge of their weaknesses
and their strengths has been my only asset. I don’t understand women.
And that’s where you’re wrong, Bird--I’m telling you this over the
table--I wasn’t after that woman’s stuff, though I admit I was curious
to see it. I was after a diamond bracelet as big as a leg-iron. There
was an old fool staying there who was mad about an actress--or at
least she called herself an actress, but I’ve seen her! He must have
been a hundred--maybe a hundred and twenty. No, I’ve got money enough
to live on.” He glanced slyly at the Sparrow. “Money enough to buy a
machine gun and justify my title. Where’s this man Maddison?”
He addressed Mary Bolford.
“Ask me,” snapped the Sparrow, his cold eyes upon the crook. “I’m the
information bureau round here! If you want to tell the story of your
life, I dare say Miss Bolford will fix it for you, but I didn’t bring
you in here to make light conversation, Gunner.”
Haynes saw the little look of pain that came to the girl’s eyes and
laughed.
“He’s right--of course he’s right,” he said. “Let me give you a word
of advice, Miss Bolford.” His voice was strangely gentle; even the
Sparrow looked at him a little astonished. “Never be afraid of hurting
a crook’s feelings, because you can’t. A man who’s had ten minutes’
conversation with the police after his arrest, when they’re not
certain where the stuff is hidden, has been insulted by experts!”
The Sparrow nodded gravely.
“Before you get sympathetic with an ex-convict,” the Gunner went on,
“find out what he’s been in for--and, what’s more important, how many
times he’s been in. It doesn’t matter what his crime is: if he’s been
in twice you can cut him out as an object of pity--I’ve been in three
times.”
The eyes were smiling, but the mouth was strangely hard. He was
looking at the girl all the time, drinking in her fresh, unspoiled
beauty. He turned with a sudden jerk, raised his finger to the
waitress and took the check. Then he rose, offering his hand to the
Sparrow.
“Bird and I are in the same war.” He was talking to the girl. “Only
we’re on different sides. My side always loses, but has most of the
fun.”
With a jerk of his head he turned, walked slowly across the shop and
disappeared into the street.