THE CRACKLER (continued)
Making the acquaintance of the Laidlaws proved an easy affair. Tommy
and Tuppence, young, well dressed, eager for life and with apparently
money to burn, were soon made free of that particular coterie in which
the Laidlaws had their being.
Major Laidlaw was a tall fair man, typically English in appearance,
with a hearty sportsmanlike manner, slightly belied by the hard lines
round his eyes and the occasional quick sideways glance that assorted
oddly with his supposed character.
He was a very dexterous card player, and Tommy noticed that when the
stakes were high he seldom rose from the table a loser.
Marguerite Laidlaw was quite a different proposition. She was a
charming creature, with the slenderness of a wood nymph and the face of
a Greuze picture. Her dainty broken English was fascinating, and Tommy
felt that it was no wonder most men were her slaves. She seemed to take
a great fancy to Tommy from the first, and playing his part, he allowed
himself to be swept into her train.
"My Tommee," she would say. "But positively I cannot go without my
Tommee. His 'air, eet ees the color of the sunset, ees eet not?"
Her father was a more sinister figure. Very correct, very upright, with
his little black beard and his watchful eyes.
Tuppence was the first to report progress. She came to Tommy with ten
one pound notes.
"Have a look at these. They're wrong 'uns, aren't they?"
Tommy examined them and confirmed Tuppence's diagnosis.
"Where did you get them from?"
"That boy, Jimmy Faulkener. Marguerite Laidlaw gave them to him to put
on a horse for her. I said I wanted small notes, and gave him a tenner
in exchange."
"All new and crisp," said Tommy thoughtfully. "They can't have passed
through many hands. I suppose young Faulkener is all right?"
"Jimmy? Oh! he's a dear. He and I are becoming great friends."
"So I have noticed," said Tommy coldly. "Do you really think it is
necessary?"
"Oh! it isn't business," said Tuppence cheerily. "It's pleasure. He's
such a nice boy. I'm glad to get him out of that woman's clutches.
You've no idea of the amount of money she's cost him."
"It looks to me as though he were getting rather a pash for you,
Tuppence."
"I've thought the same myself sometimes. It's nice to know one's still
young and attractive, isn't it?"
"Your moral tone, Tuppence, is deplorably low. You look at these things
from the wrong point of view."
"I haven't enjoyed myself so much for years," declared Tuppence
shamelessly. "And anyway, what about you? Do I ever see you nowadays?
Aren't you always living in Marguerite Laidlaw's pocket?"
"Business," said Tommy crisply.
"But she is attractive, isn't she?"
"Not my type," said Tommy. "I don't admire her."
"Liar," laughed Tuppence. "But I always did think I'd rather marry a
liar than a fool."
"I suppose," said Tommy, "that there's no absolute necessity for a
husband to be either?"
But Tuppence merely threw him a pitying glance and withdrew.
Amongst Mrs. Laidlaw's train of admirers was a simple but extremely
wealthy gentleman of the name of Hank Ryder.
Mr. Ryder came from Alabama, and from the first he was disposed to make
a friend and confidant of Tommy.
"That's a wonderful woman, sir," said Mr. Ryder, following the lovely
Marguerite with reverential eyes. "Plumb full of civilisation. Can't
beat _la gaie France_, can you? When I'm near her, I feel as though I
was one of the Almighty's earliest experiments. I guess He'd got to get
His hand in before He attempted anything so lovely as that perfectly
lovely woman."
Tommy agreeing politely with these sentiments, Mr. Ryder unburdened
himself still further.
"Seems kind of a shame a lovely creature like that should have money
worries."
"Has she?" asked Tommy.
"You betcha life she has. Queer fish, Laidlaw. She's skeered of him.
Told me so. Daren't tell him about her little bills."
"Are they _little_ bills?" asked Tommy.
"Well--when I say little! After all, a woman's got to wear clothes, and
the less there are of them the more they cost, the way I figure it out.
And a pretty woman like that doesn't want to go about in last season's
goods. Cards too, the poor little thing's been mighty unlucky at cards.
Why, she lost fifty to me last night."
"She won two hundred from Jimmy Faulkener the night before," said Tommy
drily.
"Did she indeed? That relieves my mind some. By the way, there seems to
be a lot of dud notes floating around in your country just now. I paid
in a bunch at my bank this morning, and twenty-five of them were down
and outers, so the polite gentleman behind the counter informed me."
"That's rather a large proportion. Were they new looking?"
"New and crisp as they make 'em. Why, they were the ones Mrs. Laidlaw
paid over to me, I reckon. Wonder where she got 'em from. One of these
toughs on the race course as likely as not."
"Yes," said Tommy. "Very likely."
"You know, Mr. Beresford, I'm new to this sort of high life. All these
swell dames, and the rest of the outfit. Only made my pile a short
while back. Came right over to Yurrop to see life."
Tommy nodded. He made a mental note to the effect that with the aid of
Marguerite Laidlaw, Mr. Ryder would probably see a good deal of life
and that the price charged would be heavy.
Meantime, for the second time, he had evidenced that the forged notes
were being distributed pretty near at hand, and that in all probability
Marguerite Laidlaw had a hand in their distribution.
On the following night he himself was given a proof.
It was at that small select meeting place mentioned by Inspector
Marriot. There was dancing there, but the real attraction of the place
lay behind a pair of imposing folding doors. There were two rooms there
with green baize covered tables, where vast sums changed hands nightly.
Marguerite Laidlaw, rising at last to go, thrust a quantity of small
notes into Tommy's hands.
"They are so bulkee, Tommee--you will change them, yes? A beeg note.
See my so sweet leetle bag, it bulges him to distraction."
Tommy brought her the hundred pound note she asked for. Then in a quiet
corner, he examined the notes she had given him. At least a quarter of
them were counterfeit.
But where did she get her supplies from? To that he had as yet no
answer. By means of Albert's cooperation, he was almost sure that
Laidlaw was not the man. His movements had been watched closely and had
yielded no result.
Tommy suspected her father, the saturnine M. Heroulade. He went to and
fro to France fairly often. What could be simpler than to bring the
notes across with him? A false bottom to a trunk--something of that
kind.
Tommy strolled slowly out of the Club, absorbed in these thoughts, but
was suddenly recalled to immediate necessities. Outside in the street
was Mr. Hank P. Ryder, and it was clear at once that Mr. Ryder was not
strictly sober. At the moment he was trying to hang his hat on the
radiator of a car, and missing it by some inches every time.
"This goddarned hatshtand, this goddarned hatshtand," said Mr. Ryder
tearfully. "Not like that in the Shtates. Man can hang up hishhat every
night--every night, sir. You're wearing two hatshs. Never sheen a man
wearing two hatsh before. Mushtbe effectclimate."
"Perhaps I've got two heads," said Tommy gravely.
"Sho you have," said Mr. Ryder. "Thatsh odd. Thatsh remarkable fac.
Letsh have a cocktail. Prohibition--probishun--thatsh whatsh done
me in. I guess I'm drunk--constootionally drunk. Cocktailsh--mixed
'em--Angel's Kiss--that's Marguerite--lovely creature, fon' o' me
too. Horshes Neck, two Martinis--three Road to Ruinsh--no, roadshto
roon--mixed 'em all--in a beer tankard. Bet me I wouldn't--I shaid--to
hell, I shayed--"
Tommy interrupted.
"That's all right," he said soothingly. "Now what about getting home?"
"No home to go to," said Mr. Ryder sadly, and wept.
"What Hotel are you staying at?" asked Tommy.
"Can't go home," said Mr. Ryder. "Treasurehunt. Swell thing to do. She
did it. Whitechapel--White heartsh, white headsh shorrow to the grave--"
"Never mind that," said Tommy. "Where are you--"
But Mr. Ryder became suddenly dignified. He drew himself erect and
attained a sudden miraculous command over his speech.
"Young man, I'm telling you. Margee took me. In her car. Treasure
Hunting. Englisharishtocrashy all do it. Under the cobblestones. Five
hundred poundsh. Solemn thought, 'tis solemn thought. I'm _telling_
you, young man. You've been kind to me. I've got your welfare at heart,
sir, at heart. We Americans--"
Tommy interrupted him this time with even less ceremony.
"What's that you say? Mrs. Laidlaw took you in a car?"
The American nodded with a kind of owlish solemnity.
"To Whitechapel?" Again that owlish nod. "And you found five hundred
pounds there?"
Mr. Ryder struggled for words.
"S-she did," he corrected his questioner. "Left me outside. Outside the
door. Always left outside. It's kinder sad. Outside--always outside."
"Would you know your way there?"
"I guess so. Hank Ryder doesn't lose his bearings--"
Tommy hauled him along unceremoniously. He found his own car where it
was waiting, and presently they were bowling eastward. The cool air
revived Mr. Ryder. After slumping against Tommy's shoulder in a kind of
stupor, he awoke clear headed and refreshed.
"Say, boy, where are we?" he demanded.
"Whitechapel," said Tommy crisply. "Is this where you came with Mrs.
Laidlaw to-night?"
"It looks kinder familiar," admitted Mr. Ryder looking round. "Seems
to me we turned off to the left somewhere down here. That's it--that
street there."
Tommy turned off obediently. Mr. Ryder issued directions.
"That's it. Sure. And round to the right. Say, aren't the smells awful?
Yes, past the pub at the corner--sharp round, and stop at the mouth of
that little alley. But what's the big idea? Hand it to me. Some of the
oof left behind? Are we going to put one over on them?"
"That's exactly it," said Tommy. "We're going to put one over on them.
Rather a joke, isn't it?"
"I'll tell the world," assented Mr. Ryder. "Though I'm just a mite
hazed about it all," he ended wistfully.
Tommy got out and assisted Mr. Ryder to alight also. They advanced
into the alley way. On the left were the backs of a row of dilapidated
houses, most of which had doors opening into the alley. Mr. Ryder came
to a stop before one of these doors.
"In here she went," he declared. "It was this door--I'm plumb certain
of it."
"They all look very alike," said Tommy. "Reminds me of the story of the
soldier and the Princess. You remember, they made a cross on the door
to show which one it was. Shall we do the same?"
Laughing, he drew a piece of white chalk from his pocket and made a
rough cross low down on the door. Then he looked up at various dim
shapes that prowled high on the walls of the alley, one of which was
uttering a blood curdling yawl.
"Lots of cats about," he remarked cheerfully.
"What is the procedure?" asked Mr. Ryder. "Do we step inside?"
"Adopting due precautions we do," said Tommy.
He glanced up and down the alley way, then softly tried the door. It
yielded. He pushed it open, and peered into a dim yard.
Noiselessly he passed through, Mr. Ryder on his heels.
"Gee!" said the latter. "There's someone coming down the alley."
He slipped outside again. Tommy stood still for a minute, then hearing
nothing went on. He took a torch from his pocket and switched on the
light for a brief second. That momentary flash enabled him to see his
way ahead. He pushed forward and tried the closed door ahead of him.
That too gave, and very softly he pushed it open and went in.
After standing still a second and listening, he again switched on the
torch, and at that flash, as though at a given signal, the place seemed
to rise round him. Two men were in front of him, two men were behind
him. They closed in on him, and bore him down.
"Lights," growled a voice.
An incandescent gas burner was lit. By its light Tommy saw a circle of
unpleasing faces. His eyes wandered gently round the room and noted
some of the objects in it.
"Ah!" he said pleasantly. "The headquarters of the counterfeiting
industry, if I am not mistaken."
"Shut your jaw," growled one of the men.
The door opened and shut behind Tommy, and a genial and well known
voice spoke.
"Got him, boys. That's right. Now, Mr. Busy, let me tell you you're up
against it."
"That dear old word," said Tommy. "How it thrills me. Yes. I am the
Mystery Man of Scotland Yard. Why it's Mr. Hank Ryder. This _is_ a
surprise."
"I guess you mean that too. I've been laughing fit to bust all this
evening--leading you here like a little child. And you so pleased
with your cleverness. Why, sonny, I was on to you from the start. You
weren't in with that crowd for your health. I let you play about for
a while, and when you got real suspicious of the lovely Marguerite, I
said to myself 'Now's the time to lead him to it.' I guess your friends
won't be hearing of you for some time."
"Going to do me in? That's the correct expression, I believe. You have
got it in for me."
"You've got a nerve all right. No, we shan't attempt violence. Just
keep you under restraint, so to speak."
"I'm afraid you're backing the wrong horse," said Tommy. "I've no
intention of being 'kept under restraint' as you call it."
Mr. Ryder smiled genially. From outside a cat uttered a melancholy cry
to the moon.
"Banking on that cross you put on the door, eh Sonny?" said Mr. Ryder.
"I shouldn't if I were you. Because I know that story you mentioned.
Heard it when I was a little boy. I stepped back into the alleyway to
enact the part of the dog with eyes as big as cart wheels. If you were
in that alley now, you would observe that every door in the alley is
marked with an identical cross."
Tommy drooped his head despondently.
"Thought you were mighty clever, didn't you?" said Ryder.
As the words left his lips a sharp rapping sounded on the door.
"What's that?" he cried, starting.
At the same time, an assault began on the front of the house. The door
at the back was a flimsy affair. The lock gave almost immediately and
Inspector Marriot showed in the doorway.
"Well done, Marriot," said Tommy. "You were quite right as to the
district. I'd like you to make the acquaintance of Mr. Hank Ryder who
knows all the best fairy tales."
"You see, Mr. Ryder," he added gently, "I've had my suspicions of you.
Albert (that important looking boy with the big ears is Albert) had
orders to follow on his motor cycle if you and I went off joy riding
at any time. And whilst I was ostentatiously marking a chalk cross on
the door to engage your attention, I also emptied a little bottle of
valerian on the ground. Nasty smell, but cats love it. All the cats in
the neighborhood were assembled outside to mark the right house when
Albert and the police arrived."
He looked at the dumbfounded Mr. Ryder with a smile. Then rose to his
feet.
"I said I would get you, Crackler, and I have got you," he observed.
"What the Hell are you talking about?" asked Mr. Ryder. "What do you
mean--Crackler?"
"You will find it in the glossary of the next criminal dictionary,"
said Tommy. "Etymology doubtful."
He looked round him with a happy smile.
"And all done without a Nose," he murmured brightly. "Good night,
Marriot. I must go now to where the happy ending of the story awaits
me. No reward like the love of a good woman--and the love of a good
woman awaits me at home--that is I hope it does, but one never knows
nowadays. This has been a very dangerous job, Marriot. Do you know
Captain Jimmy Faulkener? His dancing is simply too marvellous and
as for his taste in cocktails--! Yes, Marriot, it has been a very
dangerous job."