THE LISTENER IN THE CHIMNEY
Dr. Laffin had spent the greater part of the evening with a
companion who, æsthetically, was repugnant to him, but in other ways
was a wholly desirable associate. He finished his short conversation
with La Florette, pushed aside the telephone and, leaning back in his
chair, watched his guest pull the cork from a second large bottle and
pour the yellow, bubbling fluid into a large wine-glass that stood on
the edge of the writing desk.
Captain Harvey Hale was a man of no particular reticence, and not even
the somewhat chilling atmosphere of that dark study, nor the eerie
references which the doctor made to unseen presences, dulled his
geniality in such moments as these.
“Land work,” he said, smacking his lips, “or sea work, it’s all one
to Harvey Hale. You can’t help accidents, or, as we call them at sea,
the acts of God, and you can’t stop men like this blooming Holbrook
wriggling out of a trap, it doesn’t matter how clever you are.
Personally, I think it’s a waste of time bothering with a
whippersnapper like that--a man I could break in two across my knee.”
He lifted his glass. “To the sunny islands and lashings of money!”
He drained its contents at a gulp.
“You couldn’t have come to a better man than me, Commodore,” he said,
nodding his head slowly.
“You have spoken to the men?”
“Spoken to them?” The room shook with the sea captain’s laughter.
“You don’t want to speak to that kind of cattle; you just give them an
order and that’s enough. They know me; there isn’t a sailorman that’s
shipped before the mast who doesn’t know Harvey ’Ale.”
In his cups the captain was inclined to take liberties with the
English language.
“They’re ripe and willing. They know there’s a big job ahead, and
they’re ready to do it. What is it, Doctor?”
“You’ll know in good time,” said Laffin. “It may not be necessary:
everything depends upon to-morrow, my good friend. In my life I have
had one very grave disappointment, the gravest that any man could
face. That a second should await me seems incredible, and yet there is
that possibility.”
His visitor growled something under his breath.
“I hope you’re disappointed, that’s all,” he said. “That is, if it
gives a chance to Harvey Hale to do something big. What are you going
to do about that girl?”
Dr. Laffin’s lips pressed tightly together, but he did not answer.
“It wasn’t my fault that we didn’t get her the second time. I got her
first time all right, didn’t I? Why didn’t you keep her? That was your
fault? How was I to know that they’d got a ‘busy’ downstairs sleeping
on the premises?”
“I’m not blaming you,” said the doctor in his mincing way. “Believe
me, I do not blame you. The fates were not propitious. My supreme
genius, the mighty Kemelsina, master of my destiny”--he waved an airy
hand to the cornice, and instinctively Hale looked up as though he
expected to find a material manifestation--“my great exemplar was not
in sympathy with the movement.”
Before him was spread a double sheet of foolscap, and once more he
adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, and with his finger moving down each
line of writing, he perused the document from beginning to end in
silence.
“You have sent the first party away?” asked Laffin.
“They’ve arrived. I had a cable from them this morning,” said Hale,
“ready and willing and hearty.”
“Who has the sealed envelope?”
“Collinson’s in charge,” said Harvey Hale. “He’s a good seaman and
knows all about sealed orders. You can trust him, Commodore. I’ve told
him if he breaks the seal I’ll break his head! He knows me--sailed
with me a dozen times. When Harvey Hale says he’ll break a man’s head,
by God, it’s as good as broken! I’m that way, Commodore. My word’s as
good as a lawyer’s agreement, stamped and sealed. There ain’t a man
from Shanghai to Valp’riso that doesn’t know that when I say a thing I
mean it.”
“Yes, yes,” said Laffin testily. “I suppose in your brutal way you
have the elements of greatness. I am large enough to recognise your
claims. But behind this scheme is a mentality beyond your
understanding, a genius outside the range of your comprehension. You
are an instrument, Captain, please remember that; merely the
instrument, that is wielded by my gigantic intellect.”
“We are two big men together,” said Captain Hale comfortably. “Put it
there, Commodore!”
Dr. Laffin ignored the extended hand.
“Now go home, my friend. I think you have drunk enough. From now on
you keep sober--you understand?”
“Drink has never meant anything to me,” said the captain, rising, and
considering the quantity he had consumed that evening, both his speech
and his poise were extraordinarily steady. “I could drink a distillery
dry and walk a chalk line. Ask any man you’ve ever met who knows the
sea, has he ever seen Harvey Hale drunk? What will they answer?”
Dr. Laffin did not trouble to inquire. He walked into the passage,
opened the door, and cut short a further panegyric on the merits and
qualities of Harvey Hale by closing the door gently in the face of
that worthy man.
He did not return to his study, but went upstairs to the top floor,
where he had imprisoned Betty Carew. The door which Holbrook had
broken had been repaired, and fastened even more securely. He was in
the “suite” for ten minutes before he came back to the study. A
somewhat tidy minded man, he gathered together a number of notes he
had made, examined them one by one, and finally, after half an hour’s
memorising, carried the scraps of paper to the fireplace, struck a
match and lit them. As they blazed up, a puff of smoke came out into
the room; it was as though the chimney was blocked. He stooped and
looked up. Concealed from view by the edge of the fireplace, and
half-resting on a brick projection, was a small black box.
He stamped out the paper fire, reached up and tried to pull it down,
but it was fastened to something. He pulled with all his strength;
there was a snap, and the box came away in his hand.
Now he saw what had held it in place: a long strand of wire, which he
had snapped. The box, which was black with soot and had evidently been
lowered down the chimney, was about six inches square, and roughly
made. He put it on his table and examined it curiously; then, with the
aid of a pair of scissors, he ripped off one side, and had no need to
look further to discover the significance of his find. It was a
sensitive microphone.
For a second his face went grey. Who had placed it there? What had
been heard?
He passed out of the room, up the stairs, and through the locked door
of the top floor suite. In a locked lumber-room at the back of the
house was a small trap-door that led to the roof, which served as an
emergency fire escape. In five minutes he was walking along the flat
roof until he was brought up by a high chimney stack.
Yes, there it was--from one of the chimney pots a length of wire led
across the roof and down one side of the house. To make any further
search that night was impracticable. What should he do?
He sat until dawn showed, his malignant eyes fixed upon the telltale
instrument, and then, with some labour, he replaced the box where he
had found it and made a rough splice of the broken wire. Whoever was
listening should hear something a little more puzzling than they had
heard before.